auntie--little aunt, who has been my only truemother!' he said, in an agony of tears. `No one will care for me now.I am not strong enough to protect Edmee as I fain would, and she willnot want me. Oh, cannot you ask God to take me too--weak and uselessthat I am?'
"Even in the extremity of her own grief Edmee's generous heart wastouched. She drew Edmond round to where she and Pierre were kneeling,and threw her arm round his thin shoulders.
"`_I_ love you, my poor Edmond. I will always love you, and we will alltake care of you.'
"He yielded to her, but he said nothing. But the Countess caught whatEdmee said, and smiled again.
"`Thank God!' she said. They were her last words, and what could haveshown her more fit for Heaven? Thanking God through all--through thedark and bitter days that had befallen, through sunshine and throughstorm--thanking Him now with her latest breath for the ray of comfortthat had come at the last, though so long deferred that hope hadwell-nigh fled.
"She died that afternoon. All through the long, sad hours of thatstrange day the three young creatures watched beside her, not knowing,in their inexperience, the exact moment at which the gentle spiritfled--not till the Sister of Charity, who, in disguise, like many othersall through those awful months, still went about ministering to the sickand dying--not till Sister Angelique tapped softly at the door, andentering, saw in a moment the sad truth, did they understand that themother and friend was no longer there--only the garment she had worn.
"`I would have come sooner, but I was even more wanted elsewhere; therewas nothing to be done here. The doctor saw her yesterday,' she said toPierre, when it was explained to her who he was.
"`And the kind priest,' sobbed Edmee; `he will come again, dear Sister,will he not? No one knows he is a priest,' she said to Pierre. `He hasto dress like a workman.'
"Angelique stayed a while and did what she could. There was a little, avery little money remaining, and Pierre drew out the remains of his.Edmee had been obliged to sell everything they had brought away in theirflight from the Rue de Lille. `My portrait was the last to go,' shesaid, `but my darling did not know it. And as it brought us _you_,Pierre, we must not regret it. Some day we may buy it back again,' andby degrees she related to him all the details of the last few weeks.How the Marquis and Marquise had been taken very soon after Ludovic hadleft, how but for a warning from Marguerite Ribou she, her mother, andEdmond would infallibly have perished as _they_ did.
"`They were not long in prison,' she said. `Marguerite told us the daythey were guillotined. My uncle died like a gentleman, and at the lastthe Marquise seemed to find courage too. They must have repented ofmuch in those last days I think. See! this is what my poor uncle sentus secretly,' and she held out a soiled scrap of paper, on which werewritten the two words `Forgive me!' `Ah,' continued Edmee, who--such isthe education of sorrow--at fourteen spoke like a woman, `I cannotmurmur that _she_ is gone when I think of her gentle death, and what itmight have been. Marguerite had not wished to save Edmond,' she went onafter a pause. `She is very angry, even now, whenever she sees him. Ithink her brain is a little gone. But she has been most faithful to_us_. It was that dreadful Victorine that caused it. She keptpersuading my aunt there was no danger, and thus delayed their escapingtill she had completed her own plans. She must have robbed themfearfully.'
"Pierre let Edmee talk. She was too excited to remain quiet. Helistened without saying much, though his mind was terribly full. Howwere they to accomplish the journey to Valmont? Penniless to beginwith, and almost afraid to spend money if they had had it! How couldEdmee ever make the journey on foot, and almost worst, Edmond, of whomPierre had never thought? His presence, too, made the risk greater,for, as his father's son, there must be many to hate him, andnotwithstanding his pity for the boy, Pierre foresaw trouble. Edmondhad scarcely spoken to him, and even through his misery there flashedout sparks of his old ill-feeling.
"There came again a knock at the door.
"`It must be our kind priest,' said Edmee.
"Pierre started up joyfully, `Let me speak to him,' he said. And in hisheart he added, `Here will be some one to give me counsel.'"
CHAPTER ELEVEN.
