"I will do it--I will do it--for love of you," Ratoneau said, and his voice became suddenly hoa.r.s.e. "You are beautiful--and you are mine--mine."

The girl shuddered from head to foot.

"No!" she said violently.

She did not look at Ratoneau. As to him, he did not speak, but laughed and bent nearer. She rose to her feet suddenly.

"You forget yourself--you are mad, Monsieur le General," she said haughtily. "If that is the condition--no! Pray do not concern yourself about my cousin's affairs, you have nothing to do with them."

Ratoneau rose too, a little unsteadily.

"Listen one moment, mademoiselle," he said. "If I am mad, you are foolish, let me tell you. I said nothing about conditions, I stated facts. You will be my wife--therefore you are mine, you belong to me, and therefore there is nothing I will not do for love of you. My wife is the most beautiful woman in France, and she stands here."

"Never, never!" murmured Helene. "It has come!" she said to herself.

Her mother had threatened her with this; and now, apparently, all had been settled without a word to her. Even her father, once on her side, must be against her now. He had been angry with her; not without reason, she knew. Yes, this horrible thing had been arranged by her father, her mother, Georges, while she was kept a prisoner upstairs. If they had been kinder to her in the last few days, it was only that they wished to bring their victim smiling to the sacrifice. No wonder Georges had insisted on her dancing with General Ratoneau. No wonder her mother had taken pains to dress her beautifully for this ball, which she hated and dreaded so much.

These thoughts, with a wild desire to escape, rushed through Helene's mind as she stood breathless before this man who laid such a daring claim to her. He was smiling, though his lips were white. It is not pleasant to be treated as horrible sc.u.m of the earth by the woman you have arranged to marry; to see scorn, disgust, hatred in a girl's face, answering to your finest compliments.

"This young lady has a character--she has a temper--" he muttered between his teeth. "But you will be tamed, ma belle. Who would have thought with those pale cheeks of yours--well, the Emperor's command will bring you to reason. Pity I spoke, perhaps--but a man cannot keep cool always. That command--Ah, thousand thunders! what do I see?"

The last words were spoken aloud. As Helene stood before him, silent, rooted with horror to the ground, he watching her with folded arms in a favourite imperial att.i.tude, several sets of people strolled across the lower end of the room, for this was one of a suite of salons. Suddenly came the master of the house alone, walking slowly, his eyes fixed on a letter in his hand, his face deathly white in the glimmer of the many wax candles. Helene did not see her father at first, for her back was turned to him, but at the General's words she turned quickly, and was just aware of him as he pa.s.sed into the next room. Without another word or look she left her partner standing there, and fled away in pursuit of him. Ratoneau watched the white figure vanishing, laughed aloud, and swore heartily.

"This is dramatic," he said. "Fortunate that I have a friend at Court in Madame la Comtesse! Suppose I go and join her."

Helene searched for her father in vain. By the time she reached the other room, he had quite unaccountably vanished. As she flew on rather distractedly among the guests, hurrying back to the ball-room, her brother's peremptory hand was laid upon her arm.

"What is the matter, Helene? Where are you running? Are you dancing with no one, and why do you look so wild?"

Helene answered none of these questions.

"Find me a partner, if you please," she said, with a sudden effort at collecting herself. "But, Georges--no more of your officers."

Georges looked at her with a queer smile, but only said--

"And no more of your Chouans!"

CHAPTER XXIV

HOW MONSIEUR DE SAINFOY FOUND A WAY OUT

If Angelot expected to find the usual woodland stillness, that night, about the approaches to the Chateau de Lancilly, he was mistaken. The old place was surrounded; numbers of servants, ranks of carriages, a few gendarmes and soldiers. Half the villages were there, too, crowding about the courts, under the walls, and pressing especially round the chief entrance on the west, where a bridge over the old moat led into a court surrounded with high-piled buildings, one stately roof rising above another. Monsieur de Sainfoy kept up the old friendly fashion, and no gates shut off his neighbours from his domain.

Angelot came through the wood, which almost touched the house and shadowed the moat on the north side. He had meant to go in at some door, to pa.s.s through one of the halls, perhaps, and catch a glimpse of the dancing. All this now seemed more difficult; he could not go among the people without being recognised, and though, as far as himself was concerned, he would have dared anything for a sight of Helene, loyalty to his uncle stood in the way of foolhardiness.

He walked cautiously towards the steps leading down into the moat. This corner, far from any entrance, was dark and solitary. The little door in the moat was probably still blocked; but in any case the ivy was there, and the chapel window--heaven send it open, or at least unbarred!

"I shall do no harm to-night, Cousin Herve. I shall see her dancing with some happy fellow. If I don't know Lancilly well enough to spend ten minutes in the old gallery--n.o.body will be there--well, then--"

"Monsieur Angelot!" said a deep voice out of the darkness.

"Not an inch nearer, or I fire!" Angelot replied, and his pistol was ready.

"Tiens! Don't kill me, for I am desperately glad to see you," and Martin Joubard limped forward. "You got away from those ragam.u.f.fins, then? I thought as much, when I heard they had been watching the woods. But where are you hiding, and what are you doing here? Take care, there are a lot of police and gendarmes about. Are you safe?"

