CHAPTER XVII.
A LIFE FOR A LIFE.
“WHERE were you last night?” asked Helen of her father, the morning after the duel. “I had one of my nervous attacks and went to your room to get the remedy which I knew was in your portmanteau. It was raining hard. I remained in your room until half-past twelve. I slept little, but supposed you were on the vessel. I went to your room again at four o’clock and found the door locked. Why did you come home from the vessel at such an unseemly hour?”
The Admiral attempted to explain matters without disclosing the real reason for his absence from home, but his daughter subjected him to a line of cross-questioning which left his story, at the close, in a most pitiable condition as regarded probability and continuity. Finally, in a state of mental despair, the Admiral cried:
“Well, Helen, I’ll tell you the truth. The fact is, Victor had a quarrel with a Corsican and they fought a duel. I didn’t wish it to become known on the ship, so I acted as his second. Now you have the whole of it, so far as I am concerned. If you wish to know more, get it from Victor.”
In a short time, Victor’s well-known double knock was heard at the door. No sooner had he entered than Helen began questioning him in regard to the duel. He did not feel disposed to disclose the real cause of his first controversy with Count Mont d’Oro. He simply said that the Count insulted him and he knocked him down.
“Of course, I expected a challenge,” he continued, “and we had it out in good old-fashioned style. I remembered what you said, Miss Helen, about the brave old Roman soldiers, but I could not obtain any swords used in the Gallic war, so I chose axes as being the nearest approach to them. It is a wonder he did not cut me into pieces, for he fought like a madman.”
“Bless my soul!” ejaculated the Admiral. “As I told you at the time, you had a most re-mark-a-ble escape from death.”
Helen could not refrain from expressing her admiration for the young sailor who had dared to meet his enemy in single combat.
“You are a brave young man, Lieutenant Duquesne,” she exclaimed, “and for that reason, and that only, will I forgive you for several very sarcastic remarks which you made to me on the way from Malta to Genoa.”
“Miss Enright,” said Victor, in the gravest possible manner, “if I were sure that you would forgive me for all my misdeeds during my acquaintance with you, I should not hesitate to fight a duel every day for a week.”
“I am not sure that such a course would balance the account,” said Helen, “but I am very glad that I came to Corsica. It is my constant desire to see or hear something new.”
“Thus reassured,” said Victor, “I will take you both into my confidence. Since my arrival here, I have learned what was, to me, a most surprising piece of intelligence. My father, whom I have seen but once since I was six years of age, is now in Corsica and is coming soon to Ajaccio to meet me. If the vessel sails before his arrival, I shall have to ask you, my dear Admiral, for a furlough. If you cannot grant it, I shall be obliged to resign my position.”
“Bless my soul!” cried the Admiral. “What a re-mark-a-ble idea that is of yours. Two months still remain before I am due in England, and one thing is certain, I shall not accept your resignation. But how did you find out about this?”
“I had a letter from him,” replied Victor. “He tells me I was born in Corsica. My ancestors were Corporals.”
“Ah, yes!” cried Helen. “I have read about them. If I remember correctly, it was sometime in the tenth century that the people—worn out with centuries of oppression—rose against the tyrannical feudal barons, waged a successful war against them, set up an independent government of their own on democratic principles, and called their country Terra del Commune. The officials were all elected by the people, and among them were caporali, ‘corporals’ or head men, chosen by the ‘Fathers of the Commune’ to preside over their local assemblies, and to represent them before the General Council; being especially charged with the defence of the rights of the people—in fact, they were the ‘Tribunes of the People.’ In course of time the office became hereditary, and the Corporals became a most powerful class—I think I have got it straight!”
“Your account is historically correct,” said Victor, “and no wonder that Corsicans esteem it a great honour to be descended from these ‘Tribunes of the People,’ as you have called them. No man in Corsica has greater cause to revere and worship his ancestors than I have.”
“I admire the Chinese,” said Helen, “because of their devotion to the aged and the reverence which they show for their ancestors. But I fear it will not be many years before these twin virtues will become extinct in European countries.”
“There is another subject,” said Victor, “about which I wish to speak to you, Admiral”—Helen arose from her chair—“and your daughter, too. Please remain, Miss Enright. It is a matter in which you are fully as much concerned as your father.”
“Do you wish father to act as your second in another duel?” she asked.
“The course which I have decided to follow, with your kind permission, may lead to one, and perhaps something worse. As I told you, Admiral, when I took Lord Colton’s letter of introduction to Monsieur Pascal Batistelli, he not only expressed his pleasure that you and your daughter were to become his guests, but also extended an invitation to me to be one of the party.”
“Oh, do come!” cried Helen, impulsively. A slight flush came to her sallow cheeks. It was seldom that she said or did anything without due reflection. Then, she added: “With whom can I quarrel on apparently inconsequential points unless you accompany us?”
“Why, bless my soul!” cried the Admiral, “what a re-mark-a-ble idea to leave us alone in a strange country, with no one to protect us and avenge our honour in case we are insulted.”
