CHAPTER XV.
THE TOWER OF MORLON
The Countess still lay on the grassy couch beneath the oak. She seemedto have lost all will as to her course of action.
"I think best not to go with those guards," I explained after a moment."For why should we travel their way without any destination? There isnothing for us now in that direction. After what you have told me, Idare not let you go to the convent."
"There is no place for me," she said listlessly. "Death has disappointedme, and left me in the lurch. I think this place is as good as another."
She closed her eyes for some moments, as if she would lie there tilldeath came, after all.
"No," said I; "you must not stay here. Night is coming on: the chill andthe dews will be harmful to you. Besides, there are clouds alreadyblotting out some of the stars, and the wind is rising and may bringmore. If there is rain, it may be heavy, after so many days of fineweather. It will soon be too dark to follow the path. We must be gettingon."
"I am weak from this blow," she said,--rather as if for a pretextagainst moving, I thought. "I am not sure I could keep my saddle."
"I can carry you as I ride, if need be, and let your horse follow. Come,Madame, let us see if you can rise. If not, I will take you in my armsto the glade, where it will be easier to mount."
I stooped to support her, but she did not stir.
"But where am I to go?" she said. "Of what use to travel aimlessly fromplace to place? As you say, why should we ride on toward the conventwithout a destination? But where else have I a destination?"
"Listen, Madame. Is it not probable that after some weeks, or months,the Count, still disappointed of your taking refuge at the convent, willgive up hope or expectation of finding you there? Will he not thenwithdraw his attention from the convent?"
"I suppose so."
"And can we not, if we take time, find means to learn when that becomesthe case? Can we not, by careful investigation, make sure whether he isstill watching the convent or whether he has an informant there? Can wenot enter into communication with the Mother Superior, and find out whather attitude is toward you,--whether, if you returned, your residencethere would be safe and kept secret? Surely she would not betray you."
"Oh, no; whatever attitude she took, she would tell me the truth."
"Then it is only necessary to wait a few months and take those measures,without letting your own whereabouts be known even to the MotherSuperior."
"But meanwhile would you have me continue doing as I have done since myflight,--passing as something I am not, receiving the protection--livingon the very bounty--of the one person in all the world from whom Ishould accept nothing? Why, Monsieur, if it were known--if no more thanthe mere truth were told--would it not seem to justify the Count deLavardin?"
"I do not ask you to do as you have done. For only two or three days youneed pass as a boy. You may then not only resume the habit of a woman,but enjoy the company and friendship of a woman as saintly as yourself.Your presence in her house must be a secret till affairs mend, but youmay be sure that if her friendship for you were known, it would be asufficient answer to anything your husband or the world might sayagainst you."
"It is of your mother that you speak. But I told you before, it is notfrom you that I dare accept so much."
"It will be from my mother, who will believe me when I tell her thetruth, and who will take you as her guest and friend for your own sake.As for me, my affairs in Paris will keep me from La Tournoire while youare there:--for consider, what I propose now is not what you refusedthat night we fled from Lavardin. I spoke then of your making LaTournoire your refuge for an indefinite time,--the rest of your life, ifneed be:--I speak now of your staying there only till your saferesidence at the convent can be assured,--only a few months, or weeks."
Though I had begun and ended by speaking of the convent, I did so merelywith the object of inducing her to go to La Tournoire. Once there, shewould be under the guidance and persuasion of my mother, who couldinfluence her to remain till the Count's death removed all danger.
"You must not refuse, Madame," I went on. "God has shown that He doesnot desire your death, and it must be His will that you should acceptthis plan, so clear and simple. Speak, Madame!"
"I know not.--I have no strength, no will, to oppose further. Let it beas you think best." The last vestige of her power of objection, ofresolving or thinking for herself, seemed to pass out in a tired sigh.
"Good!" I cried. "Then we have but to regain the road and find some innfor the night. To-morrow we shall ride back to Chateaudun, or perhaps onto Bonneval, and then make for La Tournoire by Le Mans and Sable, whichis to give a wide berth to Montoire and the road we have come by. Do youthink you can rise, Madame?--Nay, wait till I lead the horses out."
