CHAPTER X. THE FAMILY OF ROLAND
The carriage which had stopped before the gate was that which broughtRoland back to his family, accompanied by Sir John.
The family was so far from expecting him that, as we have said, all thelights in the house were extinguished, all the windows in darkness, evenAmelie's. The postilion had cracked his whip smartly for the last fivehundred yards, but the noise was insufficient to rouse these countrypeople from their first sleep. When the carriage had stopped, Rolandopened the door, sprang out without touching the steps, and tugged atthe bell-handle. Five minutes elapsed, and, after each peal, Rolandturned to the carriage, saying: "Don't be impatient, Sir John."
At last a window opened and a childish but firm voice cried out: "Who isringing that way?"
"Ah, is that you, little Edouard?" said Roland. "Make haste and let usin."
The child leaped back with a shout of delight and disappeared. But atthe same time his voice was heard in the corridors, crying: "Mother!wake up; it is Roland! Sister! wake up; it is the big brother!"
Then, clad only in his night robe and his little slippers, he ran downthe steps, crying: "Don't be impatient, Roland; here I am."
An instant later the key grated in the lock, and the bolts slippedback in their sockets. A white figure appeared in the portico, and flewrather than ran to the gate, which an instant later turned on its hingesand swung open. The child sprang upon Roland's neck and hung there.
"Ah, brother! Brother!" he exclaimed, embracing the young man, laughingand crying at the same time. "Ah, big brother Roland! How happy motherwill be; and Amelie, too! Every body is well. I am the sickest--ah!except Michel, the gardener, you know, who has sprained his leg. But whyaren't you in uniform? Oh! how ugly you are in citizen's clothes! Haveyou just come from Egypt? Did you bring me the silver-mounted pistolsand the beautiful curved sword? No? Then you are not nice, and I won'tkiss you any more. Oh, no, no! Don't be afraid! I love you just thesame!"
And the boy smothered the big brother with kisses while he showeredquestions upon him. The Englishman, still seated in the carriage, lookedsmilingly through the window at the scene.
In the midst of these fraternal embraces came the voice of a woman; thevoice of the mother.
"Where is he, my Roland, my darling son?" asked Madame de Montrevel,in a voice fraught with such violent, joyous emotion that it was almostpainful. "Where is he? Can it be true that he has returned; really truethat he is not a prisoner, not dead? Is he really living?"
The child, at her voice, slipped from his brother's arms like an eel,dropped upon his feet on the grass, and, as if moved by a spring,bounded toward his mother.
"This way, mother; this way!" said he, dragging his mother, half dressedas she was, toward Roland. When he saw his mother Roland could no longercontain himself. He felt the sort of icicle that had petrified hisbreast melt, and his heart beat like that of his fellowmen.
"Ah!" he exclaimed, "I was indeed ungrateful to God when life stillholds such joys for me."
And he fell sobbing upon Madame de Montrevel's neck without thinking ofSir John, who felt his English phlegm disperse as he silently wiped awaythe tears that flowed down his cheeks and moistened his lips. Thechild, the mother, and Roland formed an adorable group of tenderness andemotion.
Suddenly little Edouard, like a leaf tossed about by the wind, flew fromthe group, exclaiming: "Sister Amelie! Why, where is she?" and he rushedtoward the house, repeating: "Sister Amelie, wake up! Get up! Hurry up!"
And then the child could be heard kicking and rapping against a door.Silence followed. Then little Edouard shouted: "Help, mother! Help,brother Roland! Sister Amelie is ill!"
Madame de Montrevel and her son flew toward the house. Sir John,consummate tourist that he was, always carried a lancet and a smellingbottle in his pocket. He jumped from the carriage and, obeying his firstimpulse, hurried up the portico. There he paused, reflecting that he hadnot been introduced, an all-important formality for an Englishman.
However, the fainting girl whom he sought came toward him at thatmoment. The noise her brother had made at the door brought Amelie to thelanding; but, without doubt, the excitement which Roland's return hadoccasioned was too much for her, for after descending a few steps in analmost automatic manner, controlling herself by a violent effort, shegave a sigh, and, like a flower that bends, a branch that droops, likea scarf that floats, she fell, or rather lay, upon the stairs. It was atthat moment that the child cried out.
But at his exclamation Amelie recovered, if not her strength, at leasther will. She rose, and, stammering, "Be quiet, Edouard! Be quite, inHeaven's name! I'm all right," she clung to the balustrade with onehand, and leaning with the other on the child, she had continued todescend. On the last step she met her mother and her brother. Thenwith a violent, almost despairing movement, she threw both arms aroundRoland's neck, exclaiming: "My brother! My brother!"
Roland, feeling the young girl's weight press heavily upon his shoulder,exclaimed: "Air! Air! She is fainting!" and carried her out upon theportico. It was this new group, so different from the first, which metSir John's eyes.
