TRUE TO TRYST
On quitting the Countess’s room, Thibault had left the castle by the way
which he had described to her, and soon found himself safe beyond its
walls and outside the park. And now, for the first time in his life,
Thibault had really nowhere to go. His hut was burnt, he was without a
friend, and like Cain, he was a wanderer on the face of the earth. He
turned to the unfailing shelter of the forest, and there made his way to
the lower end of Chavigny; as the day was breaking he came across a
solitary house, and asked if he could buy some bread. The woman
belonging to it, her husband being away, gave him some, but refused to
receive payment for it; his appearance frightened her. Having now food
sufficient for the day, Thibault returned to the forest, with the
intention of spending his time till evening in a part which he knew
between Fleury and Longpont, where the trees were especially thick and
tall. As he was looking for a resting place behind a rock, his eye was
attracted by a shining object lying at the bottom of a slope, and his
curiosity led him to climb down and see what it was. The shining object
was the silver badge belonging to a huntsman’s shoulder-belt; the
shoulder-belt was slung round the neck of a dead body, or rather of a
skeleton, for the flesh had been entirely eaten off the bones, which
were as clean as if prepared for an anatomist’s study or a painter’s
studio. The skeleton looked as if it had only lain there since the
preceding night.
“Ah! ah!” said Thibault, “this is probably the work of my friends, the
wolves; they evidently profited by the permission which I gave them.”
Curious to know if possible who the victim was, he examined it more
closely; his curiosity was soon satisfied, for the badge, which the
wolves had no doubt rejected as less easily digestible than the rest,
was lying on the chest of the skeleton, like a ticket on a bale of
goods.
J. B. LESTOCQ,
Head Keeper to the Comte de Mont-Gobert.
“Well done!” laughed Thibault, “here is one at least who did not live
long to enjoy the result of his murderous act.”
Then, contracting his brow, he muttered to himself, in a low voice, and
this time without laughing:
“Is there perhaps, after all, what people call a Providence?”
Lestocq’s death was not difficult to account for. He had probably been
executing some order for his master that night, and on the road between
Mont-Gobert and Longpont, had been attacked by wolves. He had defended
himself with the same knife with which he had wounded the Baron, for
Thibault found the knife a few paces off, at a spot where the ground
showed traces of a severe struggle; at last, being disarmed, the
ferocious beasts had dragged him into the hollow, and there devoured
him.
Thibault was becoming so indifferent to everything that he felt neither
pleasure nor regret, neither satisfaction nor remorse, at Lestocq’s
death; all he thought was, that it simplified matters for the Countess,
as she would now only have her husband upon whom she need revenge
herself. Then he went and found a place where the rocks afforded him the
best shelter from the wind, and prepared to spend his day there in
peace. Towards mid-day, he heard the horn of the Lord of Vez, and the
cry of his hounds; the mighty huntsman was after game, but the chase did
not pass near enough to Thibault to disturb him.
At last the night came. At nine o’clock Thibault rose and set out for
the Castle of Mont-Gobert. He found the breach, followed the path he
knew, and came to the little hut where Lisette had been awaiting him on
the night when he had come in the guise of Raoul. The poor girl was
there this evening, but alarmed and trembling. Thibault wished to carry
out the old traditions and tried to kiss her, but she sprang back with
visible signs of fear.
“Do not touch me,” she said, “or I shall call out.”
“Oh, indeed! my pretty one,” said Thibault, “you were not so
sour-tempered the other day with the Baron Raoul.”
“May be not,” said the girl, “but a great many things have happened
since the other day.”
“And many more to happen still,” said Thibault in a lively tone.
“I think,” said the waiting-maid in a mournful voice, “that the climax
is already reached.”
Then, as she went on in front.
“If you wish to come,” she added, “follow me.”
Thibault followed her; Lisette, without the slightest effort at
concealment, walked straight across the open space that lay between the
trees and the castle.
“You are courageous to-day,” said Thibault, “and supposing some one were
to see us....”
“There is no fear now,” she answered, “the eyes that could have seen us
are all closed.”
Although he did not understand what the young girl meant by these words,
the tone in which they were spoken made Thibault shiver.
He continued to follow her in silence as they went up the winding-stairs
to the first floor. As Lisette laid her hand on the key of the door,
Thibault suddenly stopped her. Something in the silence and solitude of
the castle filled him with fear; it seemed as if a curse might have
fallen on the place.
