I Will Repay by Baroness Orczy (shoe dog free ebook TXT) 📕

“De ta tige détachée
Pauvre feuille désséchée
Où vas-tu?”

Juliette paused a moment. An awful ache had seized her heart; her eyes unconsciously filled with tears, as they roamed round the walls of this house which had sheltered her so hospitably, these three weeks past.

And now whither was she going? Like the poor, dead leaf of the song, she was wastrel, torn from the parent bough, homeless, friendless, having turned against the one hand which, in this great time of peril, had been extended to her in kindness and in love.

Conscience was beginning to rise up against her, and that hydra-headed tyrant Remorse. She closed her eyes to shut out the hideous vision of her crime; she tried to forget this home which her treachery had desecrated.

“Je vais où va toute chose
Où va la feuille de rose
Et la feuille de laurier,”

sang Anne Mie plaintively.

A great sob broke from Juliette’s aching heart. The misery of it all was more than she could bear. Ah, pity her if you can! She had fought and striven, and been conquered. A girl’s soul is so young, so impressionable; and she had grown up with that one, awful, all-pervading idea of duty to accomplish, a most solemn oath to fulfil, one sworn to her dying father, and on the dead body of her brother. She had begged for guidance, prayed for release, and the voice from above had remained silent. Weak, miserable, cringing, the human soul, when torn with earthly passion, must look at its own strength for the fight.

And now the end had come. That swift, scarce tangible dream of peace, which had flitted through her mind during the past few weeks, had vanished with the dawn, and she was left desolate, alone with her great sin and its lifelong expiation.

Scarce knowing what she did, she fell on her knees, there on that threshold, which she was about to leave forever. Fate had placed on her young shoulders a burden too heavy for her to bear.

“Juliette!”

At first she did not move. It was his voice coming from the study behind her. Its magic thrilled her, as it had done that day in the Hall of Justice. Strong, passionate, tender, it seemed now to raise every echo of response in her heart. She thought it was a dream, and remained there on her knees lest it should be dispelled.

Then she heard his footsteps on the flagstones of the hall. Anne Mie’s plaintive singing had died away in the distance. She started, and jumped to her feet, hastily drying her eyes. The momentary dream was dispelled, and she was ashamed of her weakness.

He, the cause of all her sorrows, of her sin, and of her degradation, had no right to see her suffer.

She would have fled out of the house now, but it was too late. He had come out of his study, and, seeing her there on her knees weeping, he came quickly forward, trying, with all the innate chivalry of his upright nature, not to let her see that he had been a witness to her tears.

“You are going out, mademoiselle?” he said courteously, as, wrapping her cloak around her, she was turning towards the door.

“Yes, yes,” she replied hastily; “a small errand, I⁠—”

“Is it anything I can do for you?”

“No.”

“If⁠—” he added, with visible embarrassment, “if your errand would brook a delay, might I crave the honour of your presence in my study for a few moments?”

“My errand brooks of no delay, Citizen Déroulède,” she said as composedly as she could, “and perhaps on my return I might⁠—”

“I am leaving almost directly, mademoiselle, and I would wish to bid you goodbye.”

He stood aside to allow her to pass, either out, through the street door or across the hall to his study.

There had been no reproach in his voice towards the guest, who was thus leaving him without a word of farewell. Perhaps if there had been any, Juliette would have rebelled. As it was, an unconquerable magnetism seemed to draw her towards him, and, making an almost imperceptible sign of acquiescence, she glided past him into his room.

The study was dark and cool; for the room faced the west, and the shutters had been closed, in order to keep out the hot August sun. At first Juliette could see nothing, but she felt his presence near her, as he followed her into the room, leaving the door slightly ajar.

“It is kind of you, mademoiselle,” he said gently, “to accede to my request, which was perhaps presumptuous. But, you see, I am leaving this house today, and I had a selfish longing to hear your voice bidding me farewell.”

Juliette’s large, burning eyes were gradually piercing the semi-gloom around her. She could see him distinctly now, standing close beside her, in an attitude of the deepest, almost reverential respect.

The study was as usual neat and tidy, denoting the orderly habits of a man of action and energy. On the ground there was a valise, ready strapped as if for a journey, and on the top of it a bulky letter-case of stout pigskin, secured with a small steel lock. Juliette’s eyes fastened upon this case with a look of fascination and of horror. Obviously it contained Déroulède’s papers, the plans for Marie Antoinette’s escape, the passports of which he had spoken the day before to his friend, Sir Percy Blakeney⁠—the proofs, in fact, which she had offered to the representatives of the people, in support of her denunciation of the Citizen-Deputy.

After his request he had said nothing more. He was waiting for her to speak; but her voice felt parched; it seemed to her as if hands of steel were gripping her throat, smothering the words she would have longed to speak.

“Will you not wish me godspeed, mademoiselle?” he repeated gently.

“Godspeed?” Oh! the awful irony of it all! Should God speed him to a mock trial and to the guillotine? He