“I had not intended,” said Victor, “to accept the invitation, so I asked you not to mention it to your daughter. Upon second thoughts, which they say are best, I have decided to go, if she be willing.” He turned to Helen: “You have kindly settled my uncertainty on that point.”
“We had intended to go to-day,” said the Admiral, “but Helen lost so much sleep last night that I told the landlord we should remain another day.”
Why had Vandemar Della Coscia changed his mind? Since reading his father’s letter, he had given serious thought to his present situation and his future actions in what he had learned was his native land. If, as his father said, the Batistellis were his sworn enemies and would seek his life as soon as they discovered his identity, would it not be a wise course, he argued, to visit them, now that he was unknown to them, and learn the character of the men with whom he had to deal.
He did not know that the story was rife throughout Corsica that Vandemar Della Coscia would soon return, despite the threats of his enemies, and claim his heritage. If he had known this, he probably would not have been so self-confident and would have been satisfied to remain in seclusion at the hotel until his father appeared. The rumour about Vandemar’s intended return had started, as most rumours do, from nothing. One day, while Paoli was conversing with Cromillian, he remarked that if Manuel Della Coscia or his son Vandemar did not return soon to Corsica and reclaim their inheritance, it would escheat to the government, according to the law.
“Don’t you worry yourself about that,” Cromillian replied. “Both father and son will be in Corsica before they lose their rights.”
The next day, Paoli told several of his companions, in strict confidence, that he had it on the best authority that Vandemar Della Coscia was coming back to Corsica, and on no very distant day, either. So interesting a rumour soon spread throughout the island, and there were hundreds of sharp eyes which inspected all strangers carefully.
While the little party at the hotel was waiting for the time to arrive which would mark its departure for Batistelli Castle, an interesting event was taking place in the rather humdrum life of their prospective host.
Count Mont d’Oro’s coachman, who had driven him to the duel, easily divined what had taken place in the old shed that night. Villefort had given him a louis d’or and told him to keep his mouth shut, but the coachman spent the louis d’or for wine at Madame Valliet’s, and when he opened his mouth to drink the wine, he did not shut it again until he had told all that he knew, together with some fanciful additions. Julien Batistelli, who was a constant visitor at Madame Valliet’s cabaret, heard the story, and, naturally, told it to his brother. Pascal at once visited the Count to express his sympathy and to ask whether he could be of any service.
It chanced that Bertha was passing her prescribed hour with the Count, and was reading to him when M. Batistelli was announced. She started to leave the room, but, before she could do so, the Count introduced his visitor and she was obliged to remain. M. Batistelli was thought to be insensible to the charms of women, and it was for that reason, probably, that the Count made him acquainted with Miss Renville. To the Count’s surprise, however, Pascal entered into an animated conversation with Bertha and made himself so agreeable and was, apparently, so regardless of the Count’s suffering that the latter groaned loudly—not really from pain, but actually from sheer jealousy. Before leaving, Pascal said that he should take the opportunity to pay his respects to the Countess, should ask her to visit them when some expected guests arrived, and he hoped that Miss Renville would accompany her.
The fact was that Pascal Batistelli had seen so many beautiful women with dark hair, dark eyes, and the complexions which belong to brunettes, that he was unable to pick out one whom he thought would be more desirable as a wife than a dozen others.
But Bertha Renville was a revelation to him. He had never before seen a woman with such hair, which looked like gold when the sunlight fell upon it, and with such white hands and cheeks, the latter tinted with a roseate flush, and he looked forward with fond anticipation to the time when this beautiful English girl should become his guest, and the recipient of the palatial hospitality which he mentally resolved to lavish upon her.
After dinner on the day when the conversation had taken place between Victor and the Admiral and his daughter, it suddenly occurred to the former that he Would pay a visit to the vessel and get his double-barreled fowling-piece. He told the Admiral of his intention, adding:
“You know I am very fond of shooting and, no doubt, there is plenty of game in Corsica.”
“I understand,” said the Admiral, “that the game most sought after by Corsicans is human beings.”
As he heard the remark, the thought came quickly to Victor’s mind, “I am going into the lion’s den,” but his reply contained no indication of the thought.
“I trust, my dear Admiral, that we shall not be called upon to take part in a vendetta, or be the spectators of one, during our visit.”
The next morning, the aspect of nature and the feelings of the Admiral and the others of his party were in accord, and, at an early hour, a conveyance, bearing them and their luggage, was on its way to their destination. It did not take long for the visitors to become acquainted with the brothers, Pascal and Julien, and their sister, Vivienne. Helen was greatly attracted by and interested in the beautiful young Corsican girl.
