AT AMBAZAC.
The road swept onward with gentle curves, at one time hanging to
the edge of the hillside, at another walled in on either hand by
rocks covered with fern and bracken, to whose jagged and broken
surface--whereon purples, greens, and browns seemed to absorb
themselves into each other--there clung the yellow agrimony, and
climbing rose, with its sweet bloom full of restless, murmuring bees.
Sometimes the path lost itself in some cool arcade of trees, where the
sunlight fell in oblique golden shafts through the leaves that
interlaced overhead, and then suddenly, without warning, we would come
to a level stretch on which the marguerites lay thick as snowflakes,
and across which the wind bustled riotously.
As we cantered along side by side, my companion again broke forth
into a joyous song, that sprang full-throated and clear, from a heart
that never seemed to have known a moment of pain. His was a lithe,
leopard-like strength, and as I looked at him, my thoughts ran back to
the time when we first met, on his return from the Venetian Embassy,
whither he had gone when M. de Bruslart made a mess of things. I do
not know why it was, but he singled me out for his particular notice;
and though it was openly known that he was betrothed to the second
daughter of M. D'Ayen, I, like a fool, was flattered by the attentions
of this gay and brilliant cavalier, and day by day we were thrown
together more and more, and a sort of confidence was established
between us that was almost more than friendship. There was, as I have
said, that in his masterful way, that had the effect of leaving me
powerless; and though he could put all its light in his eyes, and all
its tones in his voice, I felt instinctively that he did not love me,
but was merely playing with me to exercise his strength, and dragging
me towards him with a resistless force. In short, the influence of de
Clermont on me was never for my good, and our intercourse always left
me with the conviction that I had sunk a little lower than before; and
it was at times like these, when I met de Lorgnac's grave eyes, that I
felt the unspoken reproach in their glance, and would struggle to rise
again, and then, in the consciousness of my own folly, I felt I fairly
hated him for seeing my weakness. What right had de Lorgnac even to
think of me? What did it matter to him what I did or said? So I used
to argue with myself; yet in my heart of hearts, I felt that my
standard of right and wrong, was being measured by what I imagined a
man, to whom I had hardly ever spoken, might think.
When I make this confession, and say that the influence of de Clermont
over me was never for my good, I do not mean to imply that I was
guilty of anything more than foolishness; but the effect of it was to
sap my high ideas, and I now know that this man, aided by his
surroundings--and they were all to his advantage--took the pleasure
of a devil in lowering my moral nature, and in moulding me to
become "of the world," as he would put it. God be thanked that the
world is not as he would have made it. At that time, however, I was
dazzled--all but overpowered by him, and day by day my struggles were
growing weaker, like those of some poor fly caught in a pitiless web.
The knowledge of all this was to come to me later, when, by God's
help, I escaped; but then I was blind, and foolish, and mad.
My companion's song was interrupted by Lalande, who came galloping
back in hot haste, and in no good temper, to say that the whole party
had halted to wait for me; and quickening our pace we hurried onward,
and found them about a mile further on. To say that Madame de Termes
was surprised at seeing de Clermont is to say little, and I could see,
too, that she was not very well pleased; but he spoke to her so fairly
and gracefully that, in spite of herself, she thawed; and half an hour
later he was riding at her bridle hand, bringing smiles that had long
been absent to her face. He was overjoyed to hear of the Vicomte's
recovery, and said many flattering things about him, for he knew him
well, having served under him in the campaign of Languedoc, and then
he went on to become more communicative about himself, saying that he
was the bearer of a despatch to the King of Navarre, adding, with a
laugh, "a duplicate, you know--the original being carried by M.
Norreys, the English freelance. _Ma foi!_ But I should not be
surprised if I reached the Bearnnois before the sluggish islander."
"Hardly, if you loiter here, Monsieur le Marquis," I said.
"You must bear the blame for that, Madame; but I will add that my
orders are to pass through Perigueux as well, and so, Madame," and he
turned to my friend, "if you will permit Raoul de Clermont to be your
escort there, he will look upon it as the most sacred trust of his
life."
