The Heart of Denise and Other Tales Part 4

"Denise!" he said, "you understand, dear?"

"Yes." I could barely whisper the word; and then he bent down and kissed me softly on the forehead, and the touch of his lips seemed to burn into me like a red-hot seal. With a little cry I rose to my feet, and hardly knowing what I was doing, ran past him, never stopping until I reached my room. Here I remained as if lost in a dream, with a hundred mad thoughts dancing in my brain. I tried to pray, but my lips could only frame words, for there was nothing in my heart; and then I thought I would seek forgetfulness in sleep. But sleep would not come, and I lay awake watching the broad banner of moonlight that came in through the open window, and all the memories of the past awake within me. De Clermont's kiss still burned hotly on my face, and I s.h.i.+vered with the shame and the sin of it, for I was another's wife--and Heaven help me! I thought then that I loved de Clermont. Oh! the misery of those hours, when I tossed from side to side with dry, burning eyes and bitter shame in my heart. At last, as the moon was paling, I could endure it no longer, and, rising from my bed, began to pace the room.

I felt that what I needed was motion, movement--I could not be still.

If I could only pray! and as the thought came to me once more I heard a little _clink_, and stooping, picked up a small locket containing a miniature of my mother which I wore round my neck, the gold chain by which it was suspended having broken in my restless movements. I opened the locket, and standing near the window looked at the picture, and as I live it seemed to lighten so that I could see each feature, with the soft eyes bent on me in pity; and then a voice--it was her voice--said:

"Denise, pray!"

And then my eyes were blinded with tears, and flinging myself on my knees with my hands clasped on the mullions of the window I sobbed out, "G.o.d! Dear G.o.d! Have pity on me!"

I could say no more, but my whole soul went out with these words and I knelt there, still and motionless, with the sense of a great peace falling upon me. Then it was as if the very heavens grew bright as day, and the light filled my room so that my eyes were dazzled and I could not see. And I covered my face with my hands to s.h.i.+eld my eyes from the splendour.

When I looked up again the glory was gone, but my soul was at rest. I stood at the window and let the cool breeze fan me, whilst I peered out into the darkness, for the moon had sunk and it was now the black hour that touches the dawn. As I watched I heard the bells of St.

Etienne calling the Lauds across the grave of the night, and I knew that in two hours it would be daylight, and felt that the Unseen G.o.d had heard my prayer.

CHAPTER V.

M. LE MARQUIS LEADS HIS HIGHEST TRUMP.

When I came down in the morning I found we were all ready to start.

Madame was mounted, and de Clermont was standing to a.s.sist me to my horse. It all seemed so strange after the crisis of last night. I had not schooled myself. I had not had time to meet de Clermont with unconcern, and overcome by a sudden shyness I declined his aid, and he said in his cool, level voice:

"You are very proud this morning."

The touch of proprietors.h.i.+p in his tone, which he so often used towards me, and to which I had hitherto submitted, jarred on me now, and in a moment my courage had come back. I looked him full in the face and answered:

"It is necessary to be proud sometimes, monsieur."

Our eyes held each other for an instant, and for the first time I saw in his clear blue glance an expression of hesitation and surprise, and I felt that the compelling power of his look was gone, and then--he dropped his gaze, and stepping back lifted his hat without a word; but I saw the white line of his teeth close on his nether lip.

Then we started, and de Clermont dropped away to the rear of the party, leaving Madame de Termes and myself alone. She was full of the strange song of last night.

"I had heard of his voice before," she said, "but never thought it was anything like that. St. Siege!" and she gave a little shudder. "I am an old woman; but it was maddening. I forgot everything. I could think of nothing except that sorrow in that last verse--the poor man, the poor man!" And the dear old lady's eyes filled once more with tears at the recollection. "But it was not a good song," she went on in a moment, "it was a beautiful evil thing, and he shall sing it no more.

I will speak to him. It is wrong. It is wicked to touch the heart as that song can. He is very silent and grave to-day. I wonder if it affected him as it did me?"

But I made no answer, for my mind was full of other things, of the hopeless love in the heart that I thought so strong and brave, and of the wondrous power that had come over me and enabled me to be victor over myself, and I cast up an unspoken prayer that this strength should be continued to me, and then I found de Clermont once more by my side.

