For a while I lingered in the hall, irresolute and almost without
purpose. She whom I loved, and who loved me in return, was wrested from
me by an infamous law, ruthlessly torn from me. She would be borne away
before my eyes, and I might, perhaps, never behold her again. Probable
enough was this thought--I might never behold her again! Lost to me,
more hopelessly lost, than if she had become the _bride_ of another.
Far more hopelessly lost. Then, at least, she would have been free to
think, to act, to go abroad, to --. Then I might have hoped to meet her
again, to see her, to gaze upon her, even if only at a distance, to
worship her in the secret silence of my heart, to console myself with
the belief that she still loved me. Yes; the bride, the wife of
another! Even that I could have borne with calmness. But now, not the
bride of another, but the _slave_, the forced, unwilling _leman_, and
that other--. Oh! how my heart writhed under its horrible imaginings!
What next? How was I to act? Resign myself to the situation? Make no
further effort to recover, to save her?
No! It had not come to that. Discouraging as the prospect was, a ray
of hope was visible; one ray yet illumed the dark future, sustaining and
bracing my mind for further action.
The plan was still undefined; but the purpose had been formed, and that
purpose was to free Aurore, to make her mine _at every hazard_! I
thought no longer of buying her. I knew that Gayarre had become her
owner. I felt satisfied that to purchase her was no longer possible.
He who had paid such an enormous sum would not be likely to part with
her at any price. My whole fortune would not suffice. I gave not a
thought to it. I felt certain it would be impossible.
Far different was the resolve that was already forming itself in my
mind, and cheering me with new hopes. Forming itself, do I say? It had
already taken a definite shape, even before the echoes of the salesman's
voice had died upon my ears! With the clink of his hammer my mind was
made up. The purpose was formed; it was only the _plan_ that remained
indefinite.
I had resolved to outrage the laws--to become thief or robber, whichever
it might please circumstances to make me. I had resolved to _steal my
betrothed_!
Disgrace there might be--danger I knew there was, not only to my
liberty, but my life. I cared but little about the disgrace; I recked
not of the danger. My purpose was fixed--my determination taken.
Brief had been the mental process that conducted me to this
determination--the more brief that the thought had passed through my
mind before--the more brief that I believed there was positively no
other means I could adopt. It was the only course of action left me--
either that, or yield up all that I loved without a struggle--and,
passion-led as I was, I was not going to yield. Certain disgrace,--even
death itself, appeared more welcome than this alternative.
I had formed not yet the shadow of a plan. That, must be thought of
afterwards; but even at that moment was action required. My poor heart
was on the rack; I could not bear the thought that a single night should
pass and she under the same roof with that hideous man!
Wherever she should pass the night, I was determined that I should not
be far-distant from her. Walls might separate us, but she should know I
was near. Just that much of a plan _had_ I thought of.
Stepping to a retired spot, I took out my note-book, and wrote upon one
of its leaves:
"_Ce soir viendrai_!--Edouard."
I had no time to be more particular, for I feared every moment she would
be hurried out of my sight. I tore out the leaf; and, hastily folding
it, returned to the entrance of the Rotundo.
Just as I got back to the door a hackney-carriage drove up, and halted
in front. I conjectured its use, and lost no time in providing another
from a stand close by. This done, I returned within the hall. I was
yet in time. As I entered, I saw Aurore being led away from the
rostrum.
I pressed into the crowd, and stood in such a position that she would
have to pass near me. And she did so, our hands met, and the note
parted from my fingers. There was no time for a further recognition--
not even a love-pressure--for the moment after she was hurried on
through the crowd, and the carriage-door closed after her.
The mulatto girl accompanied her, and another of the female slaves. All
were put into the carriage. The negro-dealer climbed to the box
alongside the coachman, and the vehicle rattled off over the stony
pavement.
A word to my driver was enough, who, giving the whip to his horses,
followed at like speed.