"I know not, sir," replied the woman.

"Her bed has never been slept in all night," replied the hostess. "Her sweet cheek has never rested on that pillow, poor thing. She must have got out of the window, that is clear; and, if any ill have happened to her, somebody is to blame for it, I am sure."

"Silence!" said the count, looking at her sternly. "Did you not undertake," he continued, turning to the soubrette, "never to lose sight of her?"

"I can't sleep with my eyes open," replied the woman.

"This is that scoundrel Ma.s.seran's doing," said the count: "but he shall find himself deceived, for I will be in Paris as soon as he is. You, madam, will be good enough to come along with me; so put your dress in some better array, and lose no time."

He looked as if he could have said a great deal more, but he restrained himself; and, though the anger that he felt at heart found relief in a bitter and sneering smile, unaccompanied by any words, he turned upon his heel, walked down to the inn door, and remained for a few minutes looking forth upon the morning as if nothing had happened. In a minute or two after, seeing one of his men pa.s.s, he beckoned to him, spoke a word or two in his ear, and suffered him to depart. The man returned in a few minutes, and replied, "They are all ignorant of anything of the kind, sir. It is evident none of the people of the place know aught about it."

"Have you seen the landlord?" demanded the count.

"No!"

"Go and make inquiries regarding him."

The man did as he was bid, and the reply was, "That the landlord had gone away towards the market of St. Laurent an hour or two before daybreak, as was always his custom."

"That is sufficient," said the count, with a sneer. "Quick with the horses; let us mount and go on."

CHAPTER XIII.

The great tamers of strong spirits, the quellers of the rebellious heart, the conquerors of the obdurate, the determined, and the enduring, Silence and Solitude, were upon Bernard de Rohan. To know nothing of what is pa.s.sing without; to have no marker of the steps of time; to see no sun rise or set; to have not even the moving shadow upon the wall to tell us that another lapse of the wearisome hours has taken place; to have nothing, in short, to link us on to human destinies, and to show us that we are wending on our way with our fellow-beings--nothing but the dull beatings of the heavy heart, and the grinding succession of bitter thoughts--this, surely, is not life; and if it be not death, it is something worse. Where there is no change of anything to mark its pa.s.sing, time seems, in truth, to sink back into that ocean from which it was called at first, Eternity: and, wanting all means of calculating its flight, Bernard de Rohan did indeed feel each moment to be an age.

Actual pain would have been almost a relief to the despairing vacuity of that which must have been the second day of his confinement. We can scarcely doubt that the punishment of Prometheus would have been more complete, had he been left in the solitude of the frowning heavens, without the vulture as his companion, though his tormentor.

No one came near the young cavalier throughout the whole day. The food which had been left for him was just sufficient for the four-and-twenty hours: more than sufficient, as it proved, indeed, for he tasted it not; and when, at the end of that period, it was renewed, so quick was the pa.s.sing in and out of him who brought the fresh supply, that the young cavalier scarcely saw the man's entrance ere the door was again closed, and he was once more alone.

It seemed to him several hours after this brief visitation had been made--and true it is, he had gone through so many ranges of painful thought, that they might well have furnished occupation and bitterness for more than one long day--when he heard a sound at the door of the dungeon, as if some one endeavoured, with an unaccustomed hand, to draw back the heavy bolts and turn a key in the lock. At the same time, he heard a low, deep voice murmur, "The fool should have left a lamp!" "Ay, that is right!" and the next moment the key turned, the lock gave way, and the door was thrown open.

The lamp which had been left with Bernard de Rohan burned but dimly, for it had been long untrimmed, so that at first the young cavalier did not recognise the person who entered. The next instant, however, his visiter spoke, and the deep but melodious voice instantly brought to the prisoner's recollection his wild companion, Corse de Leon.

"Ah! Monsieur de Rohan," said the brigand, looking around him as he entered, "I have not forgotten you you see. Out upon that scoundrel! How dared he put you in such a place as this? He might have given you a befitting chamber, at all events."

