Chapter XXX: The Abduction of Isaure

During the night when Alfred and Edouard went into the valley to spy upon Isaure’s actions, a man had constantly followed the two young men, keeping always in the shadow; that man, whom the reader will recognize as he who seemed to have no other home than the mountains, did not lose sight of the two friends; he seemed to take a great interest in having them learn the secret actions of the young girl, and to await impatiently the result of that discovery.

At the moment when Alfred recognized his father in the man who had left Isaure, and named him to Edouard, the vagabond, who was hiding close at hand, had made a sudden movement as if he would have rushed on the baron. But instantly he had checked himself, muttering:

"I have no weapons!" then he had walked rapidly away in the direction of the girl’s cottage.

Arrived in front of the cottage, he stopped, scrutinized it for a long while, and seemed to be meditating some scheme of vengeance. Suddenly his eyes lighted up, and a bitter smile played over his face as he muttered:

"That will be better, much better! If I had killed the baron, that would have been the end. Death is soon over; he would have suffered only a moment; but I have been suffering eighteen years; I will try to repay him what he has done to me. He must be very strongly attached to this girl, to conceal her in this place and to employ so much mystery about coming to see her. I must obtain possession of Isaure; to-morrow she shall be in my power. But in order to carry out this plan, I, too, must have weapons, and I have no money, absolutely none. The other night, but for the arrival of that Alfred, I should have found what I was looking for in the tower; but I still have time to go there again; yes, I have no other means of procuring what I want."

Thereupon, striding hurriedly along the country, and as quickly, despite the darkness, as if it were bright daylight, the vagabond took a cross road which shortened the distance to the Château of La Roche-Noire, where he arrived in a very short time. He soon stood before the small gate of the garden, to which he had a key; he opened it, entered the garden and walked toward the abandoned tower, where he arrived without meeting anyone. He rapidly mounted the winding staircase and did not stop until he reached the room where Alfred had found him two nights before. The most profound darkness reigned about him; he hesitated a moment, then drawing a flint and steel from his pocket, he decided to strike a light, at the risk of alarming the château again.

He always carried about him a small dark lantern, which had often been of great service to him at night in the mountains. It was soon lighted; then he searched in every corner of the room, which was formerly the arsenal of the château, for a weapon which was still in condition to be used. After hunting on all sides, and angrily throwing aside broken lances and rust-eaten sabres, he seized a sword which was still in reasonably good condition, and was about to depart, when he spied another, hanging on the wall in a recess. He walked to the spot, took it down, examined it and cried:

"Here it is! This is the one I was looking for! It was this sword with which I learned, in this room, to fight like a gentleman, to rid myself loyally of an enemy. Poor Richard, you were so fond of giving me lessons, and so proud of your young pupil’s talent! when you gave me this sword, you repeated to me again and again the Spanish motto: ‘Never draw it without reason; never sheathe it without honor!’"

The vagabond held the sword against his breast, and was about to throw aside the one he had taken first, but he checked himself, saying:

"No, this one will serve me to get rid of Vaillant, so that I may carry off the girl; at all events, the weapon of my youth will not be sullied by that act."

Thereupon, extinguishing his lantern and bestowing the two swords carefully under his enormous coat, the vagabond descended the winding staircase and left the tower and the château by the same road by which he had entered. Then, looking up at the sky, and reckoning how much of the night remained and how long it would take him to return to the cottage, he said in a low tone:

"It is too late to-night; I will do it to-morrow."

The next day, when night had spread its shadow over the country, the vagabond was in the valley; he scrutinized everything, nothing escaped his eye, nothing could mislead his prudence. He was certain that as yet there was no one in the White House, and that Isaure was alone in her cottage. He had anticipated everything, calculated all his chances; he soon stood beside the wall which enclosed the garden of the cottage, and placed on the ground, a few steps from the gate, one of his swords, saying:

"I will take you again when I come out."

Then, with the other in his hand, he easily scaled the low garden wall. He had not taken four steps when he heard Vaillant bark, and the dog rushed fiercely at him; but the vagabond, expecting that attack, had prepared to defend himself; advancing to meet the threatening beast, he buried the sword in his body; despite that wound, the dog leaped upon his foe and bit him savagely in the face and neck; but the loss of blood weakened him, and three more sword thrusts completed his discomfiture; poor Vaillant fell helpless at the vagabond’s feet, whereupon he threw aside the weapon he had used, and hastened upstairs to Isaure’s bedroom.

