Corse de Leon Part 10

"Oh! she has fainted," said the other. "She sank back upon my arm a minute or two ago. Here! Forli, bring me a lantern!"

A lantern was soon brought, and, one side being opened, the light was suffered to stream full upon the face of Isabel de Brienne. The beautiful eyes were closed; the long, dark lashes rested on the fair cheek; the lips themselves were pale; and there was no indication that the heavy, senseless sleep in which she lay was not the slumber of death itself, except a slight movement of the fingers, as if the cord that tied her wrists caused some corporeal pain, which was felt even through the swoon in which she lay. It was upon her face and form alone that the full light shone, but the feeble rays which found their way around dispelled in some degree, though but slightly, the profound darkness that before had filled the whole building. No one could be seen so as to be recognised; but in various parts of the chapel appeared groups of dark figures, all holding aloof from the spot where the unhappy girl lay, with her head resting upon the upper step of the altar, except two tall and powerful men, who stood close to her, and another, who knelt down, holding the lantern to her face.

"Were it not better to take her away at once?" said one of the voices.

"There is the ring upon her finger!" said the other, without answering the question. "Accursed be that brute for thus delaying us! I will shoot him with my own hand when I get back." He paused a moment, and then continued: "So, he thinks that there is no charm which can ever get that ring off again. But I will find one; and, if I mistake not, there is even now a mighty magician in the Louvre preparing the counterspell. No, no, my good lord, we will not change our plan. I must appear as the deliverer, not as the offender. The time is gone by when ladies fell in love with their ravishers; but where shall it be? Up towards La Chapelle?"

"No, no!" replied the other, "that will not do. You might say I was going to join the emperor. No, better in the valley just above Les Ech.e.l.les. There, too, my good friend, we shall be free from those who stopped us in our last attempt. It will take us till daylight to get there, and that will be just the time."

"Hus.h.!.+ she is waking!" said the other. "Quick, close the lantern!" and, after a few words more, spoken in a still lower tone, there was a considerable movement in the chapel. Several persons came and went; and Isabel de Brienne, gradually waking again to a consciousness of her unhappy situation, heard the stern tones of the Marquis of Ma.s.seran, now speaking in a loud voice, and giving various orders to the people that surrounded him.

"Is the litter not come yet?" he said. "Go, some one, and hasten it: I will take care that no such plots as these are carried on again. Have you got the priest? I trust you have not let him escape."

"He is safe enough," replied one of the others; "he is safe enough, and up at the castle by this time. Here is the litter, my lord."

"Come, fair madam," said the Lord of Ma.s.seran, "if you cannot walk, we must have you borne forth. But surely a lady sufficiently active to deceive her own mother, and to find her way hither on such a night as this, may very well walk to the chapel door."

"My lord," said Isabel, faintly, "I did not deceive my mother. It was only one prisoner who concealed her plan of escape from another, compelled--I trust and believe unwillingly--to act the part of a spy and a jailer. I call every one to witness," she added, speaking as loud as her feeble state would permit, "that I protest against your removing me anywhere but to the court of the King of France, my native sovereign."

"Who said we were going to take you anywhere but to his court?" rejoined the Lord of Ma.s.seran. "Come, madam, come! Cease arguments and protests; I am your mother's husband, your guardian for the time, and that guardians.h.i.+p you shall not break through very easily." Thus saying, he raised her rudely by the arm, and, half leading, half dragging her, conveyed her to the door of the chapel, and placed her in a horse-litter which stood near. Some farther delay took place while the men around were mounting their horses and arranging the order of their march. When this was completed, however, the Lord of Ma.s.seran put himself at the head of his troop, and proceeded at a slow pace, taking a road that led away from the castle.

Isabel, unable to move, lay in the litter and wept; but she remarked that, from time to time, single hors.e.m.e.n pa.s.sed from the rear to the front, and from the front to the rear, and that manifold were the orders and directions given to the different persons of whom the party was composed. No one, however, spoke a word to her; but it was some consolation to see, as day began to break upon their weary journey onward, that there was the form of another woman among the troopers on before. Isabel thought, too, that she had once heard, during the night, the voice of her maid speaking in a somewhat complaining tone; and the idea of having her society in the state of captivity she was doomed to suffer was no slight alleviation.

