M. LE MARQUIS LEADS HIS HIGHEST TRUMP.
When I came down in the morning I found we were all ready to start.
Madame was mounted, and de Clermont was standing to assist me to my
horse. It all seemed so strange after the crisis of last night. I had
not schooled myself. I had not had time to meet de Clermont with
unconcern, and overcome by a sudden shyness I declined his aid, and he
said in his cool, level voice:
"You are very proud this morning."
The touch of proprietorship in his tone, which he so often used
towards me, and to which I had hitherto submitted, jarred on me now,
and in a moment my courage had come back. I looked him full in the
face and answered:
"It is necessary to be proud sometimes, monsieur."
Our eyes held each other for an instant, and for the first time I saw
in his clear blue glance an expression of hesitation and surprise, and
I felt that the compelling power of his look was gone, and then--he
dropped his gaze, and stepping back lifted his hat without a word; but
I saw the white line of his teeth close on his nether lip.
Then we started, and de Clermont dropped away to the rear of the
party, leaving Madame de Termes and myself alone. She was full of the
strange song of last night.
"I had heard of his voice before," she said, "but never thought it was
anything like that. St. Siege!" and she gave a little shudder. "I am
an old woman; but it was maddening. I forgot everything. I could think
of nothing except that sorrow in that last verse--the poor man, the
poor man!" And the dear old lady's eyes filled once more with tears at
the recollection. "But it was not a good song," she went on in a
moment, "it was a beautiful evil thing, and he shall sing it no more.
I will speak to him. It is wrong. It is wicked to touch the heart as
that song can. He is very silent and grave to-day. I wonder if it
affected him as it did me?"
But I made no answer, for my mind was full of other things, of the
hopeless love in the heart that I thought so strong and brave, and of
the wondrous power that had come over me and enabled me to be victor
over myself, and I cast up an unspoken prayer that this strength
should be continued to me, and then I found de Clermont once more by
my side.
Madame kept her word about the song, and he said gravely:
"I promise. I will never sing it again. It hurts me, too," and,
changing the subject, other matters were spoken about. In a little I
found myself separated from Madame, and de Clermont, bending forward,
said:
"I have news I should have given before that will interest you,
madame--something you ought to know--of M. de Lorgnac."
"Is it really of importance?"
"I think so. It will remain for you to decide."
"Then what is it, monsieur?"
"I cannot well tell you here. We will let them go onward, and ride
slowly behind."
I agreed silently, and we soon found ourselves at a little distance
from the party. We were descending the wooded valley of the Briance,
and a turn in the forest road left us alone. Then de Clermont, who had
up to now remained silent, began abruptly:
"Madame, it has been given to me to find out the business on which M.
de Lorgnac is engaged, and over which you have been sacrificed. You
are a brave woman--the bravest I have ever met--and I know you will
bear with the bluntness of my speech, for this is no time to beat
about the bush."
"Monsieur, it does not concern me on what business M. de Lorgnac is
engaged. I only ask and pray God to give me some refuge where I may
never see him again."
"Hear me a moment. I think it does concern you, and vitally too."
"Then what is it?"
"Now call to mind your race, and all that can give you strength.
Denise de Mieux, your husband is nothing more than an assassin. He has
been hired by the King and that she-devil the Queen Mother to murder
Navarre. It is a political necessity for them, and they have found an
instrument in Blaise de Lorgnac base enough for their purpose. His
price was high, though--it was you, Denise, and de Tavannes, who is in
the secret, has paid it. How he came to persuade himself to do so, I
know not. He is your uncle, and I will not say anything against him."
I felt as if I had received a blow. There was truth in every line of
de Clermont's face, in every tone of his voice; but I struggled
against it, and said faintly:
"This does not concern me--I am but a wife in name. I shall never see
de Lorgnac. He is dead to me."
"Would to God he were dead indeed!" he burst out. "But there is more.
Catherine is tyrant to her finger nails. She has heard that you have
refused to remain with your husband, and at his request an order has
been sent to de Termes to deliver you up to him at Perigueux. Norreys
has taken that order, and it has already reached him. If you doubt me
here is the duplicate. You may read it for yourself."
