CHAPTER XV.
It was a fair morning in June: the sky was a bright, deep, lovely,speckless blue: the flowers and bushes poured perfume, and sprinkledsong upon the balmy air. On such a day, so calm, so warm, so bright, soscented, so tuneful, to live and to be young is to be happy. With gentlehand it wipes all other days out of the memory; it smiles, it smells,it sings, and clouds and rain and biting wind seem as far off andimpossible as grief and trouble.
Camille and Josephine had stolen out, and strolled lazily up and downclose under the house, drinking the sweet air, fragrant with perfume andmelody; the blue sky, and love.
Rose was in the house. She had missed them; but she thought they must benear; for they seldom took long walks early in the day. Meeting Jacinthaon the landing of the great staircase, she asked her where her sisterwas.
"Madame Raynal is gone for a walk. She has taken the colonel with her.You know she always takes the colonel out with her now."
"That will do. You can finish your work."
Jacintha went into Camille's room.
Rose, who had looked as grave as a judge while Jacintha was present,bubbled into laughter. She even repeated Jacintha's words aloud, andchuckled over them. "You know she always takes the colonel out with hernow--ha, ha, ha!"
"Rose!" sighed a distant voice.
She looked round, and saw the baroness at some distance in the corridor,coming slowly towards her, with eyes bent gloomily on the ground. Rosecomposed her features into a settled gravity, and went to meet her.
"I wish to speak with you," said the baroness; "let us sit down; it iscool here."
Rose ran and brought a seat without a back, but well stuffed, and set itagainst the wall. The old lady sat down and leaned back, and looked atRose in silence a good while; then she said,--
"There is room for you; sit down, for I want to speak seriously to you."
"Yes, mamma; what is it?"
"Turn a little round, and let me see your face."
Rose complied; and began to feel a little uneasy.
"Perhaps you can guess what I am going to say to you?"
"I have no idea."
"Well, I am going to put a question to you."
"With all my heart, dear mamma."
"I invite you to explain to me the most singular, the most unaccountablething that ever fell under my notice. Will you do this for your mother?"
"O mamma! of course I will do anything to please you that I can; but,indeed, I don't know what you mean."
"I am going to tell you."
The old lady paused. The young one, naturally enough, felt a chill ofvague anxiety strike across her frame.
"Rose," said the old lady, speaking very gently but firmly, and leaningin a peculiar way on her words, while her eye worked like an ice gimleton her daughter's face, "a little while ago, when my poor Raynal--ourbenefactor--was alive--and I was happy--you all chilled my happiness byyour gloom: the whole house seemed a house of mourning--tell me now whywas this."
"Mamma!" said Rose, after a moment's hesitation, "we could hardly begay. Sickness in the house! And if Colonel Raynal was alive, still hewas absent, and in danger."
"Oh! then it was out of regard for him we were all dispirited?"
"Why, I suppose so," said Rose, stoutly; but then colored high at herown want of candor. However, she congratulated herself that her mother'ssuspicion was confined to past events.
Her self-congratulation on that score was short; for the baroness, aftereying her grimly for a second or two in silence, put her this awkwardquestion plump.
"If so, tell me why is it that ever since that black day when the newsof his DEATH reached us, the whole house has gone into black, and hasgone out of mourning?"
"Mamma," stammered Rose, "what DO you mean?"
"Even poor Camille, who was so pale and wan, has recovered like magic."
"O mamma! is not that fancy?" said Rose, piteously. "Of what do yoususpect me? Can you think I am unfeeling--ungrateful? I should not beYOUR daughter."
"No, no," said the baroness, "to do you justice, you attempt sorrow;as you put on black. But, my poor child, you do it with so little skillthat one sees a horrible gayety breaking through that thin disguise:you are no true mourners: you are like the mutes or the undertakers ata funeral, forced grief on the surface of your faces, and frightfulcomplacency below."
"Tra la! lal! la! la! Tra la! la! Tra la! la!" carolled Jacintha, in thecolonel's room hard by.
The ladies looked at one another: Rose in great confusion.
"Tra la! la! la! Tra lal! lal! la! la! la!"
"Jacintha!" screamed Rose angrily.
