"Mademoiselle went out for a walk in the park, as she often does."
"What! Gone out! And yesterday and this morning she pretended to feel so ill that she could not receive me?"
"The weather is so beautiful that mademoiselle believed a walk would do her good. She went down and walked towards the park."
"You lie! My niece did not go out!"
"Madam the Marchioness can ascertain the truth for herself by walking into the room."
"This sudden going out looks highly suspicious. Toward what part of the park did my niece go?"
"I could not say as to that, madam; mademoiselle took her gloves, her mask[6] and her taffeta hood to protect herself from the heat of the sun--and she left. That is all I know."
"There is some mystery in this--you are hiding something from me."
"I am telling madam all I know."
"You are an accomplice in all the follies of Mademoiselle Plouernel, and it may happen that you will have reason to feel sorry for it!"
"I obey the orders of mademoiselle the same as I obeyed the orders of Madam the Countess, her mother. That is my duty."
"It is impossible that my niece, who only this morning claimed to be ill, can have gone out without some particular reason. You know the reason. Answer! What caused my niece to leave her chamber?"
"I have already told madam. The weather is so beautiful that mademoiselle believed a walk would help her."
"Enough!" ordered Madam Tremblay angrily, and casting a threatening look upon old Marion. "I shall remember your obstinacy. I shall find out the truth."
The Marchioness hastened to rejoin the Count of Plouernel and the Abbot, who were no less surprised, alarmed and angry than herself at Mademoiselle Plouernel"s unexpected outing. The Marquis of Chateauvieux could prolong his stay at the castle only a couple of hours, so that, if Bertha did not return before his departure the marriage would have to undergo a further postponement. Accordingly, not satisfied with sending several of his men in quest of his sister in all directions through the park, the Count himself took horse together with the Marquis of Chateauvieux in the hope of meeting Mademoiselle Plouernel; while, anxious not to be themselves idle in the search, Abbot Boujaron and the Marchioness of Tremblay went out in a carriage.
CHAPTER VI.
BERTHA AND NOMINOE.
As has already been told, the ruins of the ancient feudal manor of Plouernel rose on the crest of an abruptly rising ridge that once was wholly stripped of vegetation, but that was since planted with trees, seeing it was one of the views from the new castle, the park of which it bounded from the north. The antique dungeon, like all fortified seigniorial castles of the middle ages, had a secret and subterranean issue which opened at a considerable distance from the manor itself.
Thanks to this issue, the seigneur, who was always involved in feuds with his neighbors, could flee and elude his enemies if he found his lair on the point of being forced. The subterranean pa.s.sage of the dungeon of Plouernel which was cut through the living stone by the labor of serfs, communicated, at its near end, with the floors that were constructed below the level of the ground, where were located the prison cells, the torture rooms, and the oubliettes of the manor, and, at the further end, with a precipitous slope at the foot of the mountain, at the top of which rose the dungeon itself. This outer issue opened just outside of but close to the park. One of the numerous gates of the park, the one nearest to the modern castle, opened on the outside upon an avenue, cut through the forest that belonged to the domain of the Count of Plouernel. To the right of the avenue, which ran into the highroad to Rennes, extended a thick wood of old trees, and about two hundred paces from the edge of the same, where the wood grew thickest, was the location of the outer issue of the underground pa.s.sage from the dungeon.
This issue, obstructed in the course of many centuries by underbrush and the slow rise of the soil, bore marks of having recently been cleared, although a curtain of ivy and wild trailing vines, that fell over a natural platform formed by a rocky projection upon which the tangled vegetation had taken root, was left to mask the entrance. Thanks to his family archives, Salaun Lebrenn was aware of this entrance to the dungeon, and he and his son having put themselves in touch with some of the Count"s va.s.sals--resolute men and leaders in the projected uprising--he had acquainted them with the secret pa.s.sage that communicated with the open country, and which offered a safe place for the deposit of arms and munitions of war. The mouth of the pa.s.sage, partially masked by the vines, lay about twenty paces from a clump of old trees that surrounded a little clearing carpeted with gra.s.s. In the middle of the clearing rose an enormous oak, so old, so very old, that, _crowned_ with age, as foresters say, its sap had dried out, and not a leaf greened its immense spread of branches. A living spring furnished a natural reservoir at the extremity of the clearing. A narrow path, worn across the copse of the wood by the hoofs of the does and stags who came during the night to drink at the spring, ran out into the road.
At the hour when Mademoiselle Plouernel"s family was searching for her in the park, Nominoe Lebrenn, standing with his back against the dead oak tree in the middle of the clearing, was a prey to profound anxiety.
Pale, worn, with his head drooping, his eyes fixed upon the ground, and his arms crossed on his breast, he was saying to himself:
"No, she will not come! Oh! now that this desperate attempt has been made, I recognize how insensate it was! To write to Dame Marion, to beg her to place in the hands of Mademoiselle Plouernel the letter that accompanied my note, to entrust the package to the gateman at the castle with the words: "For Dame Marion," and then run back to wait for her at this place! To believe that she would come! It is a crazy man"s dream!
No, she will not come."
