The Last Vendée; or, the She-Wolves of Machecoul. Alexandre DumasЧитать онлайн книгу.
soul!" cried Bertha, enthusiastically.
"Papa returned home at full gallop, and finding where you were, he told me to take the horses and fetch you."
"Well, here I am!" said Bertha, putting her foot into the stirrup.
"Are not you going to bid good-bye to your poor knight?"
"Oh, yes," said Bertha, holding out her hand to the young man, who advanced to take it slowly and sadly.
"Ah! Mademoiselle Bertha," he murmured, taking her hand, "I am very unhappy."
"Why?" she asked.
"Not to be, as you said just now, one of you."
"What prevents it?" said Mary, holding out her hand to him.
The young man darted on that hand and kissed it in a passion of love and gratitude.
"Oh! yes, yes, yes," he murmured, so low that Mary alone could hear him; "for you, mademoiselle, and with you."
Mary's hand was roughly torn from his grasp by a sudden movement of her horse. Bertha, in touching hers, had struck that of her sister on the flank. Horses and riders, starting at a gallop, were soon lost like shadows in the darkness.
The young man stood motionless in the roadway.
"Adieu!" cried Bertha.
"Au revoir!" cried Mary.
"Yes, yes, yes," he said, stretching his arms toward their vanishing figures; "yes, au revoir! au revoir!"
The two girls continued their way without uttering a word, until they reached the castle gate, and there Bertha said, abruptly:--
"Mary, I know you will laugh at me!"
"Why?" asked Mary, trembling.
"I love him!" replied Bertha.
A cry of pain had almost escaped from Mary's lips, but she smothered it.
"And I called to him 'au revoir!'" she whispered to herself. "God grant I may never, never see him again."
XIII.
A DISTANT COUSIN.
The day after the events we have just related,--that is to say, on the 7th of May, 1832,--a great dinner-party was given at the château de Vouillé, to celebrate the birthday of Madame la Comtesse de Vouillé, who had on that day completed her twenty-fourth year.
The company had just sat down to table, and at this table, among twenty-five other guests, was the prefect of Vienne and the mayor of Châtellerault, relations more or less distant of Madame de Vouillé.
The soup was just removed when a servant entered the dining-room, and said a few words in Monsieur de Vouillé's ear. Monsieur de Vouillé made the man repeat them twice. Then addressing his guests, he said:--
"I beg you to excuse me for a few moments. A lady has arrived at the gate in a post-chaise, and she insists on speaking to me personally. Will you allow me to see what this lady wants?"
Permission was, of course, unanimously granted, though Madame de Vouillé's eyes followed her husband to the door with some uneasiness.
Monsieur de Vouillé hastened to the gate. There, sure enough, was a post-chaise, containing two persons, a man and a woman. A servant in sky-blue livery with silver lace, was on the box. When he saw Monsieur de Vouillé, whom he seemed to be expecting impatiently, he jumped lightly down.
"Come, come, slow coach!" he said, as soon as the count was near enough to hear him.
Monsieur de Vouillé stopped short, amazed,--more than amazed, stupefied. What manner of servant was this, who dared to apostrophize him in that style? He went nearer to let the fellow know his mind. Then he stopped, and burst out laughing.
"What! is it you, de Lussac?" he said.
"Yes; undoubtedly, it is I."
"What is all this masquerading about?"
The counterfeit servant opened the carriage door and offered his arm to enable the lady to get out of the chaise. Then he said:--
"My dear count, I have the honor to present you to Madame la Duchesse de Berry." Bowing to the duchess, he continued, "Madame la duchesse, Monsieur le Comte de Vouillé is one of my best friends and one of your most devoted servants."
The count retreated a few steps.
"Madame la Duchesse de Berry!" he exclaimed, stupefied.
"In person, monsieur," said the duchess.
"Are you not proud and happy to receive her Royal Highness?" said de Lussac.
"As proud and happy as an ardent royalist can be; but--"
"What! is there a but?" asked the duchess.
"This is my wife's birthday, and we have twenty-five guests now dining with us."
"Well, monsieur, there is a French proverb which says, 'Enough for two is enough for three.' I am sure you will extend the maxim to mean 'Enough for twenty-five is enough for twenty-eight;' for I warn you that Monsieur de Lussac, servant as he is, must dine at table, and he is dying of hunger."
"Yes; but don't be uneasy," said the Baron de Lussac. "I'll take off my livery."
Monsieur de Vouillé seized his head with both hands, as if he meant to tear out his hair.
"What shall I do? what can I do?" he cried.
"Come," said the duchess, "let us talk sense."
"Talk sense!" said the count; "how can I? I am half crazy."
"Evidently not with joy," said the duchess.
"No, with terror, madame."
"Oh! you exaggerate the situation."
"But, madame, you are entering the lion's den. I have the prefect of Vienne and the mayor of Châtellerault at my table."
"Very good; then you will present them to me."
"Good God! and under what title?"
"That of a cousin. You surely have some distant cousin, whose name will answer the purpose."
"What an idea, madame!"
"Come, put it to use."
"I certainly have a cousin in Toulouse,--Madame de la Myre."
"The very thing! I am Madame de la Myre."
Then turning round in the carriage she offered her hand to an old man about sixty-five years of age, who seemed waiting till the discussion ended before he showed himself.
"Come, Monsieur de la Myre," said the duchess, "this is a surprise we are giving our cousin, and we arrive just in time to keep his wife's birthday. Come, cousin!"
So saying she jumped lightly out of the carriage and gayly slipped her arm into that of the Comte de Vouillé.
"Yes, come!" said Monsieur de Vouillé, his mind made up to risk the adventure into which the duchess was so joyously rushing. "Come!"
"Wait for me," cried the Baron de Lussac, jumping into the carriage, which he transformed into a dressing-room, and changing his sky-blue livery for a black surtout coat; "don't leave me behind."
"But who the devil are you to be?" asked M. de Vouillé.
"Oh! I'll be the Baron de Lussac, and--if Madame will permit me--the cousin of your cousin."
"Stop! stop! monsieur le baron,"