I took the horses to the glade, then returned and found the Countessalready on her feet, though with her hand against the tree, as she wassomewhat dizzy. She walked with my assistance, and I helped her to hersaddle,--she now thought herself able to ride without support. I mountedmy own horse, grasped the halter of the other, and took the path for thehighway.
"We are none too soon," said I, as we left the glade. "How dark the pathis even now: I hope we shall be able to keep it."
Darkness came on more quickly than usual, because of the swiftoverclouding of the sky. Very soon I could not see two paces before me.Then blackness settled down upon us. My horse still went on, but slowlyand uncertainly, with many a halt to make sure of footing and a freeway. When I glanced back, I could not see the Countess, but I held thetighter to the halter of her horse and frequently asked if all was well.Her reply was, "Yes, Monsieur," in a faint, tired voice. I felt aboutwith my whip for the trees at the side of the path, and thus was able toguide the horse when its own confidence faltered.
Instead of cooling, the air became close. Suddenly the forest waslighted up by a pale flash which, lasting but a moment, was followedafter a time by a distant rumble of thunder.
"It is far away, Madame," said I. "It may not come in this direction, orwe may be safely housed before it does."
"I am not afraid."
However, lest rain might fall suddenly, I stopped the horses, unrolledfrom behind my saddle a cloak which I had bought in Vendome, and put itaround the Countess. We then proceeded as best we could. Slowly as wehad gone, I began to think it time we should emerge from the forest; butanother flash of lightning showed apparently endless vistas of wood onevery side. We went on for another half hour or so, during which thedistant thunder continued at intervals; and then, finding ourselves asdeep in the forest as ever, I perceived that we must have strayed fromour right path. I stopped and told the Countess.
"It must be so," she said.
"I noticed no cross-path when I rode into the forest this afternoon. Yeta path might join at such an angle that, looking straight ahead, Ishould not have seen it. Yes, that is undoubtedly the case, if we are ina path at all. Perhaps we are following the bed of a dried-up stream."
"Do you wish to turn back, then?"
"We might only lose ourselves. And yet that is what must happen if we goahead. Let us wait for a flash of lightning."
One came presently, while my eyes were turned ready in what I thoughtthe direction from which we had come. But there seemed to lie no openingat all in that direction. Then, in the blacker darkness that ensued, Iremembered that I had turned my horse slightly while talking of thematter. I could not now tell exactly which direction we had come from.It occurred to me that perhaps for some time we had wandered about in nopath at all, going where trees and underbrush left space clear enough tobe mistaken.
I confessed that I knew not which way to go, even to find the originalpath.
"Is it best to ride on at random, in hope of coming upon something, orto stay where we are till daylight?" I asked.
The Countess had no will upon the matter. But the question was decidedfor me by a heavy downpour of rain, which came in a rush withoutwarning. It was evident that the fo
liage over us was not thick. So Ishouted to the Countess that we would go on till we found trees thatgave more protection. I urged my horse to move, letting him choose hisown course, and he obediently toiled forward, I exerting myself to keepthe other horse close, and also feeling the way with my whip.
As swift as the oncoming of the rain, was the increase of the lightning,both in frequency and intensity. The fall of the rain seemed loud beyondmeasure, but it was drowned out of all hearing when the thunder rolledand reverberated across the sky. In the bright bursts of lightning, thetrees, seen through falling rain, seemed like companions suffering withus the chastisement of the heavens; but in the darkness that intervenedbetween the flashes, the forest and all the world seemed to have diedout of existence, leaving nothing but the pelting waters and the din ofthe storm.
At last we came, not to a region where the boughs were less penetrable,but to an open space where the downpour had us entirely at its mercy. Ithought at first we had got out of the forest, or into the glade we hadleft: but a brilliant flash showed us it was another small clearing,which rose slightly toward the thick woods on its further side. And thesame lightning revealed, against the background of trees, a solitarytower, old and half-ruined, slender and of no great height. A doorway ona level with the ground stood half open.
"Did you see that?" I cried, when the lightning had passed. "There isshelter."
"It must be the tower of Morlon," said the Countess.
"And who lives there?"
