To this frank expression of admiration for both Gaston Cheverny and his dog, I said:

"I have had letters from Gaston Cheverny within the month. Perhaps you have heard later?"

For answer Francezka looked at me for a whole minute in silence, her eyes glowing with fire and dew and with a smile as soft and beautiful as a summer dawn, and meanwhile, the eloquent blood hung out its banners in her cheek. Then suddenly, her graceful figure drooped, and she hid her face upon the dog's head, which lay upon her lap. I was astounded; I had never seen Francezka overcome with bashfulness before. I sat silent, watching her. She trembled, and in a little while the red blood crept from her cheek, into her white neck under her muslin kerchief. Some instinct told me that this soft tumult referred to Gaston Cheverny, and that his fate and Francezka's were now forever linked together. I said no word but waited until Francezka raised her blushing face and spoke.

"Babache," she said, "I made Gaston promise that he would keep from every human being the secret between us--and I confess, in the agitation of parting, I overlooked my good Babache--but I can not keep anything concealed from you, when your kind eyes are fixed upon me.

When Gaston was here--secretly--in September of last year--we were married."

She said it calmly, but with an undertone of the deepest and serenest joy; and rising, and once more wearing that look of happy exultation which had been hers, she added:

"I am Gaston Cheverny's wife. Ought I not to be the happiest creature on earth?"

I rose, too, and kissed her on the brow, the cheek and the hand, with the greatest reverence. When I could speak, which was not at once, I said, with the deepest sincerity:

"Nothing could be better than for you to have Gaston Cheverny for a husband. Knowing him, my heart rejoices for you--not only for what you have gained, but for what you have escaped. Ah, Francezka"--I used her name without knowing it at the time--"when I remembered the horde of fortune-hunters who surrounded you--when I thought that you might give the treasure of your love to some man who would make merchandise of it--my heart grew cold within me. But Gaston Cheverny would take you in your smock--that I know."

"I know it, too," she answered, with a gleam of her old laughing spirit. "All that I fear for the future is Gaston's supersensitiveness about my fortune--but that I hope I have wit enough to manage. I shall never make him anything but simple in his tastes. He thinks my fondness for luxury childish, and he will endure it good-humoredly, but I know him well enough to understand that he is a soldier and is as superior to luxury as Cato himself."

"Tell me all," I said.

We seated ourselves, and Francezka told me, with many eloquent pauses, with smiles, with shining eyes, with blushes, her short love story.

"It was in September of last year that one day I sat where I am sitting with the volume of Petrarch, out of which Gaston had often read to me, upon my lap. I was thinking of Gaston at that moment--yes, thinking of him and longing for him. And more, I will affirm, that I have never seriously thought of any other man but Gaston since that night at the prison of the Temple. Babache, I have loved him ever since I loved you!" She said this with such an air of innocent devotion--Francezka might change, but she could not cease to be Francezka; and she had this way of saying sweet things to all whom she loved. "And as I read, I yearned so for Gaston, that I spoke his name aloud twice, and then, as if in answer to it, I looked up, and Gaston was sitting on the bench beside me. Perhaps, like the rest of the Kirkpatricks, I am superst.i.tious, for I was afraid it was what my aunt calls a 'wraith,' and I trembled and caught his hands, thinking he would melt away into the air. Now you are laughing, Babache, but remember, I am not incredulous like you French--I am Scotch and Spanish--"

"But Gaston did not melt away. He grasped your hands--and--"

Francezka again hid her face upon the dog's sleek head, and with her face so averted continued--

"He took my book away from me, and although I protested, he read some things I had written in my Petrarch--some things meant for no eye but my own--Gaston read them and interpreted them. He told me he had not meant to make known his love to me until he had achieved something to put us more on an equality, so he said--foolishly, I think--for it is not what a man does so much as what he is; and he was looking forward to promotion in this campaign,--and thinking then--then he could speak--when, seeing me so moved, and reading what I had written in my Petrarch, and all--I know not how it came about--but we were married secretly before twenty-four hours."

There was a long pause here. Francezka pa.s.sed the silky ears of the dog through her fingers, and looked into his tawny eyes, but her thoughts were evidently in the happy past. There was no sound in the still May evening, except the faint, mysterious moan of the lake.

