Mathilde was silenced.
"You are a little spitfire," she said. "Of course you're in love with Guy now; but wait a year or two, then you'll find him a merciless despot. I know him as you don't. My mother always feared him."
"Oh, Mathilde, don't be so disagreeable! You are going away. Let us part friends. You never loved this place, you told me you always hated it. You would be miserable if it were your home. Don't grudge it to me. I love every stick and stone of it."
Adrienne refused to quarrel with her and they parted amicably, but she was glad when Mathilde had gone.
She stood outside on the terrace waving to her, and when the car had disappeared she turned to her husband:
"And now, Guy, we are alone together. Our life has begun, what are we going to make of it?"
With his hand on her shoulder, he turned her back into the hall. It was a cold bleak afternoon; the wind was howling in the old chimneys, but the wood crackled merrily on the hearth. He pulled forward a big easy-chair close to the fire for her and took another for himself.
"We're first of all going to shut out the cold and the grey dreariness," he said in a tone of content; "and then, when we're thoroughly warm and comfortable, we shall be in a better position to discuss life with all its possibilities and failures."
"Oh," said Adrienne with a happy laugh as she tilted her head back on the cushion behind it, and looked at Guy with glowing, dreamy eyes, "isn't it good to be alone at last? There has been so much to think of, so much to do since we came home, and it has been such a sad time all round, that we've had no time to think of ourselves. Talk to me now. You and I have had no proper talk since we arrived here."
"What is proper talk?"
"Edifying, satisfying. How are we going to spend our days?"
"I shall still run the farm. I can't keep my fingers off it, and there's a lot to do in the woods this winter. Timber to be felled, young trees planted. We must settle down to a year's domesticity, but we have had a very pleasant time together in Virginia, eh?"
"How I loved it!" said Adrienne in a rapt tone. "I used to think there were no beautiful old houses to be compared with ours in England—but travel widens one's mind. If I shut my eyes, I can see your aunts quaint rambling old house with the maple trees in their autumn glory, and the deep wide verandahs running round it, and the beautiful woods surrounding it. I suppose it will come to you, Guy, when she dies? She told me as much. Alain will have two beautiful inheritances."
"He won't have both," said Guy.
They were silent. Adrienne was wondering with wistful eyes if she would be given sons of her own.
"Where would you rather live?" Guy asked her suddenly. "Virginia or here, or—England."
"We'll end our days in England," said Adrienne playfully; "spend our old age there; but at present my heart is here."
"And so, I believe, is mine," said Guy. "My wife has made me love my father's home."
"Well," said Adrienne with her radiant smile, "then I must content myself with running this old Château in a proper manner, and see that my lord is comfortable and well fed. That is my present duty in life, is it not? Only we must not forget the peasants. I do want to give them a Happy Christmas, Guy. Tell me what we can do?"
Husband and wife discussed that subject for some time together. Coals and food were chosen as the most suitable gifts, with some warm garments for the old people and children. Adrienne suggested a big Christmas Tree in the Hall for everyone.
"Alain will love it so."
"Ah," said Guy, "I wondered if he would enter into our talk."
"He's always in my thoughts. He must be doing lessons now. Who can teach him?"
"Possibly the Curé. He is a very able man."
As if in answer to their thoughts, a door banged in the distance, and Alain darted into the hall; his hands and face were floury; he carried two doughy-looking buns.
"They're just baked," he cried joyfully, holding them out to Adrienne; "and I've made them myself for you and Daddy. They're for your tea. Fanchette and me have been baking. It's jolly warm in the kitchen."
The grown-ups accepted the gifts gratefully.
"Come and sit down and talk to us," said Adrienne, putting her arm round him. "Have you ever had a Christmas Tree, Alain?"
The child nodded.
"My Aunt Susy came from Germany where the Christmas Trees grow. Are we going to have one?"
"We're thinking of it."
"And are we going to have Christmas presents? Real ones?"
"Perhaps."
"I wish you'd tell Father Christmas that I'd like a big organ of my own, like Daddy's."
"A big order," said his father, laughing.
Alain looked at him soberly.
"Are we poor, Daddy? Would it cost too much?"
"I'm very, very rich," said his father; "but I haven't money to spare."
"But rich people always have heaps of money," Alain argued.
"No. I've known some rich people who've had next to none; they've had other better things."
"What kind?"
Guy looked at Adrienne, then at his little son.
"They've got love, my boy, and belongings and a home, down here; and a loving God looking after them and keeping all His best gifts for them when they go above to be with Him."
"That's how Agatha talks," said the boy.
His bonne appeared to take him off and make him tidy for tea.
