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Madame Riano's greeting was kind, Francezka's more than kind. They were to be the guests of some great people at the fine mansion for which they were bound, during the remainder of the camp about a fortnight longer.
I could see that the applause had got into Francezka's blood. She dearly loved a triumph, and she had one now. She was ever the most graceful creature alive and knew how to make what beauty she had shine, for I have ever said her taste, her grace, her charm and her wit were three-fourths of her beauty. At that moment, therefore, all these things, beauties in themselves, were most in evidence.
And feeling this, I fell asleep, sitting at the open window, and had the loveliest dream I had yet had of Francezka. When I awakened, the moon had gone down, the air had turned chill and I was oppressed with that strange feeling which comes from physical discomfort when one is asleep. A light glowed from Francezka's window, and I saw her graceful figure bending over her writing table.
The one thought in my mind was Francezka. I considered within myself whether it were not my duty to confide to Count Saxe the fact that Francezka was Gaston's wife, and I quickly concluded that it was my duty. And so one night, sitting at the writing table, I told him the story of Francezka's and Gaston's love. Count Saxe listened to me attentively.
At last, it came to me. I saw, afar, through the bare trees, the white statues gleaming, the black cedars, the yew trees black, too, in the white moonlight. I ran toward this garden, with its pathway to the lake, and thought every moment I should see before me Francezka's flying figure. She was ever fleet of foot, and when I remembered this, the heart within me died.
None of us believed that any very severe measures would be taken against Madame Riano, and we spoke cheerfully of Francezka's speedily rejoining her. To this Francezka listened attentively. For an hour we sat thus, in the light of the fire's red blaze.
Something within me was ever calling calling, in Francezka's name "Come to me!" There are degrees in these superstitions of the heart. Sometimes they usurp the scepter of the brain. Then, indeed, are they dangerous and foolish. Again, it is known to be only the cry of the heart; and the poor, tormented heart waits patiently upon its master, the brain. So it was with me.
It was a superb estate, and his own modest country house was within sight of it. Castle Haret, which Regnard Cheverny had so cleverly acquired, was some distance off in the same province. In Francezka's childhood, during her parents' lifetime, she had lived at the château, where Gaston and his brother had often played with her as a little girl.
The little priest told me afterward, that he was afraid, if the bishop undertook to harangue Francezka in private, he would get such a reception that his ears would burn for a week; and he looked to the third person to restrain Francezka's tongue, which was somewhat free on all occasions. By that time we had dismounted from the coach.
I had ever believed Count Saxe's star led him not to statecraft, but to war. He named me first to go with him, Gaston Cheverny and Beauvais, and, of course, Mademoiselle Capello. He told me to represent to Francezka it would be better for her to assume her boy's dress on our retreat. I went to the other end of the terrace, to Francezka's tower, and knocked softly on the window.
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