CHAPTER XXXVIII. THE TWO SIGNALS
Let us now relate what happened at the Chateau des Noires-Fontainesthree days after the events we have just described took place in Paris.
Since the successive departures of Roland, then Madame de Montrevel andher son, and finally Sir John--Roland to rejoin his general, Madame deMontrevel to place Edouard in school, and Sir John to acquaint Rolandwith his matrimonial plans--Amelie had remained alone with Charlotte atthe Chateau des Noires-Fontaines. We say _alone_, because Michel and hisson Jacques did not live in the house, but in the little lodge at thegate where he added the duties of porter to those of gardener.
It therefore happened that at night all the windows, excepting those ofAmelie, which, as we have said, were on the first floor overlooking thegarden, and that of Charlotte in the attic, were left in darkness.
Madame de Montrevel had taken the second chambermaid with her. The twoyoung girls were perhaps rather isolated in their part of the house,which consisted of a dozen bedrooms on three floors, especially at atime when so many rumors of robberies on the highroads reached them.Michel, therefore, proposed to his young mistress that he sleep in themain building, so as to be near her in case of need. But she, in a firmvoice, assured him that she felt no fear, and desired no change in thecustomary routine of the chateau.
Michel did not insist, and retired, saying that Mademoiselle might, inany case, sleep in peace, for he and Jacques would make the rounds ofthe house during the night.
Amelie at first seemed anxious about those rounds; but she soon noticedthat Michel and Jacques contented themselves with watching on the edgeof the forest of Seillon, and the frequent appearance of a jugged hare,or a haunch of venison on the table, proved to her that Michel kept hisword regarding the promised rounds.
She therefore ceased to trouble about Michel's rounds, which were alwayson the side of the house opposite to that where she feared them.
Now, as we have said, three days after the events we have just related,or, to speak more correctly, during the night following the third day,those who were accustomed to see no light save in Amelie's windows onthe first floor and Charlotte's on the third, might have observed withsurprise that, from eleven o'clock until midnight, the four windows onthe first floor were illuminated. It is true that each was lighted by asingle wax-candle. They might also have seen the figure of a younggirl through the shades, staring in the direction of the village ofCeyzeriat.
This young girl was Amelie, pale, breathing with difficulty, and seemingto watch anxiously for a signal.
At the end of a few minutes she wiped her forehead and drew a joyousbreath. A fire was lighted in the direction she had been watching. Thenshe passed from room to room, putting out the three candles one afterthe other, leaving only the one which was burning in her own room. As ifthe fire awaited this return signal, it was now extinguished.
Amelie sat down by her window and remained motionless, her eyes fixedon the garden. The night was dark, without moon or stars, and yet atthe end of a quarter of an hour she saw, or rather divined, a shadowcrossing the lawn and approaching the window. She placed her singlecandle in the furthest corner of her room, and returned to open herwindow.
He whom she was awaiting was already on the balcony.
As on the first night when we saw him climb it, the young man put hisarm around the girl's waist and drew her into the room. She made butslight resistance; her hand sought the cord of the Venetian blind,unfastened it from the hook that held it, and let it fall with morenoise than prudence would have counselled.
Behind the blind, she closed the window; then she fetched the candlefrom the corner where she had hidden it. The light illuminated her face,and the young man gave a cry of alarm, for it was covered with tears.
"What has happened?" he asked.
"A great misfortune!" replied the young girl.
"Oh, I feared it when I saw the signal by which you recalled me afterreceiving me last night. But is it irreparable?"
"Almost," answered Amelie.
"I hope, at least, that it threatens only me."
"It threatens us both."
The young man passed his hand over his brow to wipe away the sweat thatcovered it.
"Tell me," said he; "you know I am strong."
"If you have the strength to hear it," said she, "I have none to tellit." Then, taking a letter from the chimney-piece, she added: "Readthat; that is what I received by the post to-night."
The young man took the letter, opened it, and glanced hastily at thesignature.
"From Madame de Montrevel," said he.
"Yes, with a postscript from Roland."
The young man read:
MY DEAREST DAUGHTER--I hope that the news I announce will give you as much joy as it has already given our dear Roland and me. Sir John, whose heart you doubted, claiming that it was only a mechanical contrivance, manufactured in the workshops at Vaucanson, admits that such an opinion was a just one until the day he saw you; but he maintains that since that day he has a heart, and that that heart adores you.
Did you suspect it, my dear Amelie, from his aristocratic and polished manners, when your mother's eyes failed to discern this tenderness.
This morning, while breakfasting with your brother, he formally asked your hand. Your brother received the offer with joy, but he made no promises at first. The First Consul, before Roland's departure for the Vendee, had already spoken of making himself responsible for your establishment. But since then he has asked to see Lord Tanlay, and Sir John, though he maintained his national reserve, was taken into the first Consul's good graces at once, to such a degree that he received from him, at their first interview, a mission to his uncle, Lord Grenville. Sir John started for England immediately.
