WITH a deep sigh, I placed one hand in that of Bug-Jargal, and the other
in that of Marie, who gazed with anxiety on the sadness that had
overspread my features.
“Bug-Jargal,” said I, struggling with emotion, “I entrust to you the
only being in the world that I love more than you—my Marie. Return to
the camp without me, for I may not follow you.”
“Great heavens!” exclaimed Marie, hardly able to breathe from her terror
and anxiety, “what new misfortune is this?”
Bug-Jargal trembled, and a look of mingled sorrow and surprise passed
over his face.
“Brother, what is this that you say?”
The terror that had seized upon Marie at the thought of the coming
misfortune which her love for me had almost caused her to divine, made
me determined to spare her the dreadful truth for the moment. I placed
my mouth to Bug-Jargal’s ear, and whispered in hurried accents: “I am a
prisoner. I swore to Biassou that two hours before sunset I would once
more place myself in his hands; in fact, I have sworn to return to my
death!”
Filled with rage, in a loud voice he exclaimed:
“The monster! This then was his motive for a secret interview with
you—it was to bind you with this fatal promise. I ought to have
distrusted the wretch. Why did I not foresee that there must be some
treachery lurking in the request, for he is a mulatto, not a black.”
“What is this—what treachery? what promise?” said Marie, in an agony of
terror. “And who is Biassou?”
“Silence, silence,” repeated I, in a low voice to Bug-Jargal; “do not
let us alarm Marie.”
“Good,” answered he; “but why did you give such a pledge, how could you
consent?”
“I thought that you had deceived me, and that Marie was lost to me for
ever. What was life to me then?”
“But a simple promise cannot bind you to a brigand like that.”
“I gave my word of honour.”
He did not seem to understand me.
“Your word of honour,” repeated he; “but what is that? You did not drink
out of the same cup; you have not broken a ring together, or a branch of
the red-blossomed maple?”
“No, we have done none of these things.”
“Well, then, what binds you to him?”
“My honour!”
“I cannot understand you; nothing pledges you to Biassou; come with us?”
“I cannot, my brother, for I am bound by my promise.”
“No, you are not bound,” cried he, angrily. “Sister, add your prayers to
mine, and entreat your husband not to leave you. He wishes to return to
the negro camp from which I rescued him, on the plea that he has
promised to place his life in Biassou’s hands.”
“What have you done?” cried I.
It was too late to stay the effects of the generous impulse that had
prompted him to endeavour to save the life of his rival by the help of
her he loved. Marie cast herself into my arms with a cry of anguish, her
hands clasped my neck, and she hung upon my breast, speechless and
breathless.
“Oh, my Leopold, what does he say?” murmured she, at last. “Is he not
deceiving me? It is not immediately after our reunion that you must quit
me again. Answer me quickly or I shall die. You have no right to throw
away your life, for you have given it to me. You would not leave me,
never to see me again.”
“Marie,” answered I, “we shall meet again, but it will be in another
place.”
“In another place! Where?” she asked, in faltering accents.
“In heaven,” I answered; for to this angel I could not lie.
Again she fainted, but this time it was from grief. I raised her up, and
placed her in the arms of Bug-Jargal, whose eyes were full of tears.
“Nothing can keep you back, then,” said he; “I will add nothing to my
entreaties, this sight ought to be enough. How can you resist Marie? For
one word like she has spoken I would have sacrificed the world, and you
cannot even give up death for her.”
“Honour binds me,” answered I, sadly. “Farewell, Bug-Jargal, farewell,
brother; I leave her to you.”
He grasped my hand, overwhelmed with grief, and appeared hardly to
understand me.
“Brother,” said he, “in the camp of the whites there are some of your
relations, I will give her over to them; for my part I cannot accept
your legacy.”
He pointed to a rocky crag which towered high above the adjacent
country.
“Do you see that rock?” asked he, “when the signal of your death shall
float from it, it will promptly be answered by the volley that announces
mine.”
Hardly understanding his last words, I embraced him, pressed a last kiss
upon the pale lips of Marie, who was slowly recovering under the
attentions of her nurse, and fled precipitately, fearing that another
look or word would shake my resolution.