"Then strive to comprehend my point of view."
"I can, I will, but----"
"What binds you to that Englishman?"
"My word, my uncle"s word."
"Exactly. And what else binds you to keep my secret?"
The woman stared at him.
"Oh, do not urge that against me," she pleaded. "I must tell all."
"I have your word. That Eagle must remain hidden there until the Emperor comes back. Then you must give it to him and say that I died that you might place it in his hand."
"There must be a way, and there shall be a way," said the agonized woman. "I love you. I cannot have you die. I cannot, I cannot."
Her voice rose almost to a scream in mad and pa.s.sionate protest.
"Why," said the man soothingly, "I am the more ready to die now that I know that you love me. Few men have ever got so much out of life as that a.s.surance gives me. That I, peasant-born, beneath you, should have won your heart, that I should have been permitted to hold you to my breast, to feel that heart beat against my own, to drink of the treasures of your lips, to kiss your eyes that shine upon me---- Oh, my G.o.d, what have I done to deserve it all? And it is better, far better, having had thus much and being stopped from anything further, that I should go to my grave in this sweet recollection. Could I live to think of you as his wife?"
"If you will only live I will die myself."
"And could I purchase life at that price? No. We have duties to perform--hard, harsh words in a woman"s ear, common accustomed phrase to a soldier. I have to die for my honor and you have to marry for yours."
"Monsieur," broke in the sharp, somewhat high, thin voice of the old Marquis standing by the door, "the court-martial brands you as a traitor. Captain Yeovil and those who were with me last night think you are a thief and worse. But, by St. Louis," continued the old n.o.ble, fingering his cross, as was his wont in moments in which he was deeply moved, "I know that you are a soldier and a gentleman."
"A soldier, yes; but a gentleman?--only "almost," my lord."
"Not almost but altogether. There is not another man in France who could withstand such a plea from such a woman."
"You heard!" exclaimed Marteau.
"Only the last words. I heard her beg you to live because she loved you."
"And you did not hear----"
"I heard nothing else," said the Marquis firmly. "Would I listen? I spoke almost as soon as I came in. Laure, these Marteaux have lived long enough by the side of the d"Aumeniers to have become enn.o.bled by the contact," he went on navely. "I now know the young man as I know myself. It is useless for you to plead longer. I come to take you away."
"Oh, not yet, not yet."
"Go," said the young officer. "Indeed, I cannot endure this longer, and I must summon my fort.i.tude for to-morrow."
"As for that," said the Marquis, "there must be a postponement of the execution."
"I ask it not, monsieur. It is no favor to me for you to----"
"Thank G.o.d! Thank G.o.d!" cried the woman. "Every hour means----"
"And I am not postponing it because of you," continued the Marquis coolly. "But he who must not be named----"
"The Emperor."
"So you call him--has landed."
"Yes, yes; for G.o.d"s sake, tell me more."
"I have no objection to telling you all. He is on the march toward Gren.o.ble. He will be here tomorrow night. Troops have been sent for and will a.s.semble here. He will be met in the gap on the road a few miles below the town. He will be taken. If he resists he will be shot."
"Yes, the violets have bloomed again."
"And they shall draw red nourishment from the soil of France," was the prophetic answer.
"The Emperor!" cried the young man in an exultant dream, "in France again! The Emperor!"
"And so your execution will be deferred until we come back. The Emperor may take warning from it when he witnesses it," continued the imperturbable old royalist.
"I shall see him once more."
"As a prisoner."
Marteau started to speak, checked himself.
"For the last time," said the girl, "I beg----"
"It is useless."
"Let me speak again. My uncle has a kind heart under that hard exterior. He----"
"A kind heart, indeed," said the old man, smiling grimly, as Marteau shook his head at the girl he loved so well. "And, to prove it, here."
He extended a sealed paper. Marteau made no effort to take it. He recognized it at once. For a moment there flashed into the woman"s mind that it was a pardon. But the old man undeceived her.
"Do you give it to him, Laure," he said. "It is that patent of n.o.bility that he gave up. Acting for my King, who will, I am sure, approve of what I have done, I return it to him. As he dies with the spirit and soul of a gentleman, so also shall he die with the t.i.tle.
_Monsieur le Comte d"Aumenier_, I, the head of the house, welcome you into it. I salute you. Farewell. And now," the old man drew out his snuff box, tendered it to the young man with all the grace of the ancient regime. "No?" he said, as Marteau stared in bewilderment.
"The young generation has forgot how, it seems. Very well." He took a pinch himself gracefully, closed the box, tapped it gently with his long fingers, as was his wont. "Monsieur will forgive my back," he said, turning abruptly and calling over his shoulder, "and in a moment we must go."
Ah, he could be, he was a gentleman of the ancient school, indeed. It seemed but a second to youth, although it was a long time to age, before he tore them apart and led the half-fainting girl away.
CHAPTER XXVI
THEY MEET A LION IN THE WAY
Morning in the springtime, the sixth of March, 1815, bright and sunny, the air fresh. The parade-ground was filled with troops. There were the veterans of the old Seventh-of-the-Line, under the young Colonel Labedoyere. Here were the close-ranked lines of the Fifth regiment, Major Lestoype astride his big horse at the head of the first battalion.
Grenier, Drehon, Suraif and the other officers with their companies, the men in heavy marching order, their white c.o.c.kades shining in the bright sunlight in their shakos. The artillery was drawn up on the walls, the little squadron of household cavalry was in attendance upon the Marquis.