I looked her in the face as I answered plainly:
"To save her from the Duke of Saint-Maclou."
"And from her own mother, sir?"
"Yes, above all from her own mother."
The old woman started at my words; but there was no change in the level calm of her voice as she asked:
"And why would you rescue her?"
"For the same reason that any gentleman would, if he could. If you want more--"
She held up her hand to silence me; but her look was gentler and her voice softer, as she said:
"You, sir, cannot save, and I cannot save, those who will not let G.o.d himself save them."
"What do you mean?" I cried in a frenzy of fear and eagerness.
"I had prayed for her, and talked with her. I thought I had seen grace in her. Well, I know not. It is true that she acted as her mother bade her.
But I fear all is not well."
"I pray you to speak plainly. Where is she?"
"I do not know where she is. What I know, sir, you shall know, for I believe you come in honesty. This morning--some two hours ago--a carriage drove from the town here. Mme. Delha.s.se was in it, and with her the Duke of Saint-Maclou. I could not refuse to let the woman see her daughter.
They spoke together for a time; and then they called me, and Marie--yes, Marie herself--begged me to let her see the duke. So they came here where we stand, and I stood a few yards off. They talked earnestly in low tones.
And at last Marie came to me (the others remaining where they were), and took my hand and kissed it, thanking me and bidding me adieu. I was grieved, sir, for I trusted that the girl had found peace here; and she was in the way to make us love her. "Does your mother bid you go?" I asked, "And will she save you from all harm?" And she answered: "I go of my own will, Mother; but I go hoping to return." "You swear that you go of your own will?" I asked. "Yes, of my own will," she said firmly; but she was near to weeping as she spoke. Yet what could I do? I could but tell her that our door--G.o.d"s door--was never shut. That I told her; and with a heavy heart, being able to do nothing else, I let her go. I pray G.o.d no harm come of it. But I thought the man"s face wore a look of triumph."
"By Heaven," I cried, "it shall not wear it for long! Which way did they go?"
She pointed to the road by the side of the bay, leading away from Avranches.
"That way. I watched the carriage and its dust till I saw it no more, because of the wood that lies between here and the road. You pursue them, sir?"
"To the world"s end, madame, if I must."
She sighed and opened her lips to speak, but no words came; and without more, I turned and left her, and set my face to follow the carriage. I was, I think, half-mad with anger and bewilderment, for I did not think that it would be time well spent to ascend to the town and obtain a vehicle or a horse; but I pressed on afoot, weary and in pain as I was, along the hot white road. For now indeed my heart was on fire, and I knew that beside Marie Delha.s.se everything was nothing. So at first imperceptibly, slowly, and un.o.bserved, but at the last with a swift resistless rush, the power of her beauty and of the soul that I had seemed to see in her won upon me; and that moment, when I thought that she had yielded to her enemy and mine, was the flowering and bloom of my love for her.
Where had they gone? Not to the duke"s house, or I should have met them as I rode down earlier in the morning. Then where? France was wide, and the world wider: my steps were slow. Where lay the use of the chase? In the middle of the road, when I had gone perhaps a mile, I stopped dead. I was beaten and sick at heart, and I searched for a nook of shade by the wayside, and flung myself on the ground; and the ache of my arm was the least of my pain.
As I lay there, my eye caught sight of a cloud of dust on the road. For a moment I scanned it eagerly, and then fell back with a curse of disappointment. It was caused by a man on a horse--and the man was not the duke. But in an instant I was sitting up again--for as the rider drew nearer, trotting briskly along, his form and air was familiar to me; and when he came opposite to me, I sprang up and ran out to meet him, crying out to him:
"Gustave! Gustave!"
It was Gustave de Berensac, my friend. He reined in his horse and greeted me--and he greeted me without surprise, but not without apparent displeasure.
"I thought I should find you here still," said he. "I rode over to seek you. Surely you are not at the d.u.c.h.ess"?"
His tone was eloquent of remonstrance.
"I"ve been staying at the inn."
"At the inn?" he repeated, looking at me curiously. "And is the d.u.c.h.ess at home?"
"She"s at home now. How come you here?"
"Ah, my friend, and how comes your arm in a sling? Well, you shall have my story first. I expect it will prove shorter. I am staying at Pontorson with a friend who is quartered there."
"But you went to Paris."
Gustave leaned clown to me, and spoke in a low impressive tone:
"Gilbert," said he, "I"ve had a blow. The day after I got to Paris I heard from Lady Cynthia. She"s going to be married to a countryman of yours."
Gustave looked very doleful. I murmured condolence, though in truth I cared, just then, not a straw about the matter.
"So," he continued, "I seized the first opportunity for a little change."
There was a pause. Gustave"s mournful eye ranged over the landscape. Then he said, in a patient, sorrowful voice:
"You said the d.u.c.h.ess was at home?"
"Yes, she"s at home now."
"Ah! I ask again, because as I pa.s.sed the inn on the way between here and Pontorson I saw in the courtyard--"
"Yes, yes, what?" cried I in sudden eagerness.
"What"s the matter, man? I saw a carriage with some luggage on it, and it looked like the duke"s, and--Hallo! Gilbert, where are you going?"
"I can"t wait, I can"t wait!" I called, already three or four yards away.
"But I haven"t heard how you got your arm--"
"I can"t tell you now. I can"t wait!"
My lethargy had vanished; I was hot to be on my way again.
"Is the man mad?" he cried; and he put his horse to a quick walk to keep up with me.
I stopped short.
"It would take all day to tell you the story," I said impatiently.
"Still I should like to know--"
"I can"t help it. Look here, Gustave, the d.u.c.h.ess knows. Go and see her. I must go on now."