Since the first attempt made by the General and his wife to contest by word or action the intruder's strange presumption to the right of staying in their midst, from their first experience of the power of those glittering eyes, a mysterious torpor had crept over them, and their benumbed faculties struggled in vain with the preternatural influence. The air seemed to have suddenly grown so heavy, that they could scarcely breathe; yet, while they could not find the reason of this feeling of oppression, a voice within told them that this magnetic presence was the real cause of their helplessness. In this moral agony, it flashed across the General that he must make every effort to overcome this influence on his daughter's reeling brain; he caught her by the waist and drew her into the embrasure of a window, as far as possible from the murderer.
"Darling," he murmured, "if some wild love has been suddenly born in your heart, I cannot believe that you have not the strength of soul to quell the mad impulse; your innocent life, your pure and dutiful soul, has given me too many proofs of your character. There must be something behind all this. Well, this heart of mine is full of indulgence, you can tell everything to me; even if it breaks, dear child, I can be silent about my grief, and keep your confession a secret. What is it? Are you jealous of our love for your brothers or your little sister? Is it some love trouble? Are you unhappy here at home? Tell me about it, tell me the reasons that urge you to leave your home, to rob it of its greatest charm, to leave your mother and brothers and your little sister?""I am in love with no one, father, and jealous of no one, not even of your friend the diplomatist, M. de Vandenesse."The Marquise turned pale; her daughter saw this, and stopped short.
"Sooner or later I must live under some man's protection, must I not?""That is true."
"Do we ever know," she went on, "the human being to whom we link our destinies? Now, I believe in this man.""Oh, child," said the General, raising his voice, "you have no idea of all the misery that lies in store for you.""I am thinking of /his/."
"What a life!" groaned the father.
"A woman's life," the girl murmured.
"You have a great knowledge of life!" exclaimed the Marquise, finding speech at last.
"Madame, my answers are shaped by the questions; but if you desire it, I will speak more clearly.""Speak out, my child . . . I am a mother."Mother and daughter looked each other in the face, and the Marquise said no more. At last she said:
"Helene, if you have any reproaches to make, I would rather bear them than see you go away with a man from whom the whole world shrinks in horror.""Then you see yourself, madame, that but for me he would be quite alone.""That will do, madame," the General cried; "we have but one daughter left to us now," and he looked at Moina, who slept on. "As for you,"he added, turning to Helene, "I will put you in a convent.""So be it, father," she said, in calm despair, "I shall die there. You are answerable to God alone for my life and for /his/ soul."A deep sullen silence fell after these words. The on-lookers during this strange scene, so utterly at variance with all the sentiments of ordinary life, shunned each other's eyes.
Suddenly the Marquis happened to glance at his pistols. He caught up one of them, cocked the weapon, and pointed it at the intruder. At the click of firearms the other turned his piercing gaze full upon the General; the soldier's arm slackened indescribably and fell heavily to his side. The pistol dropped to the floor.
"Girl, you are free," said he, exhausted by this ghastly struggle.
"Kiss your mother, if she will let you kiss her. For my own part, Iwish never to see nor to hear of you again.""Helene," the mother began, "only think of the wretched life before you."A sort of rattling sound came from the intruder's deep chest, all eyes were turned to him. Disdain was plainly visible in his face.
The General rose to his feet. "My hospitality has cost me dear," he cried. "Before you came you had taken an old man's life; now your are dealing a deadly blow at a whole family. Whatever happens, there must be unhappiness in this house.""And if your daughter is happy?" asked the other, gazing steadily at the General.
The father made a superhuman effort for self-control. "If she is happy with you," he said, "she is not worth regretting."Helene knelt timidly before her father.
"Father, I love and revere you," she said, "whether you lavish all the treasures of your kindness upon me, or make me feel to the full the rigor of disgrace. . . . But I entreat that your last words of farewell shall not be words of anger."The General could not trust himself to look at her. The stranger came nearer; there was something half-diabolical, half-divine in the smile that he gave Helene.
"Angel of pity, you that do not shrink in horror from a murderer, come, since you persist in your resolution of intrusting your life to me.""Inconceivable!" cried her father.
The Marquise then looked strangely at her daughter, opened her arms, and Helene fled to her in tears.
"Farewell," she said, "farewell, mother!" The stranger trembled as Helene, undaunted, made sign to him that she was ready. She kissed her father's hand; and, as if performing a duty, gave a hasty kiss to Moina and little Abel, then she vanished with the murderer.
"Which way are they going?" exclaimed the General, listening to the footsteps of the two fugitives.--"Madame," he turned to his wife, "Ithink I must be dreaming; there is some mystery behind all this, I do not understand it; you must know what it means."The Marquise shivered.
"For some time past your daughter has grown extraordinarily romantic and strangely high-flown in her ideas. In spite of the pains I have taken to combat these tendencies in her character--""This will not do----" began the General, but fancying that he heard footsteps in the garden, he broke off to fling open the window.
"Helene!" he shouted.
