"What are you saying?" cried Monsieur Joseph, very sharply and sternly, coming a step nearer. "I see now--but who is this lady? None of your insolent jokes--who is it? Dieu! What have you done!"

"I have been to the ball at Lancilly," said Angelot. "You see, this is my cousin Helene. She preferred a walk with me to a dance with other people. And Uncle Herve thought--"

"Be silent," said Monsieur Joseph. He walked forward, pushed his nephew aside--a touch was enough for Angelot--and gently taking Helene's hand, drew her into the light that streamed from his window. "Mademoiselle,"

he said, "my nephew is distracted. What truth is there in all this? Are you here with your father's knowledge. Something extraordinary must have happened, it seems to me."

"It is true, monsieur," Helene said, blushing scarlet. "It was my father's doing. He sent for the Cure, and we were married in the chapel, not an hour ago. Do not be angry with us, I beg of you, monsieur. He said he must bring me to you first--and he loves you. My father did it to save me. Ange will explain. My father sent his compliments to you--and he said--he said you will see that your nephew's duty lies in France now."

Helene was astonished at her own eloquent boldness. Angelot watched her, smiling, enchanted. Monsieur Joseph listened very gravely, his eyes upon her troubled face. When she paused, he bent and kissed her hand.

"I do not understand the mystery," he said. "I only see that my nephew is the most fortunate man in France. But I repeat, that he may hear me--honour comes before happiness. Go round to the salon, my friends. I will bring a light and open the door."

"Is it really myself--or am I dreaming?--yes, it must be all a dream!"

Helene murmured, as she sat alone in Monsieur Joseph's salon, beside a flaming wood fire that he had lighted with his own hands.

His first shock once over, the little uncle treated his nephew's wife like a princess. He made her sit in his largest chair, he put a cushion behind her, a footstool under her feet. With gentle hands he lifted the cloak that had slipped from her slight shoulders, advising her to keep it on till the room had grown warm, for she was shivering, though hardly conscious of it. He went himself to fetch wine and cakes, set them on a table beside her, tried unsuccessfully to make her eat and drink. Then he glanced at his watch and turned in his quick way to Angelot, who had been looking on at these attentions with a smile, almost jealous of the little uncle, yet happy that he should thus accept the new situation and take Helene to his affectionate heart.

"Come with me, Angelot," said Monsieur Joseph. "Excuse us for a few minutes, my dear niece,"--he bowed to Helene. "Affairs of state"--he smiled, dancing on tiptoe with his most birdlike air.

But as Angelot followed him out of the room, his look became as stern and secret as that of any fierce Chouan among them all.

Helene waited; the time seemed long; and her situation almost too strange to be realised. Those small hours of the morning, dark and weird, brought their own special chill and shiver, both physical and spiritual; the thought began to trouble her that Angelot's father and mother would be very angry, perhaps--would not receive them, possibly--and that Uncle Joseph, in his lonely house, might be their only refuge; the thought of her own mother's indignation became a thought of terror, now that Angelot's dear presence was not there to send it away; all these ghosts crowded alarmingly upon her solitude, almost driving before them the one great certainty and wonder of the night. She looked round the shadowy, firelit room; she noticed with curious attention the quaint coverings of the furniture, the bright-coloured churches, windmills, farms, peasants at their work, all on a clear white ground, the ancient _perse_ that had been bought and arranged by Angelot's grandmother. She thought it much prettier than anything at Lancilly. It distracted her a little, as the minutes went on; but surely these affairs took a long time to settle; and the wind rose higher, and howled in the chimney and whistled in the shutters, and she saw herself, white and solitary, in a great gla.s.s at the end of the room.

When Angelot at last opened the door, she sprang from the chair and ran to meet him; the only safe place was in his arms.

"Don't leave me again," she whispered, as soon as it was possible to speak.

Angelot was very pale, his eyes were burning. With broken words and pa.s.sionate kisses he put her back into the chair, and kneeling down beside her, struggled for calmness to explain.

He was in honour bound to go; he must ride away; the horse was already saddled, and he had only a few minutes in which to say good-bye. He must leave her in Uncle Joseph's care till he came back. Uncle Joseph said it was his duty to go. That very morning he was to have started for England; his companion would be waiting for him and running a thousand risks; he must meet him at the appointed place and send him on his way alone. He did not tell her that Uncle Joseph, after all his chivalrous kindness to her, had cordially wished women, love affairs, and marriages at the devil, even when perfectly well aware that it was not only Helene, with her soft hands, who was holding his nephew back and keeping him in Anjou.

"You know my father went to Paris, sweet?" said Angelot. "He has come back--he has been here this very night, looking for me. He would have found me at home, if you had not called me across the fields to see you dancing, you know! He saw all the authorities, even the Emperor himself.

n.o.body knew anything about that arrest of mine, and I think a certain Simon may get into hot water for it--though that is too much to expect, perhaps. Anyhow, they say it was a mistake."

"Monsieur des Barres told me so. He said he was sure of it," said the girl.

"Helene--how beautiful you are!"

She had laid her hand on his head, and was looking down at him, smiling, though her eyes were wet. He took her hand and held it against his lips.

