"You leave me, Gaston?" cried Helene, in a voice of distress.
"Oh, not thus, Helene, not thus; I cannot leave you so. Oh, no--be joyous, Helene; smile on me; say to me--in giving me your hand--that hand so pure and faithful--"Go, Gaston--go--for it is your duty.""
"Yes, my friend," said Helene, "perhaps I ought to speak thus, but I have not the strength. Oh! Gaston, forgive me."
"Oh, Helene, when I am so joyful."
"Gaston, it is beyond my power; remember that you take with you the half of my life."
Gaston heard the clock strike three and started.
"Adieu, Helene," said he.
"Adieu," murmured she.
Once more he pressed her hand and raised it to his lips, then dashed down the staircase toward the door.
But he heard Helene"s sobs.
Rapidly he remounted the staircase and ran to her. She was standing at the door of the room he had just left. Gaston clasped her in his arms, and she hung weeping upon his neck.
"Oh, mon Dieu!" cried she, "you leave me again, Gaston; listen to what I say, we shall never meet more."
"My poor Helene," cried the young man, "you are mad."
"Despair has made me so."
And her tears ran down her cheeks.
All at once she seemed to make a violent effort, and pressing her lips on those of her lover, she clasped him tightly to her breast, then quickly repulsing him--
"Now go, Gaston," said she, "now I can die."
Gaston replied by pa.s.sionate caresses. The clock struck the half hour.
"Another half hour to make up."
"Adieu, adieu, Gaston; you are right, you should already be away."
"Adieu for a time."
"Adieu, Gaston."
And Helene returned to the pavilion. Gaston procured a horse, saddled, mounted, and left Paris by the same gate by which he had entered some days previously.
CHAPTER x.x.xVI.
NANTES.
The commission named by Dubois was to be permanent. Invested with unlimited powers, which in certain cases means that the decision is settled beforehand, they besieged the earth, supported by strong detachments of troops.
Since the arrest of the four gentlemen, Nantes, terrified at first, had risen in their favor. The whole of Bretagne awaited a revolt, but in the meanwhile was quiet.
However, the trial was approaching. On the eve of the public audience, Pontcalec held a serious conversation with his friends.
"Let us consider," said he, "whether in word or deed we have committed any imprudence."
"No," said the other three.
"Has any one of you imparted our projects to his wife, his brother, a friend? Have you, Montlouis?"
"No, on my honor."
"You, Talhouet?"
"No."
"You, Couedic?"
"No."
"Then they have neither proof nor accusation against us. No one has surprised us, no one wishes us harm."
"But," said Montlouis, "meanwhile we shall be tried."
"On what grounds?"
"Oh, secret information," said Talhouet, smiling.
"Very secret," said Du Couedic, "since they do not breathe a word."
"Ah, one fine night they will force us to escape, that they may not be obliged to liberate us some fine day."
"I do not believe it," said Montlouis, who had always been the most desponding, perhaps because he had the most at stake, having a young wife and two children who adored him. "I do not believe it. I have seen Dubois in England. I have talked with him; his face is like a ferret"s, licking his lips when thirsty. Dubois is thirsty, and we are taken.
Dubois"s thirst will be slaked by our blood."
"But," said Du Couedic, "there is the parliament of Bretagne."
"Yes, to look on, while we lose our heads."
There was only one of the four who smiled; that was Pontcalec.
"My friends," said he, "take courage. If Dubois be thirsty, so much the worse for Dubois. He will go mad, that is all; but this time I answer for it he shall not taste our blood."