Julien, the younger brother, was a decidedly handsome fellow, and, when sober, was engaging and witty in conversation. Some delicate sparring took place between Helen and Julien, and the young lady found him to be no mean antagonist in the lingual battle; but she was decidedly his superior in historical knowledge, and poor Julien was finally discomfited, he showing an unpardonable lack of acquaintance with the early customs of the ancient Persians. She was not surprised to find, at the end of several days, that Vivienne had little love for her brother Pascal, but bestowed all her affection upon Julien.
Victor was an interested observer of what was going on in the house and about it. He learned that Countess Mont d’Oro lived on the adjoining estate, and heard that Pascal Batistelli and young Count Napier were great friends. He saw that Pascal made a daily visit to the next house, presumably to see Count Mont d’Oro, who, he was told by one of the Batistelli servants, had sprained his ankle in alighting from his carriage and was confined to his room. Victor wondered whether Pascal had made their visit a subject of conversation. If so, the Count probably knew that his late antagonist was in close proximity. If the Count and Pascal were friends, and either learned of his identity, they would both be his sworn enemies. But what did that matter, after all? If the contest was to come, it might as well take place soon as later. He, however, remembered his father’s injunction and determined that the disclosure should not be made by himself. When his enemies learned who he was, the discovery must be due to their own acuteness.
On the first and second evenings following their arrival, Julien remained at home after dinner, and Helen and he indulged in badinage and repartee in a manner highly entertaining to their listeners. On the third day, however, he did not appear at dinner, nor during the evening.
About ten o’clock, the Admiral and Helen having gone to their rooms, for the evening had been a comparatively dull one, Victor lighted a cigar and strolled through the grounds. As he passed the entrance to the wooded path, he looked down, wishing, foolishly, as he acknowledged to himself, that he might see Vivienne there, looking as beautiful as she did on that eventful morning. He thought to himself how delightful her company would be if they could walk through the garden which was bathed in the soft rays of the moon.
He had no idea how late it was when he heard, as Bertha had done during her first night in Corsica, the singing of a band of drunken revellers on their way homeward. He stepped into the wooded path, being thus effectually concealed from view. The party stopped at the Batistelli gateway and effusive good-nights and good-byes were uttered by the members of the company, who, judging from their manner of speech, were in varying stages of intoxication.
The singers proceeded on their way, but one solitary figure, after fumbling for some time at the gate, succeeded in opening it and staggered along the pathway which led to the servants’ quarters. Then a replica of the scene which had been viewed by Bertha was presented to Victor’s astonished gaze.
Vivienne, who had evidently been waiting for the return home of her wayward brother, came out to meet him, but, as on the previous occasion, he repulsed her offer of assistance, and, in return for her sisterly tenderness, cursed her, and pushed her from him.
Victor was so angry that he was on the point of rushing forward and hurling the sot to the ground, when he reflected that the affair was no concern of his and that he had no right to interfere. Julien’s blow, although it staggered Vivienne, did not cause her to fall, and he reeled forward, his sister following him at a respectful distance. A few minutes later, the door closed after them. Victor went to his room wondering how young men could so debase themselves with drink and, above all, how they could act with such inhumanity towards their sisters, whose interest in them sprang not from self-interest but from love.
The next day after this affair, Julien was present at dinner, but did not seem like his former self. Miss Enright’s bright sallies were unheeded by him, so she gave up such an unprofitable game and turned her attention to Victor, but he made only lame replies. Julien’s condition had a depressing effect, and all were glad when the meal was over.
Victor again lighted his cigar and found his way to the garden. There was no moon; instead, the sky was overcast and there were evidences of an approaching storm. Unconsciously, he entered the wooded path and walked slowly down towards the brook where he had first seen Vivienne. Would that beautiful picture ever fade from his memory? He thought not. Every day that he remained in the same house with her, it came before him and, each day, it seemed painted in stronger colors.
He retraced his steps and, when near the entrance of the path, saw the gleam of a lantern, its rays disclosing the fate of Julien Batistelli, who opened the gate, crossed the road, and then took a direction which led to the thickly wooded maquis beyond. Victor was on the point of leaving his place of retreat, when another figure came in sight. It was that of a woman and, although he could not see her features distinctly, he knew at once that it was Vivienne. She, too, opened the gate, crossed the road, and proceeded in the same direction as had her brother.
What could be her errand? There was but one explanation—she was following her brother with the intention of trying to induce him to return home. Remembering the occurrence of the previous evening, Victor was filled with fears for her safety. What if her brother should give her a violent blow, leave her senseless in the woods, and a heavy storm should come up?
Victor made his way quickly to his room, caught up his gun, examined it to see if it was loaded and primed, threw a long weather-proof cloak over his shoulders, concealing the gun beneath it, and was soon treading the same path over which Julien and his sister had passed.
Although Madame Valliet’s cabaret could be reached by following the road, it was much nearer if the intending visitor made a short cut through the marquis. Even then, it was a rough, hard walk of at least two miles. Julien had covered about one-half of the distance when he came to an open space upon one side of which there were some rocky cliffs. The place had been named the “half-way house” by the revellers, who often stopped to rest on their way homeward at night.
