"Bah! You are nothing but a coward.Come into this doorway, and tell me all about it."Ormiston drew back as the twain approached, and entered the deep portals of La Masque's own doorway.He could see them both by the aforesaid faint lamplight, and he noticed that La Masque's companion was a wrinkled old woman, that would not trouble the peace of mind of the most jealous lover in Christendom.Perhaps it was not just the thing to hover aloof and listen; but he could not for the life of him help it; and stand and listen he accordingly did.Who knew but this nocturnal conversation might throw some light on the dark mystery he was anxious to see through, and, could his ears have run into needle-points to hear the better, he would have had the operation then and there performed.There was a moment's silence after the two entered the portal, during which La Masque stood, tall, dark, and commanding, motionless as a marble column; and the little withered old specimen of humanity beside her stood gazing up at her with something between fear and fascination.
"Do you know what has become of your charge, Prudence?" asked the low, vibrating voice of La Masque, at last.
"How could I, madame? You know I fled from the house, and Idared not go back.Perhaps she is there still.""Perhaps she is not? Do you suppose that sharp shriek of yours was unheard? No; she was found; and what do you suppose has become of her?"The old woman looked up, and seemed to read in the dark, stern figure, and the deep solemn voice, the fatal truth.She wrong her hands with a sort of cry.
"Oh! I know, I know; they have put her in the dead-cart, and buried her in the plague-pit.O my dear, sweet young mistress.""If you had stayed by your dear, sweet young mistress, instead of running screaming away as you did, it might not have happened,"said La Masque, in a tone between derision and contempt.
"Madame," sobbed the old woman, who was crying, "she was dying of the plague, and how could I help it? They would have buried her in spite of me.""She was not dead; there was your mistake.She was as much alive as you or I at this moment.""Madame, I left her dead!" said the old woman positively.
"Prudence, you did no such thing; you left her fainting, and in that state she was found and carried to the plague-pit."The old woman stood silent for a moment, with a face of intense horror, and then she clasped both hands with a wild cry.
"O my God! And they buried her alive - buried her alive in that dreadful plague-pit!"La Masque, leaning against a pillar, stood unmoved; and her voice, when she spoke, was as coldly sweet as modern ice-cream.
"Not exactly.She was not buried at all, as I happen to know.
But when did you discover that she had the plague, and how could she possibly have caught it?""That I do not know, madam.She seemed well enough all day, though not in such high spirits as a bride should be.Toward evening die complained of a headache and a feeling of faintness;but I thought nothing of it, and helped her to dress for the bridal.Before it was over, the headache and faintness grew worse, and I gave her wine, and still suspected nothing.The last time I came in, she had grown so much worse, that notwithstanding her wedding dress, she had lain down on her bed, looking for all the world like a ghost, and told me she had the most dreadful burning pain in her chest.Then, madame, the horrid truth struck me - I tore down her dress, and there, sure enough, was the awful mark of the distemper.`You have the plague!' I shrieked; and then I fled down stairs and out of the house, like one crazy.O madame, madame! I shall never forget it - it was terrible! I shall never forget it! Poor, poor child;and the count does not know a word of it!"La Masque laughed - a sweet, clear, deriding laugh, "So the count does not know it, Prudence? Poor man! he will be in despair when he finds it out, won't he? Such an ardent and devoted lover as he was you know!"Prudence looked up a little puzzled.
"Yes, madame, I think so.He seemed very fond of her; a great deal fonder than she ever was of him.The fact is, madame," said Prudence, lowering her voice to a confidential stage whisper, "she never seemed fond of him at all, and wouldn't have been married, I think, if she could have helped it.""Could have helped it? What do you mean, Prudence? Nobody made her, did they?"Prudence fidgeted, and looked rather uneasy.
"Why, madame, she was not exactly forced, perhaps; but you know -you know you told me - "
"Well?" said La Masque, coldly.
"To do what I could," cried Prudence, in a sort of desperation;"and I did it, madame, and harassed her about it night and day.
And then the count was there, too, coaxing and entreating; and he was handsome and had such ways with him that no woman could resist, much less one so little used to gentlemen as Leoline.
And so, Madame Masque, we kept at her till we got her to consent to it at last; but in her secret heart, I know she did not want to be married - at least to the count," said Prudence, on serious afterthought.
"Well, well; that has nothing to do with it.The question is, where it she to be found?""Found!" echoed Prudence; "has she then been lost?""Of coarse she has, you old ******ton! How could she help it, and she dead, with no one to look after her?" said La Masque, with something like a half laugh."She was carried to the plague-pit in her bridal-robes, jewels and lace; and, when about to be thrown in, was discovered, like Moses is the bulrushes, to be all alive.""Well," whispered Prudence, breathlessly.
"Well, O most courageous of guardians! she was carried to a certain house, and left to her own devices, while her gallant rescuer went for a doctor; and when they returned she was missing.Our pretty Leoline seems to have a strong fancy for getting lost!"There was a pause, during which Prudence looked at her with a face fall of mingled fear and curiosity.At last:
"Madame, how do you know all this? Were you there?""No.Not I, indeed! What would take me there?""Then how do you happen to know everything about it?"La Masque laughed.
