The Chouans [52]
a woman thus bent on forcing from him a secret of life and death.
"Why has my rash indiscretion, which sought to give a future to our present meeting, destroyed the happiness of it?" he said, taking her hand, which she left in his unconsciously.
Mademoiselle de Verneuil, who seemed to be in real distress, was silent.
"How have I displeased you?" he said. "What can I do to soothe you?"
"Tell me your name."
He made no reply, and they walked some distance in silence. Suddenly Mademoiselle de Verneuil stopped short, like one who has come to some serious determination.
"Monsieur le Marquis de Montauran," she said, with dignity, but without being able to conceal entirely the nervous trembling of her features, "I desire to do you a great service, whatever it may cost me. We part here. The coach and its escort are necessary for your protection, and you must continue your journey in it. Fear nothing from the Republicans; they are men of honor, and I shall give the adjutant certain orders which he will faithfully execute. As for me, I shall return on foot to Alencon with my maid, and take a few of the soldiers with me. Listen to what I say, for your life depends on it. If, before you reach a place of safety, you meet that odious man you saw in my company at the inn, escape at once, for he will instantly betray you. As for me,--" she paused, "as for me, I fling myself back into the miseries of life. Farewell, monsieur, may you be happy; farewell."
She made a sign to Captain Merle, who was just then reaching the brow of the hill behind her. The marquis was taken unawares by her sudden action.
"Stop!" he cried, in a tone of despair that was well acted.
This singular caprice of a girl for whom he would at that instant have thrown away his life so surprised him that he invented, on the spur of the moment, a fatal fiction by which to hide his name and satisfy the curiosity of his companion.
"You have almost guessed the truth," he said. "I am an /emigre/, condemned to death, and my name is Vicomte de Bauvan. Love of my country has brought me back to France to join my brother. I hope to be taken off the list of /emigres/ through the influence of Madame de Beauharnais, now the wife of the First Consul; but if I fail in this, I mean to die on the soil of my native land, fighting beside my friend Montauran. I am now on my way secretly, by means of a passport he has sent me, to learn if any of my property in Brittany is still unconfiscated."
While the young man spoke Mademoiselle de Verneuil examined him with a penetrating eye. She tried at first to doubt his words, but being by nature confiding and trustful, she slowly regained an expression of serenity, and said eagerly, "Monsieur, are you telling me the exact truth?"
"Yes, the exact truth," replied the young man, who seemed to have no conscience in his dealings with women.
Mademoiselle de Verneuil gave a deep sigh, like a person who returns to life.
"Ah!" she exclaimed, "I am very happy."
"Then you hate that poor Montauran?"
"No," she said; "but I could not make you understand my meaning. I was not willing that /you/ should meet the dangers from which I will try to protect him,--since he is your friend."
"Who told you that Montauran was in danger?"
"Ah, monsieur, even if I had not come from Paris, where his enterprise is the one thing talked of, the commandant at Alencon said enough to show his danger."
"Then let me ask you how you expect to save him from it."
"Suppose I do not choose to answer," she replied, with the haughty air that women often assume to hide an emotion. "What right have you to know my secrets?"
"The right of a man who loves you."
"Already?" she said. "No, you do not love me. I am only an object of passing gallantry to you,--that is all. I am clear-sighted; did I not penetrate your disguise at once? A woman who knows anything of good society could not be misled, in these days, by a pupil of the Polytechnique who uses choice language, and conceals as little as you do the manners of a /grand seigneur/ under
"Why has my rash indiscretion, which sought to give a future to our present meeting, destroyed the happiness of it?" he said, taking her hand, which she left in his unconsciously.
Mademoiselle de Verneuil, who seemed to be in real distress, was silent.
"How have I displeased you?" he said. "What can I do to soothe you?"
"Tell me your name."
He made no reply, and they walked some distance in silence. Suddenly Mademoiselle de Verneuil stopped short, like one who has come to some serious determination.
"Monsieur le Marquis de Montauran," she said, with dignity, but without being able to conceal entirely the nervous trembling of her features, "I desire to do you a great service, whatever it may cost me. We part here. The coach and its escort are necessary for your protection, and you must continue your journey in it. Fear nothing from the Republicans; they are men of honor, and I shall give the adjutant certain orders which he will faithfully execute. As for me, I shall return on foot to Alencon with my maid, and take a few of the soldiers with me. Listen to what I say, for your life depends on it. If, before you reach a place of safety, you meet that odious man you saw in my company at the inn, escape at once, for he will instantly betray you. As for me,--" she paused, "as for me, I fling myself back into the miseries of life. Farewell, monsieur, may you be happy; farewell."
She made a sign to Captain Merle, who was just then reaching the brow of the hill behind her. The marquis was taken unawares by her sudden action.
"Stop!" he cried, in a tone of despair that was well acted.
This singular caprice of a girl for whom he would at that instant have thrown away his life so surprised him that he invented, on the spur of the moment, a fatal fiction by which to hide his name and satisfy the curiosity of his companion.
"You have almost guessed the truth," he said. "I am an /emigre/, condemned to death, and my name is Vicomte de Bauvan. Love of my country has brought me back to France to join my brother. I hope to be taken off the list of /emigres/ through the influence of Madame de Beauharnais, now the wife of the First Consul; but if I fail in this, I mean to die on the soil of my native land, fighting beside my friend Montauran. I am now on my way secretly, by means of a passport he has sent me, to learn if any of my property in Brittany is still unconfiscated."
While the young man spoke Mademoiselle de Verneuil examined him with a penetrating eye. She tried at first to doubt his words, but being by nature confiding and trustful, she slowly regained an expression of serenity, and said eagerly, "Monsieur, are you telling me the exact truth?"
"Yes, the exact truth," replied the young man, who seemed to have no conscience in his dealings with women.
Mademoiselle de Verneuil gave a deep sigh, like a person who returns to life.
"Ah!" she exclaimed, "I am very happy."
"Then you hate that poor Montauran?"
"No," she said; "but I could not make you understand my meaning. I was not willing that /you/ should meet the dangers from which I will try to protect him,--since he is your friend."
"Who told you that Montauran was in danger?"
"Ah, monsieur, even if I had not come from Paris, where his enterprise is the one thing talked of, the commandant at Alencon said enough to show his danger."
"Then let me ask you how you expect to save him from it."
"Suppose I do not choose to answer," she replied, with the haughty air that women often assume to hide an emotion. "What right have you to know my secrets?"
"The right of a man who loves you."
"Already?" she said. "No, you do not love me. I am only an object of passing gallantry to you,--that is all. I am clear-sighted; did I not penetrate your disguise at once? A woman who knows anything of good society could not be misled, in these days, by a pupil of the Polytechnique who uses choice language, and conceals as little as you do the manners of a /grand seigneur/ under