The girl was seated sadly by her window; the memory of Edouard was her sole comfort; she was not to see him again but she could continue to love him, and she abandoned herself entirely to that sentiment. When our wills and our desires are thwarted, we feel a secret satisfaction in saying to ourselves that we can at all events dispose of our hearts as we please; and women especially take refuge in that source of consolation, because they are much less at liberty to follow their wishes in their acts.

At the first yelp of her faithful guardian, Isaure started; she thought that someone was prowling about the house; she listened, and then called her dog:

"What is it, Vaillant? What has frightened you?"

"It is I," replied the vagabond, abruptly entering the girl’s room. Isaure uttered a cry of alarm at sight of that man, whose face and neck were covered with blood, and who glared at her with threatening eyes.

"Come! You must go with me, you must leave this house at once," said the stranger, approaching the pale and trembling Isaure with a savage expression. "Take some of your clothes, make a bundle of them, they will be useful to me, and give me all the money you have here; you must have plenty and we shall need it. Come! Do you hear me?"

Isaure had heard, but she could not believe her ears; she fell on her knees and raised her hands imploringly to the man who stood before her, crying:

"Monsieur, what are you going to do with me?"

"As I have told you, I am going to take you away, that is all."

"Take me away! Where are you going to take me?"

"Where I please! Ten thousand thunders! that doesn’t concern you."

"Oh! monsieur, see, my money is there in that drawer; it is all I have. Take the money, take my clothes; take what you will--but I implore you, do not take me away!"

The vagabond opened the drawer that the girl pointed out to him and filled his pockets with the money he found there, muttering:

"Good! Here’s enough to live on for a century in these mountains."

Then he turned, and finding Isaure still on her knees, in the same spot, he cried angrily:

"Well! didn’t you hear me? I told you to make a bundle of your clothes! Make haste!"

"Oh! mon Dieu! Do you still mean to take me away?" said Isaure, in an imploring voice.

"Do I mean to? Yes, that is why I forced my way into your house and braved death. This blood flowing from my face should prove to you that my resolution is not to be shaken, that I will allow neither your prayers nor your tears to change my mind. As for your shrieks, they would be thrown away, for no one can hear you; your protectors, your friends, are not near you now; your faithful guardian is dead."

"Vaillant dead!" exclaimed Isaure, with a cry of horror which was soon followed by a flood of tears.

"Yes, Vaillant is dead, or nearly so. Come! No words, no useless prayers! I say again--you must follow me willingly, or----"

The stranger took the girl’s arm and pressed it so violently that the pain nearly deprived her of strength; she could only falter:

"I will obey you, monsieur," whereupon the vagabond released her arm and pushed her roughly toward the bureau.

Having no idea what she was doing, or what was going to become of her, Isaure collected a few clothes at random, tied them in a handkerchief, took the bundle in her hand, and leaned against the wall in order not to fall.

"That is well," said the vagabond; "now give me your hand and come."

He took the hand which the girl tremblingly held out to him; he led her to the staircase, and seeing that she was staggering, compelled her to lean on his arm. When they arrived in the courtyard, Isaure saw Vaillant bathed in his blood; the faithful beast uttered a plaintive groan, and tried to rise to defend his mistress. At that sight, Isaure lost consciousness; she was falling to the ground when her guide caught her in his arms; and, throwing her over his left shoulder, walked toward the garden, preferring to go out that way rather than through the main gateway. He opened the small gate leading into the fields and picked up his sword which he had left there; then, notwithstanding the burden which he carried, he walked with a firm and swift step toward the mountains. It was a cold, rainy night, but the vagabond made rapid progress, although he took the steepest paths and the rough, winding roads by preference. From time to time he turned his head to glance at her whom he was carrying. Isaure was still unconscious, her lovely face had the pallor of death, and was wet with the rain which fell upon her whole body. But, little touched by the girl’s state, her abductor, after glancing at her, simply muttered:

"She will come out all right! This is not very serious!"

