"It must be!" the Vicomte exclaimed, taking anew line with some presence of mind. "But I would not believe it!"
"It must be? what must be, sir?" his daughter Odette rejoined.
"It must be the Countess!" the Vicomte repeated in a tone of surprise and conviction, not ill feigned3. He saw that to persist in denying the truth--with the hayfield in sight--would not serve, and in the end must cover him with confusion. "Dressed in that fashion," he continued, "and with no attendant save one rough clown, I--I could not credit her story. The Countess of Rochechouart! It seems incredible even now!"
"Yes, the Countess of Rochechouart," M. de Vlaye replied in a tone which proved that the Vicomte's sudden frankness did not deceive him. "With your permission we will wait on her, M. le Vicomte," he continued in the same tone, "and as soon as horses can be provided, I will escort her to a place of safety."
The Vicomte's face was a study of perplexity. "If you will alight," he said, slowly, "I will send and announce to the Countess--if Countess she really be--that you are here."
For an instant Bonne's heart stood still. If M. de Vlaye dismounted and entered, all things were possible. But the hope was dashed to the ground forthwith. "I thank you," Vlaye answered somewhat grimly, "but with your permission, M. le Vicomte, to business first. We will go to the meadows at once. It is not fitting that the Countess should be left for a minute longer than is necessary in a place so ill guarded. And, for the matter of that, things lost once are sometimes lost twice."
The Vicomte's nose twitched4 with rage; he was not a meek5 man. He understood M. de Vlaye's insinuation, he knew that M. de Vlaye knew; but he was helpless. On the threshold of his own house, on the spot where his ancestors' word had been law for generations--or a blow had followed the word--he stood impotent before this clever, upstart soldier who held him at mercy. And this the Abbess, had her affection for him been warm or her nature delicate, must have felt. Without a word spoken or a syllable8 of explanation, she must have perceived that she was witnessing her family's shame, and that her part in the scene was not with them.
But she, of them all, was the most in the dark, and her thoughts were otherwise bent9. "You are very fearful for the young lady, M. de Vlaye," she said, turning to him, and speaking in a tone of mock offence. "I do not remember that you have ever been so over careful for me."
He bent his head and muttered something of which her sister caught not a word. Then, "But we must not waste time," he continued briskly. "Let us--with the Vicomte's permission--to the field! To the field!" And he turned his horse as he spoke7 into the sled-road that led around the courtyard wall; and by a gesture he bade his men follow. It was evident to Bonne, evident to her father, that he had had a spy on the house, and knew where his quarry10 harboured.
The girl wondered whether by flying through the house and dropping from the corner of the garden wall she could even now give the alarm. Then M. le Vicomte spoke. "I will come with you," he said in a surly tone that betrayed his sense of his position. "The times are indeed out of joint11, and persons out of their places, but--Solomon, my staff! Daughter," to the Abbess, "a hold of your stirrup-leather! It is but a step, and I can still walk so far. If the field be unsafe for the guest,"--he added grimly--"it is fit the host should share the danger."
Bonne could have blessed him for the thought, for his offer bound the party to a walking pace, and something might happen. Vlaye, beyond doubt, had the same thought. But without breaking openly with the Vicomte--which for various reasons he was loth to do--he could not reject his company nor outpace him.
He raised no objection, therefore, and in displeased12 silence the Vicomte walked beside his daughter's horse, Bonne accompanying him on the other hand. She knew more than he, and had reason to fear more; she was almost sick with anxiety. But he, perhaps, suffered more. Forced on his own ground to do that which he did not wish to do, forced to play a sorry farce13, he felt, as he trudged14 in the van of the party, that he walked the captive in a Roman triumph. And he could have smitten15 the Captain of Vlaye across the face.
They passed only too quickly from the shelter of the house to the open meadows and the hot sunshine, and so over the stone bridge. Bonne knew that at this point they must become visible to the workers in the hay-field, and she counted on an interval16 of a few minutes during which the fugitives18 might take steps to hide themselves, or even to get over the river and bury themselves in the woods. She could have cried, therefore, when, without apparent order, a party from the rear cantered past the leaders and, putting their horses into a sharp hand-gallop, preceded them in their advance upon the panic-stricken haymakers, in the midst of whom they drew rein19 in something less than a minute.
The Vicomte halted as the meaning of the man?uvre broke upon him, and, striking his staff into the ground, he followed them with his eyes. "You seem fearful indeed," he growled20, his high nose wrinkled with anger.
