STRICKEN.
Outside the door, standing in the dimness of the landing, I found M.
d'Agen. At any other time I should have been the first to ask him why
he had left the post which I had assigned to him. But at the moment I
was off my balance, and his presence suggested nothing more than that
here was the very person who could best execute my wishes. I held out
the key to him at arms length, and bade him release Mademoiselle de la
Vire, who was in the room above, and escort her out of the castle. 'Do
not let her linger here,' I continued urgently. 'Take her to the place
where we found the wood-cutters. You need fear no resistance.'
'But Bruhl?' he said, as he took the key mechanically from me.
'He is out of the question,' I answered in a low voice. 'We have done
with him. He has the plague.'
He uttered a sharp exclamation. 'What of madame, then?' he muttered.
'She is with him,' I said.
He cried out suddenly at that, sucking in his breath, as I have known
men do in pain. And but that I drew back he would have laid his hand
on my sleeve. 'With him?' he stammered. 'How is that?'
'Why, man, where else should she be?' I answered, forgetting that the
sight of those two together had at first surprised me also, as well as
moved me. 'Or who else should be with him? He is her husband.'
He stared at me for a moment at that, and then he turned slowly away
and began to go up; while I looked after him, gradually thinking out
the clue to his conduct. Could it be that it was not mademoiselle
attracted him, but Madame de Bruhl?
And with that hint I understood it all. I saw in a moment the
conclusion to which he had come on hearing of the presence of madame
in my room. In my room at night! The change had dated from that time;
instead of a careless, light-spirited youth he had become in a moment
a morose and restive churl, as difficult to manage as an unbroken
colt. Quite clearly I saw now the meaning of the change; why he had
shrunk from me, and why all intercourse between us had been so
difficult and so constrained.
I laughed to think how he had deceived himself, and how nearly I had
come to deceiving myself also. And what more I might have thought I do
not know, for my meditations were cut short at this point by a loud
outcry below, which, beginning in one or two sharp cries of alarm and
warning, culminated quickly in a roar of anger and dismay.
Fancying I recognised Maignan's voice, I ran down the stairs,
seeking a loophole whence I could command the scene; but finding
none, and becoming more and more alarmed, I descended to the court,
which I found, to my great surprise, as empty and silent as an old
battle-field. Neither on the enemy's side nor on ours was a single man
to be seen. With growing dismay I sprang across the court and darted
through the outer tower, only to find that and the gateway equally
unguarded. Nor was it until I had passed through the latter, and stood
on the brow of the slope, which we had had to clamber with so much
toil, that I learned what was amiss.
Far below me a string of men, bounding and running at speed, streamed
down the hill towards the horses. Some were shouting, some running
silently, with their elbows at their sides and their scabbards leaping
against their calves. The horses stood tethered in a ring near the
edge of the wood, and by some oversight had been left unguarded. The
foremost runner I made out to be Fresnoy; but a number of his men were
close upon him, and then after an interval came Maignan, waving his
blade and emitting frantic threats with every stride. Comprehending at
once that Fresnoy and his following, rendered desperate by panic and
the prospective loss of their horses, had taken advantage of my
absence and given Maignan the slip, I saw I could do nothing save
watch the result of the struggle.
This was not long delayed. Maignan's threats, which seemed to me mere
waste of breath, were not without effect on those he followed. There
is nothing which demoralises men like flight. Troopers who have stood
charge after charge while victory was possible will fly like sheep,
and like sheep allow themselves to be butchered, when they have once
turned the back. So it was here. Many of Fresnoy's men were stout
fellows, but having started to run they had no stomach for fighting.
Their fears caused Maignan to appear near, while the horses seemed
distant; and one after another they turned aside and made like rabbits
for the wood. Only Fresnoy, who had taken care to have the start of
all, kept on, and, reaching the horses, cut the rope which tethered
the nearest, and vaulted nimbly on its back. Safely seated there, he
tried to frighten the others into breaking loose; but not succeeding
at the first attempt, and seeing Maignan, breathing vengeance, coming
up with him, he started his horse, a bright bay, and rode off laughing
along the edge of the wood.
Fully content with the result--for our carelessness, might have cost
us very dearly--I was about to turn away when I saw that Maignan had
mounted and was preparing to follow. I stayed accordingly to see the
end, and from my elevated position enjoyed a first-rate view of the
race which ensued. Both were heavy weights, and at first Maignan
gained no ground. But when a couple of hundred yards had been covered
Fresnoy had the ill-luck to blunder into some heavy ground, and this
enabling his pursuer, who had time to avoid it, to get within
two-score paces of him, the race became as exciting as I could wish.
Slowly and surely Maignan, who had chosen the Cid, reduced the
distance between them to a score of paces--to fifteen--to ten. Then
Fresnoy, becoming alarmed, began to look over his shoulder and ride in
earnest. He had no whip, and I saw him raise his sheathed sword, and
strike his beast on the flank. It sprang forward, and appeared for a
few strides to be holding its own. Again he repeated the blow--but
this time with a different result. While his hand was still in the
air, his horse stumbled, as it seemed to me, made a desperate effort
to recover itself, fell headlong and rolled over and over.
