When we reached, by degrees, the open champaign country, Schnelling bade us farewell, courteously. He had behaved handsomely about the clothes, so Francezka bade him the friendliest possible adieu. Then, with gaiety of heart, we fared on, at our leisure. When the forests were left behind, we had before us green fields, sweet streams, mills and homesteads, and a pleasant highroad. We marched slowly on Francezka’s account. Toward noon we passed a cottage, before which a peasant was feeding a stout cart-horse. At the cottage door stood a pleasant-faced woman, with a little army of bright-eyed children around her. By an inspiration it 121 came to me to offer the peasant a gold piece for the use of his horse for Mademoiselle Capello, as far as Uzmaiz. He gaped with delight at the sight of the money. Then, Francezka, blushing, proposed to go into the cottage and put on her own clothes. When she came out, dressed in her handsome robe of brown cloth, richly embroidered, her crimson mantle, and her laced hat, the little children all set up a cry of “Beautiful lady!” Francezka was openly charmed by such innocent flattery. Even our old clear-the-way boys paid her the tribute of an admiring grin; and Gaston Cheverny, like a young fool, showed his rapture.
But in truth she seemed to me as beautiful then as the rosy dawn. We perched her upon her charger, and put off again. Francezka was in the highest spirits, and was a fountain of laughter, like a child. She had seemed completely the woman up to this time, and now she seemed nothing more than a joyful, unthinking child. Never was any merrier journey than the last few miles, before we reached Uzmaiz. I judged that the payment of the ten thousand crowns would about swallow up Gaston Cheverny’s modest estate; but apparently he gave no more thought to it than he did to last year’s birds’ nests.
It was in the middle of the glorious summer afternoon that the fair blue lake of Uzmaiz came into view. As soon as we reached the shore of the lake we were perceived, and boats were sent for us. Count Saxe awaited us at the landing on the island. When Francezka stepped ashore he greeted her as if he had not paid ten thousand crowns out of his military chest for her, so great was the chivalry and gallantry of the man. 122 Nor did he give the smallest indication of the cruel embarrassment it was for a man in his position to have charge of a young and beautiful girl, an heiress of high quality. Francezka herself realized that and spoke to me of it later, with tears in her eyes; but the helplessness of her situation swallowed up, with every man of us, all thought of inconvenience.
The most habitable of the two or three rooms in the old tower had been made ready for her. Count Saxe had given up his own paillasse. Beauvais, who was the prince of valets, had got together such rude comforts as the stores on the island permitted. It is astonishing how much comfort can be achieved by simple means—so said Francezka, when Count Saxe led her into her apartment. It had a window giving upon the old terrace, where the rose trees were now in bloom and the ivy and periwinkle shone darkly green upon the crumbling parapet. From this window, where Beauvais had hung a blanket by way of a curtain, could be seen the blue lake lying between the terrace and the sunset. On one side were the far-off black gorges and purple forests we had left; and on the other, the rich, green-knolled cultivated country, with fields and orchards ripening under the August sun.
Francezka’s arrival scarcely for a moment interrupted the work of intrenching the island. As to her fate, or ours, no one could tell. We waited and worked from day to day, thinking every morning might see the Russians swarming toward us, and our great guns, of which we had four good loud bellowers, to say nothing of smaller pieces, pouring death from their iron throats upon every man who attempted to cross that narrow 123 blue strip of placid water. But yet, the Russians came not.
Francezka to me, in those days, was a marvel. This girl, so rash, and with a secret taste for danger, proved herself to be the most prudent as well as the most modest of women when thrown upon herself. In this she showed that vein of sound sense—Scotch sense, probably—that distinguished Madame Riano in spite of her vagaries. At the end of all Madame Riano’s outlandish proceedings she generally came out victorious with colors flying; or, if she was defeated, she, like Count Saxe, sold her defeats so dearly that the victor was nigh ruined.
Francezka kept herself as much as possible from the gaze of the three hundred and twenty men who were her sole companions on this island. The only time she showed herself was in the purple evening, when she would come out upon the terrace and take the air. That was at the hour when a little time of rest from our labors was given to us. Most of the men spent it in sleep, but not all of us. Count Saxe always took the occasion to go upon the terrace and pay Francezka his respects. So would Gaston Cheverny and a few of the other gentlemen with us. I never went unless I was sent for, but Francezka seldom let an evening pass without beckoning to me, or sending for me to speak a few kind words to me. There was nothing childish about her then. Not the most experienced lady of the great Paris world could have surpassed her in dignity. But withal, she was too guileless to conceal wholly her preference for Gaston Cheverny. They had passed through such adventures together; they had lived a 124 whole lifetime in those weeks of wandering, and it was not strange they had much to say to each other.
At this time, after Francezka had talked with Count Saxe and others a little, she would retire to her room in the half ruined tower. Then Gaston would bring his viol and, sitting near her window in the twilight, would sing to his own accompaniment. The singing helped us all. It made us forget for a while our solitary and dangerous situation—for we looked to be fighting for our lives and dying in the last ditch at any moment. It seemed to make us once more members of the great human family which lives peaceably and tranquilly, and whose breath is not war and conquest and defeat and war again.
One of Gaston’s favorite songs was that old, old one, O Richard, O mon roi, l’univers t’abandonne. There was some mutual understanding about this song between Francezka and Gaston Cheverny. They had sung it together sometimes in those black wastes and wilds where they had spent their time together. Gaston had several names besides Gaston—Richard was one of them; so this song appeared to refer particularly to him. When he sang it I noticed Francezka was always listening at her window, and although the curtain was drawn, and the room dark within, there would be some faint sign, such as a movement of the curtain, which showed that the singer was heard and attended to.
And so the days passed on. Every hour we improved our position, and at last the day came, when Count Saxe said to us: