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THE HEART
OF DENISE
By S. Levett Yeats
Copyright, 1902,
By S. Levett Yeats
view by the hills. ln;t it lies yonder.”
He pointed to the west through the
open window, nnd as he did so an ex
clamation of surprise burst from him,
and he crossed himself.
1 followed his glance and saw high
in the heavens, hanging over the moun
tainous pile of reddening clouds that
lay in the west, the grim outline of a
vast fortress. The huge wails reflected
back with a coppery luster and red
light of the sun, and it was as if we
could see figures moving on the ram
parts and the flash of arms from the
battlements. From the flagstaff on the
donjon a broad banner flaunted itself
proudly, and so clear and distinct was
the light that we maJe out with ease
the blazon on the standard and the
straining leashed ounces of the house
of Clermont-Ferrand. And then the
clouds took a duskier red. and the solid
mass of castle faded away into noth
ing. I stood still and speechless, and
Norreys burst forth: "Sorcery, as I live.
Madame, that was the Chateau de Fer
rand.”
I had never seen the like before,
never again uid 1 see it. nor do I wish
to. and it left me so chilled and faint
that Norreys noticed it at once and
called for wine. As he did so 1 fancied
that i heard the beat of a horse’s hoof,
but paid no attention to it. and then
the wine came, and 1 drank, he stand
ing over me. I was just setting down
the glass when there was a grating at
the entrant***, a long shadow fell
through the doorway, and De Clermont
stepped in with a cheery “flood day.
M. de Norreys. I see you have not
been neglecting your time here. Arni
dieui Denise! Is it youV You seem to
be forever dropping from the clouds
across my path." And he held out his
band. But i took no notice, though 1
rose from my chair, and Norreys mere
ly bowed frigidly in return to his greet
ing. De Clermont seemed in nowise
disconcerted, but there was an angry
flash in his eyes, and for a second be
stood tapping the end of his boot with
his riding whip and looking from one
to another of us with a half smile on
his lips. Then, putting his plumed hat
on the table and drawing off his gloves,
he drawled out with a veiled insolence
in every tone of his voice. “Upon my
word. M. de Norreys. I congratulate
you. aud if it were not for our business
I would leave you in peace, for ma
dame seems to have learned the lesson
that ‘it is well to be oft' with the old
love before you are on with the new.’ ’’
lie had grasped the weakness of the
situation at a glance am} took full ad
vantage of it, but, though outwardly
cool aud self possessed, there was
death in his eyes. I could bear it no
longer and turned to leave the room,
lie rose from his seat, saying: “Pray
do not leave us, madame— you look
pale, though, and perhaps ueed rest. I
“Upon my word. / congratulate you."
trust, however, your indisposition has
nothing to do with the sight 1 observed
you watching from the window. Do
you know what it means?” And he
turned to Norreys.
In spite of myself I stopped for an
instant; but Norreys ignored him, and
De Clermont went on:
“It means, monsieur, that this ap
parition is always seen when a man
dies by the band of De Clermont-Fer
rand.”
Norreys simply bowed, though I
thought I heard the word “boaster”
muttered between his teeth, and. turn
ing to me, said. "Permit me. madame.”
and gave me his arm to take me from
the room.
Outside in the narrow passage that
led to my chamber he stopped and held
out his hand.
“Let me say adieu, madame. I would
accompany you if I could, but it is im
possible. I would advise you to leave
at once before any of M. le Marquis’
men come up. 1 can see he is ripe for
mischief.”
“M. de Norreys, I am no fool—l can
understand. For mercy’s sake, avoid
a quarrel with De Clermont. He is a
deadly swordsman, and if anything
happens to you I shall feel all my life
that I was the cause of it God knows.
I owe you much, for you have opened
my eyes. Promise me, monsieur, prom
ise me!”
“Madame, the ust* ot uie oword is not
confined to your country nor to De
Clermont alone.” And then he saw the
tears spring to my eyes. “Ah, madame,
not that; you will unman me. See.
There is your equerry. Commend me to
De Ixirgnac when you meet, and
adieu.”
lie dropped my hand nnd turned on
his heel, hut I could not let him go like
[ that.
“Monsieur, not that way. Promise
me what I ask.”
“I promise to avoid a quarrel if pos
sible. I can say no more.” With that
lie went, erect and stately. Of what
followed I never knew, lift, alas, there
is one sorrow that ever haunts me!
And in the quiet churchyard of St.