After walking a long while in this way, the stranger stopped on the top of a hill; he gazed about for some time, as if trying to make out where he was; then he placed the rain-soaked, unconscious girl on the ground, saying:

"I must take breath; she is not heavy, but after awhile the weight makes itself felt."

He gazed for some time at the body lying at his feet, which seemed already to belong to death; a bitter smile played about his lips while he gazed at Isaure, and he exclaimed:

"So here she is in my power, this girl whom the baron secretly comes to these mountains to see, this peasant whose education he has provided for, and whom he adores, no doubt! At last I am about to taste the pleasures of revenge! I wanted Alfred to abduct this girl, I tried to induce him to do all sorts of foolish things, and to fight with his friend; but all that would not have distressed the baron so much as the loss of this girl. Yes, I know what a man feels when another steals from him the woman whom he adores; I too loved Adèle; Adèle was mine; I had the right to look upon her as my wife; and yet he took her away from me!"

Several moments passed, the vagabond seemed entirely absorbed by his memories; but at last he looked at Isaure again and stooped over her, saying:

"She doesn’t come to herself! She doesn’t move! Suppose she should die! Oh! I do not want her to die! No, so long as she is with me, she may live,--but with De Marcey, never!"

He took the child’s head, raised it, rested it on his knee, and tried to warm Isaure’s icy hands in his. He felt in the bundle of clothes which he had carried away, and with the first thing he found wiped the poor child’s dripping face. At last, life seemed to return to her features, which had been so long inanimate; the beating of her heart became more rapid. Isaure opened her eyes, looked about her, and shuddered with dismay, when she found herself lying on the summit of a cliff, in the middle of the night, with her head resting against the breast of the man who had kidnapped her from her home.

"Calm yourself, be yourself again, and fear nothing," said the stranger.

"Oh! mon Dieu! Then it is not a dream!" cried Isaure, rising to her feet; "I am no longer in the home where I passed my childhood, in André’s cottage; and it is you who have taken me away! it is you who killed----"

"Yes," replied the vagabond coolly, "it was I who killed Vaillant, in order not to be torn to pieces by him; I had to do it. I would have sacrificed you too, if you had not consented to come with me."

"Unhappy creature that I am!"

"Come, come, don’t be afraid; you came with me, you are with me now, you have nothing to fear any more, that is to say, unless you make more fuss, unless you try to escape; but I fancy you will be reasonable, and will submit to your fate. I can very well understand that you would have preferred to live luxuriously in your cottage, where you had everything in abundance, where your mysterious protector allowed you to lack nothing; and, in short, where you were able to play the coquette with the young men who came to see you. That life was more agreeable for a young girl than the life you will lead with me--I agree to that. But you must make the best of it, for my will is irrevocable; your tears, your lamentations, your sighs, all will be thrown away on me. I have decided that you are not to leave me any more; but do not think that it is love which has led me to form this resolution. No! I am not in love with you, I have no sort of idea of seducing you. In that respect you may be perfectly tranquil. And yet you are pretty, very pretty indeed; but I give you my word that that is a matter of indifference to me."

These last words allayed in some measure Isaure’s grief and alarm; and fearing to irritate anew this man whose wrath seemed to her a terrible thing, she replied, forcing back her sobs:

"Well, monsieur, I will obey you; I will do whatever you command."

"That is well, that is very well; you are a good girl," said the vagabond, shaking Isaure’s hand; "in this way, we shall be good friends. But it must be nearly midnight, and we must resume our journey. Do you feel strong enough to walk? If you cannot, I will carry you; do not hesitate to say so."

"Oh! I can walk, monsieur."

"In that case, take my arm, lean on me, and let us go."

Isaure obeyed without comment; she took the arm of her guide, who had hung the bundle on the end of his sword, and carried it thus over his shoulder. They went on again through the rocky paths; they went away from Ayda, and reached the chain of hills which connects those of Cantal and of Puy-de-Dôme; Isaure was forced to cling to her companion’s arm in order to keep on her feet in the steep and slippery paths. They walked in silence, but sometimes the vagabond asked Isaure:

"Are you tired? Would you like to rest awhile?"

"No, monsieur, I can go on," the girl would reply; and they would continue their journey.

