"Now, Monsieur le Cure," said he, "I have come to consult you on a very grave and important subject. You are renowned in all this district for your piety and learning; tell me, do you consider vows to be sacred and indissoluble?"
The priest was surprised to hear these words from the lips of a gentleman whose reputation for light morals and free views was so extensively known; but after a few moments" consideration--
"There are several kinds of vows, Monsieur le Baron," he replied; "there are vows by which we bind ourselves to the service of G.o.d, and those never must be broken. Then there are vows rashly uttered in times of mental excitement, by which people engage themselves to perform acts of sacrifice or penance."
"Ah, it is of such that I would speak!" said the captain. "What of those? Think well, M. le Cure, before you answer me."
"It is doubtless a great sin," replied the priest, "not to fulfil such vows; but still I do not think that the good G.o.d in His mercy would desire to chastise eternally an erring creature who had thus offended him; especially if the vow were made under the strong influence of human pa.s.sion."
The dragoon bit his lips angrily.
"I am no churchman, Monsieur le Cure," said he roughly, "but I cannot agree with you there. Do you forget that G.o.d commanded Abraham to sacrifice Isaac his son?"
"Yes, but I also remember that He sent an angel to arrest the father"s hand."
"Possibly," said the Baron, with a bitter laugh; "but I do not believe anything of the kind myself!"
Andre Bernard raised his eyes to the ceiling, in pious horror.
After a moment, George de Pradines drew his chair beside the priest, and continued:--
"And yet, Monsieur le Cure, I have something to tell you that I think will change your opinion in the matter of vows."
"Proceed," murmured the priest, who was already troubled with a presentiment of evil.
"Since we parted last night, strange things have happened at the chateau. A wounded traveller has arrived--a traveller whom we believed long since dead. He lives. _Eh bien_, Monsieur le Cure, can you guess who he is?"
"Monsieur le Baron--I--I know not," murmured the priest; and for the third time Andre Bernard uttered an untruth.
"I am really surprised, Monsieur le Cure at your want of penetration.
Well, it is the Chevalier de Fontane."
At this name the priest turned pale and trembled. He looked silently upon the ground.
"Listen, Monsieur le Cure," cried the young man determinedly; "dissimulation avails nothing. My sister is a rich widow, and I shall be ruined if she breaks her solemn vow never to marry a second time. I have already procured large sums of money upon the reversion of her estate, when she either dies or adopts a conventual life. I am not a man who could pa.s.s his days agreeably at the galleys. My future depends solely on her vow, and she _must not_ marry a second time."
"But, Monsieur le Baron, it seems to me that you leap at too hasty a conclusion. Your fears may be without foundation. Madame may not wish to be absolved from her vow--Monsieur le Chevalier may no longer be desirous...."
"Bah!" interrupted the Baron, savagely, "what else is he here for? His servant has told me all. He has been for eight or nine years serving in the Prussian army; during all that time he kept a strict watch upon France. At length he heard of the death of the late Count de Peyrelade: he obtained leave of absence when a decent time had elapsed. Loving and hoping more ardently than ever, he set off for Auvergne; he met with this accident at the very gates of the chateau, (would that it had killed him!); and there he is!"
The priest was silent.
"You see, Monsieur le Cure, there is but one way to prevent this marriage. My sister is pious, and rests every faith in your sanct.i.ty.
She will sigh--perhaps she will weep; but is it for a priest, a minister of the church, to be swayed by trifles of this kind? No! it is for the sake of religion and heaven, Monsieur le Cure, that you will be firm and faithful to your trust. It is nothing to you if my fortunes fail or prosper--if a young woman weeps or smiles--_you_ must fulfil the disinterested duties of your sacred calling--_you_ must maintain the sanct.i.ty of vows--_you_ must rescue my sister from the abyss of crime into which she is falling!"
"It is quite true," said the poor Abbe, tremulously.
"Then you will render your utmost a.s.sistance?" said the Baron eagerly.
"Yes," murmured the priest.
"Monsieur le Cure, you are a holy man, and you have my esteem."
The Abbe blushed and accepted the proffered hand of the dragoon. At that moment some one knocked at the door.
"Who is there?" said the Abbe, starting like a guilty man.
"It is I," replied old Jeannette. "A servant from the chateau presents the compliments of Madame la Comtesse, and requests M. le Cure to pay her a visit directly on urgent business."
"You see," said the Baron, "my sister has her scruples already. Go quickly, my dear Abbe, and do not forget that the interests of the church are in your hands. It is a holy mission!"
"A holy mission!" repeated the priest, as he turned to leave the room.
"A holy mission! _O mon Dieu, mon Dieu!_ do not forsake thy servant!"
CHAPTER IV.
The Vow.
Andre Bernard arrived at the Chateau de Peyrelade like a man walking in his sleep. He found that he had been ushered into the Countess"s boudoir, and that he was sitting there awaiting her arrival, without having the faintest remembrance of the forest through which he must have come, the gates through which he must have pa.s.sed, or the staircase which he must have ascended. Truly the Abbe Bernard had been asleep, and his sleep had lasted for two months. Now he was slowly awaking, and it was the stern reality of his position that so bewildered him.
The charm which spread itself round the young and beautiful Countess had not been unfelt by this lonely priest, whose calm and pa.s.sionless existence had hitherto been pa.s.sed in the society of an aged housekeeper, or of a simple and untaught peasantry. Seeing nothing for long years beyond the narrow limits of his own little world--his parsonage, his chapel, or his parishioners; familiar only with the savage grandeur of the mountains, or the cool stillnesses of the valleys, is it to be wondered at that the presence of an accomplished and graceful woman should blind the reason of a simple Cure?
Even at this moment, the perfumed atmosphere of the boudoir intoxicated him. Exotics of exquisite shape and colour, with long drooping leaves and heavy white and purple blossoms, were piled against the windows; a Persian carpet, gorgeous with eastern dyes--
"Orange and azure deep"ning into gold,"
was spread beneath his feet. Yonder was her lute; here were some of her favourite books; all around, draperies of pink silk fell from the ceiling, and curtained round the boudoir like a tent.
The Abbe laid his head upon his hand, and groaned aloud.
When he again looked up, the Countess was standing beside him, with an unwonted trouble in her face--a trouble that might have been pity, or anxiety, or shame, or a mingling of all three.
She began to speak; she hesitated; her voice trembled, and her words were indistinct.
Andre Bernard was suddenly aroused from his dream. The lover, not the priest, was awakened.
He rose abruptly.
"Madame la Comtesse," he said, sternly, "spare yourself useless and sinful words. I know why you have sent for me to-day, and I tell you that the All-Powerful who has received your vow, commands you by my lips to observe its sanct.i.ty."
The young woman cast a terrified glance at the gloomy countenance of the priest, and hid her face in her hands.
"Then, Monsieur le Cure, the All-Powerful bids me die!"
"No, you will not die," replied the Abbe, in the same profound and steady voice--"you will not die. Heaven, which gave you strength to bear the first separation, will enable you to sustain the second."
"Alas! alas!" cried the Countess, in a piercing tone, "I had thought to be so happy!"