We must now return to the small shepherds cottage in the landes; and, passing over the intervening day which had been occupied in the burial of the good pastor, we must take up the story of ClÉmence de Marly on the morning of which we have just been speaking. At an early hour on that day Armand Herval came into the cottage, where the people were setting before her the simple meal of ewe milk and black bread, which was all that they could afford to give; and, standing by her side with somewhat of a wild air, he asked her if she were ready to go. She had seen him several times on the preceding day, and his behaviour had always been so respectful, his grief for the death of Claude de l'Estang so sincere, and the emotions which he displayed at the burial of the body in the sand so deep and unaffected, that ClÉmence had conceived no slight confidence in a man, whom she might have shrunk from with terror, had she known that in him she beheld the same plunderer, who, under the name of Brown Keroual, had held her for some time a prisoner in the forest near Auron.

"To go where, Sir?" she demanded, with some degree of agitation. "I knew not that I was about to go any where."

"Oh, yes!" replied the man, in the same wild way. "We should have gone yesterday, and I shall be broke for insubordination. You do not know how stern he is when he thinks fit, and how no prayers or intreaties can move him."

"Whom do you speak of, Sir?" demanded ClÉmence. "I do not know whom you mean."

"Why, the General to be sure," replied the man, "the Commander-in-Chief,--your husband--the Count de Morseiul."

The blood rushed up into the cheek of ClÉmence de Marly. "You are mistaken," she said; "he is not my husband."

"Then he soon will be," replied the man with a laugh; "though the grave is a cold bridal bed.--I know that, lady!--I know that full well; for when I held her to my heart on the day of our nuptials, the cheek that used to feel so warm when I kissed it, was as cold as stone; and when you come to kiss his cheek, or brow, too, after they have shot him, you will find it like ice--cold--cold--with a coldness that creeps to your very soul, and all the heat that used to be in your heart goes into your brain, and there you feel it burning like a coal."

ClÉmence shuddered, both at the evident insanity of the person who was talking to her, and at the images which his words called up before her eyes. He was about to go on, but a tall, dark, powerful man came in from the cottage door where he had been previously standing, and laid hold of Herval's arm, saying, "Come, Keroual, come. You are only frightening the lady; and, indeed, you ought to be upon the march. What will my Lord say? The fit is upon him now, Madam," he continued, addressing ClÉmence, "but it will soon go away again. They drove him mad, by shooting a poor girl he was in love with at the preaching on the moor, which you may remember. I am not sure, but I think you were there too. If I could get him to play a little upon the musette at the door, the fit would soon leave him. He used to be so fond of it, and play it so well.--Poor fellow, he is terribly mad! See how he is looking at us without speaking.--Come Keroual, come; here is the musette at the door;" and he led him away by the arm.

"Ay," said the old shepherd as they went out, "one is not much less mad than the other. There, they ought both to have gone to have joined the Count last night. But the burying of poor Monsieur de l'Estang seemed to set them both off; and now there are all the men drawn out and ready to march, and they will sit and play the musette there, Lord knows how long!"

"But what did they mean by asking if I were ready?" said ClÉmence. "Do they intend to take me with them?"

"Why yes, Madam," replied the old man; "I suppose so. The litter was ready for you last night, and as the army is going to retreat I hear, it would not be safe for you to stay here, as the Catholics are coming up in great force under the Chevalier d'Evran."

ClÉmence started and turned round, while the colour again rushed violently into her cheeks; and then she covered her eyes with her hands, as if to think more rapidly by shutting out all external objects. She was roused, however, almost immediately, by the sound of the musette, and saying, "I will go! I am quite ready to go!" she advanced to the door of the cottage.

It was a strange and extraordinary sight that presented itself. Herval and Paul Virlay, dressed in a sort of anomalous military costume, and armed with manifold weapons, were sitting together on the stone bench at the cottage door, the one playing beautifully upon the instrument of his native province, and the other listening, apparently well satisfied; while several groups of men of every complexion and expression, were standing round, gazing upon the two, and attending to the music. The air that Herval or Keroual was playing was one of the ordinary psalm tunes in use amongst the Protestants, and he gave it vast expression; so that pleasure in the music and religious enthusiasm seemed entirely to withdraw the attention of the men from the madness of the act at that moment. Paul Virlay, however, was mad in that kind, if mad at all, which is anxious and cunning in concealing itself; and the moment he saw ClÉmence, he started up with somewhat of shame in his look, saying,--

"He is better now, Madam; he is better now. Come, Herval," he continued, touching his arm, "let us go."

