Helen sprang forward again; but the fierce woman caught her by the shoulder, and threw her back headlong into the room, muttering in a low bitter tone, "Back, minion, I say!--Stay on guard here, Martin," she continued; "let no one in or out. If my brother come, beg him civilly to pause. I will return in an instant."
Thus saying she entered the chamber; where Helen, stunned and bruised by the fall, still lay on the floor. Seizing her by the arm, Madame de Chazeul dragged her further in and closed the door; then gazed on her for a moment, while every terrible passion that can agitate the human countenance, crossed the face turned towards poor Helen de la Tremblade. The fingers of the Marchioness felt the hilt of her dagger, and the spirit of Cain moved her heart strongly; but she refrained for the moment, murmuring, "No, not blood--not blood." Then advancing to the door leading to the adjoining room, she tried it, took out the key; and hurrying across to the other, she went out by it, and locked it likewise.
"Monsieur de Liancourt speaks, Madam," said the man Martin.
"I am coming! I am coming!" cried the Marchioness, and began to descend.
"Shall I wait here?" asked the servant.
"No, all is safe now," rejoined his mistress, going on, "we shall want you for other matters, my good Martin."
She hurried down without a moment's pause, endeavouring to smooth her countenance, and to calm the vehement agitation of her thoughts as she went; and although, in the latter effort, she was not altogether successful, for her angry spirit when once moved, was long ere it regained tranquillity; yet her face was smiling--though with a curl of contempt hanging about the nostril and the corner of the lip--when she met her brother just ascending to inquire the cause of the noise and outcry which had reached his ear.
"What is the matter, Jacqueline?" cried Monsieur de Liancourt; "has anything new gone wrong?"
"Nothing, nothing," replied the Marchioness; "something more amusing than anything else. But I will tell you all about it after the funeral. I think it will make you laugh to see, what tricks there are in this world."
"But what is it? what is it?" asked the Count, whose mind, vacillating and uncertain, was too much agitated by the course he was persuaded to pursue against his better judgment, not to feel a movement of dread at every new incident in the drama, whenever he fell back from a fit of passionate vehemence, into his usual state of weak hesitation.