"Hush! not a word," said the baroness. "Why remonstrate with HER?Servants are but chameleons: they take the color of those they serve. Donot cry. I wanted your confidence, not your tears, love. There, I willnot twice in one day ask you for your heart: it would be to lower themother, and give the daughter the pain of refusing it, and the regret,sure to come one day, of having refused it. I will discover the meaningof it all by myself." She went away with a gentle sigh; and Rose was cutto the heart by her words; she resolved, whatever it might cost her andJosephine, to make a clean breast this very day. As she was one of thosewho act promptly, she went instantly in search of her sister, to gainher consent, if possible.
Now, the said Josephine was in the garden walking with Camille, anduttering a wife's tender solicitudes.
"And must you leave me? must you risk your life again so soon; the lifeon which mine depends?"
"My dear, that letter I received from headquarters two days ago, thatinquiry whether my wound was cured. A hint, Josephine--a hint too broadfor any soldier not to take."
"Camille, you are very proud," said Josephine, with an accent ofreproach, and a look of approval.
"I am obliged to be. I am the husband of the proudest woman in France."
"Hush! not so loud: there is Dard on the grass."
"Dard!" muttered the soldier with a word of meaning. "Josephine," saidhe after a pause, and a little peevishly, "how much longer are we tolower our voices, and turn away our eyes from each other, and be ashamedof our happiness?"
"Five months longer, is it not?" answered Josephine quietly.
"Five months longer!"
Josephine was hurt at this, and for once was betrayed into a serious andmerited remonstrance.
"Is this just?" said she. "Think of two months ago: yes, but two monthsago, you were dying. You doubted my love, because it could not overcomemy virtue and my gratitude: yet you might have seen it was destroying mylife. Poor Raynal, my husband, my benefactor, died. Then I could do morefor you, if not with delicacy, at least with honor; but no! words, andlooks, and tender offices of love were not enough, I must give strongerproof. Dear Camille, I have been reared in a strict school: and perhapsnone of your sex can know what it cost me to go to Frejus that day withhim I love."
"My own Josephine!"
"I made but one condition: that you would not rob me of my mother'srespect: to her our hasty marriage would appear monstrous, heartless.You consented to be secretly happy for six months. One fortnight haspassed, and you are discontented again."
"Oh, no! do not think so. It is every word true. I am an ungratefulvillain."
"How dare you say so? and to me! No! but you are a man."
"So I have been told; but my conduct to you, sweet one, has not beenthat of a man from first to last. Yet I could die for you, with a smileon my lips. But when I think that once I lifted this sacrilegious handagainst your life--oh!"
"Do not be silly, Camille. I love you all the better for loving me wellenough to kill me. What woman would not? I tell you, you foolish thing,you are a man: monseigneur is one of the lordly sex, that is accustomedto have everything its own way. My love, in a world that is full ofmisery, here are two that are condemned to be secretly happy a fewmonths longer: a hard fate for one of your sex, it seems: but it is somuch sweeter than the usual lot of mine, that really I cannot share yourmisery," and she smiled joyou
sly.
"Then share my happiness, my dear wife."
"I do; only mine is deep, not loud."
"Why, Dard is gone, and we are out of doors; will the little birdsbetray us?"
"The lower windows are open, and I saw Jacintha in one of the rooms."
"Jacintha? we are in awe of the very servants. Well, if I must notsay it loud I will say it often," and putting his mouth to her ear, hepoured a burning whisper of love into it--"My love! my angel! my wife!my wife! my wife!"
She turned her swimming eyes on him.
"My husband!" she whispered in return.
Rose came out, and found them billing and cooing. "You MUST not be sohappy, you two," said she authoritatively.
"How can we help it?" asked Camille.
"You must and shall help it, somehow," retorted this little tyrant."Mamma suspects. She has given me such a cross-examination, my bloodruns cold. No, on second thoughts, kiss her again, and you may both beas happy as you like; for I am going to tell mamma all, and no power onearth shall hinder me."
"Rose," said Camille, "you are a sensible girl; and I always said so."
But Josephine was horrified. "What! tell my mother that within a monthof my husband's death?"--
"Don't say your husband," put in Camille wincing; "the priest neverconfirmed that union; words spoken before a magistrate do not make amarriage in the sight of Heaven."
Josephine cut him short. "Amongst honorable men and women all oaths arealike sacred: and Heaven's eye is in a magistrate's room as in a church.A daughter of Beaurepaire gave her hand to him, and called herselfhis wife. Therefore, she was his wife: and is his widow. She owes himeverything; the house you are all living in among the rest. She oughtto be proud of her brief connection with that pure, heroic spirit, and,when she is so little noble as to disown him, then say that gratitudeand justice have no longer a place among mankind."
