# The Oath (LeBlanc)

Extracted from Pall Mall magazine, June 1912, pp.804–807. Title decoration omitted.
The Oath
By Maurice LeBlanc
“REMEMBER that you have to go the château, Germaine.”
“Yes, mother,” said Germaine, “I will go now. But tell me what I'm to do there.”
Germaine and her mother were in a small, sparsely-furnished room opening on the garden. The light was beginning to fail. The clock of the. village church struck four.
Germaine lit the lamp and placed it on a mahogany escritoire at which a young man sat writing letters. He raised his head; and the two exchanged a loving smile.
“It's this,” said the mother. “I had a letter from the countess this morning. You know she has left here to go to Nice. Well, it appears that she forgot her travelling-clock on the mantelpiece in the boudoir, and she asks me to send it on to her at once.”
“But why not write to the caretaker at the château?”
“The caretaker is away. He has gone to Paris for his daughter's wedding; and he has left the keys with me. But I've told you all this before. Where are your thoughts, Germaine?”
“With him,” said Germaine, softly stroking the young man's hair.
André Darvin bestowed a second look of infinite affection upon the girl to whom he was to be married next month; and he asked:
“Would you like me to go with you, Germaine?”
“No, why should you? Think of your letters; they must all be posted to-day.”
“Aren't you afraid?”
“Afraid of what?”
“Of going by yourself. There has been some talk of burglaries in the neighbourhood.”
She burst out laughing:
“Burglaries are not committed by day! I shall be back in half an hour, before it is quite dark.”
He glanced at the clock:
“In half an hour?. Very well. If you are not here by a quarter to five, I'll come to the château to fetch you.”
“Then I'll run.”
She did not run. She walked away quietly, with the peace and confidence that lay at the bottom of her nature. She was a serious, thoughtful girl, very sure of herself, and always acted with a sort of smiling gravity. She was one of those women who are made to be joyful and happy and who bring joy and happiness to those whom they love. And she adored André and had given him her whole life.
The gate of the château was five hundred yards from the village, at the end of a fourfold avenue of fir trees. She opened the gate and walked up the drive that encircled the lawn. On reaching the front steps, she seemed to hear a noise, but paid no attention to it, thinking that it was merely the sound of the wind or some other unimportant thing, and she opened the hall door.
She knew the way, for she had often been to call on the countess. She crossed the entrance hall, therefore, and turned down a wide passage that ran behind the reception rooms. The click of her heels rang on the echoing flags.
“I'm none too early,” said Germaine to herself. “I shall only just be able to see.”
There was a door in front of her. She felt for the handle, turned it and walked in.
What followed was quick as lightning and immediate. Two hands seized her by the throat and forced her to the floor. She gave a scream which was stifled by the pressure round her neck. And, as she fell, she saw, behind the man who held her, other men bending over her, with hard faces and wicked, shifty eyes.
“Don't let go of her,” said one of these men. “And, as for you, little 'un, don't you stir, or we'll settle your business.”
“Much better settle it at once and have done with it,” growled one of his companions.
She was bound with cords, a gag was thrust into her mouth and she felt the hands, those terrible hands, strangling her.
Fainting, resigning herself to the doom that seemed inevitable, she let herself go. But a rough, imperious voice ordered:
“Hands off! At least wait till we know what it's all about. Where do you come from, little 'un? What are you doing here?”
He spoke in a tone of such authority that the others obeyed. He loosened Germaine's bonds, stared at her in the semi-darkness and exclaimed:
“Hullo! Why, I know the girl!”
Germaine recognised him also. He was an old servant of the house, who had been with the countess for a good many years, until the day when she had occasion to dismiss him after the rather mysterious disappearance of a piece of jewellery.
He went on:
“Yes, I know her quite well. ... She used to go to mass with my lady.... She's one of the pious ones. ... This very morning, when I was mooching around, I saw her coming out of church with a chap from town—her young man, so they told me.”
Germaine shuddered from head to foot. André Darvin was coming! She had not thought of that since those men had knocked her down; and-now, suddenly, she remembered. André was coming! He had said:
“If you are not here by a quarter to five, I'll come to the château to fetch you.”
He would come for her, therefore! ... He would walk in! ...
The man who appeared to be the leader stooped forward and said:
“Here, little 'un! You mean to give me away, I suppose?”
“No, I don't.”
He gave a laugh:
“You're frightened, pretty face, and you're ready to promise anything. But you needn't trouble. We sha'n't hurt you. What's the good? We shall have quite an hour or two to empty the château before they get alarmed about you and come to look for you. That'll do us. You can give me away as much as you please, afterwards. I'll take some finding by that time.”
She raised her voice and declared:
“It's not in two hours and it's not in one hour that they're coming. They'll be here in ten minutes at the outside.”
“What's that?”
All the scoundrels grew restless and excited, prepared to fly. One of them shouted:
“Off we go! Let's clear out!”
“You're an ass,” said the leader. “We haven't moved a thing yet; and you talk of going!”
