The Countess of Rudolstadt / A Sequel to "Consuelo"

by George Sand

The stranger made a gesture of joy at the sight of a ruined house, in one corner of which he contrived to shelter his companion from the torrents of rain. The roof had been taken away and the space sheltered by the masonry was so small, that unless he stood close to Consuelo, the stranger was forced to receive all the rain. He, however, respected her condition, and went so far away as to banish all fear. Consuelo, however, would not consent to accept his self-denial. She called him, and seeing that he would not come, left her shelter, and said, in a tone she sought to make joyous, "Every one has his turn, Chevalier. I now will soak for a time. If you will not share with me, take a shelter yourself."

The Chevalier wished to lead Consuelo back to the place about which this amicable contest occurred. She resisted, however, and said, "No, I will not yield. I see that I offended you to-day, by expressing a wish to leave you at the frontier. I will atone for my offence at the expense of a severe cold even."

The Chevalier yielded, and sheltered himself. Consuelo, seeing that she owed him reparation, came to his side, though she was humbled at the idea of having to make advances to him. She had rather seem volatile than ungrateful, and, as an expiation of her fault, resolved to be submissive. The stranger understood this so well, that he stood as far from her as the small space they occupied would permit, and it was only two or three feet square. Leaning against the wall, he pretended to look away, lest he should annoy and trouble her by his anxiety. Consuelo was amazed that a man sentenced to silence, and who inflicted this punishment to a degree on himself, should divine and understand her so well. Every moment augmented her esteem for him, and this strange feeling made her heart beat so, that it was with great difficulty that she could breathe the air this man, who so strangely sympathised with her, inhaled.

After a quarter of an hour the storm became so lulled that the two travellers could resume their journey. The paths were thoroughly wet, and had become almost impassable for a woman. The Chevalier for some moments suffered Consuelo to slip, and almost fall. Suddenly, as if weary of seeing her fatigue herself, he took her in his arms, and supported her as easily as if she had been a child. She reproached him for doing so, it is true, but her reproaches never amounted to resistance. Consuelo felt fascinated and overpowered. She was transported by the cavalier through the wind and the storm, and he was not unlike the spirit of night, crossing ravines and thickets with as rapid and certain a step as if he had been immaterial. Then they came to the ford of a small stream, where the stranger took Consuelo in his arms, raising her up as the water became deep.

Unfortunately the torrents of rain had been so rapid, that the course of the rivulet was swollen, and it became a torrent, rolling in foam, and roaring turbulently. It was already up to the knight's belt, and in his efforts to sustain Consuelo, she feared that his feet, which were in the slimy mire of the bed of the streamlet, would slip. She became alarmed for his sake, and said, "For heaven's sake let me go; let me go—I can swim!"

Just then a violent blast of wind threw down one of the trees on the bank, towards which our travellers went, and this brought down an avalanche of stones and mud, which for a moment made a natural dike against the torrent. The tree had luckily fallen across the river, and the stranger was beginning to breathe, when the water, making a passage for itself, rushed into one headlong, mad current, against which it was impossible for him to contend any longer. He paused, and Consuelo sought to get out of his arms. "Leave me," said she; "I do not wish to be the cause of your death. I am strong, and bold also. Let me struggle for myself!"

The Chevalier, however, pressed her the closer to his heart. One might have fancied that he intended to die with her. She was afraid of his black mask—of this man, silent as the water-spirits of the old German ballads, who wished to drag her below with him. For more than a quarter of an hour the stranger contended with the fury of the wind and storm with a coolness and obstinacy which were really frightful, sustaining Consuelo above the water, and not advancing more than a single step in four or five minutes. He contemplated his situation calmly. It was as difficult for him to advance as to withdraw, for if he did the water might sweep him away. At last he reached the bank, and walked on, without permitting Consuelo to put her foot on the ground. He did not even pause to take breath, until he heard Karl, who was waiting anxiously for him, whistle. He then gave his precious burden into the arms of the deserter, and almost overpowered, sank on the ground. He was able only to sigh, not breathe, and it seemed as though his breast would burst. "Oh! my God, Karl!" said Consuelo, bending over him, "he will die! Listen to the death-rattle! Take off that mask, which suffocates him!"

Karl was about to obey, but the stranger by a painful effort, lifted up his icy hands, and seized that of the deserter. "True!" said Karl, "my oath, signora. I swore to him that even were he to die in your presence, I would not touch his mask. Hurry to the carriage, signora, and bring me the flask of brandy which is on the seat; a few drops will relieve him. Consuelo sought to go, but the Chevalier restrained her. If he were about to die, he wished to expire at her feet.

"That is right," said Karl, who, notwithstanding his rude manners, understood all love's mysteries, for he had loved himself. "You can attend to him better than I can. I will go for the flask. Listen, signora," he continued, in a low tone; "I believe if you loved him, and were kind enough to say so, that he will not die; otherwise I cannot promise."

Karl went away smiling. He did not share Consuelo's terror. He saw that the suffocating sensation of the Chevalier was becoming allayed. Consuelo was terror-stricken, and fancying she witnessed the death agony of this generous man, folded him in her arms, and covered his broad brow—the only part of his face the mask did not cover—with kisses.