France -- History -- Henry IV, 1589-1610 -- Fiction; Historical fiction
"M. des Ageaux, of course!"
"Of course! I am very glad."
"Glad?" Bonne repeated, with indignation she could not control. "Glad?
Only that?"
The girl, her lip trembling, her face working, cast a frightened look
at her, and then with a piteous gesture, as if she could no longer
control herself, she turned from her and burst into tears.
Bonne stared. What did this mean? Relief? Joy? The relaxation of
nerves too tightly strained? No. She should have thought of it before.
It was not likely, it was not possible that this child had already
conceived for des Ageaux such an affection as casts out fear. It was
not she, but he, who had to gain by the marriage; and prepared as the
Countess might be to look favourably on his suit, ready as she might
be to give her heart, she had not yet given it.
"You are overwrought!" Bonne said, to soothe her. "You have been
frightened."
"Frightened!" the girl replied through her sobs. "I shall die--if I
have to go through it again! And I have to go through it, I must go
through it. And I shall die! Oh, the night I have spent listening and
waiting and"--she cowered away, with a stifled scream. "What was
that?" She stared at the door, her eyes wild with terror. "What was
that?" she repeated, seizing Bonne, and clinging to her.
"Nothing! Nothing!" Bonne answered gently, seeing that the girl was
thoroughly shaken and unnerved. "It was only a horse neighing."
The Countess controlled her sobs, but her scared eyes and white face
revealed the impression which the suspense of the night had made on
one not bold by nature, and only supported by the pride of rank. "A
horse neighing?" she repeated. "Was it only that? I thought--oh!
if you knew what it was to hear them creeping and crawling, and
rustling and whispering every hour of the night! To fancy them
coming, and to sit up gasping! And then to lie down again and wait
and wait, expecting to feel their hands on your throat! Ah, I tell
you"--she hid her face on Bonne's shoulder and clasped her to her
passionately--"every minute was an hour, and every hour a day!"
Bonne held her to her full of pity. And presently, "But he was near
you?" she ventured. "Did not his--his neighbourhood----"
"The Lieutenant's?"
"Yes. Did not that"--Bonne spoke with averted eyes: she would know for
certain now if the child loved him!--"did not that make you feel
safer?"
"One man!" the Countess's voice rang querulous. "What could one man
do? What could he have done if they had come? Besides they would have
killed him first. I did not think of him. I thought of myself. Of my
throat!" She clasped it with a sudden movement of her two hands--it
was white and very slender. "I thought of that, and the knife, and how
it would feel--all night! All night, do you understand? And I could
have screamed! I could have screamed every minute. I wonder I did
not."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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