“Suppose we get nabbed?”
“You idiot! So you want to lose the chance—the chance of a lifetime! A house that as good as belongs to us, with no one to look after it, crammed with valuables which are ours for the taking! Clocks! Loads of curiosities! A gorgeous heap of things which we've only got to carry through the grounds and pack into the motor! ... Is that what you want to do?”
“But——”
“Shut up, you loony! I have an idea.”
He bent over Germaine once more, and, with his face close to her and his eyes in hers, asked:
“Who's coming to fetch you?”
“The gentleman I'm engaged to—and two of his friends.”
“Humbug! Your young man all by himself.”
“He carries a revolver, he'll shout for help——”
“That'll do. Don't waste words, Do you love him?”
“Yes.”
“Very well, there, you're free. Yes, run away as fast as you like. Only——”
“Only what?”
“If you meet him, take him by the arm and go home like a good little girl. Not a word about us before to-morrow. Is that a bargain? Absolute silence. I think it's worth it, considering that we're making you a present of your life and your sweetheart's.”
“It's a bargain.”
“You swear?”
“I swear.”
“I want more than that. Swear it on the head of your intended, on his eternal salvation and on your own.”
She repeated:
“I swear it on the head of my intended, on his eternal salvation and on my own salvation.”
“Capital.”
He at once released her.
“It's madness,” said one of accomplices. “She'll talk.”
“She will not talk,” said the leader. “I know the creature. I've had to do with her before. She's built up of religion and scruples. She won't talk.”
“Still——”
“Enough of this! I'm taking everything on myself. Pack up the things and look sharp about it.”
He went with the young girl to the front door.
“It's an oath by the Holy Name of God?”
“By the Holy Name of God,” she said, gravely.
“Then off with you,” he said. “I shall remain here, behind this door, until they've finished. If anyone comes in, it'll be a bad look-out for him. Just one with the knife is what he'll get. Good-bye, pretty face, and pray for me.”
She went away. This time she ran; and her eyes searched the darkness wildly, seeking to discover the outline of Andre's figure. But he did not come to meet her.
Suddenly she stopped. Two gendarmes passed. And an impulse drove her towards them. But no, she could not do it. The sacred words engraved in the depths of her being, engraved on her strict conscience, compelled her to silence.
To perjure herself would bring ill-luck to the man she loved, ill-luck to their love. She had no right to speak.
She continued her road.
Besides, the village clock struck one, as it did at the quarters. The danger was past.
So she went in; and the moment she crossed the threshold, unable to stand on her feet, losing her last atom of strength, she dropped into a chair in the hall. She heard two voices speaking in the little room adjoining. Her mother and André had not moved. They were talking while awaiting her return.
There she remained, for long, with her hands folded, trembling with happiness, blessing God and thanking Him with all her heart and soul. And she wept for joy. And she thought that life was an exquisite thing and that there was nothing sweeter in the world than love.
Her mother found her sitting in the little hall, scarce lit by the flame of a candle:
“What are you doing?”
“I walked rather fast. I was resting——”
“What an idea! ... By the way, have you brought the countess's clock?”
Germaine had not thought of that. She said the first thing that came into her head:
“Yes, I gave it to cook to pack up.”
Her mother said:
“But you can't stay here for ever. Come along. I must talk to you, there's something important to be done.”
“What about?”
“About the banns. The curé proposes to read them from the pulpit on Sunday; and this is Friday.”
“I'll go and see him to-morrow,” said Germaine.
“You needn't do that. He's here now.”
“Here?”
“Yes, he and I were chatting, while waiting for you.”
“Oh!” murmured Germaine, beginning to entertain a vague feeling of uneasiness. “Well, if he's here, he can arrange with André.”
“But André has gone out.”
“What!”
“He went to meet you. Didn't you see him?”
“What! What are you saying, mother?” cried Germaine, in a choking voice.
She was standing up now with contorted features, mad with anguish:
“But, mother... but, mother.. he can't have gone out... or I should have seen him!”
“Why excite yourself?” asked the mother. “It's quite simple. André finished his letters very quickly. He must have taken them to the post, and, from there, gone to the château by the short cut——”
Germaine staggered, affrighted. She remembered the man over there, behind the hall door, with a knife in his hand. And she thought also of her stupid oath, of the two gendarmes.
And suddenly she rushed out of the house. Could André not have arrived?... Could she possibly come up with him in time?
She cried out as she ran. She screamed:
“Help! Help!... This way!... To the château!”
A number of peasants came running after her. In a few minutes she had reached the gate, raced across the lawn, up the steps.
The door was open; but, in the hall, her feet at once struck against something lying on the flag-stones.
She stooped and touched a lifeless body. ...
The peasants came up. By the light of the matches she recognised her betrothed, leaden-hued, with a dagger in his throat. He lay dead.
Germaine uttered not a wail, not a moan.
She snatched the dagger and, at one blow, plunged it into her heart.
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929.
The longest-living author of this work died in 1941, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 82 years or less. This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
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