After the memorable interview with his father, Isidore had at first buoyed himself up with the hope that with the help Clotilde and Marguerite he might still find some way out of the difficulty; a night of anxious thought, however, convinced him that they would be powerless to effect anything, and that he must act for himself, and promptly too.
He could not remain at Beaujardin, nor could he any longer accept the hospitality of the baroness. Besides, out of consideration for Clotilde he did not care to disclose to her her mother"s part in the matter, whilst his pride recoiled from telling Marguerite all the humiliating incidents of the scene with his father. There could be no hope of their speedy union, or indeed of any favourable turn of affairs for some time to come, and he therefore resolved to go off straight to Paris and obtain his re-appointment to his former post in Canada; there he could communicate with his uncle, and secure his aid. He accordingly confided to a trusty messenger a note, in which he briefly informed Marguerite of the unfavourable result of his visit to Beaujardin, and of his object in proceeding to Paris, whence he promised to return without delay. He set off for that city on the following morning, and on arriving there made his application to the Minister of War; but two days elapsed before he received an answer.
What was his astonishment on opening it to find that the application was refused! He was on the point of hurrying off to seek an interview with the Minister himself, when he perceived a small note, which had been enclosed with the official letter; it was in the hand of a confidential secretary whom he knew well, and ran as follows:--
"_Quit Paris without an hour"s delay, or you are lost. The danger also threatens a person about whom you are most concerned._"
The warning came from one who would not have penned it without good grounds, and Isidore felt that it was not to be neglected for a moment.
What if some mischief had already befallen Marguerite during his absence! In half an hour he was again in the saddle and on his way to Valricour.
Full of anxiety, and wholly unable to form any plan for want of information as to the nature of the impending danger, he rode on, with but scanty rest, stopping only for a few hours during each night. The road to Valricour pa.s.sed close to Beaujardin, and the sun was just rising as he came to one of the side gates leading into the great gardens of the chateau. Suddenly the thought occurred to him that he would see his father once more, and make a final appeal to him. Prompt to act on his resolves, he sprang from his horse, and telling his attendant to await his return, entered the garden and made his way towards the mansion. Ah, if only his path were as clear and straight as those he was now treading--and yet the stiff formality of the vast pleasure grounds seemed hideous and hateful to him. To think that hundreds of thousands of livres should be spent on making nature as unlike to herself as possible. Here were miles of straight gravel walks and terraces, and hedges of almost incredible height, cut trimly to pattern like gigantic green walls, with prim and formal arches cut to the inch, and, for a change, long terraces with cold stone bal.u.s.trades and statues, which, instead of giving life, made everything seem yet more lifeless. O for a thicket or a coppice, or a clump of tangled brambles, to show that there was some sympathy in nature with the tangled trouble of his heart! Yet the inflexible regularity of all around him produced one effect on Isidore, and led him to make up his mind on one point at least. He resolved that no consideration whatever should induce him to give up Marguerite, or to desert at such a crisis the poor girl who could have no hope but in his constancy. There were moments in which he could not help thinking that the kindest thing he could do would be to relinquish her, and thus free her at once from the persecution she had incurred. Still he clung to the notion that his father could not really intend to cast him off altogether. Yes, the marquis had been indeed harsh and angry, but it could not be denied that appearances gave him some excuse. These thoughts were pa.s.sing through his mind when he noticed that some one was d.o.g.g.i.ng his steps.
In no mood to brook anything that looked like espionage he turned sharply on the intruder, and, to his surprise, found that it was old Achille Perigord.
"What! is it you?" said the young marquis. "What brings you here at such an hour?"
"Alas, alas! my dear young master," replied the old man, "then it is you indeed; I had hardly dared to hope for such good fortune. But there is not a moment to be lost."
"What do you mean?" answered Isidore, hastily. "What brings you here?"
"I thought I saw you in the garden as I stood at my window, almost despairing of ever seeing you again. Ah, there may yet be a chance of saving you, for you are in such danger that I shudder to think of it--you whom I have dandled on my knee--you who were always so brave and so good, and so considerate to me, and were always fighting any young malapert who laughed at old Perigord."
Isidore could not help feeling his heart yearn towards the old _chef_, who, indeed, had got him out of many a boyish sc.r.a.pe, and allayed the pain of many a whipping with tarts, preserves, and other delicacies.
"Yes, you used to stand my friend often enough, Monsieur Perigord,"
said Isidore, as the old days came vividly back to his memory, "though I am afraid your well-meant sympathy will not help me much just now.
But what do you know of my troubles and my danger?"
