It was once more night--dark, solemn, and sad: the country was a wide
undulating plain raised high above the course of the river, which
might be heard, swelled by the melting of the snows and the heavy
rains that had lately fallen, rushing on with a hoarse murmur through
its hollow banks. No hedge-rows, as in England, diversified the scene
by daylight, or gave, even in the obscurity of night, that appearance
of care and culture which always brings with it the idea of comfort.
On the contrary, all was bleak, wide, and desolate. The sight lost
itself in the dark expanse, except where part of a distant village
might be faintly seen by a sort of lurid glare that hung over it,
rising in black masses against the sky upon the right, with its tall
yet heavy spire towering above the rest, and where, towards the left,
an indefinite something, confused and vague, rested upon the horizon,
as if the rounded tops of trees bounded the plain in that direction.
Such was the scene through which Louis de Montigni travelled slowly
with Rose d'Albret on the night of the 15th. She was weary, exhausted,
anxious; and he, with his heart sinking on her account, looked forward
into the deep and sombre scene before him, seeking some object to give
hope of repose and shelter, but finding little to encourage or
console.
Suddenly a light flitted along by the side of the village, feeble and
small as a glow-worm's lamp: but still it raised expectation; and De
Montigni said in a low voice, "Surely, that must be St. André."
"Perhaps the King may not be there either, Louis," replied Rose in a
faint tone: "all these reports may be as false as that he was at
Annet. But, whatever be the case, De Montigni, I fear I must stop at
the first houses; for, to say truth, I can go no farther."
"I wish we had not quitted Annet, my beloved," exclaimed the young
nobleman; "but see, there are more lights. 'Tis this orchard that hid
them. Yes, yes! dear Rose, we are at length coming near the camp."
"Thank God!" replied Rose d'Albret: but she said no more; for with the
sense of relief which she experienced at the thought of finding repose
even for a night, were mingled manifold doubts and apprehensions
regarding the future, as well as all the complicated emotions which
might well thrill through a woman's heart, at the idea of presenting
herself before the many eyes of a strange court, under such
circumstances, and at such a moment.
As they advanced, and turned the low wall of a small farm, a new scene
broke upon their sight. The village, which was extensive, stretched
away to the right; and, amongst the gardens and orchards, a thousand
lights were to be seen, either passing along from one place to another
as officers and messengers sped from regiment to regiment, or fixed
though flickering in one place, where the soldiery had lighted fires
to keep themselves warm during the night and to dry their clothing,
wetted by the frequent showers which had diversified the day.
Sounds innumerable too met the ear as they came nearer,--first a faint
noise, then a mingled roar like the rushing of a torrent; and then
various noises began to detach themselves from the rest,--loud
laughter--the merry song--the solemn hymn--the hoarse shout--the word
of command--the call of one companion to another--the hammering of the
blacksmith's anvil--the groaning of the forge--the clash of steel, as
the armourers and farriers plied the busy stroke, repairing arms and
shoeing horses, and once or twice the shrill blast of the trumpet.
No challenge was given as they rode on, for the position of the enemy
was now exactly ascertained, and surprise was not expected; but one or
two of the officers advanced to the side of the road from the
neighbouring gardens, and gazed for an instant upon the passing troop,
to see if they recognised any friends amongst the new comers, as the
light of the watch-fire flashed upon their faces.
Notwithstanding fatigue, anxiety, and fear, Rose d'Albret could not
but feel the excitement of the scene. Sometimes guarded by palisades,
sometimes sheltered by the low walls, sometimes in the open field,
they passed innumerable groups of soldiers seated round their fires,
and just concluding their evening meal. Marks of toil and strife were
on the faces of all, whether of the gay Catholic or the stern and
rigid Huguenot; and no glittering coats of arms, no jewels and
embroidery were there, nothing but cold grey steel, and buff coats,
and caps rusty with long exposure to the rain, and scarred and
weather-beaten countenances, on which, however, sat an expression of
confidence and fearless preparation, which is often an omen of
success.
Round some of the fires the veterans were telling tales of former
wars, and victories long since achieved. At others, one selected for
his voice or skill, was singing; and, whether Papist or Protestant,
whether his song was the gay ballad of the day, or one of the
canticles of the Reformers, it still spoke the fearless expectation of
triumph.
At a slow pace, for the weary horses could hardly drag their limbs
along, De Montigni and the lady advanced till they reached the
entrance of the village; but here a guarded barricade opposed their
further progress; and, as they could not give the word, the soldiers
refused them admission.
