CHAPTER XIII.
THE PARTING
We hoped to be at Hugues's house before the Countess's flight should bediscovered. Hugues and I discussed the chances as we rode. The Countwould probably give his murderous agents ample time before going to seewhy they did not come to report the deed accomplished. He would thenlose many minutes in breaking into the cell, and again in questioningthe watchman on the tower--who could not have seen us in the woods anddistant lanes--and considering what to do. The bloodhounds woulddoubtless be put upon the Countess's scent, but they would lose it atthe place where we had taken horse. And then, Hugues thought, havingtracked us into the forest, the Count would assume that we had continuedour flight through it without change of direction, and he would push onto St. Arnoult, and along the road to Chateaurenault and Tours. Thiswas, indeed, the most likely supposition. The Count would scarce expectto find us harboured in any house in the neighbourhood, and he knewnothing of Hugues's attachment to Mathilde. Still I thought it well thatthe Countess should travel on as far as possible that night, and I askedher if she felt able to do so after stopping at Hugues's house for somefood.
"Oh, yes," she answered compliantly.
I then broke to her that Hugues's and I had provided a suit of boy'sclothes which she might substitute for her present attire at his house,and so travel with less likelihood of attracting notice. To this shemade no objection. She seemed, on leaving the chateau, to have resignedherself, almost languidly, to guidance. A kind of listlessness had comeover her, which I attributed to exhaustion of spirit after all she hadexperienced.
I then told her that Hugues and I had decided it best that Mathildeshould stay at his house for the present, keeping very close and havingthe hiding-place accessible, while I went on with the Countess. Hugueshimself, who could entirely trust his old woman-servant and his boy,would see us as far as to our first resting-place.
To these proposals also she said "Very well," in a tone ofhalf-indifference, but she cast a long, sad look at Mathilde, at mentionof leaving her.
"And then, Madame," I went on, "as to our journey after we leaveHugues's house. You have said you are without relations or fortune."
"Alas, yes. A provision for life-maintenance at the convent was all thefortune left me."
"In that case, I ask you, in the name of my father and mother, to honourthem as their guest at La Tournoire. I can promise you a safe andprivate refuge there: I can promise you the friendship of my mother, theprotection of my father, and his good offices with the King, if need be,to secure your rightful claims when the Count de Lavardin dies, as hemust before many years."
"No, no, Monsieur, I shall have no claims. The Count married me withoutdowry, and if there be any other claims I surrender them. As for yourgenerous offer, I cannot think of accepting it. You and I are soon toseparate, and must not see each other again."
"But, Madame, I need not be at La Tournoire while you are there. I shallbe out in the world, seeking honour and fortune."
"No, Monsieur, it is not to be thought of. My only refuge is the conventfrom which the Count took me."
"But is it safe to go there? Have you not said yourself that the Countwould take measures to intercept you on the way?"
"But you and Hugues just now agreed that the Count would probably seekme on the road to Chateaurenault. That is in the opposite direction tothe convent, which is beyond Chateaudun."
"But the Count may seek toward the convent when he fails to find you inthe other direction. Or he may take the precaution to send a party thatway at once."
"We shall be there before he or his emissaries can, shall we not? Oncein the convent, I shall be safe.--And besides, Monsieur,"--her voicetook on a faint touch of mock-laughing bitterness--"he will think I haverun away with you for love, and for a different life than that of aconvent. No; as matters are, it is scarce likely he will seek me in theneighbourhood of the convent."
It was then determined that we should make for the convent, which,curiously, as it was beyond Chateaudun, happened to be upon my road toParis. We now arrived at Hugues's gate.
I dismounted only to help the Countess, and stayed in the road with thehorses, while Hugues led Madame and Mathilde into the cottage. He tookthem thence into the mill, that they might eat, and the Countess changeher dress, at the very entrance to the hiding-place. He then returned tome, the plan being that if we heard pursuit he and I were to mount andride on, thus leading our enemies away from the Countess, who withMathilde should betake herself to the hiding-place till danger was past.With Hugues's knowledge of the byways and forest paths, we might be ableto elude the hunt. During this wait we refreshed ourselves with wine andbread, which the old woman brought, and the boy fed the horses. In ashort time the Countess reappeared, a graceful, slender youth indoublet, breeches, riding-boots of thin leather, cap, and gloves. Herundulating hair had been reduced by Mathilde, with a pair of shears, toa suitable shortness. Mathilde followed her, loth to part. We allowedlittle time for leave-taking with the poor girl, and were soon mountedand away, Hugues leading.
"I suggest, Madame," said I, as we proceeded along the road, which wassoon shadowed from the moonlight by a narrow wood at our right, "that onthis journey you pass as my young brother, going with me to Paris to theUniversity. I will say that we have ridden ahead of our baggage andattendants,--which is literally true, for my baggage remains at Hugues'shouse and you have left Mathilde there."
