I stooped down and looked more closely, but still kept silence; and he added, "Then I will ask you, in plainer terms, do you not perceive the marks of a saw?"
"I am afraid I do," replied I, rising up.
"It is enough," he said, and with his foot pushed the fragments of the beams over into the water, which was easily accomplished, as all that held them had already been nearly wrenched out by the breaking down of the rest of the bridge. Father Ferdinand and myself gazed at each other for several moments with sad and bitter hearts, and then, feeling that nothing more need be said between us, we each turned on our way without another word. Father Ferdinand took the path back to the château, but I walked on towards Juvigny, in the sad hope of hearing from good Jacques Marlot that the body of Madame de Villardin had been found. On my arrival, however, I learned that Madame Marlot herself, who, it seems, was in a delicate situation, had been so agitated and alarmed by all the disturbance and anxiety of the preceding night, as to be obliged to keep her bed that morning; and the large-nosed Bretonne servante, who gave me these tidings, added, that her master was gone over to the gate of the convent, and that I should certainly meet him there if I walked that way.
I did as she suggested, and met Jacques Marlot returning from the convent; but he informed me that no trace had been discovered of the body of Madame de Villardin; and as his wife was ill, I turned back towards the château. As I passed by the bridge again, I found Gaspard de Belleville, and one or two of the servants, examining the spot where the fatal event had occurred; and it was not difficult for me to perceive that the whole household looked upon the page and myself as irreconcilable enemies, by the manner in which the servants drew away from his side when I approached. As I had most scrupulously avoided mentioning even his name to any one when not absolutely called upon to do so, it must have been from Gaspard himself that the domestics had learned that any degree of enmity existed between us. At all events, their having discovered the fact was by no means to his advantage; for as my good will was of more value in the family than his, from the circumstances in which I stood in regard to the Duke, my favour was of course more courted, and it often happened that it was courted at his expense.
As I wished to be asked no questions upon the subject, I passed on, without noticing any one, and after an hour or two spent in the melancholy rooms of the château, I went to take the place of good Jerome Laborde. While I watched by Monsieur de Villardin, he woke from the sleep into which he had fallen; but so far from my anticipations of amendment being realized, he appeared infinitely more delirious than ever. His words, however, were now so incoherent and wild, that the most suspicious ear could have drawn no meaning from them; and thus luckily they continued through the rest of his illness. For nearly a fortnight he remained in the same condition, but at the end of that period a material change for the better began to manifest itself, and the ravings to which he had been subject ceased entirely; though by this time he was reduced to a state of infant weakness.
Innumerable visiters had presented themselves at the château, as the tidings spread through the country; and all who could hope to obtain anything by his death were most assiduous and tender in their inquiries. Shortly before he recovered his reason, also, the Count de Loris, the uncle of his late wife--warned of Madame de Villardin's death by a letter from Father Ferdinand, with whom he was well acquainted--appeared at the château, and took up his abode there for the time; but as he had never heard of any dissensions between his niece and her husband, and care was taken not to make him aware of the painful state in which they had lived for the last five or six months, the good old Count expressed, and I believe felt, as much anxiety in regard to Monsieur de Villardin as if he had been his own son. His manners were simple and kind to all around him, and when informed by Father Ferdinand of the share I had borne in several of the late events, he embraced me tenderly, and after thanking me repeatedly, made me relate every particular in regard to the accident which had befallen his unhappy niece. The warm tears coursed each other down his cheeks as I proceeded, and when I had ended, he said, "If ever I can serve you, young gentleman, let me know. I am a man of few words, but I mean what I say."
I gave him full credit for doing so, and I only did him justice. After the delirium had left Monsieur de Villardin, his health continued to improve every hour; but still it was the most painful convalescence that ever I beheld. He scarcely spoke a word to any one, and his eyes roamed round those that surrounded his bed with a searching and anxious glance, that was terrible to those who understood the feelings in which it arose. When he began to speak again, it was but one word at a time, and even then he confined himself to the name of any object that he wanted at the moment.
As soon as the physician judged it prudent, Monsieur de Loris was brought into his bed-chamber, and took his hand affectionately; but the Duke turned his head away, and pressed his eyes upon the pillows, as if to avoid the sight and all its concomitant ideas. The good old Count went on to comfort him in a kindly tone, but not knowing the truth, he followed the most painful track he could pursue, and by addressing a man who had destroyed his own happiness as he would have done one who suffered alone under the bereaving hand of fate, he poured gall and wormwood into all the consolations he offered.
The shock, however, though terrible, was not without a good effect, for it seemed to rouse the unhappy Duke from the dull despair that overwhelmed him, and, at all events, it broke the first dreadful feelings of returning to scenes which had each its own peculiar associations of agony to pour forth upon him.
Still, the day that he first came forth from his own chamber was full of misery. The sun was shining through all the windows, checkering the staircases and saloons with gay and gladsome light. Under the directions of Father Ferdinand, everything had been removed which had peculiarly belonged to the Duchess, and alterations had been made, in various ways, to break in every direction the chain of associations which we knew could alone prove painful. Monsieur de Villardin's eye, however, still wandered wildly over every object around, and I do not know that it was not really more distressing to him to miss all the objects he expected to see, than it would have been to find them in their accustomed places.