"I am seeking the King," said the young nobleman; "send hither the
officer of the watch as fast as you can; for we are very weary and
must have repose."
Even as he spoke, a plain old man, whose dress betokened some rank in
the army, approached the barrier, and replied to the last words he had
uttered by saying, "Good faith, young gentleman! you will find no
lodging in St. André. Two thirds of us are obliged to sleep in the
streets. There is not a dog-kennel untenanted."
"It is not for myself, Sir, that I care," answered De Montigni, "but
for this lady, who in truth can go no further. At all events, I must
see the King, if you will kindly cause him to be informed that the
Baron de Montigni is here."
The old officer gazed in the face of Rose d'Albret with a look of
inquiry, not rude but compassionate; and after a moment's pause he
answered, "I think, Monsieur de Montigni, the King expected you. There
was a messenger arrived an hour ago from the Commander de Liancourt,
and your name was mentioned, I know; but I am sorry to say his Majesty
is not now in the village, and may not return for some hours. You will
find him about a league hence, placing the artillery.--But stay! I
will make inquiries: there may be some orders left for you. Here,
Jacques, run up to the King's quarters, and tell them that Monsieur de
Montigni is here. Ask what his Majesty said about him.--Ah, my poor
young lady, you look tired enough," he continued, as the soldier sped
away; "and yet I cannot ask you to alight and repose yourself, for
every cottage is filled to the door with soldiery--a rude scene for
such as you. I can give you some refreshment, however," he added
suddenly, as if the thought had only just struck him. "Here, D'Avesne,
D'Avesne! run in and get out some wine. In the pannier behind the
door, you will find a bottle of good old burgundy and a horn cup:
bring them hither, quick. There, stand back, good fellows! Did you
never see a tired party come in? They do not want your company."
The last words were addressed to three or four idlers who had
sauntered up, and, leaning their folded arms upon the barricade, were
staring rudely at Rose d'Albret and her companions. They now, however,
walked away with a laugh, which made the warm colour come back into
poor Rose's cheek, as she felt herself the object of scorn rather than
pity. The moment after, the man who had been sent for the wine
returned, and after much persuasion from De Montigni she took some,
though it tasted hot and burning to her parched lips rather than
refreshing. It seemed to revive her a little, however, when she had
swallowed it; and she saw that there would be need of all her
remaining strength: for the picture which imagination had painted of a
royal camp, and of immediate admission to the King's pavilion, and of
a brilliant circle of nobles forming his court, had by this time all
faded away; and she found sterner realities and more homely, but not
less painful annoyances in place.
It was nearly ten minutes before the man sent to the King's quarters
returned; and they seemed hours to Rose d'Albret; but when he did
come, he turned to his officer, saying, "They are to go to the farm at
Mainville; and the King will see Monsieur de Montigni to-morrow
morning. He is to wait there without stirring till he hears more."
"But where is Mainville?" asked De Montigni, almost in despair at the
idea of poor Rose having to travel further that night: "if it be
distant, we shall never reach it. The lady now, as you see, can hardly
sit her horse."
"'Tis half a league, down by the river," answered the old officer:
"but stay--we can help the lady. Have out the hand litter on which
they brought Jules de Sourdis from Dreux. Get out a party of bearers,
Jacques. We will soon manage that for you, young gentleman; and a
crown-piece will make the men go willingly. They will serve for
guides, too; for in this dark night you would never find it. But, in
the meantime, she had better dismount, and rest upon this bench. You
seem sadly weary, lady: have you come far?"
"Many leagues," replied Rose, as De Montigni sprang to the ground by
her side to lift her from her horse. "I thank you much for your
kindness, Sir," she continued, still addressing the old officer. "I do
not think I could ride another hour to save life itself."
Seated upon a bench by the side of the barricade, which had been
opened to give her admission, with the light of a large watch-fire,
and two resin torches casting a flickering glare over the figures of
the soldiery as they came and went, wearied, exhausted, faint, and
sick at heart, Rose d'Albret remained for several minutes with her
fair head bent down, and her hand dropping as if powerless by her
side. At length, however, a light seemed to come in her dark eyes, a
warm and well-pleased smile crossed her lip, and she raised her fair
face towards De Montigni, who stood beside her, with a look of renewed
hope and satisfaction which he did not comprehend.