"Nobody,--at least it was said to be empty when I used to hear of it. Itis all that is left of a house that was destroyed in the civil wars.Hunting parties sometimes resort to it, and the peasants make use of itwhen passing this way.--Yes, we have come far out of our road, if thatis really the tower of Morlon."
"Then it is every man's house. The door is open."
"It is an abandoned place, and people would take no care how they leftthe door."
"Let us go in, then. There can be nobody there, or the door would beclosed against this storm."
I rode toward the spot where I supposed the tower was, and, rectifyingmy course by the next flash, I presently felt the stone wall with mywhip. I dismounted, found the entrance, pushed the door wide, and saw bythe lightning a low-ceiled interior, which was empty. I led the horsesin, helped the Countess from the saddle, and removed her cloak, which,though itself drenched, had kept her clothes comparatively dry.
My first thought was of a place where the Countess might recline. But,as I found by groping about and by the frequent lightning, there wasnothing except the floor, which, originally paved with stone, was nowcovered with dried mud from the boots of many who had resorted to theplace before ourselves. There were no steps leading to the upper storiesof the tower: the part we were in was, indeed, but a sort of basement.It occupied the full ground space of the tower, with the rough stone asits only shell, and had no window nor any discoverable opening place inthe low ceiling.
Thinking there might be an external staircase to the story above us, Iwent out and felt my way around the tower, but found none. The entranceto the main or upper part of the tower from the buildings that onceadjoined must have been to the story above, from a floor on the samelevel. I thought of seeking the opening and climbing in from the back ofmy horse, but I reflected that the upper stories also would doubtless bedenuded, while they could offer no better shelter from the rain. So Iwas content with taking the saddles from the horses, and placing themtogether upside down in such a way that they constituted a dry recliningplace for the Countess.
There was no dry wood to be had from the forest, and no fuel of any kindin our place of refuge; so I could not make a fire. While the Countesssat in silence, I paced the floor until I succumbed to fatigue. By thattime, much of the water had dripped from my clothes, and I was able tosit on the carpet of earth with some comfort. I leaned my back againstthe wall, to wait till the storm and the night should pass.
The horses had lain down, and the Countess, as I perceived by her deepbreathing and her not answering me, was asleep. The thunder andlightning were less near and less powerful, but the rain still fell, nowdecreasingly and now with suddenly regathered force. At last I tooslept.
I awoke during the night, and changed from a sitting to a lyingposition. When I next opened my eyes, the light of dawn was streaming inat the door. The storm had ceased, birds were twittering outside. I wasaching and hungry. The Countess's face, as she slept, betokened weaknessand pain. I went and adjusted a saddle-flap that had got awry under her.As I did so, she awoke.
"I am so tired," she said in a slow, small voice, like that of a wearychild.
"You are faint for want of food," said I. "You have eaten nothing sincenoon yesterday, and very little then."
Thinking I wished to hurry our departure in search of breakfast, sheshook her head and murmured weakly:
"I am not able to go on just now. I assure you, I cannot even stand. Allstrength seems to have gone out of me." As if to illustrate, she raisedher hand a few inches: it trembled a moment, then fell as if powerless.
It was plain that she was, whether from fatigue and privation alone, orfrom illness also, in a helpless state. It would be cruelty and folly toput her on horseback. And without at least the refreshment of food andwine, how was her condition to be improved so that she might leave thisplace?
After some thought and talk, I said:
"The only thing is for me to go and get you food and wine, while youstay here. But, alas, what danger you may be in while I am gone! Ifanybody should come here and find you!"
"Nobody may come. Surely there are many days when this place is leftdeserted."
"But if somebody _should_ come?"
"All people are not cruel and wicked. It might be a person who is kindand good."
"But the robbers?"
"Why should they come? There is nothing for them here. If they came itwould be by chance; against that, we can trust in God."
"Perhaps intruders can be bolted out," said I, going to examine thedoor. It was of thick oak, heavily studded with nails, and two of itsthree hinges still held firmly. But there was no bolt, nor any means ofbarring.
"Nothing but a lock," I said, "and no key for that." It only aggravatedmy feeling of mockery to discover that both parts of the lock were stillstrong. In my petulance I flung the door back against the wall.
