"Yes," he said, throwing himself on his knees beside her and taking her two hands which he covered with kisses."Yes, my love--I am thine for life."She pushed him violently away from her and rose.Her features contracted, she laughed as mad people laugh, and then she said to him:
"You do not mean one word of all you are saying, base man--baser than the lowest villain." She sprang to the dagger which was lying beside a flower-vase, and let it sparkle before the eyes of the amazed young marquis."Bah!" she said, flinging it away from her, "I do not respect you enough to kill you.Your blood is even too vile to be shed by soldiers; I see nothing fit for you but the executioner."The words were painfully uttered in a low voice, and she moved her feet like a spoilt child, impatiently.The marquis went to her and tried to clasp her.
"Don't touch me!" she cried, recoiling from him with a look of horror.
"She is mad!" said the marquis in despair.
"Mad, yes!" she repeated, "but not mad enough to be your dupe.What would I not forgive to passion? but to seek to possess me without love, and to write to that woman--""To whom have I written?" he said, with an astonishment which was certainly not feigned.
"To that chaste woman who sought to kill me."The marquis turned pale with anger and said, grasping the back of a chair until he broke it, "If Madame du Gua has committed some dastardly wrong--"Mademoiselle de Verneuil looked for the letter; not finding it she called to Francine.
"Where is that letter?" she asked.
"Monsieur Corentin took it."
"Corentin! ah! I understand it all; he wrote the letter; he has deceived me with diabolical art--as he alone can deceive."With a piercing cry she flung herself on the sofa, tears rushing from her eyes.Doubt and confidence were equally dreadful now.The marquis knelt beside her and clasped her to his breast, saying, again and again, the only words he was able to utter:--"Why do you weep, my darling? there is no harm done; your reproaches were all love; do not weep, I love you--I shall always love you."Suddenly he felt her press him with almost supernatural force."Do you still love me?" she said, amid her sobs.
"Can you doubt it?" he replied in a tone that was almost melancholy.
She abruptly disengaged herself from his arms, and fled, as if frightened and confused, to a little distance.
"Do I doubt it?" she exclaimed, but a smile of gentle meaning was on her lover's face, and the words died away upon her lips; she let him take her by the hand and lead her to the salon.There an altar had been hastily arranged during her absence.The priest was robed in his officiating vestments.The lighted tapers shed upon the ceiling a glow as soft as hope itself.She now recognized the two men who had bowed to her, the Comte de Bauvan and the Baron du Guenic, the witnesses chosen by Montauran.
"You will not still refuse?" said the marquis.
But at the sight she stopped, stepped backward into her chamber and fell on her knees; raising her hands towards the marquis she cried out: "Pardon! pardon! pardon!"Her voice died away, her head fell back, her eyes closed, and she lay in the arms of her lover and Francine as if dead.When she opened her eyes they met those of the young man full of loving tenderness.
"Marie! patience! this is your last trial," he said.
"The last!" she exclaimed, bitterly.
Francine and the marquis looked at each other in surprise, but she silenced them by a gesture.
"Call the priest," she said, "and leave me alone with him."They did so, and withdrew.
"My father," she said to the priest so suddenly called to her, "in my childhood an old man, white-haired like yourself, used to tell me that God would grant all things to those who had faith.Is that true?""It is true," replied the priest; "all things are possible to Him who created all."Mademoiselle de Verneuil threw herself on her knees before him with incredible enthusiasm.
"Oh, my God!" she cried in ecstasy, "my faith in thee is equal to my love for him; inspire me! do here a miracle, or take my life!""Your prayer will be granted," said the priest.
Marie returned to the salon leaning on the arm of the venerable old man.A deep and secret emotion brought her to the arms of her lover more brilliant than on any of her past days, for a serenity like that which painters give to the martyrs added to her face an imposing dignity.She held out her hand to the marquis and together they advanced to the altar and knelt down.The marriage was about to be celebrated beside the nuptial bed, the altar hastily raised, the cross, the vessels, the chalice, secretly brought thither by the priest, the fumes of incense rising to the ceiling, the priest himself, who wore a stole above his cassock, the tapers on an altar in a salon,--all these things combined to form a strange and touching scene, which typified those times of saddest memory, when civil discord overthrew all sacred institutions.Religious ceremonies then had the savor of the mysteries.Children were baptized in the chambers where the mothers were still groaning from their labor.As in the olden time, the Saviour went, poor and lowly, to console the dying.
