CHAPTER VIII.

THE MANOR OF MEZLEAN.

The manor of Mezlean, located at a considerable distance from the burg of the same name, lies about half a league from the druid stones of Karnak, which rise on the border of the ocean in long and wide avenues of gigantic pillars.

About a month had elapsed since the burning of the Castle of Plouernel. It was night. Bertha's nurse, old Marion, was mechanically spinning at her wheel in the spacious lower hall of the manor that was so long uninhabited, and the antique furniture of which dated from the reign of Henry IV. Near Marion, on a table, stood a copper lamp with three jets.

"It is going on three weeks that old Du Buisson, mademoiselle's equerry, has been on the road, and he is not yet back," mused Marion uneasily to herself. "Can he have met with some accident? If not, I wonder what news he will bring from down there! One hears nothing here at Mezlean of what goes on in Brittany. A company of soldiers marched into the burg this morning. They can have found there only women, children and old men, besides some few other people who took no part in the revolt." And shuddering at the thought, Marion added: "Oh, what a night, what a night was that on which the peasants attacked the castle! I thought my poor Bertha's last hour had sounded when I saw them invade our apartment, arms in hand! But not at all. 'You are our _good demoiselle_, as good as your brother is wicked,' said they to Bertha. 'You have nothing to fear, demoiselle. But leave the place; take along everything you want. We ordered your domestics to hitch up a carriage. They are waiting for you.' And mademoiselle took a little portrait of her mother, a casket containing some money and jewelry, and a manuscript written by Colonel Plouernel. I hurriedly packed up a few bundles, and we left the castle. Alas! They were at that moment hanging Monseigneur the Count, Monsieur the Abbot, and the sergeant. 'Mercy! Mercy for my brother!' cried my poor Bertha piteously, falling upon her knees on the staircase, from the top of which she saw Monseigneur the Count, pale and bleeding, struggling against the vassals who were dragging him to the gibbet! It was too late! Mademoiselle's voice was not heard by the peasants in the tumult. We finally arrived here with a coachman and a lackey. Old Du Buisson escorted us on horseback, riding beside the door of the carriage. Mademoiselle sent the men back with generous expressions of her gratitude, keeping only Du Buisson and myself in her service, besides the porter and his wife. I trembled when I saw my poor Bertha relapse after so many shocks, into a serious illness. But thanks to God, I was mistaken. For a few days she had a high fever as the consequence of her despair at the horrible death of her brother. But slowly she recovered her health. I must admit that, since her last great illness at Versailles, she never has been better--she is now more beautiful and fresher than I have ever seen her. She seems calm and happy. All that should set me at ease. And yet--sad presentiments assail my heart. I can not overcome them."

At this point Marion broke off abruptly, listened toward the hall door and said:

"I hear steps. Who can it be that is coming in at this hour?"

The door opened, and Du Buisson entered.

"God be blessed! At last you are back, Du Buisson! Well, what news do you bring?"

"Bad news, my dear Marion. Bad news from everywhere!"

"Good God! Then Monsieur Nominoe Lebrenn, the poor young man--?"

"He must have fared like so many others. I found it impossible to discover any traces of either him or his father. Whether he is dead or alive, I can not tell."

"Oh, my poor Bertha! My poor Bertha! How much is she to be pitied!"

"Fortunately mademoiselle is a brave woman. Moreover, she entertained but slight hopes of my succeeding in the mission that she charged me with. I did my best. How is mademoiselle's health?"

"Excellent, my dear Du Buisson!"

"Heaven be praised!"

"Every day mademoiselle takes a long walk along the seashore in the direction of the stones of Karnak. She seems to have taken a liking for the spot. When she returns home she takes up the manuscript of Colonel Plouernel, and starts to read. Especially in the evening, she remains for hours at a stretch in a revery, contemplating the sky. She looks sad every time the stars are veiled by the clouds."

"She must have been impatient to see me back?"

"Yes. As far as I could judge from a few words that she dropped to me, she is awaiting your return to take some kind of action. What it may be I do not know."

"Perhaps she contemplates leaving France for a while, and traveling abroad."

"I do believe she is thinking of a voyage. More than once did mademoiselle say to me we were here only transiently."

"At any rate, the important point is that she is much less melancholy, and her health is good--not so?"

