A Night on the Borders of the Black Forest Part 27

"M. le Cure is right," he said. "The night-wind is rising, and there is a tempest close at hand. See the cows, how they are coming up the valley for shelter in the stalls! They know what this wind says."

"To horse! to horse!" cried the dragoon, as he raised his silver horn and blew a prolonged blast. "We have no time to lose; the roads are long and difficult."

A clear blast from the valley instantly echoed to his summons, and the next moment a group of men and dogs were seen hurrying up the slope.

"Farewell, my friends," said the Countess; "farewell, Pere Jacques! M.

le Cure, you will return and dine with us?"

"Madame, I thank you; but--but this is a fast-day with me."

"Well, to-morrow. You will come to-morrow? I will sing you some of those old songs you are so fond of! Say yes, M. le Cure."

"Madame la Comtesse will graciously excuse me. I must catechise the children of the district to-morrow."

"But my brother returns to-morrow to his regiment--you will come to bid him farewell?"

"Monsieur de Pradines has already accepted my good wishes and compliments."

"The day after to-morrow, then, M. le Cure?"

"Madame, I will endeavour."

"But you promise nothing. Ah, monsieur, for some time past you have been very sparing of your visits. Have I offended you that you will no longer honour me with your company?"

"Offended me!--oh Madame!"

These words were uttered with an accent and an expression so peculiar that the young lady looked up in surprise, and saw that the priest's eyes were full of tears.

For at moment she was silent; then, affecting an air of gaiety, "Adieu, M. le Cure," she cried as she turned away; "be more neighbourly in future."

Then, seeing that he still held the wounded partridge, "Alas! that poor bird," she exclaimed; "it is trembling still!"

"Ah, Madame la Comtesse," said Pere Jacques. "I'll engage that, if M. le Cure opened his hand, that cunning partridge would be a mile away in half a minute!"

"Do you think it will live? Well, Pere Jacques, take care of it for my sake. Feed it for two or three days, and then give the poor bird its liberty."

"Sister!" said the dragoon, in a tone of impatience, "the storm is coming on."

"Adieu all!" were the last words of the Countess, as she took her brother's arm, and went down the rough pathway leading to the valley.

In a few minutes more they had mounted their horses and set off at a quick gallop towards the turreted chateau that peeped above the trees three miles away. The priest and the herdsmen stood watching them in silence till they disappeared round an angle of rock, and listened till the faint echo of the horns died away in the distance.

"Dear little Queen Marguerite!" exclaimed Pere Jacques, when all was silent. "Dear little Queen Marguerite, how good and kind she is!"

"And how beautiful!" murmured the priest.

Then taking a little leathern purse from his breast, he slipped an _ecu_ into the mountaineer's hand.

"Good Jacques," said he, "I will take care of the partridge; but say nothing to the Countess when you see her again. Good evening, friends, and thanks for your hospitality!"

And the Cure threw his gun across his shoulder, whistled to his dog, and turned towards the pathway.

At the same moment a gathering peal of thunder rolled over the distant mountains; and the summit of Mont Cantal, visible a few moments since, was covered with thick black clouds.

"Monsieur le Cure!" cried the herdsmen, with one voice, "come back! the storm is beginning. Come back, and take shelter in the Buron!"

"The storm!" replied the priest, raising his eyes to the heavens.

"Thanks, my friends, thanks! G.o.d sends the storm. Pray to Him!"

While he spoke, there came a flash of lightning that seemed to rend open the heavens. The herdsmen crossed themselves devoutly. But the Cure of St. Saturnin had disappeared already down the pathway.

The storm came on more swiftly than they had expected. All that evening the mountains, which here extend for more than three leagues in one unbroken chain, echoed back the thunder. St.u.r.dy oaks and mountain pines that had weathered every storm for fifty years, were torn up from their firm rootage. Huge fragments of rock, white and tempest-scarred from long exposure on bleak mountain-heights, were shivered by the lightning, and fell like fierce avalanches into the depths below.

