The Crossing [235]
her hand on his arm.
``Why did you tell them?'' he demanded, turning on her.
``Because I trust them, Auguste,'' Antoinette answered. She spoke without anger, as one whose sorrow has put her beyond it. Her speech had a dignity and force which might have awed a worthier man. His disappointment and chagrin brought him beyond bounds.
``You trust them!'' he cried, ``you trust them when they tell you to give your brother, who is starving and in peril of his life, eight hundred livres? Eight hundred livres, pardieu, and your brother!''
``It is all I have, Auguste,'' said his sister, sadly.
``Ha!'' he said dramatically, ``I see, they seek my destruction. This man''--pointing at me--``is a Federalist, and Madame la Vicomtesse''--he bowed ironically --``is a Royalist.''
``Pish!'' said the Vicomtesse, impatiently, ``it would be an easy matter to have you sent to the Morro--a word to Monsieur de Carondelet, Auguste. Do you believe for a moment that, in your father's absence, I would have allowed Antoinette to come here alone? And it was a happy circumstance that I could call on such a man as Mr. Ritchie to come with us.''
``It seems to me that Mr. Ritchie and his friends have already brought sufficient misfortune on the family.''
It was a villanous speech. Antoinette turned away, her shoulders quivering, and I took a step towards him; but Madame la Vicomtesse made a swift gesture, and I stopped, I know not why. She gave an exclamation so sharp that he flinched physically, as though he had been struck. But it was characteristic of her that when she began to speak, her words cut rather than lashed.
``Auguste de St. Gre,'' she said, ``I know you. The Tribunal is merciful compared to you. There is no one on earth whom you would not torture for your selfish ends, no one whom you would not sell without compunction for your pleasure. There are things that a woman should not mention, and yet I would tell them without shame to your face were it not for your sister. If it were not for her, I would not have you in my presence. Shall I speak of your career in France? There is Valenciennes, for example--''
She stopped abruptly. The man was gray, but not on his account did the Vicomtesse stay her speech. She forgot him as though he did not exist, and by one of those swift transitions which thrilled me had gone to the sobbing Antoinette and taken her in her arms, murmuring endearments of which our language is not capable. I, too, forgot Auguste. But no rebuke, however stinging, could make him forget himself, and before we realized it he was talking again. He had changed his tactics.
``This is my home,'' he said, ``where I might expect shelter and comfort. You make me an outcast.''
Antoinette disengaged herself from Helene with a cry, but he turned away from her and shrugged.
``A stranger would have fared better. Perhaps you will have more consideration for a stranger. There is a French ship at the Terre aux Boeufs in the English Turn, which sails to-night. I appeal to you, Mr. Ritchie, ``--he was still talking in French--``I appeal to you, who are a man of affairs,''--and he swept me a bow,--``if a captain would risk taking a fugitive to France for eight hundred livres? Pardieu, I could get no farther than the Balize for that. Monsieur,'' he added meaningly, ``you have an interest in this. There are two of us to go.''
The amazing effrontery of this move made me gasp. Yet it was neither the Vicomtesse nor myself who answered him. We turned by common impulse to Antoinette, and she was changed. Her breath came quickly, her eyes flashed, her anger made her magnificent.
``It is not true,'' she cried, ``you know it is not true.''
He lifted his shoulders and smiled.
``You are my brother, and I am ashamed to acknowledge you. I was willing to give my last sou, to sell my belongings, to take from the poor to help you--until you defamed a good man. You cannot make me believe,'' she cried, unheeding the color that surged into her cheeks, ``you cannot make me believe that he would
``Why did you tell them?'' he demanded, turning on her.
``Because I trust them, Auguste,'' Antoinette answered. She spoke without anger, as one whose sorrow has put her beyond it. Her speech had a dignity and force which might have awed a worthier man. His disappointment and chagrin brought him beyond bounds.
``You trust them!'' he cried, ``you trust them when they tell you to give your brother, who is starving and in peril of his life, eight hundred livres? Eight hundred livres, pardieu, and your brother!''
``It is all I have, Auguste,'' said his sister, sadly.
``Ha!'' he said dramatically, ``I see, they seek my destruction. This man''--pointing at me--``is a Federalist, and Madame la Vicomtesse''--he bowed ironically --``is a Royalist.''
``Pish!'' said the Vicomtesse, impatiently, ``it would be an easy matter to have you sent to the Morro--a word to Monsieur de Carondelet, Auguste. Do you believe for a moment that, in your father's absence, I would have allowed Antoinette to come here alone? And it was a happy circumstance that I could call on such a man as Mr. Ritchie to come with us.''
``It seems to me that Mr. Ritchie and his friends have already brought sufficient misfortune on the family.''
It was a villanous speech. Antoinette turned away, her shoulders quivering, and I took a step towards him; but Madame la Vicomtesse made a swift gesture, and I stopped, I know not why. She gave an exclamation so sharp that he flinched physically, as though he had been struck. But it was characteristic of her that when she began to speak, her words cut rather than lashed.
``Auguste de St. Gre,'' she said, ``I know you. The Tribunal is merciful compared to you. There is no one on earth whom you would not torture for your selfish ends, no one whom you would not sell without compunction for your pleasure. There are things that a woman should not mention, and yet I would tell them without shame to your face were it not for your sister. If it were not for her, I would not have you in my presence. Shall I speak of your career in France? There is Valenciennes, for example--''
She stopped abruptly. The man was gray, but not on his account did the Vicomtesse stay her speech. She forgot him as though he did not exist, and by one of those swift transitions which thrilled me had gone to the sobbing Antoinette and taken her in her arms, murmuring endearments of which our language is not capable. I, too, forgot Auguste. But no rebuke, however stinging, could make him forget himself, and before we realized it he was talking again. He had changed his tactics.
``This is my home,'' he said, ``where I might expect shelter and comfort. You make me an outcast.''
Antoinette disengaged herself from Helene with a cry, but he turned away from her and shrugged.
``A stranger would have fared better. Perhaps you will have more consideration for a stranger. There is a French ship at the Terre aux Boeufs in the English Turn, which sails to-night. I appeal to you, Mr. Ritchie, ``--he was still talking in French--``I appeal to you, who are a man of affairs,''--and he swept me a bow,--``if a captain would risk taking a fugitive to France for eight hundred livres? Pardieu, I could get no farther than the Balize for that. Monsieur,'' he added meaningly, ``you have an interest in this. There are two of us to go.''
The amazing effrontery of this move made me gasp. Yet it was neither the Vicomtesse nor myself who answered him. We turned by common impulse to Antoinette, and she was changed. Her breath came quickly, her eyes flashed, her anger made her magnificent.
``It is not true,'' she cried, ``you know it is not true.''
He lifted his shoulders and smiled.
``You are my brother, and I am ashamed to acknowledge you. I was willing to give my last sou, to sell my belongings, to take from the poor to help you--until you defamed a good man. You cannot make me believe,'' she cried, unheeding the color that surged into her cheeks, ``you cannot make me believe that he would