Sister Anne Part 60

Leroux went back to the traveller, and the repulsive Christine threw herself on the bed, beside Sister Anne, who had to endure the close proximity of a creature whom she knew to be planning a murder with the most revolting deliberation. But the poor girl did not stir; she had overheard all the conversation of those monsters, she had not lost a word of their schemes, and she still hoped to save the stranger. A single fear oppressed her: that the three robbers would return; for then all would be lost; she would be compelled to witness the unfortunate man's death, or to die with him.

Christine was hardly on the bed when a prolonged snore indicated that she was asleep. Thereupon Sister Anne rose softly and crept to the part.i.tion, where she put her eye to a crack through which she could look into the other room.

The stranger was tranquilly eating his supper; Leroux strove to entertain him, but he constantly listened with marked disquietude for sounds out of doors, and seemed desirous that the traveller should go to bed at once. Sister Anne was able to observe the old man's features at her leisure; and the more she looked at him, the stronger grew her feeling of interest and attachment, which seemed not to be born solely of his perilous situation. At the slightest noise caused by the wind or by the falling of a dead branch, the girl shivered in mortal terror, fancying that it was the three brigands returning; whereas, on the contrary, Leroux's face would a.s.sume a look of satisfaction, as he ran and listened at the door, hoping to hear his confederates' voices.

"Are you expecting company?" inquired the stranger.

"No, monsieur, no; it's the fear of robbers that makes me keep my ears open; but I'm beginning to think they haven't followed you; so you can go to sleep quietly."

"I'll lie down till daybreak; then you will be good enough to guide me to the nearest village."

"Yes, monsieur, with pleasure; but you can sleep comfortably; it's a long while to daybreak. This is the only bed I can offer you--fresh straw; I'm sorry not to be able to give you anything better, but we're pretty poor!"

"Oh! I shall be very comfortable; don't worry at all about me."

As he spoke, the stranger lay down on the straw and tried to sleep; while Leroux stood before the fire, turning his head now and again to see if his guest had fallen asleep. The dumb girl, her eye still glued to the crack in the part.i.tion, did not lose either of them from sight, and prayed fervently that Christine might not wake.

At last, the traveller seemed to doze, and Leroux went to fetch his weapons from the cellar, the opening to which was covered by a plank and concealed by a heap of straw. Sister Anne shuddered; suppose the villain proposed to murder the old man at once! But, no; having replaced the board, he stole softly from the cabin, muttering: "I'll go to the usual place; and if they ain't there, I'll come right back."

He opened the door without a sound, and disappeared. The time to act had come; the dumb girl summoned all her courage, and stole into the other room, walking on tiptoe for fear of waking Christine; then she locked the door securely, to prevent her from coming out in case she should wake. The room in which the stranger lay asleep was lighted only by the fire on the hearth. Sister Anne went to him, grasped his arm, and squeezed it with all her force. The old man woke, and was surprised to see her bending over him with an expression of the most intense and painful anxiety on her face. He was about to speak, but she hastily placed a finger on his lips, and her eyes, as she glanced about in terror, bade him keep perfectly still. He rose and nervously awaited an explanation of this mysterious scene.

Sister Anne ran to the cellar, succeeded in raising the opening, took a blazing brand from the fire, and, motioning to the traveller to come near, showed him the interior, where there were weapons and garments of all sorts, the blood with which they were covered sufficiently attesting the method by which the robbers had come into possession of them. The stranger shuddered.

"Great G.o.d!" he said; "am I in a den of thieves?"

The girl nodded her head, then ran to the pile of straw, and indicated by signs that they intended to return and murder him while he slept.

The stranger at once took possession of a pair of pistols which he found near the entrance to the cellar.

"At all events, I will sell my life dearly," he said. "But you, poor woman, what are you to do?"

Sister Anne interrupted him by running to the door of the cabin, throwing it open, and making signs that he must fly at once and that she would go with him. The stranger took her hand, and they left the house.

At that moment, Christine, hearing a noise, rose and tried to leave her room; when she found that she was locked in, she began to shriek and call Leroux, and, running to the window, saw the dumb girl and the stranger just disappearing in the forest.

"d.a.m.nation! they've got away!" cried Christine, trying to remove the bars at the window.

The old man pointed one of his pistols at her; but Sister Anne stopped him, making him understand that the report would attract the brigands.

Her companion saw that she was right; so they fled, and, leaving the vile creature hurling curses at them, they were soon far away from the robbers' lair.

After wandering about the forest more than an hour, trembling at the slightest sound, lest they should fall in with Leroux and his confederates, the fugitives heard the steps of several horses. That could be nothing but the constabulary in search of the brigands. The dumb girl and the stranger started in the direction of the sound. Soon a man pa.s.sed them, running at full speed; it was Leroux, with a horseman in pursuit. Another man on horseback followed, and, when he saw Sister Anne's companion, cried: "Here's my master! Thank heaven, the scoundrels didn't kill him!"

The traveller pointed out to the officers the abode of the brigands; then, mounting a horse that his servant was leading, he took the dumb girl _en croupe_ who had saved his life, and they rode rapidly out of the forest.

The traveller did not cease to express his grat.i.tude to his liberatress, while she thanked G.o.d that she was no longer in the power of the robbers.

The servant told his master that, a few moments after he had fled into the forest, the constables appeared, and the outlaws thought of nothing but escape; but two of them were overtaken, and were killed while resisting capture. Thereupon, taking the horses, which had already been unhitched from the chaise, the servant had mounted one and joined the constables who were searching the forest, hoping to find his master.

