The Knight of Malta

CHAPTER XX. THE SACRIFICE

The night passed without another incident

At the rising of the sun the chebec was no longer in sight.

Peyrou waited with impatience the arrival of the young seaman who was accustomed to relieve his watch.

He was anxious to warn Raimond V. of the wicked designs he attributed to the Bohemian.

About two o’clock, Peyrou was astonished to see Mile, des Anbiez, accompanied by Stephanette.

Reine approached him with evident embarrassment.

Without sharing the superstitious ideas of the inhabitants of the gulf, in reference to the watchman on Cape l’Aigle, she felt irresistibly impelled to consult him upon a subject which she could not think of without sadness. The young girl had received new evidences of the remembrance cherished by Erebus, through the same unknown and mysterious way.

All her efforts, and all of Stephanette’s, had proved unavailing in discovering the source of these strange communications.

Through an unpardonable obstinacy, and a foolish love of the marvellous, Reine had concealed everything from her father and Honorât.

Honorât had left Maison-Forte, in a fit of jealousy as painful as it was unreasonable.

On the evening of the day the overseers of the port held their session, Reine, as she knelt before her praying-desk, had found a rosary of sandalwood of the most marvellous workmanship.

The clasp by which it was to be attached to her belt again bore the enamelled imprint of the little dove of which we have spoken, – the symbol of the remembrance and the love of the unknown.

Since the singing of the Bohemian, Reine’s imagination, excited beyond degree, had indulged in a thousand dreams concerning the adventurous life of the young emir, as the vagabond had named him.

Either by design or chance, the singer had left his guzla in Reine’s apartment, after the departure of Honorât de Berrol.

The young girl, curious to see the face of the unknown again, took the guitar and opened the medallion, and, to her great surprise, the portrait, insecurely fastened, came off in her hands.

Dame Dulceline entered. Reine blushed, closed the medallion and hid the portrait in her bosom, intending to restore it to its place. Evening came, and Stephanette, without informing her mistress, returned the guitar to the Bohemian. The lid of the medallion was fastened, and neither the singer nor the servant discovered the absence of the picture.

The next day Reine sent for the Bohemian in order to return the portrait to him. He had disappeared, the flight of the pigeon demanding his attention.

Reine had the courage to break the crystal vase, and to burn the miniature on vellum, but she had not the courage to destroy the portrait or the rosary that she found in her oratory.

In spite of her struggles, in spite of her prayers, in spite of her resolve to forget the events of the day in the rocks of Ollioules, the memory of the unknown took possession of her heart more and more.

The songs of the Bohemian on the young emir, whom he called Erebus, had profoundly moved her feelings.

Those contrasts of courage and kindness, of power and pity, recalled to her mind the singular combination of audacity and timidity which had impressed her in the scene which transpired in the gorges of Ollioules.

She counted on the restitution of the portrait as the first step to another conversation with the Singer about the emir.

Unfortunately, the Bohemian had disappeared.

To the great astonishment of the inmates of Maison-Forte, he did not return in the evening. Raimond V., who liked him, ordered his men who guarded the bridge to be prepared to lower it when the Bohemian appeared, notwithstanding the regulations of the castle.

Morning came, and still the vagabond was absent. They supposed that, after drinking, he had fallen asleep in some tavern of La Ciotat. They were still more astonished not to find the two pigeons in the cage where he kept them ordinarily closely confined.

Greatly disturbed by these strange happenings, which had been transpiring for some time, Reine, half through curiosity and half through conviction, finally yielded to the entreaties of Stephanette, who had the most wonderful ideas of the watchman’s abilities and knowledge, and decided to consult the old seaman on the mysteries of which Maison-Forte was the theatre.

So many extraordinary things had been told of Master Peyrou’s predictions, that Reine, although little given to superstition, felt the influence of the general opinion.

She was going to interrogate Peyrou, when, to her amazement, he accosted her with a question about the Bohemian.

