Gondrin followed, leading the horses; but as he came on, he asked, in a low voice, "Where is the jennet. Sir?"
"Drowned, I fancy," replied Charles of Montsoreau--"drowned, and no great loss, after such doings as to-day."
The cottage was soon gained, and there every assistance was procured for Marie de Clairvaut, which was necessary to restore fully the diminished powers of life. A sort of hand litter was speedily formed; some of the peasantry procured as bearers; and, stretched thereon, dressed in the coarse, but warm and dry habiliments of a country girl; the beautiful child of the lordly house of Guise was borne back towards the château of Montsoreau with him who had rescued her from a watery grave, gazing down upon her, and thinking that she looked even more lovely in that humble attire than in the garb of her own station.
As they approached the château, horns, and whoops, and shouts made themselves heard; and it was evident that the absence of the young lord and the fair guest had at length been remarked by other than the careful eye of Gondrin. Horseman after horseman came up one by one, and at length Gaspar himself appeared with Madame de Saulny and one of Mademoiselle de Clairvaut's women, who had followed her mistress to the field; but, as was common with women of all classes in those days, had forgotten every thing but the falcons and their quarry, the moment that the birds took wing.[[1]]
A multitude of questions and exclamations now took place; and without suffering the bearers of the litter to stop, Charles explained in few words what had occurred, dwelling upon the peril which their fair guest had been in, and merely adding, that he had been fortunate enough to arrive in time to rescue her from the water.
The brow of Gaspar de Montsoreau grew as dark as night, and forgetting that, in his ill humour, he had voluntarily quitted her side, he muttered to himself, "There seems a fate in it, that he should render her every service, and I none."
He sprang off from his horse, however, and walked forward on the other side of the litter, addressing all sorts of courteous speeches to Marie de Clairvaut, who was now well enough to reply. Madame de Saulny, however, had no great difficulty in persuading her to retire at once to bed: not that she felt any corporeal disability to sit up through the rest of the day; but her mind had many matters for contemplation, and she insisted upon being left quite alone, with no farther attendance than that of one of her women stationed in the ante-room.
[CHAP. VI.]
The windows were half closed, the room was silent, no sound reached the ear of Marie de Clairvaut, but the sweet wintry song of a robin perched upon the castle wall. Her first thoughts were of gratitude to Heaven for her escape from death, her next, of gratitude to him who had risked his life to save her. But after that came somewhat anxious and troublous thoughts.
She recollected the moment when she woke to consciousness, and found herself clasped in his arms, with his heart beating against her bosom, with his cheek touching hers; she recollected that he had unclasped the collar round her neck; that he had chafed and warmed her hands in his; that he had dried her hair; that he had braided it back from her forehead; that he had borne her in his arms close to his heart: she recollected that her own hand, from the impulse of her heart, had pressed his; and that she herself had felt happy while resting on his bosom. As she thought of all these things, so different from any of the ideas that usually filled her mind, the warm blood rose in her cheek, though no one could see her; and turning round, she buried her eyes in the pillow with feelings of ingenuous shame; and yet even then the image of Charles of Montsoreau rose before her. She saw him, as she had beheld him when first they met, galloping down to aid her attendants in her defence; she saw him pointing the cannon of the castle against her pursuers; she saw him bearing with calm dignity the ill humour of his brother; she saw him, with passionate tenderness and grief, bending over her, and weeping when he thought her dead. She saw all this, and a consciousness came over her that there was no other being on all the earth on whose bosom she could rest with such happiness as on his.