After a short pause Nominoe resumed:
"Who knows but she may have lost her way! But the directions in my letter were accurate--"Take, to the right of the avenue, that runs from the park, the first path that leads to a clearing where rises a big dead oak near a running spring of water." Oh, I know this wood! For the last two days I have prowled around it like a bandit! I also know that underground pa.s.sage," added Nominoe, turning his head in the direction of the issue masked by the ivy and wild vines. "In that underground place have bleached the bones of one of my ancestors--a serf of a sire of Plouernel." With a start Nominoe continued: "Strange fatality! Woe is me! It is for a daughter of this race--a race that mine has so often cursed across the ages--it is for a daughter of the Nerowegs that I am consumed with delirious love--and soon, perhaps--but no! Go to! Set your hopes at rest, poor fool! She will not come. No, however generous her heart may be, she cannot forget that she is of n.o.ble origin, and that my family are va.s.sals to her brother! No! she will not come--and if she did--would I dare to meet her gaze! Have I not virtually imposed this rendezvous upon her grat.i.tude! Did I not write to her: "He who at The Hague saved your life and your honor--waits for you--you will come if you have preserved the remembrance of the service he rendered you." If she does come, will it not be with a haughty front and a severe mien?"
Suddenly, as he turned his ear toward the wood, a tremor ran through Nominoe"s frame. He quickly straightened up. His heart, that before heaved heavily, now stopped beating. His strength failed him. He attempted to take a step, but fell upon his knees on the gra.s.s and clasped his hands as in prayer. Mademoiselle Plouernel entered the clearing, holding her silken mask in her hand.
What was his surprise and joy! The features of Mademoiselle Plouernel, so far from expressing the sentiment of wounded pride, revealed profound tenderness. She advanced with steady step towards Nominoe, who remained on his knees; pulled off her glove, and extended to him her charming hand that illness, alas! had thinned. Presently, her beautiful face suffused with a slight blush, she said without attempting to restrain the tears that enhanced the brilliancy of her large black eyes:
"Thanks to you, Monsieur Lebrenn. You afford me at last the opportunity of telling you that never have I forgotten that on the coast of Holland you saved my life--and in The Hague you saved my honor! Yes, thanks to you," repeated the young girl in an accent of ineffable tenderness, while sweet tears slowly rolled down her cheeks. "I owe to you the only happy moment that I have tasted for a long time."
Mademoiselle Plouernel"s emotion, her words, her tone, the cordiality of her gesture as she extended her hand to Nominoe, threw him into such confusion that, remaining on his knees and contemplating the young girl with a sort of adoration, he tremblingly received the hand which she offered him, wet it with his tears, and pressed his burning front upon it. Sobs smothered his words.
Bertha gently withdrew her hand from Nominoe"s, saying in a moved voice:
"Monsieur Lebrenn, rise--"
And noticing a few steps from where they were a rock covered with moss, a sort of natural bench, the young girl added:
"I am barely convalescent--my weakness is still great. I feel tired; allow me to repose on that rock."
Nominoe rose, and obeyed a sign of Mademoiselle Plouernel, who, after seating herself, invited him to a place beside her. The girl remained silent for a moment and then proceeded:
"Situations that seem difficult, and even false, become, I think, easy and right, thanks to straightforwardness of conduct. I shall be frank.
You also will be sincere, Monsieur Lebrenn. You will answer all my questions."
"I feel grateful to you, mademoiselle, that you judge me so favorably,"
answered Nominoe. "You will find me straightforward and sincere in all things."
"First of all, in order to render intelligible what may otherwise seem inexplicable to you, Monsieur Lebrenn, I must inform you that even before I owed my life--and then my honor--to you, I already felt a deep interest, if not in you personally, at least in all the members of your family."
And in response to a gesture of surprise on the part of Nominoe, Bertha added:
"I am acquainted with a part of your family legend."
"You, mademoiselle! You are acquainted with our plebeian legends!"
"Yes; thanks to a ma.n.u.script left to us by Colonel Plouernel, one of my ancestors."
"Does that ma.n.u.script date back to the last century?" inquired Nominoe, struck by a sudden recollection. "Colonel Plouernel, a Huguenot, intended those pages for his son. Yes, indeed, our family narrative mentions the fact."
"My mother discovered the ma.n.u.script in the library of the castle. My mother suffered a great deal, Monsieur Lebrenn; she was a woman of great understanding and of a large heart. Therefore, so far from embittering her disposition, her sufferings rendered her still more generous.
Herself acquainted with sorrow, she sympathized all the more with the sorrows of others. A victim of iniquity, she felt tender compa.s.sion for the victims of all iniquity, and a vigorous hatred for all oppression.
Although she was of patrician origin, and although the wife of the Count of Plouernel, my mother, ripened by misfortune and by reflection, being instructed by the revelations contained in your family narratives, embraced the convictions of the Huguenot colonel who was the friend of your ancestor Odelin Lebrenn, the armorer of La Roch.e.l.le. Oh, I have not forgotten a single incident of that interesting narrative."
"What, mademoiselle! You remember that obscure name?"
"That obscure name was the name of an honorable man and one of the brave soldiers of Admiral Coligny, wrote Colonel Plouernel in the pages that he destined for his son. You seem surprised at the accuracy of my memory, Monsieur Lebrenn," added Bertha with a melancholy smile; "and yet my recollections are not circ.u.mscribed to that incident alone. At this moment there is present to my memory the name of another of your ancestors--Den-Brao the mason, who, a.s.sisted by other serfs, cut the underground gallery, one of the issues of which you can see yonder."
With these words the young girl pointed to the orifice of the vault cut in the rock, and added, with a shiver, "It is a mournful history, that history of your ancestor Den-Brao! He was starved to death in the pa.s.sage his own hands had built."
Nominoe and Bertha looked at each other in silence. Bertha proceeded: