Chapter XXVIII: A Crime

"We shall have ridden over this country at night quite often," said Alfred, as he trotted beside Edouard. The roads were very bad; the rain which had fallen during the evening had made them soft and slippery; and only by taking great precautions could the two horsemen proceed without accident.

Edouard answered his friend only by heaving a profound sigh. Alfred understood that as Edouard was about to see Isaure for the last time, he was naturally engrossed by his memories and his regrets; and so, respecting his friend’s silence and his distress of mind, he rode close beside him, but did not speak to him again.

They had travelled only a third of the distance; a cold rain was falling; Edouard tried to urge his horse, but twice already the animal had nearly fallen. The road had become steep, and they had to resign themselves to go at a walk.

"I believe that we could travel faster on foot," said Edouard impatiently.

"Haven’t we time enough?" replied Alfred; "There is no hurry about our returning to the château; and you don’t need the whole night to bid Isaure farewell."

"I don’t know what the matter is with me, but it seems to me as if I cannot reach her side soon enough. Gloomy thoughts oppress me.--Alfred, do you believe in presentiments?"

"Nonsense! what childish folly! when one has had some trouble, when one has been deceived, betrayed in one’s affections, one dreads some new misfortune every instant; we call that having a presentiment, whereas it is simply the result of our frame of mind. Lucky people, those with whom everything succeeds, never have presentiments; and yet unpleasant things sometimes happen to them; but they have never foreseen them, because they don’t look at the dark side of things.--This infernal horse! he absolutely insists upon kneeling. François told me that at Clermont, where he went the other day, there were two very good horses for sale; if you would like to travel that way, I will buy them."

Edouard did not reply; he had relapsed into his reflections, and emerged from them only to say in a low voice:

"How dismal and gloomy this night is! what a difference from last night!"

"Yes," said Alfred; "I begin to think that in winter, life in Auvergne is not very hilarious."

"Ah! If she had loved me, as she said; if I might have lived with her, these snow-covered mountains, these glaciers, this wild landscape, would always have been cheerful in my eyes!"

"Come, come, Edouard, be sensible; time will console you. I, too, loved Isaure dearly; oh, yes! I was mad over her; but I succeeded in triumphing over that love."

Edouard made no reply, but he sighed and said to himself: "He was very far from loving her as I do!"

At last they reached the path leading down into the valley; they halted and left their horses at the usual place, then walked toward the cottage. Alfred took Edouard’s arm; the latter’s excitement doubled as they approached Isaure’s abode.

"She is at home!" cried Edouard, as they perceived a light in the window of the first floor. "Ah! my friend, let us stop a moment; my heart is beating so violently. She is in her room! I was so afraid that I should not see her again; I was in despair lest we should not arrive soon enough. Ah! you were right, Alfred; when one is in trouble, one adds to it by one’s imagination! But her window is closed; I cannot see her as I could last night. I would like to see her without her knowing that I am here!"

"As you mean to speak to her for the last time, of course she must know that you are here. Shall we not knock? Or do you prefer to call her?"

"I don’t know--wait a moment; suppose there was someone with her! Do you see any light in the White House?"

"No."

"How can we make sure that she is alone? Suppose that your father were there? Let us wait; perhaps she will open her window, or will come out to go to the White House."

The young men waited several minutes; Edouard kept his eyes fixed on the window in which the light shone.

"It is very strange," he said at last; "I can see no shadow through the curtains, the light does not move at all, and there is not the slightest sound to indicate that she is there. And yet, in this lonely valley, the least movement can easily be heard. Alfred, there is something absolutely terrifying in this stillness."

"More of your black ideas! For heaven’s sake, what do you suppose has happened to her? Are thieves or brigands ever seen in this region?"

"Come, let us go near the house, perhaps we shall hear something."

Alfred followed Edouard; they went close to the door; but the most profound silence continued to reign in Isaure’s home.

Suddenly Edouard, struck by a sudden thought, exclaimed:

"Great heavens! here we are standing close against the door, and Vaillant does not bark, although he always divines the presence of a stranger a long distance away!"

"That is strange, in very truth," said Alfred.

"I cannot resist any longer, let us knock."

Edouard knocked on the door, gently at first, then a little louder; but no sound indicated that anyone proposed to admit them.

"Isaure! Isaure! it is I," said Edouard, standing under the window; "I have come to bid you farewell before going away from here. Are you not willing to see me?"

There was no reply. Edouard’s distress and excitement were extreme.

"Can it be that she has sworn never to speak to me again, not to listen to me?" he cried; and in his anger he knocked loudly on the door. Thereupon a low groan, a plaintive sound, which seemed to come from behind the house, answered the clamor that Edouard was making.

"Did you hear?" he asked Alfred.

