conforming to her friend's action, looked at the sight and was silent.
A single look, one of those by which two souls support each other,
sufficed to
communicate their thoughts. Each loved with that love so
divinely like unto itself at every
instant of its
eternity that it is
not
conscious of
devotion or sacrifice or exaction, it fears neither
deceptions nor delay. But Etienne and Gabrielle were in absolute
ignorance of satisfactions, a desire for which was
stirring in their
souls.
When the first faint tints of
twilight drew a veil athwart the sea,
and the hush was interrupted only by the soughing of the flux and
reflux on the shore, Etienne rose; Gabrielle followed his
motion with
a vague fear, for he had dropped her hand. He took her in one of his
arms, pressing her to him with a
movement of tender cohesion, and she,
comprehending his desire, made him feel the weight of her body enough
to give him the
certainty that she was all his, but not enough to be a
burden on him. The lover laid his head heavily on the shoulder of his
friend, his lips touched the heaving bosom, his hair flowed over the
white shoulders and caressed her
throat. The girl, ingenuously loving,
bent her head aside to give more place for his head, passing her arm
about his neck to gain support. Thus they remained till nightfall
without uttering a word. The crickets sang in their holes, and the
lovers listened to that music as if to employ their senses on one
sense only. Certainly they could only in that hour be compared to
angels who, with their feet on earth, await the moment to take
flightto heaven. They had fulfilled the noble dream of Plato's mystic
genius, the dream of all who seek a meaning in
humanity; they formed
but one soul, they were, indeed, that
mysterious Pearl destined to
adorn the brow of a star as yet unknown, but the hope of all!
"Will you take me home?" said Gabrielle, the first to break the
exquisite silence.
"Why should we part?" replied Etienne.
"We ought to be together always," she said.
"Stay with me."
"Yes."
The heavy step of Beauvouloir sounded in the adjoining room. The
doctor had seen these children at the window locked in each other's
arms, but he found them separated. The purest love demands its
mystery.
"This is not right, my child," he said to Gabrielle, "to stay so late,
and have no lights."
"Why wrong?" she said; "you know we love each other, and he is master
of the castle."
"My children," said Beauvouloir, "if you love each other, your
happiness requires that you should marry and pass your lives together;
but your marriage depends on the will of monseigneur the duke--"
"My father has promised to
gratify all my wishes," cried Etienne
eagerly, interrupting Beauvouloir.
"Write to him, monseigneur," replied the doctor, and give me your
letter that I may
enclose it with one which I, myself, have just
written. Bertrand is to start at once and put these despatches into
monseigneur's own hand. I have
learned to-night that he is now in
Rouen; he has brought the heiress of the house of Grandlieu with him,
not, as I think,
solely for himself. If I listened to my
presentiments, I should take Gabrielle away from here this very
night."
"Separate us?" cried Etienne, half fainting with
distress and leaning
on his love.
"Father!"
"Gabrielle," said the
physician,
holding out to her a smelling-bottle
which he took from a table signing to her to make Etienne inhale its
contents,--"Gabrielle, my knowledge of science tells me that Nature
destined you for each other. I meant to prepare monseigneur the duke
for a marriage which will certainly
offend his ideas, but the devil
has already prejudiced him against it. Etienne is Duc de Nivron, and
you, my child, are the daughter of a poor doctor."
"My father swore to
contradict me in nothing," said Etienne, calmly.
"He swore to me also to consent to all I might do in
finding you a
wife," replied the doctor; "but suppose that he does not keep his
promises?"
Etienne sat down, as if overcome.
"The sea was dark to-night," he said, after a moment's silence.
"If you could ride a horse, monseigneur," said Beauvouloir, "I should
tell you to fly with Gabrielle this very evening. I know you both, and
I know that any other marriage would be fatal to you. The duke would
certainly fling me into a
dungeon and leave me there for the rest of
my days when he heard of your
flight; and I should die
joyfully if my
death secured your happiness. But alas! to mount a horse would risk
your life and that of Gabrielle. We must face your father's anger
here."
"Here!"
repeated Etienne.
"We have been betrayed by some one in the
chateau who has stirred your
father's wrath against us," continued Beauvouloir.
"Let us throw ourselves together into the sea," said Etienne to
Gabrielle, leaning down to the ear of the young girl who was kneeling
beside him.
She bowed her head, smiling. Beauvouloir divined all.
"Monseigneur," he said, "your mind and your knowledge can make you
eloquent, and the force of your love may be
irresistible. Declare it
to monseigneur the duke; you will thus
confirm my letter. All is not
lost, I think. I love my daughter as well as you love her, and I shall
defend her."
Etienne shook his head.
"The sea was very dark to-night," he
repeated.
"It was like a sheet of gold at our feet," said Gabrielle in a voice
of melody.
Etienne ordered lights, and sat down at a table to write to his
father. On one side of him knelt Gabrielle, silent, watching the words
he wrote, but not
reading them; she read all on Etienne's
forehead. On
his other side stood old Beauvouloir, whose jovial
countenance was
deeply sad,--sad as that
gloomychamber where Etienne's mother died. A
secret voice cried to the doctor, "The fate of his mother awaits him!"
