NEWS OF THE ARMY.
For two days that succeeded, the kindness and attention of my little
French nurse were undiminished, and on the third a soft dressing-gown
was brought to me, and I found myself seated in an easy-chair at the
open window, with a view of the distant hills, and in a fair way to
convalescence.
Was the pretty _soubrette_ in love with me, or was her peculiar
manner merely the impulsive nature of the Breton, together with
genuine pity for a helpless fellow-creature--a poor young
soldier--whom she had nursed? Of course it was, for otherwise she
would not have spoken so frankly or so frequently of her lover,
Jacquot Tricot.
Notwithstanding the favours then heaped on me by fortune, such is the
perversity of human nature, that instead of being grateful for them,
at times, as I lay there, helpless, wounded, weary and alone,
thinking of the past, of what I was, and what I should have been,
something of the sullenness of despair stole into my heart, and I
actually longed for death to rid me of all further trouble, or care
for the future. But to die there unknown, and so far, far away from
the sequestered churchyard, where in a pastoral glen upon the
Scottish Border, my father and mother lay side by side, with the
green mounds that covered them within sound of the silver Tweed, was
not the end I had so long anticipated.
Though a soldier, I was but a boy; and amid my loneliness in that
foreign land, I wept for the mother of whom I had known so little,
and hoped that from her place in heaven she was watching over me, and
perhaps could see me there.
Thought, reflection, and memory more frequently rendered me fierce
than sad, and then I closed my eyes, as if to shut out the light and
the world itself.
During one of these dreamy paroxysms of bitterness, a soft hand was
laid gently on my flushed forehead. I looked up, and saw a lady--a
lovely young girl--with the soubrette beside me.
She was Jacqueline de Broglie! I strove to rise and make some due
obeisance, but by an unmistakeable gesture she excused or rather
restrained me.
When I had first seen this noble-looking girl, her hair was
dishevelled, her dress was torn and disordered, her face was pale and
distorted by fear, and her eyes red and swollen by weeping. Now I
beheld her perfectly calm, self-possessed, and richly-apparelled, for
her dress was of orange-coloured satin trimmed with black Maltese
lace, and it well became the purity of her complexion and the intense
darkness of her eyes and hair, every tress of which bore evidence of
the skilful hands of Angelique. At first I thought her stately in
bearing and very pretty in feature, but as we conversed, she rapidly
became beautiful, and dangerously so, as her expressive face lit up
with animation.
Her smile was lovely, winning, and childlike; it was the true gift of
nature, but there was a singular combination of boldness and extreme
delicacy in the contour of her features. Her forehead was broad
rather than high; the curve of her nostril was noble; her mouth and
chin full of sweetness and decision. Add to these, a wonderful mass
of rich dark hair, in all the luxuriance of girlhood, and you see
Jacqueline.
She drew in a chair and seated herself near me, while Angelique stood
behind. She expressed her satisfaction to find that I was
recovering, but added that the observance of the greatest secrecy was
necessary; that to save me from the rough peasantry, who were
infuriated by our wanton irruption into Brittany, she had kept me
concealed in a wing of the chateau--a portion appropriated by herself
and Angelique. She mentioned that to deceive alike the servants of
the family, the neighbouring peasantry, and the Hussars of the
Chevalier de Boisguiller, it had been given out that I was conveyed
away in M. le Curé's _désobligeant_ to Dol; while in fact, by the
exertions of the curé and Angelique, I had been supported to my
present room when in a state of insensibility, and had remained there
in secrecy to the great risk of my own life, and of the honour of my
protectresses if discovered. This was the plain and unvarnished
story, though Jacqueline worded it in a more delicate and gentle
manner.
"I am most grateful to you, mademoiselle," said I, "for your
kindness, your charity to me."
"Kindness--charity! Why such cold words? _Mon Dieu!_ monsieur, do
not talk thus. Could I do less than, at every hazard to save and
protect one who saved and protected me?" she exclaimed, bending her
dark and beautiful eyes on mine with an expression of half-reproach
and inquiry which made my heart throb almost painfully, for I was
still weak and faint.
"And I have trespassed, intruded on your hospitality for so many
days. In that time what may have been the fortune of war with my
comrades? And madame your aunt; did she escape that night at St.
Solidore?"
"Yes; fortunately she reached St. Malo by a boat, and has not yet
returned; so at present I am lady supreme here--chatelaine of
Bourgneuf."
"I have been ill--very ill, and must have lost much blood," said I,
as the room seemed to whirl round me; "who has been my doctor?"
"Angelique, with my assistance. There are no doctors nearer than
Rennes, the nuns of St. Gildas excepted, and they could not be taken
into our confidence, though good Père Celestine was. So what was to
be done, but to seclude you here at the top of the house and trust to
Heaven and your youth for recovery."