It was just at that moment, while the sky was still gray with night, but the rocks, and trees, and mountains round about growing every instant more clear and defined, that a good deal of bustle and agitation became evident in the party of the Marquis of Ma.s.seran. A minute or two afterward he halted on the edge of the hill, and was seen speaking eagerly with some of his followers. At the same time the sound of a trumpet was heard, and Isabel thought she could distinguish the galloping of horse. She then saw a number of the Lord of Ma.s.seran's followers, who were on before her, dismount, and, unslinging their firearms, fire a shot or two into the valley. A loud volley of musketry from some distant spot was heard immediately afterward, and the marquis, apparently in great haste and agitation, ordered the litter to be brought on with all speed, and driven forward in advance of the party.

The discharges of musketry, however, both from his own attendants and from those who seemed to be pursuing him, grew more and more frequent every moment; the smoke drifted down the valley in long white wreaths, enveloping the litter, and making all the objects more indistinct than before; while the galloping of horse was now clearly heard, together with loud voices giving orders. Then came the clas.h.i.+ng of swords, and two or three men on horseback were driven fiercely past the litter, contending with others hand to hand. After a short scene of tumult and confusion, the sound of the firing appeared to come from a greater distance. The two men on horseback who were guarding the litter suddenly stopped, gazed around them, and galloped away at full speed. The actual driver slipped down the rocks into the valley below, and seemed to hide himself among the bushes; while Isabel remained alone, with her hands tied, and unable to quit the vehicle in which she had been placed.

A number of voices talking aloud, however, soon met her ear, and a gay and gallant party, somewhat soiled with dust and smoke, rode up to the spot were she lay. The leader of the victorious body sprang from his horse at once; and, while one of his followers caught the reins of the horses in the litter, the Count de Meyrand approached Isabel's side, exclaiming, in a tone of much pity and commiseration, "I fear, indeed, Mademoiselle de Brienne, that you must have suffered terribly. Good G.o.d!" he continued, "the villain has actually tied her hands;" and on the spot, with his own dagger, he cut the cords, which had left a deep print on the small, delicate wrists that they had bound. At the same time, he added many a soothing word, but still with a tone of deference and respect, which made Isabel feel that deliverance by his hand was not, as she had at first been inclined to think, more painful than her former captivity. She spoke a few words of thanks for his a.s.sistance and attention; and, with an eagerness that waited not to be questioned, Adrian of Meyrand went on to tell her "that he had heard, late on the preceding night, that some violence had been shown to her, in consequence of an attempt she had made to escape from the castle of Ma.s.seran, and that her mother's husband was carrying her away far into Savoy.

"I have good reason to know," continued the count, "that this man has secret communications with the enemies of France, and I doubt not that his purpose was to remove you for ever from the neighbourhood of your friends and connexions, from your native country, and from the protection of the king. Although," he added, with a sigh, "I was not sure that my a.s.sistance would be acceptable, yet I could not resist my inclination to follow and offer you deliverance. I was afraid of offending you; but these bonds upon your hands, sweet lady, evidently show that you were carried away against your will, and, therefore, what I have done has not been in vain."

His words agreed so well with the suspicions which Isabel de Brienne had before entertained regarding the views and purposes of the Lord of Ma.s.seran, that they taught her to put more faith in the count than she might otherwise have been inclined to do. The respectful tone which he a.s.sumed, too, removed, as we have said, many anxieties from her mind, and she again expressed her thanks for the service he had rendered her, but still looked bewildered in his face, as if inquiring what was to be done next.

The Count de Meyrand skilfully read that look, and, knowing that her situation placed her entirely in his power for the time, he determined to leave her the utmost appearance of unrestrained liberty so long as she could use it to no effect. He said not a word then in regard to where her steps should be turned, but stood beside the litter with his cap in his hand, and the feather trailing on the ground, as if waiting for her commands.

Isabel was embarra.s.sed: she could have wished to tell him all that had occurred; she could have wished to say, "I am Bernard de Rohan's wife.