"Truly," she said, after a while, "I know not how our marriage came about, except that we loved each other and sought an excuse to bind us, one to the other. The excuse was, that my aunt was going to Scotland at once, and I was to be left alone--for Madame Chambellan is scarcely a guardian for me. Gaston and I had already determined to be married, before we spoke to my aunt. She, with her usual keen sense, reminded us of the threat that had come, no one knew whence, or how, of any roof that Gaston might have, being burned to the ground--and also, of the many chateaux and houses belonging to French people which had been burned. She suggested, therefore, for the present, that the marriage be kept secret--if we were bent on being married--as Gaston would be leaving in a few days, and his return would be uncertain. To that we agreed--Gaston calling himself a blockhead for not thinking of the usefulness of secrecy for a time. We were married in the village church by Pere Benart, at sunset. No one was present, except my aunt, Madame Chambellan, and old Peter. I made a fete for the village people, so they were all in the fields, dancing and feasting and no one saw us go or come from the church. It was a beautiful day, but at sunset, while we were in the church, a terrible thunderstorm came up.

That frightened me a little; it did not seem a good omen."

"And this world is governed, not by the laws of G.o.d and Nature, but by omens," I replied gravely. Francezka did not laugh at this. Truly, as she said, she was not without superst.i.tion.

"Gaston comforted me, and I soon recovered my spirits. My aunt left next day for Brussels, on her way to Scotland. Gaston remained with me a week. Old Peter and my good old Elizabeth, who is Peter's sister, managed to keep Gaston's presence a secret. We had one week of perfect happiness. How many of G.o.d's creatures, think you, can say as much?"

"Few," I replied. "Certainly not Babache, captain of Uhlans."

"The recollection of that week of happiness is a treasure that can not be taken away from me. Even the G.o.ds can not recall their gifts,"

continued Francezka. "My marriage seems to me like a covenant made in a dream. My happiness, however, was very real. Gaston was in the country some days longer," she went on, "and we had three brief meetings. Once, with old Peter, I rode to Brussels by night, to spend one half hour with Gaston--he was only stopping long enough to get fresh horses--and he came here for an hour to bid me one last farewell. When we parted, it was with the full expectation of his return in November, when our marriage was to be proclaimed, and we were to go to Paris for the winter.

"When the campaign opened, I was to follow Gaston as early as possible, for he was determined not to leave me at Capello after it was known that I was his wife, until the war should be over. But, as you know, he was sent far away. You know, Babache, I am not the woman to swerve a man from his duty. I love Gaston's honor even more than I love him. And so, hard as the separation is, I thank G.o.d that he is the man to choose his duty first. I felt that at our parting--which, like our meeting, was in this Italian garden. I love this spot more than ever now, because from here I can see the highroad, along which Gaston will return to me. Here, Bold and I come once every day, generally at sunset, to watch for the coming of the master of both of us. It is one of my cherished fancies--superst.i.tions, I suppose you would call it--that in this spot Gaston and I shall meet again. I shall see him and, and he will know where to look for me. Bold thinks so, too,--don't you, my dog?"

The dog actually seemed to nod his head in a.s.sent, as Francezka gravely interrogated him.

"Gaston said to me, when he gave me this dog, 'I give you one of my best friends. Remember me as he does--for dogs never forget. In the virtue of constancy, dogs are superior to men.' So, Bold and I love and remember our master every hour in the day, and joyfully await his coming."

Francezka was young, and full of hope. The thought that Gaston might never return to her did not appear to have darkened her mind once.

Presently, her face, so full of peace and hope and joy--for in perfect love there is peace and hope and joy--grew clouded. She gave me a sidelong glance, and then said, sighing a little:

"But there is something else, something which occurred this very day, that has troubled me. I can tell you, but I know not how to tell Gaston. Yet, I must tell him some day." She paused again, and I waited patiently for her to continue. "Perhaps it is known to you," she said, blushing more deeply, "for Regnard Cheverny made no secret of it--"

"That he wished to marry you?" She nodded.

