AGAIN we started. Rask, who, during our conversation, had shown frequent
signs of impatience to renew his journey, bounded joyously before us. We
plunged into a virgin forest, and after half an hour’s walking we came
out on a grassy opening in the wood. On one side was a waterfall dashing
over rugged rocks, whilst the primeval trees of the forest surrounded it
on all sides. Amongst the rocks was a cave, the grey face of which was
shrouded by a mass of climbing plants. Rask ran towards it barking, but
at a sign from Pierrot he became silent, and the latter taking me by the
hand led me without a word to the entrance of the cave.
A woman with her back towards the light was seated on a mat: at the
sound of our steps she turned——my friends——it was Marie! She wore
the same white dress that she had done on the day of our marriage, and
the wreath of orange blossoms was still on her head. She recognized me
in a moment, and with a cry of joy threw herself into my arms. I was
speechless with surprise and emotion. At her cry an old woman carrying a
child in her arms hurried from an inner chamber formed in the depth of
the cave, she was Marie’s nurse, and she carried my uncle’s youngest
child.
Pierrot hastened to bring some water from the neighbouring spring, and
threw a few drops in Marie’s face, who was overcome by emotion; she
speedily recovered, and opening her eyes, exclaimed—
“Leopold, my Leopold!”
“Marie,” cried I, and my words were stifled in a kiss.
“Not before me, for pity’s sake,” cried a voice, in accents of agony.
We looked round; it came from Pierrot. The sight of our endearments
appeared to inflict terrible torture on him, his bosom heaved, a cold
perspiration bedewed his forehead, and every limb quivered. Suddenly he
hid his face in his hands, and fled from the grotto repeating in tones
of anguish—
“Not before me! not before me!”
Marie half raised herself in my arms, and following his retreating form
with her eyes, exclaimed—
“Leopold, our happiness seems to trouble him; can it be that he loves
me?”
The exclamation of the slave had showed that he was my rival, but
Marie’s speech proved that he was my trusty friend.
“Marie,” answered I, as the wildest happiness mingled with the deepest
regret filled my heart, “Marie, were you ignorant of it?”
“Until this moment I was,” answered she, a blush overspreading her
beautiful features. “Does he really love me, for he never let me know
it.”
I clasped her to my bosom, in all the madness of happiness.
“I have recovered both wife and friend; how happy am I, but how guilty,
for I doubted him!”
“What!” cried Marie, in surprise, “had you doubts of Pierrot? oh, you
have indeed been in fault. Twice has he saved my life, and perhaps more
than life,” she added, casting down her eyes; “without him the alligator
would have devoured me, without him the negroes: it was Pierrot who
rescued me from their hands, when they were about to send me to rejoin
my unhappy father.”
She broke off her speech with a flood of tears.
“And why,” asked I, “did not Pierrot send you to Cap, to your husband?”
“He tried to do so,” replied she, “but it was impossible, compelled as
he was to conceal me both from the whites and the blacks, his position
was a most difficult one; and then, too, he was ignorant where you were.
Some said that they had seen you killed, but Pierrot assured me that
this was not the case, and a something convinced me that he spoke the
truth, for I felt that had you been dead, I should have died at the same
time.”
“Then, Pierrot brought you here?” asked I.
“Yes, my Leopold, this solitary cave is known only to him. At the same
time that he rescued me, he saved all that remained alive of our family,
my little brother and my old nurse, and hid us here.”
“The place is very nice, and now that the war has destroyed our house,
and ruined us, I should like to live here with you. Pierrot supplied all
our wants. He used to come very often; he wore a plume of red feathers
on his head. He used to console me by talking of you, and always assured
me that we should meet again, but for the past three days I have not
seen him, and I was beginning to be uneasy, when to-day he came back
with you. He had been seeking for you, had he not?”
“Yes,” replied I.
“But if so, how can he be in love with me? Are you sure of it?”
“Quite,” answered I, “it was he who was about to stab me beneath your
window, and spared me lest it should afflict you; it was he who sang the
love songs at the pavilion by the river.”
“Then he is your rival,” exclaimed Marie, with naïve surprise, “and the
wicked man with the wild marigolds is Pierrot; I can hardly believe
that. He was so respectful and humble to me, much more so than when he
was our slave. It is true that sometimes he looked at me in a strange
manner, but I attributed his sadness to our misfortunes. If you could
only know with what tenderness he spoke of you, my Leopold. His
friendship made him speak of you as much as my love did.”
These explanations of Marie enchanted and yet grieved me. I felt how
cruelly I had treated the noble-hearted Pierrot, and I felt all the
force of his gentle reproach, “_It is not I who am ungrateful_.”
At this instant Pierrot returned. His face was dark and gloomy, and he
looked like a martyr returning from the place of torture, but yet
retaining an air of triumph.
He came towards me, and pointing to the dagger in my belt, said—“The
hour has passed!”
“Hour, what hour?” asked I.
“The one you granted me; it was necessary for me to have so much time
allowed me in which to bring you here. Then I conjured you to spare my
life, now I supplicate you to take it away.”
The most tender feelings of the heart, love, gratitude, and friendship,
united themselves together to torture me. Unable to say a word, but
sobbing bitterly, I cast myself at the feet of the slave. He raised me
up in haste.
“What are you doing?” cried he.
“I pay you the homage that is your due, but I am no longer worthy of
friendship such as yours; can your friendship be pushed so far as to
forgive me my ingratitude?”
For a time his expression remained stern, he appeared to be undergoing a
violent mental contest. He took a step towards me; then drew back, and
seemed on the point of speaking, but no words passed his lips. The
struggle was a short one, he opened his arms to embrace me, saying—
“May I _now_ call you brother?”
My only reply was to cast myself on his breast. After a short pause, he
added—
“You were always kind, but misfortune had rendered you unjust.”
“I have found my brother once again,” said I. “I am unfortunate no
longer, but I have been very guilty.”
“Guilty, brother, I also have been guilty, and more so than you; you are
no longer unhappy, but I shall be so for ever!”