When he had disappeared, Adrienne said:
"He is very fond of Agatha. She teaches him a lot. But I must tell you what he said this morning. He had been rude to Mathilde. She always rubbed him up the wrong way; he wouldn't say he was sorry, so he was made to stand in the corner till he did. And then he lifted up his eyes as he stood there and prayed:
"'Oh, God, I do wish you'd try harder to make me a good boy, for Jesus Christ's sake, Amen.'
"What do you think of that for a prayer?"
Guy smiled:
"It shows he was aware of his utter badness, etc.? That making him good was a superhuman task."
And then Adrienne said softly:
"I needn't be afraid I shall have no work to do, when we have a little immortal soul to train."
Guy said nothing. Watching the soft flushed face of his young wife, he wondered if children of her own would be given to her to complete the crown of her womanhood.
He had no fears about the training of them. He knew that he would be able to echo the words of the wise man of old:
"Her children arise up and call her blessed."
And so Adrienne settled down to her life as mistress of the Château. She had gained the love and confidence of the village when she had been "Our Mademoiselle."
Now, as "Madame," she was always sure of a welcome from any and all. When Christmas came there was much rejoicing. Alain had his big Christmas Tree in the hall, and all the village were invited to it. Those who could not, owing to age or infirmity, be present, had presents taken to them. It was a cold winter, and blankets and grocery tickets were freely distributed. Then, when the festive season was over, Alain's education was once more discussed.
One snowy afternoon Guy came in rather late from a visit to Orleans. He found Adrienne writing letters in her boudoir. She was seated in an easy-chair by a blazing fire, with her writing-pad in her lap. She looked up with a happy smile as he appeared at the door.
"Have you had a cold drive? You took the car, did you not?"
"Yes, and it's bitter."
He came in and stood back to the fire, warming his hands behind him.
"I've engaged a tutor for Alain. Tumbled across him to-day. He's a Russian—a young Count, I believe—without relations or home, has been making his living since he left the country by teaching, and is out of a job."
Adrienne looked dubious.
"I would almost rather it were a woman," she said. "And a foreigner, Guy, and a stranger? I suppose you haven't taken him without good recommendations?"
"Excellent testimonials. He is little more than a boy, but you know how clever Russians are. We don't want him in the house, but André Gaugy has rooms, and his wife would be glad of a lodger. I've arranged that he shall come up here and give up his mornings for lessons; and in the afternoon I thought he could take the boy for rides or walks and keep him out of mischief."
"You've arranged everything very quickly. I wish you would let me have a say sometimes in your arrangements."
Adrienne spoke impulsively. She added:
"Alain is a very small boy, and very easily impressed for good or bad. I should not like him to be spoiled by unwise influence. Is this young Russian sound in religion and principles?"
Guy looked down upon her with rather rueful eyes:
"My dear little wife, perhaps I have been rash. But I felt awfully sorry for the young fellow, he looked half-starved, and it is my way to act quickly. I really have been so accustomed to arrange and do things on my own that I sometimes forget my better half at home. I've told this young Russian to come out and see you and his future charge to-morrow. I think you will like him. I did. He is Greek Church, I believe. But we have the responsibility of Alain's religious training. He will only teach him his lessons."
Adrienne said no more, and the next afternoon Monsieur Dragominsk arrived.
He was a slight, nervous-looking man, with very dark and rather restless-looking eyes. His face was pinched and sallow, his smile lightened rather a gloomy face. But he spoke both English and French like a native, and was, he said, very fond of music.
"I have taught in small boys' schools, both French and music. Also European history. And I will give your little boy a thorough grounding in Latin."
He spoke to Adrienne; something in her bearing told him that she was more critical than her husband.
"Alain is a very small boy. We want his lessons to be made pleasant to him. Have you had experience with small children? They want a lot of patience."
"Madame, my patience is infinite. I know boys. I understand them—I like them."
Then Alain was summoned, and he regarded his future tutor with big searching eyes.
"You've put your tie through a ring," he remarked suddenly. "What is on the ring? An—an animal?"
"Come and see it. It is our crest."
"Thanks, I won't come too close, till I know you better." Alain shrank away from the encircling arm.
But in a few minutes, he was talking eagerly to the stranger, and before the interview was over, it was arranged that Monsieur Dragominsk should start his teaching the following week.
When he had gone Guy turned to his wife: "Well, little woman, why so sober?"
"I don't know. I don't quite like him, Guy, and yet I can't tell you why."
"You think I was too impulsive in offering him the job?"
"I think you are so determined to help everyone in need that perhaps their needs come first with you. But he may be all right. His references are good, and if he's a genuine refugee, I'm very sorry for him."
"We can but try him. Your sharp ears and eyes will soon discover if anything is wrong."
Adrienne laughed.