Herval, however, continued till he had played the tune once over again, and then laying down the musette, he looked in Virlay's face for a moment without speaking; but at length replied,--

"Very well, Paul, let us go. I am better now. Madam, I beg your pardon; I am afraid we have hurried you."

Even as he spoke a messenger came up at full speed, his horse in a lather of foam, and eagerness and excitement in his countenance.

"In the name of Heaven, Keroual, what are you about?" he cried. "Here is the Count and Monsieur du Bar engaged with the whole force of the enemy within two miles of you. In Heaven's name put your men in array, and march as fast as possible, or you will be cut off, and they defeated."

The look of intelligence and clear sense came back into Herval's countenance in a moment.

"Good God! I have been very foolish," he said, putting his hand to his head. "Quick, my men: each to his post: Sound the conch there. But the lady," he continued, turning to the man who had ridden up; "what can we do with the lady?"

"Oh, she must be taken with you, by all means," replied the man. "We can send her on from the cross road into the front. They will sweep all this country, depend upon it; and they are not men to spare a lady."

ClÉmence turned somewhat pale as the man spoke; and though, in fact, her fate was utterly in the hands of those who surrounded her, she turned an inquiring look upon Maria, who stood near, as if asking what she should do.

"Oh, go, lady! go!" cried the attendant, in a language which the men did not understand, but which ClÉmence seemed to speak fluently; and after a few more words she retired into the cottage, to wait for the litter, while the band of Brown Keroual, some on horseback and some on foot, began to file off towards the scene of action. In a few minutes after the litter appeared; but by this time two mules had been procured for it, and, with a man who knew the country well for their driver, ClÉmence and Maria set off with the last troop of the Huguenots, which was brought up by Herval himself. He was now all intelligence and activity; and no one to see him could have conceived that it was the same man, whose mind but a few minutes before seemed totally lost. He urged on their march as fast as possible, pressing the party of foot which was attached to his mounted band; and in a few minutes after a sharp fire of musketry met the ear of ClÉmence as she was borne forward. This continued for a little time, as they passed round the edge of a low wood which flanked the hills on one side, and seemed the connecting link between the landes and the cultivated country. About five minutes after, however, louder and more rending sounds were heard; and it was evident that cannon were now employed on both sides. The voices of several people shouting, too, were heard, and a horse without a rider came rushing by, and startled the mules that bore the litter.

ClÉmence de Marly could but raise her prayers to God for his blessing on the right cause. It was not fear that she felt, for fear is personal. It was awe. It was the impressive consciousness of being in the midst of mighty scenes, which sometimes in her moments of wild enthusiasm she had wished to see, but which she now felt to be no matter for sport or curiosity.

Another instant she was out upon the side of the hill beyond the wood; and the whole scene laid open before her. That scene was very awful, notwithstanding the confusion which prevented her from comprehending clearly what was going on. A large body of troops was evidently marching up the valley to the attack of the heights. A windmill surrounded by some low stone walls, not a hundred yards to the left of the spot where she was placed, appeared at the moment she first saw it one blaze of fire, from the discharge of musketry and cannon, which seemed to be directed, as far as she could judge, against the flank of a body of cavalry coming up a road in the valley. On the slope of the hill, however, to the right, a considerable body of infantry was making its way up to the attack of the farther angle of the wood, round which she herself had just passed; and, from amongst the trees and brushwood, nearly stripped of their leaves as they were, she could see poured forth almost an incessant torrent of smoke and flame upon the assailing party, seeming almost at every other step to make them waver, as if ready to turn back.

The object, however, which engaged her principal attention was a small body of horsemen, apparently rallying, and reposing for a moment, under shelter of the fire from the hill. Why she knew not,--for the features of none of those composing that party were at all discernible,--but her heart beat anxiously, as if she felt that there was some beloved being there.

The next instant that small body of men was again put in motion, and galloping down like lightning, might be seen, though half hidden by the clouds of dust, to hurl itself violently against the head of the advancing column, like an avalanche against some mighty rock. Almost at the same moment, however, an officer rode furiously up to Herval, and gave him some directions in a quick and eager voice. Herval merely nodded his head; then turned to the driver of the mules, and told him to make as much haste as he could towards Mortagne, along the high road.

"Remain with the head of the column," he said; "and, above all things, keep your beasts to the work, for you must neither embarrass the march, nor let the lady be left behind."

