the worst of it as speedily as possible; so he rose at once, and bowed
in acquiescence. The Sire de Malétroit followed his example and limped,
with the assistance of the chaplain's arm, toward the chapel door. The
priest pulled aside the arras, and all three entered. The building had
considerable architectural pretensions. A light groining sprung from six
stout columns, and hung down in two rich pendants from the centre of the
vault. The place terminated behind the altar in a round end, embossed
and honeycombed with a superfluity of ornament in relief, and pierced by
many little windows shaped like stars, trefoils, or wheels. These
windows were imperfectly glazed, so that the night air circulated freely
in the chapel. The tapers, of which there must have been half a hundred
burning on the altar, were unmercifully blown about; and the light went
through many different phases of brilliancy and semi-eclipse. On the
steps in front of the altar knelt a young girl richly attired as a
bride. A chill settled over Denis as he observed her costume; he fought
with desperate energy against the conclusion that was being thrust upon
his mind; it could not--it should not--be as he feared.
"Blanche," said the sire, in his most flute-like tones, "I have brought
a friend to see you, my little girl; turn round and give him your pretty
hand. It is good to be devout; but it is necessary to be polite, my
niece."
The girl rose to her feet and turned toward the newcomers. She moved all
of a piece; and shame and exhaustion were expressed in every line of her
fresh young body; and she held her head down and kept her eyes upon the
pavement, as she came slowly forward. In the course of her advance her
eyes fell upon Denis de Beaulieu's feet--feet of which he was justly
vain, be it remarked, and wore in the most elegant accoutrement even
while travelling. She paused--started, as if his yellow boots had
conveyed some shocking meaning--and glanced suddenly up into the
wearer's countenance. Their eyes met: shame gave place to horror and
terror in her looks; the blood left her lips, with a piercing scream she
covered her face with her hands and sank upon the chapel floor.
"That is not the man!" she cried. "My uncle, that is not the man!"
The Sire de Malétroit chirped agreeably. "Of course not," he said; "I
expected as much. It was so unfortunate you could not remember his
name."
"Indeed," she cried, "indeed, I have never seen this person till this
moment--I have never so much as set eyes upon him--I never wish to see
him again. Sir," she said, turning to Denis, "if you are a gentleman,
you will bear me out. Have I ever seen you--have you ever seen
me--before this accursed hour?"
"To speak for myself, I have never had that pleasure," answered the
young man. "This is the first time, messire, that I have met with your
engaging niece."
The old gentleman shrugged his shoulders.
"I am distressed to hear it," he said. "But it is never too late to
begin. I had little more acquaintance with my own late lady ere I
married her; which proves," he added, with a grimace, "that these
impromptu marriages may often produce an excellent understanding in the
long run. As the bridegroom is to have a voice in the matter, I will
give him two hours to make up for lost time before we proceed with the
ceremony." And he turned toward the door, followed by the clergyman.
The girl was on her feet in a moment. "My uncle, you cannot be in
earnest," she said. "I declare before God I will stab myself rather than
be forced on that young man. The heart rises at it; God forbids such
marriages; you dishonor your white hair. Oh, my uncle, pity me! There
is not a woman in all the world but would prefer death to such a
nuptial. Is it possible," she added, faltering--"is it possible that you
do not believe me--that you still think this" and she pointed at Denis
with a tremor of anger and contempt--"that you still think _this_ to be
the man?"
"Frankly," said the old gentleman, pausing on the threshold, "I do. But
let me explain to you once for all, Blanche de Malétroit, my way of
thinking about this affair. When you took it into your head to dishonor
my family and the name that I have borne, in peace and war, for more
than threescore years, you forfeited, not only the right to question my
designs, but that of looking me in the face. If your father had been
alive, he would have spat on you and turned you out of doors. His was
the hand of iron. You may bless your God you have only to deal with the
hand of velvet, mademoiselle. It was my duty to get you married without
delay. Out of pure goodwill, I have tried to find your own gallant for
you. And I believe I have succeeded. But before God and all the holy
angels, Blanche de Malétroit, if I have not, I care not one jackstraw.
So let me recommend you to be polite to our young friend; for, upon my
word, your next groom may be less appetizing."
And with that he went out, with the chaplain at his heels; and the arras
fell behind the pair.
The girl turned upon Denis with flashing eyes.