"Things happen very quickly at times," Vlaye answered, ignoring the tone.
"Take care, sir, take care!" the Abbess of Vlaye cried, addressing her lover. She little thought in her easy insouciance21 how near the truth she was treading. "If you show yourself so very anxious for the Countess's safety, I warn you I shall grow jealous."
"You have seen her," M. de Vlaye answered in a low tone, meant only for her ear; and he hung slightly towards her. "You know how little cause you have to fear."
"Fear?" the Abbess retorted rather sharply. "Know, sir," with a quick defiant22 glance, "that I fear no one!"
Apparently23 the handful of riders who had preceded the main body had no order but to stand guard over the workers. For having halted in the midst of the startled servants, who gazed on them in stupefaction, they remained motionless in their saddles. Meanwhile the Vicomte, with a surly face, was drawing slowly up to them. When no more than thirty or forty paces divided the two parties, the leader of the van wheeled about, and trotting24 to M. de Vlaye's side, saluted25 him.
"I do not see them, my lord," he muttered in a low tone.
The captain of Vlaye reined26 in his horse, and sitting at ease, cast an eagle glance over the terrified haymakers, who had instinctively27 fallen into three or four groups. In one part of the field the hay had been got into heaps, but these were of small size, and barely adequate to the hiding of a child. Nevertheless, look where he would--and his lowering brow bespoke29 his disappointment--he could detect no one at all resembling a Countess. A moment, and his glance passed from the open meadow to the ruined buildings, which stood on the brink30 of the stream. It remained fixed31 on them.
"Search that!" he said in a low tone. And raising his hand he pointed32 to the old barn. "They must be there! Go about it carefully, Ampoule."
The man he addressed turned, and summoning his party, cantered across the sward--never so green as after mowing--towards the building. As the riders drew near the river, Bonne could command herself no longer. She uttered a low groan33. Her face bespoke her anguish34.
M. de Vlaye did not see her face--it was turned from him--but he caught the sound and understood it. "The sun is hot," he said in a tone of polite irony35. "You find it so, mademoiselle? Doubtless the Countess has sought protection from it--in the barn. She will be there, take my word for it!"
Bonne made no reply. She could not have spoken for her life; and he and they watched, shading their eyes from the sun, she, poor girl, with a hand which shook. The horsemen were by this time near the end of the building, and all but one proceeded to alight. The rest were in the act of delivering up their reins36, and one had already vanished within the building, when in full view of the company, who were watching from the middle of the field, a man sprang from an opening at the other end of the barn, reached in three bounds the brink of the stream, and even as Vlaye's shout of warning startled the field, plunged37 from the bank, and was lost to sight.
"Holà! Holà!" M. de Vlaye cried in stentorian39 tones, and, with his rowels in his horse's flanks, he was away racing40 to the spot before his followers41 had taken the alarm. The next moment they were thundering emulously at his heels, their charge shaking the earth. Even the men who had alighted beside the barn, and as yet knew nothing of the evasion42, saw that something was wrong, took the alarm, and hurried round the building to the river.
"He is there!" cried one, as they pulled up along the bank of the stream. And the speaker, in his desire to show his zeal43, wheeled his horse about so suddenly that he well-nigh knocked down his neighbour.
"No, there! There!" cried another. And "There!" cried a third, as the fugitive17 dived, otter44 fashion, the willows45 of the stream affording him some protection.
Suddenly M. de Vlaye's voice rang above all. "After him!" he cried. "After him, fools, and seize him on the other side!"
In a twinkling three or four of the more courageous47 forced their horses into the stream, and began to swim across. Sixty yards below the spot where he had entered the water, the swimmer's head could be seen. He was being borne on a current towards a willow-bed which projected from the opposite bank, and offered a hiding-place. With wild cries those who had not entered the stream followed him along the bank, jostling and crossing one another, and marked him here and marked him there, while the baying of the excited hounds, restrained by their couples, filled the woods beyond the river with the fierce music of the chase.
Meantime the Vicomte and his younger daughter remained alone in the middle of the meadow; for the Abbess's horse had carried her after the others, whether she would or no, with her hawk48 clinging and screaming on her sleeve. Of the two who remained, the Vicomte was in a high rage. To be used after this fashion by his guests! To see strangers taking the law into their own hands on his land! To be afoot while hireling troopers spurned49 his own clods in his face, and all without leave or license50, all where he and his forebears had exercised the low justice and the high for centuries! It was too much!
