ESPIONAGE
At the extremity of the sycamore walk, the shore formed a bluff like the
one upon which the chateau was built, but much more abrupt, and partly
wooded. In order to avoid this stretch, which was not passable for
carriages, the road leading into the principal part of the valley turned
to the right, and reached by an easier ascent a more level plateau.
There was only one narrow path by the river, which was shaded by branches
of beeches and willows that hung over this bank into the river. After
walking a short distance through this shady path, one found himself
before a huge triangular rock covered with moss, which nature had rolled
from the top of the mountain as if to close up the passage.
This obstacle was not insurmountable; but in order to cross it, one must
have a sure foot and steady head, for the least false step would
precipitate the unlucky one into the river, which was rapid as well as
deep. From the rock, one could reach the top of the cliff by means of
some natural stone steps, and then, descending on the other side, could
resume the path by the river, which had been momentarily interrupted. In
this case, one would reach, in about sixty steps, a place where the river
grew broader and the banks projected, forming here and there little
islands of sand covered with bushes. Here was a ford well known to
shepherds and to all persons who wished to avoid going as far as the
castle bridge.
Near the mossy rock of which we have spoken as being close to the
sycamore walk, at the foot of a wall against which it flowed, forming a
rather deep excavation, the current had found a vein of soft, brittle
stone which, by its incessant force, it had ended in wearing away. It
was a natural grotto formed by water, but which earth, in its turn, had
undertaken to embellish. An enormous willow had taken root in a few
inches of soil in a fissure of the rock, and its drooping branches fell
into the stream, which drifted them along without being able to detach
them.
Madame de Bergenheim was seated at the front of this grotto, upon a seat
formed by the base of the rock. She was tracing in the sand, with a
stick which she had picked up on the way, strange figures which she
carefully erased with her foot. Doubtless these hieroglyphics had some
meaning to her, and perhaps she feared lest the slightest marks might be
carelessly forgotten, as they would betray the secret they concealed.
Clemence was plunged into one of those ecstatic reveries which abolish
time and distance. The fibres of her heart, whose exquisite vibrating
had been so suddenly paralyzed by Christian's arrival, had resumed their
passionate thrills. She lived over again in her mind the tete-a-tete in
the drawing-room; she could hear the entrancing waltz again; she felt her
lover's breath in her hair; her hand trembled again under the pressure of
his kiss. When she awoke from this dream it was a reality; for Octave
was seated by her side without her having seen him arrive, and he had
taken up the scene at the piano just where it had been interrupted.
She was not afraid. Her mind had reached that state of exaltation which
renders imperceptible the transition from dreaming to reality. It seemed
to her that Octave had always been there, that it was his place, and for
a moment she no longer thought, but remained motionless in the arms which
embraced her. But soon her reason came back to her. She arose
trembling, and drew away a few steps, standing before her lover with
lowered head and face suffused with blushes.
"Why are you afraid of me? Do you not think me worthy of your love?"
he asked, in an altered voice, and, without trying to retain or approach
her, he fell upon his knees with a movement of sweet, sad grace.
He had analyzed Madame de Bergenheim's character well enough to perceive
the least variation in her capricious nature. By the young woman's
frightened attitude, her burning cheeks and the flashes which he saw from
her eyes through her long, drooping lashes, he saw that a reaction had
taken place, and he feared the next outburst; for he knew that women,
when overcome with remorse, always smite their lover by way of expiation
for themselves.
"If I let this recovered virtue have the mastery, I am a lost man for a
fortnight at least," he thought.
He quickly abandoned the dangerous ground upon which he had taken
position, and passed, by an adroit transition, from the most passionate
frenzy to the most submissive bearing. When Clemence raised her large
eyes, in which was a threatening gleam, she saw, instead of an audacious
man to be punished, an imploring slave.
There was something so flattering in this attitude of humility that she
was completely disarmed. She approached Octave, and took him by the hand
to raise him, seated herself again and allowed him to resume his position
beside her. She softly pressed his hand, of which she had not let go,
and, looking her lover in the eyes, said in that deep, penetrating voice
that women sometimes have:
"My friend!"
"Friend!" he thought; "yes, certainly. I will raise no dispute as to
the word, provided the fact is recognized. What matters the color of the
flag? Only fools trouble themselves about that. 'Friend' is not the
throne I aspire to, but it is the road that leads to it. So then, let it
be 'friend,' while waiting for better. This word is very pleasant to
hear when spoken in these siren's accents, and when at the same time the
eyes say 'lover!'"