"Come into the chapel," said Camille, with a voice that showed he washurt.
They entered the chapel, and there they saw something that thoroughlysurprised them: a marble monument to the memory of Raynal. It leanedat present against the wall below the place prepared to receive it.The inscription, short, but emphatic, and full of feeling, told of thebattles he had fought in, including the last fatal skirmish, and hismarriage with the heiress of Beaurepaire; and, in a few soldier-likewords, the uprightness, simplicity, and generosity of his character.
They were so touched by this unexpected trait in Camille that they boththrew their arms round his neck by one impulse. "Am I wrong to be proudof him?" said Josephine, triumphantly.
"Well, don't say too much to me," said Camille, looking down confused."One tries to be good; but it is very hard--to some of us--not to you,Josephine; and, after all, it is only the truth that we have written onthat stone. Poor Raynal! he was my old comrade; he saved me from death,and not a soldier's death--drowning; and he was a better man than I am,or ever shall be. Now he is dead, I can say these things. If I had saidthem when he was alive, it would have been more to my credit."
They all three went back towards the house; and on the way Rose toldthem all that had passed between the baroness and her. When she came tothe actual details of that conversation, to the words, and looks, andtones, Josephine's uneasiness rose to an overpowering height; she evenadmitted that further concealment would be very difficult.
"Better tell her than let her find out," said Rose. "We must tell hersome day."
At last, after a long and agitated discussion, Josephine consented;but Rose must be the one to tell. "So then, you at least will makeyour peace with mamma," argued Josephine, "and let us go in and dothis before our courage fails; besides, it is going to rain, and it hasturned cold. Where have all these clouds come from? An hour ago therewas not one in the sky."
They went, with hesitating steps and guilty looks, to the saloon. Theirmother was not there. Here was a reprieve.
Rose had an idea. She would take her to the chapel, and show her themonument, and that would please her with poor Camille. "After that,"said Rose, "I will begin by telling her all the misery you have bothgone through; and, when she pities you, then I will show her it was allmy fault your misery ended in a secret marriage."
The confederates sat there in a chilly state, waiting for the baroness.At last, as she did not come, Rose got up to go to her. "When the mindis made up, it is no use being cowardly, and putting off," said she,firmly. For all that, her cheek had but little color left in it, whenshe left her chair with this resolve.
Now as Rose went down the long saloon to carry out their united resolve,Jacintha looked in; and, after a hasty glance to see who was present,she waited till Rose came up to her, and then whipped a letter fromunder her apron and gave it her.
"For my mistress," said she, with an air of mystery.
"Why not take it to her, then?" inquired Rose.
"I thought you might like to see it first, mademoiselle," said Jacintha,with quiet meaning.
"Is it from the dear doctor?" asked Josephine.
"La, no, mademoiselle, don't you know the doctor is come home? Why, hehas been in the house near an hour. He is with my lady."
The doctor proved Jacintha correct by entering the room in person soonafter; on this Rose threw down the letter, and she and the whole partywere instantly occupied in greeting him.
When the ladies had embraced him and Camille shaken hands with him, theyplied him with a thousand questions. Indeed, he had not half satisfiedtheir curiosity, when Rose happened to catch sight of the letter again,and took it up to carry to the baroness. She now, for the first time,eyed it attentively, and the consequence was she uttered an exclamation,and took the first opportunity to beckon Aubertin.
He came to her; and she put the letter into his hand.
He put up his glasses, and eyed it. "Yes!" whispered he, "it is fromHIM."
Josephine and Camille saw something was going on; they joined the othertwo, with curiosity in their faces.
Rose put her hand on a small table near her, and leaned a moment. Sheturned half sick at a letter coming from the dead. Josephine now cametowards her with a face of concern, and asked what was the matter.
The reply came from Aubertin. "My poor friends," said he, solemnly,"this is one of those fearful things that you have not seen in yourshort lives, but it has been more than once my lot to witness it. Theships that carry letters from distant countries vary greatly in speed,and are subject to detaining accidents. Yes, this is the third time Ihave seen a letter come written by a hand known to be cold. The baronessis a little excited to-day, I don't know from what cause. With yourapprobation, Madame Raynal, I will read this letter before I let her seeit."
