The Gars was dressed as a Chouan, with a musket slung from his shoulder over his goatskin, and would have been quite disguised were it not for the grace of his movements.Marie withdrew hastily into the cottage, obeying one of those instinctive promptings which are as little explicable as fear itself.The young man was soon beside her before the chimney, where a bright fire was burning.Both were voiceless, fearing to look at each other, or even to make a movement.
One and the same hope united them, the same doubt; it was agony, it was joy.
"Monsieur," said Mademoiselle de Verneuil at last, in a trembling voice, "your safety alone has brought me here.""My safety!" he said, bitterly.
"Yes," she answered; "so long as I stay at Fougeres your life is threatened, and I love you too well not to leave it.I go to-night.""Leave me! ah, dear love, I shall follow you.""Follow me!--the Blues?"
"Dear Marie, what have the Blues got to do with our love?""But it seems impossible that you can stay with me in France, and still more impossible that you should leave it with me.""Is there anything impossible to those who love?""Ah, true! true! all is possible--have I not the courage to resign you, for your sake.""What! you could give yourself to a hateful being whom you did not love, and you refuse to make the happiness of a man who adores you, whose life you fill, who swears to be yours, and yours only.Hear me, Marie, do you love me?""Yes," she said.
"Then be mine."
"You forget the infamous career of a lost woman; I return to it, Ileave you--yes, that I may not bring upon your head the contempt that falls on mine.Without that fear, perhaps--""But if I fear nothing?"
"Can I be sure of that? I am distrustful.Who could be otherwise in a position like mine? If the love we inspire cannot last at least it should be complete, and help us to bear with joy the injustice of the world.But you, what have you done for me? You desire me.Do you think that lifts you above other men? Suppose I bade you renounce your ideas, your hopes, your king (who will, perhaps, laugh when he hears you have died for him, while I would die for you with sacred joy!); or suppose I should ask you to send your submission to the First Consul so that you could follow me to Paris, or go with me to America,--away from the world where all is vanity; suppose I thus tested you, to know if you loved me for myself as at this moment I love you? To say all in a word, if I wished, instead of rising to your level, that you should fall to mine, what would you do?""Hush, Marie, be silent, do not slander yourself," he cried."Poor child, I comprehend you.If my first desire was passion, my passion now is love.Dear soul of my soul, you are as noble as your name, Iknow it,--as great as you are beautiful.I am noble enough, I feel myself great enough to force the world to receive you.Is it because Iforesee in you the source of endless, incessant pleasure, or because Ifind in your soul those precious qualities which make a man forever love the one woman? I do not know the cause, but this I know--that my love for you is boundless.I know I can no longer live without you.
Yes, life would be unbearable unless you are ever with me.""Ever with you!"
"Ah! Marie, will you not understand me?"
"You think to flatter me by the offer of your hand and name," she said, with apparent haughtiness, but looking fixedly at the marquis as if to detect his inmost thought."How do you know you would love me six months hence? and then what would be my fate? No, a mistress is the only woman who is sure of a man's heart; duty, law, society, the interests of children, are poor auxiliaries.If her power lasts it gives her joys and flatteries which make the trials of life endurable.
But to be your wife and become a drag upon you,--rather than that, Iprefer a passing love and a true one, though death and misery be its end.Yes, I could be a virtuous mother, a devoted wife; but to keep those instincts firmly in a woman's soul the man must not marry her in a rush of passion.Besides, how do I know that you will please me to-morrow? No, I will not bring evil upon you; I leave Brittany," she said, observing hesitation in his eyes."I return to Fougeres now, where you cannot come to me--""I can! and if to-morrow you see smoke on the rocks of Saint-Sulpice you will know that I shall be with you at night, your lover, your husband,--what you will that I be to you; I brave all!""Ah! Alphonse, you love me well," she said, passionately, "to risk your life before you give it to me."He did not answer; he looked at her and her eyes fell; but he read in her ardent face a passion equal to his own, and he held out his arms to her.A sort of madness overcame her, and she let herself fall softly on his breast, resolved to yield to him, and turn this yielding to great results,--staking upon it her future happiness, which would become more certain if she came victorious from this crucial test.But her head had scarcely touched her lover's shoulder when a slight noise was heard without.She tore herself from his arms as if suddenly awakened, and sprang from the cottage.Her coolness came back to her, and she thought of the situation.
"He might have accepted me and scorned me," she reflected."Ah! if Icould think that, I would kill him.But not yet!" she added, catching sight of Beau-Pied, to whom she made a sign which the soldier was quick to understand.He turned on his heel, pretending to have seen nothing.Mademoiselle de Verneuil re-entered the cottage, putting her finger to her lips to enjoin silence.
"They are there!" she whispered in a frightened voice.
"Who?"
"The Blues."
"Ah! must I die without one kiss!"
"Take it," she said.