CHAPTER XLIII.
THE MARRIAGE IN EXTREMIS.
Lafare dragged the young girl away, almost fainting, and placed her inone of the carriages always standing in the courtyard of the PalaisRoyal. During the route Bathilde did not speak; she was cold, dumb, andinanimate as a statue. Her eyes were fixed and tearless, but on arrivingat the fortress she started. She fancied she had seen in the shade, inthe very place where the Chevalier de Rohan was executed, something likea scaffold. A little further a sentinel cried "Qui vive!" the carriagerolled over a drawbridge, and drew up at the door of the governor'shouse. A footman out of livery opened the door, and Lafare gave Bathildehis arm--she could scarcely stand--all her strength had left her whenhope left her. Lafare and the valet were obliged almost to carry her tothe first floor. M. de Launay was at supper. They took Bathilde into aroom to wait, while Lafare went directly to the governor. Ten minutespassed, during which Bathilde had only one idea--that of the eternalseparation which awaited her. The poor girl saw but one thing--her loveron the scaffold. Lafare re-entered with the governor. Bathilde looked atthem with a bewildered air. Lafare approached her, and offering her hisarm--
"Mademoiselle," said he, "the church is prepared, the priest is ready."
Bathilde, without replying, rose and leaned on the arm which was offeredher. M. de Launay went first, lighted by two men bearing torches.
As Bathilde entered by one of the side doors, she saw entering by theother the Chevalier d'Harmental, accompanied by Valef and Pompadour.These were his witnesses, as De Launay and Lafare were hers. Each doorwas kept by two of the French guard, silent and motionless as statues.
The two lovers advanced, Bathilde pale and fainting, Raoul calm andsmiling. On arriving before the altar, the chevalier took Bathilde'shand, and both fell on their knees, without having spoken a word.
The altar was lighted only by four wax tapers, which threw a funereallight over the chapel, already dark, and filled with gloomyrecollections.
The priest commenced the ceremony; he was a fine old man with whitehair, and whose melancholy countenance showed the traces of his dailyfunctions. He had been chaplain of the Bastille for five-and-twentyyears, and had heard many sad confessions, and seen many lamentableevents. He spoke to them, not, as usual, of their duties as husband andwife, but of divine mercy and eternal resurrection. At the benedictionBathilde laid her head on Raoul's shoulder; the priest thought she wasfainting, and stopped.
"Finish, my father," murmured Bathilde.
The priest pronounced the sacramental words, to which both replied by a"yes," which seemed to unite the whole strength of their souls. Theceremony finished, D'Harmental asked M. de Launay if he might spend hisfew remaining hours with his wife. Monsieur de Launay replied that therewas no objection. Raoul embraced Pompadour and Valef, thanked them forhaving served as witnesses at his marriage, pressed Lafare's hand,thanked Monsieur de Launay for his kindness to him during hisimprisonment, and throwing his arm round Bathilde, led her away by thedoor through which he had entered. When they reached D'Harmental's room,Bathilde could no longer contain her tears, a despairing cry escaped herlips, and she fell weeping on a chair, where doubtless D'Harmental hadoften sat, during the three weeks of his captivity, and thought of her.Raoul threw himself at her feet, and tried to console her, but washimself so much moved by her grief, that his own tears mingled withhers. This heart of iron melted in its turn, and Bathilde felt at onceon her lips the tears and kisses of her lover. They had been abouthalf-an-hour together when they heard steps approaching the door, and akey turning in the lock. Bathilde started, and pressed D'Harmentalconvulsively against her heart. Raoul understood the dreadful fearwhich crossed her mind, and reassured her. It could not be what shedreaded, since the execution was fixed for eight o'clock in the morning,and eleven had only just struck.
It was Monsieur de Launay who appeared.
"Monsieur le Chevalier," said he, "have the kindness to follow me."
"Alone?" asked D'Harmental, clasping Bathilde in his arms.
"No, with madame," replied the governor.
"Oh! together, Raoul, together!" cried Bathilde, "where they like, sothat we are together. We are ready, monsieur, we are ready."
Raoul kissed Bathilde again; then recalling all his pride, he followedM. de Launay, with a face which showed no trace of the terrible emotionhe had experienced. They passed through some ill-lighted corridors,descended a spiral staircase, and found themselves at the door of atower. This door opened out to a yard, surrounded by high walls, whichserved as a promenade to those prisoners who were not kept secret. Inthis courtyard was standing a carriage with two horses, on one of whichwas a postilion, and they saw, shining in the darkness, the cuirasses ofa dozen musketeers. A ray of hope crossed the minds of the two lovers.Bathilde had asked the regent to change Raoul's death into a perpetualimprisonment. Perhaps the regent had granted him this favor. Thecarriage, ready, doubtless, to conduct him to some State prison, themusketeers destined to escort them, all gave to the supposition an airof reality. They raised their eyes to heaven to thank God for thisunexpected happiness. Meanwhile M. de Launay had signed to the carriageto approach; the postilion had obeyed, the door was opened, and thegovernor--with his head uncovered--held his hand to Bathilde, to assisther into the carriage.
She hesitated an instant, turning uneasily to see that they did not takeRaoul away by the other side; but seeing that he was ready to followher, she got in without resistance. An instant afterward Raoul wassitting by her; the door was closed, and both carriage and escort passedthrough the gate, over the drawbridge, and they found themselves outsideof the Bastille.
They threw themselves into each other's arms; there was no longer anydoubt; the regent granted D'Harmental his life, and what was more,consented not to separate him from Bathilde.
This was what Bathilde and D'Harmental had never dared to hope; thislife of seclusion--a punishment to many--would be to them a paradise oflove--they would be together; and what else had they desired for theirfuture, even when they were masters of their own fate? A single sad ideacrossed their minds, and both, with the sympathy of hearts who love,pronounced the name of Buvat.
At this moment the carriage stopped; at such a time everything was, forthe lovers, a subject of fear. They again trembled, lest they shouldhave given way too much to hope. The door opened--it was the postilion.
"What do you want?" asked D'Harmental.
"I want to know where I am to take you."
"Where you are to take me! Have you no orders?"
"My orders were to take you to the Bois de Vincennes, between theChateau and Nogent-sur-Marne, and here we are."
"And where is the escort?" asked D'Harmental.
"Oh, the escort left us at the barrier!"
"Oh, mon Dieu!" cried D'Harmental, while Bathilde--panting withhope--joined her hands in silence, "is it possible?"
And the chevalier jumped out of the carriage, looked round himanxiously, then clasping Bathilde in his arms, they uttered together acry of joy and thankfulness.
They were free as the air they breathed, but the regent had ordered thatthey should be taken to the very place where D'Harmental had carried offBourguignon, mistaking him for himself.
This was the only revenge of Philippe le Debonnaire.
* * * * *
Four years after this event, Buvat, reinstated in his place--and withhis arrears paid--had the satisfaction of placing a pen in the hand of afine boy of three years old--he was the son of Raoul and Bathilde.
The two first names which the child wrote were Albert du Rocher andClarice Gray. The third was that of Philippe d'Orleans, regent ofFrance.