"I know all--everything--partly from what I have picked up in various quarters, for you may easily suppose that what goes on in the salon is talked about in the kitchen, but princ.i.p.ally from that villain, that traitor, Jasmin, who for once let his tongue run on last night, and told enough to make it certain that something terrible is impending over you, and not only over you, but also over that sweet young lady, Mademoiselle Marguerite. Yes, my dear young master," continued the old man, as Isidore gave a slight start, and regarded him with manifest anxiety, "yes, I know how matters stand between you, and that there is a plot hatching against you, in which--monsieur will excuse me if I say it plainly--madame the baroness is the chief actor, and in which she has bribed that rascal to a.s.sist her and to betray you."
Isidore gazed at him half incredulous, and yet after what he had learned at Paris, what could be more likely, considering Madame de Valricour"s conduct, and the check she had received in her most cherished plans?
"And Jasmin too! Where is the scoundrel?" said Isidore, impetuously.
"Is he here?"
"My good master, do not waste time on him. I tell you frankly that I fear madame is contemplating a _lettre de cachet_, it may be for mademoiselle only, but I do not believe that even you are safe from her machinations, and I have reason to believe she has influence enough at Versailles for anything."
"I am not afraid of her, Monsieur Perigord," observed Isidore haughtily. "My father would hardly stand that, although he may be angry with me, as I suppose you know, since you know so much else."
"Perhaps so, perhaps so," answered old Perigord; "but it may be done behind his back, and before he can interfere. Besides, even if monsieur is safe I do not suppose he would let Mademoiselle Marguerite run any risk of such a horrible fate if he could help it."
"You are right, my good friend," said Isidore; "I am afraid there is danger indeed, and at all events I will do what I can to avert it. I will go on at once to Valricour and warn Mademoiselle Lacroix, though as to what more I can do I am at present utterly at a loss."
"Then I will tell you," rejoined the old man. "I have a cousin at St.
Sulpice--you know the place, monsieur--it is on the Paris road from Valricour, not more than four or five leagues from the chateau; he is an honest and kindly man. I will go to him to-day--it is a fete day there, and my visit will cause no surprise. I will tell him that you are coming, and I am sure he and his wife will give mademoiselle a refuge--ay, and you too, if things should come to the worst--until something can be done. He is a worthy man, and I will answer for him with my life. Now go, my dear young master, and Heaven speed you.
There is no time to lose."
Isidore would have expressed his thanks to the old man for the lively interest he had shown, and for the a.s.sistance he had so promptly offered in case of need, but Perigord had already vanished. Ten minutes later the young marquis was again on horseback, and on his way to Valricour.
On reaching the chateau Isidore found his cousin and Marguerite in a state of great anxiety on account of his long absence, and what he had to tell them was not calculated to allay their uneasiness. Fortunately they were alone, as the baroness had again gone over to Beaujardin that morning, and many a plan was discussed and abandoned by turns as their vague hopes of finding some way out of the difficulty alternated with the fears to which Isidore"s account of the interview with his father, of the warning received in Paris, and of the meeting with old Perigord, could not but give rise. At last it was agreed that Isidore should wait and boldly face Madame de Valricour on her return, and that the final step to be taken should depend on the clue which that interview might afford as to the precise nature of the danger and the quarter from which it was likely to come. In the meanwhile Isidore, who was well known and much liked in the neighbouring village, engaged the services of a small tenant farmer who owned a good horse and cart, in case Marguerite"s immediate removal from Valricour should prove to be necessary.
It was already dusk when the distant sound of wheels was heard, and on hastening to the window they perceived the great lumbering family coach coming up the avenue. In a couple of minutes more it had stopped at the hall door, and all eyes were bent on the spot to catch a sight of the baroness. To their surprise, however, no Madame Valricour descended from the vehicle, but they noticed that in addition to madame"s coachman and footman it was accompanied by one of the Beaujardin servants on horseback, a not unusual precaution when persons of note travelled after dusk, although one which the state of her household and stable mostly obliged the baroness to dispense with. The mystery was soon solved by the entrance of a servant with a note for Mademoiselle Lacroix. It was from Madame de Valricour, and was to the effect that as she had found it impossible to return to the chateau that evening, she considered it undesirable that Marguerite should remain under her roof after what had pa.s.sed, she had therefore, she added, sent the carriage to bring her to the Chateau de Beaujardin, where she would for the present remain.
More than once was this unexpected communication perused both by Marguerite and her friends, and then an animated dispute arose as to what was to be done. Marguerite, anxious only to escape from a roof under which she was in such a false position, was for setting off at once in compliance with the wishes of the baroness; Isidore, however, would not hear of her going alone, and declared that he would accompany her and make another appeal to his father.
