The Heart of Denise and Other Tales Part 8

I had been asleep, asleep for ages it seemed, and all the past was a dream, thank G.o.d! This was the thought that struck me as I opened my eyes; but as I looked around, I saw the room in which I lay was strange to me, and inch by inch everything came back--all except the events of the last moments by the river, where my recollection became confused. It was daylight, but still the remains of the storm of last night were in evidence, and I could hear the water dripping from the eaves, and through the half-open dormer window, the murmur of the Luxege, still angry and unappeased, reached my ears.

Where was I? I looked about me, and found that I was in a large room, warm from the effects of a huge wood fire that danced cheerily in the fireplace. Leaning on one elbow, I glanced still further about me, and saw that the furniture was of the same old and heavily antique make that we had at Mieux. The curtains of the bed were, however, worn and faded, the tapestry on the walls was older and more faded still; and then my eyes were arrested by the coat-of-arms carved on the stonework of the fireplace--two wolves' heads, with a motto so chipped and defaced that I could not read it. Whose was the device? I lay back and thought, but could not make it out. Certainly not that of any of the great houses--no doubt my kind preserver belonged to the lesser n.o.bility--but I could soon find out. Then I closed my eyes once more and would have slept, but was aroused by some one entering the room, and, looking up, saw Mousette.

"Ah! madem--madame, I mean," she said eagerly, "thank G.o.d, you are looking none the worse for that terrible night. I little thought we would ever live to see daylight again."

"Where are we, Mousette? And who are the kind people who saved us?"

"I do not know, madame," she answered quickly, "but we are the only women here. But," she ran on, "it is mid-day and touching the dinner hour. Will madame rise or be served here?"

"I will rise, of course, Mousette;" and during the course of my toilet I asked if the people of the house knew who we were.

"I have not mentioned anything, madame," replied Mousette, with her face slightly turned away, "and Lalande is discreet."

I felt that Mousette knew more than she cared to tell; but it is not my way to converse with servants; and finis.h.i.+ng my dressing in silence, I asked her to show me the way to the salon, and as I spoke I heard a gong go.

"Monsieur will be served at once," said Mousette. "This way, madame,"

and opening the curtains of the door, she led me down a series of winding steps worn with the feet that had pa.s.sed up and down there for perhaps a couple of centuries, and then, past a long pa.s.sage hung with suits of rusty armour and musty trophies of the chase, to a large door. I gathered that Mousette had been making good use of her time whilst in the house, but kept silent. The door was open, and as I pa.s.sed in Mousette left me. I found I was in a room that was apparently used as a dining-room and salon as well. There was trace of recent occupation, for a man's hat and a pair of leathern gloves somewhat soiled with use were lying on a table, and a great hound rose slowly from the rushes on the floor, and, after eyeing me a moment, came up in a most friendly manner to be patted and made much of. A small table near the fireplace was laid for one, and as I was looking towards it a grey-haired and sober servant brought in the dinner, and then, bowing gravely, announced that I was served.

"Is not monsieur--monsieur--?" I stammered.

"Monsieur le Chevalier has had to go out on urgent business. He has ordered me to present his compliments to madame----"

"I see; monsieur does not dine here."

The man bowed, and I sat down to a solitary meal with the big dog at my feet, and the silent, grave attendant to wait on me. I amused myself with the hound, and with taking note of the room. Like everything else I had seen, its furniture and fittings seemed a century old, and spoke of wealth that had pa.s.sed away. There was a sadness about this, and a gloom that saddened me in spite of myself, so that it was with an effort I managed to eat, and then, when dinner was over, I told the servant to inform his master that I desired to thank him for the great kindness shown to me.

"I will deliver madame's message," and with this reply he went.

Left to myself, I went to the window and looked out through the glazing. The landscape was obscured by a rolling mist; but the sun was dissipating this bravely. It was a wild and desolate scene, and, despite the sunlight, oppressed me almost as much as my solitary meal, so I turned back into the room, and, seating myself in a great chair, stared into the fireplace, the hound stretching himself beside me. I was still wearied, and my thoughts ran slowly on until I caught myself wondering who my unknown host was, and getting a trifle impatient, too, because he did not come, for I was anxious to set forward to Meymac.

Suddenly I heard a steady measured step in the pa.s.sage, the hound leaped up with a bay of welcome, and as I rose from my seat the curtain was lifted, and I stood face to face with my husband.

