Alcott, Louisa May - SSC 20 (37 page)

 
          
“In an hour — at the chapel gate.”

 
          
At
the appointed time I was on the spot, and found Ivan holding the w'ell-trained
horse I often rode. It was nearly dark — for August brought night — and it was
w ell for me, as my pale face would have betrayed me.

 
          
“Mademoiselle
has not fear? If she dares not go alone I will guard her,” said Ivan, as he
mounted me.

 
          
“Thanks.
I fear nothing. I have a pistol, and it is not far.
Liberty
is sweet. I will venture much for it.”

 
          
“I
also,” muttered Ivan.

 
          
He
gave me directions as to my route, and watched me ride away, little suspecting
mv errand.

 
          
I
low I rode that night! My blood tingles again as I recall the wild gallop along
the lonely road, the excitement of the hour, and the resolve to save Alexis or
die in the attempt. Fortunately I found a large party at the barons, and
electrified them
bv
appearing in their midst,
disheveled, breathless and eager w ith my tale of danger. What passed I
scareelv remember, for all was confusion and alarm. I refused to remain, and
soon found myself dashing homeward, followed by a gallant troop of five and
twenty gentlemen. More time had been lost than I knew, and mv heart sunk as a
dull glare shone from the direction of Volnoi as we strained up the last hill.

 
          
Reaching
the top, we saw that one wing was already on fire, and distinguished a black,
heaving mass on the law n by the flickering torchlight. With a shout of wrath
the gentlemen spurred to the rescue, but I reached the chapel gate unseen, and
entering, flew to find my friends. Claudine saw me and led me to the great
saloon, for the lower part of the house was barricaded. Here I found the
princess quite insensible, guarded by a flock of terrified French servants, and
Antoine and old Vacil endeavoring to screen the prince, who, with reckless
courage, exposed himself to the missiles which came crashing against the
windows. A red light filled the room, and from without
arose
a yell from the infuriated mob more terrible than any wild beast’s howl.

 
          
As
I sprang in, crying, “They are here — the baron and his friends — you are
safe!” all turned toward me as if every other hope was lost. A sudden lull
without, broken by the clash of arms, verified my words, and with one accord we
uttered a cry of gratitude. The prince flung up the window to welcome our
deliverers; the red glare of the fire made him distinctly visible, and as he
leaned out with a ringing shout, a hoarse voice cried menacingly:

 
          
“Remember
poor Androvitch.”

 
          
It
was Ivan’s voice, and as it echoed my words there was the sharp crack of a
pistol, and the prince staggered back, exclaiming faintly:

 
          
“I
forgive him; it is just.”

 
          
We
caught him in our arms, and as Antoine laid him down he looked at me with a
world of love and gratitude in those magnificent eyes of his, whispering as the
light died out of them:

 
          
“Always our good angel.
Adieu, Sybil. I submit.”

 
          
How
the night went after that I neither knew nor cared, for my only thought
was how
to keep life in my lover till help could come. I
learned afterward that the sight of such an unexpected force caused a panic
among the serfs, who fled or surrendered at once. The fire was extinguished,
the poor princess conveyed to bed, and the conquerors departed, leaving a guard
behind. Among the gentlemen there fortunately chanced to be a surgeon, who
extracted the ball from the prince’s side.

 
          
I
would yield my place to no one, though the baron implored me to spare myself
the anguish of the scene. I remained steadfast, supporting the prince till all
was over; then, feeling that my strength was beginning to give way, I whispered
to the surgeon, that I might take a little comfort away with me:

 
          
“He
will live? I lis wound is not fatal?”

 
          
The
old man shook his head, and turned away, muttering regretfully:

 
          
“There
is no hope; say farewell, and let him go in peace, mv poor child.”

 
          
The
room grew dark before me, but I had strength to draw the white face close to my
own, and whisper tenderly:

 
          
“Alexis,
I love
you,
and you alone. I confess my cruelty; oh,
pardon me, before you die!”

 
          
A
look, a smile full of the intensest love and joy, shone in the eyes that
silently met mine as consciousness deserted me.

 
          
One
month from that night I sat in that same saloon a happy woman, for on the
couch, a shadow of his former self but alive and out of danger, lay the prince,
my husband. The wound was not fatal, and love had worked a marvelous cure.
While life and death still fought for him, I yielded to his prayer to become
his wife, that he might leave me the protection of his name, the rich gift of
his rank and fortune. In my remorse I would have granted anything, and when the
danger was passed rejoiced that nothing could part us again.

 
          
As
I sat beside him my eyes wandered from his tranquil face to the garden where
the princess sat singing among the flowers, and then passed to the distant
village where the wretched serfs
drudged
their lives
away in ignorance and misery. They were
mine
now, and
the weight of this new possession burdened my soul.

 
          
“I
cannot bear it; this must be changed.”

 
          
“It
shall.”

 
          
Unconsciously
I had spoken aloud, and the prince had answered without asking to know' my
thoughts.

 
          
“What
shall be done, Alexis?” I said, smiling, as I caressed the thin hand that lay
in mine.

 
          
“Whatever you desire.
I do not w ait to learn the
wish,
I promise it shall be granted.”

 
          
“Rash
as ever; have you, then, no will of your own?”

 
          
“None;
you have broken it.
” .

 
          
“Good;
hear then my wish. Liberate your serfs; it afflicts me as a free-born
Englishwoman to own men and women. Let them serve you if they will, but not
through force or fear. Can you grant this, my prince?”

 
          
“I
do; the Stavosta is already gone, and they know I pardon them. What more,
Sybil?”

 
          
“Come
with me to
England
, that
I may show my countrymen the brave
barbarian I have tamed.”

 
          
My
eyes were full of happy tears, but the old tormenting spirit prompted the
speech. Alexis frowned, then laughed, and answered, with a glimmer of his
former imperious pride:

 
          
“I
might boast that I also had tamed a fiery spirit, but I am humble, and content
myself with the knowledge that the proudest woman ever born has promised to
love, honor, and
— ”

 
          
“Not
obey you,” I broke in with a kiss.