"I have ever been cold to him, as a lover--though, for the past months, when he has been several times at Castle Haret, I have been kind to him, remembering that he was Gaston's brother--and I think he misunderstood me. Often, when he has been to see me--and urged his suit more with his eyes, than with his words--I have felt frightened--and you know, I do not come of a race of cowards. There is something to frighten one about Regnard Cheverny, he is so cool, so quiet, so debonair when seeking his own will; not light of heart like Gaston, nor full of sudden fury, nor impatiently renouncing what does not please him--but Regnard pursues his object steadily, like Fate. Well, then, this day, not two hours ago, as I was taking my afternoon walk in this garden, and living over the hours I have spent with my husband, I looked toward the highroad, and there, I thought I saw him coming. I watched, with my heart almost leaping out of my breast--but, presently, I knew it was not Gaston--but Regnard. I saw him disappear under the hill, and ride up to the courtyard--and then he was walking toward me across the gra.s.s."

She stopped suddenly and asked me:

"Have you noticed how much alike Gaston and Regnard have become?"

"Yes, Mademoiselle--or Madame Cheverny, I should say."

Francezka's face dimpled into a rosy smile.

"It is the second time to-day that I have been called Madame Cheverny.

It is the charmingest name in the world, I think."

She continued, her face becoming grave:

"When Regnard was bowing before me, I saw the resemblance more than ever--and I drank in his words, because his voice is so much like Gaston's; yet, I do not see how any one could take one for the other.

Bold was with me--he never leaves me--and he annoyed me by snapping and snarling at Regnard--no mistake on good Bold's part of any one for his master! Regnard seated himself with me on this bench in the very spot where Gaston had sat last autumn, and I was trying to lose myself in dreaming that it was Gaston and not Regnard who was with me--when something he said brought me to myself with a shock. For he--" She stopped, and I said:

"He told you of his love. Tell me all, Madame."

Again I saw that girlish flash of pleasure pa.s.s across her anxious and pleading eyes. Francezka had something undyingly childlike in her composition.

"He told me of his love so quickly I could not stop him--but I was indiscreet in one thing. When he told me he regarded my fortune as less than nothing, I _did_ whisper into Bold's ear, loud enough for Regnard to hear--'So say they all--except'--the exception I meant was Gaston. He is the only suitor I have yet had, who did not a.s.sure me that my fortune was nothing to him. Regnard overheard me--and I saw he was angered. He would not be stopped, although I rose and put up my hand, and turned my back. But at last, I said to him:

"'And your brother, Monsieur?' for, of course, Regnard knew that Gaston loved me. When I said this, I turned my eyes full upon him, because I wished to intimidate him. He colored a little, but said, coolly: 'Madame, I am not wanting in brotherly affection, but in these matters my brother and I are as man to man.'"

It was just what I had heard Gaston say, nearly seven years before.

Francezka resumed:

"Then I said to him, without the least tremor in the world, and feeling myself thrilled with joy and pride at the telling--'Monsieur, I am, and have been for nearly a year, the wife of your brother, Gaston Cheverny.'"

Being a natural actress, Francezka went through this scene so that it was as if it were all happening again. She rose as she spoke and actually grew taller, and her voice, although low, had a ring of joy and exultation in it when she repeated the words, "I am the wife of Gaston Cheverny."

Still standing, she came nearer to me--I had risen too--and kept on:

"I have not words to describe to you Regnard's countenance at that. It was not disappointment; it seemed to be only the most overmastering rage. It is his nature to bear a secret disappointment stoically, but he knew that Gaston must hear of what had pa.s.sed--and besides--he had paid me court more steadily and a.s.siduously ever since I was fourteen than Gaston himself--for Gaston, you must know, has had periods of jealousy and pique, and for months together, has sometimes refrained from writing to me or seeing me. Not so Regnard. The words that would inflame Gaston to anger, Regnard would pa.s.s with a cool smile--I liked him none the better for it. But he was not cool then. He said in a suppressed fury:

"'Madame, you have perhaps forgotten, that in the time you have been my brother's wife, you have had many declarations of love from me, and possibly from other gentlemen. True, I made not mine in set words, as I have done this day--but it would have been as well to have confided the secret of your marriage to me before this.'

"I was more angry than he at that--but Babache, no woman can help pitying a man who loves her, ever so little, if it but be true love--and I believe Regnard loved me truly in his way. I replied to this, therefore, with anger, but not without pity. 'You made me no declaration in words, Monsieur,--and you must remember that every dictate of prudence recommended in these uncertain times, that my marriage with your brother be kept secret for the present, at least.'

"'If prudence was your chiefest consideration, Madame,' said Regnard, with a bow, 'I wonder that you married my brother at all.'