He must not steal the emeralds, for whatever he told himself, it would be stealing, and if he were caught. It would be unbearable. I thought of the misery that would come to those people of whom I had grown so fond.
It would be no use remonstrating with him. There was only one thing to do: find the emeralds before he did. If they were here at all they must be in the dungeons because they were certainly not in the oubliette.
Here was an opportunity, for there was scarcely anyone in the chateau today. I remembered seeing a lantern near the door of the dungeon and I promised myself that this time I would light it, so that I could explore properly. I made my way to the centre of the chateau and descended the stone staircase. I reached the dungeons and as I opened the iron-studded door it creaked dismally.
I felt the chill of the place but I was determined to go on, so I lighted the lantern and held it up. It showed me the damp walls, the fungoid growth on them, the cages cut out of the wall, and here and there rings to which the chains were attached.
A gloomy place, dark, uninviting, still after all these years haunted by the sufferings of the forgotten men and women of a cruel age.
Where could there possibly be a lock here to fit the key?
I advanced into the gloom and as I did so was aware of that sense of creeping horror. I knew exactly how men and women had felt in the past when they had been brought to this place. I sensed the terror, the hopelessness.
It seemed to me then that every nerve in my body was warning me: Get away. There’s danger here. And I seemed to develop an extra sense of awareness as perhaps one does in moments of acute danger. I knew I was not alone, that I was being watched.
I remember thinking: Then if someone is lurking in wait for me why doesn’t that someone attack me now. But I knew that whoever was there was waiting. waiting for me to do something, and when I did, the danger would be upon me. Oh, Jean Pierre, I thought, you wouldn’t hurt me even for the Gaillard emeralds.
My fingers were trembling. I despised myself. I was no better than the servants who would not come here. I was afraid, even as they were, of the ghosts of the past.
“Who’s there?” I cried, in a voice which sounded bold.
It echoed in a ghostly eerie way.
I knew that I must get out at once. It was that instinct warning me.
Now! And don’t come back here alone.
“Is anyone there?” I said. Then again speaking aloud:
“There’s nothing there …”
I didn’t know why I had spoken aloud. It was some answer to the fear which possessed me. It was not a ghost who was lurking in the shadows.
But I had more to fear from the living than the dead.
I backed trying to do so slowly and deliberately to the door. I blew out the lantern and put it down. I was through the iron-studded door; I mounted the stone staircase and once at the top of it hurriedly went to my room.
I must never go there alone again, I told myself. I pictured that door shutting on me. I pictured the peril overtaking me. I was not sure in what form, but I believed that I might then have had my wish to remain at the chateau for ever more.
I had come to a decision. I was going to talk to the Comte without delay.
It was characteristic that at Gaillard the grapes were trodden in the traditional way. In other parts of the country there might be presses, but at Gaillard the old methods were retained.
There are no ways like the old ways,” Armand Bastide had said once.
“No wine tastes quite like ours.”
The warm air was filled with the sounds of revelry. The grapes were gathered and were three feet deep in the great trough.
The (readers, ready for the treading, had scrubbed their legs and feet until they shone; the musicians were tuning up. The excitement was high.
The scene touched by moonlight was fantastic to me, who had never seen anything like it before. I watched with the rest while the treaders, naked to the thighs, wearing short white breeches, stepped into the trough and began to dance.
I recognized the old song which Jean Pierre had first sung to me, and it had a special significance now:
“Qui sont-ils les gens qui sont riches? Sont-ils plus que moi quin’ ai rien …”
I watched the dancers sink deeper and deeper into the purple morass; their faces gleaming, their voices raised in song. The music seemed to grow wilder; and the musicians closed in on the trough. Armand Bastide led the players with his violin; there was an accordion, a triangle and a drum, and some of the treaders used castanets as they went methodically round and round the trough.
Brandy was passed round to the dancers and they roared their appreciation as the singing grew louder, the dance more fervent.
I caught a glimpse of Yves and Margot; they with other children were wild with excitement, dancing together, shrieking with laughter as they pretended they were treading grapes.
Genevieve was there, her hair high on her head. She ^ looked excited and secretive and I knew that her restless glances meant that she was looking for Jean Pierre.
And suddenly the Comte was beside me. He was smiling, as though he was pleased, and I felt absurdly happy because I believed that he had been looking for me.
“Dallas,” he said, and the use of my Christian name on his lips filled me with pleasure. Then: “Well, what do you think of it?”
“I have never seen anything like it.”
“I’m glad we have been able to show you something you haven’t seen before.”
He had taken my elbow in the palm of his hand.
“I must speak to you,” I said.
“And I to you. But not here. There is too much noise.”
He drew me away from the crowd. Outside, the air was fresh; I looked at the moon, gibbous, almost drunken-looking, the markings on its surface clear, so that it really did look like a face up there, laughing at us.
“It seems a long time since we have talked together,” he said.
“I could not make up my mind what to say to you. I wanted to think . about us. I did not want you to think me rash . impetuous. I did not think you would care for that. “
“No,” I replied.
We had started to walk towards the chateau.
“Tell me first what you wished to say,” he said.
“In a few weeks I shall have finished my work. The time will have come for me to go.”
“You must not go.”
“But there will be no reason for me to stay.”
“We must find a reason ..: Dallas.”
I turned to him. It was no time for banter. I must know the truth.
Even if I betrayed my feelings I must know it.
“What reason could there be?”
“That I asked you to stay because I should be unhappy if you left.”
“I think you should tell me exactly what you mean.”
“I mean that I could not let you go away. That I want you to stay here always … to make this place your home. I’m telling you that I love you.”
“Are you asking me to marry you?”
“Not yet. There are things we must talk over first.”
“But you have decided not to marry again.”
“There was one woman in the world who could make me change my mind. I didn’t even know she existed, and how was I to guess that chance should send her to me?”
“You are certain?” I asked and I heard the joy in my voice.
He stood still and took my hands in his; he looked solemnly into my face.
“Never more certain in my life.”
“And yet you do not ask me to marry you?”
“My dearest,” he said, “I would not have you waste your life.”
“Should I waste it… if I loved you?”
“Do not say if. Say you do. Let us be completely truthful with each other. Do you love me, Dallas?”
“I know so little of love. I know that if I left here, if I never saw you again, I should be more unhappy than I had ever been in my life.”