EXPLANATION.
The danger that Remy braved was a real one, for the traveler, after
having passed the village and gone on for a quarter of a league, and
seeing no one before him, made up his mind that those whom he sought had
remained behind in the village. He would not retrace his steps, but lay
down in a field of clover; having made his horse descend into one of
those deep ditches which in Flanders serve as divisions between the
properties, he was therefore able to see without being seen. This young
man, as Remy knew, and Diana suspected, was Henri du Bouchage, whom a
strange fatality threw once more into the presence of the woman he had
determined to fly. After his conversation with Remy, on the threshold of
the mysterious house, that is to say, after the loss of all his hopes,
he had returned to the Hotel Joyeuse, quite decided to put an end to a
life which he felt to be so miserable, and as a gentleman, and one who
had his name to keep untarnished, he decided on the glorious suicide of
the field of battle.
Therefore, as they were fighting in Flanders, and his brother had a
command there, Henri, on the following day, left his hotel twenty hours
after the departure of Diana and Remy.
Letters from Flanders announced the intended coup de main on Antwerp,
and Henri hoped to arrive in time for it. He pleased himself with the
idea that he should die sword in hand, in his brother's arms, under a
French flag, and that his death would be talked about until the sound
even reached the solitude in which the mysterious lady lived. Noble
follies! glorious, yet sad dreams!
Just as--full of these thoughts--he came in sight of Valenciennes, from
whose church tower eight o'clock was sounding, he perceived that they
were about to close the gates. He pushed on, and nearly overturned, on
the drawbridge, a man who was fastening the girths of his horse. Henri
stopped to make excuses to the man, who turned at the sound of his
voice, and then quickly turned away again. Henri started, but
immediately thought, "I must be mad; Remy here, whom I left four days
ago in the Rue de Bussy; here now, without his mistress. Really, grief
must be turning my brain and making me see everything in the form of my
own fancies." And he continued his way, convinced that his idea had been
pure fancy. At the first hotel that he came to he stopped, gave his
horse to a servant, and sat down on a bench before the door, while they
prepared his bed and supper. But as he sat there he saw two travelers
approaching, and this time he saw more clearly.
"Now," murmured he, "I do not dream, and still I think I see Remy. I
cannot remain in this uncertainty; I must clear up my doubts."
He got up and ran down the road after them, but they had disappeared.
Then he went to all the hotels and questioned the servants, and after
much search discovered that two cavaliers had been seen going toward a
small inn in the Rue de Beffroi. The landlord was just shutting the
doors when Henri entered. While the man offered him rooms and
refreshment, he looked round, and saw on the top of the staircase Remy
going up, lighted by a servant; of his companion he saw nothing. Du
Bouchage had no longer any doubts, and he asked himself, with a dreadful
sinking of the heart, why Remy had left his mistress and was traveling
without her; for Henri had been so occupied in identifying Remy, that he
had scarcely looked at his companion. The next morning when he rose, he
was much surprised to learn that the two travelers had obtained from the
governor permission to go out; and that, contrary to all custom, the
gates had been opened for them. Thus, as they had set out at one
o'clock, they had six hours' start of him. Henri put his horse to the
gallop and passed the travelers at Mons. He saw Remy; but Remy must have
been a sorcerer to know him, for he had on a soldier's great coat and
rode another horse. Nevertheless, Remy's companion, at a word from him,
turned away his head before Henri could see his face. But the young man
did not lose courage; he watched them to their hotel, and then
questioning, with the aid of an irresistible auxiliary, learned that
Remy's companion was a very handsome, but very silent and sad looking
young man. Henri trembled. "Can it be a woman?" asked he.
"It is possible," replied the host: "many women travel thus disguised
just now, to go and rejoin their lovers in Flanders; but it is our
business to see nothing, and we never do."
Henri felt heart-broken at this explanation. Was Remy, indeed,
accompanying his mistress dressed as a cavalier; and was she, as the
host suggested, going to rejoin her lover in Flanders? Had Remy lied
when he spoke of an eternal regret? was this fable of a past love, which
had clothed his mistress forever in mourning, only his invention to get
rid of an importunate watcher?
"If it be so," cried Henri, "the time will come when I shall have
courage to address this woman and reproach her with all the subterfuges
which lower her whom I had placed so high above all ordinary mortals;
and seeing nearer this brilliant envelope of a common mind, perhaps I
shall fall of myself from the height of my illusions and my love."