"How I adore you!" he whispered.

"Then you are free--free to be happy," she said.

"As far as I know--unless that clever father of mine has asked the Emperor for a commission for me--but I think, for my mother's sake, he would not do that. He has not told Uncle Joseph so, at any rate; the dear uncle would not have received an officer of Napoleon's so nicely."

Helene shuddered; the very word "officer" brought Ratoneau to her mind.

But she felt safe at least, safe for ever now, from _him_.

"I hate soldiers," she said. "Must every one fight and kill?"

Her bridegroom was still kneeling at her feet when Monsieur Joseph came back, bringing Henriette with him. The child's dark eyes were full of sleep, her cropped hair stood on end, her small figure was wrapped in her little flannel gown; she looked a strange and pathetic creature, roused out of sleep, brought down to take her part in these realities.

But she was equal to the occasion. Riette never failed in the duties of love; she was never called upon in vain. She went round to the back of Helene's chair, took her face in her two small hands, leaned forward and kissed her forehead under the curls.

"Go, mon pet.i.t!" she said to Angelot. "I will keep her safe till you are back in the morning."

She spoke slowly, sleepily.

"Riette is always my friend," said Angelot.

"I told you long ago," said the child, "that papa and I would help you to the last drop of our blood."

"Ah! we have not reached that point yet," said Monsieur Joseph, laughing softly. "Now, my children, say good-bye. After all--for a few hours--it is not a tragedy."

The Lancilly ball was the most brilliant, the most beautiful, for many hours the most successful, that had taken place in that country-side since before the Revolution. Many people arriving late, the crowd of guests went on increasing, and they danced with so much energy, the music was so beautiful, the whole affair went with such a swing, strangely mixed as the company was from a political point of view, that Madame de Sainfoy in the midst of her duties as hostess had no time to give more than an occasional thought to her own family. She watched Georges and his proceedings with satisfaction, but after missing Helene and sending Mademoiselle Moineau to look for her, she forgot her again; and she did not miss her husband till he failed to be in his place at supper-time, to lead the oldest lady into the dining-room. When time went on, and he did not appear, she began to be puzzled and anxious, while exerting herself to the full, in order that no one should be aware of his absence.

She was pa.s.sing through the inner salon, alone for the moment, on her way to find a servant that she might send in search of Monsieur de Sainfoy, when General Ratoneau, having made his bow to the lady he had brought back from supper, and who was heartily glad to be rid of him, came to meet her with a swaggering air, partly owing to champagne.

Smiling, he told her with an oath that her daughter was confoundedly pretty, the prettiest girl in Anjou, and the wildest and most unmanageable; that she would not listen to a word of compliment, and had run away from him when he told her, in plain soldier fashion--"as I always speak, madame"--that she was to be his wife.

"Ah, Monsieur le General--you are so certain of that?" murmured Adelade, considering him with her blue eyes a little coldly.

"Certain, madame? I suppose it will not occur to you or to Monsieur de Sainfoy to disobey the Emperor! Why, the order might have arrived to-day--it certainly will to-morrow--ah, I mean yesterday or to-day, for midnight is long pa.s.sed. Yes, but she is a detestable mixture, that daughter of yours, Madame la Comtesse, and it would take all my courage to venture on such a wife, without your encouragement. Cold as ice, as stately as an old queen of France--upon my soul, it needs a brave man to face the possibilities of such a menage. But I suppose she is timid with it all--eh? I must be firm with her, I must show resolution, n'est-ce pas?"

"Apparently your compliments frightened her. Yes, she is timid enough,"

said Madame de Sainfoy. "She not only ran away from you, but from the ball. I understand her now. She is a mere child, Monsieur le General, unaccustomed to--to--" Adelade broke off, a little absently. "I sent a person to find her. I will send again, but--if you will forgive me--"

with a dazzling smile--"I would advise you not to say much more to Helene till the affair is really decided beyond all question--yes, what is it?"

A servant came up to her, hesitating, glancing at the General, who said quickly, his face darkening, "I consider it decided now."

"So do I--so it is, of course," she said quickly. "Well?" to the servant.

"Monsieur de la Mariniere asks if he can see Madame la Comtesse for five minutes."

"Ask him to wait--" she was beginning, coldly, when Monsieur Urbain came hurrying impatiently across the room.

"Ah--my very good friend, Monsieur de la Mariniere," Ratoneau said with a grin.

He did not move away. Urbain came up and kissed Adelade's hand and looked at her with an extraordinary expression. He was plainly dressed for travelling, a strange-looking guest in those rooms. His square face was drawn into hard lines, his mouth was set, his eyes were staring. She gazed at him, fascinated, and her lips formed the words, "What is it, Urbain?" Then she suddenly said, turning white, "Something has happened to Herve!"

"To Herve? I don't know. Yes, he seems to have gone mad," said Urbain.

"You know nothing of it? I thought as much--but I have come straight to you. Where is Herve? He is here now, surely? I must speak to him."

"What are you talking about? Are you sure it is not _you_ who have gone mad? As to Herve, I have not seen him for the last hour. I was looking for him."

"He looked devilish queer when I saw him last," muttered the General.