Chapter XX

When Consuelo recovered from her unconscious state, she was delighted, although unaware of where she was, or how she had come thither. She was asleep in the open air, but without feeling any inconvenience from the cold of the night, and casting her eyes toward heaven, she saw the stars shining in the clear sky. To this enchanting prospect succeeded ere long a sensation of rapid but pleasant motion. The sound of the oars as they fell in the water at regular intervals, made her understand that she was in a boat, and was passing over the lake. A gentle heat penetrated her limbs, and in the placidity of the silent waters, where the breeze agitated numerous aquatic plants, something pleasant recalled the waters of Venice during the spring. Consuelo lifted up her languid head, looked around her and saw two rowers, one at each extremity of the boat. She looked at the citadel, and saw it in the distance, dark as a mountain of stone in the transparency of the water and sky. She said at once to herself that she was safe, remembered her friends, and pronounced Karl's name with anxiety. "Here I am, signora; not a word; be silent as possible," said Karl, who sat in front of her and rowed away. Consuelo fancied that the other oarsman was Gottlieb, and completely exhausted, she resumed her former attitude. Some one threw over her a soft and warm cloak: she threw it aside, however, that she might contemplate the starry sky which was unfolded above her.

As she felt her strength and the elasticity of her power, which had been paralysed by a violent nervous movement, return, she recovered her senses, and the remembrance of Mayer presented itself horribly to her. She made an effort to arouse herself again, and saw that her head rested on the knees of a third person, whom as yet she had not seen, or whom she had taken for a bale of goods, so completely was he wrapped up and buried in the boat.

Consuelo was terrified when she recalled the imprudent confidence Karl had exhibited to Mayer, and when she fancied the adjutant might be near her. The care he seemed to take appeared to aggravate the suspicions of the fugitive. She was confused at having reposed on that man's bosom, and almost reproached herself for having enjoyed under his protection a few moments of healthful and ineffable oblivion.

Fortunately the boat touched the shore just then, and Consuelo hastened to take Karl's hand and to step on shore. The shock, however, of the boat touching the shore, made her tremble, and almost fall into the arms of this mysterious person. She then saw him rise, and discovered that he wore a black mask. He was at least a head taller than Mayer, and though wrapped in a large cloak, had the appearance of being tall and thin. These circumstances completely assured the fugitive, and she accepted the arm which was silently offered her. She then walked about fifty paces on the strand, followed by Karl and another individual, who by signs had enjoined on her not to say a single word. The country was silent and deserted, and not the slightest sound was heard in the citadel. Behind the thicket was a coach with four horses, into which the stranger went with Consuelo. Karl got on the box, and the third individual disappeared without Consuelo having noticed him. She yielded to the silent anxiety of her liberators, and ere long the carriage, which was excellent and admirably built, rolled on with the rapidity of lightning. The noise of the wheels, and the rapidity of conveyance, did not at all contribute to conversation. Consuelo was intimidated, she was even terrified at a _tête-à-tête_ with the stranger. When she saw that there was no danger, she thought it her duty to express her gratitude and joy. She obtained no answer, however. He sat in front of her as a token of respect; he took her hand and clasped it in his, but said nothing. He then sank into the recess of the carriage, and Consuelo, who had begun the conversation, dared say nothing, and did not venture to persist on his silent refusal. She was very anxious to know what generous friend had secured her safety, yet she experienced for him, she knew not why, an instinctive sentiment of respect, mingled with fear, and her imagination attributed to this strange travelling-companion all the romance which the state of the case might have induced her to expect. At last the idea occurred to her that he was some subaltern agent of the Invisibles, and perhaps a faithful servant, who was afraid of violating his duty by speaking alone to her at night.

After having travelled for about two hours with great rapidity, the coach stopped in a dark wood, the relay not having come. The stranger went a few steps away, either to see if the horses were coming, or to conceal his uneasiness. Consuelo also left the carriage and walked down the road with Karl, of whom she had a thousand questions to ask.

"Thank God, signora," said her faithful attendant, "that you are alive."

"And that you, too, are alive."

"Now that you are safe, why should I not?"

"Where is Gottlieb?"

"I expect he is now in bed at Spandau."

