"Oh, as for cruel, I don't believe that," said Mademoiselle de Verneuil; "he knows how to lie, but he seems rather credulous himself.
The leader of a party ought not to be the plaything of others.""Do you know him?" asked the /emigre/, quietly.
"No," she replied, with a disdainful glance, "but I thought I did.""Oh, mademoiselle, he's a /malin/, yes a /malin/," said Captain Merle, shaking his head and giving with an expressive gesture the peculiar meaning to the word which it had in those days but has since lost.
"Those old families do sometimes send out vigorous shoots.He has just returned from a country where, they say, the /ci-devants/ didn't find life too easy, and men ripen like medlars in the straw.If that fellow is really clever he can lead us a pretty dance.He has already formed companies of light infantry who oppose our troops and neutralize the efforts of the government.If we burn a royalist village he burns two of ours.He can hold an immense tract of country and force us to spread out our men at the very moment when we want them on one spot.
Oh, he knows what he is about."
"He is cutting his country's throat," said Gerard in a loud voice, interrupting the captain.
"Then," said the /emigre/, "if his death would deliver the nation, why don't you catch him and shoot him?"As he spoke he tried to look into the depths of Mademoiselle de Verneuil's soul, and one of those voiceless scenes the dramatic vividness and fleeting sagacity of which cannot be reproduced in language passed between them in a flash.Danger is always interesting.
The worst criminal threatened with death excites pity.Though Mademoiselle de Verneuil was now certain that the lover who had cast her off was this very leader of the Chouans, she was not ready to verify her suspicions by giving him up; she had quite another curiosity to satisfy.She preferred to doubt or to believe as her passion led her, and she now began deliberately to play with peril.
Her eyes, full of scornful meaning, bade the young chief notice the soldiers of the escort; by thus presenting to his mind triumphantly an image of his danger she made him feel that his life depended on a word from her, and her lips seemed to quiver on the verge of pronouncing it.Like an American Indian, she watched every muscle of the face of her enemy, tied, as it were, to the stake, while she brandished her tomahawk gracefully, enjoying a revenge that was still innocent, and torturing like a mistress who still loves.
"If I had a son like yours, madame," she said to Madame du Gua, who was visibly frightened, "I should wear mourning from the day when Ihad yielded him to danger; I should know no peace of mind."No answer was made to this speech.She turned her head repeatedly to the escort and then suddenly to Madame du Gua, without detecting the slightest secret signal between the lady and the Gars which might have confirmed her suspicions on the nature of their intimacy, which she longed to doubt.The young chief calmly smiled, and bore without flinching the scrutiny she forced him to undergo; his attitude and the expression of his face were those of a man indifferent to danger; he even seemed to say at times: "This is your chance to avenge your wounded vanity--take it! I have no desire to lessen my contempt for you."Mademoiselle de Verneuil began to study the young man from the vantage-ground of her position with coolness and dignity; at the bottom of her heart she admired his courage and tranquillity.Happy in discovering that the man she loved bore an ancient title (the distinctions of which please every woman), she also found pleasure in meeting him in their present situation, where, as champion of a cause ennobled by misfortune, he was fighting with all the faculties of a strong soul against a Republic that was constantly victorious.She rejoiced to see him brought face to face with danger, and still displaying the courage and bravery so powerful on a woman's heart;again and again she put him to the test, obeying perhaps the instinct which induces a woman to play with her victim as a cat plays with a mouse.
"By virtue of what law do you put the Chouans to death?" she said to Merle.
"That of the 14th of last Fructidor, which outlaws the insurgent departments and proclaims martial law," replied the Republican.
"May I ask why I have the honor to attract your eyes?" she said presently to the young chief, who was attentively watching her.
"Because of a feeling which a man of honor cannot express to any woman, no matter who she is," replied the Marquis de Montauran, in a low voice, bending down to her."We live in times," he said aloud, "when women do the work of the executioner and wield the axe with even better effect."She looked at de Montauran fixedly; then, delighted to be attacked by the man whose life she held in her hands, she said in a low voice, smiling softly: "Your head is a very poor one; the executioner does not want it; I shall keep it myself."The marquis looked at the inexplicable girl, whose love had overcome all, even insult, and who now avenged herself by forgiving that which women are said never to forgive.His eyes grew less stern, less cold;a look of sadness came upon his face.His love was stronger than he suspected.Mademoiselle de Verneuil, satisfied with these faint signs of a desired reconciliation, glanced at him tenderly, with a smile that was like a kiss; then she leaned back once more in the carriage, determined not to risk the future of this happy drama, believing she had assured it with her smile.She was so beautiful! She knew so well how to conquer all obstacles to love! She was so accustomed to take all risks and push on at all hazards! She loved the unexpected, and the tumults of life--why should she fear?