The reader too may ask what it was that seemed so suddenly to revive
her? what it was that called up that expression of pleasure and
relief? It was not that she saw any friendly form. It was not that she
heard any well-known voice. The cause was in no external things, but
in her own mind. As she sat there, she had felt deeply and bitterly
all that was painful in her situation, with lassitude of limb and
sickening heart, fears, anxieties, and gloomy anticipations, which
every sight, and sound, and circumstance, tended but to increase. Her
thoughts and her sensations had been full of all that is sad and
depressing, when suddenly, she had asked herself, if she could recall
the last eight-and-forty hours, return to the mansion of her guardian,
lay her head on the pillow of luxury and ease, remove afar peril, and
difficulty, and terror, and weariness, become the promised wife of
Nicholas de Chazeul, and give up Louis de Montigni for ever, would she
do it? Her heart answered the question in a moment--no! Whatever she
might suffer, was light in comparison. All that she had undergone, all
that she endured, lost half its weight when she remembered that she
was free--that she was with him she loved; and looking up, as I have
said, in his face with a heart lightened and grateful, she felt that
to share poverty, sorrow, flight, exile, care, with him, would still
have joy enough to compensate for all.
De Montigni could not, of course, see what was passing in her mind;
but still there was a look of affection in her eyes which was not to
be mistaken, which told him that she was thinking of him, and that she
did not regret what she suffered on his account; and, bending down his
head, he spoke those words of tenderness and love which well repaid
her for her endurance and her sacrifices.
Shortly after the litter was brought forward, with four stout men to
bear it. It was apparently a rude and hastily contrived machine, in
which some wounded man had been brought from the siege of Dreux, with
a little sort of tilt over it to shelter him from the wet; but the
lower part, or couch, was thickly covered with dry hay, over which the
old officer cast his cloak; and De Montigni, placing Rose in it,
thanked their new friend warmly for his assistance; and, walking by
the lady's side, issued forth from the village of St. André, and was
soon once more wandering on in the darkness of the night.
The lights were speedily left behind, the glare of the watch-fires
faded, or were hidden one after the other by the windings of the road;
nothing but a faint reddish streak in the sky showed the position of
the village and the camp. The busy sounds of the army too died away
into an indistinct hum, like that of a swarm of bees, and then was
lost to the ear altogether; while the voice of the swollen Eure,
murmuring as it rushed along, was the only noise that broke upon the
ear of night.
The way grew narrower and narrower as they went along, so that it was
sometimes with difficulty that De Montigni kept by the litter. But yet
he would not leave the side of Rose d'Albret, cheering her from time
to time by words of affection and of hope, till at length he saw the
glistening of the water before him, as they descended the steep hill,
on the table land of which, the fields of Dreuy and Ivry are situated;
and in a moment after, a single light, apparently streaming from the
window of some house, showed him that they were approaching a human
habitation.
"That is Mainville, Sir," said one of the bearers. "Ah, you are well
off! for there are comfortable quarters there by the side of the ford:
but the King would suffer none of our people to lodge more than a
quarter of a league from the field, for fear the enemy should get
possession of his ground early in the morning. You late comers
sometimes get the best accommodation."
"Is the enemy so near, then?" asked De Montigni.
"Near!" cried the man, "why, we were two hours in presence this
afternoon; and everyone thought they would have begun the battle; but
none were engaged but the light horse, who had a short fight for the
bottom of the valley."
De Montigni mused for the rest of the way; for he loved not to be so
near a field of battle without taking part in it; and yet he had no
arms but the sword he wore, nor horses in a fit state to bear him
through a long day's fight.
A few minutes, however, brought them to the door of the farmhouse,
where they had to knock for some time before any one appeared to
answer them. The first sight of life within, was the head of a man,
protruded from a window above, with the faces of two women looking
over his shoulder.
"Who's there?" he cried; "is that the King?"
"No, no, Gros Jean!" replied one of the men, who had come with them
from St. André. "The King has something else to do than visit you at
this hour, even to see your pretty wife," and he added a loud laugh,
in which the farmer good-humouredly joined. "Come down, come down,
Gros Jean!" he continued; "these are the people his Majesty told you
he would quarter upon you--two regiments of horse and three companies
of infantry."
"Go along, buffoon," said the farmer; "the King never said he would
quarter anybody on me, but two or three ladies and gentlemen."