"And what, sir," she demanded, "may be the meaning of all this?"
"God knows," returned Denis, gloomily. "I am a prisoner in this house,
which seems full of mad people. More I know not; and nothing do I
understand."
"And pray how came you here?" she asked.
He told her as briefly as he could. "For the rest," he added, "perhaps
you will follow my example, and tell me the answer to all these riddles,
and what, in God's name, is like to be the end of it."
She stood silent for a little, and he could see her lips tremble and her
tearless eyes burn with a feverish lustre. Then she pressed her forehead
in both hands.
"Alas, how my head aches!" she said, wearily--"to say nothing of my poor
heart! But it is due to you to know my story, unmaidenly as it must
seem. I am called Blanche de Malétroit; I have been without father or
mother for--oh! for as long as I can recollect, and indeed I have been
most unhappy all my life. Three months ago a young captain began to
stand near me every day in church. I could see that I pleased him; I am
much to blame, but I was so glad that any one should love me; and when
he passed me a letter, I took it home with me and read it with great
pleasure. Since that time he has written many. He was so anxious to
speak with me, poor fellow! and kept asking me to leave the door open
some evening that we might have two words upon the stair. For he knew
how much my uncle trusted me." She gave something like a sob at that,
and it was a moment before she could go on. "My uncle is a hard man, but
he is very shrewd," she said, at last. "He has performed many feats in
war, and was a great person at court, and much trusted by Queen Isabeau
in old days. How he came to suspect me I cannot tell; but it is hard to
keep anything from his knowledge; and this morning, as we came from
mass, he took my hand into his, forced it open, and read my little
billet, walking by my side all the while.
"When he finished, he gave it back to me with great politeness. It
contained another request to have the door left open; and this has been
the ruin of us all. My uncle kept me strictly in my room until evening,
and then ordered me to dress myself as you see me--a hard mockery for a
young girl, do you not think so? I suppose, when he could not prevail
with me to tell him the young captain's name, he must have laid a trap
for him; into which, alas! you have fallen in the anger of God. I looked
for much confusion; for how could I tell whether he was willing to take
me for his wife on these sharp terms? He might have been trifling with
me from the first; or I might have made myself too cheap in his eyes.
But truly I had not looked for such a shameful punishment as this! I
could not think that God would let a girl be so disgraced before a young
man. And now I tell you all; and I can scarcely hope that you will not
despise me."
Denis made her a respectful inclination.
"Madam," he said, "you have honored me by your confidence. It remains
for me to prove that I am not unworthy of the honor. Is Messire de
Malétroit at hand?"
"I believe he is writing in the _salle_ without," she answered.
"May I lead you thither, madam?" asked Denis, offering his hand with his
most courtly bearing.
She accepted it; and the pair passed out of the chapel, Blanche in a
very drooping and shamefast condition, but Denis strutting and ruffling
in the consciousness of a mission, and the boyish certainty of
accomplishing it with honor.
The Sire Malétroit rose to meet them with an ironical obeisance.
"Sir," said Denis, with the grandest possible air, "I believe I am to
have some say in the matter of this marriage; and let me tell you at
once, I will be no party to forcing the inclination of this young lady.
Had it been freely offered to me, I should have been proud to accept
her hand, for I perceive she is as good as she is beautiful; but as
things are, I have now the honor, messire, of refusing."
Blanche looked at him with gratitude in her eyes; but the old gentleman
only smiled and smiled, until his smile grew positively sickening to
Denis.
"I am afraid," he said, "Monsieur de Beaulieu, that you do not perfectly
understand the choice I have offered you. Follow me, I beseech you, to
this window." And he led the way to one of the large windows which stood
open on the night. "You observe," he went on, "there is an iron ring in
the upper masonry, and reeved through that, a very efficacious rope.
Now, mark my words: if you should find your disinclination to my niece's
person insurmountable, I shall have you hanged out of this window before
sunrise. I shall only proceed to such an extremity with the greatest
regret, you may believe me. For it is not at all your death that I
desire, but my niece's establishment in life. At the same time, it must
come to that if you prove obstinate. Your family, Monsieur de Beaulieu,
is very well in its way; but if you sprung from Charlemagne, you should
not refuse the hand of a Malétroit with impunity--not if she had been as
common as the Paris road--not if she was as hideous as the gargoyle over
my door. Neither my niece nor you, nor my own private feelings, move me
at all in this matter. The honor of my house has been compromised; I
believe you to be the guilty person, at least you are now in the secret;
and you can hardly wonder if I request you to wipe out the stain. If you
will not, your blood be on your own head! It will be no great
satisfaction to me to have your interesting relics kicking their heels
in the breeze below my windows, but half a loaf is better than no
bread, and if I cannot cure the dishonor, I shall at least stop the
scandal."