Something in the fashion of the fall, which reminded me of the mishap
I had suffered on the way to Chize, led me to look more particularly
at the horse as it rose trembling to its feet, and stood with drooping
head. Sure enough, a careful glance enabled me, even at that distance,
to identify it as Matthew's bay--the trick-horse. Shading my eyes, and
gazing on the scene with increased interest, I saw Maignan, who had
dismounted, stoop over something on the ground, and again after an
interval stand upright.
But Fresnoy did not rise. Nor was it without awe that, guessing what
had happened to him, I remembered how he had used this very horse to
befool me; how heartlessly he had abandoned Matthew, its owner; and by
what marvellous haps--which men call chances--Providence had brought
it to this place, and put it in his heart to choose it out of a score
which stood ready to his hand!
I was right. The man's neck was broken. He was quite dead. Maignan
passed the word to one, and he to another, and so it reached me on the
hill. It did not fail to awaken memories both grave and wholesome. I
thought of St. Jean d'Angely, of Chize, of the house in the Ruelle
d'Arcy; then in the midst of these reflections I heard voices, and
turned to find mademoiselle, with M. d'Agen behind me.
Her hand was still bandaged, and her dress, which she had not changed
since leaving Blois, was torn and stained with mud. Her hair was in
disorder; she walked with a limp. Fatigue and apprehension had stolen
the colour from her cheeks, and in a word she looked, when I turned,
so wan and miserable that for a moment I feared the plague had seized
her.
The instant, however, that she caught sight of me a wave of colour
invaded, not her cheeks only, but her brow and neck. From her hair to
the collar of her gown she was all crimson. For a second she stood
gazing at me, and then, as I saluted her, she sprang forward. Had I
not stepped back she would have taken my hands.
My heart so overflowed with joy at this sight, that in the certainty
her blush gave me I was fain to toy with my happiness. All jealousy of
M. d'Agen was forgotten; only I thought it well not to alarm her by
telling her what I knew of the Bruhls. 'Mademoiselle,' I said
earnestly, bowing, but retreating from her, 'I thank God for your
escape. One of your enemies lies helpless here, and another is dead
yonder.'
'It is not of my enemies I am thinking,' she answered quickly, 'but of
God, of whom you rightly remind me; and then of my friends.'
'Nevertheless,' I answered as quickly, 'I beg you will not stay to
thank them now, but go down to the wood with M. d'Agen, who will do
all that may be possible to make you comfortable.'
'And you, sir?' she said, with a charming air of confusion.
'I must stay here,' I answered, 'for a while.'
'Why?' she asked with a slight frown.
I did not know how to tell her, and I began lamely. 'Someone must stop
with madame,' I said without thought.
'Madame?' she exclaimed. 'Does she require assistance? I will stop.'
'God forbid!' I cried.
I do not know how she understood the words, but her face, which had
been full of softness, grew hard. She moved quickly towards me; but,
mindful of the danger I carried about me, I drew farther back. 'No
nearer, mademoiselle,' I murmured, 'if you please.'
She looked puzzled, and finally angry, turning away with a sarcastic
bow. 'So be it, then, sir,' she said proudly, 'if you desire it. M.
d'Agen, if you are not afraid of me, will you lead me down?'
I stood and watched them go down the hill, comforting myself with the
reflection that to-morrow, or the next day, or within a few days at
most, all would be well. Scanning her figure as she moved, I fancied
that she went with less spirit as the space increased between us. And
I pleased myself with the notion. A few days, a few hours, I thought,
and all would be well. The sunset which blazed in the west was no more
than a faint reflection of the glow which for a few minutes pervaded
my mind, long accustomed to cold prospects and the chill of neglect.
A term was put to these pleasant imaginings by the arrival of Maignan;
who, panting: from the ascent of the hill, informed me with a
shamefaced air that the tale of horses was complete, but that four of
our men were missing, and had doubtless gone off with the fugitives.
These proved to be M. d'Agen's two lackeys and the two varlets M. de
Rambouillet had lent us. There remained besides Simon Fleix only
Maignan's three men from Rosny; but the state in which our affairs now
stood enabled us to make light of this. I informed the equerry--who
visibly paled at the news--that M. de Bruhl lay ill of the plague, and
like to die; and I bade him form a camp in the wood below, and,
sending for food to the house where we had slept the night before,
make mademoiselle as comfortable as circumstances permitted.
He listened with surprise, and when I had done asked with concern what
I intended to do myself.
'Someone must remain with Madame de Bruhl,' I answered. 'I have
already been to the bedside to procure the key of mademoiselle's room,
and I run no farther risk. All I ask is that you will remain in the
neighbourhood, and furnish us with supplies should it be necessary.'
He looked at me with emotion, which, strongly in conflict with his
fears as it was, touched me not a little. 'But morbleu! M. de Marsac,'
he said, 'you will take the plague and die.'