Y'riarte is a tomb which I visit yearly
with my husband, and it covers the
heart of as brave and gallant a gentle
man as ever lived—poor Norreys!
CHAPTER VIII.
BLAISE I)E LORGNAC.
WE lost no time in setting forth
from the Golden Frog, and
as Lalande had apparently
been warned by Norreys of
the danger of our meeting any of De
Clermont’s following we once more
left what by u stretch I might call the
direct road and again took to the hill
tracks, where our wearied beasts,
which from my heart I pitied, stum
bled slowly and painfully along.
But if the beasts were wearied how
was it with myself and my rpaid? I
was able to keep up no doubt because
of the mental excitement under which
I labored, but I have never understood
how my faithful Mousette endured
that journey. It was in truth a road
of suffering.
I simply went on mechanically, my
mind a prey to a thousand conflicting
emotions and to thoughts that chased
one another across it like dry and
fallen leaves in a forest glade blown
hither and thither by an autumn
wind- It bad struck me. as there was
nothing to be feared from De Termes,
that I should order Lalande to turn
and gride me back to madame and
I’erigueux, but De Clermont bar Ted
the way, and it was better after all
to push on to Meymac and there with
a cooler head than I now possessed de
cide what to do. What had I not pass
ed through within the last few hours?
I had made trouble enough for myself
by Jumping womanlike to conclusions
nnd imagining that the postscript of
De Termes’ letter to his wife referred
to me, whereas it clearly concerned
some one else. That was perhaps a
pardonable error, considering the cir
cumstances. but there were other
things, and even now my face grows
hot when I think of them.
My nature is proud. That can never
alter, though sorrow and many a bitter
lesson have brought me good sense, but
it cut like a knife to realize how I bod
been fooled by De Clermont and how
near I had been to fall a victim to a
pitiless libertine. It is a bad and cruel
lesson for any woman to learn that she
has been the sport of a man, ten times
bad and cruel if the woman be proud
and high spirited. And as for De Lor
gnac I did not know what to think.
My mind concerning him was a chaos.
I had misjudged him, wronged him ut
terly, but it was gall to me to know that
he had stood forth as my champion.
It was bitterness untold to think that
I must humble myself in my heart be
fore him. I could never do so in words
to his face if ever we met; a daughter
of Mieux could not do that. It was aw
ful to think that his hands were red
with blood for my sake, ard I shud
dered as I reflected that I had been as
it were the immediate cause of a
frightful death. De Lorgnac had no
business to kill that man. whoever he
was; he had no right to make me feel
almost a murderess, and withal there
rose in my heart a kind of fierce pride
in the man who could do this for my
sake and a joy I could not make out
because he was other than I took him
to be— because, in short, he was a gal
lant gentleman, aud not—oh, I need
say no more!
When we bad traveled for about the
space of two hours, the horse of one of
the two troopers that M. de Norreys ii
his kindness had lent to me fell while
crossing a water cut, and on examina
tion it was found to he so hurt that i’
was impossible for it to continue the
journey to Millevranches. It was de
cided that the two men should be left
behind to return to their camp—they
had not far to go—and that we should
press on as before. I gave the good
fellows a brace of crowns apiece, and,
commending myself to M. de Norreys.
we went on the’ sheep track—l can
call it by no better name—now passing
through all the wildest scenery sur
rounding the Puy de Meymac.
“If luck befriends us. madame, and
the storm which has kept off so long
does not come, we should reach Mille
vranehes in a little over two hours.”
said Lalande to me as we rode down a
narrow and steep descent.
“Why should the storm come on
now? There is no breath of air stir
ring, and the moon is clear.”
The equerry did not reply until
reaching the more level ground at the
foot of the Incline down which we had
ridden and then, pointing behind me,
said simply, “Look, madame!”
Turning, 1 saw that half the are of
the heavens was. as It were, obscured
by a thick curtain that hung heavily
and sullenly over It, and as we looked
a chain of fire ran across the black
ness, the distant roar of thunder came
to us. and then a low, deep moaning
vibrated through the air.
“The storm i9 afoot, I fear, madame.
We mast press on and cross the
Luxege. which, though narrow enough
to jump over now, may in an hour he
impassable, and with the darkness it
will be impossible to tell the way.”
At this speech Mousette gave a little
cry of alarm and then, her fears over
coming her. began to declare that she
could go no farther and begged us to
leave her there to die, to be killed by
the storm or eaten up by the wolves, it
did not matter which; either alterna
tive was preferable to going on. I
tried all I could to pacify the poor girl,
but she was getting into a state of hys
terical excitement and absolutely re
fused to move, though every moment
was precious and the dead stillness
formerly around us was uow awake
with the voice of the coming storm.
