CHAPTER XLVIII. IN WHICH MORGAN'S PRESENTIMENTS ARE VERIFIED
It often happens that the skies are never so calm or so serene as beforea storm. The day was beautiful and still; one of those glorious days ofFebruary when, in spite of the tingling cold of the atmosphere, in spiteof a winding-sheet of snow covering the earth, the sun smiles down uponmankind with a promise of spring.
Sir John came at noon to make his farewell visit to Amelie. He had, orthought he had, her promise, and that satisfied him. His impatience wasaltogether personal; but Amelie, in accepting his suit, even though sherelegated the period of her marriage to the vaguest possible future,had crowned his hopes. He trusted to the First Consul and to Roland'sfriendship for the rest. He therefore returned to Paris to do much ofhis courting with Madame de Montrevel, not being able to remain at Bourgand carry it on with Amelie.
A quarter of an hour after he had left the Chateau des Noires-Fontaines,Charlotte was also on her way to Bourg. At four o'clock she returned,bringing word that she had seen Sir John with her own eyes getting intohis travelling carriage, and that he had taken the road to Macon.
Amelie could therefore feel perfectly at ease on that score. Shebreathed freer. She had tried to inspire Morgan with a peace of mindwhich she herself did not share. Since the day that Charlotte hadbrought back the news of Roland's presence at Bourg, she had had apresentiment, like that of Morgan himself, that they were approachingsome terrible crisis. She knew all that had happened at the Chartreuseof Seillon. She foresaw the struggle between her brother and herlover, and, with her mind at rest about her brother, thanks to Morgan'sprotection, she, knowing Roland's character, trembled for her lover'slife.
Moreover, she had heard of the stoppage of the Chambery mail-coach andthe death of the colonel of Chasseurs. She also knew that her brotherhad escaped, but that he had disappeared since that time. She hadreceived no letter from him herself. This disappearance and silence, toher who knew her brother so well, was even worse than open and declaredwar.
As for Morgan, she had not seen him since the scene we have narrated,when she promised to send him arms wherever he might be, in case he werecondemned to death. Amelie therefore awaited this interview, for whichMorgan had asked, with as much impatience as he who had asked it. Assoon as she thought Michel and his son were in bed, she lighted the fourwindows with the candles which were to summon Morgan to her.
Then, following her lover's injunctions, she wrapped herself in acashmere shawl, which Roland had brought her from the battlefield of thePyramids, and which he had unwound from the head of a chieftain whom hehad killed. Over this she flung a fur mantle, left Charlotte behind tokeep her informed in case of eventualities, which she trusted would notbe forthcoming, opened the park gate, and hastened toward the river.
During the day she had gone to the Reissouse and back several times totrace a line of footsteps, among which the nocturnal ones would not benoticed. She now descended, if not tranquilly at least boldly, the slopeleading to the river. Once there, she looked about her for the boatbeneath the willows. A man was waiting in it--Morgan. With two strokesof the oar he reached a spot where Amelie could come to him. The younggirl sprang down and he caught her in his arms.
The first thing the young girl noticed was the joyous radiance whichilluminated, if we may say so, the face of her lover.
"Oh!" she cried, "you have something nice to tell me." "What makes youthink so, dearest?" asked Morgan with his tenderest smile.
"There is something in your face, my darling Charles, something morethan the mere happiness of seeing me."
"You are right," said Morgan, throwing the boat-chain around a willowand letting the oars float idly beside the boat. Then, taking Amelie inhis arms, he said, "You were right, my Amelie. Oh! blind weak beings! Itis at the very moment that happiness knocks at our door that we despairand doubt."
"Oh, speak, speak!" said Amelie, "tell me what has happened."
"Do you remember, my Amelie, how you answered me the last time we met,when I asked you to fly and spoke to you of your probable repugnance tothe step?"
"Yes, I remember, Charles. I said that I was yours, and that, though Ifelt that repugnance, I would conquer it for your sake."
"And I replied that I had engagements which would prevent my leaving thecountry; that I was bound to others, and they to me; that our dutywas to one man to whom we owed absolute obedience--the future King ofFrance, Louis XVIII."
"Yes, you told me that."
"Well, we are now released from our pledges, Amelie, not only by theKing, but by our general, Georges Cadoudal."
"Oh! my friend, then you will be as other men, only above all others."
"I shall become a simple exile, Amelie. There is no hope of our beingincluded in the Breton or Vendean amnesty."
"Why not?"
"We are not soldiers, my darling child. We are not even rebels. We areCompanions of Jehu."
Amelie sighed.
"We are bandits, brigands, highwaymen," said Morgan, dwelling on thewords with evident intention.
"Hush!" said Amelie, laying her hand on her lover's lips. "Hush! don'tlet us speak of that. Tell me how it is that your king has released you,and your general also."
"The First Consul wished to see Cadoudal. In the first place, he sentyour brother to him with certain proposals. Cadoudal refused to cometo terms; but, like ourselves, he received orders from Louis XVIII. tocease hostilities. Coincident with that order came another messagefrom the First Consul to Cadoudal. It was a safeguard for the Vendeangeneral, and an invitation to come to Paris; an overture from one powerto another power. Cadoudal accepted, and is now on his way to Paris. Ifit is not peace, it is at least a truce."
"Oh, what joy, my Charles!"
"Don't rejoice too much, my love."
"Why not?"
"Do you know why they have issued this order to suspend hostilities?"
"No."
"Because M. Fouche is a long-headed man. He realized that, sincehe could not defeat us, he must dishonor us. He has organized falsecompanies of Jehu, which he has set loose in Maine and Anjou, who don'tstop at the government money, but pillage and rob travellers, and invadethe chateaux and farms by night, and roast the feet of the owners tomake them tell where their treasure is hidden. Well, these men, thesebandits, these _roasters_, have taken our name, and claim to be fightingfor the same principles, so that M. Fouche and his police declare thatwe are not only beyond the pale of the law, but beyond that of honor."