Bernard de Rohan grasped his hand; and, needing no words to a.s.sure him that the brigand came to set him free, he thanked him again and again, but mingled, however, his thanks with some marvellings to see him within the chateau of Ma.s.seran.

The brigand smiled. "There is nothing wonderful in it, Monsieur de Rohan," he replied. "There is not a door in this castle that does not open to me as readily as to its lord. All these things are easily explained. Some of the poor people with whom I have to do think me half a magician, and it is not worth while to undeceive them, though I seek not for any such reputation. Truth is marvellous enough, without trying to make it more wonderful," he continued, in a musing tone; "and all that I do which seems strange may, nine times out of ten, be explained by a single word. I believe that it is so, too, with the wonders of creation. We gaze with surprised and astonished eyes upon thousands of things that seem miracles to our earthly nature: we are, ourselves, miracles to ourselves; but I do believe that all the wonders that we see, the marvel of our very existence, the linking of fates together, and the long network of events and their causes, from the beginning of all things to eternity, might all be explained to us by some simple word which G.o.d's good pleasure now withholds; by some short, brief explanation, which is not fitted for this ma.s.s of moving clay to receive."

As he spoke, he sat himself quietly down on the edge of the bed, took up the lamp, trimmed it in a careless manner, and then added abstractedly, "We must wait a few minutes, Monsieur de Rohan, for the horses are not come yet, and it is as well to stay here as upon the hillside."

"But is there no danger of our being stopped?" demanded Bernard de Rohan.

Corse de Leon smiled. "It were difficult to stop me," he said; "but n.o.body will try to do it. You know the Lord of Ma.s.seran is gone to Paris?"

"No, indeed," replied the young cavalier; "I know nothing, and I have heard nothing, since I have been a prisoner in this dreary place. He has, of course, taken, my Isabel with him?"

"Oh, no," replied the brigand. "He set out for Paris with great speed for several reasons: first, because he knew suspicions are entertained of him in regard to his dealings with the King of Spain; next, because he feared that inquiry would be made as to what has become of you, and he wished to justify himself; and, next, because he did not choose to trust your goodly friend, the Count of Meyrand, in anything, but especially--"

"But where, then, is Isabel?" demanded the young cavalier.

"Ay, who can say!" rejoined Corse de Leon.

Bernard de Rohan started up eagerly. "Let us seek for her at once, then," he said. "If, as you say, all the doors of this castle open to you as easily as to their lord, let us seek her through every room in the place, and take her with us when we go. In Heaven's name leave her not here!"

"She is not here, wherever she is," replied the brigand; "and I trust that by this time she is free; but I will tell you more by-and-by, for I hear the clock striking one, and we shall have just time to reach the hillside before the horses arrive. Come, Monsieur de Rohan, come. They have taken your arms from you, I see. Well, we must find you others."

Thus saying, he raised the lamp, and led the way towards the door. As he went, however, the light fell upon the fetters which hung against the wall, and he paused, gazing upon them and frowning heavily. "Ah, ah, accursed implements of tyranny!" he muttered, "When, when will the time come that ye shall be no longer known! G.o.d of Heaven! even then it must be remembered that such things have been. It must be written in books.

It must be told in tradition, that men were found to chain their fellow-creatures with heavy bars of iron, to make them linger out the bright s.p.a.ce given them for activity and enjoyment in dungeons and in fetters, till the dull flame was extinguished, and dust returned to dust. Would to Heaven that there were no such thing as history, to perpetuate, even unto times when man shall have purified his heart from the filthy baseness of these days, the memory of such enormous deeds as fetters like that record! Out upon it! Was it for this that man learned to dig the ore from the mine, and forge the hard metal in the fire? But come, come! I am forgetting myself;" and he led the way forth along the same path by which Bernard de Rohan had been brought from the chapel.

The ponderous doors in the solid rock were all open; but the young cavalier remarked that Corse de Leon closed them one by one behind him, till at length they stood in the open air at the foot of the hill.

