There was no sign of life as with difficulty they dragged him out of the
water. His hands were tied together by a handkerchief, drawn to a knot,
as Jacques guessed, by his teeth. His saturated clothes were pulling
him down, and it was the catch of his sleeve in a protruding stake which
had held him for a few minutes, and shown him to his wife's searching
eyes. In the river she had fancied he moved, mistaking the movements
with which it mocked its plaything for life, but on the grass he lay
motionless. Still she kept her presence of mind, and gave directions,
telling the gardener to run to the nearest house across the bridge for
help. It was nearer than the chateau.
"I know what to do," she said, kneeling down. "I have done it before."
"But alone, madame?"
"Go, go, and bring blankets with you."
He went reluctantly, running along the bank without any hope in his
heart. "First his father, and now Monsieur Leon," he reflected. "Poor
madame, it will be the death of her! And what lies behind? I must make
it out to have been an accident, if it comes to breaking down a rail of
the bridge." Help was not at first to be found, and it was old Antoine
who at last started at a run for the spot, while Jacques got blankets at
another cottage. When he reached the spot again, Mme. Leon was so
stiff and numbed that she could scarcely move her husband's arms up and
down, and she made him a sign to watch her and take her place.
"Ah, madame!" said the gardener, sorrowfully.
She did not hear him. She was bending over the motionless body, laying
her hand on his chest, listening. Old Antoine was reflecting that she
had certainly gone mad, and that if monsieur le baron was not drowned
beyond hope of recovery, there would be more sense in rubbing him with
blankets, and pouring brandy down his throat, when suddenly Nathalie
lifted her head. "Keep on, keep on!" she cried to the gardener, "I am
sure that he breathes!"
Twenty minutes later Claire, wretchedly flitting across the terrace,
cried out with terror at seeing a figure swathed in blankets carried
towards the house. A woman ran in front, drenched, ghastly, who cried
out as she came near:
"He is alive! Get his bed and hot things ready!"
Yes, he lived; and when the first moment of relief was over, Claire felt
as if it might have been better had Nathalie not been there to call him
back to dishonour. She did as she was told, but with no eagerness of
love, feeling, indeed, as if all love for her brother had been killed in
her heart. It was not so, for, thank God, love does not die so easily,
but it gave her a fierce sense of satisfaction to believe it.
They did not tell Mme. de Beaudrillart that night how near he had been
to death; though perhaps, poor woman, when she heard that monsieur le
baron, in going to look at the river in its turbulence, had leaned upon
a rotten rail, and had slipped into the stream, she guessed. Jacques
went back at once that night, under pretence of its being unsafe for
chance passers-by, and managed to break down and roughly mend again a
piece of the railing. Old Antoine came by as he was at his work, and
chuckled.
"So you are acting up to your name, Monsieur Charpentier, he, he, he!
Strange that I should never have seen the hole as I passed, he, he, he!"
"Your eyes are not so good as they were, Antoine," said the gardener,
coolly.
"No, that's true; and it's natural the glass of good beer I got up there
should have improved their sight. Well, I'm not a talker."
"I'd keep to that if I were you," said Jacques, whistling, "for we all
know you're a good deal besides. If you don't see all you might, the
saints know whether monsieur le baron has not looked at you with his
eyes shut! There, that will do till the morning. Good-night, Antoine.
You can tell your neighbours that monsieur le baron was leaning over to
see if it was all right, when the rail gave way, and gave him a bad
wetting. And when the next storm blows down a few branches up by the
chateau you may have them for your store in the winter. I'll see about
it. Old fox!" he muttered, as he turned away. "But I think that will
muzzle him. If all else could be as easily put right! Or if one only
knew what Monsieur Leon did it for! But perhaps now he will take it
quieter, whatever it was."
Through the night Nathalie watched her husband, sore misery in her
heart, and her young limbs aching. The latter part of it he slept well,
and when he woke in the morning he was himself again--something more
than himself, she thought, indeed, after he had called to her.
"Nathalie!"
"Dear."
"Is it true? Did you save me?"
"Jacques and I."
He said no more, but lay watching her. Presently he exclaimed: "How you
have suffered!"
She shuddered. She knew that the hours had written on her face with
lines which, come what would, would never be erased. She took his hand
in both hers. "Leon, I want you to promise me something."
"That I won't do it again? Well, I promise. I did not think any one
could care so much. It seemed the best way for myself; but when I was
in the water--" He stopped, and went on in a minute: "It struck me as
rather a sneaky way of getting out of it."
She sank down by his side, and buried her face in her arms. "It was
cruel, cruel to those who love you!"
He put out his hand and touched her gently.
"You really love me so much! Still!"
"Still? Oh, Leon, more than ever!"
She heard him murmuring to himself as if wondering. "More than ever!
Well," he went on, raising himself on his elbow, "I owe you something
for sticking to me. You shall have your way."
With a sudden cry of tenderness and pity, Nathalie flung her arms round
him and sobbed. At that moment what a way it seemed! Was she right?
Could she give him up? She was speechless, thankful, miserable, all at
once, and, seeing it, he tried to jest a little.
"Suggest what I shall put on for the occasion--my best or my oldest
coat! One has no precedent to go by--"