He placed a letter in my hands. I knew the seal well. The red shield
with the _palle_ of the Medici--Catherine's private signet. But I
could not read it. My mind became a chaos. "Oh! what shall I do? What
shall I do?" I exclaimed aloud in my despair.
"Denise!" he said, "there is one way of escape and only one, for de
Lorgnac has already made his claim at Perigueux, and you go straight
into the lion's jaws."
"What is it? Tell me."
He laid his hand on my rein. "Denise--put your trust in me and come.
My dear, I love you--I love you. This marriage is an infamy. Vows such
as they made you swear are not binding. Come with me, my dear, and
under the banner of the Emperor, with you by my side to help me, I
will work out a new life, and the name of Clermont-Ferrand is already
known. Denise! Last night I saw the love-light in your eyes. Let it
burn there again for me. Come."
He made as if to turn my horse's head, and it was only with an effort
that I restrained him. God knows I was sorry for the man. I know, too,
that it was in my heart to take the great love I thought he was giving
me, and, forgetting everything, to follow him to the world's end. In
the few seconds that passed, I went through a frightful struggle, and
then the strength of last night came back to me.
"De Clermont! It is impossible; and now go--go. If you say you love
me, go in pity!"
"Denise, you know not what you say! Think, dear! In two hours we will
be safe. In two hours the world itself could not part us. I will not
let you sacrifice yourself. You love me, dear, and you know it, and
when love like ours exists there is no right and no wrong--only our
love."
"It cannot be--it cannot be. De Clermont, you are tempting the woman
you say you love, to dishonour. Let me tell you plainly, I do not love
you. For one moment I thought I did; but I am sure of myself now; and
even did I love you, as I feel sure you deserve to be loved, I would
never consent to--to what you propose."
"_Mordieu!_" he exclaimed hoarsely, "you are not yourself. Come,
Denise. I hear Lalande riding back, and in a moment it will be too
late."
"Let go my reins, monsieur, else I shall call out. I hear Lalande,
too. Go, monsieur, whilst I can still think of you as I always have.
Go and forget me."
His hand dropped to his side, and taking the occasion I struck my
horse smartly with the whip and he sprang forward. De Clermont made no
attempt to follow, but at the bend of the road, as I glanced across my
shoulder, I saw him turn his horse's head and plunge into the forest,
and a moment later I met Lalande.
I could only realize that I had escaped a great danger; beyond that my
mind could not go; but I was conscious that, despite the terrible
earnestness of his words, there was something that was not convincing
in de Clermont. The narrow escape that I had drove all other things
out of my mind, and it was only when I came in sight of our party
again that I recollected de Clermont's warning that by going to
Perigueux I was going straight into the lion's mouth, and an absolute
despair fell upon me.
When I rode up to Madame's side she glanced at me narrowly and asked
for de Clermont.
I answered truly enough that I did not know, and she looked at me
again with her clear, searching eyes. "It is odd, Denise, but do you
know that his lackeys have gone, too? They left us an hour ago--and
now it seems he has gone, too, without a word of good-bye."
"Monsieur made too sure of the success of his plans," I said bitterly,
and Madame's answer was sharp and swift:
"Denise, there is something wrong--what is it?"
And as we rode close together, side by side, I told her every word,
hiding nothing. My voice sounded hard and dry to my own ears, my eyes
were burning, and when I had finished, she said, "Denise, I cannot
believe M. de Clermont's story. I _feel_ it is untrue. Even if it were
true de Termes would never carry out the order about you. He is
incapable of such baseness."
"There is always one way of escape, madame, and I am my father's
daughter."
"And there is a God above, girl. Your father's daughter should never
talk like that."
"Then why does He not hear my prayers?" I said, in impious
forgetfulness. "Is heaven so far that our voices cannot reach there?"
And my dear old friend sighed deeply in answer.
We were to halt at Chalusset for the night, and here confirmation was
received of the truth of de Clermont's story, for an equerry of the
Vicomte's met us here with a letter to his wife in his own hand, in
which he said that our message, the one we had sent from the Gartempe,
had reached him, and that he was hastening forward himself to meet us.