A danger pa.s.sed is soon forgotten. They arrived at a large village, and the travellers knocked at the door of a farmhouse, where they were made welcome and received every attention. The dumb girl was especially in need of speedy a.s.sistance. The horrible situation in which she had been placed for two days, the danger she had barely escaped, the superhuman effort she had made during that ghastly night--all these things together had been too much for the unfortunate child, who was hardly able to stand erect. They put her in a warm bed; the people at the farm, when they learned of her condition and of what she had done to save the aged traveller, manifested the most sympathetic interest in her, and her companion would not go to bed until he was certain that everything possible had been done for his liberatress.

The next day, the carriage, which had been found on the road, was brought to the farm, and there was nothing to prevent the stranger from continuing his journey; but Sister Anne was in a high fever, and he was unwilling to leave her until he was a.s.sured that her life was in no danger. The best physician in the neighborhood was summoned; the stranger spent money lavishly to provide her with everything that her condition demanded. He pa.s.sed a large part of the day in her room, adding his attentions to those of the farmer's family.

Sister Anne was conscious of all that he did for her, and her heart was deeply touched. Despite her weakness and suffering, she seized his hand and pressed it gratefully.

"Poor woman!" said the stranger, profoundly affected; "I will not leave you until my mind is at rest concerning your life. I would have liked to take you to your destination, in my carriage. What can I do for you? You can hear me, I see; so that you are deprived of the power of speech only. Do you know how to write?"

Sister Anne shook her head; then she seemed suddenly to remember something, and made a movement with her hand as if she were trying to form letters. The old man handed her a pen, but she could not use it; then he gave her a piece of chalk; whereupon she sat up in bed, leaned over a table that stood beside it, and succeeded, not without a mighty effort, in writing the name _Frederic_ with the chalk. That done, she pointed to it and sadly shook her head, as if to say:

"That is all I know."

The old man seemed greatly surprised when he read the name she had written on the table. He reflected a moment, then looked at Sister Anne with renewed interest; but it seemed to her that the expression of his eyes was less gentle, that there was in it a touch of sternness which she could not define.

"And your own name," he said; "can't you write that?"

Sister Anne shook her head, and again wrote the name _Frederic_.

The traveller seemed extremely preoccupied all the rest of the day, and whenever his eyes rested on the dumb girl he fell into a profound reverie. For five days, Sister Anne's condition was such that her life was in danger, and the old man did not leave the farm. At the end of that time there was a perceptible improvement; the physician promised that she would recover, but said that she would be very weak for a long time, and that it would be imprudent in the extreme for her to leave the farm before her lying-in.

Sister Anne's eyes filled with tears when she was told of this; she was afraid of being a burden to the kind-hearted folk who had taken her in; but the stranger lost no time in pacifying and consoling her.

"I have provided for everything," he said; "wait here until your health is fully restored, and, if nothing calls you elsewhere, remain permanently with these good people; they love you, and you will be happy here."

But Sister Anne sadly shook her head, and motioned with her hand that she must go a long, long way. The stranger, who had already given twenty-five louis to the villagers for their past and future care of the young woman, put a purse filled with gold in his rescuer's hands. She would fain have refused it, and was sadly at a loss to express her grat.i.tude.

"You owe me nothing, my child," he said; "remember that you saved my life, and that I shall owe you grat.i.tude as long as I live. Take this paper too; my name and address are written on it. If you are ever in difficulty, let me know, and always count on my protection."

Sister Anne took the paper and placed it in the purse he had given her.

He, after gazing at her for some moments with evident emotion, kissed her on the forehead, then, tearing himself away from her demonstrations of grat.i.tude, entered his carriage and drove away, leaving at the farm abundant tokens of his generosity.

After he had gone, Sister Anne was melancholy and depressed for a long while. Her heart went out to that stranger; in her mind, his image had taken its place beside Frederic's; but the loving friendship she felt for the one in no wise impaired her ardent love for the other.

XXV

THE MARRIAGE TAKES PLACE

Frederic did not pa.s.s a day without seeing Constance; since the lovers had mutually avowed their love, that sentiment seemed to grow stronger hourly in both their hearts. Mademoiselle de Valmont loved with the unrestrained ardor of a heart that no longer seeks to conceal its feelings. She was proud of Frederic's love for her, and her happiness consisted in returning it.

Frederic, even more pa.s.sionate and impulsive, yielded to the sentiment that swept him off his feet; but, while he loved as dearly, he could not be so happy; he needed to forget himself, to banish recollections which disturbed his bliss. Like those persons who never look behind, for fear of seeing something to frighten them, Frederic tried to drive away the thoughts that carried him back to a still recent period. He desired to think solely of Constance, he knew that thenceforth she ought to prevail over all other women; of what use, then, was an occasional sigh which would bring no comfort to her whom he had abandoned? A man may argue thus, but, none the less, even in the very bosom of happiness, there is something in the bottom of his heart that reproves him for the wrong he has done--unless, indeed, he has no heart, and there are many people in whom we should seek for it in vain.

The Comte de Montreville had been absent a fortnight. Frederic was not certain as to the purpose of his father's journey, although he suspected it; but he had no desire to take advantage of his absence to go away himself. Could he leave Constance for a single day? Although she had set his mind at rest as to the marriage that had frightened him, Frederic was not altogether satisfied. He begged his betrothed to question her uncle on that subject. Constance dared not mention it to the general; but at last, vanquished by Frederic's entreaties, she made up her mind to question him, and one morning she went to him in his study.

"Uncle," she began, blushing, and lowering her eyes, "I have been told that you have been making plans for me."

The general smiled as he looked at her, then tried to a.s.sume a serious tone, with which, however, his expression did not harmonize.