It were difficult, nay, impossible, to describe the sensations which the first breath of that free air produced in Bernard de Rohan. It would require to have been a captive, and yet full of the spirit of freedom, to have contemplated long imprisonment, and to be suddenly set free, even to comprehend what he then felt. His sensations, however, found vent but in one exclamation. "Thank G.o.d!" he said, and followed his companion, who now, with rapid strides, climbed the opposite side of the hill, till he reached the spot where he had waited for Bernard de Rohan on the night when first they met. No horses were there, however, and Corse de Leon seated himself on a point of the crag, and seemed about to fall into one of his fits of revery; but his young companion was not disposed to rest satisfied without some farther information.

"Now," he said, "now! You promised to tell me more--you promised to tell me more concerning Isabel. With whom is she? In whose hands is she, if not in those of the Lord of Ma.s.seran?"

"She was," replied Corse de Leon, "she was in the hands of your bright friend, the Count de Meyrand."

Bernard de Rohan's hand grasped for the hilt of his sword, but it was gone; and he only muttered the words "Villain, villain! I thought I heard that treacherous voice. Who shall one depend upon in this world?"

"Upon none of those," replied Corse de Leon, "whom men are accustomed to depend upon. Not upon the gay companion of the winecup, who aids us pleasantly to spend our wealth or to squander our more precious time: not upon him, not upon him, young gentleman! Not upon the smooth-spoken and the plausible adviser, who counsels with us on things where our own interest and his are combined, and who uses our exertions and our means to share in our fortune and our success: not upon him, I say, not upon him! Not upon the sweet flatterer, who either dexterously insinuates how virtuous, and great, and good and wise we are, or who boldly overloads us with praise, in the hope of some, at least, being received: not upon him, I say. Not upon the pander to our vices or our follies, even though he sell his soul to pamper us with gratification: not upon him. Not upon the light wanton, who yields us what she should refuse, vowing that it is love for us which conquers, when love for many another has gone before: not upon her. Neither on the priest that preaches virtue without practising it; neither upon the soft hypocrite, nor upon the rude hypocrite; neither upon the one who a.s.sumes sleek sanct.i.ty, nor upon the other who builds the reputation of honesty upon a rough outside. There are some that will weep with you, and some that will laugh with you; some that will discourse, and some that will sport with you; but trust in none but him that you have tried, but him whom you know to be honest to himself, and who has proved himself honest to you. We were speaking of the Count de Meyrand. That he has betrayed you and deceived you most shamefully is his fault, not yours; for, though you believed him honest, you did not weakly trust him. It were well, when you find him, to nail his ears to the doorpost; but still you have nothing to reproach yourself with. I trust, however, that sweet and good lady is by this time freed from his hands, for one who loves her very well has undertaken that part of the task."

"But how," exclaimed Bernard de Rohan, "how came she in his power at all?"

Corse de Leon replied briefly, but with sufficient detail to show his hearer at one glance all that had taken place in regard to Isabel de Brienne since he had seen her. The deep and bitter indignation that gathered at the young cavalier's heart as his companion went on, was not of a nature that wasted itself in many words. "This must be looked to!"

he said; "this must be looked to! And now, my friend, to think of this dear girl's escape. Can we trust to good Father Willand? Not his faith, I mean, but his power. He is there, it would seem, alone, unaided, unsupported, to cope with a man artful, rich, powerful, and numerously followed."

"We may trust him, I am sure," replied the other. "This count's art, like all pitiful art, will help to deceive himself; and in quiet wisdom he cannot compete with the good priest. Besides, Father Willand is not so unsupported as you think. It may seem strange to you to hear, but many of your own men, nay, I believe all, are with him or round about him."

"No," replied Bernard de Rohan, "that surprises me not. Most of them were born within sight of the lands of Brienne--most of them have often seen and know her well, and there is none who has seen her that would not willingly sacrifice life to serve her."

