"A PRETTY BOY!"
"And to be wroth with one we love
Doth work like madness in the brain."
At the door of the house, Black Hawk and Yorke branched off to the
servants' quarters, and I followed them to see what had become of
Fatima, for I had left her standing beside the gallery when I ran back
to meet the savage. I found her standing patiently by the stable door
waiting to be let in, and she whinnied with delight as she heard my
step. I called to Yorke to come and take care of her (for I was in
haste to get back to the house), and at the sound of my voice Leon
came rushing, in great bounds. Together we walked down to the well,
that I might wash the blood from my face before presenting myself to
the ladies. The well was in a low part of the grounds, some little
distance from the house, and it was while I was vigorously splashing
my hands and face that I heard a low growl from Leon. I looked up
quickly and thought I caught the glimpse of a gun, and instinctively I
sprang to one side, that if any one was aiming at me I might cheat him
of his aim. At the same moment Leon sprang with a terrible roar
straight at the spot where I had fancied I saw the metal shining and
where now I was sure I heard the rustle of some one fleeing. I
followed quickly after, for the thought of any human creature in the
power of that great beast in rage was awful to me. Enemy or no, I
would if possible save him from being torn to pieces by a furious dog.
As I ran, I called to him as I had heard his mistress call, and in
French, lest he might not understand English:
"À bas, Leon! Tais-toi, mon ange!" But the words had no meaning for
him in my gruff voice: it was the soft music of his mistress's tones
he understood and obeyed. I heard another furious roar, a wild shriek
as of a creature in mortal fear or pain, and then a shot. I was on the
spot almost before the shot had ceased to ring in my ears. There lay
Leon on the white snow, a dark mass writhing in what I feared was a
death-struggle, and above him stood the chevalier, his smoking pistol
in his hand. I knew as soon as I saw him in Indian costume that he was
the savage who had been the foremost of his band, who had followed us
so closely and had disappeared when I had gone to seek him. It was in
the doctor's garden he had disappeared and lain in hiding to
accomplish the capture or execute a revenge later.
My own pistol was in my hand, and I covered him with it. In that
moment of rage when Leon, whom I had learned to love and who loved
me,--Leon, _her_ dog,--great, beautiful, tried and trusty companion
and friend,--lay dying from a shot from that villain's hand: in that
moment of rage I came near putting an end at once and forever to a
life that I believed could never be anything but a curse to any mortal
associated with it. But the words of Pelagie rang in my ears and
stayed my hand:
"If it is in your power, save the chevalier!"
His own pistol was empty and he knew himself to be at my mercy, and
that his life was worth no more than the snuffing out of a candle;
yet, to do him justice, he held his ground and returned my gaze as
fearlessly as he might have done had we stood with drawn swords, each
ready for the thrust and parry.
The old moon had but lately risen, and, hanging low in the eastern
sky, her level rays fell full on the chevalier's face. It was white
enough, but that might have been the effect of her sickly light
reflected from the ghostly snow; the daredevil in his eyes said
plainly as words, "Do your worst!"
For a full half-minute I kept him covered, and for a full half-minute
he returned my steady gaze. Then suddenly there arose from the house
the noise of doors opening and shutting and the hurried tramp of feet.
I knew what it meant. The shot had been heard and they were coming to
see what had happened. In a moment they would all be upon us,--my
captain, the doctor, young Papin, yes, and Yorke and Black Hawk
too,--and there would be no possibility of saving the chevalier.
He heard the noise, also, and he too knew what it meant. For one
instant his eyes wavered and he looked as if he would turn and run,
spite of my threatening pistol. Only for an instant, and then he drew
himself up proudly and threw back his head.
"Fire, Monsieur," he said: "Why do you wait to let others share the
glory?"
For answer I lowered my pistol.
"Monsieur," I said, "you richly deserve death, and for a moment you
were in deadly peril; but Mademoiselle Pelagie, whom you would basely
wrong, pleads for you, and I spare your life at her intercession. If
you will turn and run directly south, there is a low place in the
wall, and on this side a pile of logs by which you may easily scale
it, and almost directly opposite a narrow opening in the stockade
through which you can force your way. But you must run for your life.
I will remain here and do what I can to prevent pursuit; 'twill be no
easy matter to keep Black Hawk off your trail."
Yet he did not start at once. He hesitated and his eyes fell; then he
looked up quickly and half extended his hand.
"Monsieur, you have been a generous foe; will you permit that I clasp
your hand?"
But a flood of memories rushed over me: his unswording me in the
dance; his attempt to steal mademoiselle at the picnic and to poison
her mind against her friends; this second attempt, where it was
through no fault of his that we were not all dead men and mademoiselle
far on her way to Cape Girardeau, in the power of savages and a
villain more to be dreaded than they. I put my hand behind me and said
coldly:
"My hand belongs to my friends and to a foe whom I can honor.
Monsieur, if you tarry longer, I will not be responsible for your
life."
Even in the pale light I could see the deep flush sweep his cheek and
his hand spring involuntarily to his sword-hilt. But he thought better
of it, turned, and strode quickly away toward the low spot in the
stone wall.
