CHAPTER LXX.
TRANSFIGURATION.
After her prayer Diana rose so beautiful and radiant that the comteuttered a cry of surprise and admiration. She appeared to be waking outof a long sleep, of which the dreams had fatigued her and weighed uponher mind; or rather, she was like the daughter of Jairus, called fromdeath and rising from her funeral couch, already purified and ready forheaven. Awakening from her lethargy, she cast around her a glance sosweet and gentle, that Henri began to believe he should see her feel forhis pain, and yield to a sentiment of gratitude and pity. While thegendarmes, after their frugal repast, slept about among the ruins, whileRemy himself yielded to it, Henri came and sat down close to Diana, andin a voice so low and sweet that it seemed a murmur of the breeze, said:
"Madame, you live. Oh! let me tell you all the joy which overflows myheart when I see you here in safety, after having seen you on thethreshold of the tomb."
"It is true, monsieur," replied she; "I live through you, and I wish Icould say I was grateful."
"But, madame," replied Henri, with an immense effort, "if it is onlythat you are restored to those you love?"
"What do you mean?"
"To those you are going to rejoin through so many perils."
"Monsieur, those I loved are dead! those I am going to rejoin are soalso."
"Oh, madame!" cried Henri, falling on his knees, "throw your eyes onme--on me, who have suffered so much and loved so much. Oh, do not turnaway; you are young, and beautiful as the angels in heaven; read myheart, which I open to you, and you will see that it contains not anatom of that love that most men feel. You do not believe me? Examine thepast hours; which of them has given me joy, or even hope? yet I havepersevered. You made me weep; I devoured my tears. You made me suffer; Ihid my sufferings. You drove me to seek death, and I went to meet itwithout a complaint. Even at this moment, when you turn away your head,when each of my words, burning as they are, seems a drop of iced waterfalling on your heart, my soul is full of you, and I live only becauseyou live. Just now, was I not ready to die with you? What have I askedfor? Nothing. Have I touched your hand? Never, but to draw you from amortal peril. I held you in my arms to draw you from the waves--nothingmore. All in me has been purified by the devouring fire of my love."
"Oh, monsieur! for pity's sake do not speak thus to me."
"Oh, in pity do not condemn me. He told me you loved no one; oh! repeatto me this assurance; it is a singular favor for a man in love to ask tobe told that he is not loved, but I prefer to know that you areinsensible to all. Oh, madame, you who are the only adoration of mylife, reply to me."
In spite of Henri's prayers, a sigh was the only answer.
"You say nothing," continued the comte; "Remy at least had more pity forme, for he tried to console him. Oh! I see you will not reply, becauseyou do not wish to tell me that you came to Flanders to rejoin some onehappier than I, and yet I am young, and am ready to die at your feet."
"M. le Comte," replied Diana, with majestic solemnity, "do not say to methings fit only to be said to a woman; I belong to another world, and donot live for this. Had I seen you less noble--less good--less generous,had I not for you in the bottom of my heart the tender feeling of asister for a brother, I should say, 'Rise, comte, and do not importunewith love my ears, which hold it in horror.' But I do not say so, comte,because I suffer in seeing you suffer. I say more; now that I know you,I will take your hand and place it on my heart, and I will say to youwillingly, 'See, my heart beats no more; live near me, if you like, andassist day by day, if such be your pleasure, at this painful executionof a body which is being killed by the tortures of the soul;' but thissacrifice, which you may accept as happiness--"
"Oh, yes!" cried Henri, eagerly.
"Well, this sacrifice I ought to forbid. This very day a change hastaken place in my life; I have no longer the right to lean on any humanarm--not even on the arm of that generous friend, that noble creature,who lies there, and for a time finds the happiness of forgetfulness.Alas! poor Remy," continued she, with the first change of tone thatHenri remarked in her voice, "your waking will also be sad; you do notknow the progress of my thought; you cannot read in my eyes that youwill soon be alone, and that alone I must go to God."
"What do you mean, madame? do you also wish to die?"
Remy, awakened by the cry of the young count, began to listen.
"You saw me pray, did you not?" said Diana.
"Yes," answered Henri.
"This prayer was my adieu to earth; the joy that you remarked on myface--the joy that fills me even now, is the same you would see in me ifthe angel of death were to come and say to me, 'Rise, Diana, and followme.'"
"Diana! Diana! now I know your name; Diana, cherished name!" murmuredthe young man.
"Oh, silence!" cried she, "forget this name which escaped me; no livingperson has the right to pierce my heart by pronouncing it."
"Oh! madame, do not tell me you are going to die."
"I do not say that," replied she in her grave voice; "I say that I amabout to quit this world of tears--of hatreds--of bad passions--of vileinterests and desires. I say that I have nothing left to do among thecreatures whom God created my fellow mortals; I have no more tears, nomore blood in my heart; no more thoughts--they are dead. I am aworthless offering, for in renouncing the world I sacrifice nothing,neither desires nor hopes; but such as I am I offer myself to my God,and he will accept me--he who has made me suffer so much, and yet keptme from sinking under it."
Remy, who had heard this, rose slowly, and said, "You abandon me?"
"For God," said Diana, raising her thin white hand to heaven.
"It is true," said Remy, sadly; and seizing her hand he pressed it tohis breast.
"Oh! what am I by these two hearts?" said Henri.
"You are," replied Diana, "the only human creature, except Remy, on whomI have looked twice for years."
Henri knelt. "Thanks, madame," said he, "I bow to my destiny. You belongto God; I cannot be jealous."
As he rose, they heard the sound of trumpets on the plain, from whichthe water was rapidly disappearing. The gendarmes seized their arms andwere on horseback at once.
Henri listened. "Gentlemen," cried he, "those are the admiral'strumpets; I know them. Oh, God! may they announce my brother!"
"You see that you still wish something, and still love something; why,then, should you choose despair, like those who desire nothing--likethose who love no one?"
"A horse!" cried Henri; "who will lend me a horse?"
"But the water is still all around us," said the ensign.
"But you see that the plain is practicable; they must be advancing,since we hear their trumpets."
"Mount to the top of the bank, M. le Comte, the sky is clear, perhapsyou will see."
Henri climbed up; the trumpets continued to sound at intervals, but wereseemingly stationary.