"Woman's instinct is sometimes ahead of man's decisions," she said, and then they dropped the subject.
ALAIN'S TUTOR
IT was three months later.
Life in the little French village to Adrienne was entirely delightful. She was a good housewife, and though since her aunt's time the household had been augmented by more maids and one extra outdoor man, she still found plenty to employ her time. She rode with her husband very often, helped him in his farming, superintended the Château gardens, and looked well after the needs of the peasants in the village. She never neglected Agatha, and would always come away from a visit and talk with her, the stronger in her faith and love in her Lord and Master. She had a certain amount of social obligations, for the neighbourhood had a great liking and respect for her husband, and they were friendly with all. But neither of them cared for Bridge-playing, and there were only quiet dinner parties, or garden parties in the summer by way of entertainment.
Monsieur Dragominsk had quite made himself at home, and he and Alain seemed always happy together.
Alain was strangely reticent about his lessons. Sometimes Adrienne tried to discover what tutor and pupil talked about when they were out, walking or riding together.
Alain would say:
"Oh, we talk. He tells me about Russia, and lots of stories."
And Adrienne had to leave it at that.
Monsieur Dragominsk was very sociably inclined. He soon knew all the peasants and farmers round and would spend his evenings at the village inn discussing world-wide topics of interest. He had the power of impressing and interesting all who listened to him. The only one who did not seem to fall under his sway was Agatha. They only had one interview, and that was a short one. Monsieur Dragominsk would never go near her again.
"A patient little invalid," he would say, "but full of hysterical fancies and nerves. She looks upon herself as a saint, and tries to live up to the pose. But there's an artificiality about her to my mind."
He said this in the village inn. The speech was much resented, but no one seemed able to be angry with the young man, he was so full of smiles and warning persuasion.
When Adrienne questioned Agatha about his visit, she was silent for quite five minutes. The happy light died out of her face. Then she looked at Adrienne with grave steady eyes.
"I wish sometimes I did not see so far into people's souls, Madame."
"But you always seem to find a lot of good in them, Agatha, don't you, even in our village scapegraces?"
Agatha did not smile.
"Madame, time will show. He is a stranger in thought, as well as nationality."
"What does he think?" said Adrienne. "I wish I knew, he always agrees instantly with what the Count and I say, but sometimes there is a look in his eyes that belies his words."
Agatha was silent. She would say no more. Adrienne had never heard her say an unkind word of anyone. She always seemed to find good traits in all. So that her silent attitude towards the young Russian brought back Adrienne's first feelings of disquietude.
But when she went back to the Château, and met him again, his pleasant manners and smiling face reassured her. Children were good judges, she told herself, of a person's sincerity and truth, and Alain seemed happy and content when with him.
Monsieur Dragominsk spent his off time in Orleans. He had a motor-cycle, and would often spend his evenings there, returning very late at night. Adrienne tried hard to be friendly towards him, but he seemed to her never entirely at ease in her company.
One evening she asked him to dine with them, and after dinner, as they sat in the hall over the big fire, they began talking a little about Russia.
"It is extraordinary to me," Guy was saying, "how quickly and deeply and widely this Bolshevism has taken root. Up till quite lately this part of France has been particularly free of all Bolshevism and revolutionary talk. But now it is creeping over the provinces as well as in the towns. I suppose you, Monsieur Dragominsk, have nothing to fear from Lenin's tools, but of course you are aware that there is a great deal of Bolshevist propaganda in Orleans?"
"I believe there is," said the tutor with a serious face; "but I take good care to steer clear of them. They can do nothing to me. They have killed all my relatives and taken our lands and possessions. They want no more from me."
"I suppose," said Guy slowly, "that the peasants get contaminated with it when they go into the towns. We have been a very contented village here for many years; but lately discontent seems rife. I have had to discharge four farm-hands this week. And I came across some pernicious leaflets in the forge the other day. I taxed your landlord with the distribution of them. He is a great talker. Tailors generally are. He was handing them round as I came up, so I asked if I might have some, and he could not refuse me."
"I have noticed," said Adrienne, "that some of our people are getting sullen and unfriendly. I wonder why?"
"They seem all under your control," said Monsieur Dragominsk; "wonderfully so. These French country villages are as ours used to be, very old-fashioned and feudal."
"Excuse me," said Guy quickly, "we are republican in theory, only sometimes it is difficult to carry it out in practice. And our peasants cannot be compared with yours as regards intelligence. They are shrewd and wide awake and never can be driven by force—only won by persuasion."
"Oh, I know our peasants are little better than the beasts of the earth," responded the tutor; "but they seem to be waking up now with a vengeance. And the next generation will produce a new race of men in Russia."
