Charles of Montsoreau had heard all in deep silence, without interrupting her once. He gazed indeed, from time to time, upon her fair face, watching with love and admiration the bright but transient expressions that came across it: but he listened with full attention and deep thought; and when she had done, he replied, "What you have told me, dear Marie, indignant as it well may make me, was most necessary for me to hear, and is most satisfactory, for it explains all that I did not before comprehend or understand. His machinations, however, dear Marie, I now trust are at an end. What may be between Villequier and him I do not know; but I trust, dear Marie, I trust in that God who never does fail them that trust in him, that I come to bring you deliverance and to lead you to happiness. It would be long and tedious to tell you, beloved, all that has happened to me since I left you at Montsoreau. Suffice it that I have seen the Duke of Guise; that I have spent the greater part of the time with him; that I have been able, Marie, to serve him--he says, to save his life; and that to me he has entrusted the charge of seeking you and bringing you to join him at Soissons, in despite of any one that may oppose us."
"Oh, joy, joy!" cried Marie de Clairvaut. "When can we set out?" And she rose from her seat as if she hoped their departure might take place that minute. Charles of Montsoreau drew her gently to his heart, and, gazing into her deep tender eyes, he asked, "Will your joy be less, dear Marie, if you know that you go to be at once the bride of Charles of Montsoreau, with the full consent of your princely guardian, given by one who is well worthy to give, to one who is scarcely worthy to receive, such a jewel as yourself?"
Marie de Clairvaut hid her face upon his bosom, murmuring, in a scarcely audible tone, "Can you ask me, Charles?--But oh, let us speed away quickly; for though I, who have been here now several days, and have seen nothing but death and desolation round me ever since I came, have become accustomed to the scene, and doubtless to the air also, yet I fear for every moment that you remain here."
"I still fear not, dear Marie," replied Charles of Montsoreau. "Nevertheless, most glad am I to bear you away to happier scenes; and as soon as the horses have taken some rest, we will set out. And now, dear girl," he added, "I will send you from me. You need some repose, Marie; you need some tranquillity. Leave me then, dear girl, and try to sleep till the hour of our departure, while I will watch here for you, and call you before break of day."
"If you watch, Charles," replied Marie, "I will watch with you, for I need not repose. This morning, after closing the eyes of poor Madame de Saulny, and weeping long and bitterly over her and the poor girl who was the only one that chose to remain with me, exhausted with watching, anxiety, and grief, I fell asleep, and slept long. Before that, I had felt so weary and so heated, that I almost fancied--though without fearing it--that the plague might be coming upon me; but I woke refreshed and comforted just as the sun was going down, and I felt, as it were, a hope and expectation that some change would soon come over my fate. But you need at least refreshment, Charles. In the next room remains my last untasted meal--the last that the poor frightened beings who abandoned me, set before their mistress yesterday. I fear not to take you there, Charles, for no one has died in this part of the house."
Charles of Montsoreau followed her, and persuaded her also to take some light refreshment; and there they sat through the live-long night, speaking kind words from time to time, and watching each other's countenances with hope strong at the hearts of both, though somewhat chequered by fears, each for the other.
[CHAP. VIII.]
By the time that the first grey streak chequered the dark expanse of the eastern sky, the horses of Charles of Montsoreau, with three others, were standing on the terrace at the foot of the marble steps. The page and Gondrin were there, and also the old groom, a white-headed man of some sixty years of age, who had booted and spurred himself, and buckled on a sword, declaring that he would accompany his young mistress, if it were but to lead the sumpter horse which carried her baggage. A moment after, Marie herself appeared, and Charles of Montsoreau placed her on the beast that had been prepared for her, while the old groom kissed her hand, saying, "I am glad to see you well, dear lady. But fear not; none of your race and none of mine ever died of the plague either, though I have seen it pass by this place twice before now, and I remember eleven corpses lying on those steps at once."
"There are six within those chambers now," replied Marie, shaking her head mournfully. "But I fear not, good Robin,--for myself at least. But you had better lead the way towards Chalet, for the Count tells me that Morvillette is deserted."
"Oh, I will lead you safely, Lady," replied the old man; "and though very likely they may keep us out of many a house on account of where we come from, there is my daughter's cottage where they will take us in, for they do not fear the plague there."