"What is it? Who is it?" he cried, adding in his passion oaths and execrations then too common. "That is not the Countess! Are they mad?"
"It is Charles," she answered, weeping bitterly. "He was hiding there. And he thought that they were in search of him. Oh, they will kill him! They will kill him!"
"Charles?" the Vicomte exclaimed, and stood turned to stone. "Charles?"
"Yes!" she panted. "And, oh, sir, a word! He is your son, and a word may save him! He has done nothing--nothing that they should hunt him like a rat!"
But the Vicomte was another man now, moved, wrought51 on by Heaven knows what devils of pride and shame. "My son!" he cried, his rage diverted. "That my son? You lie, girl!" coarsely. "He is no son of mine. You wander. It is some skulking52 Crocan they have unharboured. Son of mine? Hiding on my land? No! You rave38, girl!"
"Oh, sir!" she panted.
"Not a word!" He gripped her wrist fiercely and forced her to silence. "Do you hear me? Not a word. He is no son of mine!"
She clung to him, still imploring53 him, still trying to soften54 him. But he shook her off, roughly, brutally55, raising his stick to her; and, blinded by her tears, unable to do more, she sank to the ground and buried her face, that she might not see, in a mass of hay. He, without a word, turned his back on her, on the crowd beside the river, on the groups of frightened haymakers--turned his back on all and strode away in the direction of the chateau56, with those devils of shame and pride, which he had pampered57 so long, riding him hard. He had drained at last the cup of humiliation58 to the dregs. He had seen his son hunted like a beast of vermin on his own land in his presence. And his one desire was to be gone. Rage with the cause of this last and worst disgrace dried up all natural feeling, all thought for his flesh and blood, all pity. He cared not whether his son lived or died. His only longing59 was to escape in his own person; to be gone from the place and scene of degradation60, to set himself once more in a position, to--to be himself!
There are tones of the voice that in the lowest depth inspire something of confidence. Bonne, as she lay crushed under the weight of her misery61, with the merciless sun beating down upon her neck, heard such a tone whispering low in her ear.
"Lie still, mademoiselle," it murmured. "Lie still! Where you are, you are unseen, and I must speak to you. The man, whoever he is, is taken. They have seized him."
She tried to rise. He laid his hand on her shoulder and held her down.
"I must go!" she gasped, still struggling to rise. "I must go! It is my brother!"
The Lieutenant62--for he it was--muttered, it is to be feared, an oath. "Your brother!" he said. "It is your brother, is it? Ah, if you had trusted me! But all is not lost! Listen!" he continued urgently. "M. de Vlaye has bidden the men who have taken him--on the farther side of the river--to convey him along that bank to the ford46, and so by the road to Vlaye. And--will you trust me now, mademoiselle?"
"I will, I will!" she sobbed63. She showed him for one moment her tear-stained, impassioned face. "If you will help me! If you will help my brother!"
"I will!" he said, and then, and abruptly64, he laid his hand on her and violently pressed her down. "Be still!" he muttered in a tone of sharp warning. "I have no more wish to be seen by Vlaye than your brother had!" Lying beside her, he peeped warily65 over the hay by which he was partly hidden; a slight hollow in which that particular cock rested served to shelter them somewhat, but the screen was slight. "I fear they are coming this way," he continued, his voice not quite steady. "I would I had my horse here, and sound, and I would trouble them little. But all is not lost, all is not lost," he repeated slowly, "till their hands are on us! Nor, may-be, even then!"
She understood, and lay trembling and hiding her face, unable to face this new terror. The thunder of hoofs66, coming nearer and nearer, once more shook the earth. The horsemen were returning from the river.
"Lie low!" he repeated, more coolly. "They have spied the Countess. I feared they would. And they are hot foot after her--so ho! And we are saved! Yes," he continued, peeping again and more boldly, "we are saved, I think. They have stopped her, just as Roger and her man--clever Roger, he will make a general yet--were about to pass her over the bridge. Another minute and they had got her to cover in the house, and it had been my fate to be taken."
She did not answer, her agitation67 was too great. And after a brief silence during which the Lieutenant watched what went forward at the end of the meadow: "Now, mademoiselle," he said in a more gentle tone, "it is for the Countess I want your help. I will answer for your brother. If no accident befall him he shall be free before many hours are over his head. Remember that! But with Mademoiselle de Rochechouart--if she be once removed to Vlaye, and cast into this man's power, it will go hard. She is a child, little able to resist. Do you go to her, support her, speak for her, fight for her even--only gain time. Gain time! He will not resort to violence at once, or I am mistaken. He will not drag her away by force until he has exhausted68 all other means. He will suffer her to stay awhile if you play your part well. And you must play it well!"