"No, I'm not safe--at least my uncle says so. Did you think I would stay with those rascals long?" Angelot laughed. "I'm going out of the country to-night. Hold your tongue, Martin. Wait here. I will come back this way, and you can warn me if there is any one on the track."

"Going out of the country without seeing madame, and she breaking her heart?" said Martin, disapproving.

"No, I am on my way. Pst! I hear footsteps," and Angelot dropped into the moat, while the soldier stepped back into the shadow of the trees.

"On his way to La Mariniere--from his uncle's! Rather roundabout, Monsieur Angelot. Ah, but to have all one's limbs!" sighed Martin, smiling, for plenty of gossip had reached him; and he listened to the gay music which made the air dance, and to the voices and laughter, till he forgot everything else in the thrilling knowledge that somebody was scrambling up through the ivy on the opposite wall. There was a slight clank and crash among the thick depth of leaves; then silence.

"He ought to be one of us, that boy!" thought Martin. "I'll wait for him. I like a spark of the devil. My father says Monsieur Joseph was a thorough _polisson_, and almost as pretty as his nephew. He's a pious little gentleman now. They are a curious family!"

Angelot slipped through the dark empty chapel, and the wind howled behind him. He ran down the pa.s.sage between rooms that were empty and dark, for Mademoiselle Moineau and her pupils had been allowed to go down to the ball. He went through stone-vaulted corridors, unlighted, cold and lonely, across half the length of the great house. He had to watch his moment for pa.s.sing the head of the chief staircase, for there were people going up and down, servants trying to see what they could of the gay doings below. Waves of warm and scented air rolled up against his face as he darted past, keeping close to the wall, one moving shadow more. Music, laughing, talking, filled old Lancilly like a flood, ebbing and flowing so; and every now and then the tramping of feet on the ball-room floor echoed loudest.

Angelot knew of a little gallery room with narrow slits in the stonework, opening out of the further pa.s.sage that led to Monsieur and Madame de Sainfoy's rooms. It used to be empty or filled with lumber; it now held several large wardrobes, but the perforated wall remained. He found the door open; it was not quite dark, for gleams of light made their way in from the chandeliers in the ball-room, one end of which it overlooked. There were also a couple of lights in the pa.s.sage outside.

From this high point Angelot looked down upon the ball. And first it was nothing but a whirling confusion of sound and colour and light; the flying dresses, the uniforms, jewels, gold lace, glittering necklaces, flashing sword hilts. Then--that fair head, that white figure alone.

He could hear nothing of what was said; but he saw her brother come up with General Ratoneau, he watched the dance--and if those slits in the solid wall had been wider, there might have been danger of a young man's daring to drop down by his hands, trusting to fate to land him safely on the floor below. For he saw his love walk away with her partner down the ball-room, out of his sight, and then he waited in unbearable impatience, but saw her no more for what seemed a long time. He began to think that he must go, carrying with him the agony of leaving her in familiar talk with Ratoneau, when suddenly he saw her again, and forgot his mother, his uncle, Cesar d'Ombre, and all the obligations of life.

She came back alone; her brother was speaking to her; she looked troubled, there was something strange about it all, but Ratoneau was not there. That, at least, was well; and how divinely beautiful she looked!

Angelot gazed for a minute or two, holding his breath; then a sudden step and a voice in the corridor close by startled him violently. He had left the door half open, standing where he could not be seen through it.

He now turned his head to see who was pa.s.sing. It was the step of one person only, a quick and agitated step. Was this person then speaking to him? No, it was his cousin Herve de Sainfoy, and he was talking to himself. He was repeating the same words over and over again: "But who can save us? What shall I do? What shall I do? Who can save us? A way out, he says? My G.o.d, there is none."

When his cousin had pa.s.sed the door, Angelot stepped forward and looked after him. It was impossible not to do so. The Comte was like a man who had received some terrible blow. His face was white and drawn, and his whole frame trembled as he walked. He carried an open letter shaking and rustling in his hand, glanced at it now and then, flung his clenched fists out on each side of him.

Then he said aloud, "My G.o.d, it is her doing!"

Angelot forgot all caution and stepped out into the corridor. His cousin seemed to be walking on to his own room at the end; but before he reached it he turned suddenly round and came hurrying back. Angelot stood and faced him.

He, too, was pale from his imprisonment and the excitement of the night, but as he met Herve de Sainfoy's astonished gaze the colour flooded his young face and his brave bright eyes fell.

"_You_ here, Angelot?" said the Comte.

He spoke absently, gently, with no great surprise and no anger at all.

Angelot knew that he loved him, and felt the strangest desire to kneel and kiss his hand.

"Pardon, monsieur"--he began quickly--"I was looking at the ball--I leave France to-morrow, and--Can I help you, Uncle Herve?" For he saw that the Comte was listening to no explanations of his. He stared straight before him, frowning, biting his lips, shaking the letter in his hand.

"It is some diabolical intrigue," he said. "How can you help, my poor boy? No! but I would rather see her dead at my feet--for her own sake--and the insult to me!"

"But tell me what it all means? Let me do something!" cried Angelot; for the words thrilled him with a new terror.