When Monsieur Dragominsk had taken leave of them, Guy said to Adrienne:
"I don't want to think too much of it, but there's a lot going on in the village that I don't understand. Pierre says that the men gather together with shut doors in the inn. I suppose what is going on in Orleans is affecting them. Two factories there are on strike, and the gendarmes had to come out last night, I hear. I have never had trouble with the farm-hands before, and they have been utterly unmanageable these past few weeks."
Adrienne looked troubled.
The next day she went to see Agatha. She heard from her that the Curé had gone away for his yearly holiday.
"I wish he were here, Madame; he is generally about the village and knows all that is going on. There is something evil in our village. It wants to be discovered and rooted out. I am not one to meddle in politics, but these Bolshevists are against our Lord, and I wonder the Christian world does not rise up and exterminate them."
"Why, Agatha, I have never heard you speak so scathingly before."
Agatha's sweet face looked sad and stern.
"I lie here and think, Madame. I know the good God permits evil for His purposes, but it is His will that we should fight it. I have many friends in the village and they come and talk to me. Lately some of them have left off coming. And those that still come have black thoughts in their hearts. I can read them, and I tell them what I see through their eyes. They look ashamed, and some slink away, and some argue. But the tares are springing up amongst the wheat and they are choking it. I weep at night over what is going on."
"We must try and stop it," said Adrienne firmly.
She went home and talked to her husband.
Guy listened, but said little.
Adrienne playfully shook him by the shoulders.
"Say something, do something! I am beginning to feel again as I did when Monsieur Bouverie was in the village. As if we are surrounded by treachery! Several men to-day passed me with no recognition; they turned their heads the other way and made no response to my greeting. You are so silent, Guy. I am your wife. Let me into your thoughts."
Guy put his arm round his wife, and drew her to him.
"I never forget, thank God, that you are my wife. Trust me, dearest. I shall ferret out this poison and get rid of it. But I want to track it to its source. And I have to move warily."
"Oh, you're very much of a man," laughed Adrienne, tilting her head back on his shoulder; "you have an overwhelming confidence in your own discretion, and a very poor opinion of your wife's. But I will not be depressed. We have weathered through a bad time here, and we'll weather through again. And I know that you are strong in your decisions, and that though you move slowly, you move surely."
The next day Guy took his little son out for a ride.
Monsieur Dragominsk had business in Orleans. Guy was often content to ride along the lanes in silence, letting his boy do most of the talking, but he did not do this now. He talked to him about the life that was before him, of the English school he wished to send him to. And then it was that Alain surprised him:
"Don't you think, Daddy, that as I'm going to be a French Count it would be better for me to go to French school? England is not so nice as France, is it?"
"Isn't it?"
"No, it's got a king."
"I suppose that is not right?"
"No, it isn't, is it? America and France are bigger and better countries than England, and they're Republics."
"You're learning a lot, my boy. Now can you tell why kings and queens are a mistake?"
"Because nobody ought to be on top of us, and make us bow down to them."
"Then you certainly must never be a Count. That is quite wrong!"
"I suppose it is," Alain said reluctantly; "and in Russia you know, the Counts used to beat their servants to death. It is only now the poor people that are happy."
"I sometimes think," said Guy slowly, "that it's a mistake us having such a big house, when the peasants have such small ones."
"Yes," chimed in Alain eagerly, "and in Russia the poor people live in castles and the nobles in huts. It's been a turn-about; it's right that everyone should have a turn."
"Upon my word you're learning fast. Tell me more."
Alain lifted his handsome little head proudly. He was pleased to think his father admired his cleverness. "Daddy," he said suddenly, "how soon will I be big enough to leave off saying my prayers with Mother?"
"How big do you think you ought to be?"
"Well, I'm growing fast, and I want to do like men do."
"Don't men believe in God?"
"Not now, do they? We can't believe in what we can't see. It's only pretending all the time. I don't like to say so to Mother, but you understand, don't you?"
"I'm afraid I understand only too well, my boy. And is the Bible not to be believed?"
"It's only a history book about the Jews, isn't it? Nobody thinks anything of it now."
Guy's face was as calm and still, as if no surge of passion was rushing through his veins.
"Go on, Alain, talk away I like to hear you. Later on I'll talk too. Tell me more about Russia. Is it a happy country now?"
"It's getting happier every day, isn't it, Daddy? And one day it's going to get all the other countries into it, and make them happy too."
"How is it going to do that?"
"I think it's by teaching all the people the right kind of things. I don't quite know how—Oh, Daddy, do look at that kingfisher?"
Alain had had enough of serious talk, he could not be inveigled into it again.
Guy brought him home, and sent him up to his bonne; then he went into the library, and, sitting down in his chair before the fire, gave himself up to deep thought.
