CHAPTER XI
"Vengeance is mine."
The pretence of a headache enabled Juliette to keep in her room thegreater part of the day. She would have liked to shut herself out fromthe entire world during those hours which she spent face to face withher own thoughts and her own sufferings.
The sight of Anne Mie's pathetic little face as she brought her food anddelicacies and various little comforts, was positive torture to thepoor, harrowed soul.
At every sound in the great, silent house she started up, quivering withapprehension and horror. Had the sword of Damocles, which she herselfhad suspended, already fallen over the heads of those who had shown hernothing but kindness?
She could not think of Madame Deroulede or of Anne Mie without the mostagonising, the most torturing shame.
And what of him--the man she had so remorselessly, so ruthlesslybetrayed to a tribunal which would know no mercy?
Juliette dared not think of him.
She had never tried to analyse her feelings with regard to him. At thetime of Charlotte Corday's trial, when his sonorous voice rang out inits pathetic appeal for the misguided woman, Juliette had given himungrudging admiration. She remembered now how strongly his magneticpersonality had roused in her a feeling of enthusiasm for the poor girl,who had come from the depths of her quiet provincial home, in order toaccomplish the horrible deed which would immortalise her name throughall the ages to come, and cause her countrymen to proclaim her "greaterthan Brutus."
Deroulede was pleading for the life of that woman, and it was his veryappeal which had aroused Juliette's dormant energy, for the cause whichher dead father had enjoined her not to forget. It was Deroulede againwhom she had seen but a few weeks ago, standing alone before the mob whowould have torn her to pieces, haranguing them on her behalf, speakingto them with that quiet, strong voice of his, ruling them with the ruleof love and pity, and turning their wrath to gentleness.
Did she hate him, then?
Surely, surely she hated him for having thrust himself into her life,for having caused her brother's death and covered her father's decliningyears with sorrow. And, above all, she hated him--indeed, indeed it washate!--for being the cause of this most hideous action of her life: anaction to which she had been driven against her will, one of basestingratitude and treachery, foreign to every sentiment within her heart,cowardly, abject, the unconscious outcome of this strange magnetismwhich emanated from him and had cast a spell over her, transforming herindividuality and will power, and making of her an unconscious andautomatic instrument of Fate.
She would not speak of God's finger again: it was Fate--pagan, devilishFate!--the weird, shrivelled women who sit and spin their interminablethread. They had decreed; and Juliette, unable to fight, blind andbroken by the conflict, had succumbed to the Megaeras and theirrelentless wheel.
At length silence and loneliness became unendurable. She calledPetronelle, and ordered her to pack her boxes.
"We leave for England to-day", she said curtly.
"For England?" gasped the worthy old soul, who was feeling very happyand comfortable in this hospitable house, and was loth to leave it. "Sosoon?"
"Why, yes; we had talked of it for some time. We cannot remain herealways. My cousins De Crecy are there, and my aunt De Coudremont. Weshall be among friends, Petronelle, if we ever get there."
"If we ever get there!" sighed poor Petronelle; "we have but very littlemoney, _ma cherie,_ and no passports. Have you thought of asking M.Deroulede for them?"
"No, no," rejoined Juliette hastily; "I'll see to the passports somehow,Petronelle. Sir Percy Blakeney is English; he'll tell me what to do."
"Do you know where he lives, my jewel?"
"Yes; I heard him tell Madame Deroulede last night that he was lodgingwith a provincial named Brogard at the Sign of the Cruche Cassee. I'llgo seek him, Petronelle; I am sure he will help me. The English are soresourceful and practical. He'll get us our passports, I know, andadvise us as to the best way to proceed. Do you stay here and get allour things ready. I'll not be long."
She took up a cloak and hood, and, throwing them over her arm, sheslipped out of the room.
Deroulede had left the house earlier in the day. She hoped that he hadnot yet returned, and ran down the stairs quickly, so that she might goout unperceived.
The house was quite peaceful and still. It seemed strange to Juliettethat there did not hang over it some sort of pall-like presentiment ofcoming evil.
From the kitchen, at some little distance from the hall, Anne Mie'svoice was heard singing an old ditty:
/*[4] "De ta tige detachee Pauvre feuille dessechee Ou vas-tu?"*/
Juliette paused a moment. An awful ache had seized her heart; her eyesunconsciously filled with tears, as they roamed round the walls of thishouse which had sheltered her so hospitably, these three weeks past.
And now whither was she going? Like the poor, dead leaf of the song, shewas wastrel, torn from the parent bough, homeless, friendless, havingturned against the one hand which, in this great time of peril, had beenextended to her in kindness and in love.
Conscience was beginning to rise up against her, and that hydra-headedtyrant Remorse. She closed her eyes to shut out the hideous vision ofher crime; she tried to forget this home which her treachery haddesecrated.
