As it turned out, we reached them almost, together. I was slightly in
advance, however.
The road here was very narrow. Two vehicles could hardly pass. I took
to the rough grass. Pushing aside the boughs of a bush that was
directly in my path, and intending to take my stand before it, and wave
my hat as the carriage passed, I came suddenly upon--Marc!
It was he!
He stood with a wild fire of jealousy in his eyes, his hat on the grass
beside him; his arm raised, a pistol in his hand, his finger on the
trigger!
It was a supreme moment.
My courage did not desert me. I was calm.
The carriage was passing.
I made a dash at his arm, to strike the weapon from his hand. I
stumbled and fell at his feet. Instantly I looked up. I wished to
shout, but my tongue refused its office. It was glued, parched, to the
roof of my mouth. There would be murder! Cecile would be killed--and
by Marc! My eyes were riveted on the trigger of his pistol! He pulled
it! There was a tiny flash--a tiny puff! No more! The weapon had
missed fire. We were concealed by the bushes. The carriage drove by at
a rapid pace. Cecile was saved for the time!
------------------------------------------------------------------------
I gave a sigh of relief. Then came upon me the feeling of wonder that
Marc was back. Marc, whom I had seen three years before to meet with
his end--whom I had mourned as dead.
All this flashed across my mind in an instant. I rose to my knees, to
my feet. I placed my hand on his arm. I looked into his eyes. His
face was changed; there was terrible emotion in it.
"Marc," I said, as quietly and with as much self-command as I could
summon.
He suffered my hand to remain on his shoulder, and continued to look in
the direction the chaise had taken; toward M. Andre's chateau. We
stood thus a second or so. Then, turning upon me, he gasped, in low,
choked, guttural accents of reproach and of the deepest despair,
"Cecile! Cecile!"
What could I say? My conscience smote me heavily. I had told my best
friend's wife that her husband was dead! That I knew it--had seen him
meet his death! And upon my testimony she had acted. Marc and M.
Andre--she was the wife of both! It was terrible to witness the agony
of the wretched man. It was not for me to break in upon that sacred
passion of grief.
"Cecile!" he murmured, as the pistol dropped from his hand, and he sank
fainting in my arms.
I placed him gently on the rough grass by the roadside, raising his
head, and loosening the collar of his shirt.
For an hour he remained in a swoon, broken only by incoherent cries,
that at rare intervals fashioned themselves into language. Then it was
always "Cecile!"
I had a flask of brandy in my pocket. I got water from a little
mountain spring close by. I bathed my poor comrade's temples, and gave
him a reviving draught of the spirit and water. I rubbed his cold
hands, and beat them, to restore him to consciousness.
At last he came to. How can I describe my joy when I found that he was,
to all appearance, sane. For the attempt to shoot the unfortunate woman
was the act of a madman. That attempt had happily been frustrated.
What was now to be done? You will see, from my coolness and presence of
mind in this danger, that I am able to act in an emergency. While Marc
lay swooning on the grass by my side, I had had time to think. My
course, my duty, were alike clear to me. I had been innocently--though
I can never forgive myself--the cause of Cecile's second marriage. I
must not conceal this from Marc. My shoulders are broad. The truth
must be told. I must tell it.
"Just now, Marc," I said, shaking him gently by the hand, "you were not
Marc Debois. You were a madman intent on murder--the murder of her whom
he loved best in the world!"
"Name her not!" he burst out, throwing up his head and pressing his
hands to his eyes; "faithless--false wretch!"
"Through me."
"Through you?"
"Listen. A fortnight ago I was put ashore at Benevent, after three
years' existence, for I will not call it life, in that island, on whose
shores I thought I saw you swallowed up by the sharks. Cecile--"
He started back a few paces from me at the mention of her name.