"Heavens! Gottlieb left behind? He will then suffer for us."

"He will suffer neither for himself nor for any one else. The alarm having been given, I know not by whom, I hurried at all risks to find you, seeing that the time was come to risk all for all. I met the adjutant Nauteuil, that is to say, Mayer, the recruiting officer, very pale."

"You met him? Was he up and able to walk?"

"Why not?"

"He was wounded then?"

"Ah, yes. He told me he had hurt himself by falling, in the dark, on a stack of arms. I did not pay much attention to him, and asked where you were. He knew nothing, and seemed out of his mind. I almost thought he had intended to betray us, for the clock which sounded, the tone of which I know perfectly, is the one that hangs over his quarters. He seems to have changed his mind, for the creature knows much money is to be made by your escape. He then aided me in turning aside the attention of the garrison, by telling all he met that Gottlieb had another attack of somnambulism, and had caused another false alarm. In fact, as if Gottlieb wished to make good his words, we found him asleep in a corner, in the strange way in which he often does by day. Never mind where he is. One might have thought the agitation of his flight made him sleep, or he may by mistake have drank a few drops of the liquor I poured out so plentifully to his parents. What I know is, that they shut him up in the first room they came to, to keep him from walking on the glacis, and I thought it best to leave him there. No one can accuse him of anything, and my escape will be a sufficient explanation of your own. The Swartzes were too sound asleep to hear the bell, and no one has been to your room to ascertain whether it was open or shut. The alarm will not be serious until to-morrow. Nauteuil assisted me in dissipating it, and I set out to look for you, pretending the while to go to my dormitory. I was fortunate in finding you about three paces from the door we had to pass through. The keepers there were all bribed. At first I was afraid you were dead; but living or not, I would not leave you there. I took you without difficulty to the boat, which waited for you outside of the ditch. Then a very disagreeable thing happened, which I will tell you on some other occasion. You have had emotion enough to-day, and what I am thinking of might give you much trouble----"

"No, no, Karl, I wish to know all. I can hear all."

"Ah, I know you, signora. You will blame me. I remember Roswald, where you prevented me from----"

"Karl, your silence would distress me cruelly. Speak, I beseech you. I wish you to do so."

"Well, signora, it is a misfortune; but if it be a sin, it rests on me alone. As I was passing beneath a low arch in the boat with you and as I was going very slowly and had come to the end of it, I was seized by three men, who took me by the throat, and sprang into the boat. I must tell you that the person who travels with us, and is one of us, was imprudent enough to give two-thirds of the sum to Nauteuil, as we passed the postern. Nauteuil, thinking, beyond doubt, that he should be satisfied and could get the rest by betraying us, had posted himself with two good-for-nothing fellows of the sort to seize us. That is the reason beyond doubt, why they sought to murder us. Your friend, however, signora, is a lion in combat, peaceable as he seems I will remember him for many a day. By two twists of his arms he threw the first into the water; the second became afraid and leaped back on the bridge, looking on the result of my contest with the adjutant. I did not manage as well as his lordship, whose name I do not know. It lasted half a minute, and the affair does me no credit, for Nauteuil, who usually is as strong as a bull, appeared stiff and enfeebled, as if the wound of which he spoke annoyed him. At last, feeling him let go, I just dipped his feet in the water. His lordship then said, 'Do not kill him, it is useless.' I had recognised him, however, and was aware how well he could swim. Besides, I had fell his gripe, and had some old accounts to settle with him, and I could not refrain from giving him a blow on the head with my fist. Never again will he give or take another. May God have mercy on his soul and mine! He went down in the water like a flounder, and did not rise again, any more than if he had been marble. The other fellow whom his lordship had sent on a similar excursion, had made a dive, and had already reached the bank, where his companion, the most prudent of the three, helped him out. This was not easy, the bank at that place being so narrow that there was not a good footing, and the two went into the water together. While they were thus contending together, and swearing, as they enjoyed their swimming party, I rowed away, and soon came to a place where a second oarsman, a fisherman by trade, had promised to be in waiting and help me by a stroke or two to cross the pond. It was very well, signora, that I took it into my head to play the sailor on the gentle waters of Roswald. I did not know, when I rehearsed the part before you, that I would one day for your sake participate in a naval battle not so magnificent but much more serious. All this passed over my mind as I was on the water, and I could not help laughing like a fool--disagreeably, too. I did not make any noise, at least I did not hear myself, but my teeth chattered. I had an iron hand on my throat, and the sweat, cold as ice, ran over my brow. I then saw that a man is not killed like a fly. He was not the first one, however, for I have been a soldier, and at war one fights. Instead of that, in a corner there, behind a wall, it looked like a premeditated murder. Yet it was a legitimate case of self-defence. You remember, signora, without you I would have done it, but I do not know if I would not have repented afterwards. One thing is sure, I had an awful laughing fit on the pool; and now I cannot help it, for it was so strange to stick the fellow in the ditch, like a twig planted in a vase, after I had crushed his head with my fist. Mercy! how ugly he was! I see him now!"