"Well, these are they," replied the soldier; "so come down and open
the door, or, on my life, we will break it down. We have got to fight
to-morrow, and cannot stand here talking all night. It's the Baron de
Montigni, I tell you, and his lady."
"Well, wait a minute," said the farmer, withdrawing his head; and in a
few moments they heard bolts and bars removed, and the door was
opened. There was still a little doubt and apprehension in the good
round countenance of the jolly farmer; but the sight of the litter,
with De Montigni standing beside it, clothed in the common riding
costume of the day, speedily took away his fears; and, calling forward
his wife and sister to welcome the lady, he showed every sort of
alacrity that could be desired in providing for the comfort of his
guests.
"Here is a room to sit in," he said, as De Montigni assisted Rose from
the litter, and drew her arm through his own, to give her support.
"Dear heart, lady, you seem tired enough, and as if you had been wet
through too. Take the light, wife, and show the gentlefolks the way."
Thus saying, he led them on into a good wide room, where he and his
farming men were wont to take their meals; and then, opening a door
which gave admission to another chamber, he said, "And here's your
bed-room, with as comfortable a bed as any in all Normandy."
"I shall keep watch in the hall, my good friend," replied De Montigni;
"but Mademoiselle d'Albret will go to repose, I dare say, directly;
for that is what she needs more than anything else, if these two
ladies will kindly give her their attendance. A bundle or two of
straw, thrown down in the corner there, will do for me and my men;
but, as there are seven of them, and hungry enough too, I doubt not,
by this time, you had better give them some wine and some provision.
Whatever I take," he added, in a significant tone, seeing that the
farmer was somewhat confounded at the number of his undesired guests,
"I will pay for on the spot."
Gros Jean, as the Royalist soldier had called him, scratched his round
head for a moment, and then replied, "I thought that you had been man
and wife, from the King's message; but, however, as he said ladies,
and there seems but one, there is another little room up stairs, and a
good bed too, which you had better have, Sir."
"No, no," replied De Montigni, "I will stay in the hall, if you will
give me some straw.--We will be your guard during the darkness,
dearest Rose," he added, pressing her hand in his, "so take a cup of
warm milk, if it can be procured, and lie down to rest for this night,
at least, in peace and security. I must go now to speak to these good
fellows without."
"Let me see you again for a moment, Louis, before I sleep," said Rose,
gazing in his face with an anxious look; "you will not be long
absent?"
"Not five minutes, my beloved," replied De Montigni; and, leaving her
with the farmer's wife and sister, he went out to speak with the men
who had carried the litter from St. André.
Let not the reader think, with the cold spirit of censure which is so
ready at all times to blame everything that is not customary in our
own times and in our own country, that there was aught unusual or
improper in the invitation which Rose d'Albret had given her lover to
visit her in her bed-chamber. In those days, though certainly not
purer than the present--and bad enough are both--the common
reception-room of a lady, especially in Paris, was that in which she
slept. Often before she quitted her chamber, too, in England, as well
as in France, the beauty of the hour received her train of admirers,
in her bed; and, every art of coquetry was displayed, to win or
increase admiration, as she lay in what was supposed to be the
toilette of the night, but which had often cost her and her maids more
than one hour of labour to arrange and render becoming. Such was not,
indeed, the custom of Rose d'Albret, but still the habits of the
country and the period would not have suffered her to feel that she
was committing the slightest impropriety in admitting her lover to her
room, even after she had retired to rest, nor would she have doubted
the safety of her honour in the hands of De Montigni, under any
circumstances of opportunity, or, of temptation. She knew him well,
with that knowledge of the heart which perhaps can only be acquired by
the intimacy of early youth, and she was certain that nothing on earth
would induce him to blemish the being he loved, were there no eye but
that of God to witness his actions.
The first task of De Montigni, when he had found the men who
accompanied him thither, was to reward them fully for the trouble that
they had taken. They had already removed the litter into the road;
and, after having given his own attendants orders to carry in the
little baggage they had brought, he drew the chief of the
litter-bearers aside, and questioned him eagerly as to the hour at
which the battle was expected to take place on the following day.
"Not before noon," replied the man, "for the Duke and his people have
retreated beyond Ivry, we hear; and that's a two leagues' march."
"Then I may have time to get horses and arms," said De Montigni
joyfully. "I must not be so near, my friend, without having some share
in this matter. Here is another crown for you, and if you can send me
down an armourer, and some of those men who generally follow camps
with horses for sale, they may find a good market."