“Where are we going?” said Thibault, scarcely knowing himself what he
said.
“You know well enough, surely.”
“Into the Countess’s room?”
“Into the Countess’s room.”
“She is waiting for me?”
“She is waiting for you.”
And Lisette opened the door. “Go in,” she said.
Thibault went in, and Lisette shut the door behind him and waited
outside.
It was the same exquisite room, lighted in the same manner, filled with
the same sweet scent. Thibault looked round for the Countess, he
expected to see her appear at the dressing-room door, but the door
remained closed. Not a sound was to be heard in the room, except the
ticking of the Sèvres clock, and the beating of Thibault’s heart. He
began to look about him with a feeling of shuddering fear for which he
could not account; then his eyes fell on the bed; the Countess was lying
asleep upon it. In her hair were the same diamond pins, round her neck
the same pearls; she was dressed in the same pink silk dressing-gown,
and had on the same little slippers of cloth of silver which she had
worn to receive the Baron Raoul.
Thibault went up to her; the Countess did not stir.
“You are sleeping, fair Countess?” he said, leaning over to look at her.
But all at once, he started upright, staring before him, his hair
standing on end, the sweat breaking out on his forehead. The terrible
truth was beginning to dawn upon him; was the Countess sleeping the
sleep of this world or of eternity?
He fetched a light from the mantel-piece, and with trembling hand, held
it to the face of the mysterious sleeper. It was pale as ivory, with the
delicate veins traced over the temples, and the lips still red. A drop
of pink burning wax fell on this still face of sleep; it did not awake
the Countess.
“Ah!” cried Thibault, “what is this?” and he put down the candle, which
his shaking hand could no longer hold, on the night-table.
The Countess lay with her arms stretched out close to her sides; she
appeared to be clasping something in either hand. With some effort,
Thibault was able to open the left one; within it he found the little
bottle, which she had taken from her dressing case the night before. He
opened the other hand; within it lay a piece of paper on which were
written these few words: “True to tryst,”--yes, true and faithful unto
death, for the Countess was dead!
All Thibault’s illusions were fading one after the other, like the
dreams of the night which gradually fade away, as the sleeper becomes
more and more thoroughly awake. There was a difference, however, for
other men find their dead alive again in their dreams; but with
Thibault, his dead did not arise and walk, but remained lying for ever
in their last sleep.
He wiped his forehead, went to the door leading into the corridor, and
opened it, to find Lisette on her knees, praying.
“Is the Countess dead then?” asked Thibault.
“The Countess is dead, and the Count is dead.”
“From the effect of the wounds given him by the Baron Raoul?”
“No, from the blow with the dagger given him by the Countess.”
“Ah!” said Thibault, grimacing hideously, in his effort to force a laugh
in the midst of this grim drama, “all this tale you hint at is new to
me.”
Then Lisette told him the tale in full. It was a plain tale, but a
terrible one.
The Countess had remained in bed part of the day, listening to the
village bells of Puiseux, which were tolling as the Baron’s body was
being borne from thence to Vauparfond, where he was to be laid in the
family grave. Towards four o’clock the bells ceased; then the Countess
rose, took the dagger from under her pillow, hid it in her breast, and
went towards her husband’s room. She found the valet in attendance in
good spirits; the doctor had just left, having examined the wound, and
declared the Count’s life out of danger.
“Madame will agree that it is a thing to rejoice at!” said the valet.
“Yes, to rejoice at indeed.”
And the Countess went on into her husband’s room. Five minutes later she
left it again.
“The Count is sleeping,” she said, “do not go in until he calls.”
The valet bowed and sat down in the ante-room to be in readiness at the
first call from his master. The Countess went back to her room.
“Undress me, Lisette,” she said to her waiting maid, “and give me the
clothes that I had on the last time _he_ came.”
The maid obeyed; we have already seen how every detail of toilet was
arranged exactly as it had been on that fatal night. Then the Countess
wrote a few words on a piece of paper, which she folded and kept in her
right hand. After that, she lay down on her bed.
“Will Madame not take anything,” asked the maid.
The Countess opened her left hand, and showed her a little bottle she
was holding inside it.
“Yes, Lisette,” she said, “I am going to take what is in this bottle.”
