The White House Part 88

"It was they!" murmured the girl; it seemed to her then that she had been torn once more from those whom she loved; she had not yet experienced such a feeling of anguish; her last hope was gone; and she fell, sobbing, at the vagabond's feet.

x.x.xII

THE NEWFOUNDLAND DOG

The Baron de Marcey and the two friends searched with the utmost care every village and hamlet in Auvergne. The shepherd's hut, the ploughman's cottage, the most wretched hovel did not escape their notice. Wherever they went, they asked questions, made inquiries, described Isaure, and promised money to anyone who should furnish information concerning the girl. Everywhere their search was fruitless, their investigations without result, and each day that pa.s.sed took away a part of the hope that sustained them.

Edouard had sunk into the lowest depths of despair. Since he had known that Isaure really loved him, that no other than he had made her heart beat faster, his love had become more intense. He reproached himself bitterly for the suspicions he had conceived, for the tears he had caused the poor child to shed. The thought of not seeing her again, of having no opportunity, by the power of his love, to make her forget the grief that he had caused her, crushed him and made him insensible to every other sentiment. If the baron's grief was less keen, one could see by his melancholy expression and by his careworn brow how profoundly he regretted the lovable child upon whom he had bestowed so much care.

Indeed, he often accused himself of the disaster that had befallen Isaure.

"If I had kept her with me," he said, "if I had not banished my Adele's daughter from my arms, I should not now be deprived of her caresses."

Alfred, whose temperament made it easier for him to overcome grief, did his utmost to distract his father and Edouard in some measure; when they lost all hope, he strove earnestly to renew it, saying:

"Why should we despair? We may find Isaure just when we least expect it; she may escape from the place where she is undoubtedly detained against her will; then she will hasten back to her cottage near the White House.

Who knows that she has not returned there now?"

That hope led them back to the little valley. After more than six weeks employed in scouring the mountains, they returned to Isaure's home; but they found the same solitude as before. She whom they sought had not reappeared in the neighborhood of Chadrat, and even Alfred himself seemed to lose all hope.

Before going to the White House to repair the fatigue of their toilsome journey, the baron and the young men went to the cottage of the peasant with whom they had left Vaillant. They were afraid that they might not find Isaure's faithful defender alive; but their fears speedily disappeared: they were a hundred yards from the Auvergnat's house when a n.o.ble dog came out and ran toward them with every manifestation of the liveliest joy. It was Vaillant, his wounds entirely healed; he fawned upon the baron, then ran to Alfred and Edouard and licked their hands as if to thank them for a.s.sisting him and dressing his wounds when he lay dying in the yard of the cottage. The three travellers, overjoyed to find the gallant creature, who had nearly died for his mistress, well and strong again, returned his caresses. But suddenly, ceasing his demonstrations of joy, Vaillant began to walk about them, as if in search of something; he looked at the house, then took his stand in front of the travellers again.

"Alas! my poor old Vaillant!" said Edouard, "are you looking for someone else? Are you asking us if we have brought back your mistress? No! she is lost to us--perhaps forever!"

The dog looked closely at Edouard; he seemed to understand his grief; he made no sound, but contented himself with walking silently beside him to the house of the peasants, whom they rewarded handsomely for the care they had taken of Vaillant. Then they returned to the White House, where they proposed to remain until they had decided what further steps to take.

The winter had come; it had scattered afar the dead leaves from the trees, it had stripped the shrubs and withered the gra.s.s. The winter is sharper and more severe in mountainous regions; nature there a.s.sumes a more melancholy and imposing aspect. Snow had fallen in abundance in the little valley; the roof of the White House was covered with it, and the garden displayed the combination of dried and blackened branches and the brilliant glare of the snow. However, despite the inclemency of the season, despite the depressing aspect of the country, the Baron de Marcey, his son and Edouard remained in Auvergne, living in the White House, going forth each day to visit some point in the neighborhood. A secret hope detained them in the place where Isaure had lived; they could not make up their minds to leave it.