"You! De Lorgnac!" I gasped.

"Even I," he said. "I thought you knew. Are you none the worse for your adventure of last night?"

"I am quite well, thanks to G.o.d." "And thanks to you," I was about to add, but my lips could not frame the words, and I felt myself beginning to tremble. Monsieur noticed this.

"I am afraid you underrate your strength; do sit down," he said kindly.

"I prefer to stand, thank you, Monsieur le Chevalier," and then there was a silence, during which I know not what pa.s.sed through de Lorgnac's mind; but I, I was fighting with myself to prevent my heart getting the better of me, for if so I would have to humble myself--I, a daughter of Mieux! Monsieur broke the silence himself.

"Denise, I give you my word of honour that I would not have intruded on you, but that you asked to see me, and I thought you knew whom you wished to see. Besides, I felt that I owed a little to myself. You have accused me of being a dishonoured gentleman, of being little less than a common bravo, of wedding you to your misery for your estates."

He came forward a step and looked me full in the face with his clear strong eyes. "As G.o.d is my witness," he went on, "you are utterly mistaken. I am going to-day on an affair the issue of which no one can foresee. Think! Would I go with a lie on my lips? Answer me--tell me.

Whatever else you may think, you do not believe this."

I was fumbling with one of his gloves, and could not meet his look.

"You put me in a difficult position, monsieur--this is your own house."

He looked about him with a bitter smile. "Yes--it is my house--hardly the house to which one would bring the heiress of Mieux--but is that your answer to me?"

And still I was silent. I could not bring myself to say what he wanted. And now too it was not only pride that was holding me back. I felt that if I gave him the answer he wished, manlike he would begin to press his love on me, and I was not prepared for this. I did not know my own feelings towards him; but of one thing I was sure--I would not be bound by hollow vows that were forced upon me, and so I fenced.

"This adventure of yours, monsieur--is it so very dangerous?"

"It is not the danger I am thinking of. It is your faith in my honour.

No man is blameless, and least of all I. I own I was wrong--that I sinned grievously in marrying you as I have. My excuse is that I love you--that is a thing I cannot control. But I will do all I can to make reparation. I will never see you again, and the times are such that you may soon be as free as air. All that I ask is this one thing."

"But, monsieur, have you no proof--nothing to bring forward?"

"I have nothing to offer but my word."

"Your word--your word--is that all you can say?"

He bowed slightly in reply, but his look was hungry for his answer.

Still I could not give it, and played with time.

"You say you love me. Does love resign its object as you do--without a struggle? If I believe one thing I must believe all, monsieur. I cannot believe a profession of love like yours"--how false I knew this to be--"and the rest must follow."

He twisted at his moustache in the old way, and I saw his sunburnt face grow, as it were on a sudden, wan and haggard, and the pity that lies in all women's hearts rose within me.

"Monsieur le Chevalier, if you were to get the answer that you wanted, would you still adhere to your promise and never see me again?"

"I have said so," he said hoa.r.s.ely.

"Then, monsieur, let me tell you that I have found I was wrong, and that I do believe your word--nay, more, monsieur, I have found de Lorgnac to be a gallant gentleman--whom Denise de Mieux has to thank for her honour and her life----"

"Denise!" There was a glad note in his voice, and in a moment he had stepped up to me, and I had yielded, but that I wanted this king amongst men to be king over himself.

"A moment, monsieur. You have given me your word, be strong enough to keep it. I have learned to respect and honour you; but I do not love you. You must keep your word, de Lorgnac, and go--until I ask you to come back."

"Without a word he turned on his heel and walked towards the door; but I could not let him go like that and I called to him. He stopped and turned towards me, but made no further advance, and then I went up to him with my hand outstretched.

"Monsieur, there is one thing more. I have the honour to be the wife of de Lorgnac, and for the present I crave your permission to make Lorgnac my home. Will you not grant me this request? And will you not shake hands before you go?"

I thought I had tried him too far, and that the man would break down; but no, the metal was true. Yet the haggard look in his face went out as he answered:

"Denise, Lorgnac is yours to its smallest stone, and I thank you for this." Then he bent down and touched my fingers with his lips, and was gone.

CHAPTER IX.

LA COQUILLE'S MESSAGE.