THE WATER.
As the travelers advanced, the country took an equally strange aspect,
for it was utterly deserted, as well as the towns and villages. Nowhere
were the calves to be seen grazing in the meadows, nor the goat perched
on the top of the mountain, or nibbling the green shoots of the brier or
young vine; nowhere the shepherd with his flock; nowhere the cart with
its driver; no foreign merchant passing from one country to another with
his pack on his back; no plowman singing his harsh song or cracking his
long whip. As far as the eye could see over the magnificent plains, the
little hills and the woods, not a human figure was to be seen, not a
voice to be heard. It seemed like the earth before the creation of
animals or men. The only people who animated this dreary solitude were
Remy and his companion, and Henri following behind and preserving ever
the same distance. The night came on dark and cold, and the northeast
wind whistled in the air, and filled the solitude with its menacing
sound.
Remy stopped his companion, and putting his hand on the bridle of her
horse, said--
"Madame, you know how inaccessible I am to fear; you know I would not
turn my back to save my life; but this evening some strange feeling
possesses me, and forbids me to go further. Madame, call it terror,
timidity, panic, what you will, I confess that for the first time in my
life I am afraid."
The lady turned.
"Is he still there?" she said.
"Oh! I was not thinking of him; think no more of him, madame, I beg of
you; we need not fear a single man. No, the danger that I fear or
rather feel, or divine with a sort of instinct, is unknown to me, and
therefore I dread it. Look, madame, do you see those willows bending in
the wind?"
"Yes."
"By their side I see a little house; I beg you, let us go there. If it
is inhabited, we will ask for hospitality; and if not, we will take
possession of it. I beg you to consent, madame."
Remy's emotion and troubled voice decided Diana to yield, so she turned
her horse in the direction indicated by him. Some minutes after, they
knocked at the door. A stream (which ran into the Nethe, a little river
about a mile off), bordered with reeds and grassy banks, bathed the feet
of the willows with its murmuring waters. Behind the house, which was
built of bricks, and covered with tiles, was a little garden, encircled
by a quickset hedge.
All was empty, solitary, and deserted, and no one replied to the blows
struck by the travelers. Remy did not hesitate; he drew his knife, cut a
branch of willow, with which he pushed back the bolt and opened the
door. The lock, the clumsy work of a neighboring blacksmith, yielded
almost without resistance. Remy entered quickly, followed by Diana,
then, closing the door again, he drew a massive bolt, and thus
intrenched, seemed to breathe more freely. Feeling about, he found a
bed, a chair, and a table in an upper room. Here he installed his
mistress, and then, returning to the lower room, placed himself at the
window, to watch the movements of Du Bouchage.
His reflections were as somber as those of Remy. "Certainly," said he to
himself, "some danger unknown to us, but of which the inhabitants are
not ignorant, is about to fall on the country. War ravages the land;
perhaps the French have taken, or are about to assault Antwerp, and the
peasants, seized with terror, have gone to take refuge in the towns."
But this reasoning, however plausible, did not quite satisfy him. Then
he thought, "But what are Remy and his mistress doing here? What
imperious necessity drags them toward this danger? Oh, I will know; the
time has come to speak to this woman, and to clear away all my doubts.
Never shall I find a better opportunity."
He approached the house, and then suddenly stopped, with a hesitation
common to hearts in love.
"No," said he, "no, I will be a martyr to the end. Besides, is she not
mistress of her own actions? And, perhaps, she does not even know what
fable was invented by Remy. Oh, it is he alone that I hate; he who
assured me that she loved no one. But still let me be just. Ought this
man for me, whom he did not know, to have betrayed his mistress's
secrets? No, no. All that remains for me now is to follow this woman to
the camp, to see her hang her arms round some one's neck and hear her
say, 'See what I have suffered, and how I love you.' Well, I will follow
her there, see what I dread to see, and die of it; it will be trouble
saved for the musket or cannon. Alas! I did not seek this; I went calmly
to meet a glorious death, and I wished to die with her name on my lips.
It is not so to be; I am destined to a death full of bitterness and
torture. Well, I accept it."
Then, recalling his days of waiting, and his nights of anguish before
the inexorable house, he found that he was less to be pitied here than
at Paris, and he went on.
"I will stay here, and take these trees for a shelter, and then I can
hear her voice when she speaks, and see her shadow on the window."
He lay down, then, under the willows, listening, with a melancholy
impossible to describe, to the murmur of the water that flowed at his
side. All at once he started; the noise of cannon was brought distinctly
to him by the wind.
