Free The Bronze Eagle by Baroness Emmuska Orczy Page A

vehemence, his
riotous outbreak of rebellion seemed to have been smothered beneath a
pall of dreary despair. His young, good-looking face appeared sombre and
sullen, his restless, dark eyes wandered obstinately from Crystal's fair
bent head to her stooping shoulders, to her hands, to her feet. It
seemed as if he was trying to engrave an image of her upon his turbulent
brain, or that he wished to force her to look on him again before she
spoke the last words of farewell.
    But she wouldn't look at him. She kept her head reso [Pg 68] lutely averted,
looking far out over the undulating lands of Dauphiné and Savoie to
where in the far distant sky the stately Alps reared their snow-crowned
heads. At last, unable to bear her silence any longer, he said dully:
    "Then it is your last word, Crystal?"
    "You know that it must be, Maurice," she murmured in reply. "My marriage
contract will be signed to-night, and on Tuesday I go to the altar with
Victor de Marmont."
    "And you mean to tear your love for me out of your heart?"
    "Yes!"
    "Were its roots a little deeper, a little stronger, you could not do it,
Crystal. But they are not so deep as those of your love for your
father."
    She made no reply . . . perhaps something in her heart told her that
after all he might be right, that, unbeknown to herself even, there were
tendrils of affection in her that bound her, ivylike, and so closely—to
her father that even her girlish love for Maurice de St. Genis—the
first hint of passion that had stirred the smooth depths of her young
heart—could not tear her from that bulwark to which she clung.
    "This is the last time that I shall see you, Crystal," said Maurice with
a sigh, seeing that obviously she meant to allow his taunt to pass
unchallenged.
    "You are going away?" she asked.
    "How can I stay—here, under this roof, where anon—in a few
hours—Victor de Marmont will have claims upon you which, if he
exercised them before me would make me wish to kill him or myself. I
shall leave to-morrow—early . . ." he added more quietly.
    "Where will you go?"
    "To Paris—or abroad—or the devil, I don't know which," he replied
moodily.
    "Father will be sorry if you go?" she murmured under [Pg 69] her breath, for
once again the tears were very insistent, and she felt an awful pain in
her heart, because of the misery which she had to inflict upon him.
    "Your father has been passing kind to me. He gave me a home when I was
homeless, but it is not fitting that I should trespass any longer upon
his hospitality."
    "Have you made any plans?"
    "Not yet. But the King will give me a commission. There will be some
fighting now . . . there was a rumour in Grenoble last night that
Bonaparte had landed at Antibes, and was marching on Paris."
    "A false rumour as usual, I suppose," she said indifferently.
    "Perhaps," he replied.
    There was silence between them for awhile after that, silence only
broken by the twitter of birds wakening to the call of spring. The word
"good-bye" remained unspoken: neither of them dared to say it lest it
broke the barrier of their resolve.
    "Will you not go now, Maurice?" said Crystal at last in pitiable
pleading, "we only make each other hopelessly wretched, by lingering
near one another after this."
    "Yes, I will go, Crystal," he replied, and this time he really forced
his voice to tones of gentleness, although his inward resentment still
bubbled out with every word he spoke, "I wish I could have left this
house altogether—now—at once—but your father would resent it—and he
has been so kind . . . I wish I could go to-day," he reiterated
obstinately, "I dread seeing Victor de Marmont in this house, where the
laws of chivalry forbid my striking him in the face."
    "Maurice!" she exclaimed reproachfully.
    "Nay! I'll not say it again: I have sufficient reason left in me, I
think, to show these parvenus how we, of the old regime, bear every blow
which fate chooses to [Pg 70] deal to us. They have taken everything from