He bowed to his saddle-bow, and looked so winning and handsome that
Madame replied most graciously in the affirmative. A little beyond La
Jonchere something very like an adventure befell us--the first on this
hitherto uneventful journey. At the cross road leading to Bourganeuf,
we met with a party of six or eight men, who did not require a second
glance to make us see that they were capable of any mischief. They had
halted to bait their horses, and, flung about in picturesque
attitudes, were resting under the trees--as ill-looking a set of
fellows as the pleasant shade of the planes had ever fallen upon. Had
they known beforehand that we were travelling this way, they would
very probably have arranged an attack on us; but as it was we came
upon them rather suddenly, and as our party--which had been added to
by de Clermont's two lackeys--was somewhat too strong to assault
openly, without the risk of broken heads and hard knocks--things which
gentry of this kind do not much affect--they let us alone, contenting
themselves with gathering into a group to watch us as we went by; and
this we did slowly, our men with their arms ready. As we approached,
however, and saw their truculent faces, I had doubts as to whether we
should pass them without bloodshed, and begged de Clermont in a low
voice to prevent any such thing. He had drawn a light rapier that he
wore, but as I spoke he put it back with a snap, and holding out
his hand, asked for the loan of my riding-whip--a little delicate,
agate-handled thing.
"It will be enough," he said as I gave it to him, and he began to
swing it backwards and forwards, as if using it to flick off flies
from his horse. To my joy they made no attempt to molest us, though at
one time a quarrel hung on a cobweb. For as we passed, the leader of
the troop, a big burly man, with a very long sword trailing at his
side, and a face as red as the constant dipping of his nose into a
wine cup could make it, advanced a step into the wood, and, wishing us
the day, tried deliberately to get a better look at me, with an
unspeakable expression in his eyes. I saw de Clermont's face grow cold
and hard, he quietly put his horse between me and the man, and
checking it slightly, stretched out the whip, and touched a not very
clean white scarf the creature wore over his shoulder, saying:
"You are a trifle too near Limoges to wear this, my man--take my
advice and fling it away."
"That is my affair," answered the man insolently.
"Precisely, Captain la Coquille. I spoke but for your good. Ah! take
care!" and de Clermont's horse, no doubt secretly touched by the spur,
lashed out suddenly, causing the man to spring back with an oath and
an exclamation of:
"You know me! Who the devil are you?"
To this, however, de Clermont made no answer, but as we passed on he
returned my whip to me, saying, "I am glad I did not have to use it.
It would have deprived you of a pretty toy had I done so."
"Thank you. Who is that horrible man? You called him by name."
"Yes, la Coquille. I know him by sight, though he does not know me. He
was very near being crucified once, and escaped but by a fluke. He is
robber, thief, and perhaps a murderer, and----"
"And what!"
De Clermont reached forward and brushed off an imaginary fly from his
horse's ears.
"And has something of a history. I believe he was a gentleman once,
and then went under--found his way to the galleys. After that he was
anything, and perhaps I ought not to tell you, but in time he became
de Lorgnac's sergeant--his confidential man--and it was only his
master's influence that saved him from a well-deserved death. It was
foolish of de Lorgnac, for the man knew too many of his secrets, and
was getting dangerous. I hope I have not pained you," he added gently.
"Not in the least," I replied, and rode on looking straight before me.
So this vile criminal was once my husband's confidential servant, was
perhaps still connected with him in his dark designs. And then I said
a bitter thing, "Like master, like man. Is not that the adage,
monsieur?" But as the words escaped me, I felt a keen regret.
"God help you, Denise," I heard de Clermont murmur as if to himself,
and then he turned abruptly from me, and joined Madame de Termes,
leaving me with a beating heart, for his words had come to me with a
sense of undying, hopeless love in them, and he was so brave, he
seemed so true, and looked so handsome, that my heart went out in pity
for him. How the mind can move! In a moment there rose before me
thoughts of a life far different from the one to which I was doomed,
and with them came the grim spectres of the vows that bound me
forever, and which I would have to keep. God help me! Yes, I needed
help--de Clermont was right.