I do not know how many days Sir John will be absent, but on his return he is certain to present himself to you as your betrothed.
Lord Tanlay is still young, pleasing in appearance, and immensely rich; he is highly connected in England, and Roland's friend. I do not know a man who has more right, I will not say to your love, but to your profound esteem.
The rest of my news I can tell you in two words. The First Consul is still most kind to me and to your two brothers, and Madame Bonaparte has let me know that she only awaits your marriage to place you near her.
There is talk of leaving the Luxembourg, and removing to the Tuileries. Do you understand the full meaning of this change of domicile?
Your mother, who loves you, CLOTILDE DE MONTREVEL.
Without pausing, the young man turned to Roland's postscript. It was asfollows:
You have read, my dear little sister, what our good mother has written. This marriage is a suitable one under all aspects. It is not a thing to be childish about; the First Consul _wishes_ you to become Lady Tanlay; that is to say, he _wills_ it.
I am leaving Paris for a few days. Though you may not see me, you will hear of me.
I kiss you, ROLAND.
"Well, Charles," asked Amelie, when the young man had finished reading,"what do you think of that?"
"That it is something we had to expect from day to day, my poor angel,but it is none the less terrible."
"What is to be done?"
"There are three things we can do."
"Tell me."
"In the first place, resist if you have the strength; it is the shortestand surest way."
Amelie dropped her head.
"You will never dare, will you?"
"Never."
"And yet you are my wife, Amelie; a priest has blessed our union."
"But they say that marriage before a priest is null before the law."
"Is it not enough for you, the wife of a proscribed man?" asked Morgan,his voice trembling as he spoke.
Amelie flung herself into his arms.
"But my mother," said she; "our marriage did not have her presence andblessing."
"Because there were too many risks to run, and we w
ished to run themalone."
"But that man--Did you notice that my brother says he _wills_ it?"
"Oh, if you loved me, Amelie, that man would see that he may change theface of the State, carry war from one end of the world to the other,make laws, build a throne, but that he cannot force lips to say yes whenthe heart says no."
"If I loved you!" said Amelie, in a tone of soft reproach. "It ismidnight, you are here in my room, I weep in your arms--I, the daughterof General de Montrevel and the sister of Roland--and you say, 'If youloved me.'"
"I was wrong, I was wrong, my darling Amelie. Yes, I know that you werebrought up in adoration of that man; you cannot understand that any oneshould resist him, and whoever does resist him is a rebel in your eyes."
"Charles, you said there were three things that we could do. What is thesecond?"
"Accept apparently the marriage they propose to you, and gain time, bydelaying under various pretexts. The man is not immortal."
"No; but is too young for us to count on his death. The third way, dearfriend?"
"Fly--but that is a last resource, Amelie; there are two objections:first, your repugnance."
"I am yours, Charles; I will surmount my repugnance."
"And," added the young man, "my engagements."
"Your engagements?"
"My companions are bound to me, Amelie; but I, too, am bound to them. Wealso have a man to whom we have sworn obedience. That man is the futureking of France. If you accept your brother's devotion to Bonaparte,accept ours to Louis XVIII."
Amelie let her face drop into her hands with a sigh.
"Then," said she, "we are lost."
"Why so? On various pretexts, your health above all, you can gain ayear. Before the year is out Bonaparte will probably be forced to beginanother war in Italy. A single defeat will destroy his prestige; inshort, a great many things can happen in a year."
"Did you read Roland's postscript, Charles?"
"Yes; but I didn't see anything in it that was not in your mother'sletter."
"Read the last sentence again." And Amelie placed the letter before him.He read:
I am leaving Paris for a few days; though you may not see me, you will hear of me.
"Well?"
"Do you know what that means?"
"No."
"It means that Roland is in pursuit of you."
"What does that matter? He cannot die by the hand of any of us."
"But you, unhappy man, you can die by his!"
"Do you think I should care so very much if he killed me, Amelie?"
"Oh! even in my gloomiest moments I never thought of that."
"So you think your brother is on the hunt for us?"
"I am sure of it."
"What makes you so certain?"
"Because he swore over Sir John's body, when he thought him dead, toavenge him."
"If he had died," exclaimed the young man, bitterly, "we should not bewhere we are, Amelie."
"God saved him, Charles; it was therefore good that he did not die."
"For us?"
"I cannot fathom the ways of the Lord. I tell you, my beloved Charles,beware of Roland; Roland is close by."
Charles smiled incredulously.
"I tell you that he is not only near here, but he has been seen."
"He has been seen! Where? Who saw him?"
"Who saw him?"
"Yes."
"Charlotte, my maid, the jailer's daughter. She asked permission tovisit her parents yesterday, Sunday; you were coming, so I told her shecould stay till this morning."
"Well?"
