The river continued to rise. This immense volume of water was vainly seeking an outlet through the narrow defile formed by the hills and which ordinarily sufficed for the bed of the Gardon; but, finding the passage inadequate now, it dashed itself violently against the rocks and against the supports of the aqueduct which haughtily defied the furious flood; then, converted into a mass of seething foam, it returned over the same road it had just traversed until it met the new waves that were being constantly formed by the current. It was the shock of this meeting that caused the noise which had roused Tiepoletta from her slumber. A stormy sea could not have appeared more angry, or formed more formidable billows. One might have called it a fragmentary episode of the universal deluge.
Five minutes more than sufficed to give Tiepoletta an idea of the extent of the inundation. She stood with wild eyes and unbound hair, the picture of terror and dismay. Suddenly an enormous wave broke not far from her with the roar of a wild beast, and the water dashed up to her very feet. She pressed her child closer to her breast and recoiled. Another wave dashed up, blinding her with its spray. Would the water invade the cave? Her blood froze in her veins. Frenzy seized her. This new misfortune, added to those she had suffered during the past three days, was more than she could bear. From that moment she acted under the influence of actual madness caused by her terror. She must flee. But by what road? To reach either of the neighboring villages was impossible. The foaming waters covered the entire plain.
Suddenly Tiepoletta recollected that on the summit of the hill above her there was a château which the Bohemians had visited sometimes in pursuit of alms. She could reach it by means of a broad footpath that intersected the road only a few yards from the grotto. It was there she resolved to go for shelter. But to reach this path she must walk through the raging flood. She did not hesitate. Each moment of delay aggravated her peril, and might place some insurmountable barrier between her and her only chance of salvation. She lifted her skirts, fastened her child upon her back and bravely waded into the torrent.
What agony she endured during that short journey. The water was higher than her waist; the ground was slippery; the current, rapid and capricious. It required an indomitable will to sustain her—to keep her from yielding twenty times to the might of this unchained monster. Frequently she was obliged to pause in order to regain her breath. The struggle lasted only ten minutes, but those ten minutes seemed so many ages. At last she reached the path leading to the château. She was saved!
She let fall her tattered skirts about her slender limbs, and, without wasting time in looking back upon the perilous road she had just traversed, she hastened up the hill. A few moments later she reached the door of the château in a plight most pitiable to behold. It was time. A moment more and her limbs trembling with excitement and exhaustion, would have refused to sustain her. She fell on her knees and deposited her burden upon some tufts of heather; then with a mighty effort she seized and pulled a chain suspended at the side of the door. The sound of a bell was instantly heard. As if her strength had only waited until this moment to desert her, she fell to the ground unconscious at the very instant the door opened.
CHAPTER II.
THE CHATEAU DE CHAMONDRIN.
The man who appeared at the door was young, and, in spite of his swarthy complexion and formidable moustache, his features and the expression of his eyes indicated frankness and benevolence. His garb was that of a soldier rather than a servant, but the arms of the Marquis de Chamondrin, the owner of the château, were embroidered in silver upon it. On seeing the unconscious Tiepoletta and the child so quietly sleeping beside her, he could not repress a cry of astonishment and dismay.
"What is it, Coursegol?" inquired a gentleman who had followed him.
"Look, sir," replied Coursegol, pointing to Tiepoletta.
"Is she dead?" exclaimed the Marquis, springing forward; then, deeply impressed by the beauty of the unconscious girl, he knelt beside her and placed his hand upon her heart. It still throbbed, but so feebly that he could scarcely count its pulsations. The Marquis rose.
"She lives," said he, "but I do not know that we shall save her. Quick, Coursegol, have her and her child brought in and apply restoratives."
"Oh, the child is doing very well," replied the servitor. "All it needs is a little milk; for to-day, one of our goats must be its nurse."
As he spoke Coursegol summoned a servant to whom he confided the infant; then, taking the mother in his strong arms, he carried her up-stairs and placed her on a bed.
Coursegol was thirty years of age. Born in the château, where his father and his grandfather before him had served the Marquis de Chamondrin, he had shared the childish sports of the lad who afterwards became his master. He absolutely worshipped the Marquis, regarding him with a veritable idolatry that was compounded of respect and of love. Outside of the château and its occupants, there was nothing that could interest or attract this honest fellow. His heart, his intelligence and his life were consecrated to his master's service. In the neighboring villages he so lauded the name of Chamondrin that no one dared to let fall in his presence any word that did not redound to the glory and honor of Coursegol's idolized master. He had no particular office at the château, but he superintended everything, assuming the duties of lodge-keeper, gardener, major-domo and not unfrequently those of cook. It was he who instructed the son of the Marquis in the arts of horsemanship and of fencing, for he had served two years in His Majesty's cavalry and thoroughly understood these accomplishments. He was also an adept in the manufacture of whistles from willow twigs, in the training of dogs, falcons and ferrets, in snaring birds, in the capture of butterflies and in skipping stones.
He had already begun to teach Philip—his master's son, a bright boy of five—all these accomplishments. He had some knowledge of medicine also; and, as he had spent much of his life in the fields, he had become acquainted with the names and properties of many plants and herbs; and this knowledge had often been called into requisition for the benefit of many of the people as well as the animals of the neighborhood. Never had his skill been needed more than now, for poor Tiepoletta had not recovered consciousness, and her rigidity and the ghastly pallor which had overspread her features seemed to indicate that she had already been struck with death.
Anxious to resuscitate her, Coursegol set energetically to work, but not without emotion. It was the first time he had ever exercised his skill on a woman, and this pure and lovely face had made a deep impression on his heart. He would willingly have given a generous share of his own blood to hear Tiepoletta speak, to see her smile upon him.
"Look, sir," said he, "how beautiful she is! She certainly cannot be twenty years old. Her skin is as fine as satin, and what hair! Could anything be more lovely?"
While he spoke, Coursegol was endeavoring to unclose the teeth of the gypsy in order to introduce a few drops of warm, sweetened wine through her pallid lips. Then he rubbed the feet of the unfortunate woman vigorously with hot flannels.
"They are sore and swollen!" he added. "She must have come a long distance!"
"Is she recovering?" asked the Marquis, who stood by, watching Coursegol's efforts.
"I do not know; but see, sir, it seemed to me that she moved."
The Marquis came nearer. As he did so Tiepoletta opened her eyes. She looked anxiously about her, then faintly murmured a few words in a strange tongue.
"She speaks," said the Marquis, "but what does she say? She seems frightened and distressed."
"She wishes to see her child," exclaimed Coursegol, departing on the run.
During