Madame kept her word about the song, and he said gravely:

"I promise. I will never sing it again. It hurts me, too," and, changing the subject, other matters were spoken about. In a little I found myself separated from Madame, and de Clermont, bending forward, said:

"I have news I should have given before that will interest you, madame--something you ought to know--of M. de Lorgnac."

"Is it really of importance?"

"I think so. It will remain for you to decide."

"Then what is it, monsieur?"

"I cannot well tell you here. We will let them go onward, and ride slowly behind."

I agreed silently, and we soon found ourselves at a little distance from the party. We were descending the wooded valley of the Briance, and a turn in the forest road left us alone. Then de Clermont, who had up to now remained silent, began abruptly:

"Madame, it has been given to me to find out the business on which M.

de Lorgnac is engaged, and over which you have been sacrificed. You are a brave woman--the bravest I have ever met--and I know you will bear with the bluntness of my speech, for this is no time to beat about the bush."

"Monsieur, it does not concern me on what business M. de Lorgnac is engaged. I only ask and pray G.o.d to give me some refuge where I may never see him again."

"Hear me a moment. I think it does concern you, and vitally too."

"Then what is it?"

"Now call to mind your race, and all that can give you strength.

Denise de Mieux, your husband is nothing more than an a.s.sa.s.sin. He has been hired by the King and that she-devil the Queen Mother to murder Navarre. It is a political necessity for them, and they have found an instrument in Blaise de Lorgnac base enough for their purpose. His price was high, though--it was you, Denise, and de Tavannes, who is in the secret, has paid it. How he came to persuade himself to do so, I know not. He is your uncle, and I will not say anything against him."

I felt as if I had received a blow. There was truth in every line of de Clermont's face, in every tone of his voice; but I struggled against it, and said faintly:

"This does not concern me--I am but a wife in name. I shall never see de Lorgnac. He is dead to me."

"Would to G.o.d he were dead indeed!" he burst out. "But there is more.

Catherine is tyrant to her finger nails. She has heard that you have refused to remain with your husband, and at his request an order has been sent to de Termes to deliver you up to him at Perigueux. Norreys has taken that order, and it has already reached him. If you doubt me here is the duplicate. You may read it for yourself."

He placed a letter in my hands. I knew the seal well. The red s.h.i.+eld with the _palle_ of the Medici--Catherine's private signet. But I could not read it. My mind became a chaos. "Oh! what shall I do? What shall I do?" I exclaimed aloud in my despair.

"Denise!" he said, "there is one way of escape and only one, for de Lorgnac has already made his claim at Perigueux, and you go straight into the lion's jaws."

"What is it? Tell me."

He laid his hand on my rein. "Denise--put your trust in me and come.

My dear, I love you--I love you. This marriage is an infamy. Vows such as they made you swear are not binding. Come with me, my dear, and under the banner of the Emperor, with you by my side to help me, I will work out a new life, and the name of Clermont-Ferrand is already known. Denise! Last night I saw the love-light in your eyes. Let it burn there again for me. Come."

He made as if to turn my horse's head, and it was only with an effort that I restrained him. G.o.d knows I was sorry for the man. I know, too, that it was in my heart to take the great love I thought he was giving me, and, forgetting everything, to follow him to the world's end. In the few seconds that pa.s.sed, I went through a frightful struggle, and then the strength of last night came back to me.

"De Clermont! It is impossible; and now go--go. If you say you love me, go in pity!"

"Denise, you know not what you say! Think, dear! In two hours we will be safe. In two hours the world itself could not part us. I will not let you sacrifice yourself. You love me, dear, and you know it, and when love like ours exists there is no right and no wrong--only our love."

"It cannot be--it cannot be. De Clermont, you are tempting the woman you say you love, to dishonour. Let me tell you plainly, I do not love you. For one moment I thought I did; but I am sure of myself now; and even did I love you, as I feel sure you deserve to be loved, I would never consent to--to what you propose."

"_Mordieu!_" he exclaimed hoa.r.s.ely, "you are not yourself. Come, Denise. I hear Lalande riding back, and in a moment it will be too late."