Clotilde shook her head. "It is useless," said she; "nay, I will go further," she continued with a sigh, "I am afraid that there is more beneath this letter than we can fathom. It is not what my mother would write if this were all she meant. I will take Marguerite"s place and go to Beaujardin."
"You!" exclaimed Isidore and Marguerite in a breath. "What will be the good of that?"
"At any rate," replied Clotilde, "I will try what I can do with my uncle, and I think I may do more than either or both of you just now."
"But how can I stay here?" pleaded Marguerite.
"I have not forgotten that; you can remain here no longer, and there is but one thing to be done. Isidore must take you at once and place you under the care of Greboeuf, at St. Sulpice. Ask me no questions; I have my reasons, but I cannot tell them. Alas! that it should ever fall to my lot to bid you, whom I have loved so dearly, to leave my own father"s house!"
For a few minutes the two girls were clasped in each other"s arms; but Clotilde soon regained her composure, and a.s.suming as cheerful a face as she could, impressed upon her friend the necessity of carrying out her plan, which was this. She herself was to depart in the coach sufficiently disguised to pa.s.s for Marguerite; the latter, putting on Clotilde"s cloak and hood, was immediately afterwards to leave the chateau with Isidore and go off to St. Sulpice. Clotilde was to let them know on the following day, through old Perigord, how matters stood at Beaujardin, so that they might act accordingly. By this time the horses had been baited, and all being now arranged, Isidore took down his cousin and hurried her into the vehicle, which started off at once.
Not a little perplexed and anxious at the turn things had taken, Clotilde leaned back in the comfortable coach and called to mind the various incidents of the day. At first her cheek flushed with indignation at the thought of her mother"s conduct towards one whom hospitality and the commonest feeling of pity should have protected from such treatment. To think that it was her own mother! Clotilde covered her face with her hands and gave way to her tears. She was, however, not one of those who fold their hands and let circ.u.mstances overmaster them. She had by nature both the wit and the courage that can turn things to the best account; quickly drying her tears, therefore, she set herself to consider how she might take advantage of this unexpected visit to Beaujardin. She could not but fear that the baroness intended to carry off Marguerite to some safe place, where there would be no means of communicating with Isidore; such things were not seldom done, and with a strong hand too, when it was found necessary to cut the gordian knot of a family difficulty. In this design she would be foiled, at least for the present, and with the help of M. Perigord and his friends Marguerite might be kept out of harm"s way. In the meanwhile Clotilde would have an opportunity of appealing to her uncle, who, she fully believed, would never countenance any positive ill-treatment of one who might be said to have been bequeathed to the hospitality of the family. She might have doubted even her own ability to detach the marquis from the enemy"s ranks but for one little circ.u.mstance, which was this. On hearing Isidore"s account of the scene at the Chateau de Beaujardin, and the incident of the charred sc.r.a.p of paper, Clotilde had gone and examined the stove in the apartment occupied by Isidore during his recent visit. Not a trace could she find of anything having been burnt there, and a minute questioning of the domestics had proved beyond a doubt that any story of the burning of the letter in that room was a fabrication. She knew well her uncle"s intense abhorrence of anything like treachery or deceit. It was indeed this trait in his disposition that had led to his severity towards Isidore, and it was on this that she now relied for the success of her efforts to enlist the sympathy of the old marquis in favour of her cousin and her friend.
Absorbed in these thoughts Clotilde took no note of time or distance, while the growing darkness and the absence of novelty in a ride from Valricour to Beaujardin, to say nothing of the pre-occupation of her mind, kept her from observing anything outside of the lumbering vehicle in which she sat. They had jogged on for a considerable time, however, when the coach stopped. Under ordinary circ.u.mstances this would hardly have interfered with Clotilde"s meditations, the occurrence being common enough at a period when in France, as in other countries, most of the roads, except those along which the king himself was accustomed to travel, were usually in a deplorable condition, notwithstanding the lessons left behind by those famous old road-makers the Romans, and in spite of the iniquitous road-laws which threw upon all but the n.o.bles an intolerable amount of personal labour in the making and maintaining of the highways. But on the present occasion Clotilde"s attention was arrested by the circ.u.mstance that men were busy changing the horses, and although it was now dark, she noticed at the roadside a great white stone cross, from which she knew that they must have turned off from the direct road to Beaujardin. Surprised, and perhaps a little alarmed, she tried to open one of the windows to obtain some explanation, but it was so tightly fastened that she found this impossible. She tried the other, but that too defied all her efforts, and whilst she was still thus engaged the coach was once more driven on, and now at a gallop. Then, as she peered anxiously out, she observed that the horseman who rode close to the carriage was a much bigger man than the groom from Beaujardin who had started with them from Valricour, and that he was m.u.f.fled in a great riding-cloak.