Julien put down his lantern and, taking a bottle from his pocket, indulged in a long drink. He was not satisfied with the quality of wine which he drank at the cabaret, but brought a bottle of eau de vie home with him so that he could satisfy his appetite during the day. Then he sat down upon a projecting rock to rest for a while before proceeding on his way.
Suddenly, he felt a light touch upon his shoulder, and he looked up into the face of his sister. Starting to his feet, he exclaimed angrily:
“What! You follow me? You set yourself to spy out my actions? You dog my footsteps?”
“Oh, Julien!” cried Vivienne; “do not be angry with me. I knew that you were going to Madame Valliet’s, and so I followed you. You were not yourself at dinner, and every one noticed it. Oh, Julien, do not shame me in the presence of our guests. Come home with me and promise to keep away from the cabaret until they have gone.”
“Go home, Vivienne! It’s none of your business where I go.”
“I will not leave you in this lonely place. You must come home with me, Julien. There is going to be a storm and you will not be able to find your way home.”
“Oh, nonsense!” cried Julien. “I have my lantern, and some of the boys will come home with me. They always do.”
“But remember our guests. When they have gone, although I shall have no peace of mind when you are away from home on such errands, I will say no more. Come home, Julien!”
“I say I will not!” Then, a little of the man showed itself in him.
“But you are a good girl, Vivienne, to brave the darkness and the danger to follow a miserable fellow like me. I sat down here to think.”
“To think of what? Oh, tell me,” cried Vivienne.
“Of my disgrace, for one thing. I am in debt, as usual, and this very day Pascal called me a profligate, gambler, and drunkard, and refused to give me any more money. Damn him!”
“Oh, Julien! You know that Pascal has paid your debts again and again until he is discouraged. You make promises and break them. Is it strange that he has become incensed and has lost confidence in you? You persist in going to that woman’s house, a vile place, a resort for gamblers.”
“Stop that nonsense! I will go where I like. Who made you and my brother rulers over me? He is a hard, cold, cruel, selfish beast, and you know it! I don’t blame you, sister. You have always been kind to me, but you think I can live upon my income. Bah! I want money! I must have it! I will have it! The only way I can get it is by gambling, for I am always lucky. You are a fool—clear out, I want to be alone.”
“But your luck will turn some day,” said his sister.
“I hope it won’t to-night. I’ll drink to my own success.”
“No, no! Oh, Julien! you are not yourself. Give me that bottle, I beg of you.”
As she said this, she tried to take the bottle from him. He kept her back with one hand, while, with the other, he put the bottle to his mouth. Vivienne sprang forward, snatched the bottle from his grasp, and threw it against the cliff.
“Pascal was right!” she cried, vehemently. “You are a profligate and a drunkard. You are here alone in this dangerous wood, and you brutalise yourself to the point of imbecility, rendering yourself wholly incapable of defending your sister and yourself in case we are attacked by bandits.”
Julien stood as if stupefied. His condition was due largely to the quantity of brandy which he had drunk, for there was but little in the bottle when his sister took it from him; but, despite his besotted condition, he was really astounded at his sister’s words, for she had never spoken in that way to him before. As Julien did not reply, Vivienne thought she had influenced him at last, and she followed up her presumed advantage:
“Oh, Julien, my best beloved brother, come, come home with me!” As she said this, she took his arm. “I cannot leave you here alone. Hear the thunder! See, it lightens! I will sell some of my jewels, as I have many times before. You shall have money. Oh, come! The rain will soon be upon us.”
Julien did not answer this impassioned appeal, but withdrew his arm from her loving clasp, took up his lantern, and started off in the direction which led to the cabaret. Vivienne lost command of herself. Never before had he so stubbornly resisted her loving entreaties. She would sting him into speech!
“Stop, Julien!” she cried. “I have one word more to say to you.”
He looked back.
“Julien Batistelli,” cried Vivienne, “hear the last word that I have to say to you. Rimbecco! Rimbecco!”
Julien put down his lantern and rushed angrily towards her.
“I hurl the base lie back in your teeth!” he cried. “Dear God, that I should live to see this hour! The red stain of Rimbecco stamped upon the brow of a brave son of a noble father. You dare not repeat that word!”
Vivienne looked at him with flashing eyes: “I am a daughter of the noble father whose name you have dishonoured. Rimbecco! Do you hear? I have repeated it! Every man, woman, and child in Corsica repeats it, and you, a strong man, the son of your father, are wasting your precious time in drinking and gambling—time that should be spent in seeking out the man in whose veins runs the vile blood of the ruthless Della Coscia. Rimbecco!”
Hardly had that word of deepest reproach which can be uttered to a Corsican fallen from her lips, when her brother, exerting all his brute force, felled her to the ground.
“You are no longer a sister of mine!” he cried. “You have insulted me past forgiveness.”
He turned and dashed into the dark woods beyond, forgetful of the lantern, the rays of which shone upon the pallid face of the prostrate girl. Vivienne was in an unconscious state. The blow had been a cruel one, before which even a strong man would have gone down.