'If God wills,' I answered, very lugubriously I confess, for pale
looks in one commonly so fearless could not but depress me. 'But if
not, I shall escape. Any way, my friend,' I continued, 'I owe you a
quittance. Simon Fleix has an inkhorn and paper. Bid him bring them to
this stone and leave them, and I will write that Maignan, the equerry
of the Baron de Rosny, served me to the end as a brave soldier and an
honest friend. What, _mon ami?_' I continued, for I saw that he was
overcome by this, which was, indeed, a happy thought of mine. 'Why
not? It is true, and will aquit you with the Baron. Do it, and go.
Advise M. d'Agen, and be to him what you have been to me.'
He swore two or three great oaths, such as men of his kind use to hide
an excess of feeling, and after some further remonstrance went away to
carry out my orders; leaving me to stand on the brow in a strange kind
of solitude, and watch horses and men withdraw to the wood, until the
whole valley seemed left to me and stillness and the grey evening. For
a time I stood in thought. Then reminding myself, for a fillip to my
spirits, that I had been far more alone when I walked the streets of
St. Jean friendless and threadbare (than I was now), I turned, and
swinging my scabbard against my boots for company, stumbled through
the dark, silent courtyard, and mounted as cheerfully as I could to
madame's room.
To detail all that passed during the next five days would be tedious
and in indifferent taste, seeing that I am writing this memoir for the
perusal of men of honour; for though I consider the offices which the
whole can perform for the sick to be worthy of the attention of every
man, however well born, who proposes to see service, they seem to be
more honourable in the doing than the telling. One episode, however,
which marked those days filled me then, as it does now, with the most
lively pleasure; and that was the unexpected devotion displayed by
Simon Fleix, who, coming to me, refused to leave, and showed himself
at this pinch to be possessed of such sterling qualities that I freely
forgave him the deceit he had formerly practised on me. The fits of
moody silence into which he still fell at times and an occasional
irascibility seemed to show that he had not altogether conquered his
insane fancy; but the mere fact that he had come to me in a situation
of hazard, and voluntarily removed himself from mademoiselle's
neighbourhood, gave me good hope for the future.
M. de Bruhl died early on the morning of the second day, and Simon and
I buried him at noon. He was a man of courage and address, lacking
only principles. In spite of madame's grief and prostration, which
were as great as though she had lost the best husband in the world, we
removed before night to a separate camp in the woods; and left with
the utmost relief the grey ruin on the hill, in which, it seemed to
me, we had lived an age. In our new bivouac, where, game being
abundant, and the weather warm, we lacked no comfort, except the
society of our friends, we remained four days longer. On the fifth
morning we met the others of our company by appointment on the north
road, and commenced the return journey.
Thankful that we had escaped contagion, we nevertheless still proposed
to observe for a time such precautions in regard to the others as
seemed necessary; riding in the rear and having no communication with
them, though they showed by signs the pleasure they felt at seeing us.
From the frequency with which mademoiselle turned and looked behind
her, I judged she had overcome her pique at my strange conduct; which
the others should by this time have explained to her. Content,
therefore, with the present, and full of confidence in the future, I
rode along in a rare state of satisfaction; at one moment planning
what I would do, and at another reviewing what I had done.
The brightness and softness of the day, and the beauty of the woods,
which in some places, I remember, were bursting into leaf, contributed
much to establish me in this frame of mind. The hateful mist, which
had so greatly depressed us, had disappeared; leaving the face of the
country visible in all the brilliance of early spring. The men who
rode before us, cheered by the happy omen, laughed and talked as they
rode, or tried the paces of their horses, where the trees grew
sparsely; and their jests and laughter coming pleasantly to our ears
as we followed, warmed even madame's sad face to a semblance of
happiness.
I was riding along in this state of contentment when a feeling of
fatigue, which the distance we had come did not seem to justify, led
me to spur the Cid into a brisker pace. The sensation of lassitude
still continued, however, and indeed grew worse; so that I wondered
idly whether I had over-eaten myself at my last meal. Then the thing
passed for a while from, my mind, which the descent of a steep hill
sufficiently occupied.
But a few minutes later, happening to turn in the saddle, I
experienced a strange and sudden dizziness; so excessive as to force
me to grasp the cantle, and cling to it, while trees and hills
appeared to dance round me. A quick, hot pain in the side followed,
almost before I recovered the power of thought; and this increased so
rapidly, and was from the first so definite, that, with a dreadful
apprehension already formed in my mind, I thrust my hand inside my
clothes, and found that swelling which is the most sure and deadly
symptom of the plague.
The horror of that moment--in which I saw all those things on the
possession of which I had just been congratulating myself, pass
hopelessly from me, leaving me in dreadful gloom--I will not attempt
to describe in this place. Let it suffice that the world lost in a
moment its joyousness, the sunshine its warmth. The greenness and
beauty round me, which an instant before had filled me with pleasure,
seemed on a sudden no more than a grim and cruel jest at my expense,
and I an atom perishing unmarked and unnoticed. Yes, an atom, a mote;
the bitterness of that feeling I well remember. Then, in no long
time--being a soldier--I recovered my coolness, and, retaining the
power to think, decided what it behoved me to do.