Protect me for the sake of your friend and companion." But there was a hesitation, a doubt, an apprehension: she had known and she had seen, with a woman's clear insight into all those things that appertain to love, how strong and dangerous was the pa.s.sion which the Count de Meyrand had conceived for her; and, though timidity had certainly some share in making her hesitate to acknowledge at once her union with Bernard de Rohan, yet an apprehension of endangering him, of making his imprisonment more severe, of putting his very life in peril if she acknowledged her union with him to his rival, confirmed her resolution of taking time to think ere she so acted. What she was next to do, however, was the immediate question; and, after a long and embarra.s.sing pause, she said, half as a question to herself and half to the count, "Where can I go to, and what can I do?"

That question was what Meyrand expected and what he desired. "If I might advise," he said, in an humble tone, "Mademoiselle de Brienne would at once proceed to the court of the King of France, and put herself under the protection of her own sovereign, who is the person best qualified to guide and guard her. She will there also have the counsel and a.s.sistance of her brother, and will consequently be restored to that situation of freedom, comfort, and, I trust, peace, of which I must think she was deprived by her mother's marriage with this unprincipled Savoyard."

"But there are many things," said Isabel, in a low tone, "but there are many things, Monsieur de Meyrand--" and, as she spoke, the thought came across her of leaving the man to whom she had so lately given her hand in danger, in grief, perhaps in misery, and of putting many hundreds of miles between them within a few hours after they had pledged themselves to each other to remain together for life.

The Count de Meyrand, however, cut her short. "At all events, dear lady," he said, "it is necessary, very necessary, for us to pa.s.s the French frontier immediately. It is at no great distance; and a few hours will place us in our native land. Depend upon it, this good Lord of Ma.s.seran will not lose his prize so easily. Every man I have in Savoy is with me here. He can call hundreds to his aid, and, I fear, might overwhelm me in spite of all resistance. If, indeed, you wish to remain in Savoy, I will do my best to protect you; but I fear much the consequences, and I would advise, nay, persuade you, to take the road to France at once. You can determine upon your future conduct afterward, when we are once across the frontier; for, though France holds this country by armed force, still it is not our own; and, while we keep the fortresses, we are obliged to leave the open country to its fate. Ha!"

he continued, gazing along the road, down which a party of his attendants were now leading a horse, bearing the poor, quiet _soubrette_, who had followed her mistress through that eventful night.

"Ha! here come some of my people, seemingly with a woman servant. If she be any one you can depend upon, it may be a great comfort for you to have her with you."

"She is my own maid," replied the lady, "and I think, my lord, as you do, that we had better, in the first instance, make our way into France direct, if the distance be not great to the frontier."

"It is but a few hours' ride," replied the count. "But we must lose no time lest the enemy be upon us."

Though Isabel was fatigued and exhausted with sorrow, agitation, and want of rest, she signified her readiness to proceed at once, and the horses in her litter were turned in the direction of the frontier. Her maid, too, weary with the long journey on horseback, took her place beside her mistress in the more easy conveyance; and the Count de Meyrand, riding close to the vehicle, continued to offer to Isabel de Brienne every kindly and soothing attention. Nor was his manner marked by any such signs of admiration or affection as could give her pain; but, at the same time, it must be confessed, she would have been much better satisfied to have been left to a communion with her own thoughts.

The mere necessity of travelling any distance under the guidance and protection of a man whose love she had been forced to reject, and who had pressed it upon her in a way that she had felt to be insulting, was painful in the highest degree; and the prospect of having to proceed far in such circ.u.mstances was so grievous, that she resolved at all risks to avoid it. What plan she was to form for this purpose was a question which required much thought to answer; but the count took care that she should have no time either for calm consideration or for discussing her future prospects with the woman who accompanied her, and who was, in fact, the only one now with her whom she had known long and well.

Ere three hours were over, they pa.s.sed the frontier into France; and Isabel could not help thinking it strange that, if the Lord of Ma.s.seran's purpose had been to throw himself into the hands either of the emperor or of Philip of Spain, he should thus have approached within a few leagues of the French territory. There were other circ.u.mstances also, in all that had pa.s.sed, which puzzled her; but she had no means of accounting for any of these matters, and could not lull to sleep the suspicions which they occasioned.