"Very well, Monsieur," she replied.
"I should have some name to call you by upon occasion," said I. "I willtravel as Henri de Varion, for De Varion was my mother's name, and ifyou are willing to use it--"
"Certainly, Monsieur. As for a name to call me by upon occasion, therewill be least falsehood in calling me Louis; for my real name isLouise."
"Thank you, Madame; and if you have to address me before people, do notforget to call me Henri."
"I shall not forget."
Her manner in this acquiescence was that of one who follows blindlywhere a trusted guide directs, but who takes little interest in thecourse or the outcome. A kind of forlorn indifference seemed to havestolen over her. But she listened to the particulars of residence andhistory with which I thought it wise to provide ourselves, and brieflyassented to all. She then lapsed into silence, from which I could notdraw her beyond the fewest words that would serve in politeness toanswer my own speeches.
Meanwhile Hugues led us from the road and across the narrow wood, thenceby a lane and a pasture field to the highway for Vendome and Paris. Wepushed on steadily, passed through Les Roches, which was sound asleep,and, stopping only now and then to let our horses drink at some stream,at which times we listened and heard no sound upon the road, we enteredVendome soon after daylight.
"Had we better stop here for a few hours?" said I, watching the Countessand perceiving with sorrow how tired and weak she looked.
"I think it well, Monsieur," replied Hugues, his eyes dwelling wheremine did.
"And yet," I said, with a thought of the horror of her being taken, "itis so few leagues from Lavardin. In such a town, too, the Count's menwould visit all the inns. If we might go on to some village--someobscure inn. Could you keep up till then, Madame, do you think?"
"Oh, yes,--I think so." But her pallor of face, her weakness of voice,belied her words.
"We should be more closely observed at some smaller place than here,"said Hugues. "Besides, we need not go to an inn here. There is a decent,close-mouthed woman I know, a butcher's widow, who will lodge you if herrooms are not taken. It would be best to avoid the inns and go to herhouse at once. As like as not, if the Count did hunt this road, he wouldpass through the town without guessing you were at private lodgings."
"It is the best thing we can do," said I, with a blessing upon allwidows of butchers. Hugues guided us to a little street behind thechurch of the Trinity, and soon brought the widow's servant, and thenthe widow herself, to the door. Her rooms were vacant, and we took twoof them, in the top story, one overlooking the s
treet, the other abackyard wherein she agreed to let our horses stand. She promisedmoreover to say nothing of our presence there, and so, while Hugues ledthe horses through the narrow stone-paved passage, the widow showed usto our rooms. The front one being the larger and better, I left theCountess in possession of it as soon as we were alone, that she mightrest until the woman brought the food I had ordered.
When breakfast was set out in the back room, and the Countess opened herdoor in answer to my knock, she looked so worn out and ill that I wasalarmed. She had fallen asleep, she said, and my knock had wakened her.She ate little, and I could see that she was glad to go back and liedown again.
I had thought to resume our journey in the evening, and perhaps reachChateaudun by a night's riding. But at evening the Countess seemed nomore fit to travel than before. So I decided to stay at the widow's tillMadame was fully recovered. Hugues would have remained with us anotherday, but I sent him back to his mill and Mathilde.
On the morrow the Countess was no better. I took the risk of going out,obtaining medicine at the apothecary's, and purchasing other necessarythings for both of us which we had not been able to provide before ourflight. I was in dread lest we might have to resort to a physician andso make discovery that my young brother was a woman. Madame declared herillness was but exhaustion, and that she would soon be able to go on.But it was some days before I thought her strong enough to do so.
We had come into Vendome on a Wednesday: we left it on the followingMonday morning. We encountered nothing troublesome on the road, andarrived at Chateaudun that Monday night. The Countess endured thejourney fairly well; but her strange, dreamy listlessness had not lefther.
At Chateaudun as at Vendome, we sought out lodgings in a by-street, andtherein passed the night. We were now but a few hours' ride from theconvent, by Madame's account of its location. Soon I should have to partfrom her, with the intention on her side not to see me again, and thepromise on mine to respect that intention. To postpone this moment aslong as possible, I found pretexts for delaying our departure in themorning; but as afternoon came on she insisted upon our setting out. Idid so with a sorrowful heart, knowing it meant I must take my lastleave of her that evening.
