"It is not for myself, Sir, that I care," answered De Montigni, "but for this lady, who in truth can go no further. At all events, I must see the King, if you will kindly cause him to be informed that the Baron de Montigni is here."
The old officer gazed in the face of Rose d'Albret with a look of inquiry, not rude but compassionate; and after a moment's pause he answered, "I think, Monsieur de Montigni, the King expected you. There was a messenger arrived an hour ago from the Commander de Liancourt, and your name was mentioned, I know; but I am sorry to say his Majesty is not now in the village, and may not return for some hours. You will find him about a league hence, placing the artillery.--But stay! I will make inquiries: there may be some orders left for you. Here, Jacques, run up to the King's quarters, and tell them that Monsieur de Montigni is here. Ask what his Majesty said about him.--Ah, my poor young lady, you look tired enough," he continued, as the soldier sped away; "and yet I cannot ask you to alight and repose yourself, for every cottage is filled to the door with soldiery--a rude scene for such as you. I can give you some refreshment, however," he added suddenly, as if the thought had only just struck him. "Here, D'Avesne, D'Avesne! run in and get out some wine. In the pannier behind the door, you will find a bottle of good old burgundy and a horn cup: bring them hither, quick. There, stand back, good fellows! Did you never see a tired party come in? They do not want your company."
The last words were addressed to three or four idlers who had sauntered up, and, leaning their folded arms upon the barricade, were staring rudely at Rose d'Albret and her companions. They now, however, walked away with a laugh, which made the warm colour come back into poor Rose's cheek, as she felt herself the object of scorn rather than pity. The moment after, the man who had been sent for the wine returned, and after much persuasion from De Montigni she took some, though it tasted hot and burning to her parched lips rather than refreshing. It seemed to revive her a little, however, when she had swallowed it; and she saw that there would be need of all her remaining strength: for the picture which imagination had painted of a royal camp, and of immediate admission to the King's pavilion, and of a brilliant circle of nobles forming his court, had by this time all faded away; and she found sterner realities and more homely, but not less painful annoyances in place.
It was nearly ten minutes before the man sent to the King's quarters returned; and they seemed hours to Rose d'Albret; but when he did come, he turned to his officer, saying, "They are to go to the farm at Mainville; and the King will see Monsieur de Montigni to-morrow morning. He is to wait there without stirring till he hears more."
"But where is Mainville?" asked De Montigni, almost in despair at the idea of poor Rose having to travel further that night: "if it be distant, we shall never reach it. The lady now, as you see, can hardly sit her horse."
"'Tis half a league, down by the river," answered the old officer: "but stay--we can help the lady. Have out the hand litter on which they brought Jules de Sourdis from Dreux. Get out a party of bearers, Jacques. We will soon manage that for you, young gentleman; and a crown-piece will make the men go willingly. They will serve for guides, too; for in this dark night you would never find it. But, in the meantime, she had better dismount, and rest upon this bench. You seem sadly weary, lady: have you come far?"
"Many leagues," replied Rose, as De Montigni sprang to the ground by her side to lift her from her horse. "I thank you much for your kindness, Sir," she continued, still addressing the old officer. "I do not think I could ride another hour to save life itself."
Seated upon a bench by the side of the barricade, which had been opened to give her admission, with the light of a large watch-fire, and two resin torches casting a flickering glare over the figures of the soldiery as they came and went, wearied, exhausted, faint, and sick at heart, Rose d'Albret remained for several minutes with her fair head bent down, and her hand dropping as if powerless by her side. At length, however, a light seemed to come in her dark eyes, a warm and well-pleased smile crossed her lip, and she raised her fair face towards De Montigni, who stood beside her, with a look of renewed hope and satisfaction which he did not comprehend.
The reader too may ask what it was that seemed so suddenly to revive her? what it was that called up that expression of pleasure and relief? It was not that she saw any friendly form. It was not that she heard any well-known voice. The cause was in no external things, but in her own mind. As she sat there, she had felt deeply and bitterly all that was painful in her situation, with lassitude of limb and sickening heart, fears, anxieties, and gloomy anticipations, which every sight, and sound, and circumstance, tended but to increase. Her thoughts and her sensations had been full of all that is sad and depressing, when suddenly, she had asked herself, if she could recall the last eight-and-forty hours, return to the mansion of her guardian, lay her head on the pillow of luxury and ease, remove afar peril, and difficulty, and terror, and weariness, become the promised wife of Nicholas de Chazeul, and give up Louis de Montigni for ever, would she do it? Her heart answered the question in a moment--no! Whatever she might suffer, was light in comparison. All that she had undergone, all that she endured, lost half its weight when she remembered that she was free--that she was with him she loved; and looking up, as I have said, in his face with a heart lightened and grateful, she felt that to share poverty, sorrow, flight, exile, care, with him, would still have joy enough to compensate for all.
De Montigni could not, of course, see what was passing in her mind; but still there was a look of affection in her eyes which was not to be mistaken, which told him that she was thinking of him, and that she did not regret what she suffered on his account; and, bending down his head, he spoke those words of tenderness and love which well repaid her for her endurance and her sacrifices.