An old hag, bearing a bundle of fagots upon her back, was plodding slowly homeward. She stopped when she caught sight of the lantern and, looking about her, saw the inanimate form of a woman upon the ground, not far distant.
“A lantern!” the old woman muttered. “She must have brought it, but I did not see it when she passed my house. I did not see it when she went by in the woods, but I can see now the flash of diamonds upon her fingers, on her neck, and in her ears. A quarrel with her lover, most likely! More fool she to care for one who could leave her like this! Lucky for me, though!”
She knelt beside Vivienne, and the jewels were soon in her possession.
“These are nice French boots, just the right size for my little girl, and this beautiful dress will bring me a fine sum. Why should she possess all that riches can bestow and I go about clothed in rags? It is my right to take all that I can get. I, a bandit’s mistress—she, some rich man’s daughter; but her head must lie as low as mine some day. That is one comfort.”
She proceeded deliberately to make as small a bundle as possible of the clothing and other articles of which she had despoiled the unconscious girl, and, having done so, put it under her arm and disappeared among the trees.
Hardly had she done so, when Victor, walking rapidly, carrying his gun upon his shoulder, reached the place. He espied the lantern and, running forward, caught it up.
“Where can they be?” he cried. “What has happened to them?”
He held the lantern up and peered about him. It almost fell from his grasp at the sight which met his gaze. In an instant, he was kneeling beside Vivienne, holding the lantern so that the light would shine full in her face. Her eyes were closed; her form motionless. He took one of her hands, which felt cold and dropped lifeless from his grasp.
“My God, can she be dead?” He started to his feet and looked about him. “Who has done this?” he cried.
His voice must have been heard by Vivienne, for she showed signs of returning consciousness. Victor again knelt beside her. She opened her eyes and looked up at him. He put his arm about her and raised her to a sitting posture.
“What has happened?” he asked. “How came you to be in this plight?”
Vivienne for the first time recognised her condition. She would say nothing against her brother, so she answered:
“I must have been attacked and robbed of my clothing.” Then the contemplation of her situation overcame her, temporarily, and, abashed and ashamed, she burst into tears, crying piteously:
“What shall I do? How shall I get home?”
Victor removed the long cloak which he wore and passed it to her. Then, turning his face away, he said:
“Throw that about you—it will protect you. Fear nothing, for a true friend awaits your commands.”
Vivienne did as he suggested, wrapping about her the great cloak, which reached nearly to her feet.
“Monsieur!”
Victor turned quickly. Vivienne stood before him. Stepping back, he regarded her.
“Why!” he cried, “the scoundrels have taken your boots, too.” Removing his under coat, he threw it upon the ground before her, saying as he did so:
“Mademoiselle, stand upon that. The ground is damp and you will get a fever.”
“Monsieur,” Vivienne repeated, “some good angel has guided your footsteps to this place. Merciful God, I thank Thee. Never have I felt the need of human sympathy as I do to-night. But for you, I must have died in this dreary place, alone and uncared for.”
The excitement attending her interview with her brother, the blow which she had received, and the discovery of the loss of her jewels and clothing, together formed the severest trial to which this delicate and tenderly nurtured girl had ever been subjected. As she stood there, it all came back to her, and the dreadful scene was acted over again in her mind. The nervous tension was too great, and she fell in a dead swoon at the feet of her rescuer.
“She has fainted and I am powerless to help her. She may die here before I can get assistance.” He raised her in his arms and looked tenderly at the cold, pallid face:
“Beloved of my soul, I may speak now that my voice cannot reach thee. I may gaze into thy beauteous face and press thy form close to my throbbing heart. Oh, Vivienne! Can hate dwell in a soul encased in a form like thine—a form upon which heaven has stamped its signet seals of beauty and love? No, no! It is impossible—and yet, I know that if my true name were but breathed into thy ears, those lovely eyes which, but a moment ago, were gazing into mine with such holy trust, such infinite tenderness, would be filled with horror and dismay. I am forever proscribed from creating any sentiment in thy heart save that of intensest hatred and loathing. Cruel fate—ruthless destiny! Why am I to suffer thus—to see her—to adore her—only to lose her?
“Vivienne, dearest object of my heart, would that I could pass thus, with my arms about thee, into that better world, where strife and hate, vendettas and revenge, murder and death, are things unknown. There, in the blessed company of the angels, I might teach thy pure soul to love mine and, with thee, enjoy an eternity of blissful rest.”
Vivienne’s lips parted and a faint touch of colour came to her cheeks. Victor removed his cap and fanned her, vigorously. The cool, fresh air soon revived her. As soon as she realised her position, she endeavoured to free herself from his arms and rise to her feet, but she was too weak and would have fallen again if he had not prevented it. Again, she tried to free herself from him.
“I am weak and helpless,” she cried. “How dare you!”.
