Tom Burke Of "Ours" Volume I Part 42

"A fine-looking fellow, that dragoon yonder; he 's deco' rated, I see."

"Yes; an old hussar of the Garde."

"What 's he called?"

"Pierre Dulong; a name well known in his troop."

"Halte-la!" cried the soldier, as we approached.

"Your officer," said I.

"The word?"

"Arcole."

"Pa.s.s, 'Arcole;' and good-morrow."

"Adieu, Lieutenant; adieu, Pierre," said the abb, as he waved his hand and pa.s.sed out.

I stood for a minute or two uncertain of purpose; why, I know not. The tone of the last few words seemed uttered in something like a sneer.

"What folly, though!" said I to myself. "D'Ervan is a strange fellow, and it is his way."

"We shall meet soon, Abb," I cried out, as he was turning the corner of the park wall.

"Yes, yes, rely on it; we shall meet,--and soon."

He kept his word.

CHAPTER XXIX. LA ROSE OF PROVENCE.

The one thought that dwelt in my mind the entire day was that Marie de Rochfort was Charles de Meudon's sister. The fact once known, seemed to explain that secret power she exercised over my hopes and longings. The spell her presence threw around ever as she pa.s.sed me in the park; that strange influence with which the few words I had heard her speak still remained fast rooted in my memory,--all these did I attribute to the hold her name had taken of my heart as I sat night after night listening to her brother's stories. And then, why had I not guessed it earlier?

why had I not perceived the striking resemblance which it now seemed impossible to overlook? The dark eye, beaming beneath a brow squarely chiselled like an antique cameo; the straight nose, and short, up-turned lip, where a half-saucy look seemed struggling with a sweet smile; and then the voice,--was it not his own rich. Southern accent, tempered by her softer nature? Yes; I should have known her.

In reflections like these I made my round of duty, my whole heart wrapped up in this discovery. I never thought of De Beauvais, or his letter. It seemed to me as though I had known her long and intimately.

She was not the Rose de Provence of the Court, the admired of the Tuileries, the wors.h.i.+pped belle of Versailles; but Marie de Meudon, the sister of one who loved me as a brother.

There was a dark alley near the Trianon that led along the side of a little lake, where rocks and creeping plants, rudely grouped together, gave a half-wild aspect to the scene; the tall beech and the drooping ash-trees that grew along the bank threw their shadows far across the still water. And here I had remarked that Mademoiselle de Meudon came frequently alone. It was a place, from its look of shade and gloom, little likely to attract the gay visitors of the Court, who better loved the smoothly-shaven gra.s.s of the Palace walks, or the broad terraces where bright fountains were plas.h.i.+ng. Since I discovered that she avoided me when we met, I had never taken this path on my rounds, although leading directly to one of my outposts, but preferred rather a different and longer route.

Now, however, I sought it eagerly; and as I hurried on, I dreaded lest my unwonted haste might excite suspicion. I resolved to see and speak to her. It was her brother's wish that I should know her; and till now I felt as though my great object in coming to France was un.o.btained, if I knew not her whose name was hallowed in my memory. Poor Charles used to tell me she would be a sister to me. How my heart trembled at the thought! As I drew near I stopped to think how she might receive me; with what feelings hear me speak of one who was the cause of all her unhappiness. But then they said she loved De Beauvais. What! was poor Claude forgotten? Was all the lovedream of her first affection pa.s.sed?

My thoughts ran wild as different impulses struggled through them, and I could resolve on nothing. Before me, scarcely a dozen paces, and alone, she stood looking on the calm lake, where the light in golden and green patches played, as it struggled through the dense foliage. The clattering of my sabre startled her, and without looking back, she dropped her veil, and moved slowly on.

"Mademoiselle de Meudon!" said I, taking off my shako, and bowing deeply before her.

"What! how! Why this name, sir? Don't you know it's forbidden here?"

"I know it, Madame. But it is by that name alone I dare to speak to you.

It was by that I learned to know you,--from one who loved you, and who did not reject my humble heart; one who, amid all the trials of hard fate, felt the hardest to be,--the wrong he did his sister."

"Did you speak of my brother Charles?" said she, in a voice low and tremulous.

"I did, Madame. The last message his lips ever uttered was given to me,--and for you. Not until last night did I know that I was every hour of the day so near to one whose name was treasured in my heart."

"Oh, tell me of him! tell me of my dear Charles!" cried she, as the tears ran fast down her pale cheeks. "Where was his death? Was it among strangers that he breathed his last? Was there one there who loved him?"

