A Sheaf of BluebellsOrczy, Emmuska Orczy, Baroness
History
A Sheaf of Bluebells
Orczy, Emmuska Orczy, Baroness
France -- History -- Consulate and First Empire, 1799-1815 -- Fiction
She had been terribly frightened at first, but the same magnetic power
which had quelled the turbulent spirit of a pack of jail-birds had also
acted on Fernande's overstrung nerves. Her fright had soon given way
before the power and confidence which de Maurel's attitude inspired. In
the same way as she had marvelled at his dealings with the workmen who
were loyal, so did she render unwilling homage in her thoughts to his
unflinching courage in the face of treachery. Perhaps she realized more
completely than she had ever done before that here was a man whom it was
easy enough to hate, but not one whom it was possible to despise. That
she--Fernande--still hated him, she felt more than sure ... hated him
for his rough ways, which had perhaps never been so apparent as now,
when he tried to reassure her. His blouse was more stained and crumpled
than ever. It had lain in the mud of the workshop, when he flung it away
from him in a fit of passionate wrath. As for his hands, they were
smeared with grime, and she could see that the sweat was pouring down
from his forehead when with an impatient movement he brushed his thick,
brown hair with his hand away from his brow.
"I am deeply grieved, Mademoiselle Fernande," he said in his unapt and
halting way, "that your ears should have been offended and your eyes
outraged by the sayings and doings of a pack of traitors. Meseems you
will be able to regale your kinsfolk up at Courson with tales of the
mutinous spirit of these unworthy soldiers of the Empire. I can hear my
brother Laurent laughing his fill at your tale. Indeed, I know that I am
to blame. I ought not to have brought you here. But Mathurin and I are
passing proud of the work done by these men, and I wanted to show you
what the spirit of patriotism will often do with fellows, whom my
brother Laurent hath so scornfully dubbed my jail-birds. 'Twas
unfortunate," he added with quaint shamefacedness, "that the rascals
just chose to-day for breaking out in such senseless and childish
revolt."
"Childish and senseless," Fernande said, with a contemptuous smile round
her pretty lips; "you take things easily, by my faith!" Then she added
earnestly: "Take care, _mon cousin_! one of them will kill you one day."
He turned brusquely to face her, and for a moment looked at her with a
dark, puzzled frown between his eyes; then he asked abruptly: "Would you
care if they did?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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