"Yes, I thought----"

"There, listen again; that mournful sound echoed in my heart. Some calamity has happened to Isaure. We must go into this house."

Alfred, who now fully shared Edouard’s fears, seconded his efforts to force the door of the cottage. The lock alone held it; that broken, the two young men entered the lower room, where it was pitch dark.

"Let us go upstairs, let us go to her room at once," said Edouard, feeling for the staircase; he found it and ran rapidly up; he soon reached the room where the light was; the door was not locked. Edouard, followed by Alfred, entered the girl’s room, but they found it empty, and observed there a disorder which was not natural. The bureau-drawers were open, and several female garments were scattered about the floor; it seemed as if some few things had been taken in haste, and several pieces of money which lay on the floor indicated that someone had also taken possession of the cash contained in that piece of furniture.

"She is not here!" cried Edouard, gazing about him in dismay. "But what is the meaning of this disorder? Has someone taken her away by force? Has she been torn from this house against her will?"

"Come," said Alfred, taking the lamp; "let us search the house, we may perhaps discover some clew. Let us find out first where that noise we heard came from."

They went downstairs, entered every room, called Isaure, and received no answer; but, as they passed near the yard which separated the house from the garden, they heard once more the plaintive moan which had impressed them before. They went into the yard, and traces of blood caught their eyes. Edouard’s heart stood still; but in a moment he shuddered with horror as he saw Vaillant lying by the garden gate, wounded in several places, bathed in blood, but trying to drag himself to those whom he recognized as his mistress’s friends.

"It is Vaillant! He has been murdered!" cried Edouard. "Ah! some horrible thing has happened, my friend! Brigands, murderers have forced their way into this house! But what have they done with Isaure? They have killed him who tried to defend her, and I was not here! Poor Vaillant! He seems to be asking me where his mistress is. They must have taken her away through the garden. Come! come! Let us continue our search!"

"But Vaillant is not dead," said Alfred; "perhaps these wounds, which seem to have been made by a sword, are not fatal. Shall we leave without assistance the only one who dared to defend his mistress? Poor dog! How he gazes at us! Wait until I bind his wounds. Perhaps your handkerchief and mine will suffice to stop the flow of blood."

Despite his impatience to fly in search of Isaure, Edouard seconded his friend in attending to the needs of the girl’s faithful defender. Vaillant was transported gently to his mistress’s bed, where he was wrapped in linen. Then the young men went to the garden; they found a small gate opening into the country still open. Blood stains indicated that the dog had followed his mistress thus far, and that Isaure had been taken away in that direction.

Edouard wished to scour the country, to follow the tracks of Isaure’s abductors; he flattered himself that he could overtake them, and he asked Alfred for his weapons.

"What do you mean to do now, pray?" asked Alfred. "You have no idea in what direction they have gone! Which way do you propose to go this dark night? Is it not better to wait till daylight?"

"Wait! Why, perhaps even now she may be calling to me for help! Everything seems to indicate that it is not long since this horrible crime was committed. I implore you, Alfred, give me your pistols! What have you to fear? I only wish to restore Isaure to your father. If he had been here, doubtless he would have defended her. Come! come! Let us search these mountains; perhaps there is still time to save her."

Alfred yielded to his friend’s entreaties; he gave him one of his pistols, kept the other, and tried to keep up with Edouard, who started across the country at a rapid pace.

The weather was still unpleasant, and it was difficult to distinguish objects at a short distance. Edouard frequently stopped and listened to see whether he could not hear shrieks or footsteps. They had passed the White House, and were going toward Chadrat, Alfred being some yards behind Edouard, when they heard footsteps in front of them. Edouard instantly rushed forward, and before Alfred had time to urge him to be prudent, he found himself face to face with a person whom he abruptly stopped:

"Where are you going? Where have you come from?"

The man whom Edouard had arrested took a step backward, and drawing his arm from beneath his cloak, held a pistol in the young man’s face as he retorted in a firm voice:

"By what right do you question me?"

At the sound of that voice so familiar to his heart, Alfred darted in front of Edouard, exclaiming:

"Wretched man! What are you doing? It is my father!"

The Baron de Marcey, for it was he in very truth, uttered a cry of surprise as he recognized his son; while Edouard stood as if rooted to the ground.

"What! you, Alfred? you, in these mountains, at night, and with----"

"Oh! don’t be alarmed, father," replied Alfred; "it is Edouard who is with me; and although he did bring you to a halt rather abruptly, you may be sure that we have not become highwaymen! On the contrary, we are on the track of the abductors of a young girl; and when he saw you, Edouard took you for one of the men we are looking for."

"You, in this country; you, here!" said the baron, unable to recover from his surprise; "and--this girl?"

"Is Isaure!" cried Edouard.

"Isaure! you know Isaure?" rejoined the baron, whose surprise and excitement increased momentarily. "What! then it was you, Edouard, whom she had so much to say to me about?"

