Lorenza Feliciani.
WE SHALL NOW INFORM the reader what passed outside, while the philosopher and the traveler were conversing inside the carriage.
At the noise of the thunderbolt, which struck down two of the horses and caused the other two to rear so frightfully, the lady in the cabriolet, as we have said, had fainted. She remained for some minutes motionless; then, as fear alone had caused her to swoon, by slow degrees her consciousness returned.
“Ah, Heaven!” she exclaimed, “abandoned here — helpless — with no human creature to take pity on me!”
“Madame,” replied a timid voice, “I am here, if I can be of any service to you.”
At the sound of this voice, which seemed close to her ear, the young lady rose, put her head out between the leather curtains, and found herself face to face with a young man who was standing on the step of the cabriolet.
“It was you who spoke, sir?” said she.
“Yes, madame,” answered the young man.
“And you offered me your services?”
“Yes.”
“But first tell me what has happened.”
“The thunderbolt, which fell almost on your carriage, broke the traces of the front horses, and one of them ran off with the postilion.”
The lady looked uneasily around.
“And he who rode the hinder horses?” she asked.
“He has just got into the carriage, madame.”
“Has he not been injured?”
“Not in the least.”
“Are you sure?”
“He leaped from his horse, at least, like a man all safe and sound.”
“Heaven be praised!” and the young lady breathed more freely. “But who are you, sir, who are here so opportunely to offer me assistance?”
“Madame, overtaken by the storm, I was down in that hollow, which is merely the entrance to a quarry, when all at once I heard a carriage coming with alarming speed. I at first supposed the horses had run off, but soon saw that they were managed by a powerful hand. Then the thunderbolt fell with a tremendous explosion, and I thought for an instant that all was over with me. Indeed, on recovering, all that I have related seemed but a dream.”
“Then you are not sure that the gentleman entered the carriage?”
“Oh, yes, madame; I had quite recovered, and distinctly saw him enter.”
“Make yourself certain, I entreat you, that he is in the carriage.”
“But how?”
“Listen; if he be there you will hear two voices.”
The young man jumped down from the step, and approached the door of the carriage.
“Yes, madame,” said he, returning to her, “he is there.”
The young lady, by a movement of her head, seemed to say, “It is well,” but she remained for some time as if plunged in a deep reverie.
During this time the young man had leisure to examine her appearance. She was about three or four-and-twenty years of age; a brunette in complexion, but of that rich brown which is more beautiful than the most delicate tint of the rose; her fine blue eyes, raised to heaven, from which she seemed to ‘ask counsel, shone like two stars; and her black hair, which she wore without powder, notwithstanding the fashion of the day, fell in jetty curls on her neck. All at once she roused herself, as if she had decided on her part.
“Sir,” said she, “where are we now?”
“On the road from Strasbourg to Paris, madame.”
“On what part of the road?”
“Two leagues from Pierrefitte.”
“What is Pierrefitte?”
“A village.”
“And, after Pierrefitte, what is the next stage?”
“Bar-le-Duc.”
“Is it a town?”
“Yes, madame.”
“A large one?”
“About four or five thousand inhabitants.”
“Is there any cross-road by which one could get more directly to Bar-le-Duc?”
“No, madame — at least, I know of none.”
“Peccato!” murmured she, falling back in the cabriolet. The young man waited, expecting to be questioned further; but, as she kept silence, he moved a step or two away. This roused her, for, leaning out again, she called hurriedly, “Monsieur!”
The young man returned.
“I am here, madame,” said he, approaching her.
“One question, if you please.”
“Speak, madame.”
“There was a horse behind the carriage?”
“Yes, madame.”
“Is he there still?”
“No, madame; the person who got into the carriage untied him and fastened him to the wheel.”
“Nothing, then, has injured the horse?”
“I think not.”
“He is a valuable animal, and I should like to be sure that he is safe; but how can I reach him through this mud?”
“I can bring the horse here,” said the young man.
“Oh, yes, do so, I pray; I shall be forever grateful to you.”
The young man approached the horse, who tossed his head and neighed.
“Do not be afraid,” said the female; “he is as gentle as a lamb; “then, in a low voice, she murmured, “Djerid, Djerid!”
The animal evidently knew the voice to be that of his mistress, for he snorted, and stretched out his intelligent head toward the cabriolet. During this time the young man was untying him, but the horse no sooner felt his bridle in unpracticed hands than at one bound he was free, and twenty paces from the carriage.
“Djerid!” repeated the young woman in her most caressing tones, “Djerid! here, here!”
The Arabian tossed his head, snuffed the air, and came toward the cabriolet, pawing as if in time to some musical air.
The lady leaned out. “Come, Djerid, come,” said she.
And the obedient animal advanced toward the hand which she held out to caress him. Then with her slender hand she seized him by the mane, and sprang as lightly into the saddle as the goblin in the German ballads, who leaps behind unwary travelers and holds on by their belts. The young man hurried toward her, but she waved him off imperiously.
“Hearken!” said she; “though young, or rather, because you are young, you ought to be humane. Do not oppose my flight. I leave a man whom I love; but my religion is still dearer to me. That man will destroy my soul if I stay with him longer; he is an atheist and a necromancer. God has warned him by his thunders; may he profit by the warning. Tell him what I have said, and receive my blessing for what you have done for me. Farewell!”
At that word, light as a vapor, she disappeared, borne away by the aerial Djerid. The young man, seeing her flee, could not prevent a cry of astonishment escaping his lips. It was this cry which startled the traveler in the carriage.