"Yes, her sadness seems to have vanished, and her health is excellent. And yet, Du Buisson, I often feel greatly alarmed about mademoiselle; it seems to me some misfortune is approaching--sad thoughts assail me day and night."

"What can be the cause of these presentiments of evil?"

"I hardly dare tell you. You would take me for a fool--you would laugh at me, I fear."

"Nothing that concerns our young mademoiselle can cause me to indulge in levity, Marion. Speak out, I pray you."

"Well, shortly after your departure, my poor Bertha, who was barely over her fever, still seemed quite sad. One day mademoiselle was speaking to me with her usual kindness of heart about my family in Vannes, and she asked me whether none of my relatives needed any financial assistance. I answered her that my brother, a small trader, found in his business enough to meet the personal wants of himself, his wife and children; and, in the hope of amusing mademoiselle, I added that my brother and I expected from one moment to another a windfall of incalculable value. Mademoiselle very soberly asked me what I meant. I answered that one of our cousins, an old man almost dotish, was, as so many others have been doing of late years, _blowing_ in order to find the 'powder of projection'--"[7]

"What, Marion! Did this _blowing_ fad penetrate to the very heart of Brittany? Are there here also people who indulge in such vagaries?"

"Unfortunately so. The cousin whom I refer to is one of those fools. He inherited a little patrimony, and sank it all in alembics and chemical retorts. All the while, the old fellow is ever more convinced that he is on the track of that famous powder with the help of which everything, just everything, can be changed into gold. I was retailing this nonsense to mademoiselle in the hope of amusing her, when I perceived that she suddenly grew quite serious, and said to me there was more truth than people generally thought for in the wisdom of the alchemists; that she was curious to pay a visit to the blower; and she wound up saying that we would go the very next day to Vannes."

"So, then, mademoiselle took the nonsense seriously! That is surprising--but it does not justify your alarm."

"I also was very much surprised, I must confess; and my surprise increased greatly when, just before stepping into the carriage to go to Vannes, I saw mademoiselle open her casket, take out some gold and precious stones, and put them into a little satchel that she carried. We arrived at the suburbs of Vannes. The carriage stopped before an isolated house in which the dotish fellow lives. I found him surrounded by his furnaces, and announced to him the visit of mademoiselle. She went in, told me to wait for her outside, and she remained quite long alone with him. Does not that yet strike you as singular?"

"Go to, Marion! You are trying to hint at magic. To be sure mademoiselle's visit to the old fool is singular. But that does not indicate magic."

"I am coming to the point. I was waiting for mademoiselle in the necromancer's vestibule when suddenly he came out looking wild, ran out to the nearest house, and speedily returned carrying--a big black cat!"

"Oh! Oh! I begin to see! The black cat is the cabalistic animal _par excellence_! And what became of the black cat?"

"I do not know--but what is quite certain is that about an hour later mademoiselle came out of the blower's den beaming with happiness and joy. Her feet did not seem to touch the ground. In short, the expression on her face had changed to the point that I asked myself, and often ask myself still, whether that man may not have resorted to some witchcraft that could so suddenly metamorphose my poor Bertha. I must also tell you that she did not bring back to Mezlean the gold pieces and precious stones which she took from her casket. Whether it is that, knowing from me that the old man is penniless, she meant to help him, or whether it is that she was made to pay through the nose for some charm--I do not know. But, no. She is too sensible to be duped by such juggler's tricks."

"My poor Marion, all the black cats in the world will not make me believe in sorcery. But I am struck by the change that you say came over mademoiselle's spirits after her visit to the blower, especially if the change has been permanent, as you claim it is."

"And so it is. Since that day, mademoiselle has never looked sad, nor care-worn, as formerly. She seems to await your return impatiently in order to take a decision connected with some voyage. Finally, when she speaks to me of her deceased mother, Madam the Countess, and she does so quite often--that is another matter that perplexes and alarms me a good deal--mademoiselle occasionally expresses herself in language that implies she expects to meet her soon. On such occasions the eyes of my poor Bertha become so brilliant that I cannot face their light; her face radiates celestial beauty; she looks transfigured, as I said to you before, and--"

Marion broke suddenly off and said to the old equerry:

"Hush! Here is mademoiselle."