The Mysteries of Udolpho, Ann Ward Radcliffe [good story books to read .txt] 📗

forcing his features to assume a smile, addressed Blanche on some indifferent subject. When he again looked round, he perceived, that the soldier and his companion were gone.

The man, who was called Jacques, now returned from the stone gallery.

‘A fire is lighted there,’ said he, ‘and the birds are dressing; the table too is spread there, for that place is warmer than this.’

His companions approved of the removal, and invited their guests to follow to the gallery, of whom Blanche appeared distressed, and remained seated, and St. Foix looked at the Count, who said, he preferred the comfortable blaze of the fire he was then near. The hunters, however, commended the warmth of the other apartment, and pressed his removal with such seeming courtesy, that the Count, half doubting, and half fearful of betraying his doubts, consented to go.

The long and ruinous passages, through which they went, somewhat daunted him, but the thunder, which now burst in loud peals above, made it dangerous to quit this place of shelter, and he forbore to provoke his conductors by shewing that he distrusted them. The hunters led the way, with a lamp; the Count and St. Foix, who wished to please their hosts by some instances of familiarity, carried each a seat, and Blanche followed, with faltering steps. As she passed on, part of her dress caught on a nail in the wall, and, while she stopped, somewhat too scrupulously, to disengage it, the Count, who was talking to St. Foix, and neither of whom observed the circumstance, followed their conductor round an abrupt angle of the passage, and Blanche was left behind in darkness. The thunder prevented them from hearing her call but, having disengaged her dress, she quickly followed, as she thought, the way they had taken.

A light, that glimmered at a distance, confirmed this belief, and she proceeded towards an open door, whence it issued, conjecturing the room beyond to be the stone gallery the men had spoken of. Hearing voices as she advanced, she paused within a few paces of the chamber, that she might be certain whether she was right, and from thence, by the light of a lamp, that hung from the ceiling, observed four men, seated round a table, over which they leaned in apparent consultation. In one of them she distinguished the features of him, whom she had observed, gazing at St. Foix, with such deep attention; and who was now speaking in an earnest, though restrained voice, till, one of his companions seeming to oppose him, they spoke together in a loud and harsher tone. Blanche, alarmed by perceiving that neither her father, or St. Foix were there, and terrified at the fierce countenances and manners of these men, was turning hastily from the chamber, to pursue her search of the gallery, when she heard one of the men say:

‘Let all dispute end here. Who talks of danger? Follow my advice, and there will be none—secure THEM, and the rest are an easy prey.’

Blanche, struck with these words, paused a moment, to hear more.

‘There is nothing to be got by the rest,’ said one of his companions, ‘I am never for blood when I can help it—dispatch the two others, and our business is done; the rest may go.’

‘May they so?’ exclaimed the first ruffian, with a tremendous oath—

‘What! to tell how we have disposed of their masters, and to send the king’s troops to drag us to the wheel! You was always a choice adviser—I warrant we have not yet forgot St. Thomas’s eve last year.’

Blanche’s heart now sunk with horror. Her first impulse was to retreat from the door, but, when she would have gone, her trembling frame refused to support her, and, having tottered a few paces, to a more obscure part of the passage, she was compelled to listen to the dreadful councils of those, who, she was no longer suffered to doubt, were banditti. In the next moment, she heard the following words, ‘Why you would not murder the whole GANG?’

‘I warrant our lives are as good as theirs,’ replied his comrade.

‘If we don’t kill them, they will hang us: better they should die than we be hanged.’

‘Better, better,’ cried his comrades.

‘To commit murder, is a hopeful way of escaping the gallows!’ said the first ruffian—‘many an honest fellow has run his head into the noose that way, though.’ There was a pause of some moments, during which they appeared to be considering.

‘Confound those fellows,’ exclaimed one of the robbers impatiently, ‘they ought to have been here by this time; they will come back presently with the old story, and no booty: if they were here, our business would be plain and easy. I see we shall not be able to do the business to-night, for our numbers are not equal to the enemy, and in the morning they will be for marching off, and how can we detain them without force?’

‘I have been thinking of a scheme, that will do,’ said one of his comrades: ‘if we can dispatch the two chevaliers silently, it will be easy to master the rest.’

‘That’s a plausible scheme, in good faith,’ said another with a smile of scorn—‘If I can eat my way through the prison wall, I shall be at liberty!—How can we dispatch them SILENTLY?’

‘By poison,’ replied his companions.

‘Well said! that will do,’ said the second ruffian, ‘that will give a lingering death too, and satisfy my revenge. These barons shall take care how they again tempt our vengeance.’

‘I knew the son, the moment I saw him,’ said the man, whom Blanche had observed gazing on St. Foix, ‘though he does not know me; the father I had almost forgotten.’