/*[4] "Je vais ou va toute chose Ou va la feuille de rose Et la feuille de laurier,"*/
sang Anne Mie plaintively.
A great sob broke from Juliette's aching heart. The misery of it all wasmore than she could bear. Ah, pity her if you can! She had fought andstriven, and been conquered. A girl's soul is so young, soimpressionable; and she had grown up with that one, awful, all-pervadingidea of duty to accomplish, a most solemn oath to fulfil, one sworn toher dying father, and on the dead body of her brother. She had beggedfor guidance, prayed for release, and the voice from above had remainedsilent. Weak, miserable, cringing, the human soul, when torn withearthly passion, must look at its own strength for the fight.
And now the end had come. That swift, scarce tangible dream of peace,which had flitted through her mind during the past few weeks, hadvanished with the dawn, and she was left desolate, alone with her greatsin and its lifelong expiation.
Scarce knowing what she did, she fell on her knees, there on thatthreshold, which she was about to leave for ever. Fate had placed on heryoung shoulders a burden too heavy for her to bear.
"Juliette!"
At first she did not move. It was his voice coming from the study behindher. Its magic thrilled her, as it had done that day in the Hall ofJustice. Strong, passionate, tender, it seemed now to raise every echoof response in her heart. She thought it was a dream, and remained thereon her knees lest it should be dispelled.
Then she heard his footsteps on the flagstones of the hall. Anne Mie'splaintive singing had died away in the distance. She started, and jumpedto her feet, hastily drying her eyes. The momentary dream was dispelled,and she was ashamed of her weakness.
He, the cause of all her sorrows, of her sin, and of her degradation,had no right to see her suffer.
She would have fled out of the house now, but it was too late. He hadcome out of his study, and, seeing her there on her knees weeping, hecame quickly forward, trying, with all the innate chivalry of hisupright nature, not to let her see that he had been a witness to hertears.
"You are going out, mademoiselle?" he said courteously, as, wrapping hercloak around her, she was turning towards the door.
"Yes, yes," she replied hastily; "a small errand, I ..."
"Is it anything I can do for you?"
"No."
"If ..." he added, with visible embarrassment, "if your errand wouldbrook a delay, might I crave the honour of your presence in my study fora few moments?"
"My errand brooks of no delay, Citizen Deroulede," she said ascomposedly as she could, "and perhaps on my return I might ..."
"I am leaving almost directly, mademoiselle, and I would wish to bid
yougood-bye."
He stood aside to allow her to pass, either out, through the street dooror across the hall to his study.
There had been no reproach in his voice towards the guest, who was thusleaving him without a word of farewell. Perhaps if there had been any,Juliette would have rebelled. As it was, an unconquerable magnetismseemed to draw her towards him, and, making an almost imperceptible signof acquiescence, she glided past him into his room.
The study was dark and cool; for the room faced the west, and theshutters had been closed, in order to keep out the hot August sun. Atfirst Juliette could see nothing, but she felt his presence near her, ashe followed her into the room, leaving the door slightly ajar.
"It is kind of you, mademoiselle," he said gently, "to accede to myrequest, which was perhaps presumptuous. But, you see, I am leaving thishouse to-day, and I had a selfish longing to hear your voice bidding mefarewell."
Juliette's large, burning eyes were gradually piercing the semi-gloomaround her. She could see him distinctly now, standing close beside her,in an attitude of the deepest, almost reverential respect.
The study was as usual neat and tidy, denoting the orderly habits of aman of action and energy. On the ground there was a valise, readystrapped as if for a journey, and on the top of it a bulky letter-caseof stout pigskin, secured with a small steel lock. Juliette's eyesfastened upon this case with a look of fascination and of horror.Obviously it contained Deroulede's papers, the plans for MarieAntoinette's escape, the passports of which he had spoken the day beforeto his friend, Sir Percy Blakeney--the proofs, in fact, which she hadoffered to the representatives of the people, in support of herdenunciation of the Citizen-Deputy.
After his request he had said nothing more. He was waiting for her tospeak; but her voice felt parched; it seemed to her as if hands of steelwere gripping her throat, smothering the words she would have longed tospeak.
"Will you not wish me godspeed, mademoiselle?" he repeated gently.
"Godspeed?" Oh! the awful irony of it all! Should God speed him to amock trial and to the guillotine? He was going thither, though he didnot know it, and was even now trying to take the hand which haddeliberately sent him there.
At last she made an effort to speak, and in a toneless, even voice shecontrived to murmur:
"You are not going for long, Citizen-Deputy?"
"In these times, mademoiselle," he replied, "any farewell might be forever. But I am actually going for a month to the Conciergerie, to takecharge of the unfortunate prisoner there."
"For a month!" she repeated mechanically.
