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Updated: May 5, 2025
It is no disgrace; but no one shall know what has passed here to-night unless from your own lips." But his words came too late. The dagger, flashing downwards, struck the breast of the infatuated man, who fell apparently lifeless. A wild scream rang out from behind the wall. It was Bastienne, no longer to be restrained.
All three were soon established in the cramped and narrow little stairway which Marguerite had described, and waited with no small trepidation the arrival of the contestants. It was difficult to keep Bastienne quiet. A bright moon was shining in a clear sky, and a gentle breeze crept in from the Channel, cold and piercing.
Marie, weeping bitterly, followed her, and finally old Bastienne, filling the air with sobs and lamentations, was deposited beside her mistress. The men took up their oars, and waited the signal for departure. Roberval was gloomily pacing the deck. His niece's words had gone home, and he was on the point of relenting.
Her proud spirit, which had so nobly sustained her throughout the voyage, gave way at last, and she threw herself at her uncle's feet, beseeching him to have mercy. Roberval vouchsafed her no answer, but, raising her with an iron grip, he bore her half-swooning to where Marie and Bastienne were cowering together at the side of the vessel.
But then, if what you say of La Pommeraye be true and my uncle is alone, and no one knows of the meeting yes, Bastienne, I am here. What is it?" She interrupted herself at the entrance of a short, thick-set woman, considerably past middle-age evidently a privileged old servant. There was no mistaking her origin. She was a peasant of Picardy, faithful, honest, good-natured, and strong as an ox.
But spring was to bring small joy to them. Faithful old Bastienne grew weaker day by day. Claude and Marguerite were filled with pity as they saw her sitting, helpless and dejected, on the rude seat near the outdoor fireplace. She could scarcely walk, and the hollow, choking cough, which sounded like a death-knell in their ears, told them she had not long to live.
As De Narvaez shot past he placed his petronel against his breast and fired point blank at De Roberval, but quick-witted Bastienne, who saw his intention, struck her master's horse on the nose, and the animal, careering wildly, received the contents of the charge in the heart. The Spaniards rapidly returned to the attack.
The castle shook to its foundations, and the courtyard was strewn with the dead and the dying. The advance was checked; De Roberval's men rallied, rushed from the castle, and won a glorious victory against overwhelming numbers. Bastienne herself was badly shaken by the explosion, and terrified half to death at her own daring.
It was upon old Bastienne that the change in the climate began to tell most plainly.
She held Bastienne firmly till she felt the old servant's lips tighten under her hand, in sign of submission to the inevitable; and then, with a whispered warning, and without releasing her grip on the woman's arm, she turned her whole attention once more to the scene before them.
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