The man obeyed at once; but before he had left the brow of the hill, ClÉmence saw the band of Keroual begin to descend towards the small body of cavaliers we have mentioned, while a company of musketeers, at a very few yards distance from her, began to file off as if for retreat. All the confusion of such a scene succeeded, the jostling, the rushing, the quarrels, the reproaches, the invectives, which take place upon the retreat of an irregular force. But several bodies of better disciplined men taking their way along the road close to ClÉmence, preserved some order and gave her some protection; and as they passed rapidly onward, the sounds of strife and contention, the shouts and vociferations of the various commanders, the rattle of the small arms and the roar of the artillery, gradually diminished; and while ClÉmence hoped in her heart that the battle was over, she looked round for some one coming up from the rear to inquire for the fate of him for whom her heart had beat principally during that morning.

For about half an hour, however, nobody came, the retreat assumed the appearance of an orderly march, and all was going on tranquilly, when a horseman came up at a quick pace, and pulled in his charger beside the litter. ClÉmence looked towards him. It was not the face that she expected to see, but, on the contrary, that of a tall, thin, hale old man, perfectly a stranger to her. He pulled off his hat with military courtesy, and bowed low.

"I beg your pardon, Madam," he said, "but I have just been informed of your name, quality, and situation, and also with the circumstances of your being brought from Thouare hither. I come to say," he added, lowering his voice and bending down, "that I am just going to visit an old friend, the Duke de RouvrÉ, who, I understand, is your guardian. Now, I do not know whether you are here of your own good will, or whether there be any degree of force in the matter. Should you, however, be disposed to send any message to the Duke, I am ready to take it."

"I give you many thanks, Sir," replied ClÉmence, "but, of course, I can send no long message now, nor detailed explanation of my situation. Assure him only, and the Duchess, who has been a mother to me, of my deep love, and gratitude, and respect."

"But shall I tell them," said the old man, "that you are here with your consent, or without your consent?"

"You may tell them," replied ClÉmence, "that I was brought here indeed without my consent, though being here I must now remain voluntarily. My fate is decided."

"Do you mean to say, Madam?" demanded the old gentleman, bluffly, "that I am to tell them you are married? That is the only way in general that a woman's fate can be decided which I know of."

"No, Sir," replied ClÉmence, colouring, "there is in this country a different decision of one's fate. I am a Protestant! It must no longer, and it can no longer be concealed."

A bright and noble smile came upon the old man's countenance. "I beg your pardon, Madam," he said. "I have spoken somewhat rudely, perhaps; but I will deliver your message, and at some future time may ask your pardon, if you will permit me, for having called the colour into a lady's cheek, a thing that I am not fond of doing, though it be beautiful to see."

Thus saying, and bowing low, he was about to turn his horse and canter back again, when an eager look that lighted up ClÉmence's features, made him pause even before she spoke, and ride on a little further beside her.

"You came from the rear, Sir, I think," she said, in a low and faltering voice. "May I ask how has gone the day?--Is the Count de Morseiul safe?"

The old man smiled again sweetly upon her. "Madam," he said, "did not sad experience often show us that it were not so, I should think, from the fate of the Count of Morseiul this day, that a gallant and all daring heart is a buckler which neither steel nor lead can penetrate. I myself have sat and watched him, while in six successive charges he attacked and drove back an immensely superior force of the enemy's cavalry, charging and retreating every time under the most tremendous and well sustained fire of the light infantry on their flanks that ever I saw. Scarcely a man of his whole troop has escaped without wounds, and but too many are killed. The Count himself, however, is perfectly unhurt. I saw him five minutes ago bringing up the rear, and as by that time the enemy were showing no disposition to pursue vigorously, he may be considered as safe, having effected his retreat from a very difficult situation in the most masterly manner. Is there any one else, Madam, of whom I can give you information?"

"I fear not," replied the lady. "There is, indeed, one that I would fain ask for; but as you have been with the Count de Morseiul, probably you do not know him. I mean the Chevalier d'Evran."

"What, both the commanders!" exclaimed the old gentleman, with a smile which again called the colour into ClÉmence's cheek. "But I beg your pardon, Madam," he added; "I have a better right to tell tales than to make comments. In this instance I cannot give you such accurate information as I did in the other, for I do not know the person of the Chevalier d'Evran. But as far as this little perspective glass could show me, the gentleman who has been commanding the royal forces, and whom I was informed was the Chevalier d'Evran, is still commanding them, and apparently unhurt. I discovered him by his philomot scarf, and sword knot, after losing sight of him for a time. But he was still upon horseback, commanding in the midst of his staff, and has the credit of having won the day, though the immense superiority of his forces rendered any other result out of the question, even if he had not acted as well and skilfully as he has done. I will now once more beg pardon for intruding upon you, and trust that fair fortune and prosperity may attend you."

Thus saying, he turned and cantered away; and on looking round to her maid, ClÉmence perceived that Maria had drawn the hood of her grey cloak over her head.