“What, nothing but that!” said Lisette.
“It will be enough, Lisette; for after I have taken it, I shall have
need of nothing more.”
And as she spoke, she put the bottle to her mouth and drank the contents
at a draught. Then she said:
“You saw that man, Lisette, who waited for us in the road; I have a
meeting with him this evening, here in my room, at half past nine. You
know where to go and wait for him, and you will bring him here. I do not
wish that anyone should be able to say that I was not true to my word,
ever after I am dead.”
Thibault had nothing to say; the agreement made between them had been
kept. Only the Countess had accomplished her revenge herself,
single-handed, as everyone understood, when the valet feeling uneasy
about his master, and going softly into his room to look at him, found
him lying on his back with a dagger in his heart; and then hurrying to
tell Madame what had happened, found the Countess dead also.
The news of this double death soon spread through the Castle, and all
the servants had fled, saying that the exterminating Angel was in the
Castle; the waiting-maid alone remained to carry out her dead mistress’s
wishes.
Thibault had nothing more to do at the castle, so he left the Countess
on her bed, with Lisette near her, and went down stairs. As Lisette had
said, there was no fear now of meeting either master or servants; the
servants had run away, the master and mistress were dead. Thibault once
more made for the breach in the wall. The sky was dark, and if it had
not been January, you might have imagined a thunder storm was brewing;
there was barely light enough to see the footpath, as he went along.
Once or twice Thibault paused; he fancied he had detected the sound of
the dry branches cracking under someone’s footsteps keeping pace with
his, both to right and left.
Having come to the breach, Thibault distinctly heard a voice say:
“that’s the man!” and at the same moment, two gendarmes, concealed on
the farther side of the wall, seized Thibault by the collar, while two
others came up behind.
It appeared that Cramoisi, jealous with regard to Lisette, had been
prowling about at nights on the watch, and had, only the evening before,
noticed a strange man come in and go out of the park along the more
secluded paths, and he had reported the fact to the head of the police.
When the recent serious events that had taken place at the Castle became
generally known, orders were given to send four men and take up any
suspicious looking person seen prowling about. Two of the men, with
Cramoisi for guide, had ambushed on the farther side of the breach, and
the two others had dogged Thibault through the park. Then as we have
seen, at the signal given by Cramoisi, they had all four fallen upon him
as he issued from the breach.
There was a long and obstinate struggle; Thibault was not a man that
even four others could overcome without difficulty; but he had no weapon
by him, and his resistance was therefore useless. The gendarmes had been
more bent on securing him, on account of having recognised that it was
Thibault, and Thibault was beginning to earn a very bad name, so many
misfortunes having become associated with it; so Thibault was knocked
down, and finally bound and led off between two mounted men. The other
two gendarmes walked one in front, and one behind. Thibault had merely
struggled out of a natural feeling of self-defence and pride, for his
power to inflict evil was, as we know, unlimited, and he had but to wish
his assailants dead, and they would have fallen lifeless at his feet.
But he thought there was time enough for that; as long as there still
remained a wish to him, he could escape from man’s justice, even though
he were at the foot of the scaffold.
So, Thibault, securely bound, his hands tied, and fetters upon his feet,
walked along between his four gendarmes, apparently in a state of
resignation. One of the gendarmes held the end of the rope with which he
was bound, and the four men made jokes and laughed at him, asking the
wizard Thibault, why, being possessed of such power, he had allowed
himself to be taken. And Thibault replied to their scoffings with the
well-known Proverb: “He laughs best who laughs last,” and the gendarmes
expressed a wish that they might be the ones to do so.
On leaving Puiseux behind, they came to the forest. The weather was
growing more and more threatening; the dark clouds hung so low that the
trees looked as if they were holding up a huge black veil, and it was
impossible to see four steps ahead. But he, Thibault saw; saw lights
swiftly passing, and crossing one another, in the darkness on either
side. Closer and closer drew the lights, and pattering footfalls were
heard among the dry leaves. The horses became restive, shied and
snorted, sniffing the air and trembling beneath their riders, while the
coarse laughter of the men themselves died down. It was Thibault’s turn
to laugh now.
“What are you laughing at?” asked one of the gendarmes. “I am laughing
at your having left off laughing,” said Thibault.
