He pressed her to his heart more fondly than ever; he covered her brow, her cheeks, her lips, with kisses; he held her hand in his as if he never could part with it, and but few more words were spoken till the prior came to tell him his horses were prepared and his men mounted. Then came the terrible parting.
"Father," he said, "I leave her to your care. Oh! you can not tell what a precious charge it is! In a few weeks I will return to claim her as my own. Oh! watch over her till then. My brain seems disordered with the very thought of the dangers that surround her in these days of violence and wrong."
"Be calm, my son--be calm," said the prior. "Trust in a holier and more powerful protector. He has saved her this day; He can save her still. As for me, I will do all that weak man can do. But the first thing is to remove her, as soon as may be, to the city. Even such holy walls as these are no safeguard from the violence of man in these days; but in the city she will be secure. And now, my son, come. Do you not see how terribly a lingering parting agitates her? Do not protract it, but come away at once, and then rejoin her again, as soon as it is possible, to part no more."
Both felt that what he said was just, and yet one long, last, lingering embrace, and then it was over. All seemed darkness to the eyes of Leonora d'Orco as she sat there alone. All seemed darkness to Lorenzo Visconti as he rode away.
CHAPTER XXXII.
This is a cold age of a cold world. Not more than one man or woman, in many, many thousands can sympathise with--nay, can conceive the warm, the ardent love which existed between the two young hearts new separated. But it must be remembered that theirs was an age and a land of passion; and where that passion did not lead to vice and crime, it obtained sublimity by its very intensity.
It may be asked if such feelings were not likely to be evanescent--if time, and absence, and new objects, and a change of age would not diminish, if not extinguish the love of youth. Oh, no! Both were of firm and determined natures; both clung long and steadily to impressions once received; and yet, when they next met, how changed were both!
They were destined to be separated far longer than they anticipated, and to show what was the reason and nature of the change they underwent, it would be necessary to follow briefly the course of each till the youth had become a man and the young girl a blossoming woman.
When Lorenzo reached Pisa with his little band, he found the army of the King of France about to march; indeed, the vanguard had already gone forward. In the retreat, however, the corps of men-at-arms to which he was attached brought up the rear, and thus he was spared the horror of seeing the butchery committed by the Swiss infantry at Pontremoli.
Riding slowly on by the side of his commander and friend, De Vitry, he conversed with him from time to time, but with thoughts far away and an insurmountable sadness of spirits. Indeed, the elder was full of light and buoyant gaiety; the younger was cold and stern. The cause was very plain; the one was leaving her whom he loved, the other approaching nearer every day to the dwelling of Blanche Marie. Many a danger and difficulty, however, hung upon the path before them. Hourly news arrived of gathering troops and marching forces, of passages occupied, and ambuscades; and at length, in descending from the Apennines towards the banks of the Taro, near its head, the scouts brought in intelligence that the allied forces were encamped at Badia, determined to oppose the passage of the river. It soon became evident that a battle must be fought somewhere between the small town of Fornovo and Badia, and the great numerical superiority of the confederate army rendered the chances rather desperate for France. With the light-hearted courage of the French soldier, however, both men and officers prepared for the coming event as gaily as for a pageant, but the lay and clerical counsellors of the king saw all the dangers, and lost heart. Again they had recourse to negotiation, and the confederate princes, with cunning policy, seemed willing for a time to sell, for certain considerations, a passage towards Lombardy to the King of France. They knew that Fornovo, where he was encamped, could only afford a few days' supply of provisions, and there is every reason to believe that they hoped, by delaying decision from day to day, to starve the royal army into a surrender. The king's counsellors might perhaps have been deceived; but his generals saw through the artifice, and it was determined at length to force the passage of the Taro.