"What arms do you want, Monsieur le Baron?" asked the soldier; "you
will not find them easily. One might get a casque and a cuirass for
yourself, with pistols, and such things, but I doubt your obtaining
much more."
"I must take what can be found," answered De Montigni. "I would fain,
indeed, arm my men, likewise; but, at all events, I will be present
myself, if I go in my pourpoint."
"A dangerous trick that, Monsieur de Montigni," said a voice near,
which the young nobleman thought he recognised; "but you must not try
that experiment. His Majesty monopolizes all such follies as that, and
suffers no one to fight in their pourpoints but himself."
"Ha! Monsieur de Chasseron," said De Montigni, "is that you?"
"It is, indeed," replied Chasseron. "I am here before you, you see;
and I will get you arms, if you want them; but in the meantime you
must do me a service.--Take up the litter, good fellow, and away," he
continued, turning abruptly to the man who had been speaking with De
Montigni; "I will see to what this young gentleman wants. No answer,
but away. Now, Monsieur le Baron--So you have arrived safe; you have
brought the lady with you, I suppose, by seeing the litter."
"I have," answered De Montigni; "but she is well nigh dead from
fatigue."
"'Tis a long way," said Chasseron; "but when I gave the advice, the
King was at Dreux, some seven leagues nearer."
"Even now," answered De Montigni, "I have not been able to see His
Majesty."
"What, he is absent?" said Chasseron; "ay, he is always running about.
Parbleu! I fear the enemy will catch him some day, if he does not get
wiser with years. However, you remain quiet where you are to-night;
the King shall have notice of your being here, for I have a few
friends at the court, and you shall hear from him to-morrow; in the
meantime, I will procure you what arms you need, though, good faith,
you must pay for them yourself, for I have spent all my money in his
Majesty's service, and have scarcely a cross left in my purse."
"That I am quite prepared to do," replied De Montigni; "but I could
have much wished to have seen the King to-night."
"That is impossible," cried Chasseron, in his usual rapid manner. "But
what do you want with him? I will get Monsieur de Biron to ask it for
you; he will see none but his generals after his return."
"I much wished," replied the young nobleman, in a lower tone, "to
obtain his Majesty's written sanction to my marriage with Mademoiselle
d'Albret; but, of course, he will need long explanations and proof of
the contract between her father and my uncle."
"Oh, I know not that," replied Chasseron; "he will be glad enough to
give her to a Royalist, rather than a Leaguer. At all events, we will
try for you. It's as well that, while you are thus wandering about
together, you should have the holy bond of matrimony round your necks,
if you must needs poke your heads into it; and who can tell what
to-morrow may bring forth? God's purposes are dark and wonderful," he
continued, in a more solemn tone. "We none of us know what is good for
ourselves or others. It may please Him, Most High, still further to
chastise this poor land of France, and even the King himself, for
aught we know, if raised by a great victory, might forget his former
character, and prove a scourge, instead of a blessing."
"Oh, no!" exclaimed De Montigni, vehemently, "never believe it. More
than forty years of noble and upright dealing with all men, of love
for his people, of generous forbearance, and high-hearted kindness,
may well be warrant to the most suspicious for his conduct in time to
come. Do not suspect him, Monsieur de Chasseron."
"I do not," replied the other, laying his hand emphatically on the
young man's arm; "but I say still, God only knows what is good and
what is evil for the land of France; and He it is who must decide the
fate of all to-morrow. However," he continued, "it is well you should
be prepared, and we will make the trial for you, whether it succeeds
or not. Good night; I must hasten back, for I have much to do."
He turned away as he spoke; but De Montigni stopped him, saying,
"There was some service you said I could render you."
"Ay, parbleu! I had forgot," replied Chasseron. "There is a young
lady, Monsieur de Montigni, who has been ill treated and injured by
those who ought to have protected her. She is here, in the midst of
the camp; and though, to say truth, I know little of her, yet I am
sure, she deserves not all that has fallen upon her. She has applied
to me for protection and assistance, but I am in no condition to give
her what she seeks, effectually. Were I to send her to the village,
ill tongues might fall upon us both unreasonably. There is no woman in
camp but your fair lady here, and love makes a man kind-hearted
towards others of the sex that has enthralled him. If then you would
give this girl protection, and aid, in case of need, I should feel
grateful, and you would do a good act towards one who, God help her,
has few to take her part. From injury I could protect her; from insult
and grief, it would need much time and attention, to defend her, were
she to take up her dwelling in the camp; and though woman may cling to
man as her support and stay, she has no true companionship but with
woman. Will you then beseech your sweet lady love to befriend her, and
let her pass the night in the farm?"