"Will you always love me thus?" Octave asked, whose face beamed with
virtuous pledges.
"Always!" sighed Clemence, without lowering eyes under the burning
glance which met hers.
"You will be the soul of my soul; the angel of my heaven?"
"Your sister," she said, with a sweet smile, as she caressed her lover's
cheek with her hand.
He felt the blood mount to his face at this caress, and turned his eyes
away with a dreamy air.
"I probably am one of the greatest fools that has ever existed since the
days of Joseph and Hippolytus," thought he.
He remained silent and apparently indifferent for several moments.
"Of what are you thinking?" asked Madame de Bergenheim, surprised by
Octave's silence and rather listless air.
He gave a start of surprise at this question.
"May I die if I tell her!" he thought; "she must think me ridiculous
enough as it is."
"Tell me, I wish you to speak out," she continued, in that despotic tone
which a woman assumes when sure of her empire.
Instead of replying, as she demanded, he gave her a long, questioning
glance, and it would have been impossible at that moment for her to keep
a single secret from her lover. Madame de Bergenheim felt the magnetic
influence of his penetrating glance so deeply that it seemed to her these
sharp eyes were fathoming her very heart. She felt intensely disturbed
to be gazed at in that way, and, in order to free herself from this mute
questioning, she leaned her head upon Octave's shoulder, as she said
softly:
"Do not look at me like that or I shall not love your eyes any more."
Her straw hat, whose ribbons were not tied, slipped and fell, dragging
with it the comb which confined her beautiful hair, and it fell in
disorder over her shoulders. Gerfaut passed his hand behind the charming
head which rested upon his breast, in order to carry this silky, perfumed
fleece to his lips. At the same time, he gently pressed the supple form
which, as it bent toward him, seemed to ask for this caress.
Clemence made a sudden effort and arose, fastening her hair at the back
of her head with an almost shamed haste.
"Will you refuse me one lock of your hair as a souvenir of this hour?"
said Octave, stopping her gently as she was about to replace her comb.
"Do you need any souvenir?" she replied, giving him a glance which was
neither a reproach nor a refusal.
"The souvenir is in my heart, the hair will never leave my bosom! We
live in an unworthy age. I can not boast of wearing your colors in
everybody's eyes, and yet I should like to wear a sign of my bondage."
She let her hair fall down her back again, but seemed embarrassed as to
how to execute his wish.
"I can not cut my hair with my teeth," she said, with a smile which
betrayed a double row of pearls.
Octave took a stiletto from his pocket.
"Why do you always carry this stiletto?" asked the young woman, in a
changed voice; "it frightens me to see you armed thus."
"Fear nothing," said Gerfaut, who did not reply to her question, "I will
respect the hair which serves you as a crown. I know where I must cut
it, and, if my ambition is great, my hand shall be discreet."
Madame de Bergenheim had no confidence in his moderation, and, fearing to
leave her beautiful hair to her lover's mercy, she took the stiletto and
cut off a little lock which she drew through her fingers and then offered
to him, with a loving gesture that doubled the value of the gift. At
this moment, hunting-horns resounded in the distance.
"I must leave you now!" exclaimed Clemence, "I must. My dear love, let
me go now; say good-by to me."
She leaned toward him and presented her forehead to receive this adieu.
It was her lips which met Octave's, but this kiss was rapid and fleeting
as a flash of light. Withdrawing from the arms which would yet retain
her, she darted out of the grotto, and in a moment had disappeared in one
of the shady paths.
For some time, plunged in deep reflection, Gerfaut stood on the same
spot; but at last arousing himself from this dreamy languor, he climbed
the rock so as to reach the top of the cliff. After taking a few steps
he stopped with a frightened look, as if he had espied some venomous
reptile in his path. He could see, through the bushes which bordered the
crest of the plateau at the top of the ladder cut in the rock,
Bergenheim, motionless, and in the attitude of a man who is trying to
conceal himself in order that he may watch somebody. The Baron's eyes
not being turned in Gerfaut's direction, he could not tell whether he was
the object of this espionage, or whether the lay of the land allowed him
to see Madame de Bergenheim, who must be under the sycamores by this
time. Uncertain as to what he should do, he remained motionless, half
crouched down upon the rock, behind the ledge of which, thanks to his
position, he could hide from the Baron.