There was a pause.
"I believe there are other ways of settling such imbroglios among
gentlemen," said Denis. "You wear a sword, and I hear you have used it
with distinction."
The Sire de Malétroit made a signal to the chaplain, who crossed the
room with long silent strides and raised the arras over the third of the
three doors. It was only a moment before he let it fall again; but Denis
had time to see a dusky passage full of armed men.
"When I was a little younger, I should have been delighted to honor you,
Monsieur de Beaulieu," said Sire Alain; "but now I am too old. Faithful
retainers are the sinews of age, and I must employ the strength I have.
This is one of the hardest things to swallow as a man grows up in years;
but with a little patience, even this becomes habitual. You and the lady
seem to prefer the _salle_ for what remains of your two hours; and as I
have no desire to cross your preference, I shall resign it to your use
with all the pleasure in the world. No haste!" he added, holding up his
hand, as he saw a dangerous look come into Denis de Beaulieu's face. "If
your mind revolt against hanging, it will be time enough two hours hence
to throw yourself out of the window or upon the pikes of my retainers.
Two hours of life are always two hours. A great many things may turn up
in even as little a while as that. And, besides, if I understand her
appearance, my niece has something to say to you. You will not disfigure
your last hours by want of politeness to a lady?"
Denis looked at Blanche, and she made him an imploring gesture.
It is likely that the old gentleman was hugely pleased at this symptom
of an understanding; for he smiled on both, and added sweetly: "If you
will give me your word of honor, Monsieur de Beaulieu, to await my
return at the end of the two hours before attempting anything desperate,
I shall withdraw my retainers, and let you speak in greater privacy with
mademoiselle."
Denis again glanced at the girl, who seemed to beseech him to agree.
"I give you my word of honor," he said.
Messire de Malétroit bowed, and proceeded to limp about the apartment,
clearing his throat the while with that odd musical chirp which had
already grown so irritating in the ears of Denis de Beaulieu. He first
possessed himself of some papers which lay upon the table; then he went
to the mouth of the passage and appeared to give an order to the men
behind the arras; and lastly he hobbled out through the door by which
Denis had come in, turning upon the threshold to address a last smiling
bow to the young couple, and followed by the chaplain with a hand lamp.
No sooner were they alone than Blanche advanced toward Denis with her
hands extended. Her face was flushed and excited, and her eyes shone
with tears.
"You shall not die!" she cried, "you shall marry me after all."
"You seem to think, madam," replied Denis, "that I stand much in fear of
death."
"Oh, no, no," she said, "I see you are no poltroon. It is for my own
sake--I could not bear to have you slain for such a scruple."
"I am afraid," returned Denis, "that you underrate the difficulty,
madam. What you may be too generous to refuse, I may be too proud to
accept. In a moment of noble feeling toward me, you forget what you
perhaps owe to others." He had the decency to keep his eyes on the
floor as he said this, and after he had finished, so as not to spy upon
her confusion. She stood silent for a moment, then walked suddenly away,
and falling on her uncle's chair, fairly burst out sobbing. Denis was in
the acme of embarrassment. He looked round, as if to seek for
inspiration, and, seeing a stool, plumped down upon it for something to
do. There he sat, playing with the guard of his rapier, and wishing
himself dead a thousand times over, and buried in the nastiest
kitchen-heap in France. His eyes wandered round the apartment, but found
nothing to arrest them. There were such wide spaces between the
furniture, the light fell so badly and cheerlessly over all, the dark
outside air looked in so coldly through the windows, that he thought he
had never seen a church so vast, nor a tomb so melancholy. The regular
sobs of Blanche de Malétroit measured out the time like the ticking of a
clock. He read the device upon the shield over and over again, until his
eyes became obscured; he stared into shadowy corners until he imagined
they were swarming with horrible animals; and every now and again he
awoke with a start, to remember that his last two hours were running,
and death was on the march.