"Yes, monsieur, it was I who loved her, who love her still, who wished to give her my hand, and never to part from her again, not knowing that another had a prior right over her, and that that other was Alfred’s father! But at this moment, monsieur le baron, let us think only of finding her, of helping her. Her house is empty; Vaillant is pierced with wounds, and everything indicates that Isaure has been abducted from her home."

"Great heaven! the poor child! But she may be in the White House; she may have succeeded in escaping thither. Come, come! we still have that last hope; may it not soon be taken away from us!"

The baron strode rapidly forward; the two young men walked beside him; all three were silent; a single thought, a single desire inspired them at that moment. They soon reached the White House. The baron opened the door and went in first. With the aid of a match he soon struck a light, and all three examined the house and garden; but Isaure was not there.

"How could she have come here in your absence?" said Edouard, looking at the baron with an expression of curiosity.

"She had a key to the garden of this house," replied Monsieur de Marcey; "but let us go to her cottage and see if we cannot find some proof which may help us to discover the authors of this crime!"

They returned to the cottage, they visited and examined every corner; but except in Isaure’s bedroom, they found nothing disturbed in the house.

"She has carried away a part of her clothes!" said the baron, who seemed overwhelmed by Isaure’s disappearance.

"Can she have gone voluntarily?" cried Edouard.

"Voluntarily!" said Alfred; "does not this wounded dog prove, on the contrary, that someone forced his way into the house to carry Isaure away? The entrance was effected through the garden. Had Isaure any money with her?"

"She may have had some fifty louis," said the baron.

"That money is no longer here," cried Edouard; "so it must have been a robber who came here. But would a robber have taken Isaure away with him?"

They left the house, and were crossing the yard when Alfred spied something that glistened against the wall; he held his light to it and saw at his feet a sword still dripping with blood; it seemed evident that that was the weapon with which Vaillant had been wounded. They at once examined the sword with care. It was a weapon which seemed to be very old, the hilt was broken in several places, and it was impossible to distinguish the characters which had once been carved on the blade, which seemed to be of finely tempered steel.

"Such a weapon cannot have belonged to a thief," said the baron.

The young men agreed with him, and they lost themselves in innumerable conjectures. Suddenly, Alfred exclaimed:

"Stay! something, I don’t know what, tells me that that wretch, that vagabond, who is always prowling about these mountains, is not unconnected with this event!"

"What man are you talking about?" asked the baron.

"A villain, whose conduct and speech seem to indicate that he formerly lived in good society. We have not been able to take a step without meeting him; he knew you, father--at least he said he did; and when your name was mentioned before him, it seemed to produce a strange effect on him. However, I offered him money, and he refused it; but some unknown motive led him to think ill of Isaure. The villain! if I had followed his advice, I should have abducted this girl long ago; he considers such an exploit as a trivial escapade, and constantly told me that a girl that lived alone did not deserve to be treated differently."

"The scoundrel!" said the baron. "Ah! he did not know my Isaure! Dear Alfred, how bitterly you would have regretted it, if you had yielded to a passing passion! You do not know yet who this sweet, interesting girl is; you have no idea what bond there is between her and myself. I did not intend to reveal this mystery to you, I wished that it might be kept concealed forever; but since circumstances have led to your meeting your father in this place, you shall know everything, you shall learn the secret which is the cross of my life. You will pity your father, but I think that you cannot blame him. And you, Edouard, who think perhaps that you see in me a rival, you shall know how pure and unselfish is my attachment for Isaure; you shall learn that in seeking to keep her apart from the world, I had no such purpose as you may have supposed me to have."

"What! Can it be, monsieur?" cried Edouard, whose jealousy was instantly banished by these words. "You do not love Isaure? Then she did not deceive me when she told me that she still loved me, that she constantly thought of me? Her tears were not feigned! Oh! Mon Dieu! and to think that I added to her grief by my suspicions, by my jealousy!"

"This is no time to give way to fruitless regret," said Alfred; "we must find her, first of all. If the man I suspect is the author of this abduction, he may still be in this neighborhood. Why, I believe that that fellow, whose audacity is unmeasured, is capable of having taken Isaure to the château, to the tower, into the cellars, perhaps. We must neglect nothing. I’ll ride back to the château and search every nook and corner of the deserted portion."

"Go, dear Alfred; meanwhile, monsieur le baron and I will continue our search in the mountains. I shall not take an instant’s rest until I have found Isaure."

"To-morrow, at daybreak," said the baron, "we will meet at the White House; and there, my son, I propose to tell you the cause of my mysterious conduct. Edouard, too, shall know my misfortunes. He loves Isaure and she loves him; he must know the whole story of her birth, and then he can consider whether he still wishes her to be his wife."