Then I had leisure to think of poor Leon. I knelt down beside him,
where a dark pool was rapidly widening in the white snow. I could see
where the red fountain gushed from a wound in his shoulder. It was
possible no vital part had been touched and he might be saved could
that gushing fountain of life-blood be stanched. As it was, his eyes
were already glazing and his limbs stiffening and his breath coming in
long-drawn sobs, like a man in extremity. He was like to breathe his
last before even those hurrying feet, fast drawing near, should reach
him. I knew enough of surgery to know that I must apply a tight
bandage above the wound; but where should I find a bandage? My flimsy
lace handkerchief was worse than useless. There was no help for it:
the purple silken sword-sash, of which I was mightily proud, whose
long fringed ends, tied in a graceful knot, fell almost to my knees,
must be sacrificed. I hastily unknotted it, and tenderly as possible,
that I might not hurt the poor fellow more than needs must (for his
flesh quivered under my touch), I bound it round the shoulder and with
all my strength drew it tight. Quickly the gushing fountain stayed,
and then taking from my pocket a flask that my mother herself had
always bid me carry, I forced a few drops into his fast-setting jaws.
I knew I had done the right thing when, by the time they had all come
up, Leon had lifted his head and was feebly licking my hand.
Their first exclamations of horror were followed by a hail of
questions:
"Who has done this?" "Where is he?" "Did you see him?" "How did it
happen?"
To all their questions I made but one answer:
"I heard the shot, and ran up to find Leon lying on the ground, dying
as I believed, and I have done what I could to help him."
"And you have saved his life, or, at least, if he lives, he will have
only you to thank," said Dr. Saugrain, who had been on his knees
beside Leon, examining him.
"You and your silken sash," he added, with the old twinkle of his eye.
"'Twas a noble sacrifice, and we all appreciate how great a one."
The good doctor was ever twitting me on what he was pleased to call my
love of dress; but I made him no answer this time, for I was watching
Black Hawk, who, with an Indian's cunning, had at once discovered the
footprints in the snow and that there was but one pair of them, and
was stealing off after them. That would never do.
"Great Chief," I cried, "'tis no use following the Red Dog; he has had
too long a start. Will you help us to carry the dog of La Petite to
the house, where we can put him in a warm bed? 'Twill never do to let
him lie in the snow, and 'twill take us all to carry him comfortably."
Black Hawk hesitated, and then grunted out an unwilling consent. I
think it seemed to him somewhat beneath the dignity of a great chief
to carry a dog, and only because of his love for La Petite did he
bring his mind to it. Nor did my little fiction about the Red Dog
deceive him.
"No Red Dog," he grunted. "White Wolf! Trail fresh. Black Hawk bring
his scalp to La Petite."
But the doctor saved me the necessity of arguing further with him.
"Red Dog or White Wolf, Black Hawk," he said, "n'importe! 'Tis the
mastiff we must look to now. A sad day 'twould be for all of us should
he die; so lend a hand, vite, vite!"
And this from the doctor, who had told me when I first met him he
would not have cared had I killed Leon, for he loved him not. The
truth was that the doctor's devotion to Leon and Leon's to him were
second only to the devotion of the dog and his mistress to each other,
though, owing to the fact that Leon often stalked into his laboratory
at inopportune moments, sometimes spoiling the most delicate
experiment by poking his great inquisitive muzzle where it did not
belong, the doctor's patience was sometimes tried almost beyond the
limit of endurance.
The doctor's exhortation, uttered in a sharp and clipping way peculiar
to him when excited, was effectual. Very tenderly between us all we
managed to lift the mastiff, and bore him to the negroes' quarters,
where, in Narcisse's cabin, we made him a warm bed and washed and
dressed his wound, and left him in a fair way to recovery.
I was a little behind the others in reaching the house, for I had
delayed about some last arrangements for Leon's comfort, and then it
had been necessary that I should make a hasty toilet. Hands and face
were soiled with blood and grime (my purple velvets I feared were
ruined forever, but I would not take the time to change them), and my
hair was in much disorder. A hasty scrubbing of hands and face and a
retying of my hair-ribbon to try to confine the rebellious yellow
curls that were tumbling all over my head, and that I so much
despised, were all I permitted myself time for. Yet the few minutes I
had lingered had been long enough for the launching of a thunderbolt,
and I arrived just at the moment to see the havoc it had made.
Mademoiselle in her ball-dress had thrown herself on her knees beside
madame, her white arms flung around madame's neck, her face buried in
her motherly bosom, sobbing piteously. Madame gently stroked the dark
curls, saying over and over only the same words, "My child, my child,
my poor child!" while the tears flowed down her own cheeks all
unnoticed.
The doctor stood beside her, patting as he could her white arm or dark
curls or tender cheek, and saying helplessly:
"Voilà, voilà! Quoi donc! N'importe, n'importe!" and many other as
senseless words, and growing every moment more hopeless and helpless
as mademoiselle but wept the more bitterly.
On the other side of the room stood young Papin, pale and rigid as if
carved in stone, his eyes fixed on mademoiselle. I feared that for him
too it had been a bitter blow, for I could not doubt that it was the
announcement of mademoiselle's departure on the morrow that had
created such consternation.