All was darkness. The rain came down in pitiless floods; the thunder never seemed to cease, for before the doubling echoes had half died away, fresh peals renewed and mocked them. Every flash of lightning revealed for an instant the desolate landscape, the rocking trees, the swollen torrents rushing in floods to the valley. It was scarcely like lightning, but seemed as if the whole sky opened and blinded the world with fire.

Meanwhile the Countess and her brother arrived safely at the Chateau de Peyrelade; and, having changed their wet garments, were sitting before a blazing log-fire, in the big _salon_ overlooking the valley. Both were silent. Their reconciliation had not been, as yet, of long duration.

Marguerite could not forget her wrongs, and the Baron felt embarra.s.sed in her presence. It is true that he endeavoured to conceal his embarra.s.sment under an excess of courteous respect; but his smiles looked false, and his attentions always appeared, to his sister at least, to wear an air of mockery. And so they sat in the great _salon_ and listened to the storm.

It was a gloomy place at all times, but gloomier now than ever, with the winds howling round it and the rain dashing blindly against the windows.

Great oaken panellings and frowning ancestral portraits adorned the walls, with here and there a stand of arms, a rusty helmet and sword, or a tattered flag that shivered when the storm swept by. Old cabinets inlaid with tortoisesh.e.l.l and tarnished _ormolu_ were placed between the heavy crimson draperies that hung before the windows; a long oaken table stood in the centre of the room; and above the fire-place the ghastly skull and antlers of a royal deer seemed to nod spectrally in the flickering light of the wood-fire.

At length the Baron broke silence:--

"What _are_ you thinking about so intently, Madame?" said he.

"I am wondering," replied the lady, "if any hapless travellers are out in this heavy storm. If so, heaven have mercy on them!"

"Ah, truly," replied the brother, carelessly. "By the way, that poor devil of a Cure, who would not come to dinner, I wonder if he got safely back to his den at Saturnin. Do you know, Marguerite, 'tis my belief that the holy man is smitten with your beautiful eyes!"

"_Monsieur mon frere!_" exclaimed the lady indignantly, "if you forget your own position and mine, I must beg you at least to remember the profession of the holy man whom you calumniate. He is ill repaid for his goodness towards you by language such as this! But for his intercessions you would not now be my guest at Peyrelade."

"I beg a thousand pardons, my dear sister," said the Baron lightly.

"Pray do not attach such importance to a mere jest. _Ce cher Cure!_ he has not at better friend in the world than myself. By-the-by, has he happened to mention to you the dilapidated state of the chapel at Pradines? It should be put into proper repair, and would cost a mere trifle--three hundred louis--which sum, however, I really cannot at present command. Now, my dear sister, you are so kind...."

"George," said the Countess, gravely, "M. le Cure has not spoken to me of anything of the kind. I will not, however, refuse this sum to you; but do not deceive me. Shall you really put the money to this use? Have you quite given up play?"

"_Au diable la morale!_" muttered the dragoon between his teeth. Then he added, aloud, "If I ask it for any other use, I wish I may be--"

"No more, M. le Baron," interrupted the lady. "To-morrow morning you shall have the three hundred louis."

As she spoke these last words, a loud knocking was heard at the outer gates of the chateau.

"Bravo!" cried the Baron, delighted at this interruption to the conversation. "Here is a visitor. Yet, no; for what visitor in his senses would come out on such a night? It must be a message from the king."

It was neither, for in a few moments a servant entered, saying that an accident had occurred to a traveller a short distance from the chateau.

His horse, taking fright at the fall of a large fragment of rock, had become unmanageable, and had flung himself and his rider over a steep bank. Happily, some bushes had served to break the force of their fall, or they must inevitably have been much injured. As it was, however, the gentleman was a good deal hurt, and his servant entreated shelter within the walls of the chateau.

The Countess desired that the traveller should be brought into the _salon_, and a horseman be despatched to the nearest town for a surgeon.