We passed on, leaving the gang still under the plane-trees, and soon
came in view of Ambazac, lying amidst its setting of waving
cornfields. Here for a little time we suddenly missed de Clermont and
one of his lackeys, and both Madame and I were much concerned, for the
same thought struck us both, that he had lagged behind and then gone
off hot-foot to punish la Coquille. We were about to turn after him
when he came in sight, followed by his man, and caught us up, riding
with a free rein. He perhaps saw the inquiry in my look, for he said
softly to me, "I went back to pick up a souvenir I had dropped," and
his eye fell on the lapel of his coat where my rose was, a little,
however, the worse for wear. After that he did not speak to me, but
kept by Madame and devoted himself to her with a delicacy for which I
was grateful, for I felt I wanted all my thoughts for myself. At
Ambazac, which we reached in a little, we found good accommodation at
a large inn, although the town was full, it being the _fete_ of St.
Etienne de Muret; and after taking some light refreshment Madame and I
retired to our apartments, to rest until the supper hour, for we were
wearied. We supped in the common hall, but at a small table a little
apart from the others, and de Clermont, who sat next to me, gave
Madame an interesting account of the defence of Ambazac, made by her
husband against the Prince of Conde. It was whilst he was detailing
the incidents of this adventure that, with a great clattering and much
loud talking, la Coquille and his men entered the dining-room, and
began to shout for food and drink. Most of the people in the inn being
common country folk and unarmed, made way for the crew with haste, and
even an expression of alarm appeared on Lalande's face, for our own
servants were but six in number, including the baggage drivers, and
Madame's maid and my own, who, of course, were useless, and two of our
men-servants were at the moment attending to the horses; so that we
were at a decided disadvantage, and la Coquille was not slow to
perceive this.
"_Dame_," he exclaimed, looking towards us, "here is my popinjay and
his sugar-plum. Look you, my good fellow, join those boys there,
whilst I bask in beauty's smiles."
His men crowded round our servants with rough joking, and he, picking
up a stool, placed it at our table, and held out an immense greasy paw
to me.
"Shake hands, _ma mignonne!_ Never mind the old lady and the silk
mercer. There is no lover like a brave soldier."
Madame was white with anger. I had sprung to my feet, meditating
flight, and the villain's followers raised a hoarse shout, "Courage,
captain! None but the brave deserve the fair."
Then de Clermont's hand was on the man's neck, and with a swing of his
arm he sent him staggering back almost across the room. He recovered
himself on the instant, however, for he was a powerful man, and rushed
forward; but stopped when he saw de Clermont's rapier in his hand, and
began to tug at his fathom of a sword. His men, however, offered no
assistance to him, contenting themselves with breaking into loud
laughter. As for de Clermont, he was as cool and self-possessed as if
he were at a Court function.
"Out of this," he said. "Begone--else I shall have you flogged and you
shall taste the _carcan_. Be off."
"The _carcan!_ You silkworm, you cream-faced dancing-master!" yelled
the man, who had now drawn his sword. "Who the devil are you to
threaten _me_--la Coquille--with the _carcan?_ Blood of a Jew! Who are
you?"
"The Marquis de Clermont-Ferrand," was the answer, "and these ladies
are of the household of M. de Termes, and now I will give you and your
men two minutes to go. If not I shall have them stoned out of the
place; and you--you know what to expect. If you are wise you will put
a hundred leagues between yourself and Perigord after this; and now be
off--fool."
The man dropped his sword into its sheath and stammered out, "Your
pardon, monseigneur! I did not know. Come, boys," he said with an
affectation of unconcern, "these ladies complain that the place is too
crowded; we will go elsewhere. At your service, mesdames," and making
a bow that had a sort of faded grace about it, he swaggered off
followed by his men, who took his lead with surprising alacrity. The
people in the inn and our servants raised a cheer, and were for going
after them, doubtless to administer the stoning; but de Clermont put a
stop to this, saying in a peremptory tone, "Let them go; I will see
that they are dealt with."