Vaillant always accompanied the gentlemen who were seeking his mistress; it seemed that the dog was desirous to dig through the snow to the ground, hoping to find there Isaure's footprints. They saw him stop more than once and scratch violently; then look uneasily to the right and the left; but the blanket of snow that covered the ground seemed to perplex him and to arrest his advance.

As the baron and the young men often went in different directions, Vaillant was sometimes with one and sometimes with another. Every day they acquired fresh proofs of his intelligence; every day he was pleased and joyous when they left the White House to pursue their search, but he always returned silent and sad.

Alfred argued that they would not succeed in finding Isaure by staying always in the same place; he did not believe that her abductors had remained in Auvergne, and he urged his father and his friend to bid that province farewell for some time. Certain business matters required the baron's presence in Paris; they agreed to go thither for a short time, and then to resume their search.

But Edouard suggested making one more circuit of the mountains before leaving Auvergne, upon which he regretted to turn his back. Although they looked for no success from that course, Alfred and the baron acceded to his wish. One fine winter's day the three started on foot, accompanied by the faithful Vaillant. They wrapped and wound themselves in enormous cloaks, and Alfred still carried under his the sword they had found in Isaure's house.

The travellers walked a large part of the day over roads which the snow had made very hard to travel. They pa.s.sed the night in a village, and, as their search had been no more successful than usual, they prepared to return to the White House on the morrow. They started early in the morning and took roads which had been pointed out to them as the shortest to Saint-Amand. But, after walking several hours, they found themselves in the heart of the mountains, in an absolutely deserted spot; and they had no doubt that the snow had caused them to wander from their road.

"Where in the devil are we?" said Alfred, stopping to look about; "instead of approaching our destination, we are going away from it."

"It seems to me that I recognize this place," said the baron, "and that we have been here before."

"Let us follow Vaillant," said Edouard; "see, he keeps on, he seems to propose to be our guide."

The dog was in fact going on ahead, manifesting extraordinary eagerness and excitement. The travellers covered themselves with their cloaks as well as they could, to protect themselves from the cold, and decided to follow Vaillant. They soon came to the steep slope of a mountain, and saw before them a dark, narrow path, running between two very high cliffs.

"I recognize this spot now," said the baron; "we took this path nearly two months ago, and visited an old hut occupied by an aged shepherd."

"Come," said Alfred, "it is useless to follow a course that will take us still farther from our destination."

The travellers were about to retrace their steps when, on looking about for Vaillant, they saw him running toward the path at incredible speed.

They called him, but he did not heed the voice of his masters, and entered alone the narrow road between the cliffs. The ardor with which the dog ran in that direction impressed the travellers; they went on as far as the entrance to the path, but the prolonged barking of Vaillant, a loud, savage barking, announced that he had made some important discovery.

The baron and the young men walked rapidly along the narrow way and saw the dog in front of the hovel. Vaillant's eyes were gleaming; he threw himself against the door, scratched at it with his claws, and his barking redoubled in force and fury.

"What does this mean?" cried Edouard; "does not Vaillant's frenzy indicate that that house contains his a.s.sa.s.sin? Look! look! he will not leave that door; he looks at us to urge us to second his efforts."

"But we examined this house once," said the baron.

"No matter; it cannot be without some reason that that faithful servant insists on entering that wretched place. O my G.o.d! suppose we should find Isaure in this hole!"

"Open! open!" cried Alfred, pounding on the door. But n.o.body replied; there was no sound to be heard within. Notwithstanding, Vaillant's anger seemed to wax greater with every moment; his prolonged barking echoed loudly among the cliffs, and the three travellers determined to enter the old hut, peaceably or by force.