‘Well, you may say what you will,’ said the third ruffian, ‘but I don’t believe he is the Baron, and I am as likely to know as any of you, for I was one of them, that attacked him, with our brave lads, that suffered.’

‘And was not I another?’ said the first ruffian, ‘I tell you he is the Baron; but what does it signify whether he is or not?—shall we let all this booty go out of our hands? It is not often we have such luck at this. While we run the chance of the wheel for smuggling a few pounds of tobacco, to cheat the king’s manufactory, and of breaking our necks down the precipices in the chace of our food; and, now and then, rob a brother smuggler, or a straggling pilgrim, of what scarcely repays us the powder we fire at them, shall we let such a prize as this go? Why they have enough about them to keep us for—

‘

‘I am not for that, I am not for that,’ replied the third robber, ‘let us make the most of them: only, if this is the Baron, I should like to have a flash the more at him, for the sake of our brave comrades, that he brought to the gallows.’

‘Aye, aye, flash as much as you will,’ rejoined the first man, ‘but I tell you the Baron is a taller man.’

‘Confound your quibbling,’ said the second ruffian, ‘shall we let them go or not? If we stay here much longer, they will take the hint, and march off without our leave. Let them be who they will, they are rich, or why all those servants? Did you see the ring, he, you call the Baron, had on his finger?—it was a diamond; but he has not got it on now: he saw me looking at it, I warrant, and took it off.’

‘Aye, and then there is the picture; did you see that? She has not taken that off,’ observed the first ruffian, ‘it hangs at her neck; if it had not sparkled so, I should not have found it out, for it was almost hid by her dress; those are diamonds too, and a rare many of them there must be, to go round such a large picture.’

‘But how are we to manage this business?’ said the second ruffian: ‘let us talk of that, there is no fear of there being booty enough, but how are we to secure it?’

‘Aye, aye,’ said his comrades, ‘let us talk of that, and remember no time is to be lost.’

‘I am still for poison,’ observed the third, ‘but consider their number; why there are nine or ten of them, and armed too; when I saw so many at the gate, I was not for letting them in, you know, nor you either.’

‘I thought they might be some of our enemies,’ replied the second, ‘I did not so much mind numbers.’

‘But you must mind them now,’ rejoined his comrade, ‘or it will be worse for you. We are not more than six, and how can we master ten by open force? I tell you we must give some of them a dose, and the rest may then be managed.’

‘I’ll tell you a better way,’ rejoined the other impatiently, ‘draw closer.’

Blanche, who had listened to this conversation, in an agony, which it would be impossible to describe, could no longer distinguish what was said, for the ruffians now spoke in lowered voices; but the hope, that she might save her friends from the plot, if she could find her way quickly to them, suddenly reanimated her spirits, and lent her strength enough to turn her steps in search of the gallery. Terror, however, and darkness conspired against her, and, having moved a few yards, the feeble light, that issued from the chamber, no longer even contended with the gloom, and, her foot stumbling over a step that crossed the passage, she fell to the ground.

The noise startled the banditti, who became suddenly silent, and then all rushed to the passage, to examine whether any person was there, who might have overheard their councils. Blanche saw them approaching, and perceived their fierce and eager looks: but, before she could raise herself, they discovered and seized her, and, as they dragged her towards the chamber they had quitted, her screams drew from them horrible threatenings.

Having reached the room, they began to consult what they should do with her. ‘Let us first know what she had heard,’ said the chief robber. ‘How long have you been in the passage, lady, and what brought you there?’

‘Let us first secure that picture,’ said one of his comrades, approaching the trembling Blanche. ‘Fair lady, by your leave that picture is mine; come, surrender it, or I shall seize it.’

Blanche, entreating their mercy, immediately gave up the miniature, while another of the ruffians fiercely interrogated her, concerning what she had overheard of their conversation, when, her confusion and terror too plainly telling what her tongue feared to confess, the ruffians looked expressively upon one another, and two of them withdrew to a remote part of the room, as if to consult further.

‘These are diamonds, by St. Peter!’ exclaimed the fellow, who had been examining the miniature, ‘and here is a very pretty picture too, ‘faith; as handsome a young chevalier, as you would wish to see by a summer’s sun. Lady, this is your spouse, I warrant, for it is the spark, that was in your company just now.’

Blanche, sinking with terror, conjured him to have pity on her, and, delivering him her purse, promised to say nothing of what had passed, if he would suffer her to return to her friends.

He smiled ironically, and was going to reply, when his attention was called off by a distant noise; and, while he listened, he grasped the arm of Blanche more firmly, as if he feared she would escape from him, and she again shrieked for help.

The approaching sounds called the ruffians from the