"And after that the words of love you so often spoke to me, what bliss and what anguish they caused me! I was to have made you love me, but you loved me already. I ought to have rejoiced at this, for the success that it promised my purpose. Yet, it was on that account that I shuddered at it; and if it did give me moments of joy it was because it was pleasant to have your love. My heart rose at the thought that I was loved by you, and fell at the thought that your love was to cause your death. Often, for your own sake, I wished that I might fail, that you would not love me; yet for my father's sake I had to wish that I should succeed, had to be glad that you loved me. To make you fall the more easily into the hands of your enemies, I had to show love for you. How easy it was to show what I felt; yet what anguish I underwent in showing it, when by doing so I led you to death! The more I appeared to love you, the more truly I disclosed my heart, yet the greater I felt was my treason! I do not think any woman's heart was ever so torn by opposing motives!"
"My beloved, all that is past forever!"
"In my dreams at Maury, we would be strolling together among roses, under cloudless skies, nothing to darken my joy. Then I would see you wounded, the soldiers of the governor gathered around you and laughing at my horror and grief. I would awake and vow not to betray you, and then I would see my father's face, pale and haggard, and my dead mother's wet with tears for his misery and supplicating me to save him!"
"My poor Julie!"
"And to-night,—yes, it was only to-night, it seems so long ago,—when you held my hand on the dial, and plighted fidelity, what happiness I should have had then, but for the knowledge of my horrible task, of the death that awaited you, of the treason I was so soon to commit! For I and Jeannotte had already arranged it, Hugo was soon to be sent to La Chatre. And then came De Berquin. For telling only the truth of me, you killed him as a traducer. So much faith you had in me, who deserved so little! I could endure it no longer! Never would I look on your face again with that weight of shame on me. God must send other means of saving my father. They demanded too much of me. I would, as far as I could, make myself worthy of your faith, though I never saw you again. Yet I could not betray La Chatre. He had entrusted me with his design, and, detestable as it was, I could not play him false in it. But I could at least resign the mission. And I went, to undo the compact and claim back my honor! I little guessed that he would make use, without my knowledge, of the information I had sent him of your hiding-place. It seemed that, even though La Chatre did know your hiding-place, God would not let you be taken through me if I refused to be your betrayer."
"And so it has turned out," I said, blithely, "and now I no longer regret having kept from you my intention of attempting your father's release. For had I told you of it, and events taken another course, that attempt might have failed, and it would perhaps have cost many lives, whereas the order that I got from La Chatre this night is both sure and inexpensive. But for matters having gone as they have, I should not have been enabled to get that order. Ha! What is this!"
For Blaise had suddenly called a halt, and was riding back to me as if for orders.
"Look, monsieur!" and he pointed to where the river road appeared from behind a little spur at the base of the mountains. A body of horsemen was coming into view. At one glance I recognized the foremost riders as belonging to the troop I had seen four hours before.
"The devil!" said I. "La Chatre's soldiers coming back from Maury!"
We had ridden down the descent leading from the château along the town wall, and had left the town some distance behind, so that the mountains now loomed large before us. But we had not yet passed the place where the roads converged.