Clotilde was one of those women whose courage rises just when that of others usually fails: without an instant"s hesitation she stooped down, and the next moment the high wooden heel of one of her shoes sent the window-pane flying in shivers out upon the road. A touch of the spur at once brought her escort alongside of the broken window.
"Holloa!" he exclaimed, in a voice Clotilde had never heard before, "what is all this about?"
"Fellow!" she replied, indignantly, "what is the meaning of this? Who are you?--and why have we gone out of our road?"
"Ah, well," answered the man coolly, "of course it is natural enough that you should want to know, but----"
"Impudent scoundrel!" cried Clotilde, "stop the carriage this moment and let me alight, or----"
"Look you, mademoiselle," the horseman here broke in, bringing his face at the same time close to the carriage window, and speaking sternly, though in a low voice, as if to avoid being overheard, "you seem to be a fine spirited young lady, and I should be sorry to let that bring you into more trouble. You are not going to Beaujardin this time. I have my orders to take you somewhere else. Now just listen, no harm will come to you if you keep quiet and go peaceably. What is more, I give you my word, if you choose to take it, that I am going to hand you over to the safe keeping of a lady who, I suppose, will treat you as a gentlewoman ought to be treated, but go you must--there"s no help for that. "Tis of no use trying to raise an alarm; that might only cost a couple of lives, perhaps," and here the speaker just opened his heavy mantle sufficiently to show the b.u.t.t ends of two heavy pistols at his belt. "So, mademoiselle," he concluded, "be complaisant, and make the best of a bad business."
For a few minutes Clotilde felt overwhelmed and almost stunned at finding herself suddenly, and without the slightest warning, in a position so strange and obviously so full of peril. As soon as she could collect herself, however, a light broke in upon her, and with it a faint hope of escape.
"Whoever you are," she exclaimed, calling to her unknown attendant, who now continued to ride close to the window, perhaps to stop promptly any possible attempt to give an alarm, "whoever you are, you have simply made a stupid mistake, which will only get you into trouble. I am not the lady you suppose. No, sirrah," she added, as her anger made her for the moment forget her danger, "I am Mademoiselle de Valricour; so now you will see that if you dare to attempt to carry out your villainy you will have to pay dearly for it the moment that I can send either to Valricour or to Beaujardin."
"A very likely thing, no doubt," replied the horseman; "I have had that sort of trick tried upon me more than once; but to tell you the truth I neither know nor care a sou whether you be what you say you are or not.
I have my orders and I stick to them, so there"s an end of it." With these words the man dropped a few paces behind, and left Clotilde to a very different train of meditations from those which had been so startlingly interrupted.
There could not be a doubt that she had fallen into a trap intended for another victim, and that the object of this nefarious plot was to put a stop to the engagement between Marguerite Lacroix and the young marquis. The thought that such foul means should be used for the purpose against her bosom friend brought the hot blood into Clotilde"s cheeks, and she stamped her little foot impetuously in the height of her indignation. Then she paused, and her colour fled again as she bethought her of what might be the end of it all if she should be unable to communicate with her mother or the Marquis de Beaujardin, and should be left to----
To what? More than once she had heard M. de Crillon talk--and very unconcernedly too--of the living death of those who unhappily became the victims of a _lettre de cachet_. Yes, she remembered well how once, in order to gratify her importunate curiosity, he had told her of people sent to Pignerol, St. Michel, or Isle Marguerite, never to be heard of more. He had actually taken to himself some little share of credit for the dread inspired far and near by the terrible length of the merciless arm which could strike down an enemy at the court of some foreign potentate. Not long since, indeed, it had dared to seize at Frankfort a man too dangerous through his connection with the world of letters, and had consigned him to a living tomb, if even his life had been spared. She shuddered at the thought; but even the prospect of a fate so dismal could not long keep down the generous and heroic spirit of Clotilde de Valricour. "At least," she murmured, "I shall save poor Marguerite; nay, I perhaps maybe the means of enabling her to be happy with Isidore in spite of these cruel machinations."
How long the journey lasted the unfortunate girl had no means of knowing; it seemed to her an age, though in reality it was but a few hours. She became at last nearly exhausted with the incessant jolting over rough roads, and plunging about in others that were little better than bogs. Excitement, however, and the continual apprehension of some unlooked-for catastrophe forbade all thoughts of sleep, and it was actually with a sensation of relief that she noticed that the huge carriage was rattling over a rough pavement, and heard the noise of great gates being swung to, and barred behind them. She looked out, and could just perceive that they had driven into a s.p.a.cious court-yard, nearly surrounded by grey, sombre-looking buildings, at the great entrance door of which the vehicle drew up.
[Ill.u.s.tration: Tailpiece to Chapter VI]