At the first village which they came to, it was found necessary to pause for the purpose of refres.h.i.+ng the horses of the litter; and everything that could be procured for her comfort and convenience was ordered with prompt and careful attention by the Count of Meyrand. When he had seen that a chamber had been prepared for her in the little inn, where she could repose for an hour or two, and that refreshments of various kinds were in active preparation, he ordered his horse to be brought round again, much to her surprise, saying, "It will be better for me now to leave you, Mademoiselle de Brienne. You will be in security here till my return; but I must go and scour the country towards Chambery, to make sure that none of this man's parties have crossed the frontier, and are watching for you on your onward way."

Isabel was anxious to put the best interpretation on her companion's conduct, and it seemed to her that this might merely be a delicate excuse to leave her for the time. She was willing to imagine that such an explanation had taken place between the count and Bernard de Rohan as to deprive the former of all hope of obtaining her hand, and she fancied that Adrian de Meyrand's conduct in the present instance might be guided by a wish to show that his purposes were only those of friends.h.i.+p and honourable courtesy. She would not, however, banish the suspicions to which woman's instinctive insight into the pa.s.sion of which she is the object gave rise, and, for fear of being mistaken, she would not say one word to prevent his going, although she felt that it was scarcely courteous of her not to do so, and though she thought that there was an expression of disappointment on his face at the cold indifference with which she heard the announcement.

CHAPTER XI.

The Count de Meyrand and his hors.e.m.e.n wound slowly away from the door of the little cabaret, leaving Isabel de Brienne and her maid the only tenants of the place. Both were extremely tired; and the lady herself would have desired to lie down to rest at once rather than wait for the preparation of any kind of food, but that she was also anxious to converse over her situation with her attendant, and to see if, between them, they could not devise some plan of future conduct which might obviate the difficulties which surrounded her. She, therefore, did not even propose to take rest, and began the conversation at once; but, taciturn as the woman always was, she was at present more so than ever.

There was not only a sort of sullenness in her manner, which somewhat displeased Isabel, but she spoke rather in the tone of one who had been injured than in compa.s.sion for the greater sufferings of her mistress.

In answer to all inquiries regarding what had been done in the chapel after her lady had lost the power of observing what was pa.s.sing, she replied merely that she had been as frightened as anybody, and thought of n.o.body but herself.

"You seem to be grieved, Marguerite," said Isabel de Brienne, after this sort of conduct had proceeded some time, "you seem to be grieved, Marguerite, that you have aided me in this business, and so brought some inconveniences upon yourself."

"No, mademoiselle," she said, shortly, "but I am very tired."

"Then I think you had better go to bed," replied Isabel; "I shall not want you for some hours."

"I will, presently, mademoiselle," replied the maid; "but I am very hungry."

Isabel had not the heart to smile, as she might have done on another occasion; for selfishness is, perhaps, less offensive when it stands out in its plain simplicity than when it is discovered through a hypocritical disguise. In fact, like ugliness, it is more ugly when painted. Almost as the soubrette spoke, however, the good woman of the house, who was a widow, brought in with her own hands and the hands of a maid-servant--which were exactly like another pair of her own, for they enacted nothing without her orders--several dishes for the morning meal, which were placed with all due reverence before Isabel de Brienne. The young lady tried to eat; but, as she did so, the thought of many painful things, of the probable situation of him she loved best, and of the dark fate that might be hanging over him, came across her mind; and, to use the homely but expressive words of old John Hall, when describing the conduct of the first famous Duke of Buckingham between his arrest and his execution, "The meat would not down."