"Dear Mademoiselle de Broglie, all this was more than I had any
reason to expect of you--more than human kindness! Had I died here,
what would you have done?"
"Prayed for you," was the reply; "but ah, don't speak of such a
thing!"
"How the child talks!" said Angelique; "Monsieur de Boisguiller's
Hussars are playful lambs when compared to our Breton peasants--our
woodcutters and charcoal-burners. They would have torn you limb from
limb had they caught you. _Ma foi!_ yes--and they would storm the
chateau, perhaps, if they knew you were in it, as one would crack a
nutshell to get at the kernel."
"How far are we from the hills of Paramé?"
"About fifteen leagues," replied Mademoiselle de Broglie; "but why do
you ask?"
"Because our camp was there, mademoiselle."
"My poor friend, you are not aware of what has taken place since
fortune cast you almost dying at our door."
"A battle has been fought!"
"No; for the Duke of Marlborough, who lacks the skill of his great
namesake, on hearing that certain forces were marching against him,
under Monseigneur le Duc d'Aiguillon, Governor of Brittany, withdrew
his troops from Dol and Paramé, and retreating with all speed to the
bay of Cancalle, embarked his whole forces there on the 12th of this
month, and sailed for England."
"Are all gone?" I inquired, with irrepressible agitation.
"All--save the dead and you."
"And I am left here!" I exclaimed, overcome with consternation.
"With _us_," replied the lady with a pouting smile.
"True, mademoiselle; my exclamation is alike ungrateful and
ungallant; what matter is one poor trooper more or less."
"However, monsieur may soon see his friends again," continued
Mademoiselle de Broglie, "for they still menace our poor province of
Brittany. So stormy has been the weather, that it was not until the
21st of this month the fleet got clear of the coast of France. On
the 25th it was visible off Hâvre de Grace, which M. Marlborough
bravely enough reconnoitred in an open cutter; but Heaven favoured us
with another tempest, and the British were blown out to sea. On the
27th----"
"Yesterday!"
"Only yesterday, as the Chevalier de Boisguiller informed me this
morning, they came to anchor within two miles of Cherbourg, and
hoisted out some flat-bottomed boats with the English guards to
attack the forts of Querqueville and L'Hommet; but again kind
Heaven----"
"With St. Malo and St. Suliac," interposed the _soubrette_.
"Sent a storm, so the attempt was abandoned, and Monsieur Howe stood
off to sea, where many of his transports were dashed to pieces."
"Many must have perished, and among them may be some of my dear
friends!" said I, sadly.
"I hope not, monsieur. But your people should not have landed in
Brittany, which has ever been the best bulwark of France--'La
Bretagne, Brettonnante,' as we say. When the wild Norseman menaced
our shores, in the days of King Dagobert, it was here they met with
the most bloody resistance. Here Bertrand de Gruesclin routed the
English in the days of Charles VI., and here, too, were they defeated
in the days of Charles VII. by Arthur Count of Richemont, who was
Constable of France and Duke of Bretagne; while in the last century
your fleets were swept from our shores by those of Du Guay Trouin.
So excuse me saying, _mon ami_, that you were most unwise to attack
our old Celtic province of Brittany."
I could scarcely conceal a smile at this little bit of gasconade,
when I remembered how much mischief we had done to government
property, the ships and stores we had destroyed, unopposed by any
armed force save a few hussars; but the loveliness of the lips that
spoke repressed the rising spirit of retort.
"However," she added, smiling, "I am a Parisienne--_not_ a Bretonne."
"And why--why----"
"What, monsieur le soldat?"
"Why banished to this wild province?"
"I am not banished, as you unpleasantly term it," said she,
colouring; "but while my father is at the head of an army in Germany,
he prefers that I should reside here, with my aunt, Madame de
Bourgneuf. But we have talked too long, and I must have wearied you."
"You, mademoiselle!" I was beginning, when she rose and said--
"Another day I will visit you, so, for the present, adieu."
I was no longer the bashful boy who had so timidly confessed his love
to little Ruth Wylie. A few months of soldiering had rubbed the rust
completely off me. Thus, when this French girl, with all her
imposing presence, her long train, and her hair _à la marquise_,
presented her hand to me, I pressed it to my lips with an air so
tender and withal so perfectly confident, that she withdrew it rather
hastily and retired.
I was again alone.
Strange and mysterious was the power that lurked in those lovely
eyes--in the slow droop of the fringed lids, and their upward sweep
when they flashed in smiles upon me.
I lay back in my easy-chair and closed my eyes, but they still seemed
to see the face and form of Jacqueline de Broglie.