CHAPTER LIII.
THE FRIENDS.
While Paris was in this ferment, Madame de Monsoreau, escortedby her father and two servants, pursued their way to Meridor. Shebegan to enjoy her liberty, precious to those who have suffered.The azure of the sky, compared to that which hung always menacinglyover the black towers of the Bastile, the trees already green,all appeared to her fresh and young, beautiful and new, as ifshe had really come out of the tomb where her father had believedher. He, the old baron, had grown young again. We will not attemptto describe their long journey, free from incidents. Severaltimes the baron said to Diana,--
"Do not fear, my daughter."
"Fear what?"
"Were you not looking if M. de Monsoreau was following us?"
"Yes, it was true, I did look," replied she, with a sigh and anotherglance behind.
At last, on the eighth day, they reached the chateau of Meridor,and were received by Madame de St. Luc and her husband. Thenbegan for these four people one of those existences of whichevery man has dreamed in reading Virgil or Theocritus. The baronand St. Luc hunted from morning till evening; you might haveseen troops of dogs rushing from the hills in pursuit of somehare or fox, and startling Diana and Jeanne, as they sat sideby side on the moss, under the shade of the trees.
"Recount to me," said Jeanne, "all that happened to you in thetomb, for you were dead to us. See, the hawthorn is sheddingon us its last flowers, and the elders send out their perfume.Not a breath in the air, not a human being near us; recount,little sister."
"What can I say?"
"Tell me, are you happy? That beautiful eye often swimming intears, the paleness of your cheeks, that mouth which tries asmile which it never finishes--Diana, you must have many thingsto tell me."
"No, nothing."
"You are, then, happy with M. de Monsoreau?"
Diana shuddered.
"You see!" said Jeanne.
"With M. de Monsoreau! Why did you pronounce that name? why doyou evoke that phantom in the midst of our woods, our flowers,our happiness?"
"You told me, I think," said Jeanne, "that M. de Bussy showedmuch interest in you."
Diana reddened, even to her round pretty ears.
"He is a charming creature," continued Jeanne, kissing Diana.
"It is folly," said Diana; "M. de Bussy thinks no more of Dianade Meridor."
"That is possible; but I believe he pleases Diana de Monsoreaua little."
"Do not say that."
"Does it displease you?"
"I tell you he thinks no more of me; and he does well--oh, I wascowardly."
"What do you say?"
"Nothing, nothing."
"Now, Diana, do not cry, do not accuse yourself. You cowardly!you, my heroine! you were constrained."
"I believed it; I saw dangers, gulfs under my feet. Now, Jeanne,these dangers seem to me chimerical, these gulfs as if a childcould cross them. I was cowardly, I tell you; oh, I had no timeto reflect."
"You speak in enigmas."
"No," cried Diana, rising, "it was not my fault, it was his.The Duc d'Anjou was against him; but when one wishes a thing,when one loves, neither prince nor master should keep you back.See, Jeanne, if I loved----"
"Be calm, dear friend."
"I tell you, _we_ were cowardly."
"'We!' of whom do you speak? That 'we' is eloquent, my dearestDiana."
"I mean my father and I; you did not think anything else, didyou? My father is a nobleman--he might have spoken to the king;I am proud, and do not fear a man when I hate him. But _he_did not love me."
"You lie to yourself! you know the contrary, little hypocrite!"
"You may believe in love, Jeanne, you, whom M. de St. Luc marriedin spite of the king; you, whom he carried away from Paris; you,who pay him by your caresses for proscription and exile."
"And he thinks himself richly repaid."
"But I--reflect a little, do not be egotistical--I, whom thatfiery young man pretended to love--I, who fixed the regards ofthat invincible Bussy, he who fears no one--I was alone with himin the cloister of l'Egyptienne--we were alone; but for Gertrudeand Remy, our accomplices, he could have carried me off. At thatmoment I saw him suffering because of me; I saw his eyes languishing,his lips pale and parched with fever. If he had asked me to dieto restore the brightness to his eyes, and the freshness to hislips, I should have died. Well, I went away, and he never triedto detain me. Wait still. He knew that I was leaving Paris, thatI was returning to Meridor; he knew that M. de Monsoreau--I blushas I tell it--was only my husband in name; he knew that I traveledalone; and along the road, dear Jeanne, I kept turning, thinkingI heard the gallop of his horse behind us. But no, it was onlythe echo of my own. I tell you he does not think of me. I amnot worth a journey to Anjou while there are so many beautifulwomen at the court of France, whose smiles are worth a hundredconfessions from the provincial, buried at Meridor. Do you understandnow? Am I forgotten, despised----"
She had not finished when the foliage of the oak rustled, a quantityof mortar and moss fell from the old wall, and a man threw himselfat the feet of Diana, who uttered an affrighted cry.
Jeanne ran away--she recognized him.
"Here I am!" cried Bussy, kissing the dress of Diana.
She too recognized him, and, overcome by this unexpected happiness,fell unconscious into the arms of him whom she had just accusedof indifference.