CHAPTER LIV. THE CONFESSION
Three days after the events we have just recited, a carriage coveredwith dust and drawn by two horses white with foam stopped about seven ofthe evening before the gate of the Chateau des Noires-Fontaines. To thegreat astonishment of the person who was in such haste to arrive, thegates were open, a crowd of peasants filled the courtyard, and men andwomen were kneeling on the portico. Then, his sense of hearing beingrendered more acute by astonishment at what he had seen, he fancied heheard the ringing of a bell.
He opened the door of the chaise, sprang out, crossed the courtyardrapidly, went up the portico, and found the stairway leading to thefirst floor filled with people.
Up the stairs he ran as he had up the portico, and heard what seemed tohim a murmured prayer from his sister's bedroom. He went to the room.The door was open. Madame de Montrevel and little Edouard were kneelingbeside Amelie's pillow; Charlotte, Michel, and his son Jacques wereclose at hand. The curate of Sainte-Claire was administering the lastsacraments; the dismal scene was lighted only by the light of thewax-tapers.
The reader has recognized Roland in the traveller whose carriage stoppedat the gate. The bystanders made way for him; he entered the room withhis head uncovered and knelt beside his mother.
The dying girl lay on her back, her hands clasped, her head raised onher pillows, her eyes fixed upon the sky, in a sort of ecstasy. Sheseemed unconscious of Roland's arrival. It was as though her soul werefloating between heaven and earth, while the body still belonged to thisworld.
Madame de Montrevel's hand sought that of Roland, and finding it, thepoor mother dropped her head on his shoulder, sobbing. The sobs passedunnoticed by the dying girl, even as her brother's arrival had done.She lay there perfectly immovable. Only when the viaticum had beenadministered, when the priest's voice promised her eternal blessedness,her marble lips appeared to live again, and she murmured in a feeble butintelligible voice: "Amen!"
Then the bell rang again; the choir-boy, who was carrying it, left theroom first, followed by the two acolytes who bore the tapers, then thecross-bearer, and lastly the priest with the Host. All the strangerspresent followed the procession, and the family and household wereleft alone. The house, an instant before so full of sound and life, wassilent, almost deserted.
The dying girl had not moved; her lips were closed, her hands clasped,her eyes raised to heaven. After a few minutes Roland stooped to hismother's ear, and whispered: "Come out with me, mother, I must speakto you." Madame de Montrevel rose. She pushed little Edouard toward thebed, and the child stood on tiptoe to kiss his sister on the forehead.Then the mother followed him, and, leaning over, with a sob shepressed a kiss upon the same spot. Roland, with dry eyes but a breakingheart--he would have given much for tears in which to drown hissorrow--kissed his sister as his mother and little brother had done. Sheseemed as insensible to this kiss as to the preceding ones.
Edouard left the room, followed by Madame de Montrevel and Roland. Justas they reached the door they stopped, quivering. They had heard thename of Roland, uttered in a low but distinct tone.
Roland turned. Amelie called him a second time.
"Did you call me, Amelie?" he asked.
"Yes," replied the dying girl.
"Alone, or with my mother?"
"Alone."
That voice, devoid of emphasis, yet perfectly intelligible, hadsomething glacial about it; it was like an echo from another world.
"Go, mother," said Roland. "You see that she wishes to be alone withme."
"O my God!" murmured Madame de Montrevel, "can there still be hope?"
Low as these words were, the dying girl heard them.
"No, mother," she said. "God has permitted me to see my brother again;but to-night I go to Him."
Madame de Montrevel groaned.
"Roland, Roland!" she said, "she is there already."
Roland signed to her to leave them alone, and she went away with littleEdouard. Roland closed the door, and returned to his sister's bedsidewith unutterable emotion.
Her body was already stiffening in death; the breath from her lips wouldscarcely have dimmed a mirror; the eyes only, wide-open, were fixed andbrilliant, as though the whole remaining life of the body, dead beforeits time, were centred, there. Roland had heard of this strange statecalled ecstasy, which is nothing else than catalepsy. He saw that Ameliewas a victim of that preliminary death.
"I am here, sister," he said. "What can I do for you?"
"I knew you would come," she replied, still without moving, "and Iwaited for you."