"Pierre opened the door, but in an instant he saw it was not the priest.A woman in dark clothing, her face half concealed by a veil orhandkerchief of some kind, which she had muffled round her head, stoodbefore him. She was coming forward as if to enter without speaking,when, glancing upwards, she perceived that he was not, as she hadimagined, Edmond. She fell back startled, but instantly recoveringherself.
"`Who may you be, citizen?' she said, in a hard, cold tone, which hadlittle gentleness in it, and then she added in a lower voice, `Mind you,if you are another aristocrat in disguise, come to take refuge here, Iwill have nothing to do with you. I have enough on my hands, and sohave they,' nodding towards the door, where the poor dead lady waslying, `in there.'
"Pierre looked at her quietly.
"`I am Pierre Germain,' he said. `I have seen you once before,Marguerite Ribou.'
"The girl, or woman rather, for she had grown tall, and was finelyproportioned, threw back her veil. Her beautiful dark face grew deathlypale, and she staggered back against the wall.
"`Forgive me!' she said; `I have never forgotten you, though there aretimes my poor brain aches with remembering,' and she passed her handacross her forehead with a gesture that reminded Pierre of what Edmeehad said of her. `All is wrong,' continued Marguerite; `there is noright, no good anywhere! But I waste precious moments. It is well youhave come, for it is only just in time--they must fly; well or ill, theymust fly at once. Tell me, how is the Countess?'
"`She is dead,' replied Pierre simply.
"One or two large tears gathered in the girl's eyes, and slowly rolleddown her face. But all she said was, `It is well.'
"Then Pierre stepped back to let her pass in.
"`You will see Mademoiselle?' he said.
"Marguerite hesitated.
"`It is as I said!' she exclaimed hurriedly. `She must start atonce--_at once_, I say--if she would not share the fate of her uncle andaunt!'
"`How can we persuade her to leave _her_--the Countess!' said Pierre, indespair.
"`Better leave her dead than dying,' said Marguerite, and though thewords were almost coarse, the intense earnestness of the tone made themnot seem so. Just then a step made both Pierre and the girl look round.It was Edmee. Pale almost as her dead mother, she came forward.
"`I have heard,' she said. `I opened the door to see who it was.Marguerite, I trust you--_she_ did. Is it really as bad as you say? Isthe danger so near?'
"`Near!' repeated Marguerite; `it is _here_! I came to do what I could,though with but small hopes of seeing you. It is Victorine; she has notrested till she found where you were, and now it is only a question of afew hours.'
"`I will be ready,' said Edmee, to the great surprise of both herhearers. `When you tell me to go, Marguerite, I will go. I have noright to risk Pierre's life; he has risked it for me--that was his owndoing. And I know he would not go without me. Besides, I promised--Ipromised my darling; she seemed to have known it would come so, and shemade me promise to go, even if I could not stay to see her laid in thegrave. Living, I could never have left her. Oh, Pierrot, it is hard!'she went on, turning to him, and clasping her hands, while the tears randown her face again, `must we already say we are glad she is dead?'
"Pierre could not answer, but Marguerite did so for him.
"`Yes, my poor child, it is so. You _must_ say it and feel it.'
"Her voice seemed to recall Edmee's thoughts.
"`There is one thing,' she said, looking now at Marguerite. `Youunderstand--I will not go without Edmond.'
"`Then,' said the girl, in a sudden burst of passion, `you may stay, forall I will do to save you. Child, you are mad! But you, you, PierreGermain, you should have influence with her. Tell her she is mad.'
"`No, Marguerite,' said Pierre, `we cannot desert h
im. If Edmee couldbe saved without my help, I would gladly stay with him and entreat herto go. But she cannot go alone. And I, too, promised to protect thepoor boy.'
"`Then you are both mad!' said Marguerite, and she burst away as shespoke. But Pierre was too quick for her. He caught her before she hadreached the stair.
"`Marguerite,' he said, `you thanked me once for my pity, and the verylittle I was able to do for you in your sorrow. You said you wouldnever forget it. I too have never forgotten your wrongs and sorrows. Ihave no reason to risk danger for that boy's sake--I have no love forhim. But I have promised--and besides, how cowardly would it be todesert a creature so weak and helpless!