She was like some traveller bewildered in a mountain mist, fancying that he sees before him the clear road to bright and smiling lands, when his footsteps are on the edge of the precipice that is to swallow him up.
When she rose and left her chamber on the following morning, Marie de Clairvaut was greeted with glad smiles from every one. Perhaps her fair cheek was a little paler than ordinary, perhaps her bright eye was softer and less lustrous: but the change proceeded not from the consequences of either the fear or the danger she had undergone the day before. The slight paleness of the cheek, the slight languor of the eye, and the night without sleep, which gave rise to both, had a sweeter cause in bright and happy thoughts which had shaken the soft burden of slumber from her eyelids.
All present gazed upon her with interest. Madame de Saulny was loud in her gratulations; Gaspar de Montsoreau himself showed a brow without a cloud, and his brother smiled brightly with scarcely a shadow of melancholy left upon his countenance. Her first act was to repeat the thanks which she had given to the latter on the preceding day--to repeat them warmly, tenderly, and enthusiastically; and Gaspar de Montsoreau, who loved not to hear such words, or see such looks upon her countenance, turned towards one of the windows, and spoke eagerly with the Abbé de Boisguerin, while wise Madame de Saulny drew a few steps back, and gave some orders to one of Marie's attendants.
"Do not thank me, sweet Marie," said Charles of Montsoreau, as soon as he saw that he could speak unnoticed by any other ears but her own: "I have not an opportunity of answering you now, as I ought to answer you. After my return this evening I shall seek to be heard for a few moments, for I have matter for your private ear."
He saw the warm blood coming up into her cheek, and her eyes cast down, and he added, "I have to excuse part of my conduct yesterday--I have to see if you will forgive me."
"Forgive you!" she exclaimed, raising her bright eyes to his, and speaking eagerly, though low, "Oh, there is nothing in any part of your conduct to forgive--every thing to be grateful for: whether your devotion and courage in saving me from death--or your care and tenderness," she added in a still lower voice, "after you had saved me."
The eyes of Gaspar de Montsoreau were upon them both; he marked the downcast look, the rising colour in Marie de Clairvaut's cheek; he marked the sudden raising of her eyes, and the tender light with which they looked in the face of her young deliverer. He marked the beaming expression of joy and gratitude that came over his brother's countenance, and it was scarcely possible for him to restrain the fiery feelings in his own bosom, and prevent himself from rushing like a madman between them. Two or three low deep-toned words from the Abbé, however, recalled him to himself, and advancing with a graceful, though a somewhat agitated air, he offered Mademoiselle de Clairvaut his hand to conduct her to the hall where the morning meal was prepared.
"We are somewhat earlier than usual this morning," he said, "because my fair brother, with our noble and excellent friend the Abbé here, have a long ride before them, to visit a relation who we hear is sick."
"And do you not go yourself, my lord?" demanded Marie. "Pray let not my being in the château act as any restraint upon you."
"Oh no," replied the Marquis; "it is as well that one of us should remain here in these troublous times; and this relation, this Count de Morly, is an old man in his eightieth year, who may well expect that health should fail, ay, and life too."