"There was! there was!" cried I, pa.s.sionately, unable to say more.

"And where was that youth that loved him so tenderly? I heard of him as one who never left his side,--tending him in sickness, and watching beside him in sorrow. Was he not there?"

"I was! I was! My hand held his; in my ear his last sigh was breathed."

"Oh! was it you indeed who were my brother's friend?" said she, seizing my hand, and pressing it to her lips. The hot tears dropped heavily on my wrist, and in my ecstasy I knew not where I was. "Oh," cried she, pa.s.sionately, "I did not think that in my loneliness such a happiness as this remained for me! I never dreamed to see and speak to one who knew and loved my own dear Charles; who could tell me of his solitary hours of exile,--what hopes and fears stirred that proud heart of his; who could bring back to me in all their force again the bright hours of our happy youth, when we were all to each other,--when our childhood knew no greater bliss than that we loved. Alas, alas! how short-lived was it all! He lies buried beyond the sea in the soil of the stranger; and I live on to mourn over the past and shudder at the future. But come, let us sit down upon this bank; you must not leave me till I hear all about him. Where did you meet first?"

We sat down upon a gra.s.sy bench beside the stream, where I at once began the narrative of my first acquaintance with De Meudon. At first the rush of sensations that came crowding on me made me speak with difficulty and effort. The flutter of her dress as the soft wind waved it to and fro, the melody of her voice, and her full, languid eye, where sorrow and long-buried affection mingled their expression, sent thrilling through my heart thoughts that I dared not dwell upon. Gradually, as I proceeded, my mind recurred to my poor friend, and I warmed as I spoke of his heroic darings and his bold counsels. All his high-souled ardor, all the n.o.bleness of his great nature,--his self-devotion, and his suffering,--were again before me, mingled with those traits of womanly softness which only belong to those whose courage was almost fanaticism.

How her dark eyes grew darker as she listened, and her parted lips and her fast-heaving bosom betrayed the agitation that she felt! And how that proud look melted into sorrow when I told of the day when his outpouring heart recurred to home and her, the loved one of his boyhood.

Every walk in that old terraced garden, each gra.s.sy alley and each shady seat, I knew as though I saw them.

Although I did not mention Claude, nor even distinctly allude to the circ.u.mstances which led to their unhappiness, I could see that her cheek became paler and paler; and that, despite an effort to seem calm, the features moved with a slight jerking motion, her lip trembled convulsively, and, with a low, sad sigh she fell back fainting.

[Ill.u.s.tration: The Lady of the Lake 300]

I sprang down the bank towards the lake, and in an Instant dipped my shako in the water; and as I hastened back, she was sitting up, her eyes staring madly 'round her, her look wild almost to insanity, while her outstretched finger pointed to the copse of low beech near us.

"There, there! I saw him!" said she. "He was there now. Look! look!"

Shocked at the terrified expression of her features, and alarmed lest ray story had conjured up before her disordered imagination the image of her lost brother, I spoke to her in words of encouragement.

"No, no!" replied she to my words, "I saw him,--I heard his voice, too.

Let us leave this; bring me to the Trianon; and--"

The terrified and eager look she threw around at each word did not admit of longer parley, and I drew her arm within mine to lead her forward.

"This is no fancy, as you deem it," said she, in a low and broken tone, to which an accent of bitterness lent a terrible power; "nor could the grave give up before me one so full of terror to my heart as him I saw there."

Her head sank heavily as she uttered this; and, notwithstanding every effort I made, she spoke no more, nor would give me any answer to my questions regarding the cause of her fears.

As we walked forward we heard the sound of voices, which she at once recognized as belonging to the Court party, and pressing my hand slightly, she motioned me to leave her. I pressed the pale fingers to my lips, and darted away, my every thought bent on discovering the cause of her late fright.

In an instant I was back beside the lake. I searched every copse and every brake; I wandered for hours through the dark woods; but nothing could I see. I stooped to examine the ground, but could not even detect the pressure of a footstep. The dried branches lay unbroken, and the leaves unpressed around; and I at last became convinced that an excited brain, and a mind hara.s.sed by a long sorrow, had conjured up the image she spoke of. As I approached the picket, which was one of the most remote in my rounds, I resolved to ask the sentry had he seen any one.

"Yes, Lieutenant," said the soldier; "a man pa.s.sed some short time ago in an undress uniform. He gave the word, and I let him proceed."

"Was he old or young?"

"Middle-aged, and of your height."

"Which way did he take?"