War Zone

Chapter 18

Chapter 18

She wanted to marry Armand. The unknown Count in Paris who desired her was but a mythical shadowy figure hardly worth her consideration. It was Armand who mattered, Armand whose dark eyes and hungry lips seemed like magnets to draw her very soul into his keeping.

She was well aware how unconventional, how in deed almost improper was the situation in which she found herself; but she had lived too long in insecurity, in penury and in fear, for the standards and rules of a defeated aristocracy to trouble her unduly.

She had understood how important the conventions were to her Great-Aunt; but the Duchess had indeed been little inconvenienced personally by the "Terror" and the havoc which it had brought to other people's lives had left hers almost untouched.

She had been abroad and all the while that France was rent in twain with horror and b********y she had lived comfortably among people who were of her own kind and her own class.

No, the Duchess had not lost father, home and all that was familiar within the space of one terrifying, de structive hour.

She had not walked the roads and fields, often bare footed, usually without food and shelter, or known the sharp gnawing pains of hunger, or more agonising still, the pain of fear-fear which followed one like a shad ow, wherever one went.

She had not learned to tremble at the sound of every strange voice, of every footfall on the stairs, at every tap on the window. She had not known what it was to have to disguise one's face, to be forced to conceal one's hands lest their delicacy should betray her blood.

She had not known what it was to lie and lie con vincingly lest the truth should forfeit life itself.

After such things the dicta of society seemed trivial. Rêve had to learn the right way to curtsy, the number of fingers one should extend in greeting, the exact in clination of the head when bowing, the conventional reply to an introduction, the procedure at the dinner table, the number of cards which should be left and the proper space of time which must elapse before a courtesy call could be returned.

If the Revolution had done nothing else, it had cast away many such ridiculous rules and regulations; and yet, as unfortunately it had nothing to put in their place, they were gradually creeping back one by one, even

into the entourage of the Emperor himself. Rêve felt that where she was concerned she could not be influenced by them.

While her heart was free she was prepared to agree with the Duchess that her marriage must be arranged in a conventional manner.

In a marriage of convenience, the male members of the family discussed at length and without emotion or sentiment the dowries and settlements and the legal as pect of the affair as if the two people concerned were nothing but inanimate sticks of furniture or animals without proper feelings.

But now with her head throbbing with love, Rêve knew that she could never agree to such a proceeding. It was one thing to consider marriage in the abstract, but it was an entirely different matter when one was in love and one's whole being throbbed with desire for another man.

If Armand de Ségury wanted her, she was his, and all the traditions in the world would not make her accept the Comte Giles de Durieux.

As she reached the wood she made her way by a secret, twisting path, known only to herself, to the lower water and the little Temple.

It had been her favourite place of concealment as a child, and when she returned to the Château she had found that it was the one spot left where she could recapture the sense of being home and at peace with in herself.

Perhaps it was the mirrored beauty of the trees in the silent water, perhaps the Temple with its classic loveliness and atmosphere of ageless imperturbability. The moon was rising in the sky, but it was as yet a pale ghost of itself. The stars were coming out one by one. In the cast there was still the last dying glow of the setting sun. The wood pigeons had not yet settled themselves for the night.

They were cooing to one another as they roosted in the trees. Every now and then there was a faint splash on the still waters of the lake and the ever widening ripples showed that a fish had risen.

Rêve drew a sigh of relief. It was as if a healing hand had been placed upon her and she felt the burden and misery of the past hours fall away from her shoulders. She whispered a little prayer as she reached the Tem ple and felt it was more acceptable than all the formal

prayers and responses she had made during the day in

the Great Banqueting Hall. Here in the silence of the evening it was easy to understand that there was a pattern in all things, and that however lonely one might feel within oneself God. was still there and that one was in fact never alone.

Rêve entered the Temple and brought out from it several cushions which she put on the steps between the pillars. She sat down and realised that she was tired, though her body was tense and alert, waiting for Armand to come to her.

She remembered the night before last when she had stood in the very place on which she now sat and had looked down to meet his eyes. She had been frightened then, frightened with that horrible paralysing fear which had pursued her since her childhood and which still overwhemled her at unaccountable moments.

But when he had spoken and had drawn near, she had known instinctively that she need not be physically afraid.

He was a gentleman and she could trust him. She had known that, even in her overwhelming humilia tion and shame that he had seen her nakedness. And then like the soft strains of music coming from a violin there had come a throbbing within her heart which gradually invaded her whole senses. She had felt as if her spirit was winged with light and her whole being was being lifted upwards taut and tense in expectation.

She felt herself quiver and come to life within her very self. She heard her breath quicken and knew a sudden ecstasy which swept over her like a tempes tuous wind giving her neither the choice nor the chance to resist it. That had been love, she knew it now; a love not

growing softly and gently in the warm sunshine of friendship, but a love coming as a conqueror-as an eagle strong and determined to secure his prey. Rêve leant her head back against the cushions

closed her eyes for a moment. She could recapture Ar mand's words as she had lain in his arms last night. "You are so lovely," he had whispered against her lips. "I did not believe that such perfection existed in

any woman. "Then you must have known very few," she teased, happiness welling within her, making her want to laugh with a sheer unbridled joy at hearing him praise her, of seeing the look of admiration in his eyes.

"On the contrary," he replied. "I have known many women, but until this moment there has never been one that mattered. Now I cannot even remember them. Their faces are but empty masks; your face, your beauty fills my entire vision." "They at least taught you to say pretty things," Rêve

answered, jealous for a moment of those women who must indeed have loved him. "They taught me nothing," he replied, "save to

mistrust their whole s*x and to find the repetition of

meaningless compliments a most tedious occupation." His voice had altered as she spoke. He had suddenly begun to drawl his words and even the expression on his face seemed to change. It seemed to Rêve for a moment that he was a stranger and not the man who had held her in his arms and whispered urgently and with such eagerness of his love.

Then as she stared at him, half alarmed, he swept her back into his arms and his mouth sought hers im patiently and hungrily.

"Why do we talk of anything but you?" he asked impatiently. "Tis you that I want-that I love that I worship! You are mine! You were meant for me!"