When the first faint tints of twilight drew a veil athwart the sea, and the hush was interrupted only by the soughing of the flux and reflux on the shore, Etienne rose; Gabrielle followed his motion with a vague fear, for he had dropped her hand. He took her in one of his arms, pressing her to him with a movement of tender cohesion, and she, comprehending his desire, made him feel the weight of her body enough to give him the certainty that she was all his, but not enough to be a burden on him. The lover laid his head heavily on the shoulder of his friend, his lips touched the heaving bosom, his hair flowed over the white shoulders and caressed her throat. The girl, ingenuously loving, bent her head aside to give more place for his head, passing her arm about his neck to gain support. Thus they remained till nightfall without uttering a word. The crickets sang in their holes, and the lovers listened to that music as if to employ their senses on one sense only. Certainly they could only in that hour be compared to angels who, with their feet on earth, await the moment to take flight to heaven. They had fulfilled the noble dream of Plato's mystic genius, the dream of all who seek a meaning in humanity; they formed but one soul, they were, indeed, that mysterious Pearl destined to adorn the brow of a star as yet unknown, but the hope of all!
"Will you take me home?" said Gabrielle, the first to break the exquisite silence.
"Why should we part?" replied Etienne.
"We ought to be together always," she said.
"Stay with me."
"Yes."
The heavy step of Beauvouloir sounded in the adjoining room. The doctor had seen these children at the window locked in each other's arms, but he found them separated. The purest love demands its mystery.
"This is not right, my child," he said to Gabrielle, "to stay so late, and have no lights.""Why wrong?" she said; "you know we love each other, and he is master of the castle.""My children," said Beauvouloir, "if you love each other, your happiness requires that you should marry and pass your lives together;but your marriage depends on the will of monseigneur the duke--""My father has promised to gratify all my wishes," cried Etienne eagerly, interrupting Beauvouloir.
"Write to him, monseigneur," replied the doctor, and give me your letter that I may enclose it with one which I, myself, have just written. Bertrand is to start at once and put these despatches into monseigneur's own hand. I have learned to-night that he is now in Rouen; he has brought the heiress of the house of Grandlieu with him, not, as I think, solely for himself. If I listened to my presentiments, I should take Gabrielle away from here this very night.""Separate us?" cried Etienne, half fainting with distress and leaning on his love.
"Father!"
"Gabrielle," said the physician, holding out to her a smelling-bottle which he took from a table signing to her to make Etienne inhale its contents,--"Gabrielle, my knowledge of science tells me that Nature destined you for each other. I meant to prepare monseigneur the duke for a marriage which will certainly offend his ideas, but the devil has already prejudiced him against it. Etienne is Duc de Nivron, and you, my child, are the daughter of a poor doctor.""My father swore to contradict me in nothing," said Etienne, calmly.
"He swore to me also to consent to all I might do in finding you a wife," replied the doctor; "but suppose that he does not keep his promises?"Etienne sat down, as if overcome.
"The sea was dark to-night," he said, after a moment's silence.
"If you could ride a horse, monseigneur," said Beauvouloir, "I should tell you to fly with Gabrielle this very evening. I know you both, and I know that any other marriage would be fatal to you. The duke would certainly fling me into a dungeon and leave me there for the rest of my days when he heard of your flight; and I should die joyfully if my death secured your happiness. But alas! to mount a horse would risk your life and that of Gabrielle. We must face your father's anger here.""Here!" repeated Etienne.
"We have been betrayed by some one in the chateau who has stirred your father's wrath against us," continued Beauvouloir.
"Let us throw ourselves together into the sea," said Etienne to Gabrielle, leaning down to the ear of the young girl who was kneeling beside him.
She bowed her head, smiling. Beauvouloir divined all.
"Monseigneur," he said, "your mind and your knowledge can make you eloquent, and the force of your love may be irresistible. Declare it to monseigneur the duke; you will thus confirm my letter. All is not lost, I think. I love my daughter as well as you love her, and I shall defend her."Etienne shook his head.
"The sea was very dark to-night," he repeated.
"It was like a sheet of gold at our feet," said Gabrielle in a voice of melody.
Etienne ordered lights, and sat down at a table to write to his father. On one side of him knelt Gabrielle, silent, watching the words he wrote, but not reading them; she read all on Etienne's forehead. On his other side stood old Beauvouloir, whose jovial countenance was deeply sad,--sad as that gloomy chamber where Etienne's mother died. Asecret voice cried to the doctor, "The fate of his mother awaits him!"When the letter was written, Etienne held it out to the old man, who hastened to give it to Bertrand. The old retainer's horse was waiting in the courtyard, saddled; the man himself was ready. He started, and met the duke twelve miles from Herouville.
"Come with me to the gate of the courtyard," said Gabrielle to her friend when they were alone.