When the letter was written, Etienne held it out to the old man, who
hastened to give it to Bertrand. The old retainer's horse was waiting
in the
courtyard, saddled; the man himself was ready. He started, and
met the duke twelve miles from Herouville.
"Come with me to the gate of the
courtyard," said Gabrielle to her
friend when they were alone.
The pair passed through the cardinal's library, and went down through
the tower, in which was a door, the key of which Etienne had given to
Gabrielle. Stupefied by the dread of coming evil, the poor youth left
in the tower the torch he had brought to light the steps of his
beloved, and continued with her toward the
cottage. A few steps from
the little garden, which formed a sort of
flowerycourtyard to the
humble
habitation, the lovers stopped. Emboldened by the vague alarm
which oppressed them, they gave each other, in the shades of night, in
the silence, that first kiss in which the senses and the soul unite,
and cause a revealing joy. Etienne comprehended love in its dual
expression, and Gabrielle fled lest she should be drawn by that love--
whither she knew not.
At the moment when the Duc de Nivron reascended the
staircase to the
castle, after closing the door of the tower, a cry of
horror, uttered
by Gabrielle, echoed in his ears with the sharpness of a flash of
lightning which burns the eyes. Etienne ran through the apartments of
the
chateau, down the grand
staircase, and along the beach towards
Gabrielle's house, where he saw lights.
When Gabrielle, quitting her lover, had entered the little garden, she
saw, by the gleam of a torch which lighted her nurse's spinning-wheel,
the figure of a man sitting in the chair of that excellent woman. At
the sound of her steps the man arose and came toward her; this had
frightened her, and she gave the cry. The presence and
aspect of the
Baron d'Artagnon amply justified the fear thus inspired in the young
girl's breast.
"Are you the daughter of Beauvouloir, monseigneur's
physician?" asked
the baron when Gabrielle's first alarm had subsided.
"Yes, monsieur."
"I have matters of the
utmost importance to
confide to you. I am the
Baron d'Artagnon,
lieutenant of the company of men-at-arms commanded
by Monseigneur the Duc d'Herouville."
Gabrielle, under the circumstances in which she and her lover stood,
was struck by these words, and by the frank tone with which the
soldier said them.
"Your nurse is here; she may
overhear us. Come this way," said the
baron.
He left the garden, and Gabrielle followed him to the beach behind the
house.
"Fear nothing!" said the baron.
That speech would have frightened any one less
ignorant than
Gabrielle; but a simple young girl who loves never thinks herself in
peril.
"Dear child," said the baron, endeavoring to give a honeyed tone to
his voice, "you and your father are on the verge of an abyss into
which you will fall to-morrow. I cannot see your danger without
warning you. Monseigneur is
furious against your father and against
you; he suspects you of having seduced his son, and he would rather
see him dead than see him marry you; so much for his son. As for your
father, this is the decision monseigneur has made about him. Nine
years ago your father was implicated in a
criminal affair. The matter
related to the secretion of a child of rank at the time of its birth
which he attended. Monseigneur,
knowing that your father was innocent,
guaranteed him from
prosecution by the
parliament; but now he intends
to have him
arrested and delivered up to justice to be tried for the
crime. Your father will be broken on the wheel; though perhaps, in
view of some services he has done to his master, he may
obtain the
favor of being hanged. I do not know what course monseigneur has
decided on for you; but I do know that you can save Monseigneur de
Nivron from his father's anger, and your father from the horrible
death which awaits him, and also save yourself."
"What must I do?" said Gabrielle.
"Throw yourself at monseigneur's feet, and tell him that his son loves
you against your will, and say that you do not love him. In proof of
this, offer to marry any man whom the duke himself may select as your
husband. He is
generous; he will dower you handsomely."
"I can do all except deny my love."
"But if that alone can save your father, yourself, and Monseigneur de
Nivron?"
"Etienne," she replied, "would die of it, and so should I."
"Monseigneur de Nivron will be
unhappy at losing you, but he will live
for the honor of his house; you will
resign yourself to be the wife of
a baron only, instead of being a
duchess, and your father will live
out his days," said the practical man.
At this moment Etienne reached the house. He did not see Gabrielle,
and he uttered a
piercing cry.
"He is here!" cried the young girl; "let me go now and comfort him."
"I shall come for your answer to-morrow," said the baron.
"I will
consult my father," she replied.
"You will not see him again. I have received orders to
arrest him and
send him in chains, under
escort, to Rouen," said d'Artagnon, leaving
Gabrielle dumb with terror.
The young girl
sprang to the house, and found Etienne horrified by the
silence of the nurse in answer to his question, "Where is she?"
"I am here!" cried the young girl, whose voice was icy, her step
heavy, her color gone.
"What has happened?" he said. "I heard you cry."
"Yes, I hurt my foot against--"
"No, love," replied Etienne, interrupting her. "I heard the steps of a
man."
"Etienne, we must have
offended God; let us kneel down and pray. I
will tell you afterwards."
Etienne and Gabrielle knelt down at the prie-dieu, and the nurse
recited her rosary.
"O God!" prayed the girl, with a fervor which carried her beyond