"Willingly," replied De Montigni; "but where is she?"
"Oh, at a cottage hard by, above," answered Chasseron; "she has been
there since last night; when we had a rougher journey than even you
have had. I will send her down immediately by some of my men, who are
there at the top of the hill. So once more, good night, and God speed
us all to-morrow."
Thus saying he turned away, and De Montigni trod back his steps to the
farm, musing over the request that had been made, and the promise he
had given. It was not that he doubted, it was not that he entertained
suspicions; his mind was too clear and free from that fatal
experience, which mingles the dark drop with the brightest cup of
life, to entertain one injurious thought; but the responsibility, the
care that already rested upon him, was enough to weigh him down. His
anxiety for her he loved, his longing desire to remain with her, never
to leave her, till she was placed in security, contending with his
strong and overpowering desire to be present at the struggle which was
approaching, surrounded him with difficulties enough; and now they
were to be increased by the presence of a third, placed under his
protection for the time, and demanding from any one of kindly and
courteous feeling equal care and attention. He could have wished it
otherwise: but still he felt that he could not have refused, and he
hastened back into the house to tell Rose d'Albret of what had
occurred, and to ask her countenance and sympathy for the stranger.
De Montigni found his men already in possession of the hall, with the
good farmer busily employed in placing food and drink before them,
encouraged to produce the best of his store by his young guest's
liberality towards the bearers of the litter; for nothing flies so
fast as the report of a generous spirit. He passed through them,
without notice, however, and knocking at the door of Mademoiselle
d'Albret's chamber, was at once admitted by the farmer's sister. De
Montigni's tale was soon told; and notwithstanding her weariness, Rose
listened with all that tender interest, which the heart of a kind and
gentle woman, unhardened by either the vicissitudes, or the vices of
the great world, is sure to feel in the misfortunes of a sister.
"Oh bring her hither whenever she comes," exclaimed the lady, as soon
as he had done. "Poor thing, she has suffered as well as we have, and
perhaps far more severely, Louis. I will keep my eyes open till I see
her, though they are heavy; but if I should be asleep, you must wake
me, De Montigni. Promise me that you will."
"If you wish it, dear one," replied her lover; "but these good people
will, I am sure, show her every kindness."
"No, no," answered Rose d'Albret, "I would not have her find a cold
reception for the world. Oh, De Montigni, what would I have given, as
we stood before the barrier at St. André, to have met a woman to speak
kindly to me, and tell me to take comfort?"
"Well, then, I will wake you, sweet, kind girl," said De Montigni;
"but I do not think she will be long; for he said she was hard by."
Perhaps the lover would fain have lingered beside his fair promised
bride; but after a few more words Chasseron withdrew into the hall,
and conversed for a short time with the people who had accompanied him
from Marzay. Scarcely five minutes passed ere the farmer, who had
remained with them, was summoned to the door, and returned the moment
after, with a fair and beautiful girl, in her first youth, who gazed
wildly round upon the strange faces as she entered. De Montigni,
however, instantly advanced towards her, and took her by the hand,
saying, "Do not be alarmed. We are all friends."
"Friends?" said the poor girl, "friends?"
"Yes, indeed," replied the young nobleman; "but come with me, there is
a lady in the next room, waiting anxiously to see you;" and he led her
on to the door. The good farmer's sister was still in the room of
Mademoiselle d'Albret; but Rose had by this time sought her couch,
though she had not yet fallen asleep; and when De Montigni and his
fair companion were admitted, she raised herself upon her arm and
gazed at the stranger for an instant, shading her eyes with her hand.
The next moment, with a look of utter astonishment, she exclaimed,
"Helen!--Helen de la Tremblade! Good heaven, dear Helen, can it be
you?"
The poor girl paused, trembled, wavered for a moment, as if she would
fain have retreated from the room; but then, running forward, she cast
herself upon her knees by the side of Rose's bed, and burying her face
in the clothes seemed to sob convulsively. Rose d'Albret cast her arm
round her tenderly; and De Montigni, seeing that there were deeper
sorrows in their fair visitor's bosom than he had imagined, withdrew
from the room, and closed the door. The farmer's sister followed in a
few minutes, and Helen de la Tremblade was left alone with Rose
d'Albret.