"She therefore spent the night with her parents. At eleven o'clock thecaptain of the gendarmerie brought in some prisoners. While they werelocking them up, a man, wrapped in a cloak, came in and asked for thecaptain. Charlotte thought she recognized the new-comer's voice. Shelooked at him attentively; his cloak slipped from his face, and she sawthat it was my brother."
The young man made a movement.
"Now do you understand, Charles? My brother comes to Bourg,mysteriously, without letting me know; he asks for the captain ofthe gendarmerie, follows him into the prison, speaks only to him, anddisappears. Is that not a threatening outlook for our love? Tell me,Charles!"
As Amelie spoke, a dark cloud spread slowly over her lover's face.
"Amelie," said he, "when my companions and I bound ourselves together,we did not deceive ourselves as to the risks we ran."
"But, at least," said Amelie, "you have changed your place of refuge;you have abandoned the Chartreuse of Seillon?"
"None but our dead are there now."
"Is the grotto of Ceyzeriat perfectly safe?"
"As safe as any refuge can be that has two exit."
"The Chartreuse of Seillon had two exits; yet, as you say, you left yourdead there."
"The dead are safer than the living; they are sure not to die on thescaffold."
Amelie felt a shudder go through her.
"Charles!" she murmured.
"Listen," said the young man. "God is my witness, and you too, that Ihave always put laughter and gayety between your presentiments and myfears; but to-day the aspect of things has changed; we are coming faceto face with the crisis. Whatever the end brings us, it is approaching.I do not ask of you, my Amelie, those selfish, unreasonable things thatlovers in danger of death exact from their mistresses; I do not ask youto bind your heart to the dead, your love to a corpse--"
"Friend," said the young girl, laying her hand on his arm, "take care;you are doubting me."
"No; I do you the highest honor in leaving you free to accomplish thesacrifice to its full extent; but I do not want you to be bound by anoath; no tie shall fetter you."
"So be it," said Amelie.
"What I ask of you," continued the young man, "and I ask you to swearit on our love, which has been, alas! so fatal to you, is this: if Iam arrested and disarmed, if I am imprisoned and condemned to death, Iimplore you, Amelie, I exact of you, that in some way you will send mearms, not only for myself, but for my companions also, so that we maystill be masters of our lives."
"But in such a case, Charles, may I not tell all to my brother? May Inot appeal to his tenderness; to the generosity of the First Consul?"
Before the young girl had finished, her lover seized her violently bythe wrist.
"Amelie," said he, "it is no longer one promise I ask of you, there aretwo. Swear to me, in the first place, and above all else, that you willnot solicit my pardon. Swear it, Amelie; swear it!"
"Do I need to swear, dear?" asked the young girl, bursting into tears."I promise it."
"Promise it on the hour when I first said I loved you, on the hour whenyou answered that I was loved!"
"On your life, on mine, on the past, on the future, on our smiles, onour tears."
"I should die in any case, you see, Amelie, even though I had to beat mybrains out against the wall; but I should die dishonored."
"I promise you, Charles."
"Then for my second request, Amelie: if we are taken and condemned, sendme arms--arms or poison, the means of dying, any means. Coming from you,death would be another joy."
"Far or near, free or a prisoner, living or dead, you are my master, Iam your slave; order and I obey."
"That is all, Amelie; it is simple and clear, you see, no pardon, andthe means of death."
"Simple and clear, but terrible."
"You will do it, will you not?"
"You wish me to?"
"I implore you."
"Order or entreaty, Charles, your will shall be done."
The young man held the girl, who seemed on the verge of fainting, in hisleft arm, and approached his mouth to hers. But, just as their lipswere about to touch, an owl's cry was heard, so close to the windowthat Amelie started and Charles raised his head. The cry was repeated asecond time, and then a third.
"Ah!" murmured Amelie, "do you hear that bird of ill-omen? We aredoomed, my friend."
But Charles s
hook his head.
"That is not an owl, Amelie," he said; "it is the call of ourcompanions. Put out the light."
Amelie blew it out while her lover opened the window.
"Even here," she murmured; "they seek you even here!"
"It is our friend and confidant, the Comte de Jayat; no one else knowswhere I am." Then, leaning from the balcony, he asked: "Is it you,Montbar?"
"Yes; is that you, Morgan?"
"Yes."
A man came from behind a clump of trees.
"News from Paris; not an instant to lose; a matter of life and death tous all."
"Do you hear, Amelie?"
Taking the young girl in his arms, he pressed her convulsively to hisheart.
"Go," she said, in a faint voice, "go. Did you not hear him say it was amatter of life and death for all of you?"
"Farewell, my Amelie, my beloved, farewell!"
"Oh! don't say farewell."
"No, no; au revoir!"
"Morgan, Morgan!" cried the voice of the man waiting below in thegarden.
The young man pressed his lips once more to Amelie's; then, rushing tothe window, he sprang over the balcony at a bound and joined his friend.
Amelie gave a cry, and ran to the balustrade; but all she saw was twomoving shadows entering the deepening shadows of the fine old trees thatadorned the park.