"She is the strangest creature," Debrasques said; "a vast combination of good and evil promptings. Half woman--sometimes half tigress--demoniac! She thought his father loved her--cherished the belief that he would marry her for her wild beauty--I have heard my mother say that in her youth she was as beautiful as the Queen of Night--went mad for a time when he did marry--thought my cousin was her own son. Then--for she would never quit the house--she passed her life alternately loving him and--torturing him, so that, at last, she was never allowed to see the child for fear that she would do it mortal injury. Again, later, when both his father and mother were dead, her love for him was another change in her insanity--until he brought that poor dead one upstairs to the house----"
"And then," said Andrew--"and then?"
As he asked the question the door behind them opened slightly--had not both been sitting with their backs to it and gazing into the fire, they would have seen four long, slim fingers grasping it. Would have seen, too, a moment later, the form of Clemence standing behind them. Yet, in another instant, they knew that she was there, heard her voice give the answer to Andrew's question--heard her say:
"Then she hated him."
Springing from their seats they turned and faced her--appalled almost by the change that had come over her.
The face--always pallid since Andrew had first seen it--was livid now to the lips, the eyes dim and sunken into their sockets--the full lips shook and quivered. And--was it fancy on both their parts, or was it the case?--it seemed to them that the dark hair was now doubly streaked with grey--was far whiter than it had been a day or so ago when she and the others were saved from the ruined house.
"Then--she hated him. Listen. Let me tell the story," and as she spoke she advanced to where they were, and stood before them.
"I hated him because of what he had done to this poor helpless girl--one could not help but love her!--hated him, too, because I saw another victim to the insensate passions of all his race. Told him he was a coward, a villain, to thus betray a woman, bring her a prisoner from her own land. Yet--listen--there is one thing you do not know, neither of you know. It was no fault of his that they were not man and wife--as he tricked you into believing they had become, Valentin Debrasques. He loved the woman dearly, madly--again and again he besought her to marry him. In that respect he was no villain."
"Thank God!" broke from the Marquis's lips as he heard these words--from Andrew Vause there came no utterance. In truth, he was amazed. Had he misjudged the man after all--had----? But he paused in his reflections--remembering that the allurement of the woman from her own land, the breaking thereby of Philip's heart, the long detention of Marion, were sufficient villainy. Again Clemence went on.
"When he returned hastily from his post in Turenne's guard, but a little while ere you yourself came here"--and she directed her eyes towards Andrew--"it was to cast himself once more at her feet, to beg, to pray, to implore that she would pardon him for all the wrong he had done--that she would be his wife. Great God how he besought her. And, when she turned still a deaf ear to him--answering that, sooner would she linger out years here, sooner die here than grant what he demanded--ay! though she remained a prisoner till she was old and grey, he besought her in another manner. Told her that, already, he had suffered enough for his sin--that there was one who sought his life, who ere long would obtain it--was implacable--and that, now, worse even than loss of life threatened him. That this sin was known to more than one, that his honour was in peril--unless he could stand before his King with her for wife at his side, he was a ruined, broken man. That nothing could save him--even though he should abjure France and join with the Duke it would but forestall the King's vengeance for a time. Soon Louis would triumph over Lorraine, and then he would still be disgraced."