Corse de Leon smiled with somewhat of a melancholy expression. In life, when we have lost any of those sweet delusions which, like the radiant colours of the morning sky, clothe, at the dawning of our youth, thin air itself and unsubstantial vapours, nay, perhaps even the cloudy home of the future storm, with loveliness and radiance, and the most glowing hues of Heaven's own golden treasury--when we have lost those sweet delusions, I say, and any one with whom they still remain speaks of the reality of things whose emptiness we have proved, how sad, how profoundly sad, is the contrast suddenly presented to us, of what we were and what we are! how melancholy is the conviction of the emptiness of our dream-like life! And yet there is something sweet which mingles even with our sadness, to see others enjoying and believing what we can no longer enjoy or believe; something enn.o.bling and elevating that shares in our melancholy, if the feeling of how unreal are life's best joys lead us to sigh for those that are more true and lasting.

Bernard de Rohan saw not the expression upon the countenance of his companion, although the night was clear and bright, and sufficient light remained in the heavens to make even small objects visible; but his eyes were at that moment fixed upon the castle of Ma.s.seran, and more especially upon one of the outstanding towers to the northeast, separated from the rest of the building by a s.p.a.ce of two or three hundred yards, and only attached to it by walls and minor fortifications. In that tower there appeared a great light, at first streaming through some of the upper loopholes only. After a moment or two, however, it became brighter and brighter, and poured through all the windows of the story below. Bernard de Rohan could almost have imagined that, as he gazed, he saw flames come forth and lick the dark stonework of the tower; and he was soon confirmed in the belief that it was so, by the wreaths of pale white smoke which began to ascend into the dark air, and in a minute or two formed a cloud above the tower, acquiring a red and ominous hue as the fire below increased.

"Look there! look there!" he exclaimed, catching Corse de Leon's arm; but, even as he spoke, the roof of the tower fell in, and a pyramid of flame shot upward into the sky.

"Yes, I see," replied Corse de Leon; "but here come the horses! and we must go quick to the spot where I trust we shall find her whom you seek for. Then, get you across the frontier into France as soon as may be.

Your own men will be sufficient to protect you, and will be glad to see you; for, notwithstanding that they may, as you think, love your fair Isabel well, they would not have gone unless we had put a light deceit upon them, and had left them to think, more than told them it was so, that you and the lady were together. Those I have with me here dare not set foot within that land, and the other friends I have are far distant.

That was the reason I did not make her free myself, and punish that slight traitor as he deserves."

While he spoke, three or four hors.e.m.e.n appeared, leading two other horses, and, without taking any farther notice of the conflagration, Corse de Leon put his foot in the stirrup, and, springing into the saddle, rode on towards the little inn which we have often before had occasion to mention.

The young cavalier followed his example; but, before they had gone a hundred yards, a loud explosion took place, which shook the rocks around, and echoed afar through the valley. Their horses started at the sound, and Bernard and his companion turned their eyes towards the castle of Ma.s.seran. The burning tower had now lost all shape and form, though part of the walls still remained, with the fire clinging to them in various places.

"Do you know what that is?" demanded Corse de Leon; and, ere Bernard de Rohan could reply, he went on. "It is an act of folly worthy of a king or a prime minister. There are people in that castle," he said, "who, knowing of my coming and of your escape, have done the act, the effects of which you see flaming yonder, in order that the tower may fall in and crush the dungeon into which they had thrust you, solely to prevent the Lord of Ma.s.seran from discovering how you have escaped. Thus it is with the world; every one act of weakness, of folly, or of crime, we judge must be followed by another, to conceal or to justify it. Let men or ministers place themselves in a dangerous situation by some capital fault, and then they think expediency requires them to commit another to obviate the effects of the first, forgetting that each fault is written down in the two eternal books--the Book of Fate, G.o.d's servant, and the Book of G.o.d himself; and that there must be a reckoning, a terrible reckoning, for the whole amount, in this world and in the next. Let us ride on."