A Romance of the West Indies Part 47

"Very well, that is all right; now I remove the embargo."

"Go on board at once, madame," said Croustillac, unable to moderate his impatience.

Angela cast a last look at him.

The duke made a despairing effort to break his fetters, but he was quickly carried off to the tender by the soldiers.

At a sign from Blue Beard, the sailors dipped their oars into the sea and headed for the Chameleon.

"Are you satisfied now, your highness," said Chemerant.

"No, no; not yet, sir. I shall not be content until I see the vessel set sail," replied the Gascon in a changed voice.

"The prince is implacable in his hate," thought Chemerant; "he trembles still with rage, although his revenge is a.s.sured."

All at once the sky was irradiated by the rays of the sun which made more somber still the line of azure which the sea formed on the horizon; the sun rose majestically, pouring torrents of red upon the water, the rocks, and the bay.

At this instant the Chameleon, which had been joined by the small boat, flung to the breeze its white sails, and began to draw in its cable, by which it was attached to the mooring. The brigantine, with a graceful movement, began to tack; during a few seconds it completely hid the disk of the sun, and appeared enveloped in a brilliant aureole. Then the swift vessel, turning its prow toward Cayman's Cove, began to make toward the open sea.

Croustillac remained motionless in sorrowful reverie, with his eyes fixed upon the vessel, which was carrying away the woman whom he so suddenly and so madly loved.

The adventurer, thanks to his keen sight, could perceive a white handkerchief which was waved from the stern of the vessel. It was the last farewell of Blue Beard.

Shortly the breeze freshened. The little vessel, with swift movement, bent under her sails, and went so rapidly that it was, little by little, lost in the midst of the warm mist of the morning. Then it entered into a zone of torrid light which the sun threw on the waves.

For some time Croustillac could not follow the Chameleon with his eyes; when he saw her again, the brigantine drew nearer and nearer to the horizon, appearing but a speck in s.p.a.ce. Then, doubling the last point of the island, she disappeared all at once.

When the poor chevalier could no longer see the vessel, he experienced a profound sorrow. His heart seemed as empty and as solitary as the ocean.

"Now, sir," said Chemerant, "let us go and find the friends who are awaiting you so impatiently. In an hour we will be on board the frigate."

PART IV.

CHAPTER x.x.x.

REGRETS.

As long as Croustillac contemplated his sacrifice; as long as he had been exalted by its dangers and upheld by the presence of Angela and Monmouth; he had not realized the cruel consequences of his devotion; but when he was alone, his thoughts became very painful. Not that he feared the danger which menaced him, but he felt keenly the absence of Angela, for whom he had braved everything. Under the eye of Angela, he had gayly faced the greatest peril; but he would never see her again.

This was the real reason of his gloomy dejection.

With arms crossed upon his breast, bowed head, fixed gaze and somber manner, the adventurer remained silent and motionless. Twice De Chemerant addressed him: "Your highness, it is time to go."

Croustillac did not hear him. Chemerant, realizing the uselessness of words, touched him lightly on the arm, repeating louder, "Your highness, there still remain more than four leagues to travel before arriving at Fort Royal."

"Zounds! sir; what do you want?" cried the Gascon, turning impatiently toward De Chemerant.

The face of the latter expressed so much surprise at hearing the man whom he believed to be the Duke of Monmouth give vent to such a peculiar exclamation, that the Gascon realized the imprudence of which he had been guilty. He quickly recovered his usual coolness, looked at De Chemerant in an abstracted manner; then, as if he had awakened from a profound meditation, he said, in a short tone, "Very well, sir, let us go." Again mounting his horse, the Gascon took the road to Fort Royal, still followed by the escort and accompanied by De Chemerant.