At lust I began to despair of moving
her when Lalande said grimly: “Leave
her to me, madame. lam au old mar
ried man.” Then, bending forward, he
seized my bridle and with a cool “Adieu,
mademoiselle; I hope you will not dis
agree with the wolves” to Mousette be
gan to urge our beasts forward not
withstanding my protests.
But the issue showed he was right
though I confess I was surprised to see
the way in which my maid recovered
her strength under this rough and
ready treatment, for in two minutes
she was bustling along at our heels.
But the lost time never came to our
hands again, and as we began to de
scend the wooded slope toward the
Luxege, which we could hear hum
ming angrily below us, the storm burst
with a shriek of the winds aud an ab
solute darkness that was rendered
more intense and horrible by the vivid
flashes of lightning and ths continuous
roar of thunder. In a trice Lalande
had dismounted and taken us from our
horses, and the poor animals seemed
so overcome by fear or fatigue or both
combined that they stood perfectly
still.
“It is death, madame, attempting to
ride now. We must get to the river on
foot.” Saying this, Lalande managed
somehow to get the horses in front of
us, and then, holding on to each other
and guided by the incessant flashes of
lightning, we began a slow and pain
ful progress. I soon began to feel the
fatigue and exhaustion so much that I
in my turn begged Lalande to stop.
“Courage, madame, ’tis but a few
yards more to the river bank,” he an
swered. “There we can stop and rest.”
And I took my heart up and strove on
ward again. At last, when within a
few yards of the river, I sank down ut
terly exhausted and unable to move
farther, and Mousette alternately sob
bed and prayed over me, while now
and again I could see the tall figure of
Lalande standing grim and motionless,
and once I fancied I heard a deep oath.
He gave us some cognac from a flask
he carried, and then there was nothing
for it but to wait and meet death if it
was to be. Now there came a series
of lightning flashes that lit up the ter
rific scene, and I almost gasped, for
right before me on a butting crag I
made out a small castle. Lalande saw
it, too. for he blew long and shrilly on
his horn, and then we watched and
waited for a time that seemed inter
minable, when all at once the flare of
a huge beacon rose bright and red
agaiust the darkness and an answering
bugle reached our ears. Lalande blew
again, and to our joy there was a reply.
Strength came back to me with the
prospect of safety, and, rising to my
feet. I called to Lalande: “On! On!”
He answered. “The river, madame”—
I looked and saw below a white, lash
ing flood that swung and swirled past
with a savage roar. The lightning show
ed us the angry water and the wicked,
dancing foam that seemed to leap up
in delight at the prospect of the black
swirl below it dragging us down to
death. Then again we heard the bugle
notes, and we saw the lights of torches
and heard the shouting of men from
the opposite bank.
“Let us go on to meet them. We are
saved!” screamed Mousette. And, hold
ing on to each other, we staggered past
the horses, which stood all huddled to
gether, only to be stopped here by the
utter darkness and Lalande.
“For the love of heaven, madame, do
not move!” he cried. “Rescue is com
ing.”
And it did come.
All that 1 can remember was seeing
the light of many spluttering torches
around us. Some one lifted me in his
arms like a child, and I heard a voice
say, “Be careful with the horses over
the bridge, Pierre,” and then my
strength gave way.
I had been asleep—asleep for ages, it
seemed—and all the past was a dream,
thank God! This was the thought that
struck me as I opened my eyes. But
as I looked around 1 saw the room in
which 1 lay was strange to me, and
inch by inch everything came back,
all except the events of the last mo
ments by the river, where my recollec
tion became confused. It was daylight,
but still the remains of the storm of
last night were in evidence, and I could
hear the water dripping from the eaves
and through the half open dormer win
dow the murmur of the Luxege, still
angry and unappeased, reached my
ears.
Where was I ? I looked about me and
found that I was In a large room,
warm from the effects of a huge wood
fire that danced cheerily in the fire
place. Leaning on one elbow. I glanced
6till farther about me and saw that the
furniture was the same old and heavily
antique make that we had at Mieux.
The curtains of the bed were, however,
worn and faded, the tapestry on the
walls was older and more faded still,
and then my eyes were arrested by the
coat of arms carved on the stonework
of the fireplace— two wolves’ heads,
with a motto so chipped and defaced
that 1 could not read it. Whose was
the device? I lay back and thought,
but could not make it out. Certainly
not that of any of the great houses.