Oftener and oftener, as the time went on, did his glance settle on the
girl herself. Her face was bowed forward and covered with her hands, and
she was shaken at intervals by the convulsive hiccough of grief. Even
thus she was not an unpleasant object to dwell upon, so plump and yet so
fine, with a warm brown skin, and the most beautiful hair, Denis
thought, in the whole world of womankind. Her hands were like her
uncle's: but they were more in place at the end of her young arms, and
looked infinitely soft and caressing. He remembered how her blue eyes
had shone upon him, full of anger, pity, and innocence. And the more he
dwelt on her perfections, the uglier death looked, and the more deeply
was he smitten with penitence at her continued tears. Now he felt that
no man could have the courage to leave a world which contained so
beautiful a creature; and now he would have given forty minutes of his
last hour to have unsaid his cruel speech.
Suddenly a hoarse and ragged peal of cockcrow rose to their ears from
the dark valley below the windows. And this shattering noise in the
silence of all around was like a light in a dark place, and shook them
both out of their reflections.
"Alas, can I do nothing to help you?" she said, looking up.
"Madam," replied Denis, with a fine irrelevancy, "if I have said
anything to wound you, believe me, it was for your own sake and not for
mine."
She thanked him with a tearful look.
"I feel your position cruelly," he went on. "The world has been bitter
hard on you. Your uncle is a disgrace to mankind. Believe me, madam,
there is no young gentleman in all France but would be glad of my
opportunity, to die in doing you a momentary service."
"I know already that you can be very brave and generous," she answered.
"What I _want_ to know is whether I can serve you--now or afterward,"
she added, with a quaver.
"Most certainly," he answered, with a smile. "Let me sit beside you as
if I were a friend, instead of a foolish intruder; try to forget how
awkwardly we are placed to one another; make my last moments go
pleasantly; and you will do me the chief service possible."
"You are very gallant," she added, with a yet deeper sadness--"very
gallant--and it somehow pains me. But draw nearer, if you please; and
if you find anything to say to me, you will at least make certain of a
very friendly listener. Ah! Monsieur de Beaulieu," she broke forth--"ah!
Monsieur de Beaulieu, how can I look you in the face?" And she fell to
weeping again with a renewed effusion.
"Madam," said Denis, taking her hand in both of his, "reflect on the
little time I have before me, and the great bitterness into which I am
cast by the sight of your distress. Spare me, in my last moments, the
spectacle of what I cannot cure even with the sacrifice of my life."
"I am very selfish," answered Blanche. "I will be braver, Monsieur de
Beaulieu, for your sake. But think if I can do you no kindness in the
future--if you have no friends to whom I could carry your adieux. Charge
me as heavily as you can; every burden will lighten, by so little, the
invaluable gratitude I owe you. Put it in my power to do something more
for you than weep."
"My mother is married again, and has a young family to care for. My
brother Guichard will inherit my fiefs; and if I am not in error, that
will content him amply for my death. Life is a little vapor that passeth
away, as we are told by those in holy orders. When a man is in a fair
way and sees all life open in front of him, he seems to himself to make
a very important figure in the world. His horse whinnies to him; the
trumpets blow and the girls look out of window as he rides into town
before his company; he receives many assurances of trust and
regard--sometimes by express in a letter--sometimes face to face, with
persons of great consequence falling on his neck. It is not wonderful if
his head is turned for a time. But once he is dead, were he as brave as
Hercules or as wise as Solomon, he is soon forgotten. It is not ten
years since my father fell, with many other knights around him, in a
very fierce encounter, and I do not think that any one of them, nor so
much as the name of the fight, is now remembered. No, no, madam, the
nearer you come to it, you see that death is a dark and dusty corner,
where a man gets into his tomb and has the door shut after him till the
judgment day. I have few friends just now, and once I am dead I shall
have none."
"Ah, Monsieur de Beaulieu!" she exclaimed, "you forget Blanche de
Malétroit."
"You have a sweet nature, madam, and you are pleased to estimate a
little service far beyond its worth."
"It is not that," she answered. "You mistake me if you think I am easily
touched by my own concerns. I say so because you are the noblest man I
have ever met; because I recognize in you a spirit that would have made
even a common person famous in the land."
"And yet here I die in a mousetrap--with no more noise about it than my
own squeaking," answered he.