The captain had discreetly turned his back and was looking out of the
window. At the sound of my entrance he turned and beckoned me to him.
"I fear 'twill never do," he whispered; "the maiden is breaking her
heart."
As if she had heard his words, mademoiselle lifted her head, and
though her face was tear-stained and her hair hanging in disheveled
locks about it, it was still the most beautiful face I had ever seen.
At sight of me she flung her head back, and her eyes flashed. She
extended one round white arm toward me, and in tones of bitter scorn
she exclaimed:
"It is you, you, Monsieur, who have done this! I will not leave my
guardians and my home and go away with you! You would not hear of my
going with the chevalier, yet he was a French gentleman, and not
merely a pretty boy!"
Madame and the doctor tried in vain to stop her tirade. She was in a
fury; such blazing eyes, such crimson cheeks, and voice quivering with
scorn. For a moment I was abashed and would have liked to slink out of
sight. But when she was so ungenerous as to call me "a pretty boy,"
the fire returned to my heart, and I too drew myself up proudly.
"Mademoiselle, listen to me!" I said sternly. "I have but a few
minutes ago spared the chevalier's life when I had him at my mercy,
and shown him the way to escape from your friends here, who were
running at the sound of his shot, and who, had they found him in Dr.
Saugrain's grounds, would have made short work with him, I fear." (I
could not but note out of the corner of my eye while I was speaking
the quick start of young Papin at this announcement, the eager
interest of my captain, and the doctor's look of dismay.)
"I spared him, and I told him that I spared him, only because you had
begged me to do my utmost to save him if he should ever fall into my
power. I cannot believe that he would have treated me or any one of
your friends with the like courtesy. He is now well on his way to Cape
Girardeau, but I think he is not gone so far but that he can be easily
overtaken. Black Hawk is ready to set out at once; indeed, it is with
much difficulty that I have restrained him from so doing. Then, if you
desire it, and Dr. Saugrain and madame approve, you can return to
France under the chevalier's protection."
I lifted my hand as the doctor and his wife both started to speak.
"Nay, my friends, permit that mademoiselle first tells me her
pleasure."
Then, as mademoiselle (whose eyes were no longer flashing with scorn,
but regarding me with the same wonder I had seen in them before) did
not speak, I said, if possible with greater sternness:
"Speak at once, mademoiselle: shall we send for the chevalier and
bring him back? There is no time to be lost; every minute is carrying
him away from you as fast as a very good pair of legs for running can
take him."
I hope I did not exceed the limits of courtesy in so speaking of the
chevalier, but it was hard to resist a little fling at the "French
gentleman" to whom the "pretty boy" had been so disparagingly
compared. I caught a twinkle in the doctor's eye and a fleeting smile
on young Papin's face and on my captain's, but I looked only at
mademoiselle. She was meek enough now, but she no longer looked at me;
her dark lashes were sweeping her cheek.
"You need not send for him," she said.
"Then, mademoiselle," I went on, a little more gently, "it seems to me
and to your friends that the only other way to return to France is the
way we have planned. You will be as safe under Captain Clarke's care
as you would be under Dr. Saugrain's. He will take you to his sister,
Mrs. O'Fallon, who will be as a mother to you, until a suitable escort
can be found for you to New York to place you under Mr. Livingston's
care. As for me, I shall not in any way annoy you: you need not know I
am on the boat; and as soon as you are placed in Mrs. O'Fallon's care
I shall say good-by to you forever, and continue my journey east,
since it is indeed time I should be starting homeward. Dr. and Madame
Saugrain will assure you that this is the most feasible plan, and I
hope once more that you will not be deterred from accepting it by any
fear of annoyance from me. There will be none. If you decide to go
with us, we must make an early start, and there will be many things
for me to attend to. Captain Clarke will inform me of your decision,
and I will see Dr. Saugrain and madame in the morning. Till then, I
wish you all a very good night."
I made my grand bow, turned quickly, and left the room, though Dr.
Saugrain and his wife both tried to stay me, and young Papin sprang
forward with an eager hand to prevent me.
I was bitterly angry, and more hurt and disappointed than angry.
Outside I strode furiously up and down in the snow, calling myself a
fool that I should care. Mademoiselle might be a great lady in France,
I said to myself, but to me she had shown herself only a fickle,
capricious, silly maiden. But even as I so spoke to myself my heart
revolted. I saw her once more weeping in madame's arms, and I began to
think it was only natural and commendable in her that she should be so
stirred at the thought of leaving friends who had been so good to her,
and that I had been much harder with her than was well.
And at last, as I began to walk myself into a calmer frame of mind, I
could have wished that I had not made that rash promise to keep myself
out of her sight on the boat. My word was given and I would have to
stick to it, but in my own room, as I listened to the murmur of voices
still going on in the room below me, I thought no longer with anger,
but sadly enough, of the long delightful tête-à-têtes with
mademoiselle I had dreamed of when I had first planned this trip on
the Great River.
A bright drop suddenly fell on my hand. I brushed my eyes angrily.
"Domtiferation!" I whispered furiously to myself. "Mademoiselle was
right! A pretty boy indeed!"