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When Roberval returned to his castle, and the great iron gates flew back to admit him, he was amazed to see, standing in the courtyard, the stalwart form of La Pommeraye. He knew that the young man had gone to Canada, and he had hoped that the New World, which had swallowed up so many valiant Frenchmen, would have found him a grave.
She was no fisherman; and many who had money invested in sea ventures flocked to the walls. Among the rest stood the keen-sighted Cartier, who never heard of the approach of a vessel from foreign shores but he thought of La Pommeraye. Scarcely had he caught sight of the ship when he exclaimed: "It is the Marie, and loaded to the decks!" And to himself he added: "Back so soon?
Night and day she saw before her eyes that lonely grave on the hillside where her heart lay buried; and at times the longing to return to it grew too strong for her, and she was tempted to beg La Pommeraye to take her back.
The friends who had known and loved her before her departure would gladly have welcomed her back; but she shunned all society. Never again could she mingle in the world of Paris. She accepted the invitation of an old and dearly-loved companion, and went to stay at a villa on the banks of the Seine. Here, after a time, La Pommeraye ventured to visit her.
By her side shambled the young bear, a shaggy, ferocious-looking monster, enough of itself to strike terror to the hearts of the amazed sailors. The men in the boat lost their courage, and their nerveless hands refused to grasp the oars. But the stern, commanding voice of La Pommeraye restored their presence of mind.
Midnight came; and when everything was at rest save the clink, clank of the sentry's footfall as he walked back and forth on the wall, La Pommeraye raised himself on his elbow, and listened. A rat seemed to be gnawing at the wall. "Hard food, these stones," he said to himself. "Methinks," he added, as the sound grew louder, "the rat hath strong teeth."
She gave herself up to unselfish devotion to others and her duty; and as if the storms of her life had buffeted themselves into exhaustion in her youth, the rest of her days seemed destined to pass in peace and tranquillity if not in happiness. She heard at intervals from La Pommeraye.
He was inclined to suspect that jealousy of De Roberval, and disappointment at his own failure, had something to do with Cartier's anxiety to break up a scheme on which his heart had been set a year before. La Pommeraye saw his hopes receding into the distance; his heart sank within him.
And in fact, De Roberval had resolved within himself to add yet one more brutal deed to the long list which had ruined his life, and changed him from a gentleman and a man of honour to a bully, a coward, and an assassin. La Pommeraye had returned to France. He had but to open his lips, and De Roberval's life was at his mercy.
Trophies of the hunt were scattered here and there; and a pair of crossed swords surmounted an ivory crucifix which hung above a well-worn prie-dieu. "Vanity and ambition," said La Pommeraye to himself as he glanced round the room. The words well summed up De Roberval's character. He would have no man in the nation greater than himself.
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