Roads of Destiny | Page 5

to be
accomplished. At the alter this demoiselle, so meek and dutiful, turned
upon me like a leopardess, charged me with cruelty and crimes, and
broke, before the gaping priest, the troth I had plighted for her. I swore
there and then, by ten thousand devils, that she should marry the first
man we met after leaving the /chateau/, be he prince, charcoal-burner,
or thief. You, shepherd, are the first. Mademoiselle must be wed this
night. If not you, then another. You have ten minutes in which to make
your decision. Do not vex me with words or questions. Ten minutes,
shepherd; and they are speeding."
The marquis drummed loudly with his white fingers upon the table. He
sank into a veiled attitude of waiting. It was as if some great house had
shut its doors and windows against approach. David would have
spoken, but the huge man's bearing stopped his tongue. Instead, he
stood by the lady's chair and bowed.
"Mademoiselle," he said, and he marvelled to find his words flowing
easily before so much elegance and beauty. "You have heard me say I

was a shepherd. I have also had the fancy, at times, that I am a poet. If
it be the test of a poet to adore and cherish the beautiful, that fancy is
now strengthened. Can I serve you in any way, mademoiselle?"
The young woman looked up at him with eyes dry and mournful. His
frank, glowing face, made serious by the gravity of the adventure, his
strong, straight figure and the liquid sympathy in his blue eyes, perhaps,
also, her imminent need of long-denied help and kindness, thawed her
to sudden tears.
"Monsieur," she said, in low tones, "you look to be true and kind. He is
my uncle, the brother of my father, and my only relative. He loved my
mother, and he hates me because I am like her. He has made my life
one long terror. I am afraid of his very looks, and never before dared to
disobey him. But to-night he would have married me to a man three
times my age. You will forgive me for bringing this vexation upon you,
monsieur. You will, of course, decline this mad act he tries to force
upon you. But let me thank you for your generous words, at least. I
have had none spoken to me in so long."
There was now something more than generosity in the poet's eyes. Poet
he must have been, for Yvonne was forgotten; this fine, new loveliness
held him with its freshness and grace. The subtle perfume from her
filled him with strange emotions. His tender look fell warmly upon her.
She leaned to it, thirstily.
"Ten minutes," said David, "is given me in which to do what I would
devote years to achieve. I will not say I pity you, mademoiselle; it
would not be true--I love you. I cannot ask love from you yet, but let
me rescue you from this cruel man, and, in time, love may come. I
think I have a future; I will not always be a shepherd. For the present I
will cherish you with all my heart and make your life less sad. Will you
trust your fate to me, mademoiselle?"
"Ah, you would sacrifice yourself from pity!"
"From love. The time is almost up, mademoiselle."

"You will regret it, and despise me."
"I will live only to make you happy, and myself worthy of you."
Her fine small hand crept into his from beneath her cloak.
"I will trust you," she breathed, "with my life. And--and love--may not
be so far off as you think. Tell him. Once away from the power of his
eyes I may forget."
David went and stood before the marquis. The black figure stirred, and
the mocking eyes glanced at the great hall clock.
"Two minutes to spare. A shepherd requires eight minutes to decide
whether he will accept a bride of beauty and income! Speak up,
shepherd, do you consent to become mademoiselle's husband?"
"Mademoiselle," said David, standing proudly, "has done me the
honour to yield to my request that she become my wife."
"Well said!" said the marquis. "You have yet the making of a courtier
in you, master shepherd. Mademoiselle could have drawn a worse prize,
after all. And now to be done with the affair as quick as the Church and
the devil will allow!"
He struck the table soundly with his sword hilt. The landlord came,
knee-shaking, bringing more candles in the hope of anticipating the
great lord's whims. "Fetch a priest," said the marquis, "a priest; do you
understand? In ten minutes have a priest here, or--"
The landlord dropped his candles and flew.
The priest came, heavy-eyed and ruffled. He made David Mignot and