The lights drew nearer, and the footfalls became more distinct, at the
sound of Thibault’s voice. Then a more ominous sound was heard, a sound
of teeth striking together, as jaws opened and shut.
“Yes, yes, my friends,” said Thibault, “you have tasted human flesh, and
you found it good.”
He was answered by a low growl of approbation, half like a dog’s, and
half like a hyena’s.
“Quite so,” said Thibault, “I understand; after having made a meal of a
keeper, you would not mind tasting a gendarme.”
The gendarmes themselves were beginning to shudder with fear. “To whom
are you talking?” they asked him.
“To those who can answer me,” said Thibault; and he gave a howl. Twenty
or more howls responded, some from close at hand, some from farther off.
“H’m!” said one of the gendarmes, “what are these beasts that are
following us? this good-for-nothing seems to understand their language?”
“What!” said the shoe-maker, “you take Thibault the wolf-master
prisoner, you carry him through the forest at night, and then you ask
what are the lights and the howls that follow him!... Do you hear,
friends?” cried Thibault, “these gentlemen are asking who you are.
Answer them, all of you together, that they may have no further doubt on
the matter.”
The wolves, obedient to their master’s voice, gave one prolonged,
unanimous howl. The horses panted and shivered, and one or two of them
reared. The gendarmes endeavoured to calm their animals, patting and
gentling them.
“That is nothing,” said Thibault, “wait till you see each horse with two
wolves hanging on to its hind-quarters and another at its throat.”
The wolves now came in between the horses’ legs, and began caressing
Thibault; one of them stood up, and put its front paws on Thibault’s
chest, as if asking for orders.
“Presently, presently,” said Thibault, “there is plenty of time; do not
be selfish, give your comrades time to come up.”
The men could no longer control their horses, which were rearing and
shying, and although going at a foot’s pace, were streaming with sweat.
“Do you not think,” said Thibault, “you would do best now to come to
terms with me? That is, if you were to let me free on condition that you
all sleep in your beds to-night.”
“Go at a walking pace,” said one of the gendarmes, “as long as we do
that, we have nothing to fear.”
Another one drew his sword. A second or two later there was a howl of
pain; one of the wolves had seized hold of this gendarme’s boot, and the
latter had pierced him through with his weapon.
“I call that a very imprudent thing to do,” said Thibault; “the wolves
eat each other, whatever the proverb may say, and once having tasted
blood, I do not know that even I shall have the power to hold them
back.”
The wolves threw themselves in a body on their wounded comrade, and in
five minutes there was nothing left of its carcase but the bare bones.
The gendarmes had profited by this respite to get on ahead, but without
releasing Thibault, whom they obliged to run alongside of them; what he
had foreseen, however, happened. There was a sudden sound as of an
approaching hurricane--the whole pack was in pursuit, following them up
at full gallop. The horses, having once started trotting, refused to go
at a walking pace again, and frightened by the stamping, the smell, and
the howls, now set off galloping, in spite of their riders’ efforts to
hold them in. The man who had hold of the rope, now requiring both hands
to master his horse, let go of Thibault; and the wolves leaped on to the
horses, clinging desperately to the cruppers and withers and throats of
the terrified animals. No sooner had the latter felt the sharp teeth of
their assailants, than they scattered, rushing in every direction.
“Hurrah, wolves! hurrah!” cried Thibault. But the fierce animals had no
need of encouragement, and soon each horse had six or seven more wolves
in pursuit of him.
Horses and wolves disappeared, some one way some the other, and the
men’s cries of distress, the agonised neighings of the horses, and the
furious howls of the wolves became gradually fainter and fainter as they
travelled farther away.
Thibault was left free once more, and alone. His hands however were
still bound, and his feet fettered. First he tried to undo the cord with
his teeth, but this he found impossible. Then he tried to wrench his
bonds apart by the power of his muscles, but that too was unavailing;
the only result of his efforts was to make the cord cut into his flesh.
It was his turn to bellow with pain and anger. At last, tired of trying
to wrest his hands free, he lifted them, bound as they were, to heaven,
and cried:
“Oh! black wolf! friend, let these cords that bind me be loosened; thou
knowest well that it is only to do evil that I wish for my hands to be
free.”
And at the same moment his fetters were broken and fell to the ground,
and Thibault beat his hands together with another roar, this time of
joy.