Horse and rider made their way down the graveled driveway between thesweep of elegant lawns stretching into the distance on either side. Themany-windowed chateau at their back stood tall, solid, magnificent, theepitome of a way of life that its enjoyers could never conceive ending.She had been riding for about an hour when the baying of hounds in thedistance indicated the presence of the hunt and, eagerly, she pressedher heels into Dom's flank urging him forward. A gallop to hounds wasan enticing prospect on this frosty morning and as long as she obeyedthe rules of the field and could keep up, her presence would bepermitted by her uncles.
They broke through the trees into a small clearing. Bitter nausea rosein Danielle's throat at the sight that met her horrified eyes. Houndsand horses milled around a small stone cottage, trampled heedlesslyacross the tiny garden and vegetable plot that would keep the cottage'sowner just the right side of starvation. But it was not the wantondestruction that kept her sick and rigid—that happened all the time;the right of the seigneur to abuse his peasants' land in the pursuit ofhis pleasure was absolute and many a serf watched in stony faceddesperation as hounds and horses carried La Ch'asse across his exiguousplot of land, sometimes even destroying an entire cornfield whoseharvest represented the farmer's only means
of paying the heavy tithes demanded by His Lord. No, what held the girlhorror-struck was the sight of
an old man struggling naked in the hands of several huntsmen who werebinding his wrists to a low overhanging branch of a massive oak tree.An old woman sobbed and pleaded on her knees before Armand who, with aswift movement of a heavy booted foot, kicked her aside.
Her uncle was in a towering rage. Danielle recognized the signs in thehard, narrowed eyes, the muscle twitching in a red face, the snarl ofthe thin lips. It was the face of de St. Varennes fury and she hadlearned to keep well away when any one of her male relatives carriedthat expression.
Suddenly a lash cracked across the frail back of the figure secured tothe tree, leaving a bright line of blood along the thin flesh; thewhite withered buttocks tightened in agony. Heedless of theconsequences, Danielle threw herself from her horse and hurtled acrossthe clearing.
"Stop it! No, please, you must stop it, mon oncle, you'll kill him.
Je t'emprie
." Her hands clutched atArmand's arm and the furious face bent astounded toward her.
"What the devil are you doing here, you interfering whelp!" Armandhissed. "Get back to the house, where you belong. Unless, of course,you've a mind to watch." Hard hands gripped her upper arms so that shecried out in pain. Terror filled her as she read the determination inthe cruel face. He was quite capable of forcing her, child though shestill was, to witness the barbaric murder of an old man at the hands ofhis henchmen—and Danielle knew it would be murder. The ancient was toofrail and weak to survive the punishment still being meted out behindher. Accepting defeat she managed a wordless shake of the head and,when abruptly released, ran, blinded by tears, back to Dom, headaverted from the oak tree, trying to shut out the agonized groansaccompanying the hiss and snap of the lash.
She rode herself to exhaustion, heedless of the day's passing and therumbling pangs of hunger, and it
was only when Dom stumbled wearily that she returned heartsick to home.
She had never been ignorant of the cruelties imposed by her family ontheir serfs, who had no redress either practically or under the law.But she had never seen anything before. She had heard, of course, thescreams of village girls accompanying the riotous drunken carouses ofher uncles in the great dining room of the chateau, but her mother hadalways whisked her upstairs or sent her to the cure so her knowledge ofwhat took place on these occasions was necessarily hazy.
In the great marble-paved hall of the mansion Louise de St. Varennespaced restlessly. Her daughter had not been seen all day and whatevershe had done to offend Armand had thrown her father into a passion. Itwould be as well for Danielle if Louise could catch her before she cameto the attention of either Armand or Lucien. They were all drunktonight and Louise had thankfully instructed the majordomo to serve themen as they pleased but to provide dinner for herself and Danielle inher own rooms abovestairs. But where was the child? It was high timethat she grew up and stopped these unchaperoned excursions in thatindecorous costume. An attempt to get her to ride sidesaddle hadresulted in a true de St. Varennes tantrum and, as usual, Lucien,backed up by his brothers, had laughed and said the brat was a bruisingrider and he saw no harm in her riding astride. Louise sighed now, asshe wondered for the thousandth time how she was to find a suitablehusband for an overeducated tomboy who had but once left the ruralwilds of Languedoc. She must approach both the duke and Lucien again onthe vital necessity to take Danielle to court in the next year. Buteven if she were to prevail in that quarter there was no guarantee thatDanielle would behave with decorum in the rigidly structured,etiquette-governed life of Louis XVI's Versailles.
These melancholy reflections led her to react with unusual anger whenher daughter eventually came through the great front door, and Louisefailed to notice the drooping shoulders or the dragging step thatreplaced Danielle's customary impetuous, bouncing progress.
"Where on earth have you been, child? Have you no sense orconsideration?" she railed, shaking the slim shoulders. "Dear God, youreek of the stable! Get upstairs and take a bath and if you've a carefor your skin, you'll keep away from your father and your uncles!" Shepushed her toward the stairs.
Only as Danielle disappeared without a word up the
