The Cross of Berny Part 30

Raymond and his love!

But these tears and prayers will be vain--Raymond himself, without understanding his presentiments, instinctively feels that his end is approaching. His purity of soul, his magnanimity, the unexampled disinterestedness of his conduct, are indications--these sublime virtues are symptoms of death--this generosity, this disinterestedness are tacit adieux. Raymond possesses none of the weaknesses of men destined for a long life; he has indulged in none of the wicked pa.s.sions of the age--he has kept himself apart, observing but not sharing the actions of men. He regards life as if he were a pilgrim, and takes no part in any of its turmoils--he has not bargained for any of its disenchantments; his great pride, his life-long, unbending loyalty have concealed a mournful secret; he has stood aloof because he was convinced of his untimely end.

He feels self-reliant because he will only have a short time to struggle; he is joyous and proud, because he looks upon the victory as already won ... I weep as I admire him.

Alas! am I to regard with sorrow and fear these n.o.ble qualities--these seductive traits that won my love? Is it because he deserves to be loved more than any being on earth has ever been loved, that I tremble for him! Valentine, does not such an excess of happiness excite your pity?

Ever since early this morning, I have been suffering torment--Raymond left me for a few hours--he went to Gueret; one of his cousins returning from the waters of Neris was to pa.s.s through there at ten o'clock, and requested him to meet her at the hotel. Nothing is more natural, and I have no reason to be alarmed--yet this short absence disturbs me as much as if it were to last years--it makes me sad--it is the first time we have been separated so long a time during these eight blissful days.

Ah! how I love him, and how heavy hangs time on my hands during his absence!

One thought comforts me in my present state of exaltation; I am unequal to any great misfortune.... A fatal piece of news, a painful sight, a false alarm ... a certain dreaded name mingled with one that I adore--ah! a false report, although immediately contradicted, would kill me on the spot--I could not live the two minutes it would require to hear the denial--the truth happily demonstrated. This thought consoles me--if my happiness is to end, I shall die with it.

Valentine, it is two o'clock! Oh! why does Raymond not return? My heart sinks--my hand trembles so that I can scarcely hold the pen--my eyes grow dim.... What can detain him? He left at eight, and should have returned long ago. I know well that the relative he went to see might have been delayed on the road--she may have mistaken the time, women are so ignorant about travelling--they never understand the timetables.

All this tells me I am wrong to be uneasy--and yet ... I shudder at every sound.... his horse is so fiery.... I am astonished that Raymond did not let me read his relative's letter; he said he had left it on his table ... but I looked on the table and it was not there. I wished to read the letter so as to find out the exact time he was to be at Gueret, and then I could tell when to expect him home.

But this relative is the mother of the girl he was to have married....

perhaps she still loves him.... is she with her mother?... Ah! what an absurd idea! I am so uneasy that I divert my mind by being jealous--to avoid thinking of possible dangers, I conjure up impossible ones.... Oh!

my G.o.d! it is not his love I doubt ... his love equals mine--it is the intensity of his love that frightens me--it is in this love so pure, so perfect, so divine--in this complete happiness that the danger lies. Is it not sinful to idolize one of G.o.d's creatures, when this adoration is due to G.o.d alone--to devote one's whole existence to a human being, for his sake to forget everything else? This is the sin before Heaven ...

Oh! if I could only see him, and once more hear his voice! That blessed voice I love so much! How miserable I am!... What agony I suffer!... I stifle ... my brain whirls--my mind is so confused that I cannot think ... this torture is worse than death ... And then if he should suddenly appear before me, what joy!... Oh! I don't wish him to enter the room at once--I would like one minute to prepare myself for the happiness of seeing him ... one single moment.... If he were to abruptly enter, I would become frantic with joy as I embraced him!

My dear Valentine, what a torment is love!... It is utterly impossible for me to support another hour of this agitation. I am sure I have a fever--I s.h.i.+ver with cold--I burn--my brain is on fire....

As I write this to you, seated at the window, I eagerly watch the long avenue by which he must return.... I write a word ... a whole line so as to give him time to approach, hoping I will see him coming when I raise my eyes--.... After writing each line I look again.... nothing appears in the distance; I see neither his horse nor the cloud of dust that would announce his approach. The clock strikes! three o'clock!...

Valentine! it is fearful ... hope deserts me ... all is lost ... I feel myself dying ... Instinct tells me that some dreadful tragedy, ruinous to me, is now enacting on this earth.... Ah! my heart breaks ... I suffer torture.... Raymond! Raymond! Valentine! my mother! help!...

help!... I see a horse rus.h.i.+ng up the avenue ... but it is not Raymond's ... ah! it _is_ his ... but ... I don't see Raymond ... the saddle is empty ... G.o.d!

This unfinished letter of the Comtesse de Villiers to Madame de Braimes bore neither address nor signature.

XL.

ROGER DE MONBERT _to_ MONSIEUR EDGAR DE MEILHAN, Hotel de Bellevue, Bruxelles (Belgique).

You are now at Brussels, my dear Edgar, at least for my own peace of mind I hope so. Although I fear not for you the rigors of the law, still I am anxious to know that you are on a safe and hospitable sh.o.r.e.

Criminal trials, even when they have a favorable issue, are injurious.

In your case it is necessary to keep concealed, await the result of public opinion, and let future events regulate your conduct. Besides, as there is no law about duelling, you must distrust the courts of justice.

The day will come when some jury, tired of so many acquittals, will agree upon a conviction. Your case may be decided by this jury--so it is only prudent for you to disappear, and abide the issue.