The soubrette, however, made up for her mistress's want of appet.i.te, and ate plentifully of all that was set before her. When she had done, Isabel bade her retire to rest, and, at the same time, ordered the food to be taken away. The soubrette at once obeyed, and left the room; and the kind-hearted hostess remarking that the young lady had taken nothing, was pressing her at least to drink some wine, for the excellence of which she vouched, when Isabel de Brienne, whose face was towards the window, gave a slight start, and replied almost immediately, "No, my good dame; the first thing that will do me good is a little quiet reflection. I think," she added, "that I saw just now a good monk, seemingly a pilgrim by the scallop on his shoulder pa.s.s close to the window, as if to sit down on the bench at the door. Give him that dish of meat, and tell him a lady sent it who begs a prayer of him, as she has been in some trouble since last night."

The worthy dame of the cabaret gladly took up the dish with her own hands and carried it forth to the wanderer. She then returned to remove some other things, and Isabel asked, somewhat eagerly, "What did he say?"

"Oh! madam, he sent you thanks," replied the hostess, "and took out a rosary, which he said had hung up at Loretto for many years, and began immediately to repeat as many paters and aves as would cost a score of crowns from our parish priest."

"Did he say nothing else?" asked Isabel, with a somewhat disappointed look.

The hostess replied in the negative, and shortly after left the young lady alone to repose. A deeper shade of melancholy then came over her.

She sat and leaned her head upon her hand, and again and again the thoughts of her own situation, and that of him she loved, came across her mind with the painful, fruitless reiteration which is the most wearying, perhaps, of all the forms of care. To know and feel that activity and exertion are absolutely necessary; to have hope only just sufficient to deprive one of the courage of despair; to believe that there is a possibility of changing our situation, yet not to know how that change can be by any means effected, how exertion should be directed, or where hope would guide; such is the state into which, from time to time, we fall in our pa.s.sage through life, and stand like men in one of those thick, impervious mists which are not absolutely darkness, but which are worse than darkness itself, from not being, like it, dissolvable by light.

She thought not, indeed, so much of herself as of another. She thought of Bernard de Rohan with deep, with strong, with tender affection; and, after some minutes of vague and wild inquiries as to what she could do next, she was obliged to turn to chance and fortune to find a footing for hope to rest upon--no, not to chance and fortune, but to the beneficence and mercy of G.o.d. There, then, her hope fixed, ay, and seemed to refresh itself. "Could she not," she asked herself, "could she not be, by some means, instrumental in aiding him she loved, let his situation be what it might?"

She had gathered from the struggle that had taken place in the chapel, from the want of all sounds of clas.h.i.+ng steel or other indications of actual combat, and also from the manner in which she had been herself dealt with, that her lover had been overpowered and made a prisoner before he could resist. She did not believe that the Lord of Ma.s.seran would dare to attempt his life. The risk, she thought, would be far too great for the object to be attained; for, in truth, she knew not what that object was, and believed it to be less than it really was, and far different. If, then, he were a captive in the chateau of Ma.s.seran, could she not, she asked herself, find means to procure his deliverance? She had heard of such things being done--ay, in the very age and times in which she lived. She had heard of woman's weak hand and persevering affection executing what man's strength and wisdom had failed to perform, and hers was a heart which, though gentle, kind, and yielding in the moment of happiness and security, was conscious of fort.i.tude, and strength, and courage, when danger and evil a.s.sailed those that she loved.

"My father's spirit," she said, "the spirit of him who endured the whole wrath and indignation of a despotic king sooner than abandon the friend of his youth, will bear me up through any trials, while I have the object of delivering him I love."

But how, how? was the question; what means could she take, what stratagems could she employ, while she was watched by the eyes of Adrian de Meyrand? Should she confide her purposes to him? Should she appeal to his courtesy--to his friends.h.i.+p for her lover--to his generosity? Should she confide in him? Dared she to do so?

As she asked herself these questions, something darkened the light, as if pa.s.sing across the window. She looked up. It was all clear again. The day was bright and suns.h.i.+ny, and the rays pouring in from the southwest.

The window was a narrow cottage lattice, in a stone frame, divided into three part.i.tions. It might have been a branch of the honeysuckle that climbed around it, which had been blown across by the wind, and caused the shadow. It might have been but a cloud pa.s.sing over the sun; and she bent her head again, and fell once more into thought. The instant after, the shadow came again, and a voice said, "Are you quite alone?"