No doubt my kind preserver belonged
to the lesser nobility, hut I could soon
find out. Then ! ci >s-d my eyes once
more and wrm!J have >-.'<• t. but was
aroused by some one entering the room
and, looking up. saw Mousette.
“Ah. nmdrm — ran! ’me 1 mean.” she
said eagerly, “thank ;od yon ; - : -e 1; •■!:-
ing none ?!..* > or: •• f r t -r t,
night. I lirt’e * v .:’d ever
live to >ee ... . i„hi a D ’
“Where are we. Mousette, and who
are the kind people who saved us?”
“I do not know, madame,” she an
swered quickly, “but we are the only
women here. But.” she ran on, “it is
midday and touching the dinner hour.
Will madame rise or he served here?”
"1 will rise, of course. Mousette.”
And during the course of my toilet I
asked if the people of the house knew
who we w ere.
"I have not mentioned anything, ma
dame." replied Mousette, with her face
slightly turned away, “and Lalande is
discreet.”
I felt that Mousette knew more than
she cared to tell, but it is not my way
to converse with servants, and, finish
ing my dress in silence, I asked her
to show me the way to the salon, and
as I spoke I heard a gong go.
“Monsieur will be served in half an
hour." said Mousette. “This way, ma
dame.” And, opening the curtains of
the door, she led me down a series of
winding steps worn with the feet that
had passed up and down there for per
haps a couple of centuries and then,
past a long passage hung with suits of
rusty armor and musty trophies of the
chase, to a large door. * I gathered that
“Z see. Monsieur docs not dine here."
Mousette had been making good use of
her time while in the house, but kept
silent. The door was open, and as I
passed in Mousette left me. and I was
in a room that was apparently used
as a dining room and salon as w T ell,
for a man’s hat and a pair of leathern
gloves somewhat soiled with use were
lying on a table, and a great hound
rose slowly from the rushes on the floor
and, after eying me a moment, came
up in a most friendly manner to be
patted and made much of. A small ta
ble near the fireplace was laid for one,
and as I was looking toward it a gray
haired and sober servant brought in
the dinner and then, bowing gravely,
announced that'l w T as served.
“Is not monsieur—monsieur”— I stam
mered.
“M. le Chevalier has had to go out
on urgent business. He has ordered
me to present his compliments to ma
dame”—
“I see. Monsieur does not dine here.”
The man bowed, and I sat down to a
solitary meal with the big dog at my
feet and the silent, grave attendant to
wait on me. I amused myself with the
bound and" with taking stock of the
room. Like everything else I had seen,
its furniture and fittings seemed a cen
tury old aud spoke of wealth that had
passed away. There was a sadness
about this and a gloom that saddened
me in spite of myself, so that it was
with an effort I managed to eat, and
then, when dinner was over, I told the
servant to inform his master that I de
sired to thank him for the great kind
ness shown me.
“I will deliver madame’s message.”
And with this reply he went
Left to myself, I went to the window
and looked out through the glazing.
The landscape was obscured by a roll
ing mist, but the sun was dissipating
this bravely. It was a wild and deso
late scene and, despite the sunlight,
oppressed me almost as much as my
solitary meal; so I turned back into the
room and, seating myself in a great
chair, stared into the fireplace, the
hound stretching himself beside me. I
was still wearied, and my thoughts ran
slowly on until I caught myself won
dering who my unknown host was and
getting a trifle impatient, too, because
he did not come, for I was anxious to
set forward to Meymac.
Suddenly I heard a steady, measured
step in the passage, the bound leaped
up with a bay of welcome, aud as I
rose from my seat the curtain was lift
ed and I stood face to face with my
husband.
CHAPTER IX.
LA COQUILLE’S MESSAGE.
De Lorgnac!” I gasped.
“Even I.” he said. “I
JJ, thought you kuew. Are you
none the worse for your ad
venture of last night?”
“I am quite well, thanks to God—
and thanks to you,” I was about to
add, but my lips could not frame the
words and l felt myself beginning to
tremble. Monsieur noticed this.
“I am afraid you overrate your
strength. Do sit down,” he said kind
ly-
“l prefer to stand, thank you, M. le
Chevalier.” And then there was a si
lence. during which I know not what
passed through De Lorgnac’s mind.
But I—l was fighting with myself to
prevent my heart getting the better of
me. for if so I would have to humble
myself—l. a daughter of Mieux! Mon
sieur broke the silence himself.