But he said nothing of his thoughts to Adrienne that night. Only he absented himself after dinner, and spent his evening down at the inn, where he was considerably enlightened on more points than one.
The next morning, when Monsieur Dragominsk arrived up to teach Alain, Guy met him in the hall and asked him to come into the library. Adrienne had been told that Alain was to have a holiday, and at his request she and he went into the woods together for a morning ramble.
When they came home, Guy met her in the hall. There was that in his set face that made her see at once that something was amiss.
"Well," he said as he drew her into the library, "I have had somewhat of a scene here; but I've cleared him out and given him only four hours' grace. He's like a raving maniac at present, but I think he'll calm down. I often wonder how it is that I've grown up without an ounce of French excitability in my brains. I think if I had been a Frenchman, we should have come to blows. As it was, I yearned to give him a good thrashing. But he knows he'll have it if he outstays his time."
"Of course you're alluding to Monsieur Dragominsk. I knew you would find him out. I have never trusted him. What have you discovered?"
"That for once the Soviet has made a mistake in its tool. He is a bungler and a fool."
"You mean that he is a fraud? No Count at all?"
"He's the son of a schoolmaster. I've been collecting facts about him for a few weeks past. He's over in France in employed pay of the Soviet for propaganda. I could have forgiven him if he had not torn down a child's faith and trust."
"Oh, Guy!—Alain! How horrible! How can we have been so blind and stupid? But he must have sealed the child's lips. He has been so unusually silent to me lately."
And then Guy told her of his conversation with his boy.
"I took him for a ride on purpose to pump him. I led him on, and he fell into the trap and divulged the teaching he has been getting. I blame myself. You were right, sweetheart; I was too hasty in my choice. Thank God he is out of this house, and I'll see to it that he leaves the village to-morrow."
"Is he very angry at being discovered?"
"He threatened and boasted a good deal. Said such places as this ought not to exist, and that they were out for exterminating them. He made no attempt to deny his real position, boasted of his success in the village, and said that he and his sort were going to sweep through the world making bonfires of the so-called upper classes—and such-like trash! But imagine him thinking he would live on with us as a tutor whilst he was turning the village upside-down and flooding it with his red propaganda! I fancy there's a screw loose; he got almost maniacal before he left. A very little more will land him in a lunatic asylum."
Adrienne shuddered.
"And we have trusted Alain to him. How awful!"
"It seems to be my rôle in life to unmask villains," said Guy with a dry smile. "I don't like the job, but I mean to do this thoroughly."
"I hope he won't be revengeful before he goes. He might kidnap Alain. Every child to them is a future asset for their achievement, I know."
"Keep him with you as much as possible, but Dragominsk is out for more than Alain."
"And it is he who has been stirring up the peasants. I think we ought to have discovered him before; but when I talked to him, he pretended to be entirely against the Soviet. What a traitor he is! Is he sleeping at the Gaugy's to-night?"
"I can't tell you. I only know that I shall have the police out from Orleans to-morrow if he doesn't go. I think he'll clear out."
Adrienne was uneasy all the next day. She learnt that Dragominsk had gone back to Orleans; but as she walked through the village there were sullen averted faces, and she was glad to get back to the Château. Guy took the bull by the horns, and in the parlour of the inn held forth to about seven or eight men on the subject of property and ownership. Alain was very puzzled at his tutors' sudden disappearance.
His father spoke frankly to him about it.
"I have sent him away, my boy, because he was not a good man, and as I want you to grow up a Christian gentleman, I want your tutor to set you a good example. You must try to forget a lot of what he taught you. And remember, we are all put into this world to serve and please God, and keep His commandments."
Alain was silent.
When he was saying his prayers that evening, he looked up into Adrienne's face earnestly:
"Is God a real person, Mother? Does He really see me and want me to love Him?"
"Yes, Alain, He loves you. He sent you into the world, and He will take you out of it. There are a lot of people who won't serve God or love Him, and they pretend to themselves that there is no God. The Bible calls those people fools, and they are."
Alain seemed impressed. When she had said good night to him, Adrienne came down into the hall where her husband was seated reading.
She went over to him, and, sitting on a low stool, rested her head against his knee.
"Do you think God will forgive and overrule our mistake?" she asked.
"Why, of course! It would be a bad look-out for us if He did not. Don't worry over Alain. He is small and impressionable, and I'm sure your teaching and training will soon remove the nonsense which Dragominsk has been filling his head with."
Then he stooped and kissed the little curls against her forehead. He was very undemonstrative as a rule, but he had his moments of emotion.