As soon as she felt the fresh air, Amelie revived and raised her head.Just then the moon, in all her splendor, shook off a cloud which hadveiled her, and lighted Amelie's face, as pale as her own. Sir John gavea cry of admiration. Never had he seen a marble statue so perfect asthis living marble before his eyes.
We must say that Amelie, seen thus, was marvelously beautiful. Clad ina long cambric robe, which defined the outlines of her body, molded onthat of the Polyhymnia of antiquity, her pale face gently inclined uponher brother's shoulder, her long golden hair floating around her snowyshoulders, her arm thrown around her mother's neck, its rose-tintedalabaster hand drooping upon the red shawl in which Madame de Montrevelhad wrapped herself; such was Roland's sister as she appeared to SirJohn.
At the Englishman's cry of admiration, Roland remembered that he wasthere, and Madame de Montrevel perceived his presence. As for the child,surprised to see this stranger in his mother's home, he ran hastily downthe steps of the portico, stopping on the third one, not that hefeared to go further, but in order to be on a level with the person heproceeded to question.
"Who are you, sir!" he asked Sir John; "and what are you doing here?"
"My little Edouard," said Sir John, "I am your brother's friend, and Ihave brought you the silver-mounted pistols and the Damascus blade whichhe promised you."
"Where are they?" asked the child.
"Ah!" said Sir John, "they are in England, and it will take some time tosend for them. But your big brother will answer for me that I am a manof my word."
"Yes, Edouard, yes," said Roland. "If Sir John promises them to you,you will get them." Then turning to Madame de Montrevel and his sister,"Excuse me, my mother; excuse me, Amelie; or rather, excuse yourselvesas best you can to Sir John, for you have made me abominablyungrateful." Then grasping Sir John's hand, he continued: "Mother, SirJohn took occasion the first time he saw me to render me an inestimableservice. I know that you never forget such things. I trust, therefore,that you will always remember that Sir John is one of our best friends;and he will give you the proof of it by saying with me that he hasconsented to be bored for a couple of weeks with us."
"Madame," said Sir John, "permit me, on the contrary, not to repeat myfriend Roland's words. I could wish to spend, not a fortnight, nor threeweeks, but a whole lifetime with you."
Madame de Montrevel came down the steps of the portico and offered herhand to Sir John, who kissed it with a gallantry altogether French.
"My lord," said she, "this house is yours. The day you entered it hasbeen one of joy, the day you leave will be one of regret and sadness."
Sir John turned toward Amelie, who, confused by the disorder of herdress before this stranger, was gathering the folds of her wrapper abouther neck.
"I speak to you in my name and in my daughter's, who is still too muchovercome by her brother's unexpected return
to greet you herself as shewill do in a moment," continued Madame de Montrevel, coming to Amelie'srelief.
"My sister," said Roland, "will permit my friend Sir John to kiss herhand, and he will, I am sure, accept that form of welcome."
Amelie stammered a few words, slowly lifted her arm, and held out herhand to Sir John with a smile that was almost painful.
The Englishman took it, but, feeling how icy and trembling it was,instead of carrying it to his lips he said: "Roland, your sister isseriously indisposed. Let us think only of her health this evening. I amsomething of a doctor, and if she will deign to permit me the favor offeeling her pulse I shall be grateful."
But Amelie, as if she feared that the cause of her weakness might besurmised, withdrew her hand hastily, exclaiming: "Oh, no! Sir John ismistaken. Joy never causes illness. It is only joy at seeing my brotheragain which caused this slight indisposition, and it has already passedover." Then turning to Madame de Montrevel, she added with almostfeverish haste: "Mother, we are forgetting that these gentlemen havemade a long voyage, and have probably eaten nothing since Lyons. IfRoland has his usual good appetite he will not object to my leaving youto do the honors of the house, while I attend to the unpoetical but muchappreciated details of the housekeeping."
Leaving her mother, as she said, to do the honors of the house, Ameliewent to waken the maids and the manservant, leaving on the mind of SirJohn that sort of fairy-like impression which the tourist on the Rhinebrings with him of the Lorelei on her rock, a lyre in her hand, theliquid gold of her hair floating in the evening breezes.
In the meantime, Morgan had remounted his horse, returning at fullgallop to the Chartreuse. He drew rein before the portal, pulled out anote-book, and pencilling a few lines on one of the leaves, rolled it upand slipped it through the keyhole without taking time to dismount.
Then pressing in both his spurs, and bending low over the mane of thenoble animal, he disappeared in the forest, rapid and mysterious asFaust on his way to the mountain of the witches' sabbath. The threelines he had written were as follows:
"Louis de Montrevel, General Bonaparte's aide-de-camp, arrived this evening at the Chateau des Noires-Fontaines. Be careful, Companions of Jehu!"
But, while warning his comrades to be cautious about Louis de Montrevel,Morgan had drawn a cross above his name, which signified that no matterwhat happened the body of the young officer must be considered as sacredby them.
The Companions of Jehu had the right to protect a friend in that waywithout being obliged to explain the motives which actuated them. Morganused that privilege to protect the brother of his love.