"How did you know that I was coming?" asked Roland.
"I saw you coming."
Roland shuddered.
"Did you know why I was coming?" he asked.
"Yes; I prayed God so earnestly in my heart that He gave me strength torise and write to you."
"When was that?"
"Last night."
"Where is the letter?"
"Under my pillow. Take it, and read it."
Roland hesitated an instant. Was his sister delirious?
"Poor Amelie!" he murmured.
"Do not pity me," she said, "I go to join him."
"Whom?" asked Roland.
"Him whom I loved, and whom you killed."
Roland uttered a cry. This was delirium; or else--what did his sistermean?
"Amelie," said he, "I came to question you--"
"About Lord Tanlay; yes, I know," replied the young girl.
"You knew! How could you know?"
"Did I not tell you I saw you coming, and knew why you came?"
"Then answer me."
"Do not turn me from God and from him, Roland. I have written it all;read my letter."
Roland slipped his hand beneath the pillow, convinced that his sisterwas delirious.
To his great astonishment he felt a paper, which he drew out. It wasa sealed letter; on it were written these words: "For Roland, who willcome to-morrow."
He went over to the night-light in order to read the letter, which wasdated the night before at eleven o'clock in the evening.
My brother, we have each a terrible thing to forgive the other.
Roland looked at his sister; she was still motionless. He continued toread:
I loved Charles de Sainte-Hermine; I did more than love him, he was my lover.
"Oh!" muttered the young man between his teeth, "he shall die."
"He is dead," said Amelie.
The young man gave a cry of astonishment. He had uttered the words towhich Amelie had replied too low even to hear them himself. His eyeswent back to the letter.
There was no legal marriage possible between the sister of Roland de Montrevel and the leader of the Companions of Jehu: that was the terrible secret which I bore--and it crushed me.
One person alone had to know it, and I told him; that person was Sir John Tanlay.
May God forever bless that noble-hearted man, who promised to break off an impossible marriage, and who kept his word. Let his life be sacred to you, Roland; he has been my only friend in sorrow, and his tears have mingled with mine.
I loved Charles de Saint-Hermine; I was his mistress; that is the terrible thing you must forgive.
But, in exchange, you caused his death; that is the terrible thing I now forgive you.
Oh! come fast, Roland, for I cannot die till you are here.
To die is to see him again; to die is to be with him and never to leave him again. I am glad to die.
All was clearly and plainly written; there was no sign of delirium inthe letter.
Roland read it through twice, and stood for an instant silent,motionless, palpitating, full of bitterness; then pity got the betterof his anger. He went to Amelie, stretched his hand over her, and said:"Sister, I forgive you."
A slight quiver shook the dying body.
"And now," she said, "call my mother, that I may die in her arms."
Roland opened the door and called Madame d
e Montrevel. She was waitingand came at once.
"Is there any change?" she asked, eagerly.
"No," replied Roland, "only Amelie wishes to die in your arms."
Madame de Montrevel fell upon her knees beside her daughter's bed.
Then Amelie, as though an invisible hand had loosened the bonds thatheld her rigid body to the bed, rose slowly, parted the hands thatwere clasped upon her breast, and let one fall slowly into those of hermother.
"Mother," she said, "you gave me life and you have taken it from me; Ibless you. It was a mother's act. There was no happiness possible foryour daughter in this life."
Then, letting her other hand fall into that of Roland, who was kneelingon the other side of the bed, she said: "We have forgiven each other,brother?"
"Yes, dear Amelie," he replied, "and from the depths of our hearts, Ihope."
"I have still one last request to make."
"What is it?"
"Do not forget that Lord Tanlay has been my best friend."
"Fear nothing," said Roland; "Lord Tanlay's life is sacred to me."
Amelie drew a long breath; then in a voice which showed her growingweakness, she said: "Farewell, mother; farewell, Roland; kiss Edouardfor me."
Then with a cry from her soul, in which there was more of joy thansadness, she said: "Here I am, Charles, here I am!"
She fell back upon her bed, withdrawing her two hands as she did so, andclasping them upon her breast again.
Roland and his mother rose and leaned over her. She had resumed herfirst position, except that her eyelids were closed and her breathextinguished. Amelie's martyrdom was over, she was dead.