As one sometimes gives the improbable a trial, from mere impulse ofexperiment, I took from my pocket the two keys I had brought fromLavardin. I tried first that of the room in which I had been imprisoned:it was too small, and of no avail. I then inserted the key of thepostern. To my surprise, it fit. I turned it partly around; it metresistance: I used all my power of wrist; the lock, which had stuckbecause it was rusted and long unused, yielded to the strength Isummoned.
"Thank God!" I cried. "It seems like the work of providence, that I keptthe postern key."
I now reversed and withdrew the key, and applied it to the lock from theinside of the door, which I had meanwhile closed. But alas!--no force ofmine could move the lock from that side, though I tried again and again.
I went outside and easily enough locked the door from there. I thenrenewed my endeavours from the inside, but with failure.
"Alas!" said I, turning to the Countess; "if I cannot lock the door fromwithin, how much less will you be able to do so."
"But you can lock it from without," she answered, taking trouble tosecure my peace of mind. "Why not lock me in? It will be the same thing.In either case I should not go out during your absence."
"That is true," I said. "I will make haste. If the door is lockedagainst intruders, what matters it which of us has the key? I will guardit as my life,--nay, that too I will guard as never before, for yourswill depend upon it."
I then questioned the Countess as to what part of the forest we were in,but her knowledge of the location of the tower, with regard to roads orpaths, was vague.
I decided to take both horses with me, lest one, being heard or seen, inor
about the tower, might excite the curiosity of some chance passerthrough the forest. But I left the saddles with the Countess. Anxious tolose no more time, I knelt and kissed her hand, receiving a faint smilein acknowledgment of my care; led out the horses, locked the door,pocketed the key, mounted, and was off. I went haunted by the sweet,sorrowful eyes of the Countess as they had followed me to the door.
With the sun to guide me, I rode Westward, for in that direction must bethe highway we had left the day before. By keeping a straight course,and taking note of my place of emergence from the forest, I should beable to find my way back to the tower. The leaves overhead were nowhereso thick but that splashes of sunshine fell upon the earth andundergrowth, and, by keeping the shadow of my horse and myself everstraight in front, I maintained our direction. But besides this Ifrequently notched the bark of some tree, always on its South side, withmy dagger. Having this to do, and the second horse to lead, and theunderbrush being often difficult, my progress was slower than suited myimpatience. But in about an hour and a half from starting, I came out ofthe forest upon the bank of the Loir, which is so insignificant a streamthereabouts that I may not have mentioned fording it upon entering thewoods on the previous day. I let the horses drink, and then rodethrough, and across a meadow to the highway. I turned to the right, andarrived, sooner than I had expected, at the gate of a town, which provedto be Bonneval. I stopped at the inn across from the church, saw to thefeeding of my horses, and then went into the kitchen. I ordered a supplyof young fowl, bread, wine, milk in bottles, and other things; andbargained with the innkeeper for a pair of pliable baskets and a strapby which they might be slung across my horse like panniers. While Iwaited for the chickens to roast, I used the time in reviving my ownenergies with wine, eggs, and cold ham, which were to be hadimmediately.
Three or four people came or went while I was eating, and each timeanybody crossed the threshold of the door, I glanced to see what sort ofperson it was. This watchfulness had become habitual to me of late. Butas I was about finishing my meal, with my eyes upon my plate, I had animpression that somebody was standing near and gazing at me. As I hadnot observed any one to come so close, I looked up with a start. Andthere stood Monsieur de Pepicot, his nose as long as ever, his eyes asmeek as when they had first regarded me at Lavardin.
"My faith!" I exclaimed. "You rise like a spirit. I neither saw norheard you enter."
"I am a quiet man," he replied with a faint smile, sitting down oppositeme.
"You are the very ghost of silence itself," said I. "What do you wear onthe soles of your boots?"
Again he smiled faintly, but he left my question unanswered. "So youmanaged to keep out of trouble at that place where I last saw you?" saidhe.
"If I did not keep out of it, at least I got out of it."