As may be imagined we were in no mood for much supper after this. My
knees felt very weak under me, and Madame de Termes was trembling all
over; but she thanked de Clermont very gracefully, and he made some
modest answer with his eyes fixed on me, and I--I could say nothing.
We would have retired at once, but de Clermont pressed us to stay, and
Madame, with a little smile, agreed, saying, "I am afraid even after
all these years I am not quite a soldier's wife." So we lingered yet a
little longer and found our nerves come back to us. After that we sat
in the garden where the moonlight was full and bright, and the breeze
brought us the scent of the roses. Then de Clermont bringing out his
lute sang to us. He had a voice such as neither I, nor any one else I
knew who had listened to it, had ever heard equalled. So, perhaps,
sang his old troubadour ancestors, and the sweet notes had died with
the days of chivalry to be born in Raoul de Clermont. The song he
chose was one that was perchance written by one of his minstrel
forbears, and described in that old tongue that we no longer use, a
lover's agony at being separated forever from his mistress. The words
were, perhaps, poor, but there was genuine feeling in them, and sung
by de Clermont, it might have been the wail of an angel shut out from
Paradise. Never did I hear the like--never would I care to hear the
like again, and as the last of the glorious notes died away in a
liquid stream of ineffable melody, I saw Madame's face buried in her
hands, and there was a great sob behind me that came from the broad
chest of Lalande, who had stolen up to hear, and was blubbering like a
child. Then Madame de Termes rose, and hurried off followed by
Lalande, and we were alone, I sitting still with my whole soul full of
that wondrous song, and every nerve strung to its highest pitch,
whilst de Clermont remained standing, his lute, slung by its silken
sash, in the loop of his arm.
"Denise!" he said, "you understand, dear?"
"Yes." I could barely whisper the word; and then he bent down and
kissed me softly on the forehead, and the touch of his lips seemed to
burn into me like a red-hot seal. With a little cry I rose to my feet,
and hardly knowing what I was doing, ran past him, never stopping
until I reached my room. Here I remained as if lost in a dream, with a
hundred mad thoughts dancing in my brain. I tried to pray, but my lips
could only frame words, for there was nothing in my heart; and then I
thought I would seek forgetfulness in sleep. But sleep would not come,
and I lay awake watching the broad banner of moonlight that came in
through the open window, and all the memories of the past awake within
me. De Clermont's kiss still burned hotly on my face, and I shivered
with the shame and the sin of it, for I was another's wife--and Heaven
help me! I thought then that I loved de Clermont. Oh! the misery of
those hours, when I tossed from side to side with dry, burning eyes
and bitter shame in my heart. At last, as the moon was paling, I could
endure it no longer, and, rising from my bed, began to pace the room.
I felt that what I needed was motion, movement--I could not be still.
If I could only pray! and as the thought came to me once more I heard
a little _clink_, and stooping, picked up a small locket containing a
miniature of my mother which I wore round my neck, the gold chain by
which it was suspended having broken in my restless movements. I
opened the locket, and standing near the window looked at the picture,
and as I live it seemed to lighten so that I could see each feature,
with the soft eyes bent on me in pity; and then a voice--it was her
voice--said:
"Denise, pray!"
And then my eyes were blinded with tears, and flinging myself on my
knees with my hands clasped on the mullions of the window I sobbed
out, "God! Dear God! Have pity on me!"
I could say no more, but my whole soul went out with these words and I
knelt there, still and motionless, with the sense of a great peace
falling upon me. Then it was as if the very heavens grew bright as
day, and the light filled my room so that my eyes were dazzled and I
could not see. And I covered my face with my hands to shield my eyes
from the splendour.
* * * * *
When I looked up again the glory was gone, but my soul was at rest. I
stood at the window and let the cool breeze fan me, whilst I peered
out into the darkness, for the moon had sunk and it was now the black
hour that touches the dawn. As I watched I heard the bells of St.
Etienne calling the Lauds across the grave of the night, and I knew
that in two hours it would be daylight, and felt that the Unseen God
had heard my prayer.