My first question, as we went, was how long the Chevalier had returned from Spain, and what had brought him on the road towards Lourdes at that time of night. At first, Jean Baptiste seemed somewhat reserved, but upon being pressed closely on the subject, his frank nature would not let him maintain his silence; and he informed me, that the Chevalier had returned that very morning from Spain; but on hearing that the Marquis de St. Brie had been received as a visitor at the château, and that I, in return, had gone to pass some time with him, he had desired the young procureur to accompany him and set out for Bagneres without delay, saying that I must be saved at all risks. "But still," continued Jean Baptiste, "you have done something in Spain to lose the Chevalier's love; for though he would come away after you to-night, in spite of all my father could do to prevent him, he always took care to say, 'for his father's sake--for his mother's sake, he would rescue Count Louis from the dangers into which he was plunged.'"
The gloomiest knell that rings over the fall from virtue must be to hear of the lost esteem of those we love. That must be the dark, the damning scourge which drives on human weakness to despairing crime. Could the great fallen angel ever have returned? I do not believe it. The glorious confidence of Heaven was lost, and mercy would have been nothing without oblivion.
I felt that my friend did me wrong, but even that did not save me from the whole bitterness of having lost his regard. And I internally asked myself, what would my feelings have been, had I really merited his bad opinion?
"Where is the Chevalier?" demanded I. "Is he at his own house?"
"No," answered the young man; "he is at my father's, at Lourdes."
My determination was taken immediately, to ride over to Lourdes the next day, and explain to the Chevalier my conduct, as far as I could with honour; to represent to him, that I was under a most positive promise not to disclose to any Spaniard the events of that night wherein his suspicions had been excited, and to add my most solemn asseverations to convince him of my innocence. My pride, I will own, struggled against this resolution, but still I saw, in the Chevalier's conduct towards me, a degree of lingering affection, which I could not bear to lose. The good spirit triumphed; and I determined to sacrifice my pride for the sake of his esteem.
These thoughts kept me silent till our arrival at the Château de l'Orme, where my appearance in such a state, I need not say, created the most terrible consternation. But I will pass by all that; suffice it, that I had to tell my story over at least one hundred times, before I was suffered to retire to bed. Helen, happily, was not present when I arrived, but my mother's embroidery woman did not fail to wake her, as I afterwards heard, for the purpose of communicating the agreeable intelligence, and doubtless made it a thousand times worse than it really was. My poor Helen's night, I am afraid, was but sadly spent.
However, when I had satisfied both my father and mother that I was not dangerously injured, and related my story to every old servant in the family, who thought they had a right to be as accurately informed in regard to all that occurred to Count Louis as his confessor, I retired to my chamber; and while the maître d'hôtel fulfilled the functions of Houssaye in assisting to undress me, I opened the packet I had found upon the monk, and examined the papers which it contained, but to my surprise I found nothing at all relating directly to the Marquis de St. Brie.
The first thing that presented itself was a regular certificate of the marriage of Gaston Francois de Bagnol, Count de Bagnol, with Henriette de Vergne, dated some seventeen years before, with the names of several witnesses attached. Then followed a paper of a much fresher appearance, containing the names of these witnesses, with the word dead marked after one, and the address of their present residence affixed to each of the others. Then came a long epistolary correspondence between the above Count de Bagnol and various persons in the town of Rochelle, at the time of its siege; by reading which I clearly found that though influenced by every motive of friendship or relationship to give his aid to the rebellious Rochellois, had constantly refused to do so, and, that in consequence, the accusation which the Chevalier informed me had been brought against that young nobleman, must have been false. On remembering, also, the cause of enmity which the Marquis de St. Brie had against him, and associating that fact with the circumstance of my having found these papers on the body of an assassin hired by the same man, I doubted not for a moment that the charge had been forged by the Marquis himself, and these letters withheld on purpose to prevent the Count from establishing his innocence. Why the Marquis had let them pass from his own hands I could not divine; without, indeed, he considered them as valueless, now he had taken care that the justice or injustice of this world could no way affect his victim. I knew that he was far too much a lover of this life alone, to value, in his own case or that of others, the cold meed of posthumous renown.
Long before I had finished these reflections and the reading of the letters, the maître d'hôtel, who, as I have said, supplied Houssaye's place, had done his part in undressing me; and soon, after ordering my horse to be ready early, I dismissed him and slept.