"You are a clever young man,--or a lucky one. I was a little disturbedin mind at leaving you as I did. But--business called me. I knew that ifyou could manage to keep a whole body for ten days or so, even if thatamiable Count did see fit to cage you up, you would be set free in theend."
"Set free? By the Count, do you mean?"
"Not at all. By those who would visit the Count; by those who have--Butstay,--have you not just come from Lavardin?"
"No, indeed. I left that hospitable house more than a week ago. I setmyself free."
"Oh, is that the case? I ask your pardon. When I saw you here, Inaturally supposed your liberation was a result of what has justoccurred. I haven't yet learned all particulars of the event."
"What event? I don't understand you."
"Then you don't know what has been going on at Lavardin recently?"
"Not I."
"Oh, indeed? Well, it will be known to all the world very soon. TheCount, it seems, was suspected of some hand in the late intrigue withSpain--"
"Ah!"
"Why do you say 'Ah!'?"
"Nothing. I always thought there might be something wrong with theCount's politics."
"Well, so they thought in Paris. And having made sure--"
"How did they make sure?"
"Oh, by the discovery of certain documents, no doubt," said Monsieur dePepicot, with a notable unconsciousness. "It is the usual way, is itnot?"
"Aha! I begin to see now. You overdo the innocence, my friend. I beginto guess what you were doing at Lavardin--"
"Monsieur, I know not what you mean."
"I begin to guess why you wanted to get into the chateau,--what you werewandering about the house with a lantern for,--why you took your leaveso unexpectedly,--and how you knew that in ten days I should be setfree."
"Nay, Monsieur, I cannot follow you in your perceptions. I know onlythat on Monday evening a party of the King's guard appeared before theChateau de Lavardin--"
"Having been sent from Paris soon after you had arrived there with thedocuments you found in the chateau."
"Please do not interrupt with your baseless conjectures, Monsieur. As Isaid, the guards arrived at Lavardin just as, by great good fortune, theCount himself was returning from some journey or excursion he had beenon. Thus they met him outside his walls: had it been otherwise theywould doubtless have had infinite trouble, for, as we know, the chateauhas been for some time fully prepared for a siege, even to beinggarrisoned by the company of Captain Ferragant."
"What! then those fellows who thronged the court-yard--"
"Were a part of Captain Ferragant's famous company,--only a part, as Ishould have said at first, unless he has reduced its numbers. Well,instead of having the difficulty of besieging the chateau, the guardshad the luck to meet the Count in the road, when he had only a fewfollowers with him. And so they made short work."
"They succeeded in arresting him?"
"Not exactly that. He chose to resist, no doubt thinking he would soonbe reinforced from the chateau by the Captain and garrison. And in thefight, the Count was killed,--stuck through the lungs by the sword of aguard who had to defend himself from the Count's own attack."
"My God! the Count killed!--dead!--out of the way!" For a moment Ientirely yielded to the force of this news, which to my ears meant somuch.
"Yes. You don't seem grieved.--Yes: he will never annoy people again.The Captain, though, seeing from the chateau how matters had gone, cameout with his men on horseback,--not to avenge the Count, but to ride offas fast as possible in the other direction. So the King's guardsmen hadno trouble in getting into the chateau. A party of them, I believe, setoff in pursuit of the Captain, who has long been a thorn in the side ofpeople who love order. If he is caught, it can be shown that he wasinvolved in the treason; and there it is."
"So the Captain has not been caught?"
"He had not been when I heard the news."
"And how did you hear it?"
"From one of the guardsmen, who happens to be of my acquaintance. I sawthem as they came through Chateaudun yesterday afternoon, on theirreturn from this business. We had very little time for talking."
"Then you were not with them at Lavardin?"
"I with them? Certainly not, Monsieur. Why should I have been with them?No; I have been staying in this part of the country for my own pleasurethe past few days: I think of buying some apple orchards nearChateaudun.--I fancied you would be interested in this news."
"I am, dear Monsieur de Pepicot,--infinitely. I am sorry I must leaveyou now, but I have business of some haste. I thank you heartily, andhope we may meet again. You know where La Tournoire is."
Five minutes later, with my baskets slung before me, and having left onehorse at the inn, I was riding out of Bonneval to tell the Countess thatshe was free.