"Oh!"
"That is what I wished to tell you before I ask you to fly with me, myAmelie. In the eyes of France, in the eyes of foreigners, even in theeyes of the prince we have served, and for whom we have risked thescaffold, we shall be hereafter, and probably are now, dishonored menworthy of the scaffold."
"Yes; but to me you are my Charles, the man of devoted convictions, thefirm royalist, continuing to struggle for a cause when other men haveabandoned it. To me you are the loyal Baron de Sainte-Hermine, or, ifyou like it better, you are to me the noble, courageous, invincibleMorgan."
"Ah! that is what I longed to hear, my darling. If you feel thus, youwill not hesitate, in spite of the cloud of infamy that hangs over ourhonor, you will not hesitate--I will not say to give yourself to me, forthat you have already done--but to become my wife."
"Hesitate! No, not for an instant, not for a second! To do it is the joyof my soul, the happiness of my life! Your wife? I am your wife in thesight of God, and God will have granted my every prayer on the day thathe enables me to be your wife before men."
Morgan fell on his knees.
"Then," he said, "here at your feet, with clasped hands and my wholeheart supplicating, I say to you, Amelie, will you fly with me? Will youleave France with me? Will you be my wife in other lands?"
Amelie sprang erect and clasped her head in her hands, as though herbrain were bursting with the force of the blood that rushed to it.Morgan caught both her hands and looked at her anxiously.
"Do you hes
itate?" he asked in a broken, trembling voice.
"No, not an instant!" she cried resolutely. "I am yours in the past, inthe present, in the future, here, everywhere. Only the thought convulsesme. It is so unexpected."
"Reflect well, Amelie. What I ask of you is to abandon country andfamily, all that is dear to you, all that is sacred. If you follow me,you leave the home where you were born, the mother who nurtured you, thebrother who loves you, and who, perhaps, when he hears that you are thewife of a brigand, will hate you. He will certainly despise you."
As he spoke, Morgan's eyes were anxiously questioning Amelie's face.Over that face a tender smile stole gradually, and then it turned fromheaven to earth, and bent upon Morgan, who was still on his knees beforeher.
"Oh, Charles!" she murmured, in a voice as soft as the clear limpidriver flowing at her feet, "the love that comes direct from the Divineis very powerful indeed, since, in spite of those dreadful words youhave just uttered, I say to you without hesitation, almost withoutregret: Charles, I am here; Charles, I am yours. Where shall we go?"
"Amelie, our fate is not one to discuss. If we go, if you follow me, itmust be at once. To-morrow we must be beyond the frontier."
"How do we go?"
"I have two horses, ready saddled at Montagnac, one for you, Amelie, andone for me. I have letters of credit for two hundred thousand francs onLondon and Vienna. We will go wherever you prefer."
"Wherever you are, Charles. What difference does it make so long as youare there?"
"Then come."
"Can I have five minutes, Charles; is that too much?"
"Where are you going?"
"To say good-by to many things, to fetch your precious letters and theivory chaplet used at my first communion. Oh! there are many sacredcherished souvenirs of my childhood which will remind me over there ofmy mother, of France. I will fetch them and return."
"Amelie!"
"What is it?"
"I cannot leave you. If I part with you an instant now I feel that Ishall lose you forever. Amelie, let me go with you."
"Yes, come. What matter if they see your footsteps now? We shall be farenough away to-morrow. Come!" The young man sprang from the boat andgave his hand to Amelie to help her out. Then he folded his arm abouther and they walked to the house.
On the portico Charles stopped.
"Go on alone," said he; "memory is a chaste thing. I know that, and Iwill not embarrass you by my presence. I will wait here and watch foryou. So long as I know you are close by me I do not fear to lose you.Go, dear, and come back quickly."
Amelie answered with a kiss. Then she ran hastily up to her room, tookthe little coffer of carved oak clamped with iron, her treasury, whichcontained her lover's letters from first to last, unfastened from themirror above her bed the white and virginal chaplet that hung there;put into her belt a watch her father had given her, and passed into hermother's bedchamber. There she stooped and kissed the pillow where hermother's head had lain, knelt before the Christ at the foot of the bed,began a thanksgiving she dared not finish, changed it to a prayer, andthen suddenly stopped--she fancied she heard Charles calling her.
She listened and heard her name a second time, uttered in a tone ofagony she could not understand. She quivered, sprang to her feet, andran rapidly down the stairs.
"What is it?" cried Amelie, seizing the young man's hand.
"Listen, listen!" said he.
Amelie strained her ears to catch the sound which seemed to her likemusketry. It came from the direction of Ceyzeriat.
"Oh!" cried Morgan, "I was right in doubting my happiness to the last.My friends are attacked. Adieu, Amelie, adieu!"
"Adieu!" cried Amelie, turning pale. "What, will you leave me?"
The sound of the firing grew more distinct.
"Don't you hear them? They are fighting, and I am not there to fightwith them."
Daughter and sister of a soldier, Amelie understood him and she made noresistance.
"Go!" she said, letting her hands drop beside her. "You were right, weare lost."
The young man uttered a cry of rage, caught her to his breast, andpressed her to him as though he would smother her. Then, bounding fromthe portico, he rushed in the direction of the firing with the speed ofa deer pursued by hunters.
"I come! I come, my friends!" he cried. And he disappeared like a shadowbeneath the tall trees of the park.
Amelie fell upon her knees, her hands stretched toward him without thestrength to recall him, or, if she did so, it was in so faint a voicethat Morgan did not stop or even check his speed to answer her.