Again she strove to sustain herself without his support, but it was a futile effort.
“The Holy Mother of God,” cried Victor, “will bear testimony to my sincerity when I swear to you that you have been as safe in my arms as in those of a mother. Sacred to me is, and ever has been, the protection of female purity and innocence. With a brother’s care you must allow me to guard your precious life until I can restore you, unharmed, into the keeping of those whose blessed right it is to love and protect you.”
“I was bewildered—I knew not what I said. Forgive me,” she pleaded.
“An angel like yourself, mademoiselle, needs not to be forgiven by a sinful mortal like me. Only tell me how I can best serve you.”
The storm which had long been in gathering, now burst upon them. The rocky cliffs protected them in some degree from the violence of the wind, but from the rain there was no escape.
“It is your right,” said Vivienne, “to know by what strange chance I was brought to this pass.”
“Do not try to tell me now,” cried Victor. “I desire to hear nothing—I will hear nothing until I see you in a place of safety. Your feet are exposed to the wet ground, and even that thick cloak will soon be drenched with rain. Shall you be afraid to remain here alone until I can go back to the house for dry clothing?”
“I shall not be afraid to remain alone,” said Vivienne, “but if others should come, I might be afraid of them.” As she said this, she smiled faintly. “But you do not think of yourself. The coat which you gave me to stand upon must be wet through by this time.”
“Oh, that is nothing,” said Victor, as he picked up the garment and put it on. “It can hold only so much water, and it will be in no worse condition by the time I reach your home.”
“You are more than kind to me, monsieur. You are merciless to yourself—you expose your life to save mine—you cover me with your garments while you are suffering. You, who are not used to this climate, can hardly expect to escape the effects of exposure to the damp and chill of such a storm. Ah! Never while memory lasts will the events of this night and your kindness be forgotten. Receive my soul’s deep gratitude. If ever I become so ungrateful as to forget your merciful deeds this night, may Heaven punish me!”
She grasped both his hands, and would have fallen upon her knees before him if he had not prevented her.
“That vow is recorded in Heaven, and approved of saints. It was prompted, not by the poor service which I have been so happy in rendering, but by the transcendent impulse of a true, womanly heart. Say it once more—you will never forget me.”
“I will never forget thee!”
“Now I may pour out my soul to thee, angel of goodness!” cried Victor. “I may tell thee how dearly I—but, no—we have not yet passed Heaven’s portals—but it seemed for a moment that earth was receding and Paradise opening to my view. Pardon me, mademoiselle, but I begin to think that my brain has been affected by the events of the hour. We have no time to lose. The longer we remain here, the more uncomfortable will our situation become.” He looked up at the rocky cliffs. “Ah! I see a wide cleft in the rocks. Perhaps it is large enough to shield you until my return. I will go and explore it.”
“I will go with you,” cried Vivienne.
He grasped his gun and led the way, she following. When Victor emerged from the cave, he said:
“How true it is that we often find bright spots when the way seems darkest.”
“And you find one there?” she asked.
“Yes,” said Victor, joyously. “This little cave is carpeted with the softest of green moss. How obliging Mother Nature is to her offspring. Now, give me your hand and I will place you in your eyrie.”
When she was seated in the cave, Victor stood at the entrance, bowed low, and said:
“I present my homage to the Queen of the Mountains. I am going to leave my gun with you. If you should be in danger, can you use it?”
“All Corsican women understand the use of firearms. You are a sailor and, perhaps, a better marksman than I, but I doubt it. I always win the prize in shooting with my brothers.”
“May Heaven preserve you until we meet again,” were Victor’s last words, and, a moment later, he was running at full speed towards Batistelli Castle.
As he plunged through the forest, occasionally catching his feet in the underbrush and nearly falling headlong, he congratulated himself upon having repressed an avowal of his love for Vivienne until a more opportune moment arrived. He would not have ventured to breathe his love for her, as she lay senseless in his arms, had it not been for an incident which had occurred the day previous. In company with Vivienne, he had walked down the wooded path until they came to the brook beside which she had knelt when she gave him the flower. As they stood there, the scene brought back to him the remembrance of his meeting with Count Mont d’Oro and he, unthinkingly, asked:
“Have you heard from Count Mont d’Oro, to-day, Mademoiselle Batistelli?”
“No. Why should I?” and she fixed her piercing black eyes upon him.
“Oh—I,” he began—“I heard something soon after my arrival which made me think that you would be greatly interested in his condition.”
“What did you hear? Please tell me.”
Victor hesitated. Finally, he said: “Mademoiselle Batistelli, I am a British sailor. Perhaps you have heard that British sailors, as a class, are noted for their frankness and honesty. I will try to be worthy of their well-earned reputation.”
He then told her what had happened after she gave him the white rose, and how Count Mont d’Oro had declared that she was to be the future Countess Mont d’Oro, being already betrothed to him—but he did not refer to the duel.