"Oh yes!" he said, with a smile. "You see, our present Government isafraid that poor Marie Antoinette will exercise her fascinations overany lieutenant-governor of her prison, if he remain near her longenough, so a new one is appointed every month. I shall be in chargeduring this coming Vendemiaire. I shall hope to return before theequinox, but--who can tell?"
"In any case then, Citoyen Deroulede, the farewell I bid you to-nightwill be a very long one."
"A month will seem a century to me," he said earnestly, "since I mustspend it without seeing you, but ..."
He looked long and searchingly at her. He did not understand her in herpresent mood, so scared and wild did she seem, so unlike that girlish,light-hearted self, which had made the dull old house so bright thesepast few weeks.
"But I should not dare to hope," he murmured, "that a similar reasonwould cause you to call that month a long one."
She turned perhaps a trifle paler than she had been hitherto, and hereyes roamed round the room like those of a trapped hare seeking toescape.
"You misunderstand me, Citoyen Deroulede," she said at last hurriedly."You have all been kind--very kind--but Petronelle and I can no longertrespass on your hospitality. We have friends in England, and manyenemies here ..."
"I know," he interrupted quietly; "it would be the most arrantselfishness on my part to suggest, that you should stay here an hourlonger than necessary. I fear that after to-day my roof may no longerprove a sheltering one for you. But will you allow me to arrange foryour safety, as I am arranging for that of my mother and Anne Mie? MyEnglish friend Sir Percy Blakeney, has a yacht in readiness off theNormandy coast. I have already seen to your passports and to all thearrangements of your journey as far as there, and Sir Percy, or one ofhis friends, will see you safely on board the English yacht. He hasgiven me his promise that he will do this, and I trust him as I wouldmyself. For the journey through France, my name is a sufficientguarantee that you will be unmolested; and if you will allow it, mymother and Anne Mie will travel in your company. Then ..."
"I pray you stop, Citizen Deroulede," she suddenly interruptedexcitedly. "You must forgive me, but I cannot allow thus to make anyarrangements for me. Petronelle and I must do as best we can. All yourtime and trouble should be spent for the benefit of those who have aclaim upon you, whilst I ..."
"You speak unkindly, mademoiselle; there is no question of claim."
"And you have no right to think ..." she continued, with a growing,nervous excitement, drawing her hand hurriedly away, for he had tried toseize it.
"Ah! pardon me," he interrupted earnestly, "there you are wrong. I havethe right to think of you and for you--the inalienable right conferredupon me by my great love for you."
"Citizen-Deputy!"
"Nay, Juliette; I know my folly, and I know my presumption. I know thepride of your caste and of your party, and how much you despise thepartisan of the squalid mob of France. Have I said that I aspired togain your love? I wonder if I have ever dreamed it? I only know,Juliette, that you are to me something akin to the angels, somethingwhite and ethereal, intangible, and perhaps ununderstandable. Yet,knowing my folly, I glory in it, my dear, and I would not let you go outof my life without telling you of that, which has made every hour of thepast few weeks a paradise for me--my love for you, Juliette."
He spoke in that low, impressive voice of his, and with those soft,appealing tones with which she had once heard him pleading for poorCharlotte Corday. Yet now he was not pleading for himself, not for hisselfish wish or for his own happiness, only pleading for his love, thatshe should know of it, and, knowing it, have pity in her heart for him,and let him serve her to the end.
He did not say anything more for a while; he had taken her hand, whichshe no longer withdrew from him, for there was sweet pleasure in feelinghis strong fingers close tremblingly over hers. He pressed his lips uponher hand, upon the soft palm and delicate wrist, his burning kissesbearing witness to the tumultuous passion, which his reverence for herwas holding in check.
She tried to tear herself away from him, but he would not let her go:
"Do not go away just yet, Juliette," he pleaded. "Think! I may never seeyou again; but when you are far from me--in England, perhaps--amongstyour own kith and kin, will you try sometimes to think kindly of one whoso wildly, so madly worships you?"
She would have stilled, an she could, the beating of her heart, whichwent out to him at last with all the passionate intensity of her great,pent-up love. Every word he spoke had its echo within her very soul, andshe tried not to hear his tender appeal, not to see his dark headbending in worship before her. She tried to forget his presence, not toknow that he was there--he, the man whom she had betrayed to serve herown miserable vengeance, whom in her mad, exalted rage she had thoughtthat she hated, but whom she now knew that she loved better than herlife, better than her soul, her traditions, or her oath.
Now, at this moment, she made every effort to conjure up the vision ofher brother brought home dead upon a stretcher, of her father'sdeclining years, rendered hideous by the mind unhinged through the greatsorrow.
She tried to think of the avenging finger of God pointing the way to thefulfilment of her oath, and called to Him to stand by her in thisterrible agony of her soul.
And God spoke to her at last; through the eternal vistas of boundlessuniverse, from that heaven which had known no pity, His voice came toher now, clear, aweso
me, and implacable:
"Vengeance is mine! I will repay!"