"My little wife," he murmured, "what should I do without you? We'll weather through this. Our peasants are like a flock of sheep. When the Curé comes back, he'll bring them to their senses. Don't go into the village for the next few days. Let them quiet down."
Then he added with his whimsical smile:
"And I have learnt my lesson; never to act again without the counsel and permission of my wife."
AGATHA'S WARNING
THAT night Adrienne could not sleep. She lay very still, not wishing to disturb her husband; and she took herself to task for imagining she heard strange noises round the old Château. It was a still, dark night. No moon: owls were hooting at intervals—once she heard the dogs in the stable barking, but she knew that the movements of the cattle sometimes made them do that.
She heard the clocks striking two, then suddenly with no uncertain sound the church bell began to ring. She knew that when that bell rang out, it was a signal of alarm or danger. If there was fire anywhere, or any sudden calamity, the village was roused by the church bell.
She put her hand out, and laid it on her husband's shoulder. He was awake in a moment.
Both of them sprang out of bed and hurriedly got into their clothes. Adrienne made her way across to one of the unshuttered windows to lean out and see if anyone was about. And then Guy heard her give an exclamation, and joined her at her post.
"What is it?"
"Agatha!" gasped Adrienne. "I have seen her standing there before me on the lawn quite distinctly,—standing, Guy! What does it mean? And she looked up at me and pointed to the corner of the house over there."
"Stay here," her husband said; "no, I won't have you come with me. You are to stay indoors. I hear the servants moving."
He was gone. Listening eagerly, Adrienne heard the heavy door open, then leaning out she saw in the east wing of the house smoke coming out of a window, and she smelt the unmistakable scent of fire.
Nothing would keep her indoors then. She found her way to Alain's room, had him out of bed and dressed him, trying to soothe and allay his rising excitement. He thought it great fun. Then with the servants, who were thoroughly roused, she took Alain out on the terrace.
Gaston, running towards the house for buckets, told her that great bundles of straw soaked with paraffin had been laid against the wooden doors and window frames of the Château. They had only just discovered them in time, for they had all been fired. One lower window had been broken, and a lighted bundle of straw had been pushed through into a room which was a lumber room. This bundle of straw Guy had with extreme difficulty drawn out with a pitchfork, and the room was being soused with water, for it was well alight. Adrienne immediately sent the maids to help. She was no longer afraid of the house burning, for only one room was alight, and that was being deluged with hose and buckets. She stayed out on the terrace with her little stepson for a considerable time; then, as light began to dawn in the sky, and the maids returned one by one saying that all danger was over, she sent Alain back to bed with his bonne, and went across the lawn to find her husband.
He came to meet her with blackened face and hands. "Thank God, our home is saved," he said; "I am leaving the men to watch it, and I will wire for the police in the morning. Come along in. How about a cup of coffee? We'll get Pierre to make us one."
They approached the Château together. Suddenly from the thick shrubbery at their side a man darted out and levelled his pistol straight at Guy's heart. In a second Adrienne had flung herself in front of him. She had recognized Dragominsk. He looked dishevelled and wild, but his pistol went off, and Adrienne swayed and fell at her husband's feet. In agony of mind, Guy lifted her up, and bore her into the house.
Dragominsk made off, but all Guy's thoughts were on his unconscious wife. One of the men rode off for the doctor.
The wound was in her shoulder and it was bleeding profusely. With firm, deft hands Guy bandaged it up and stopped the flow of blood. It seemed years to him before the doctor arrived.
After a brief examination, he allayed his worst fears.
"The bullet has escaped the lung. I must get it out. But it isn't in a vital part. We will have her well again. Cheer up!"
In an hour's time the bullet had been extracted, and Adrienne's wound dressed. She had recovered consciousness, but was at first too dazed and confused to remember things. Then, as the morning wore on, she began to ask questions. Guy would not leave her side.
He felt as if nothing in the world mattered now but his wife.
By and by urgent messages reached him, and he was forced to leave her.
When he returned, there was a sad look in his eyes; but fearing to agitate Adrienne, he kept his own counsel, and did not enlighten her as to the cause of his distress.
She had fever for a few days, and had to be kept very quiet. It was a revelation to her to see what a good nurse her husband was. Quiet, tender and deft in every movement, he waited upon her hand and foot, and would hardly allow her maid or Alain's bonne to come near her.
And then one bright May morning, when Adrienne was really convalescent, he broke to her the sad news:
"Our dear little Agatha has been taken from us."
Adrienne burst into tears.
"Oh, how dreadful for us! But lovely for her. Tell me all about it, Guy. What has happened? What shall we do without her?"
"She saved our lives at the cost of her own. Who do you think sounded the alarm bell?"
"Not Agatha!"