Then he went on to other matters, and his letter concluded with a
postscript:
"_M. Norreys is here with an order from the King, or, rather, from the
Queen Mother. It is very unfortunate, but must be obeyed_."
She first read the letter herself--we were sitting together in her
apartment, in the one inn at Chalusset--and then she handed it to me
with a request to read it aloud to her. I did so; but on coming to the
postscript my voice faltered in spite of myself, and then she bent
forward and kissed me.
"Denise, it will never be. Are you strong enough to do a brave thing?"
"I will try."
"It is clear to me that de Termes' postscript is a warning for you not
to go to Perigueux. I knew that he would be incapable of carrying out
such orders as he has received--and I can read his meaning between the
lines of his message. Denise, you must not be with me when my husband
and I meet."
"God Himself seems to have abandoned me. What can I do--where shall I
hide?"
"I will tell you. My sister Louise is Abbess of Our Lady of Meymac. I
will send you to her. The convent has special rights of sanctuary that
even Catherine herself would not dare to violate--but she will never
know you are there. Yet it is a long journey, and you will have to
cross the mountains. Will you risk it tonight?"
"I am ready now, madame."
"Very well," and, calling to her maid, she asked for Lalande, and when
the equerry came she turned to him:
"Lalande, how long is it that you have followed Monsieur le Vicomte?"
"Thirty years, madame, from the days when Monsieur was a simple
cavalier of the guard."
"And you would do anything for Monsieur?"
"Madame, I have been his man in lean times and in fat--in famine and
in full harvest. He saved my life at Cerisolles, and it was I who got
him out of the Bastille; I have been by his side from the time he was
a simple gentleman to the present day, when Monsieur is a marshal and
a peer of France. You ask if I would do anything for Monsieur. If
Monsieur le Vicomte were to ask me to lay down my life to-morrow I
would do so willingly."
"I believe you, Lalande. Now listen. Madame de Lorgnac here is in
great danger. It is Monsieur le Vicomte's wish that she should be
conveyed to the Convent of Our Lady of Meymac, and we trust her to
you. No one is to know where she is placed. You must protect her with
your life--do you understand? And you must start now--and alone--for
Madame's hiding-place is a secret."
"We could start in a few minutes, madame, and I will do what you say."
"Then be ready in half an hour."
"Madame," and he was gone.
"Do not let Mousette know whither you are bound, Denise. She is a
chattering ape, and, though she loves you, can never keep a secret. As
for de Termes, I will arrange to manage him--and, dear, keep a brave
heart. I would go with you myself; but you know it is impossible."
* * * * *
The moon was just rising when, after taking an affectionate
farewell of Madame de Termes, who had been to me as a mother, we
started--Mousette, Lalande, and myself. Our horses had been brought to
a little gate at the back of the straggling garden attached to the
inn, by the equerry himself, so that we might get away unobserved.
Hither Madame accompanied us, and after giving some further
instructions in a low tone to Lalande, embraced me again and again,
and I am afraid we both wept, whilst Mousette joined in to keep us
company. Finally we started, and I turned once or twice to look back,
and saw the slender grey-clad figure still at the gate, growing
fainter and fainter in outline at each step we took, and seeming at
last to slip away into the silver haze of the moonlight, until when I
turned for the last time, I could see nothing but the winding road,
the ghostly outline of the trees, and the pointed roof of the inn. I
have often wondered if the girls of the present day would endure and
act as we women had to do then. All women have to endure passively.
This will be so for all time unless the world be made anew, but with
us there were times and seasons when we had to act like men.
Last year, when I was in Paris, where I had taken my daughter for her
presentation, a great lady called on me, the wife and daughter of a
soldier, and she reached our house almost in hysterics, because one of
the wheels of her coach had come off, and she had to walk a hundred
paces or so. She was in fear of her life at the accident. And when we
had made much of her and she was gone, my husband's eyes met mine, and
the same thought struck us both, for he came up and kissed me, saying:
"_Mordieu!_ I thank God I am not thirty years younger!"