After the dog began to bark, a ghastly scene took place inside the second hovel. The vagabond was alone with the girl; the old shepherd had gone to the nearest village to obtain provisions. At the dog's first howl, Isaure's companion ran to the door and looked out; he recognized Vaillant; instantly a cold perspiration came out on his forehead; he felt that he was lost, that Isaure's retreat would be discovered, because no human power could force the dog to leave that house until he had found his a.s.sailant. Soon the baron's voice and the shouts of the young men fully convinced him that he could no longer keep the girl concealed from them, for Vaillant would surely show them the secret entrance to Isaure's hiding-place. It was impossible for him to fly with his prisoner; he could not leave the excavation and reach the top of the cliff. In an instant the vagabond realized his position, and thereupon he formed a ghastly resolution. He returned to the inner house, carefully secured the pa.s.sage of communication and joined the girl, who was listening in the most intense excitement to the barking of the dog, saying in an undertone:

"O mon Dieu! I should think that it was Vaillant! Can it be that heaven has sent me a preserver? Is my faithful companion not dead?"

"Yes! it is he, in truth," said the vagabond in threatening tones, glaring at the girl with a terrifying expression; "but instead of saving you, that dog will be the cause of your destruction!"

"Great heaven! what do you mean? why do you look at me like that?" said Isaure with a shudder.

The vagabond took his sword and walked toward the girl, seized one of her hands, which she raised tremblingly in appeal to him, and said to her:

"You must die!"

"Die!" cried the girl, turning with an imploring glance to him who was threatening her life. "O mon Dieu! you intend to kill me! What have I done? how have I deserved death? have I not obeyed you without a murmur ever since I have been with you?"

"Yes, yes! you do not deserve such a horrible fate, I know; far from hating you, I had for you a feeling--I do not know how to describe it--but my hatred for the baron is stronger than every other sentiment!

I have sworn that you should not fall into his hands again alive. I will keep my oath.--Do you hear them? They are besieging this place; soon they will break down the door, which is not strong; that miserable dog will show them the way to this last hiding-place. They mean to save you, to take you away from here! They shall not find you alive! Isaure, you must die before they find their way here!"

Beside herself, desperate, Isaure tried once more to move her a.s.sa.s.sin; she threw herself at his feet; but in his frenzy, he was no longer himself; in his right hand he held the sword; with the other he bared the girl's breast, the more surely to pierce her heart. Isaure struggled; she tried to escape; and he, detaining her by main strength, tore aside the garment that covered her breast. The locket which the girl wore hidden there arrested the sword that was about to take her life; the portrait caught the eye of the a.s.sa.s.sin; he uttered a cry of surprise, of horror.

"Can I believe my eyes?" he exclaimed; "that portrait! that woman! Where did you get it? Speak! speak!"

"It is my mother's portrait!" cried Isaure, holding her clasped hands toward him; "she was most unhappy too, they say; oh! in heaven's name, have mercy on her daughter!"

"Your mother! Adele! Adele was your mother? What thought is this? Can it be that you are----"

He did not finish the sentence; his sword fell from his hands; he was like a man struck by lightning. But soon they heard a loud crash; the door of the hut had been broken in. While the baron and Edouard entered the room below, Alfred, a.s.sisted by Vaillant, and striking the wall on all sides with the sword he had brought under his cloak, succeeded in discovering the entrance to the excavation. He rushed through the pa.s.sage and entered the second hut, sword in hand, at the moment that Isaure, overcome by terror, fell unconscious at the vagabond's feet.

"Villain!" cried Alfred, "so I was not mistaken: it was you who abducted her! You shall pay for your infamous conduct with your life!"

"Isaure belongs to me!" replied the vagabond, seizing his sword once more; "no one has a stronger claim to her than I have!"

But Alfred had already rushed upon him, sword in hand; a terrible combat took place within a few feet of the unconscious girl. It lasted only a few seconds; Alfred dealt his blows with startling rapidity; he seemed endowed with unusual strength and dexterity. His adversary fell at his feet, mortally wounded, at the moment that the baron and Edouard entered Isaure's retreat.