And the young man tore his hair in despair at the thought of losing the
love which was killing him; for a dead heart is better than an empty
one. So he continued to follow them, and to wonder at the cause which
took to Flanders, at the same time as himself, these two beings so
indispensable to his existence.
At Brussels he gathered information as to the Duc d'Anjou's intended
campaign. The Flemings were too hostile to the duke to receive well a
Frenchman of distinction, and were too proud of their position to
refrain from humiliating a little this gentleman who came from France
and questioned them in a pure Parisian accent, which always seemed
ridiculous to the Belgians. Henri began to conceive serious fears with
reference to this expedition, in which his brother was to bear so
prominent a part, and he resolved in consequence to push on rapidly to
Antwerp. It was a constant surprise to him to see Remy and his
companion, in spite of their desire not to be seen, continue to follow
the same road as himself.
Henri, now hidden in the clover field, felt certain of seeing the face
of the young man who accompanied Remy, and thus putting an end to all
his doubts. As they passed, unsuspicious of his vicinity, Diana was
occupied in braiding up her hair, which she had not dared to untie at
the inn.
Henri recognized her, and nearly fainted. The travelers passed on, and
then anger took, in Henri's mind, the place of the goodness and patience
he had exercised, while he believed Remy and the lady sincere toward
him. But after the protestations of Remy, this journey seemed to him a
species of treason.
When he had recovered a little from the blow, he rose, shook back his
beautiful light hair, and mounted his horse, determined no longer to
take those precautions that respect had made him hitherto observe, and
he began to follow the travelers openly, and with his face uncovered. No
more cloak nor hood, no more stops and hesitation; the road belonged to
him as to them, and he rode on, regulating the pace of his horse by that
of theirs. He did not mean to speak to them, but only to let them see
him. Remy soon perceived him, and, seeing him thus openly advance
without any further attempt at concealment, grew troubled; Diana noticed
it and turned also.
"Is it not that young man following us?"
Remy, still trying to reassure her, said, "I do not think so, madame. As
well as I can judge by the dress, it is some young Walloon soldier going
probably to Amsterdam, and passing by the theater of war to seek
adventures."
"I feel uneasy about him, Remy."
"Reassure yourself, madame, had he been really the Comte du Bouchage, he
would have spoken to us; you know how persevering he was."
"I know also that he was respectful, Remy, or I should never have
troubled myself about him, but simply told you to get rid of him."
"Well, madame, if he be so respectful, you would have no more to fear
from him on this road than in the Rue de Bussy."
"Nevertheless, Remy, let us change our horses here at Mechlin, in order
to get on faster to Antwerp."
"On the contrary, madame, I should say, do not let us enter Mechlin at
all; our horses are good, let us push on to that little village which
is, I think, called Villebrock; in that manner we shall avoid the town,
with its questioners and curious gazers."
"Go on, then, Remy."
They turned to the left, taking a road hardly made, but which visibly
led to Villebrock; Henri also quitted the road, and turned down the
lane, still keeping his distance from them.
Remy's disquietude showed itself in his constantly turning to look
behind him. At last they arrived at Villebrock. Of 200 houses which this
village contained, not one was inhabited; some forgotten dogs and lost
cats ran wildly about the solitude, the former calling for their masters
by long howls. Remy knocked at twenty doors, but found no one. Henri on
his side, who seemed the shadow of the travelers, knocked at the first
house as uselessly as they had done, then, divining that the war was the
cause of this desertion, waited to continue his journey until the
travelers should have decided what to do.
They fed their horses with some corn which they found in an inn, and
then Remy said--
"Madame, we are no longer in a friendly country, nor in an ordinary
situation; we must not expose ourselves uselessly. We shall certainly
fall in with some French, Spanish, or Flemish band, for in the present
state of Flanders, adventures of all kinds must be rife. If you were a
man I should speak differently; but you are a young and beautiful woman,
and would run a double risk for life and honor."
"My life is nothing," said she.
"On the contrary, madame, it is everything. You live for a purpose."
"Well, then, what do you propose? Think and act for me, Remy."
"Then, madame, let us remain here. I see many houses which would afford
us a sure shelter. I have arms, and we will defend or hide ourselves,
as we shall be strong or weak."
"No, Remy, no, I must go on; nothing must stop me; and if I had fears,
they would be for you."
"We will go on then."
They rode on, therefore, without another word, and Henri du Bouchage
followed.