"I will!" Bonne cried, all her forces rallied by hope. "I do not know who you are, but save my brother----"
"I will save him!"
"And I will bless you!"
"Do you save the Countess, and she will bless you!" he answered cheerfully. "Now to her, mademoiselle, and do not leave her. Go! Show yourself as brave there as here, and----"
He did not finish the sentence, but as she rose his hand, through some accident, or some impulse that surprised him--for such weaknesses were not in his nature--met hers through the hay and clasped it. The girl reddened to the brow, sprang up, and in a trice was hastening across the field towards the crowd that in a confused medley69 of horse and foot, peasants and troopers, was gathered about the stone bridge which spanned the brook70. The sun beat hotly down on the little mob, but in the interest of the scene which was passing in their midst no one thought twice of the heat.
Bonne's spirits were in a tumult71. She hardly knew what she thought or how she felt, or what she was going to do.
But one thing she knew. On one thing she set her foot with every step, and that was fear. A new courage, and a new feeling, filled the girl with an excitement half-painful, half-delightful72. Whence this was she did not ask herself, nor why she rested so confidently on the guarantee of her brother's safety, which an untried stranger had given her. It was enough that he had given it. She did not go beyond that.
When she came, hot and panting, to the skirts of the crowd, she found that she must push her way between the horses of the troopers if she would see anything of what was passing. In the act she noticed that half the men were grinning, the others exchanging sly looks and winks73. But she was through at last. Now she could see what was afoot.
On the bridge, three paces before her, stood M. de Vlaye with his back to her. He had dismounted, and had his hat in his hand. Beyond him, standing74 at bay, as it seemed, against the low side wall of the bridge, was the Countess, her small face white, and puckered75, and sullen76, and behind her again stood Roger, and Fulbert, the steward77, with a wild-beast glare in his eyes.
"Surely, mademoiselle," Bonne heard M. de Vlaye say in honeyed accents, as she emerged from the crowd, "surely it were better you mounted here----"
"No!"
"And rode to the chateau. And then at your leisure----"
"No, I thank you. I will walk."
"But, Countess, you are not safe," he persisted, "on foot and in the open, after what has passed."
"Then I will go to the chateau," she replied, "but I can walk, I thank you." It was strange to see the firmness, ay, and dignity, that awoke in her in this extremity78.
"That, of course," M, de Vlaye replied lightly. "Of course. But seeing the Abbess on horseback, I thought that you might prefer to ride with her----"
"It is but a step."
"And I am walking," Bonne struck in, pushing to the front. "I will go with the Countess to the house." She spoke with a firmness which surprised herself, and certainly surprised M. de Vlaye, who had not seen her at his elbow. He hesitated, and partly in view of the Countess's attitude, partly of the fact that he had not precisely79 defined his next step if he got her mounted--he gave way.
"By all means," he said. "And we will form your guard."
Bonne passed her arm round the young Countess. "Come," she said. "I see my sister has preceded us to the house. The sun is hot, and the sooner we are under cover the better."
It was not the heat of the sun, however, that had driven the Abbess from the scene, but a spirit of temper. She had no suspicion of the truth--as yet. But the fuss which M. de Vlaye seemed bent on making about the little countess piqued80 her, and after looking on a minute or two, and finding herself still left in the background, she had let her jealousy81 have vent82, had struck spur to her horse and ridden back to the house in a rage. This was the last thing she would have done had her eyes been open. Had she guessed how welcome to her admirer her retreat at that moment was, she would have risked a hundred sunstrokes before she went!
She had no notion of the real situation, however, and Bonne, who had, and with a woman's wit saw in her a potent6 ally, was too late to call her back, though she longed to do it. Between the bridge and the house-gate lay three hundred yards, every yard, it seemed to Bonne, a yard of peril83 to her charge; and the girl nerved herself accordingly. For Vlaye's darkening face sufficiently84 declared his perplexity. At any instant, at any point, he might throw off the mask of courtesy, use force, and ride off with his prey85. And what could she do?