From our having passed nearly a week without any sign of pursuit, afeeling of security had arisen in us. If the Count or his men had soughtin this direction, passing through Vendome while we lay quiet in ourback street, that search would probably be over by this time. But evenif chase had not been made simultaneously by various parties on variousroads, there had been time now for search in different directions oneafter another. Yet spies might remain posted at places along the roadsfor an indefinite period, especially near the convent. But as long asthe risk was only that of encountering a man or two at once, I hadconfidence enough. In Vendome I had bought the Countess a light rapierto wear for the sake of appearance, of course not expecting her to useit. But though in case of attack I should have to fight alone, I feltthat her presence would make me a match for two at least.
I tried to avoid falling in with people on the road, but a little wayout from Chateaudun we came upon a country gentleman, of a well-fed andamiable sort, whose desire for companionship would let us neither passahead nor drop behind. He was followed by three stout servants, andexpressed some concern at seeing two young gentlemen like us going thatroad without attendants.
"Though to be sure," he added, "there seems to be less danger now; butyou must have heard of the band of robbers that haunt the forests aboutBonneval and further on. There has been little news of their doingslately, and some people think they may have gone to other parts. But whoknows when they will suddenly make themselves heard of again, when leastexpected?--'tis always the way."
He soon made us forget about dangers of the road, however, by his heartytalk; though, indeed, for all his good-fellowship I would rather havebeen alone with Madame in these last moments. About a league fromChateaudun, he arrived at his own small estate, rich in wines andorchards; he regretted that we would not stop, and recommended inns forus at Bonneval and the towns beyond.
We rode on, the Countess and I, in silence, my own heart too disturbedfor speech, and she in that same dispirited state which had been hersfrom the beginning of our flight. Indeed now, when I was so soon to bidher farewell, she seemed more tired and melancholy, pale and drooping,than I had yet seen her. As I was sadly noticing this, we came to aplace where a lesser road ran from the highway toward a long stretch ofwoods at the right. The Countess drew in her horse, and said, indicatingthe branch road:
"That is my way, Monsieur. I will say adieu here; but I will not eventry to thank you. You have risked your life for me many times over. Iwill pray for you--with my last breath."
"But, Madame," I exclaimed in astonishment, "we are not to say adieuhere. I must see you to the convent."
"The convent is not so far now. I know the way; and I wish to go therealone. You will respect my wish, I know: have you not had your wayentirely so far on our journey? You cannot justly refuse me my willnow." She gave a wan little smile as if she knew the argument was not afair one.
"But, Madame,--what can be your reason?--It is not safe. Surely you willnot deny me the happiness of seeing my service fully accomplished,--ofknowing that you are safe at the convent?"
"I am nearly there. I know the road,--it is a shorter way than the highroads, but little used. I shall meet no travellers. I fear no danger."
"But consider, Madame. The danger may be at the very end of yourjourney. The Count may have spies within sight of the convent. You mayfall into a trap at the last moment."
"I can go first to the house of a woodman in the forest, whose wife wasa servant of my mother's. They are good, trustworthy people, and can seeif all is safe before I approach the convent. If there is danger, I cansend word by them to the Mother Superior, who can find means to get mein secretly at night. You may deem your service accomplished, Monsieur.I must take my leave now."
"But it is so strange! What can be your reason?--what can be yourobjection to my going with you?"
"Ah, Monsieur, it may be unfair, but a woman is exempt from having togive reasons. It is my wish,--is not that enough? I am so deeply yourdebtor already,--let me be your debtor in this one thing more.--You havespent money for me: I have no means of repaying--nay, I will not mentionit,--you have given me so much that is above all price,--your courageand skill. But enough of this--to speak of such things in my poor way isto cheapen them. Adieu, Monsieur!--adieu, Henri!"
She held out her hand, to which I lowered my lips without a word, for Icould not speak.
"You will go your way when I go mine," she said with tenderness. "ToParis, perhaps?"
"To Paris--I suppose so," I said vaguely.
"This horse belongs to Hugues," she said, stroking the animal's neck. "Imay find means to send it back to him.--Well, adieu! God be with you onyour journey, Monsieur,--and through your life."
"Oh, Madame!--adieu, if you will have it so! adieu!--adieu, Louis!"
She smiled acquiescently at my use of the name by which I had hadoccasion to call her a few times at our lodging-places. Then, sayingonce more, "Adieu, Henri!" she turned her horse's head and started downthe by-road. With a heavy heart, I waited till she had disappeared inthe woods. I had hoped she might look back, but she had not done so.
A movement of my rein, which I made without intention, was taken by myhorse as a signal to go on, and the creature, resuming its originaldirection, kept to the highway and plodded along toward Bonneval andParis.
Never in all my life, before or since, have I felt so alone. What wasthere for me to do now? All my care, all my heart, was with the solitaryfigure on horseback somewhere yonder in the forest. Had life any objectfor me elsewhere?
Yes, faith!--and I laughed ironically as it came back to my thoughts--Imight now go on to Paris and cut off the moustaches of Brignan deBrignan!