“Denise, 1 give you my word of hon-
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or that I would not have Intruded on
you but that you asked to see me and
I thought you knew whom you wished
to see. Besides, I felt that I owed a
little to myself. You have accused me
of being a dishonored gentleman, of
being little less than a common bravo,
of wedding you to your misery for
your estates.” He came forward a
Step and looked me full in the face
iwitli his clear, strong eyes. “As God
is my witness,” he went on, “you are
utterly mistaken. I am going today
on an affair the issue of which no one
can foresee. Think! Would i go with
a lie on my lips? Answer me—tell me.
Whatever else you may think, you do
not believe this.”
I was fumbling with one of his
gloves and could not meet his look.
"You put me in a difficult position,
monsieur. This is your own house.”
He looked about him with a bitter
smile. “Yes, it is my house; hardly
the house to which one would bring
the heiress of Mieux. But is that your
answer to me?”
And stili I was silent. I could not
bring myself to say what he wanted.
And now, too, it was not only pride
that was holding me back; I felt that
if I gave him the answer he wished,
manlike, he would begin to press his
love on me, and I was not prepared for
this. I did not know thy own feelings
toward him, but of one thing I was
sure—l would not be bound by hollow
vows that were forced upon me, and so
I fenced.
“This adventure of yours, monsieur—
is it so very dangerous?”
“It is not the danger I am thinking
of; 1t is your faith in my honor. No
man is blameless, and least of all I.
I own I was wrong—that I sinried
grievously in marrying you as I have.
My excuse is that I love you. That is
a thing I cannot control, but I will do
all I can to make reparation. I will
never see you again, and the times are
such that you may soon be as free as
air. All that I ask is this one thing.”
“But. monsieur, have you no proof
nothing to bring forward?”
“I have nothing to offer but my
word.”
“Your word—your word? Is that all
you can say?”
He bowed slightly in reply, but his
look was hungry for his answer. Still
I could not give it and played with
time.
“You say you love me. Does love re
sign its object as you do—without a
struggle? If I believe one thing, I must
believe all, monsieur. I cannot believe
a profession of love like yours”—how
false I knew this to be —“and the rest
must follow.”
He twisted at his mustache in the
old way. and I saw his sunburned face
grow as it were on a sudden wan and
haggard, and the pity that lies in all
women’s hearts rose within me.
"Monsieur le Chevalier, if you were
to get the answer that you wanted
would you still adhere to your promise
and never s? me again?”
“I have said so,” he said hoarsely.
“Then, monsieur, let me tell you that
I have found I was wrong and that I
do believe your word—nay, more, mon
sieur, I have found De Lorgnac to be
a gallant gentleman, whom Denise de
Mieux has to thank for her honor and
her life”—
“Denise!” There was a glad note in
his voice, and in a moment he had
stepped up to me. and 1 had yielded
but that 1 wanted this king among
men to be king over himself.
“A moment, monsieur. You have giv
en me your word; be strong enough to
keep it. I have learned to respect and
honor you. but I do not love you. You
must keep your word, De Lorgnac,
and go—until 1 ask you to come back.”
Without a word he turned on his
heel and walked toward the door. But
I could not let him go like that, and I
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“l have learned to respect and honor
you," she said.
called to him. lie stopped and turned
toward me, but made no further ad
vance, and then I went up to him with
my hand outstretched.
"Monsieur, there is one thing more.
I have the honor to be the wife of De
Lorgnac, and for the present 1 crave
your permission to make Lorgnac my
home. Will you not grant me this re
quest. and will you not shake hands
before you go?”
I thought I had tried him too far
and that the man would break down,
but. no, the metal was true. But the
haggard look on his face went out as
he answered;
“Denise, Lorgnac is yours to its
smallest stone, and I thank yon for
this.” Then he bent down and touched
my fingers with his lips and was gone.
1 listened to his footsteps dying away
along the passage. Would I ever eait
him back? It was on my tongue to do
so as he went, but I held myself in
and began restlessly to pace the room.
“If I but knew myself! If I but knew
myself!” I called out aloud and then
moved aimlessly toward the window-
Here I looked out, but saw nothing of
the view', for I was looking into m. r
own heart, and there all was mist and
fog. The more I tried to think the
more hopeless it all seemed, and it
came to me to abandon my position
and, accepting my fate, make the best
of circumstances, as other women ha<
done. I could give_respect and trust,
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