Only with a brave face walk slowly, slowly, talking as she went! Talking and making believe to be at ease; repressing both the treacherous86 flutter of her own heart and the little Countess's tendency to start at every movement M. de Vlaye made--as the lamb starts when the wolf bares its teeth! Bonne felt that to let him see that they expected violence was to invite it; and though, if he made a movement to seize her companion, she was prepared to cling and scream and fight with her very nails--she knew that such methods were the last desperate resource, to resort to which portended87 defeat.
He walked abreast88 of them, his rein on his arm, his haughty89 head bent. A little behind them on the left side walked Roger and the Countess's steward. Behind these again, at a short distance, followed the mob of troopers, grinning and nudging one another, and scarce deigning90 to hide their amusement.
Bonne guessed all, yet she talked bravely. "It is quite an adventure!" she said brightly. "We did but half believe it, M. de Vlaye! Until you told us, we thought mademoiselle must be romancing. That she could not be--oh, no, it seemed impossible that she could be the real Countess!"
"Indeed?" M. de Vlaye answered, measuring with his keen eye the distance to the corner of the courtyard. The girl's chatter91 embarrassed him. He could not weigh quite coolly the chances and the risks.
"It was after nine o'clock--yes, it must have been nearer midnight!" Bonne continued, with that woman's power of dissembling which puts men's acting92 to shame. "It was quite an alarm when she came! We thought we were to be robbed."
"Or that it was the Crocans----"
"Precisely--it might have been. And therefore I wish her to place herself without delay----"
"In proper clothes!" Bonne exclaimed cheerfully. "Of course! So she must, M. de Vlaye, and this minute! To think of the Countess of Rochechouart"--she laughed, and affectionately drew the girl nearer to her--"making hay in a waiting-woman's clothes! No wonder that she did not wish to be seen!"
M. de Vlaye looked at the chatterer askance, and mechanically gnawed94 his moustache. He believed, nay95, he was almost sure that she knew all and was playing with him. If so she was playing so successfully that here they were at the corner of the courtyard and he no nearer a decision. They had but to pass along one wall, turn, and in forty paces they would be at the gate. He must make up his mind promptly96, then! And, curse her! she talked so fast that he could not bring his mind to it, or weigh the emergencies. If he seized the girl here----
"Roger should not have let her try to cross the brook, M. de Vlaye, should he?" Bonne babbled97. "He should have known better. Now she has wet her feet and must change her shoes! Yes," playfully, "you must, mademoiselle."
"I will," the Countess muttered with shaking lips.
One of the troopers who had been of the expedition the day before, and whom the situation tickled98, laughed on a sudden outright99. M. de Vlaye half halted, turned and looked back in wrath100. Was he going to give the signal? Bonne's arm shook. But no, he turned again. And they were almost at the second corner; now they turned it, and her eyes sought the gate greedily, to learn who awaited them there. If the Vicomte was there, and her sister, it was so much in her favour. He would hardly dare to carry the girl off by force under their eyes.
But they were not there. Even Solomon was invisible; probably he had taken the Abbess's horse to the stable. Bonne was left to her own resources, therefore, to her own wits; and at the gate, at the moment of interest, at the last moment, the pinch would come.
And still, but with a dry throat, she talked. "To leave the sun for the shade!" she cried with a prodigious101 sigh as the western wall of the courtyard intervened and protected them from the sun's heat. "Is it not delightful! It was almost worth while to be so hot, to feel so cool! Are you cool, M. de Vlaye?"
"Yes," he replied grimly, "but----"
she sang, cutting him short--they were within seven or eight paces of the gateway103, and she fancied that his face was growing hard, that she detected the movements of a man preparing to make his leap--
"Sommes-nous à la rive?
Sommes-nous au milieu du bois?
Sommes-nous à la rive?
A la rive? A la rive!" she chanted, her arm closing more tightly about the Countess. "A la rive!"
With the last word--Pouf!--she thrust the child towards the open gateway, and by the same movement dropped on her knees in front of M. de Vlaye, completely thwarting104 his first instinctive28 impulse, which was to snatch at the Countess. "It is my pin!" she cried, rising as quickly as she had knelt--the whole seemed but one movement. "Pardon, M. de Vlaye," she continued, but by that time the Countess was twenty paces away, and half-way across the court. "Did I interrupt you? How lucky to find it! I must have lost it yesterday!"
He did not speak, but his eyes betrayed his rage--rage not the less that his men had witnessed and understood the man?uvre; nay, dared by a titter to betray their amusement. For an instant he was tempted105 to seize her and crush the cursed pride out of her--he to be outwitted before his people by a woman! Or why should he not take her a hostage in the other's room?
