Mysteries of Paris
Chapter 99 : La Louve, at the risk of cutting her hand, broke the gla.s.s of a window which she coul

La Louve, at the risk of cutting her hand, broke the gla.s.s of a window which she could not open without moving a heavy table.

"Now I breathe! I breathe! my head is relieved," said Martial, coming quite to himself. Then, as if for the first time recalling to mind the services she had rendered him, he cried, in a tone of ineffable grat.i.tude, "Without you, I should have died, my good Louve!"

"Well, well; how are you now?"

"Better and better."

"Are you hungry?"

"No, I am too weak. I suffered most from want of air; finally, I suffocated! it was frightful!"

"And now?"

"I live again! I come out from the tomb; and I come out--thanks to you."

"But your hands, your poor hands! these wounds? Who did this?--curse them!"

"Nicholas and Calabash, not daring to attack me openly a second time, shut me in my chamber, and left me to die with hunger. I tried to prevent them from nailing up my window--my sister cut my hands with the hatchet!"

"The monsters! they wished to have it believed that you were dead from some sickness; your mother had already spread the report that you were in a dying state. Your mother, my man, your mother!"

"Hold! do not speak to me of her," said Martial, bitterly; then, for the first time, remarking the wet clothes and strange attire of La Louve, he cried, "What has happened to you?--your hair is streaming with water. You are without your dress."

"What matters it? You are saved--saved!"

"But explain to me why you are wet."

"I knew you were in danger--I could find no boat."

"And you swam here?"

"Yes. But your hands; let me kiss them. You suffer--the monsters! And I was not here!"

"Oh! my brave Louve," cried Martial, with enthusiasm; "brave among all brave creatures."

"Did you not write here 'death to dastards'?"

And La Louve showed her arm, where these words were written in indelible characters.

"Intrepid! But you feel the cold, you tremble."

"It is not the cold."

"Never mind. Go in there; take Calabash's cloak to wrap yourself in."

"But--"

"I wish it."

In a second, La Louve was enveloped in a plaid cloak, and returned.

"For me, to run the risk of drowning!" repeated Martial, looking at her with pride.

"No risk! A poor girl was almost drowned. I saved her. On reaching the island--"

"You saved her also--where is she?"

"Below with the children; they are taking care of her."

"And who is this young girl?"

"If you knew what a chance--what happy chance! She was one of my chums in Saint Lazare--a very extraordinary girl, you be sure!"

"How is that?"

"Imagine that I loved her and hated her because--she at the same time planted both death and happiness in my heart."

"She?"

"Yes; concerning you."

"Me?"

"Listen, Martial." Then, interrupting herself, she added, "No, no. I shall never dare."

"What is it then?"

"I wished to ask something of you. I came to see you on this account; for when I left Paris I did not know that you were in danger."

"Well, speak."

"I dare not."

"You dare not--after what you have just done for me!"

"Exactly; it would seem as if I asked a recompense."

"Asked a recompense! And do I not owe you one? Did you not take care of me, night and day, during my sickness last year?"

"Are you not my Martial?"

"Then you should speak to me frankly, because I am your Martial, and will be always."

"Always, Martial?"

"Always! true as I am called Martial. For me, there shall be no other woman in the world but you, La Louve No matter what you have been-- that's my lookout. I love you--you love me; and I owe my life to you.

But since you have been in prison, I am no longer the same; much has happened; I have reflected; and you shall no more be what you have been."