At last the dawn succeeded the dark and rainy night; Isaure’s guide, who had always taken pains to avoid passing through villages or near inhabited houses, stopped with the girl on the slope of a mountain, looked about him and said:

"Let us rest here until we can see a little better; I do not think that I can be mistaken; we must be near the end of our journey. An hour more at most. But here is the daylight, and we must not go astray."

He sat down on the ground, and Isaure did the same, seating herself a few steps away. Depressed and dejected, she dropped her head upon her breast and did not utter a word. The vagabond looked at her a moment and then turned his face in another direction, saying:

"She is not in the mood for talking; I can understand that."

After a quarter of an hour, they could see to recognize the different roads. Isaure’s companion smiled and said:

"I was not mistaken. I know this country so well. I have travelled all over it so many times in my youth and also within the last few months--Come, my girl, forward; one league more, and you will be able to rest as long as you please."

Isaure rose and took her guide’s arm once more. They descended the mountain, then turned to the left, along the narrow, winding path cut in the side of the cliff. Every moment their road became more difficult; they were in an arid, uncultivated region, where man seemed never to have trodden; only at rare intervals did they perceive a shepherd’s hut, and the wild goats that sometimes passed near them fled at their approach, as if unaccustomed to the presence of man. After walking a long while through this deserted tract, they found themselves at the entrance of a path running between two very high cliffs, which were so near together at the top that the daylight hardly reached the narrow path, which was more than eighty feet below their summits.

Along this dark and gloomy way, the vagabond guided Isaure’s steps; the girl shuddered as she entered that defile which the cliffs seemed to threaten to fill up.

"Oh! mon Dieu!--is this the way?" she said, trembling as she spoke.

"Yes, this is the way, and we have arrived," replied her companion, stopping in front of a small wooden house on the left of the path, close against the cliff, which overhung it; externally it resembled the habitation of a quarryman.

Isaure gazed at the wretched structure, which she presumed was to be her abode, but she said nothing; she allowed her tears to fall in silence and made no further attempts to move by her prayers the man who had brought her to that wild spot.

Judging from its outside, the house seemed to be of little extent; it had one floor above the ground, with a window under the roof. Below, there was a single window by the side of the door; and everything was in such a dilapidated state that it seemed that one might overturn the wretched hovel with a kick.

Isaure’s companion placed the sword and bundle on a wooden bench beside the door; then he knocked and shouted in a voice which echoed loudly along the path:

"Holà! Charlot! Are you still asleep, you sluggard? Get up; it is your friend; it is the vagabond!"

For some time, not a sound was heard; at last they could distinguish slow and heavy steps, which seemed to come from the back of the house. They approached, however; the door opened and a little man of some sixty years, lean and lank, of a livid pallor, and with red-rimmed eyes, whose expression was lifeless and stupid, appeared on the threshold of the wooden house, with his feet and part of his legs bare, but with the rest of his body covered with goat-skins held in place by leather thongs, while upon his head he wore the brimless crown of an old straw hat.

This man, whom Isaure’s companion had called Charlot, showed neither surprise nor curiosity as he stared at the persons in front of his abode, but he held out his hand to the vagabond, saying in a slow, guttural voice:

"Ah! it is you? It is a long time since you came to see me."

"Yes, true, but this time I think I have come to see you for a long time," replied Isaure’s guide; "I have brought you some company, as you see."

As he spoke, he pointed to the girl, at whom Charlot glanced indifferently, saying:

"Oh, yes! it’s a woman!"

"But let us go in, first of all; we shall have time enough to talk then," said the vagabond, motioning to Isaure to enter the house. The poor girl had difficulty in determining to comply; she cast a glance backward; she was afraid that she was looking at the sky for the last time; but her companion pushed her roughly, and she was soon in Charlot’s disgusting abode, the door of which was instantly closed behind her.

The interior of the house consisted of a room of considerable size, on the lower floor, with several beams in the centre, supporting the upper floor; on the left was a huge fireplace, in which a man could have stood without stooping; on the right there was a staircase leading to the room above. A few stools, several earthen vessels and some straw composed the furniture.

Isaure could hardly see, her eyes were so full of tears; she seated herself in the corner of the room, where the daylight hardly penetrated, because the cliff hung far over the house. She supposed that she was to be taken to the upper room, and waited silently till she should learn her fate; but the vagabond made a sign to Charlot, who thereupon went to the other end of the room, and, pushing aside one of the boards of the partition, disclosed to view a passage much better lighted than the interior of the house.

