"Oh, silence!" cried she, "forget this name which escaped me; no living person has the right to pierce my heart by p.r.o.nouncing it."
"Oh! madame, do not tell me you are going to die."
"I do not say that," replied she in her grave voice; "I say that I am about to quit this world of tears--of hatreds--of bad pa.s.sions--of vile interests and desires. I say that I have nothing left to do among the creatures whom G.o.d created my fellow mortals; I have no more tears, no more blood in my heart; no more thoughts--they are dead. I am a worthless offering, for in renouncing the world I sacrifice nothing, neither desires nor hopes; but such as I am I offer myself to my G.o.d, and he will accept me--he who has made me suffer so much, and yet kept me from sinking under it."
Remy, who had heard this, rose slowly, and said, "You abandon me?"
"For G.o.d," said Diana, raising her thin white hand to heaven.
"It is true," said Remy, sadly; and seizing her hand he pressed it to his breast.
"Oh! what am I by these two hearts?" said Henri.
"You are," replied Diana, "the only human creature, except Remy, on whom I have looked twice for years."
Henri knelt. "Thanks, madame," said he, "I bow to my destiny. You belong to G.o.d; I cannot be jealous."
As he rose, they heard the sound of trumpets on the plain, from which the water was rapidly disappearing. The gendarmes seized their arms and were on horseback at once.
Henri listened. "Gentlemen," cried he, "those are the admiral"s trumpets; I know them. Oh, G.o.d! may they announce my brother!"
"You see that you still wish something, and still love something; why, then, should you choose despair, like those who desire nothing--like those who love no one?"
"A horse!" cried Henri; "who will lend me a horse?"
"But the water is still all around us," said the ensign.
"But you see that the plain is practicable; they must be advancing, since we hear their trumpets."
"Mount to the top of the bank, M. le Comte, the sky is clear, perhaps you will see."
Henri climbed up; the trumpets continued to sound at intervals, but were seemingly stationary.
CHAPTER LXXI.
THE TWO BROTHERS.
A quarter of an hour after, Henri returned; he had seen a considerable detachment of French troops intrenched on a hill at some distance.
Excepting a large ditch, which surrounded the place occupied by the gendarmes of Aunis, the water had begun to disappear from the plain, the natural slope of the ground in the immediate neighborhood making the waters run toward the sea, and several points of earth, higher than the rest, began to reappear. The slimy mud brought by the rolling waters had covered the whole country, and it was a sad spectacle to see, as the wind cleared the mist, a number of cavaliers stuck in the mud, and trying vainly to reach either of the hills. From the other hill, on which the flag of France waved, their cries of distress had been heard, and that was why the trumpets had sounded. The gendarmes now sounded their cornets, and were answered by guns in joyful recognition. About eleven o"clock the sun appeared over this scene of desolation, drying some parts of the plain, and rendering practicable a kind of road.
Henri, who tried it first, found that it led by a detour from where they were to the opposite hill, and he believed that though his horse might sink to a certain extent, he would not sink altogether. He therefore determined to try it, and recommending Diana and Remy to the care of the ensign, set off on his perilous way. At the same time as he started, they could see a cavalier leave the opposite hill, and, like Henry, try the road. All the soldiers seemed trying to stop him by their supplications. The two men pursued their way courageously, and soon perceived that their task was less difficult than had been feared. A small stream of water, escaped from a broken aqueduct, washed over the path, and little by little was clearing away the mud. The cavaliers were within two hundred feet of each other.
"France!" cried the one who came from the opposite hill, at the same time raising his hat, which had a white plume in it.
"Oh! it is you!" cried Henri, with a burst of joy.
"You, Henri! you, my brother!" cried the other.
And they set off as quickly as their horses could manage to go, and soon, among the frantic acclamations of the spectators on each side, embraced long and tenderly. Soon, all--gendarmes and light horse--Huguenots and Catholics--rushed along the road, pioneered by the two brothers. Soon the two camps were joined, and there, where they had thought to find death, nearly 3,000 Frenchmen cried, "Thank G.o.d!" and "Vive la France!"
"Gentlemen," said a Huguenot officer, "it is "Long live the admiral,"
you should cry, for it is to M. de Joyeuse alone that we now owe the happiness of embracing our countrymen."
Immense acclamations followed this speech. The two brothers talked for some time, and then Joyeuse asked Henri if he had heard news of the duke.
"It appears he is dead," replied Henri.
"Is that certain?"
"The gendarmes saw his horse drowned, and a rider, whose head was under water, dragged by the stirrup."
"It has been a sad day for France," said Joyeuse. Then turning to his men he said, "Come, gentlemen, let us not lose time. Once the waters have retired we shall probably be attacked. Let us intrench ourselves until the arrival of news and food."
"But, monseigneur," said a voice, "the horses have eaten nothing since four o"clock yesterday, and are dying with hunger."
"We have corn in our encampment," said the ensign, "but what shall we do for the men?"
"Oh!" said Joyeuse, "if there be corn, that is all I ask; the men must live like the horses."
"Brother," said Henri, "I want a little conversation with you."
"Go back to your place; choose a lodging for me, and wait for me there."
Henri went back.
"We are now in the midst of an army," said he to Remy; "hide yourselves in the lodging I will show you, and do not let madame be seen by any one."
Remy installed himself with Diana in the lodging pointed out. About two o"clock the Duc de Joyeuse entered with his trumpets blowing, lodged his troops, and gave strict injunctions to prevent disorder. He distributed barley to the men, and hay to the horses, and to the wounded some wine and beer, which had been found in the cellars, and himself, in sight of all, dined on a piece of black bread and a gla.s.s of water. Everywhere he was received as a deliverer with cries of grat.i.tude.
"Now," said he to his brother, when they were alone, "let the Flemings come, and I will beat them, and even, if this goes on, eat them, for in truth I am very hungry, and this is miserable stuff," added he, throwing into a corner the piece of bread, which in public he had eaten so enthusiastically.
"But now, Henri, tell me how it happens that I find you in Flanders when I thought you in Paris."
"My brother," said Henri, "life became insupportable to me at Paris, and I set out to join you in Flanders."
"All from love?" asked Joyeuse.
"No, from despair. Now, Anne, I am no longer in love; my pa.s.sion is sadness."
"My brother, permit me to tell you that you have chosen a miserable woman. Virtue that cares not for the sufferings of others is barbarous--is an absence of Christian charity."
"Oh! my brother, do not calumniate virtue."
"I do not calumniate virtue, Henri; I accuse vice, that is all. I repeat that this is a miserable woman, and not worth all the torments she makes you suffer. Oh! mon Dieu! in such a case you should use all your strength and all your power, Henri. In your place, I should have taken her house by a.s.sault, and then herself; and when she was conquered, and came to throw her arms round your neck and say, "Henri, I adore you," I should have repulsed her, and said, "You do well, madame; it is your turn--I have suffered enough for you--to suffer also.""
Henri seized his brother"s hand. "You do not mean a word of what you say," said he.