“That betrothal,” cried Vivienne, “was the foolish fancy of an old man who loved my father and who thought his son should love the daughter of the man whom he loved. On the other hand, my ambitious brother, Pascal, desires to join the two great landed estates and, at the same time, have his sister become a countess. But none of the four ever consulted my wish or will in the matter and, so far as I am concerned, I do not regard anything that has been said or done as at all binding upon me.”
A strange thrill of delight had gone through Victor’s nerves when he had heard this declaration, and he experienced it again as he threaded his way along the forest path. What he was doing was for Vivienne’s sake—and she was free! If he could win her, there was no reason why she should not be his.
Pascal Batistelli was not at home when Victor arrived, and he was glad that he was not obliged to explain matters to Vivienne’s brother. He found Snodine, the housekeeper, who speedily collected the articles of clothing that were needed, and he was soon on his way back to the cave in the cliff.
“I should not envy Count Mont d’Oro his feelings if he ever learns what has taken place on this eventful night,” was Victor’s mental reflection as he retraced his steps.
The Count was not to be envied. The doctor had told him that he would be confined to the house for at least three weeks, and it would be three more before he would be able to walk with his accustomed ease. One day, when Pascal Batistelli was speaking about his English guests, the Count asked, carelessly, as if their presence were of no particular interest to him:
“Who are they, Batistelli?”
“Admiral Enright, of the British navy, his daughter Helen, who is a very finely educated woman—and there her attractions end—and a young lieutenant named Victor Duquesne, who may or may not be in love with the highly educated daughter.”
The Count said nothing, but there was an expression upon his face which Pascal wrongly attributed to a sudden twinge of pain. It was a spasm of jealousy. So, his rival was a guest of the Batistellis and able to see Vivienne every day, while he was flat upon his back and could not interfere. He could do nothing himself—but something must be done. He sent for his friend Villefort, and gave him a large roll of gold coin and told him what to do.
In Villefort he had a willing slave, for the latter derived his living principally from Count Napier’s bounty, but got nothing for which he had not rendered some service.
Shortly after Victor’s departure the storm abated. Vivienne was very thankful for this, for she was really solicitous regarding his exposure to the elements. She knew that he was drenched to the skin and feared that this fact and the long walk to and from her home might throw him into a fever, for the river valleys in Corsica were, in those days, full of malarial poison. She was thinking of Victor, hoping that he would return soon, when she heard voices. She drew back as far as possible into the cave, but listened intently in order to hear every word that might be said.
Two men who, in appearance, resembled those belonging to Cromillian’s band, but who, in reality, were not connected with it, approached from the same direction in which Victor had gone. As they came within hearing, Vivienne heard one of them say:
“Who in the devil left that lantern here?”
“Are you sure you saw the fellow?” the other asked.
“Yes, I am quite sure. He had a gun over his shoulder, but I saw no lantern. He wore a big cloak, however, and that may have concealed it from view.”
“They are speaking of the Lieutenant,” thought Vivienne, and she clasped her hands in mute terror.
“Shall we leave the lantern where it is?” asked the second man.
“Of course,” was the reply; “if we move it, he will suspect that something is wrong.”
“Don’t you think we had better hide behind those trees?”
“No,” said the first speaker; “we have come here to meet him, and he might as well meet us. He is somewhere about here. The lantern being here proves that, and we shall be sure of our chance sooner or later.”
“What are we expected to do with this fellow, anyway?” asked the second speaker.
“Why, when we get him,” said the other, “to carry out our agreement, we must get into a quarrel with him and dispose of him—that’s all.”
The shaft went home to Vivienne’s heart. “They have come here to murder my friend in need,” she said to herself. She sank upon her knees and raised her clasped hands. “Great God in Heaven, save him!” was her unspoken prayer. Could she do anything to avert the danger which threatened him? It was her duty, surely, to watch and listen.
“What’s all the trouble about?” asked the second man.
“What usually causes trouble—a love affair.”
“And the woman?”
“That Batistelli girl—Vivienne, I believe her name is. This young Englishman met her one day and she, fool-like, gave him a flower. The Count saw her do it, and asked the fellow to give it up. He refused and they had it out with their fists, the Count getting the worst of it.”
“Why didn’t he use his stiletto?”
“He tried to, but the Englishman took it from him with one hand and knocked him down with the other.”
“How do you happen to know so much?”
“Villefort told me all about it. The Count sent him with a challenge to the Englishman, who accepted it, and they fought it out with axes in the dark. The duel took place in an old shed, at midnight. Queer dogs, those Englishmen!”
“How did it end?”
“Neither one got cut. The Count fell through a hole in the floor and sprained his ankle. The Count’s coachman got drunk and let out the whole story at the cabaret.”
“Why doesn’t the Count drop it, if he has had satisfaction?”
“But he isn’t satisfied. He told Villefort that he accepted the Englishman’s terms to please him; now, he is going to do something to please himself. The Count, naturally, would have waited until he was able to get out again, but it so happened that the Admiral and his daughter brought the young Englishman along with them to pay a visit to the Batistellis.”