Consuelo, fearing the effect of this terrible emotion on Karl, overcame her own feelings, and attempted to soothe and calm him. Karl by nature was calm and mild, as a Bohemian serf naturally is. The tragical life into which fate had thrown him was not made for him. He accomplished acts of energy and revenge, yet suffered the horror of remorse. Consuelo diverted him from his moody thoughts, perhaps to change her own. She also had armed herself on that night to slay. She had struck a blow, and had shed the blood of an impure victim. An upright and pious mind cannot approach the thought or conceive the resolution of homicide, without cursing and deploring the circumstances which place honor and life under the safeguard of the poniard. Consuelo was terror-stricken, and did not dare to say that her liberty was worth the price she had paid for it. It had cost the life of a man--a guilty one, it is true.

"Poor Karl," said she, "we have played the executioner to-night. It is terrible! but console yourself with the idea that we have neither foreseen nor determined on what fate exacted. Tell me about the nobleman who has toiled so generously to rescue me. Do you know him?"

"Not at all, signora. I never saw him before, and do not even know his name."

"Whither does he take us?"

"I do not know, signora. He forbade me to ask; and I was ordered to say that if on the route you made any attempt to ascertain where you are, and whither you are going, he would be forced to leave you. It is certain that he wishes us well, and I have made up my mind to be treated like a child."

"Have you seen his face?"

"I saw it by the light of a lantern, just when I put you into the boat. His face is handsome--I never saw one more so. One might think him a king."

"Is that all? Is he young?"

"About thirty years old."

"What is his language?"

"Free Bohemian--the true tongue of a Christian. He only spoke three or four words to me. What a pleasure it was to hear the dear old tongue, had he not said 'Do not kill him, it is useless.' Ah! he was mistaken. It was necessary!"

"What did he say, when you adopted that terrible alternative?"

"I think, may God pardon me! that he did not see it. He threw himself on the bottom of the boat, where you lay as if you were dead; apparently fearing some injury might befall you, he covered you with his body; and when we were on the open water and safe, he lifted you up, wrapped you in a cloak he had brought apparently for the purpose, and pressed you against his heart as a mother would press a child. He seems very fond of you, signora, and you must know him."

"Perhaps I do; but I have not been able to see his face."

"It is strange that he conceals himself from you. Nothing astonishes me in those people, however."

"What people?"

"Those called the Knights--the Black Masks--the Invisibles. I scarcely know more than you do about them, signora, though for two months they have led me by a thread any where they pleased."

The sound of hoofs on the ground was heard; and in two minutes they were harnessed again, and another postilion, who did not belong to the royal service appeared, and exchanged a few words with the stranger. The latter gave his hand to Consuelo, who returned to the carriage with him. He sat as far from her as possible; but did not interrupt the solemn silence of the night by a single word, and only looked from time to time at his watch. It was not near day, though the sound of the quail in the briar was heard, and also the watchdog's distant bark. The night was magnificent, and the constellation of the Great Bear appeared reversed on the horizon. The sound of wheels stifled the harmonious voices of the country, and they turned their backs to the great northern stars. Consuelo saw she was going southward; and as Karl sat on the box he attempted to shake off the spectre of Mayer, which he fancied he saw floating through the alleys of the forest, at the foot of the crosses, or under the tall pines. He did not, consequently, observe the direction in which his good or bad stars led him.