"Ah!" said he, "I shall arrive too late; they are attacking Antwerp."
His first idea was to rise, mount his horse, and ride on as quickly as
possible; but to do this he must quit the lady, and die in doubt, so he
remained.
During two hours he lay there, listening to the reports. He did not
guess that what he heard was his brother's ships blowing up. At last,
about two o'clock, all grew quiet.
"Now," thought Henri, "Antwerp is taken, and my brother is a conqueror;
but after Antwerp will come Ghent, and then Bruges; I shall not want an
occasion for a glorious death. But before I die I must know what this
woman wants in the French camp."
He lay still, and had just fallen asleep, when his horse, which was
grazing quietly near him, pricked up his ears and neighed loudly.
Henri opened his eyes. The animal had his head turned to the breeze,
which had changed to the southeast, as if listening.
"What is it, my good horse?" said the young man; "have you seen some
animal which frightened you, or do you regret the shelter of your
stable?"
The animal stood still, looking toward Lier, with his eyes fixed and his
nostrils distended, and listening.
"Ah!" said Henri, "it is more serious; perhaps some troops of wolves
following the army to devour the corpses."
The horse neighed and began to run forward to the west, but his master
caught the bridle and jumped on his back, and then was able to keep him
quiet. But after a minute, Henri himself began to hear what the horse
had heard. A long murmur, like the wind, but more solemn, which seemed
to come from different points of the compass, from south to north.
"What is it?" said Henri; "can it be the wind? No, it is the wind which
brings this sound, and I hear the two distinctly. An army in march,
perhaps? But no; I should hear the sound of voices and of regular
marching. Is it the crackling of a fire? No, there is no light in the
horizon; the heaven seems even to grow darker."
The noise redoubled and became distinct; it was an incessant growling
and rolling, as if thousands of cannon were being dragged over a paved
road. Henri thought of this. "But no," said he, "there is no paved road
near."
The noise continued to increase, and Henri put his horse to the gallop
and gained an eminence.
"What do I see?" cried he, as he attained the summit. What he saw his
horse had seen before him; for he had only been able to make him advance
by furious spurring, and when they arrived at the top of the hill he
reared so as nearly to fall backward. They saw in the horizon an
infinite body rolling over the plain, and visibly and rapidly
approaching. The young man looked in wonder at this strange phenomenon,
when, looking back to the place he had come from, he saw the plain
beginning to be covered with water, and that the little river had
overflowed, and was beginning to cover the reeds which a quarter of an
hour before had stood up stiffly on its banks.
"Fool that I am," cried he, "I never thought of it. The water! the
water! The Flemings have broken their dykes!"
Henri flew to the house, and knocked furiously at the door.
"Open! open!" cried he.
No one replied.
"Open, Remy!" cried he, furious with terror; "it is I, Henri du
Bouchage."
"Oh! you need not name yourself, M. le Comte," answered Remy from
within, "I recognized you long ago; but I warn you, that if you break in
the door you will find me behind it, with a pistol in each hand."
"But you do not understand," cried Henri; "the water; it is the water!"
"No fables, no pretexts or dishonorable ruses, M. le Comte; I tell you
that you will only enter over my body."
"Then I will pass over it, but I will enter. In Heaven's name, in the
name of your own safety and your mistress's, will you open?"--"No."
Henri looked round him, and perceived an immense stone. He raised it and
threw it against the door, which flew open. A ball passed over Henri's
head, but without touching him; he jumped toward Remy, and seizing his
other arm, cried, "Do you not see that I have no arms? do not defend
yourself against a man who does not attack. Look! only look!" and he
drew him to the window.
"Well," said he, "do you see now?" and he pointed to the horizon.
"The water!" cried Remy.
"Yes, the water! it invades us; see, at our feet, the river overflows,
and in five minutes we shall be surrounded."
"Madame! madame!" cried Remy.
"Do not frighten her, Remy; get ready the horses at once."
Remy ran to the stable, and Henri flew up the staircase. At Remy's cry
Diana had opened her door; Henri seized her in his arms and carried her
away as he would have done a child. But she, believing in treason or
violence, struggled, and clung to the staircase with all her might.
"Tell her that I am saving her, Remy!" cried Henri.
Remy heard the appeal, and cried:
"Yes, yes, madame, he is saving you, or rather he will save you. Come,
for Heaven's sake!"