The Castle of Twilight

by Margaret Horton Potter

In this wise they reached the Chateau, and Laure came to her own again. She found herself surrounded by every one and everything that she had so unspeakably yearned for; and—they made little impression on her. She walked among them like one in a dream, striving in vain to free her mind from its encompassing mists. When she was alone with her mother, in Eleanore’s familiar and beloved room, Laure felt in herself an inexplicable insincerity. She clung to madame, and wept, and kissed her, and expressed in eager, disjointed phrases the great joy she felt in being at home again; and all the while she scarce knew what she said, or wherefore she said it. And in the end she gave such an impression of hysteria that her mother became seriously distressed.

At dinner Laure’s manner changed. She was quiet and silent, and kept her eyes fixed continually on her plate. Her cheeks were burning and she was in a tumult of inward emotion that displayed itself in the most unwonted stupidity. Her mother never dreamed the reason for her mood. Curiously enough, Alixe read Laure better, though she scarcely dared admit to herself that which she saw. No look of Flammecœur’s, nor quick flush of the young nun’s face escaped her eyes, yet neither then nor ever after did Alixe confess to any one what she read; for her own heart was too much wrought upon for speech.

Dinner ended, and with that end came the hour for Laure’s return to the convent. The girl realized this with a chill at her heart, but accepted the inevitable resignedly. It was with a sense of desolation that she followed Eloise out of the Castle to the courtyard where their horses were waiting. Her parting with her mother was filled with grief of the sincerest kind. She wept and clung to Madame Eleanore, gasping out convulsive promises to return as soon as the rule permitted. She said good-bye to Alixe as tenderly as to her mother, for the two maidens were fast friends; she kissed all the demoiselles, was kissed by the young squires-at-arms; and it was a sudden relief to her, in this rush of home-feeling, that Flammecœur was nowhere to be seen, he and Yvain having disappeared immediately after dinner.

Much to the satisfaction of Eloise, who endured a good deal of discomfort when she was in high places, Laure finally mounted her palfrey, and the two of them started away, waving good-byes all across the courtyard and drawbridge, and indeed until Eleanore, leaning heavily on Alixe’s arm, turned to re-enter the Castle.

The nuns began their descent of the long hill at a slow, jogging trot; and presently Eloise remarked comfortably,—

“Reverend Mother enjoined us to repeat the hours as we ride. But so didst thou gallop on the way hither, Sister Angelique, and so out of breath was I with trotting after, that I said no more than the first part of one Ave. Therefore let us return at a more seemly pace, that we may rightly tell our beads,” and the stolid sister settled her horse into a slower walk, and sighed comprehensively as she thought of the dinner she had eaten and the sweetmeats that were hidden in her tunic.

Laure did not answer her. She fingered her rosary dutifully, and her lips mechanically repeated the prayers. But her thoughts were no more on what she said than they were upon food. Her face was drawn and whiter even than its wont, and she sat her horse with a weary air. She was making no struggle against the inevitable. In her soul she knew that she must be strong enough to endure her lot; but she could make no pretence to herself that that lot was pleasant.

The two were a long time in their descent of the hill, and it was mid-afternoon when they reached the bend in the road that hid the Chateau from sight. Laure was not looking ahead; rather, when she looked, her eyes noticed nothing. But suddenly Eloise started from her prayers and uttered an exclamation: “Saints of God! There is that man again!”

A quick, cold tremor passed over Laure, and she trembled violently. There in the road, fifty yards away, both of them on horseback, were Flammecœur and his page.

Eloise began a series of weak and rapid expostulations. Laure sat like a statue in her saddle. Nothing was done till the two young women came abreast of the troubadour and his boy. Then, with a rapid and adroit movement, young Yvain wheeled his horse between Laure and Eloise, and presently fell back with Eloise’s animal beside him, while Bertrand Flammecœur drew up beside Laure. The man was white with nervousness, and he bent toward her and said in a low voice: “Sister of angels, grant me pardon for this act!”