CHAPTER XLVI

THE CHÂTEAU DE BRÉVANNES

M. de Brévannes's estate, situated in Lorraine, near Longeville, at some leagues from Bar-le-Duc, was a comfortable residence. A nice park, some excellent preserves, magnificent lakes, fed by the overflows of the Ornain, a dwelling-house spacious and convenient: all in this property responded to the picture which De Brévannes had drawn to M. de Hansfeld.

Bertha, her husband, the prince, and Paula, had been already three days at the château. Iris had been included, of course, in De Brévannes's invitation,--an invitation which each of our personages had too powerful motives for accepting, to pause for a moment at the idea of the singularity of such a journey at this season.

Paula had continually avoided every chance of being alone with De Brévannes, who, by the advice of Iris, had imitated Madame de Hansfeld, in order that he might not give any appearance of premeditation to the vengeance upon which he was so coolly calculating.

Bertha was, however, agitated by sinister presentiments. During the whole of the journey from Paris, De Brévannes had displayed either a forced gaiety or such obsequious attention that Bertha's suspicions were vaguely aroused.

One moment she had resolved on entreating her husband to leave her in Paris, but after the formal engagement she had made with the Prince and Princess de Hansfeld, she gave up that idea.

On reaching Brévannes she was occupied in shewing every attention to her guests. It was strange, but she never for a moment suspected that her husband might be enamoured of Madame de Hansfeld; had this occurred to her, she might have been reassured. Although the way in which this country visit had been arranged was natural enough, yet a secret instinct told Bertha that the excursion had another object beside wild-fowl shooting.

The only person completely happy and free from fear or mental uneasiness was Arnold. Unexpected chance had so well served his love at a moment when he was despairing, that he gave way entirely and unreservedly to the happiness of passing a few days with Bertha in domestic intimacy.

Iris watched every thing and espied every motion of Arnold and Madame de Brévannes. Unfortunately for the gipsy girl, these two, in spite of the constant efforts of M. de Brévannes to bring them to a tête-à-tête, had constantly avoided it.

There remained for Iris a last and infallible means of compelling Bertha and M. de Hansfeld to a secret interview, which must compromise them as regards appearances. When night fell, she would go and tell Bertha that her father, dreadfully alarmed at her sudden departure, had followed her, and that he might not run the risk of meeting De Brévannes, begged her to await him in the _châlet_, or pavilion in which, in the summer time, Madame de Brévannes usually spent her day. This small building, situated in the midst of a clump of trees, was approached by an iron-gate in the park. Nothing could be more probable than that Pierre Raimond should do such a thing: Bertha would go and await him in the summerhouse, where, instead of the old engraver, Arnold would arrive: then, warned by Iris, De Brévannes would go to the spot, and the sequel might be guessed.

The third day of her arrival at Brévannes, the Bohemian girl, tired of spying in vain, looked for Bertha, in order to make her the victim of the machination she was plotting, when she saw her coming from the side of the pavilion in question, and behind her, at a short distance, M. de Hansfeld.

Iris glided into a clump of holly and thick box-wood bushes, which shaded the park in this spot, and in which was a winding path which went from the chalet to the iron gate of the park.

We should say that this building, situated at the angle of the park-walls, consisted of two rooms on the ground-floor.

It was about four o'clock--the day very cloudy, and the sky rainy and threatening. At the moment when Iris concealed herself in the thicket Arnold overtook Bertha.

Madame de Brévannes started at the sight of the prince, and turned several paces back to return to the chateau; but Arnold, taking her hand with an air of entreaty, said to her,--

"At last, then, I may have one moment's conversation with you--after two days! It would really seem as if you avoided me--me so happy at this unexpected journey. Really, Bertha, I can scarcely credit my happiness!"

"I entreat you to leave me!--I have avoided you because I am afraid----"

"Afraid of what, _mon Dieu?_"

"Monsieur de Hansfeld, you love me--do you not?" exclaimed Bertha, suddenly.

"Love you!--yes, indeed!"

"Well, then, do not refuse me the only favour I have ever asked of you."

"What do you mean?"

"Go!"

"Go! and I have only just arrived!--when----"

"I say, if you love me, you will seize on the first opportunity, good or bad, to leave this house."

"I really do not comprehend! Why, when your husband----"

"Oh! do not pronounce his name here!"

"Take courage--I share your scruples--I am here in this house--I will not breathe one word of love to you--I will say nothing that your father might not hear if he were present. What I request, Bertha, is, but some of those kind and tender words which you addressed to your brother Arnold in those long conversations which we three used to have at your father's."

"Hush!--some one is in the walk," said Bertha, with uneasiness.

"What a child you are!--it is the wind that moves the trees. See how the hail and rain are falling, and you have come out without your African cloak; that is a double error, for that _burnous_ with a hood becomes you excessively."

"I left it in the vestibule; but I beseech you to return to the château."

"It is too far--the rain is falling--why should we not enter the châlet, there, and wait until this shower has passed over?"

"No!--no!"

"Do you forget your promise to shew me your pavilion--your favourite retreat? Oh! I will not let slip this excellent opportunity of making you fulfil your promise. See, the rain falls heavier!--come, I pray of you! But what ails you?--you scarcely speak to me!--you tremble--it is with cold, no doubt! How could you be so imprudent?"

"I cannot tell you what I feel, but it is a vague, involuntary terror. I beseech you let us return to the château, in spite of the rain."

"This is childish folly to which I cannot consent. You are unwell, and really must not expose yourself further. The rain is as cold as ice--the châlet is but a few steps from us."

"Well, then, promise me to depart to-morrow."

"What! again?"

"Yes--do not ask me wherefore. I am alarmed for you--for myself, and I shall not be at ease until you are far from here. I cannot explain my fears even to myself, but they try me bitterly."

"Really, admitting that your husband were jealous, what have you to fear?--what wrong are we doing? Besides, he is most attentive to you, and suspects nothing."

"It is those attentions, so new to me, and his hypocritical mildness, which alarms me. He, always so coarse, so rude; and one day----" Bertha started, and exclaimed, whilst she placed her trembling hand on Arnold's arm, "Again! I am certain some one is moving in the clump!--they are following us."

Arnold listened, and then heard some branches crackle in the thick bushes of box and holly. In spite of a difficulty of penetrating this solid hedge, Arnold was about to plunge into it, when the noise increased, the foliage shook, and, a few yards from them, a kid bounded forth and crossed their path. Arnold could not repress a burst of laughter, and said to Bertha,--

"This was your spy!"

The young lady, somewhat reassured, took Arnold's arm, and they were now only a few paces from the châlet.

"Well, poor little trembler!" said Arnold.

"I beseech you not to laugh at me--I am a believer in presentiments--God sends them to us."

"But why? because your husband seems returning towards you with better feelings, should you be alarmed? Suppose even that this kindness is assumed to ensnare you in some way, what have you to fear? What can he surprise? After all, what do I ask but to enjoy fairly what he freely offered to me--the passing of a few days near you? I swear to you, not answering what my wishes may be hereafter, but as I am at this moment the happiest of men, I ask nothing beyond this; the present is so delightful, so sweet, that it would be profanation to think of more."

The rain increased in violence. The day which had been all along very gloomy was nearly at its close.

Bertha and the prince entered the châlet.