“Mademoiselle, did the vagabond enter Maison-Forte last night?” said Peyrou, quickly.

“No; my father is much concerned about him. They think that he must have spent the night drinking in some tavern in La Ciotat.”

“That would be astonishing,” added Stephanette, “for the poor fellow seems to be of exemplary sobriety.”

“This poor fellow,” exclaimed the watchman, “is a spy of the pirates.”

“He!” exclaimed Reine.

“Yes, he, himself, mademoiselle; a chebec was cruising a part of the night in view from the gulf, waiting, no doubt, for a signal from this vagabond to disembark.”

In a few words the watchman acquainted Reine with the adventure of the pigeon, informing her on what indisputable grounds he suspected the Bohemian of having communication with the pirates; showed her the satchel and letter, and gave them to her, that the baron might have the writing translated by one of the brother monks in La Ciotat, who, having been a slave in Tunis for a long time, was familiar with Arabic.

When she learned the odious suspicions which attached to the Bohemian, without accounting to herself for her fear, Reine dared not confide the object of her visit to the watchman.

Stephanette looked at her mistress, utterly confounded, and cried:

“Our Lady! who would have believed that this unbeliever, who sang so well, could be such an abominable scoundrel? And to think I pitied him enough to give him a flame-coloured ribbon! Ah, my dear mistress, and the portrait of – ”

Reine by an imperious sign forbade Stephanette to continue.

“Good-bye, good watchman,” said Mlle, des Anbiez, “I am going back to Maison-Forte at once, to warn my father to be on his guard.”

“Do not forget, Stephanette, to send Luquin Trinquetaille here. I must make arrangements with him to have one more young watchman,” said Peyrou. “I have not slept the whole night. This dangerous knave is perhaps wandering about these rocks, and may come and assassinate me at the setting of the moon. The pirates are somewhere in the gulf, hidden in some one of the coves where they often ambuscade, to wait for their prey; for, alas! our coasts are not protected.”

“Be easy, Master Peyrou, Luquin is coming with his two cousins; just tell him that you are watching for the Bohemian, and he will not delay to come as fast as his long legs can bring him. And to think I gave a ribbon to a pirate!” added Stephanette, clasping her hands. “Perhaps he is one of those brigands who ravaged all this coast last year.”

“Go, go, my girl, and hurry. I must confer with the captain about a little cruise he can undertake even to-day with his polacre. We must warn the consuls to arm some fishing-boats immediately, with sure and determined men. We must give the alarm all along the shore, arm the entrance into the gulf, which is defended only by the cannon of Maison-Forte, and be prepared for any surprise, for these brigands rush on the coast like a hurricane. So Luquin must come on the instant Do you hear, Stephanette? The safety of the city depends on it.”

“Be easy, Master Peyrou, although it breaks my heart to know that my poor Luquin is going to run such danger. I love him too much to advise him to be a coward.”

During this rapid conversation between the watchman and her servant, Reine, lost in deep reverie, had descended a few steps of the path which conducted to the platform upon which stood the sentry-box.

This path, which was very steep, wound around the outside of the promontory, and formed at this spot a sort of comice, whose projection reached considerably over the base of this immense wall of rocks, more than three hundred feet above the level of the sea.

A young girl less habituated to walks and to mountain climbing would have feared to venture on this narrow passage. From the side of the sea, its only parapet was a few asperities of rock, more or less pronounced. Reine, accustomed to brave these perils from her infancy, thought nothing of danger. The emotion that agitated her since her interview with the watchman absorbed her entirely.

Her gait, sometimes slow, sometimes hurried, seemed to share the nature of her tumultuous emotions.

Stephanette soon joined her. Surprised at the pallor of her mistress, she was about to ask the cause of it, when Reine said to her, in an altered voice, with a gesture which did not admit of a reply, “Walk in front of me, Stephanette, do not concern yourself whether I follow you or not.”