"Read it, if you please."
"Shall I read it out?"
"Certainly. There may be some wish expressed in it; oh, I hope thereis!"
Camille, from delicacy, retired to some little distance, and the doctorread the letter in a low and solemn voice.
"MY DEAR MOTHER,--I hope all are well at Beaurepaire, as I am, or I hopesoon to be. I received a wound in our last skirmish; not a very severeone; but it put an end to my writing for some time."
"Poor fellow! it was his death wound. Why, when was this written?--why,"and the doctor paused, and seemed stupefied: "why, my dears, has mymemory gone, or"--and again he looked eagerly at the letter--"what wasthe date of the battle in which he was killed? for this letter is datedthe 15th of May. Is it a dream? no! this was written since the date ofhis death."
"No, doctor," said Rose, "you deceive yourself."
"Why, what was the date of the Moniteur, then?" asked Aubertin, in greatagitation.
"Considerably later than this," said Camille.
"I don't think so; the journal! where is it?"
"My mother has it locked up. I'll run."
"No, Rose; no one but me. Now, Josephine, do not you go and give way tohopes that may be delusive. I must see that journal directly. I will goto the baroness. I shall excuse her less than you would."
"No! no!" cried Camille wildly. "It was long, long after time 3d."
"It was the 3d of May," repeated Josephine in a hoarse voice that nonewould have known for hers.
Camille ran to her with words of comfort and hope; he did not share herfears. He remembered about when the Moniteur came, though not the veryday. He threw his arm lovingly round her as if to protect her againstthese shadowy terrors. Her dilating eyes seemed fixed on somethingdistant in space or time, at some horrible thing coming slowly towardsher. She did not see Camille approach her, but the moment she felt himshe turned upon him swiftly.
"Do you love me?" still in the hoarse voice that had so little in it ofJosephine. "I mean, does one grain of respect or virtue mingle in yourlove for me?"
"What words are these, my wife?"
"Then leave Raynal's house upon the instant. You wonder I can be socruel? I wonder too; and that I can see my duty so clear in one shortmoment. But I have lived twenty years since that letter came. Oh! mybrain has whirled through a thousand agonies. And I have come back athousand times to the same thing; you and I must see each other's faceno more."
"Oh!" cried Rose, "is there no way but this?"
"Take care," she screamed, wildly, to her and Camille, "I am on theverge of madness; is it for you two to thrust me over the precipice?Come, now, if you are a man of honor, if you have a spark of gratitudetowards the poor woman who has given you all except her fair name--thatshe will take to the grave in spite of you all--promise that you willleave Raynal's house this minute if he is alive, and let me die in honoras I have lived."
"No, no!" cried Camille, terror-stricken; "it cannot be. Heaven ismerciful, and Heaven sees how happy we are. Be calm! these are idlefears; be calm! I say. For if it is so I will obey you. I will stay; Iwill go; I will die; I will live; I will obey you."
"Swear this to me by the thing you hold most sacred," she almostshrieked.
"I swear by my love for you," was his touching reply.
Ere they had recovered a miserable composure after this passionateoutburst, all the more terrible as coming from a creature so tenderas Josephine, agitated voices were heard at the door, and the baronesstottered in, followed by the doctor, who was trying in vain to put somebounds to her emotion and her hopes.
"Oh, my children! my children!" cried she, trembling violently. "Here,Rose, my hands shake so; take this key, open the cabinet, there is theMoniteur. What is the date?"
The journal was found, and rapidly examined. The date was the 20th ofMay.
"There!" cried Camille. "I told you!"
The baroness uttered a feeble moan. Her hopes died as suddenly as theyhad been born, and she sank drooping into a chair, with a bitter sigh.
Camille stole a joyful look at Josephine. She was in the same attitudelooking straight before her as at a coming horror. Presently Roseuttered a faint cry, "The battle was BEFORE."
"To be sure," cried the doctor. "You forget, it is not the date of thepaper we want, but of the battle it records. For Heaven's sake, when wasthe battle?"
"The 3d of May," said Josephine, in a voice that seemed to come from thetomb.
Rose's hands that held the journal fell like a dead weight upon herknees, journal and all. She whispered, "It was the 3d of May."
"Ah!" cried the baroness, starting up, "he may yet be alive. He must bealive. Heaven is merciful! Heaven would not take my son from me, a poorold woman who has not long to live. There was a letter; where is theletter?"