Croustillac was not a man, in spite of his chagrin, to entirely despair of the present. Chemerant, recovering from his surprise, attributed the somber taciturnity of the Gascon to the painful thoughts which the criminal conduct of the d.u.c.h.ess of Monmouth must cause him; while the adventurer, summing up the chances of escape which remained to him, a.n.a.lyzed the state of his heart, reasoning as follows: "Blue Beard (I shall always call her that--it was thus I heard her name for the first time, when I thought of her without knowing her), Blue Beard is gone--forever gone; I shall never see her again, never, never, it is evident. It will be impossible to escape from the memory of her. It is absurd, stupid, not to be imagined, but so it is--this proves it that this little woman has completely subjugated me. I was gay, careless and loquacious as a bird on the bough, but little scrupulous as to delicacy, and now behold me, sad, morose, taciturn, and of a delicacy so inordinate that I had a horrible fear lest Blue Beard should offer me, in parting, some remuneration other than the medallion from which she had the generosity to remove the jewels. Alas! from this time forth, this memory will be all my happiness--sad happiness! What a change! I, who heretofore cared so much the more for bravery of attire since I was badly clothed; I, who would have found such happiness in wearing this velvet coat garnished with rich gold b.u.t.tons--I wish for the moment to come when I can don my old green garments and my pink hose, proud to say 'I leave this Potosi, this Devil's Cliff, this diamond mine, as much of a beggar as when I entered into it.' Is it not, my faith, very plain that before knowing Blue Beard, I had never in my life had such thoughts? Now, what remains for me to hope?" said Croustillac, adopting, as was his wont, the interrogative form to make what he called his "examination of conscience."

"Now, then, be frank, Polypheme, do you care much for life?

"Eh! eh!

"What say you to being hanged?

"H--m, h--m.

"Come, now, frankly?

"Frankly? well, the gallows, strictly speaking, might please me if Blue Beard was there to see me hanged. And yet, no, it is an ign.o.ble death, a ridiculous death; one's tongue hangs out, one kicks about----

"Polypheme, you are afraid--of being hanged?

"No, faith! but hanged all alone, hanged by myself, hanged like a mad dog, hanged without two beautiful eyes looking at you, without a pretty mouth smiling at you----

"Polypheme, you are a stupid oaf; do you believe that Her Grace the d.u.c.h.ess of Monmouth would come to applaud your last dance? Once more, Polypheme, you are tricking, you seek all sorts of evasions. You are afraid of being hanged, I tell you."

"So be it--yes, I am afraid of the gallows, I own it; let us speak no more of it. Put aside these probabilities, do not admit into our future this exaggerated fear. Zounds! one is not hanged for so little, while the prison is possible, not to say probable. Let us talk, then, of the prison.

"Well, how does the prison seem to you, Polypheme?

"Eh! eh! the prison is devilishly monotonous. I know well that I should have the resource of thinking of Blue Beard, but I shall think of her so much, I shall think of her even better in the peaceful solitude of the woods, in the calm of the paternal valley. The paternal valley! yes, decidedly, it is there that I would prefer to finish my days, dreaming of Blue Beard. Only, shall I ever find it again, this paternal valley?

Alas! the mists of our Gavonne are so thick that I shall wander long, without doubt, before I find this dear valley again.

"Polypheme, you purposely wander from the subject; you wish to escape the prison as well as the gallows, in spite of your philosophical bombast.

"Well, yes, zounds! I do want to escape both; to whom should I avow it if not to myself? Who will comprehend me if not I, myself?

"That admitted, Polypheme, how will you evade the fate that threatens you?

"Just at present this road is hardly favorable for escape, I know; rocks on the right hand, on the left the sea, in front of and behind me the escort. My horse is not bad; if it was better than that of the good Chemerant, I might make a trial of swiftness with him.

"And then, Polypheme?

"And then I would leave good Chemerant on the road.

"And then?

"And then, abandoning my horse, I would conceal myself in some cavern; I would climb the rocks; I have long legs and muscles of steel.

"But, Polypheme, you will be sure to find the maroons. You, who are not accustomed as they are to a nomadic life, you will be easily found by them, at least if you are not devoured by wildcats or killed by serpents. Such are your only two chances of escaping the efforts they will make to catch you again.