"Ah! always, always, monsieur!"

Alfred did not allow Edouard to discourse any farther upon his love; he urged him to remember that at that moment it was more important to act, and to try to overtake the girl’s abductors. Edouard mounted his horse; Alfred did the same. The baron had his at the White House, and each of them took a different road, agreeing to meet on the morrow at daybreak. Alfred dug his spurs into his horse, at the risk of breaking his neck on the mountain paths; he reached the château at three o’clock in the morning. As the concierge had informed him, the gate was not closed, and the Château of La Roche-Noire was open to all comers. But Alfred needed a light, and he desired the concierge to open the underground vaults and the deserted apartments, to which he had the keys. So he knocked loudly at the door of Monsieur Cunette, who was sleeping like a deaf man and did not reply. Caring little whether he disturbed the rest of the occupants of the château, Alfred continued to hammer and call, and soon nearly every window opened except the concierge’s.

Robineau appeared at the window of his apartment in his silk nightcap, the marquis in one of cotton, Eudoxie half-wrapped in a pelisse, Cornélie in a lace-trimmed dressing jacket, Mademoiselle Cheval in déshabillé, Jeannette in a mob cap; the scullions also showed themselves in the windows in the roof.

"What’s the matter? what’s up now?" asked Robineau.

"Why this uproar?" said Cornélie.

"Is this château bewitched?" said Eudoxie.

"A body can’t dream comfortably here," said the cook.

"Son-in-law," said Monsieur de la Pincerie, "I order you to go down and thrash the miscreants who are disturbing my sleep."

"Monsieur le marquis, I am distressed to have awakened you," said Alfred, "but I do not believe that anyone will thrash me for that."

"What! is it Alfred who is making this disturbance?"

"My dear fellow, go back to bed with your wife; there are no thieves or ghosts in the château. It is possible, however, that there may be someone hidden in the old tower; and it is that someone that I propose to arrest."

"Someone hidden in my house!"

"It wouldn’t be the first time that that person had passed the night in this house."

"Great heavens! People hide themselves in my château, without my knowledge?"

"You see, monsieur, that we are well guarded," said Cornélie; "to-morrow I shall throw the whole household out of doors!"

However, upon the assurance that there was nothing new in the château, the windows closed one by one. The cook provided Alfred with a light, and he decided to examine the tower and the vaults, without the assistance of the concierge. Mademoiselle Cheval boldly offered to accompany the young man; but he thanked her and bent his steps alone toward the part of the château which was not occupied.

Alfred found the door of the tower still open; he went up to every floor, examined all the chambers, and carefully secured the doors; then he went down into the cellars, to which the more dignified name of subterranean vaults had been given; but he saw no one there and nothing to indicate that the vagabond had visited the place very recently.

Alfred spent nearly two hours in his investigation. The dawn was beginning to appear when he went to his apartment, to prepare his things for his departure. He ordered François to send his luggage and Edouard’s to the White House, and was on the point of leaving the château, when he saw Robineau, who had risen very early in order to see his friends before their departure.

"So you are going away?" said Robineau to Alfred.

"Yes, my friend; nothing can stop me now."

"And Monsieur Edouard?"

"He is waiting for me at the White House."

"At the White House?"

"Yes, we know the owner now."

"The deuce you do? and the girl?"

"She has been kidnapped and we are looking for her."

"Kidnapped! the little witch!"

"Adieu; when I see you again, I will tell you more."

"But--who is this person who dares to come to my château at night?"

"The man of Clermont-Ferrand."

"Mon Dieu! and you never told me! I am going to have the North Tower torn down."

"Simply have it carefully secured and have all the doors walled up, as well as the gate in the garden behind the statue of Mars, and no one will make his way into your premises without your permission, unless your concierge continues to leave the main gate open all night."

With that, Alfred shook hands with Robineau, and, leaving him bewildered by what he had learned, left the château to return to the White House, feeling sure that his father or Edouard would have been more fortunate in their search than he had been.

Alfred found only the baron at the place of meeting. Edouard had not yet returned, and they hoped that he had discovered the track of Isaure’s abductors.

"Poor child!" said the baron; "if we cannot find her, I shall reproach myself with this disaster forever; and yet you shall judge, Alfred, if I have acted ill, if love and jealousy made me unjust."

"Father," said Alfred, "if it is painful for you to reveal this mystery to me, if you would have occasion to blush before your son, I do not wish to know it, I do not care to hear your secret."

"My dear boy, I might have had to blush in society, although I am in no wise culpable, but I can only be pitied by my son. You shall know all."

After they had waited two hours, Edouard arrived; but he was alone and in despair, for he had learned nothing of Isaure.

"Before undertaking our search anew," said the baron, "listen to me, my friends; learn at last the motive of my conduct and of the mystery of my relations with Isaure."