There was something in the meeting under such circumstances which did away all feelings of reserve, such as perhaps might otherwise have still affected them towards each other; and Clémence, feeling that she was all his--that their fate was united for ever, felt scarcely a blush rise into her cheek when he, at once, pressed her to his heart upon their meeting. She spoke not, however, but held up her finger, as if to enjoin silence, and then led him through a little anteroom into a room beyond.
There, seated at a table with some books scattered upon it, appeared the good pastor of Auron, Claude de l'Estang. He was thinner, paler, more worn, than when first we endeavoured to depict him; but the light was not gone out in the clear bright eye, the same mild but intelligent smile hung upon the lip, the same high spirit was thrown upon the brow. He rose and grasped the young Count's hands eagerly.
"Oh, my dear Albert," he said, "I am glad to see you! This sweet child," he added, after the first exclamation, "wrote to me all that was between you and her. She is dear to my heart as if she were my own; and is she not my own. Did I not bring her back to the faith of her dear mother? Did I not rescue her from the evils of a corrupt perverted church? But of that we will speak not now, Albert. The moment I heard of it--the moment I heard that you were here, and had cast yourself, as it were, into the jaws of the lion, after the fatal night when that murderous youth, like Pilate, mingled our blood with our sacrifices--I resolved at once to make my way hither, at all and any risks, to speak to you, to exhort you, to tell you what I have decided in my own mind is the only plan for you to follow. I thought, indeed, when I set out--notwithstanding all that has occurred since you left Poitou, notwithstanding the scattering of the sheep and the driving forth of the shepherd, and the falling off of many, and the wavering of all the rest--I thought that here I might learn tidings which might make a change in my opinion, but that, at all events, it was right for me to come, in order that I might consult with you and others, and take our last final determination together. But, since I have heard from this dear child the situation in which you are placed, since I have heard from a weak brother, who has outwardly abjured the faith which he fondly clings to in his heart, things that you yourselves do not know, my opinion has been confirmed to the fullest extent, and I have only to say to you, Albert, fly! Fly with her immediately; save her from persecution, and anguish, and care; confirm her in the only true faith, and in the renunciation of every superstitious vanity of the church of Rome! Strengthen her, support her, protect her! Lose no time--no, not a day; for, if you do, danger to both, and, perhaps, everlasting separation in this world may be the consequence."
"I am most ready and most willing," replied the Count. "It is absolutely necessary, indeed, that I should return to Versailles, but only for a few hours. After that, I can return hither, and, without further delay, execute what I am fully convinced is the only plan for us to pursue."
"It is the only plan," said the clergyman. "Are you aware, Albert, that, in the short space of five days, one half of the Protestants of Poitou have bent the knee to Baal? Are you aware that the very men who, a week ago, clung to you for aid and protection, would now fly from you, either in shame at their own degeneracy, or because you are marked out for indignation by the powers that be? Yes, Albert, they would fly from you! There is a remnant, indeed, faithful and true unto the last; but to them I shall say, as I say to you, they must go forth to other lands, and shake off the dust from their feet as a testimony against this place. There is nothing left you, Albert, but flight, and that speedy and unhesitating. I have told you that I have heard much from a weak brother, whose renunciation of his faith weighs heavy upon him. He is in the confidence, it would seem, of those who rule; and he has informed me that it is the determination of the Monarch and his council never to let you quit the court of France except as a follower of the popish church of Rome. Every temptation is to be held out to you to make you yield, every menace used to drive you on the way they want; and should your resistance become strong and decided, the order for your arrest is already made out, and needs but one word to cause its execution. Fly, then, fly, Albert, and even if not for your own sake for hers."
"I am most willing, my good friend," replied the Count. "I need no exhortation so to do. But is Clémence still willing to go with me?"
"Can you doubt it, Albert," she said, "with his approbation and advice?"
"Yet, dear Clémence," said the Count, "I should be wrong were I not to tell you what may happen. The danger, the risk of our escape, the fatigues, and labours, and anxieties of the journey, the perils that await us at every step you have made up your mind to. But, Clémence, have you thought of the change from affluence to mere competence, from splendour and luxury to bare necessaries, even perhaps to poverty itself, for all I have on earth depends upon the good faith of those to whom I have transmitted it, and I might arrive and find nothing. Have you thought of all this? Have you thought that it may last for years, that we may have to live, and die, and bring up our children in poverty----?"
"Out upon it, Albert!" exclaimed the old man, angrily; "wouldst thou take the part of the prince of this world against her better angel? But she will not doubt, she will not waver: I know she will not. Sooner than be a hypocrite, sooner than abandon troth and embrace error, she would cast herself upon the world, were it ten thousand times as bad--Out upon it! she fears not: she will have her husband, and her faith, and her God to support her."
"I have not thought of all you suggest, Albert," replied Clémence more mildly, but still somewhat reproachfully, "I have not thought of them, because it was unnecessary to think of them at all. Do you not love me, Albert? Do I not love you? Is not that love riches, and splendour, and luxury enough for us? But when, beside that all-sufficient love, we have the knowledge that we are doing our duty, that we are suffering for our conscience sake, that we have left all to follow what we believe the dictates of the great Author of our faith, there will be a satisfaction, a pride, a glory, that even a woman's heart can feel. Fear not for me, Albert; I understand your scruples, and though they require forgiveness I forgive them. Let us be guided by his advice,--I am sure that it is good,--and I am willing, most willing, to risk all and every thing under such circumstances, and for such a cause."