Then he remembered that he needed no hostage; he had one already. In a voice that drove the blood from her cheeks, "Take care! Take care, mademoiselle!" he muttered. "Sometimes one pays too much for such a trifle as a pin. You might have hurt yourself, stooping so suddenly! Or hurt--your brother!"
Roger could no longer keep silence. "I can take care of myself, M. de Vlaye," he said, "and of my sister also, I would have you know."
But M. de Vlaye had himself in hand again. "It was not to you I referred," he said coldly and contemptuously. "Take me to your father."
They found the Vicomte awaiting them on the drawbridge at the farther side of the court. But the Countess had vanished; she had not lost a moment in hiding herself in the recesses106 of her room. For the first time in their intercourse107 M. de Vlaye approached his host without ceremony or greeting.
"The Countess must come with me," he said roughly and roundly. "She cannot stay here. This place," with a look of naked scorn, "is no place for her. Give orders, if you please, that she prepare to accompany me."
The Vicomte, shaken by the events of the morning, stood thunderstruck. His hand trembled on his staff, and for a moment he could not speak. At last--
"Neither of which would avail her in the least," M. de Vlaye answered brutally, "in the event of danger! But it is not to enter into an argument that I am here. I care nothing for the number of your household, or the strength of your house, M. le Vicomte, or," with a sneer109, "what was the condition of either--before Coutras. The point is, this is no place for one in the Countess of Rochechouart's position. It is my duty to see her placed in a position of greater safety, and I intend to perform that duty!"
The Vicomte, powerless as he was, shook with passion. "Since when," he exclaimed, "has that duty been laid upon you?"
"It is laid on me," the Captain of Vlaye answered contemptuously, "by the fact that there is no one else in the district who can perform it."
"You will perform it at your peril," the Vicomte said.
"I shall perform it."
"But if the Countess prefers to stay here?" Roger cried, interfering110 hotly.
"It is a question of her safety, and not of her preference," Vlaye retorted, standing grim and cold before them. "She must come."
A dozen of his troopers had ridden into the courtyard, and from their saddles were watching the group on the drawbridge. The group consisted, besides the Vicomte, of Roger and his sister, old Solomon the porter, and the wild-looking steward. Roger, his heart bursting with indignation, measured with his eye the distance across the courtyard, and had thoughts of flinging himself upon Vlaye, bearing him to the ground, and making his life the price of his men's withdrawal111. But he had no weapon, Solomon and Fulbert were in the like case, and the Captain of Vlaye, a man in the prime of life, and armed, was likely to prove a match for all three.
If the Vicomte's ancestors in the pride of their day and power had been deaf to the poor man's cry, if the justice-elm without the castle gates had received in the centuries past the last sighs of the innocent, if the towers of the old house had been built in groaning112 and cemented with blood, some part of the debt was paid this day on the drawbridge. To see the sacred rights of hospitality deforced, to stand by while the guest whom he could not protect--and that guest a woman of his rank and kind--was torn from his hearth113, to be set for a laughing-stock to this canaille of troopers--such a humiliation should have slain114 the last of the Villeneuves where he stood.
Yet the Vicomte lived--lived, it is true, with twitching115 lips and shaking hands--but lived, and, after a few seconds of moody116 silence, stooped to parry the blow which he could not return.
"To-morrow--if you will wait until to-morrow," he muttered, "she may be better prepared to--take the journey."
"To-morrow?"
"Yes, if you will give us till to-morrow"--reluctantly--"we may persuade her."
M. de Vlaye's answer was as unexpected as it was decisive. "Be it so!" he said. "She shall have till to-morrow." He spoke more graciously, more courteously117, than he had yet spoken. "I have been--it is possible that in my anxiety for her safety, M. le Vicomte, I have been hasty. Once a soldier, always a soldier! Forgive me, and you, mademoiselle, the same; and I, on my side, will say to-morrow. There, I am not unreasonable," with a poor attempt at joviality118. "Only I must leave with you ten or a dozen troopers for her safe keeping. And beyond to-morrow, in the present state of the country, I cannot spare them."
"Will not that suit you?" M. de Vlaye said gaily120. He had recovered his usual spirits. He spoke in his old tone.
M. de Vlaye shook his head. "Ah, no," he said. "I can say no better than that. With the Crocans so near, and growing in boldness every day, I am bound to be careful. I am told," with a peculiar122 smile, "that some ne'er-do-wells of birth have joined them in these parts. The worse for them!"