"Yes, Agatha; the village consider it a miracle, her sister an amazing and astounding feat. She was found, poor little thing, dead at the foot of the belfry stairs. Her delicate little hands were marked, almost lacerated by the rope."
"How could Marie let her! How could she! Oh, I can't believe it! She was paralysed from her waist downwards."
"Marie had been called out to a case of sudden illness. Wouldn't you like her to come up to you and tell you more than I can?"
"Yes, let her come at once. I must hear all I can. How did Agatha know we were in danger? Oh, Guy, do you remember? I saw her distinctly on the lawn, showing us where the fire was. Was it really her?"
"It could not have been. You must remember, they live close to the Church on the top of the hill. We are nearly a mile away."
"Then it was her spirit. I saw her distinctly. Poor, brave little Agatha! Oh, Guy, are our lives worth saving at such a cost? She is a loss to the whole village. What do they feel about it?"
"They are absolutely dumbfounded! And in a way it has pulled us all together again, and produced better feeling all round. We are mourning together for her. There was quite a scene at her funeral; the men broke down, and sobbed as broken-heartedly as the women. I'll get Marie to come up and see you this afternoon."
Marie came. She looked quite old and stricken, and at first she and Adrienne could only mingle their tears together. Then Marie began to relate the events of that evening.
"My darling had been very troubled for some time, Madame, about the 'evil' in the village. That was what she called it. I know in her heart she associated it with Monsieur Dragominsk, but she will never let herself speak evil of anyone. Ah, Madame! I cannot remember that she is gone, that I must speak of her in the past! She said to me about five o'clock that evening:
"'Marie, I am overpressed with the weight of danger and evil. What does it mean?'
"'You worry too much,' I said to her.
"'But,' she said, 'that is not my way; evils never lie heavily on me, for what my Father allows, I bend my head to. He knows best. But to-day I keep having the Count and the dear Countess before me. And our Château is threatened in some way. I know it is. And I have a feeling that I am called to save it.'
"Then I tried to soothe her, and I told her the way to keep you from evil was to pray for you. Whilst we were talking, I got an urgent summons from Tournet Farm the other side of the village. The woman was expecting her seventh child, and she was taken before her time. They often send for me, as you know, Madame, and I could not but go. Oh, if I only had stayed, I should have had my darling alive to-day! But I went. She wanted me to. She said she would be quite safe and comfortable till I returned. And she looked up at me and smiled in her happy way:
"'You know, my Marie,' she said; 'if I sleep, I shall not miss you, and if I lie wakeful, I shall have happy talks with my Father. He is so very, very close to me in the still hours of darkness. Go and do not give me another thought.'
"We kissed each other. I placed a glass of milk by her bedside, and the lamp, and made her comfortable for the night. How little I thought I had taken a last farewell of her!"
Sobs choked her voice.
"Did anyone run in and tell her that they were going to burn the Château?"
"Nobody went near her. No one told her, except the good Lord Himself. Doubtless He sent an angel to tell her. Doubtless the angel helped her to the belfry and gave her strength to sound the alarm. She could not have done it otherwise. She was given the power of walking, which for fifteen years has been withheld from her. God knew how we need you, Madame, and it was His will to draw up my darling into Heaven after she had saved you. I try to be resigned. But oh, if only I could have sounded the alarm and not her."
"And yet, Marie," said Adrienne slowly, "perhaps you would have refused to do it. You would have thought it was her sick fancy; you would not have liked to take such an extreme step without more proof of it being really necessary. And now let me tell you. Just as the bell ceased tolling, when we were all aroused, I looked out of the window and saw Agatha distinctly upon the lawn. She was warning me and pointing to the room where the fire had commenced to take hold."
"Did you see her, Madame? Then it must have been as she was dying that she came. How did she look? Oh, if only I had seen her!"
"Just as she always looks—sweet and serene."
"Oh, she was so fond of you! The Count and you were always in her thoughts and prayers."
"We both owe the happiness of our souls to her," said Adrienne, wiping away her tears. "Marie, we won't be so selfish as to keep on mourning for her. Think of her joy and gladness! She will never suffer any more, never have nights of pain and weary sleepless days. We must rejoice for her, if we can't for ourselves."
Then Marie began to talk about the village.
The four dismissed farm labourers and Monsieur Dragominsk were considered responsible for the fire, but they had all disappeared, and the police could not trace them.
"My little Agatha has not died in vain," Marie said. "Our village was getting red hot with revolt and revolution. And now they seem softened and repentant. I asked André Gaugy, who had been imbibing all Monsieur Dragominsk's poisonous words, how the poor would get on without our family at the Château, who would look after us and tide us over our bad times, and I asked him if he thought a clever thinking man would have knocked under to a Russian ne'er-do-well, who was befriended out of charity by our merciful Count, and after eating of his salt and receiving kindness from his wife and himself, returned their benevolence by setting fire to their house and shooting the Countess.