A look of pain crossed her face and she was silent for a little while.
Then a light came into her eyes, and with a smile she spoke again.
"I cannot have my champion think meanly of himself. Anyone who gives his
life for another will be met in Paradise by all the heralds and angels
of the Lord God. And you have no such cause to hang your head.
For--Pray, do you think me beautiful?" she asked, with a deep flush.
"Indeed, madam, I do," he said.
"I am glad of that," she answered heartily. "Do you think there are many
men in France who have been asked in marriage by a beautiful
maiden--with her own lips--and who have refused her to her face? I know
you men would half despise such a triumph; but believe me, we women know
more of what is precious in love. There is nothing that should set a
person higher in his own esteem; and we women would prize nothing more
dearly."
"You are very good," he said; "but you cannot make me forget that I was
asked in pity and not for love."
"I am not so sure of that," she replied, holding down her head. "Hear me
to an end, Monsieur de Beaulieu. I know how you must despise me; I feel
you are right to do so; I am too poor a creature to occupy one thought
of your mind, although, alas! you must die for me this morning. But when
I asked you to marry me, indeed, and indeed, it was because I respected
and admired you, and loved you with my whole soul, from the very moment
that you took my part against my uncle. If you had seen yourself, and
how noble you looked, you would pity rather than despise me. And now,"
she went on, hurriedly checking him with her hand, "although I have laid
aside all reserve and told you so much, remember that I know your
sentiments toward me already. I would not, believe me, being nobly born,
weary you with importunities into consent. I too have a pride of my own:
and I declare before the holy mother of God, if you should now go back
from your word already given, I would no more marry you than I would
marry my uncle's groom."
Denis smiled a little bitterly.
"It is a small love," he said, "that shies at a little pride."
She made no answer, although she probably had her own thoughts.
"Come hither to the window," he said with a sigh. "Here is the dawn."
And indeed the dawn was already beginning. The hollow of the sky was
full of essential daylight, colorless and clean; and the valley
underneath was flooded with a gray reflection. A few thin vapors clung
in the coves of the forest or lay along the winding course of the river.
The scene disengaged a surprising effect of stillness, which was hardly
interrupted when the cocks began once more to crow among the steadings.
Perhaps the same fellow who had made so horrid a clangor in the darkness
not half an hour before, now sent up the merriest cheer to greet the
coming day. A little wind went bustling and eddying among the tree-tops
underneath the windows. And still the daylight kept flooding insensibly
out of the east, which was soon to grow incandescent and cast up that
red-hot cannon-ball, the rising sun.
Denis looked out over all this with a bit of a shiver. He had taken her
hand, and retained it in his almost unconsciously.
"Has the day begun already?" she said; and then illogically enough: "the
night has been so long! Alas! what shall we say to my uncle when he
returns?"
"What you will," said Denis, and he pressed her fingers in his.
She was silent.
"Blanche," he said, with a swift, uncertain, passionate utterance, "you
have seen whether I fear death. You must know well enough that I would
as gladly leap out of that window into the empty air as to lay a finger
on you without your free and full consent. But if you care for me at all
do not let me lose my life in a misapprehension; for I love you better
than the whole world; and though I will die for you blithely, it would
be like all the joys of Paradise to live on and spend my life in your
service."
As he stopped speaking, a bell began to ring loudly in the interior of
the house; and a clatter of armor in the corridor showed that the
retainers were returning to their post, and the two hours were at an
end.
"After all that you have heard?" she whispered, leaning toward him with
her lips and eyes.
"I have heard nothing," he replied.
"The captain's name was Florimond de Champdivers," she said in his ear.
"I did not hear it," he answered, taking her supple body in his arms,
and covering her wet face with kisses.
A melodious chirping was audible behind, followed by a beautiful
chuckle, and the voice of Messire de Malétroit wished his new nephew a
good morning.
MARKHEIM
"Yes," said the dealer, "our windfalls are of various kinds. Some
customers are ignorant, and then I touch a dividend on my superior
knowledge. Some are dishonest," and here he held up the candle, so that
the light fell strongly on his visitor, "and in that case," he
continued, "I profit by my virtue."
Markheim had but just entered from the daylight streets, and his eyes
had not yet grown familiar with the mingled shine and darkness in the
shop. At these pointed words, and before the near presence of the flame,
he blinked painfully and looked aside.