"Well, be it so," the Vicomte said with a ghastly smile. "Be it so! Be it so!"
"Good," Vlaye answered cheerfully--he grew more at his ease with every word. Some might have thought that he had gained all he wanted or saw a new and easy way to it. "Good, and as I must be returning, I will give the necessary orders at once."
He turned as he spoke, and crossing the courtyard, conferred awhile with Ampoule, his second in command. Hurriedly men were told off to this hand and that, some trotting briskly under the archway--where the hay of more peaceful days deadened the sound of hoofs, and the cobwebs almost swept their heads--and others entering by the same road. Presently M. de Vlaye, whose horse had been brought to him, got to his saddle, rode a few paces nearer the drawbridge, and raised his hat.
"I have done as you wish," he said. "Until tomorrow, M. le Vicomte! Mademoiselle, I kiss your hands!" And wilfully123 blind to the coldness of the salutation made in return, he wheeled his horse gracefully124, called a man to his side, and rode out of the court.
The Vicomte let his chin fall upon his breast, and beyond a doubt his reflections were of the bitterest. But soon he remembered that there were strange eyes upon him, and he turned and went heavily into his house, the house that others now had in keeping. Old Solomon followed him with an anxious face, and Fulbert, ever desirous to be with his mistress, vanished in their train. The troopers, after one or two glances at the two who remained on the drawbridge, and a jest at which some laughed outright and some made covert125 gestures of derision, began to lead their horses into the long stable.
Roger's eye met Bonne's in a glance of flame. "Do you see?" he said. "He was to leave twelve--at the most. He has left eighteen. Do you understand?"
She shook her head.
"I do!" he said. "I do! We may go to our prayers!"
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1
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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2
lurking
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| 潜在 | |
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3
feigned
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| a.假装的，不真诚的 | |
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4
twitched
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| vt.& vi.（使）抽动，（使）颤动（twitch的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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5
meek
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| adj.温顺的，逆来顺受的 | |
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potent
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| adj.强有力的，有权势的；有效力的 | |
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7
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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8
syllable
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| n.音节；vt.分音节 | |
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9
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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10
quarry
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| n.采石场；v.采石；费力地找 | |
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11
joint
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| adj.联合的，共同的；n.关节，接合处；v.连接，贴合 | |
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12
displeased
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| a.不快的 | |
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13
farce
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| n.闹剧，笑剧，滑稽戏；胡闹 | |
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14
trudged
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| vt.& vi.跋涉，吃力地走（trudge的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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15
smitten
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| 猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去分词 ) | |
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16
interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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17
fugitive
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| adj.逃亡的，易逝的；n.逃犯，逃亡者 | |
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18
fugitives
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| n.亡命者，逃命者( fugitive的名词复数 ) | |
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19
rein
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| n.疆绳，统治，支配；vt.以僵绳控制，统治 | |
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20
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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21
insouciance
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| n.漠不关心 | |
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22
defiant
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| adj.无礼的，挑战的 | |
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23
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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24
trotting
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| 小跑，急走( trot的现在分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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25
saluted
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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26
reined
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| 勒缰绳使（马）停步( rein的过去式和过去分词 )； 驾驭； 严格控制； 加强管理 | |
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27
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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28
instinctive
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| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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29
bespoke
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| adj.（产品）订做的；专做订货的v.预定( bespeak的过去式 )；订（货）；证明；预先请求 | |
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30
brink
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| n.(悬崖、河流等的)边缘，边沿 | |
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31
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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32
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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33
groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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34
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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36
reins
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| 感情，激情； 缰( rein的名词复数 )； 控制手段； 掌管； （成人带着幼儿走路以防其走失时用的）保护带 | |
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37
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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38
rave
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| vi.胡言乱语；热衷谈论；n.热情赞扬 | |
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39
stentorian
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| adj.大声的，响亮的 | |
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40
racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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41
followers
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| 追随者( follower的名词复数 )； 用户； 契据的附面； 从动件 | |
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42
evasion
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| n.逃避，偷漏(税) | |
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43
zeal
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| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
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44
otter
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| n.水獭 | |
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45
willows
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| n.柳树( willow的名词复数 )；柳木 | |
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46
Ford
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| n.浅滩，水浅可涉处；v.涉水，涉过 | |
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47
courageous
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| adj.勇敢的，有胆量的 | |
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48
hawk
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| n.鹰，骗子；鹰派成员 | |
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49
spurned
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| v.一脚踢开，拒绝接受( spurn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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50
license
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| n.执照，许可证，特许；v.许可，特许 | |
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51
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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52
skulking
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| v.潜伏，偷偷摸摸地走动，鬼鬼祟祟地活动( skulk的现在分词 ) | |
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53
imploring
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| 恳求的，哀求的 | |
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54
soften
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| v.(使)变柔软；(使)变柔和 | |
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55
brutally
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| adv.残忍地，野蛮地，冷酷无情地 | |
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56
chateau
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| n.城堡，别墅 | |
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57
pampered