"Andre hadn't a word to say except: 'Oh, he had a persuasive tongue, that man; but I never thought he was murderous, never! And he has killed our little Saint! May Heaven keep him off my path! For I dare not trust myself with him!'
"That's Andre now, and a few weeks ago he was thundering against all in the class above him! I cannot tell you, Madame, how all of them have spoken to me of Agatha. They almost looked upon her as a ladder to Heaven, and say that now she is gone, they have none to care for their souls. I tell them the good Curé is still with us, and they say,—
"'Yes, he is our priest; but she was our friend, our little sister, she knew us and loved us. We can have another priest when the Curé goes to his rest, but we can never have another Agatha.'"
"They're right there," said Adrienne.
When Marie had gone. Adrienne and Guy talked over matters together. She was very anxious to put up a marble cross over Agatha's grave, and Guy told her that it could be done later on.
"She has died for us," said Adrienne sorrowfully.
"And you," said Guy, looking at her tenderly, "almost gave your life for me. Did you think of what you were doing?"
"No, I never thought. It was a natural instinct, and Guy, if I hadn't done it, the bullet which went into my shoulder would have gone into your heart. You are just that much taller than I. We were standing together. Oh, don't let us talk about it! It seems like some black, ugly dream. God has preserved us. I like to think that He wants us here on the earth to do His work and fulfil His purposes."
After the storm came the calm. The little village subsided into its normal state; the peasants no longer shrank away when Adrienne passed by. They showed the greatest solicitation over her wounded shoulder, and were continually making inquiries after her health. Adrienne found a young French Protestant girl to teach Alain; she played with him out of lesson hours, and gradually the individuality of Monsieur Dragominsk faded from the boy's memory. He, childlike, lived in the present, and was perfectly happy and content with his new teacher.
When the summer came, Admiral Chesterton invited them over for a month's stay with him. Guy could not go, for business affairs again called him to America; but Adrienne took Alain and thoroughly enjoyed life again in her old home. Phemie had just presented Godfrey with a son and heir. She had adapted herself in a wonderful way to her new life, and had grown quite pretty. She welcomed Adrienne warmly, and the young wives had much to say to each other.
"You are really happy making your home out of England?" Phemie questioned.
"The Château is my home. I love it. I have always done so ever since I first saw it, and as long as I am with Guy, I don't care what country contains me."
"How funny it is," said Phemie thoughtfully, "how one kind of man suits me, and quite another suits you. I think your husband too hard and strong and dour to make a woman happy."
"He may have a hard shell, but his heart is as tender as a child's," said Adrienne emphatically.
Then she looked at the baby in Phemie's arms. "I never thought you would like being a mother," she said.
"No, when I was single and unattached I talked a lot of nonsense," said Phemie, flushing; "but motherhood is very wonderful, Adrienne. You will find it so."
"I'm sure I shall, and if all is well, three months more will bring me to it. I am hoping it may be a girl, and Guy hopes so too. I know he will spoil a little daughter if he gets one."
"You must not let him. Godfrey and I talk a lot about our boy. We mean to bring him up from the beginning in the old-fashioned way. To learn obedience and self-control first of all. Those virtues are lacking in the modern race."
So they talked, compared notes together, and parted; each feeling that their friendship was strengthened and renewed by their time together.
It was in October when Adrienne's little daughter appeared. She was a tiny creature with big blue eyes and soft little curls over her head. She hardly ever cried, and gave everyone a smile who came near her.
Her father watched her with adoring eyes. When Adrienne was quite convalescent, she got her husband to take her one afternoon to the little churchyard.
A beautiful white marble cross was erected over Agatha's grave, and she wanted to see the inscription underneath.
It was very simple and plain:
"SACRED TO THE MEMORY OFOUR BELOVED AGATHAWHO DIED AS SHE LIVEDIN SUCCOURING OTHERS."Well done, good and faithful servant. Enter thouinto the joy of thy Lord."
And then below, Marie had these verses written:
"Her life was lived in Heaven below,And God was with her here;She's only gone a step beyondTo clearer, sweeter air."Through pain and grief she sang her hymnsOf joyous grateful praise;In glory now beyond all illsShe sings again her lays."The echo of her songs and lifeWith all of us remain;And so we follow in her steps,We know we'll meet again."
"Guy," said Adrienne, looking up at her husband with tears in her eyes, "there is only one name for our little daughter, and I pray God that He may give her some of the grace He gave our little Saint."
"Yes," said Guy, in a tone of quiet content, "she shall be called 'Agatha.'"