"Who are you?" she said,--"but I know already; when I first saw you Isuspected it.You are the royalist leader whom they call the Gars.The ex-bishop of Autun was right in saying we should always believe in presentiments which give warning of evil.""What interest have you in knowing the Gars?""What interest has he in concealing himself from me who have already saved his life?" She began to laugh, but the merriment was forced."Ihave wisely prevented you from saying that you love me.Let me tell you, monsieur, that I abhor you.I am republican, you are royalist; Iwould deliver you up if you were not under my protection, and if I had not already saved your life, and if--" she stopped.These violent extremes of feeling and the inward struggle which she no longer attempted to conceal alarmed the young man, who tried, but in vain, to observe her calmly."Let us part here at once,--I insist upon it;farewell!" she said.She turned hastily back, made a few steps, and then returned to him."No, no," she continued, "I have too great an interest in knowing who you are.Hide nothing from me; tell me the truth.Who are you? for you are no more a pupil of the Ecole Polytechnique than you are eighteen years old.""I am a sailor, ready to leave the ocean and follow you wherever your imagination may lead you.If I have been so lucky as to rouse your curiosity in any particular I shall be very careful not to lessen it.
Why mingle the serious affairs of real life with the life of the heart in which we are beginning to understand each other?""Our souls might have understood each other," she said in a grave voice."But I have no right to exact your confidence.You will never know the extent of your obligations to me; I shall not explain them."They walked a few steps in silence.
"My life does interest you," said the young man.
1
The obstinacy with which she insisted on knowing his name made the pretended sailor hesitate between prudence and love.The vexation of a desired woman is powerfully attractive; her anger, like her submission, is imperious; many are the fibres she touches in a man's heart, penetrating and subjugating it.Was this scene only another aspect of Mademoiselle de Verneuil's coquetry? In spite of his sudden passion the unnamed lover had the strength to distrust a woman thus bent on forcing from him a secret of life and death.
"Why has my rash indiscretion, which sought to give a future to our present meeting, destroyed the happiness of it?" he said, taking her hand, which she left in his unconsciously.
Mademoiselle de Verneuil, who seemed to be in real distress, was silent.
"How have I displeased you?" he said."What can I do to soothe you?""Tell me your name."
He made no reply, and they walked some distance in silence.Suddenly Mademoiselle de Verneuil stopped short, like one who has come to some serious determination.
"Monsieur le Marquis de Montauran," she said, with dignity, but without being able to conceal entirely the nervous trembling of her features, "I desire to do you a great service, whatever it may cost me.We part here.The coach and its escort are necessary for your protection, and you must continue your journey in it.Fear nothing from the Republicans; they are men of honor, and I shall give the adjutant certain orders which he will faithfully execute.As for me, Ishall return on foot to Alencon with my maid, and take a few of the soldiers with me.Listen to what I say, for your life depends on it.
If, before you reach a place of safety, you meet that odious man you saw in my company at the inn, escape at once, for he will instantly betray you.As for me,--" she paused, "as for me, I fling myself back into the miseries of life.Farewell, monsieur, may you be happy;farewell."
She made a sign to Captain Merle, who was just then reaching the brow of the hill behind her.The marquis was taken unawares by her sudden action.
"Stop!" he cried, in a tone of despair that was well acted.
This singular caprice of a girl for whom he would at that instant have thrown away his life so surprised him that he invented, on the spur of the moment, a fatal fiction by which to hide his name and satisfy the curiosity of his companion.
"You have almost guessed the truth," he said."I am an /emigre/, condemned to death, and my name is Vicomte de Bauvan.Love of my country has brought me back to France to join my brother.I hope to be taken off the list of /emigres/ through the influence of Madame de Beauharnais, now the wife of the First Consul; but if I fail in this, I mean to die on the soil of my native land, fighting beside my friend Montauran.I am now on my way secretly, by means of a passport he has sent me, to learn if any of my property in Brittany is still unconfiscated."While the young man spoke Mademoiselle de Verneuil examined him with a penetrating eye.She tried at first to doubt his words, but being by nature confiding and trustful, she slowly regained an expression of serenity, and said eagerly, "Monsieur, are you telling me the exact truth?""Yes, the exact truth," replied the young man, who seemed to have no conscience in his dealings with women.
Mademoiselle de Verneuil gave a deep sigh, like a person who returns to life.
"Ah!" she exclaimed, "I am very happy."
"Then you hate that poor Montauran?"
"No," she said; "but I could not make you understand my meaning.I was not willing that /you/ should meet the dangers from which I will try to protect him,--since he is your friend.""Who told you that Montauran was in danger?""Ah, monsieur, even if I had not come from Paris, where his enterprise is the one thing talked of, the commandant at Alencon said enough to show his danger.""Then let me ask you how you expect to save him from it.""Suppose I do not choose to answer," she replied, with the haughty air that women often assume to hide an emotion."What right have you to know my secrets?""The right of a man who loves you."
