The coach was very old-fashioned, being shaped like an enormous pie-dish, with an elliptical roof, surmounted by a coronet. It was so large that it might have passed for a small cottage on carved and gilded wheels. It was covered by heraldic and allegorical devices, stars, clouds, suns, moons, and elaborate gildings. It had three large glass windows on each side. Perceiving faces at them, and being anxious to learn who these important persons were, of whose progress towards the Rhine, Gordon had been apprised so far off as the trenches at Seltz, and for whose capture the lives of three human beings had been sacrificed, I cantered forward to one of the windows, as the enormous conveyance rumbled up the steep, rocky road, and knocked on the pane with my ungloved hand, in token of amity. It was opened, and a female face, fair as beauty and pale as terror could make it, looked at me imploringly, with eyes whose blue seemed unnaturally bright in the moonbeams, which edged with light the thick masses of her golden hair; and the sentences of apology and inquiry which I had been framing died away on my lips when I recognised the soft features, and heard the beloved voice of—Marie Louise of Lorraine!
CHAPTER LXIX.
HUSBAND AND WIFE.
I checked my horse, and stricken to the soul, like one who had been guilty of a great crime, shrank to the rear of all my party; nor did I again approach her, till we had surmounted the ascent to Lutzelstein; till the coach had rumbled over the castle bridge, and halted in the inner court, where the loud and hearty voice of Lord Dundrennan in warm congratulation, recalled me to the task I had to perform.
'Blane,' said he, 'zounds! there are women in this huge tumbril. Whose better half have you abducted to-night?'
'Hush, for heaven's sake, hush! 'tis Louise of Lorraine.'
'The Duchess D'Alsace—where?'
Torches were brought, and the doors of the carriage were opened. There sprang out a little boy clad in a rich coat of white satin, laced with gold, his fair hair tied with a blue ribbon. His air was haughty, but evinced alarm; for the brave child kept his hand on his tiny dagger. Then followed an old priest, in whom I immediately recognised Father Colville of the Scottish College at Pontamoussin, keeper of St. Lucy's reliques at St. Michel. Hat in hand I stood by the steps to assist Marie Louise; but disdaining my proffered courtesy, she sprang lightly to the ground. A young lady, her attendant, respectfully followed, with a countenance as expressive of terror, as that of her mistress indicated sorrow and anger.
'Messieurs, to what place is this we have been brought?' she asked.
'Lutzelstein, a castle on the Vosges,' I replied.