"It is too late to-day to carry out the sentence," said he, "and as to-morrow will be Sunday, you will have until the day after. By then much may betide, monsieur. My agents are everywhere scouring the province for your servants, and let us pray Heaven that they may succeed in their search.""It is a forlorn hope, Monsieur de Castelroux," I sighed, "and Iwill pin no faith to it lest I suffer a disappointment that will embitter my last moments, and perhaps rob me of some of the fortitude I shall have need of."He answered me, nevertheless, with words of encouragement. No effort was being spared, and if Rodenard and my men were still in Languedoc them was every likelihood that they would be brought to Toulouse in time. Then he added that that, however, was not the sole object of his visit. A lady had obtained permission of the Keeper of the Seals to visit me, and she was waiting to be admitted.
"A lady?" I exclaimed, and the thought of Roxalanne flitted through my mind. "Mademoiselle de Lavedan?" I inquired.
He nodded. "Yes," said he; then added, "She seems in sore affliction, monsieur."I besought him to admit her forthwith, and presently she came.
Castelroux closed the door as he withdrew, and we were left alone together. As she put aside her cloak, and disclosed to me the pallor of her face and the disfiguring red about her gentle eyes, telling of tears and sleeplessness, all my own trouble seemed to vanish in the contemplation of her affliction.
We stood a moment confronting each other with no word spoken. Then, dropping her glance, and advancing a step, in a faltering, hesitating manner "Monsieur, monsieur," she murmured in a suffocating voice.
In a bound I was beside her, and I had gathered her in my arms, her little brown head against my shoulder.
"Roxalanne!" I whispered as soothingly as I might - "Roxalanne!"But she struggled to be free of my embrace.
"Let me go, monsieur," she pleaded, a curious shrinking in her very voice. "Do not touch me, monsieur. You do not know - you do not know."For answer, I enfolded her more tightly still.
"But I do know, little one," I whispered; "and I even understand."At that, her struggles ceased upon the instant, and she seemed to lie limp and helpless in my arms.
"You know, monsieur," she questioned me - "you know that I betrayed you?""Yes," I answered simply.
"And you can forgive me? I am sending you to your death and you have no reproaches for me! Oh, monsieur, it will kill me!""Hush, child!" I whispered. "What reproaches can I have for you?
I know the motives that impelled you."
"Not altogether, monsieur; you cannot know them. I loved you, monsieur. I do love you, monsieur. Oh! this is not a time to consider words. If I am bold and unmaidenly, I - I - ""Neither bold nor unmaidenly, but - oh, the sweetest damsel in all France, my Roxalanne!" I broke in, coming to her aid. "Mine was a leprous, sinful soul, child, when I came into Languedoc. I had no faith in any human good, and I looked as little for an honest man or a virtuous woman as one looks for honey in a nettle. I was soured, and my life had hardly been such a life as it was meet to bring into contact with your own. Then, among the roses at Lavedan, in your dear company, Roxalanne, it seemed that some of the good, some of the sweetness, some of the purity about you were infused anew into my heart. I became young again, and I seemed oddly cleansed. In, that hour of my rejuvenation I loved you, Roxalanne."Her face had been raised to mine as I spoke. There came now a flutter of the eyelids, a curious smile about the lips. Then her head drooped again and was laid against my breast; a sigh escaped her, and she began to weep softly.
"Nay, Roxalanne, do not fret. Come, child, it is hot your way to be weak.""I have betrayed you!" she moaned. "I am sending you to your death!""I understand, I understand," I answered, smoothing her brown hair.
"Not quite, monsieur. I loved you so, monsieur, that you can have no thought of how I suffered that morning when Mademoiselle de Marsac came to Lavedan.
"At first it was but the pain of thinking that - that I as about to lose you; that you were to go out of my life, and that I should see you no more - you whom I had enshrined so in my heart.
"I called myself a little fool that morning for having dreamed that you had come to care for me; my vanity I thought had deluded me into imagining that your manner towards me had a tenderness that spoke of affection. I was bitter with myself, and I suffered oh, so much! Then later, when I was in the rose garden, you came to me.
"You remember how you seized me, and how by your manner you showed me that it was not vanity alone had misled me. You had fooled me, I thought; even in that hour I imagined you were fooling me; you made light of me; and my sufferings were naught to you so that Imight give you some amusement to pass the leisure and monotony of your sojourn with us.""Roxalanne - my poor Roxalanne! " I whispered.
"Then my bitterness and sorrow all turned to anger against you.