“That was too much for the Count,” cried the second man, and he broke into a loud laugh.
“Shut up, you idiot!” said his companion. “Of course, the Count couldn’t stand it, knowing that this young fellow was in the same house with the girl and nothing to do but make love to her. So he sent for Villefort, told him what he wanted done and gave him a big roll of louis d’or. Villefort, who is a bright man, decided that we were the fellows to do the job up in true Corsican fashion. We have got our money in advance, and all we have to do is to settle the Englishman as soon as we meet him.”
Vivienne felt as though every drop of blood in her veins was turned to ice, while her head seemed ready to burst with the intense heat. She saw it all now—Count Mont d’Oro had hired these two bandits to pick a quarrel with Lieutenant Duquesne and kill him. How could she warn him? He had saved her life, for she surely would have died if she had remained all night exposed to the storm. The account should be balanced. It must stand, a life for a life. But how?
Vivienne was on the point of leaving her retreat and flying to warn Victor, but it was too late, for, as she stepped out upon the ledge, she heard his voice calling:
“Mademoiselle, are you there?”
“He has come!” cried one of the men. “I think your idea of getting out of sight for a while is a good one.”
Suiting the action to the word, they hid themselves behind two of the largest trees.
Victor, with a bundle of clothing under his arm, made his way at once to the lantern, it being his idea to take it to the cave so that Vivienne could see what articles of clothing he had brought for her use, and it would also light them on their way home.
Vivienne called: “Victor! Victor!” softly, for she was afraid if the bandits knew they were discovered that she, too, would be killed, in which case Count Mont d’Oro and his hired assassins would escape the hand of justice. She would have given her own life to save Victor’s, but, if that sacrifice was impossible, she determined to avenge his death.
As Victor stooped to pick up the lantern, a gruff voice said:
“Put that down! What are you going to do with my lantern?”
Victor looked up and saw two rough-looking fellows standing before him.
“I think you have made a mistake,” he said. “I happen to know that this lantern is the property of Monsieur Julien Batistelli. That is not your name, I am sure.”
“Say, Jean,” said one of the men to his companion, “you heard him say this isn’t my lantern?”
“Of course it is,” growled the other. “I have seen you with it a dozen times. Make him give it up.”
“It will take more than two such fellows as you are to make me give it up,” said Victor, defiantly.
The men drew their stilettos, the bright blades of the weapons flashing in the lantern-light.
Victor stepped back, suddenly realising that he was unarmed. He dropped the bundle of clothing and held up the lantern, which was his only means of defence, so that the light fell full upon the faces of his assailants, enabling him to see every motion made by them.
To Vivienne, the situation seemed tragical. She could stand the suspense no longer. Summoning all her strength, she raised to her shoulder the gun which Victor had given her, aimed it at the men, and discharged both barrels simultaneously. By a fortunate chance, her aim had been good. Standing so far above those at whom she fired, the effect of the shots was peculiar. One man received a bullet in his cheek which removed half a dozen of his teeth and a portion of his jawbone, passing out through his other cheek. The second man was less fortunate, for the bullet entered his throat, cutting a large artery and causing him to bleed profusely.
Victor realised that it was no time to attempt to learn the extent of his enemies’ injuries. He rushed to the foot of the cliff, crying:
“Come, Vivienne!”
She passed the gun down to him, and then stood irresolute.
“Jump!” he cried.
She instantly threw herself from the cliff, some ten feet above him, and was caught in his powerful arms. He had braced himself for the shock and, although he was forced backwards, he did not fall, nor did he loosen his hold upon her until he had placed her safely upon the ground.
He looked backward and found that his assailants had taken to the woods, probably fearing that the gun would be reloaded and used to their further detriment. He passed the gun to Vivienne, considering it the easiest article for her to carry, encumbered as she was by the great cloak. He then returned to where he had left the bundle of clothing and the lantern and regained possession of them.
When he rejoined Vivienne, he said: “I dare not stop to have you put on your dry clothing here. I do not know how badly those fellows are injured, and they may follow us. We will go a short distance and look for some place where we can secrete ourselves. I will then reload the gun and you can put on your boots, which you need more than anything else. The storm has ceased and perhaps you can reach home without stopping to change your clothing.”
There was little danger of their being overtaken. One of the assassins was likely to die from loss of blood, while the other was suffering so acutely on account of his broken jaw that he could be of little service to his companion.
The travellers reached home without experiencing any other thrilling adventures. Fortunately, Pascal had not yet returned. Vivienne made her way at once to the housekeeper’s room, where she put on the dry clothing which had been sent to her. Snodine was full of curiosity, which Vivienne satisfied by telling her as little as possible. The next day, she repeated to Victor enough of what his assailants had said to prove to him that, in his list of enemies, he must include, not only the Batistelli brothers and their adherents, but also Count Mont d’Oro and his hired minions.