Gerault lifted her up in his arms, and, carrying her to the bed, laid her down in it, mantle and all. In the carrying, Lenore had leaned her head upon his shoulder, and her two tired arms folded themselves around his neck. How it was that Gerault felt no thrill at this touch; that it was almost a relief to him when the hold loosened; and how, though he slept at her side that night, his dreams, freer replica of his day-thoughts, were filled with vague trouble, he himself could scarce have told; and yet it was so.
Only one among them seemed
not of their mood.—Page [31]
Next morning, however, Gerault watched her waken, looking as rosy and fresh as a child, and smiling a child’s delighted welcome at the new day. Unquestionably she was a pleasure to him at such times. Before her marriage he had liked, in thinking of her, to accentuate her fairy-like ways, because through them he had brought himself to marry her. And now his treatment of her resembled most, perhaps, the treatment of something very fine and fair, something very rare and delicate and generally to be prized, but not really belonging to him, not essentially valued by him, or near at all to his human heart.
When they were ready for the day, the two of them, Lenore and Gerault, did not linger together in their room, but descended immediately to the chapel, where morning prayers were just beginning. Every eye was turned upon them as they entered the holy room; and it was as sunshine greeting sunshine when Lenore faced the open window, through which poured the golden light of July. Madame’s heart swelled and beat fast, and that of Alixe all but stopped, as each beheld the morning’s bride; and they perceived, with a kind of dull surprise, that Gerault’s face was as dark-browed, as reserved, as melancholy as ever. It seemed impossible that he should not be moved to new life by the presence and possession of so fair a thing as this Lenore. Yet when the devotions were at an end, and the Castle household rose and moved out to where the tables were spread for the breaking of the fast, no one noted how the young girl’s blue eyes glanced once or twice a little wistfully, a little forlornly, up into the unmoved face of her husband, and that she got therefrom no answering smile.
In celebration of the Seigneur’s wedding, a week’s holiday had been declared for every one in the Castle; and so, when the first meal of the day was at an end, the demoiselles, in high glee at escaping from the morning’s toil in the hot spinning-room, gayly proposed to their attendant squires that they repair at once to the open meadows, where there was glorious opportunity for games and caroles. Lenore’s eyes lighted with pleasure at this proposal; but she looked instinctively at Gerault, to see if his face approved the plan. She found his eyes upon her; and, as he caught her glance, he motioned her to his side, and drew her with him a little apart from the general group. Then he said to her kindly,—
“Beloved, I shall see thee at noon meat. Courtoise and I go forth this morning together to try two of the new falcons that Alixe hath trained. Thou’lt fare gently here with all the demoiselles and the young squires; and see that thou weary not thyself at play in the heat. Till noon, my little one!”
He bent and touched his lips to her hair,—that sunlit hair,—and then, as he strode away, followed, but half willingly, by Courtoise, Lenore’s head bent forward, and her eyes, that for one instant had brimmed full, were shut tight till the unbidden drops went back again. When she looked up once more, Alixe was at her side, and the expression on the face of La Rieuse was full of unlooked-for tenderness. Lenore, however, was too proud for pity, and in a moment she smiled, and said bravely:
“My lord is going a-hawking with his squire. Shall we to the fields? Said they not that we should go to weave garlands in the fields?”
“Yes! To the fields! To the fields! Hola, David! We are commanded to the fields by our Queen of Delight!” called Alixe, loudly, waving her hands above her head, and striving in every way to gain the attention of the company. But in spite of her efforts, Gerault’s departure was seen, and there was a general outcry of protest, which did not, however, reach the ears of the Seigneur. Then Lenore was forced to bear the comments of the company: their loudly expressed disappointment, and the unspoken but infinitely more painful astonishment plainly indicated in every glance. Nevertheless the young girl had in her the instincts of a fine race, and she bore everything with a heroic unconcern that won Alixe’s admiration, and so far deceived the thoughtless throng as to bring her a new accusation of indifference to Gerault’s absence.