France -- History -- Louis XVI, 1774-1793 -- Fiction
But she did not long stay there; by way of makeshift for gaiety,
substituted activity. The Mount, full of early recollections and
treasure-house mystery, furnished an incentive for exploration, and for
several days she devoted herself to its study; now pausing for an
instant's contemplation of a sculptured thing of beauty, then before
some closed door that held her, as at the threshold of a Bluebeard's
forbidden chamber.
One day, such a door stood open and her curiosity became cured. She
had passed beneath a machicolated gateway, and climbing a stairway that
began in a watch-tower, found herself unexpectedly on a great platform.
Here several men, unkempt, pale, like creatures from another world,
were walking to and fro; but at sight of her, an order was issued and
they vanished through a trap--all save one, a misshapen dwarf who
remained to shut the iron door, adjust the fastening and turn a
ponderous key. For a moment she stood staring.
"Why did you do that?" she asked angrily.
"The Governor's orders," said the man, bowing hideously. "They are to
see no one."
"Then let them up at once! Do you hear? At once!"
And as he began to unlock the door, walked off. After that, her
interest in the rock waned; the Mount seemed but a prison; she,
herself, desired only to escape from it.
"Have my saddle put on Saladin," she said to Beppo the next day, toward
the end of a long afternoon.
"Very well, my Lady. Who accompanies your Ladyship?"
"No one!" With slight emphasis. "I ride alone."
Beppo discretely suppressed his surprise. "Is your Ladyship going far?
If so, I beg to remind that to-night is the change of the moon, and the
'grand,' not the 'little' tide may be coming in."
"I was already aware of it, and shall keep between the Mount and the
shore. Have my horse sent to the upper gate," she added, and soon
afterward rode down.
The town was astir, and many looked after her as she passed; not
kindly, but with the varying expressions she had of late begun to
notice. Again was she cognizant of that feeling of secret antagonism,
even from these people whose houses clung to the very foundations of
her own abode, and her lips set tightly. Why did they hate her? What
right had they to hate her? A sensation, almost of relief, came over
her, when passing through the massive, feudal gate, she found herself
on the beach.
Still and languorous was the day; not a breath stirred above the tiny
ripples of the sand; a calm, almost unnatural, seemed to wrap the world
in its embrace. The girl breathed deeper, feeling the closeness of the
air; her impatient eyes looked around; scanned the shore; to the left,
low and flat--to the right, marked by the dark fringe of a forest.
Which way should she go? Irresolutely she turned in the direction of
the wood.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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