Things have entirely changed during my ten years' absence; all this is new to me. Immediately after the duel I obeyed your instructions, and went to see your lawyer, Delestong. With the exception of a few omissions, I was obliged to relate everything that happened. I must tell you exactly what I said and what I left unsaid, so that if we are summoned before the court our testimony shall not conflict.

It was unnecessary to relate what pa.s.sed between us before the duel, so I merely said we had drawn lots as to who should be the avenger, and who the second; nor did I deem it proper to explain the serious causes of the duel, as it would have resulted in a long story, and the bringing in of women's names at every turn, an unpardonable thing in a man. I simply said the cause was serious, and of a nature to fully justify a deadly meeting; that we, Monsieur de Meilhan and myself, left Gueret at six o'clock in the morning; when three miles from the town, we left the high-road of Limoges and entered that part of the woods called the Little Cascade, where we dismounted and awaited the arrival of M. de Villiers, who, in a few minutes, rode up to us, accompanied by two army-officers as seconds. We exchanged bows at a distance of ten feet, but nothing was said until the elder of the officers advanced towards me, shook my hand, and drawing me aside, began: "We military men dare not refuse to act on this occasion as seconds when summoned by a brave man, but we always come with the hope of effecting a reconciliation.

These young men are hot-headed. There is some pretty woman at the root of the difficulty, and they are acting the roles of foolish rivals. The day has pa.s.sed for men to fight about such silly things; it is no longer the fas.h.i.+on. Now, cannot we arrange this matter satisfactorily, without injuring the pride of these gentlemen?"

"Monsieur," I replied, "it is with profound regret that I decline making any amicable settlement of this affair. Under any other circ.u.mstances I would share your peaceable sentiments; as it is, we have come here with a fixed determination. If you knew--"

"Do tell me the provocation--I am very anxious to learn it," said the officer, interrupting me, eagerly.

"You ask what is impossible," I replied; "nothing could alter our determination. We fully made up our minds before coming here."

"That being the case, monsieur," said he, "my friend and I will withdraw; we decline to countenance a murder."

"If you retire, captain," I responded, pressing his hand, "I will also leave, and not be answerable for the result--and what will be the consequence? I can a.s.sure you, upon my honor, that these gentlemen will fight without seconds."

The officer bowed and waved his hand, in sign of forced acquiescence.

After a short pause, he continued: "We have entered upon a very distasteful affair, and the sooner it is ended the better. Have they decided upon the weapons?"

"They have decided, monsieur, to draw lots for the choice of arms," I replied.

"Then," he cried, "there has been no insult given or received; they are both in the right and both in the wrong."

"Exactly so, captain."

"I suppose we will have to consent to it. Let us draw for the weapons, since it is agreed upon."

The lot fell on the sword.

"With this weapon," I said, "all the disadvantages are on the side of M.

de Meilhan; the skilful fencing of his adversary is celebrated among amateurs. He is one of Pons's best scholars."

"Have you brought a surgeon?" said the captain.

"Yes, monsieur, we left Dr. Gillard in a house near by."

As you see, dear Edgar, I shall lay great stress upon the disadvantages you labored under in using the sword; and, when necessary, I shall express in eloquent terms the agony I felt when I saw your hand, more skilful in handling the pen than the sword, hesitatingly grasp the hilt.

I finished my deposition in these words: "When the distance had been settled, by casting lots, we handed our princ.i.p.als two swords exactly alike; one of the adverse seconds and myself stood three steps off with our canes raised in order to separate them at all risk, if necessary, in obedience to the characteristically French injunction of the duelling code as laid down by M. Chateunvillard.

"At the given signal the swords were bravely crossed; Edgar, with the boldness of heroic inexperience, bravely attacked his adversary.

Raymond, compelled to defend himself, was astonished. At this terrible moment, when thought paralyzes action, he was absorbed in thought. The contest was brief. Edgar's sword, only half parried, pierced his rival's heart. The surgeon came to gaze upon a lifeless corpse.

"Edgar mounted his horse, rode off and I have not seen him since. Those who remained rendered the last offices to the dead."

I am obliged to write you these facts, my dear Edgar, not for information, but to recall them to you in their exact order; and especially, I repeat, in order to avoid contradiction on the witness-stand. Now I must write you of what you are ignorant.

I had a duty to fulfil, much more terrible than yours, and I was obliged to recall our execrable oath in order to renew courage and strength to keep my promise.

Before we had cast lots for the leading part in this duel, we swore to go ourselves to the house of this woman and announce to her the issue of the combat, if it proved favorable to us. In the delirium of angry excitement, filling our burning hearts at the moment, this oath appeared to be the most reasonable thing in the world. Our blood boiled with such violent hatred against him and her that it seemed just for vengeance, with refined cruelty, to step over a corpse and pursue its work ere its second victim had donned her widow's robes.

Edgar! Edgar! when I saw that blood flowing, when I saw life and youth converted into an inanimate ma.s.s of clay, when you left me alone on this inanimate theatre of death, my feelings underwent a sudden revolution; this moment seemed to age me a half a century, and without lessening my hatred, only left me a confused perception of it, with a vague memory full of disenchantment and sadness.

The crime was great, it is true, but what a terrible expiation! What h.e.l.lish torture heaped upon him at once! To lose all at the point of the sword, all!--youth, fortune, love, wife, celestial joys, beautiful nature and the light of the sun!

However, dear Edgar, I remembered our solemn promise; and as you were not here to release me, I was obliged to fulfil it to the letter. And then again, shall I say it, this humane consideration did not extend to the offending woman; my heart was still filled with a sentiment that has no name in the language of the pa.s.sions!--A mixture of hatred, love, jealousy, scorn and despair.