"Come this way," said Isaure’s guide, motioning to her to rise; she obeyed; he led her through that narrow opening and she found herself at one end of an excavation, where she was overjoyed to see the sky once more. This excavation, which was thirty feet in circumference, was surrounded on all sides by the earth; it resembled the bottom of a well, except that it was much larger; but the light which came from above was much stronger than it was inside of the house, because there was nothing above to shut it out from that species of quarry. At one end of this place, a second house had been built, also of wood, but it consisted only of a ground floor. It was this retreat, undiscoverable to the eye of travellers, that the young girl, who had always lived in a fertile and lovely valley, was forced to enter.

"This is your lodging from this time," said the vagabond, as he led Isaure into the house at the end of the excavation. "You see that it was not without reason that I chose to bring you here; this retreat can be found only by those who are familiar with it. People might search the house in front, on the path, and never suspect that there was another house behind. This place can be seen only by those who are up yonder on the cliff, eighty feet above us. But as that cliff is frightfully steep and is on the path to nowhere, no one ever thinks of climbing it, only from time to time a wild goat. So I am perfectly easy in my mind, no one will find you here. This is not so charming and cheerful a home as that which you have occupied, I agree; but what would you have? I had no choice. So make the best of it, and try to accustom yourself to your new quarters. You will be entirely free to follow your own devices from morning to night--except as to going out. Here is a room of good size, where you can make yourself at home; there is a bed, a table, a bench--it is the best furnished room in the house. If I can find a small piece of looking-glass, I will bring it to you; I know that women think a great deal of that. Try to calm yourself and to dry your tears; I tell you again, your virtue is safer here than it is in the neighborhood of the White House. This place seems horrible, ghastly to you now! But you will become accustomed to it, because one gets used to everything!"

Having delivered this speech, the vagabond left Isaure alone in her dismal abode, and returned with Charlot to the house on the path. There, seating himself in front of his taciturn friend, he said to him:

"Charlot, I saved your life once, two months ago, when, as you were chasing a goat, you were on the point of rolling over a precipice, and I, running after you, succeeded in reaching you my stick and pulling you away from the hole into which you were about to fall."

"I haven’t forgotten it," replied the old shepherd in a low voice.

"True," rejoined the vagabond, "since that time you have shown the most absolute devotion to me; when I had no bread, I came here, and I was sure that you would share with me all that you possessed. That is well, Charlot; you are grateful, you have treated me better than many wealthy gentlemen have done, and many women of the world; but that is not enough; to-day you must allow me to make use of your house as I choose.--Here is money for it--take all that you wish."

The vagabond spread out before the old shepherd’s eye the money that he had taken from Isaure’s house; Charlot looked at it indifferently and replied simply:

"If I haven’t any house, where shall I live?"

"You will live here as always,--indeed, that is necessary; the girl will occupy the second house, and I shall sleep here, upstairs. But you must swear to me on your life, that you will tell no one that you have anybody living with you."

"Who should I tell? I never see anybody."

"But if by chance any travellers should come here, I shall retire at once to the house behind, and you will never disclose the existence of that secret dwelling."

"No, no!"

"Do you swear it?"

"Swear? I tell you no, that is enough."

"In truth, I place more faith in your promise than in other people’s oaths; but you do not take this money?"

"What for? I don’t want it."

"Well, I will give you some when you go to buy provisions. You will have to go a long distance, and buy at different places, in order not to arouse the slightest suspicion. With this sum and your skill in killing wild goats and in snaring birds, we have enough to live on for years. Well, is it agreed? Do we live together?"

"Yes."

"And you will not mention us to anyone?"

"No."

"And you will never open your door to a traveller until I have gone to the house behind?"

"Never."

These arrangements completed, the vagabond ascended to the upper room, threw himself upon a heap of straw and went to sleep; the old shepherd, who passed a large part of his time in slumber, did the same in the room below. Isaure alone remained awake, on her knees in the vile hovel to which she had been consigned; she held up her hands imploringly to heaven, she raised her eyes, whence the tears flowed in streams, and in her despair had not the strength to utter a single word.