Montlivet eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 379 pages of information about Montlivet.

Montlivet eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 379 pages of information about Montlivet.

“Monsieur!  Monsieur!”

“No, wait, wait!  I got you into this, I shall get you out.  Unless the Indians make trouble I shall send Starling home with a convoy of my own Indians.  Your—­the woman shall go with him.  Then we will see what can be done about the marriage.  The story shall go to the Vatican.”

I moved the candles that I might see his face without the play of light and shadow between.

“Monsieur, you forget.  The story that you speak of is mine.  If I wish to refer it to the Vatican, I, myself, take it there.  As to Madame de Montlivet,—­she may wish to go east with her cousin; she may wish to remain here.  The decision will rest with her.  Monsieur?”

“Yes, monsieur.”

“I may depend on you not to mention what we have just said to any one?”

He gave me his hand.  “Naturally, monsieur.”

His tone touched me.

“Then to to-morrow’s work,” I said briskly.  “Now I am to bed.  I must rise early.”

Cadillac went with me to the door, his arm on my well shoulder.  I saw by the delay in his walk that he had more to say.  It came slowly.

“Monsieur, one word.  If you do not care to see madame,—­if it is awkward——­ Well, I can arrange it without gossip.  You need not see her again, and no one need know.  Leave that to me.”

Not see her again!  I do not know what savage, insane thing sprang to life in me.  I struck down Cadillac’s arm.

“You take liberties.  You meddle insufferably.  She is my wife.  I will see her when I please.”

I like to think that I was not responsible, that it was the cry of a baited animal that could stand no more.  Yet all the torture Cadillac had been giving me had been unconscious.  He stepped back and looked at me.

“My God!  You fool!”

Oh, I could have knelt to him for shame!  My tongue began apology, but my face told a better tale.  Cadillac held up his hand.

“Stop.  Montlivet, you love the Englishwoman?  Why, I thought——­ I beg your pardon.  I was the fool.”

I went stumblingly toward the door before I could face him.  Then I turned and held out my hand.  “There is no monopoly in fools.  Monsieur, if to love a woman, to love her against her will and your own judgment, to love her hopelessly,—­if that is folly, well, I am the worst of fools, the most incurable.  I am glad for you to know this.  Will you forget that I was a madman, monsieur?”

CHAPTER XXVI

FROM HOUR TO HOUR

It was well that I slept alone that night, for more than once before day dawned I found myself with my feet on the floor and my free arm searching for a knife.  I had flouted at imagination, but now every howling dog became an Indian raising the death cry.  I asked Cadillac to double the guard before the woman’s quarters, but even then I slept with an ear pricked for trouble.  And I was abroad early.

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Project Gutenberg
Montlivet from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.