"Are we mad, not to read the letter?" said the doctor. "I had it; it hasdropped from my old fingers when I went for the journal."
A short examination of the room showed the letter lying crumpled up nearthe door. Camille gave it to the baroness. She tried to read it, butcould not.
"I am old," said she; "my hand shakes and my eyes are troubled. Thisyoung gentleman will read it to us. His eyes are not dim and troubled.Something tells me that when I hear this letter, I shall find outwhether my son lives. Why do you not read it to me, Camille?" cried she,almost fiercely.
Camille, thus pressed, obeyed mechanically, and began to read Raynal'sletter aloud, scarce knowing what he did, but urged and driven by thebaroness.
"MY DEAR MOTHER,--I hope all are well at Beaurepaire, as I am, or I hopesoon to be. I received a wound in our last skirmish; not a very severeone, but it put an end to my writing for some time."
"Go on, dear Camille! go on."
"The page ends there, madame."
The paper was thin, and Camille, whose hand trembled, had somedifficulty in detaching the leaves from one another. He succeeded,however, at last, and went on reading and writhing.
"By the way, you must address your next letter to me as Colonel Raynal.I was promoted just before this last affair, but had not time to tellyou; and my wound stopped my writing till now."
"There, there!" cried the baroness. "He was Colonel Raynal, and ColonelRaynal was not killed."
The doctor implored her not to interrupt.
"Go on, Camille. Why do you hesitate? what is the matter? Do for pity'ssake go on, sir."
Camille cast a look of agony around, and put his hand to his brow,on which large drops of cold perspiration, like a death dew, weregathering; but driven to the stake on all sides, he gasped on ratherthan read, for his eye had gone down the page.
"A namesake of mine, Commandant Raynal,"--
"Ah!"
"has not been--so fortunate. He"--
"Go on! go on!"
The wretched man could now scarcely utter Raynal's words; they came fromhim in a choking groan.
"he was killed, poor fellow! while heading a gallant charge upon theenemy's flank."
He ground the letter convulsively in his hand, then it fell all crumpledon the floor.
"Bless you, Camille!" cried the baroness, "bless you! bless you! I havea son still."
She stooped with difficulty, took up the letter, and, kissing it againand again, fell on her knees, and thanked Heaven aloud before them all.Then she rose and went hastily out, and her voice was heard crying veryloud, "Jacintha! Jacintha!"
The doctor followed in considerable anxiety for the effects of thisviolent joy on so aged a person. Three remained behind, panting andpale like those to whom dead Lazarus burst the tomb, and came forth in amoment, at a word. Then Camille half kneeled, half fell, at Josephine'sfeet, and, in a voice choked with sobs, bade her dispose of him.
She turned her head away. "Do not speak to me; do not look at me; if welook at one another, we are lost. Go! die at your post, and I at mine."
He bowed his head, and kissed her dress, then rose calm as despair, andwhite as death, and, with his knees knocking under him, tottered awaylike a corpse set moving.
He disappeared from the house.
The baroness soon came back, triumphant and gay.
"I have sent her to bid them ring the bells in the village. The poorshall be feasted; all shall share our joy: my son was dead, and lives.Oh, joy! joy! joy!"
"Mother!" shrieked Josephine.
"Mad woman that I am, I am too boisterous. Help me, Rose! she is goingto faint; her lips are white."
Dr. Aubertin and Rose brought a chair. They forced Josephine into it.She was not the least faint; yet her body obeyed their hands just likea dead body. The baroness melted into tears; tears streamed from Rose'seyes. Josephine's were dry and stony, and fixed on coming horror. Thebaroness looked at her with anxiety. "Thoughtless old woman! It wastoo sudden; it is too much for my dear child; too much for me," and shekneeled, and laid her aged head on her daughter's bosom, saying feeblythrough her tears, "too much joy, too much joy!"
Josephine took no notice of her. She sat like one turned to stonelooking far away over her mother's head with rigid eyes fixed on the airand on coming horrors.
Rose felt her arm seized. It was Aubertin. He too was pale now, thoughnot before. He spoke in a terrible whisper to Rose, his eye fixed on thewoman of stone that sat there.
"IS THIS JOY?"
Rose, by a mighty effort, raised her eyes and confronted his full. "Whatelse should it be?" said she.
And with these words this Spartan girl was her sister's champion oncemore against all comers, friend or foe.
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