A FAREWELL
Gaston de Stainville had been sitting idly on the garden seat, vaguely
wondering why Lydie was so long absent, ignorant of course of the
acute crisis through which she had just passed. For the last quarter
of an hour of this weary waiting, anxiety began to assail him.
Women were so fickle and so capricious! which remark inwardly muttered
came with singular inappropriateness from Gaston de Stainville. His
keen judgment, however, fought his apprehensions. He knew quite well
that Lydie was unlike other women, at once stronger and weaker than
those of her own sex, more firm in her purpose, less bendable in her
obstinacy. And he knew also that nothing could occur within the
gorgeous walls of that palace to cause her to change her mind.
But as the moments sped on, his anxiety grew apace. He no longer could
sit still, and began walking feverishly up and down the little glade,
like an animal caged within limits too narrow for its activity. He
dared not wander out of the wood, lest she should return and, not
finding him there, think at once of doubting.
Thus when she once more appeared before him, he was not so calm as he
would have wished, nor yet so keen in noting the subtle, indefinable
change which had come over her entire personality. Desirous of masking
his agitation, he knelt when she approached, and thus took the packet
from her hand.
The action struck her as theatrical, her mind being filled with
another picture, that of a man motionless and erect, with pale,
expressionless face, which yet had meant so much more of reality to
her.
And because of this theatricality in Gaston's attitude, she lost
something of the fullness of joy of this supreme moment. She ought to
have been happier, more radiant with hope for the future and with
gratitude to him. She tried to say something enthusiastic, something
more in keeping with the romance of this sudden and swift departure,
the prospective ride to Le Havre, the spirit of self-sacrifice and
courage which caused him to undertake this task, so different to his
usual avocation of ease and luxury.
"I pray you, Gaston," she said, "guard the packet safely, and use your
best endeavours to reach Le Havre ere the night hath yielded to a new
dawn."
She could not say more just now, feeling that if she added words of
encouragement or of praise, they would not ring true, and would seem
as artificial as his posture at her feet.
"I will guard the packet with my life," he said earnestly, "and if
perchance you wake to-night from dreams of the unfortunate prince,
whom your devotion will save from death, send one thought wandering
far away across the rich fields of Normandy, for they will be behind
me by that time, and I will sight the port of Le Havre long before its
church spires are tipped with gold."
"God speed you then!" she rejoined. "I'll not detain you!"
She chided herself for her coldness, noting that Gaston on the other
hand seemed aglow now with excitement, as he unbuttoned his coat and
slipped the papers into an inner pocket. Then he sprang to his feet
and seemed ready to go.
Just at the moment of actual parting, when he asked for her hand to
kiss, and she, giving it to him felt his lips trembling on her
fingers, some measure of his excitement communicated itself to her,
and she repeated more warmly:
"God speed you, Gaston, and farewell!"
"God bless you, Lydie, for this trust which you have deigned to place
in me! Two days hence at even I shall have returned. Where shall I see
you then?"
"In my study. Ask for an audience. I will see that it is granted."
The next moment he had gone; she saw the rich purple of his coat
gradually vanish behind the tall bracken. Even then she had no
misgivings. She thought that she had done right, and that she had
taken the only course by which she could ensure the safety of the
Stuart prince, to whom France, whom she guided through the tortuous
paths of diplomacy, and for whose honour she felt herself to be
primarily responsible, had pledged her word and her faith.