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| adj.饮食过量的，饮食奢侈的v.纵容，宠，娇养( pamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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58
humiliation
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| n.羞辱 | |
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59
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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60
degradation
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| n.降级；低落；退化；陵削；降解；衰变 | |
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61
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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62
lieutenant
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| n.陆军中尉，海军上尉；代理官员，副职官员 | |
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63
sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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64
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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65
warily
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| adv.留心地 | |
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66
hoofs
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| n.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的名词复数 )v.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的第三人称单数 ) | |
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67
agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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68
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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69
medley
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| n.混合 | |
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70
brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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71
tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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72
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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73
winks
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| v.使眼色( wink的第三人称单数 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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74
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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75
puckered
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| v.（使某物）起褶子或皱纹( pucker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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76
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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77
steward
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| n.乘务员，服务员；看管人；膳食管理员 | |
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78
extremity
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| n.末端，尽头；尽力；终极；极度 | |
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79
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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80
piqued
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| v.伤害…的自尊心( pique的过去式和过去分词 )；激起（好奇心） | |
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81
jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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82
vent
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| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
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83
peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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84
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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85
prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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86
treacherous
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| adj.不可靠的，有暗藏的危险的；adj.背叛的，背信弃义的 | |
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87
portended
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| v.预示( portend的过去式和过去分词 )；预兆；给…以警告；预告 | |
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88
abreast
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| adv.并排地；跟上(时代)的步伐，与…并进地 | |
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89
haughty
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| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
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90
deigning
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| v.屈尊，俯就( deign的现在分词 ) | |
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91
chatter
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| vi.／n.喋喋不休；短促尖叫；(牙齿)打战 | |
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92
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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93
smoothly
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| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
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94
gnawed
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| 咬( gnaw的过去式和过去分词 )； （长时间） 折磨某人； （使）苦恼； （长时间）危害某事物 | |
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95
nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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96
promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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97
babbled
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| v.喋喋不休( babble的过去式和过去分词 )；作潺潺声（如流水）；含糊不清地说话；泄漏秘密 | |
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98
tickled
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| （使）发痒( tickle的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）愉快，逗乐 | |
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99
outright
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| adv.坦率地；彻底地；立即；adj.无疑的；彻底的 | |
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100
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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101
prodigious
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| adj.惊人的，奇妙的；异常的；巨大的；庞大的 | |
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102
milieu
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| n.环境；出身背景；(个人所处的)社会环境 | |
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103
gateway
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| n.大门口，出入口，途径，方法 | |
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104
thwarting
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| 阻挠( thwart的现在分词 )； 使受挫折； 挫败； 横过 | |
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105
tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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106
recesses
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| n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 )；（工作或业务活动的）中止或暂停期间；学校的课间休息；某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 )；将（墙）做成凹形，在（墙）上做壁龛；休息，休会，休庭 | |
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107
intercourse
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| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
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108
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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109
sneer
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| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
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110
interfering
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| adj. 妨碍的 动词interfere的现在分词 | |
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111
withdrawal
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| n.取回，提款；撤退，撤军；收回，撤销 | |
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112
groaning
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| adj. 呜咽的, 呻吟的 动词groan的现在分词形式 | |
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113
hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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114
slain
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| 杀死，宰杀，杀戮( slay的过去分词 )； (slay的过去分词) | |
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115
twitching
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| n.颤搐 | |
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moody
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| adj.心情不稳的，易怒的，喜怒无常的 | |
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courteously
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| adv.有礼貌地，亲切地 | |
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118
joviality
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| n.快活 | |
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119
jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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120
gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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sullenly
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| 不高兴地，绷着脸，忧郁地 | |
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122
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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123
wilfully
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| adv.任性固执地；蓄意地 | |
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124
gracefully
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| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
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covert
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| adj.隐藏的；暗地里的 | |
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