Slowly Aymar de la Rocheterie paced back and forth across the white rectangle of moonlight which lay upon the floor of his bedroom in General d'Andigné's house. He was clad in shirt and breeches only—for he had got halfway through undressing before, forgetting what he was doing, he had distractedly abandoned the task—and his stockinged feet made no sound upon the floorboards as they moved from dark to light and back again.
The significance of the day's triumph had almost sunk in upon him. The actual moment when the court had returned his sword to him; the awful walk from the Hôtel de Ville to the waiting carriage; the scenes which had followed at Mme Leblanc's, and the recent supper with the General—these pictures had kept presenting themselves before his mind, brighter and brighter, until at last he had actually comprehended that the nightmare begun in April was over at last. His name was cleared, and no stain of dishonour would follow him longer. And soon he would be at home again, and he would see his grandmother, and the cousin whom he loved like a sister—for he had had a letter from them both that afternoon, and had been able to reply to them with the day's good news—and all the old, dear, familiar sights of Sessignes, and know that he could look upon them once more with no shadow to intervene between him and them. Yes, he was happy...
And yet there was one thing still wanting to complete that happiness. It was the thought of this which kept him awake now, pacing over the floor while the moon moved slowly across the dark sky framed within his window. Sometimes he was all but sure that he already had it; and then the anxiety of doubt would return to him, and he would turn impatiently away from the window and resume his pacing. He had been sure this afternoon, when Laurent had come to his bedside at Mme Leblanc's and embraced him before hiding his head in the bedclothes ('You were wonderful!'—oh, impossibly sweet words...). But he had not said anything then, for he had been very tired, and M Perrelet had been so adamant about the importance of his getting a few hours' sleep before to-night's supper. Now that memory, a few hours old, returned to him again with renewed vividness, and with it came the memories of all the other things in Laurent's words and actions which had led—which were still leading—Aymar to hope that the feelings he cherished for his loyal friend might be met and returned. They went all the way back to their first meeting in England last year, and he smiled at the thought of those innocent days, which he might now look on again in memory with unblemished heart, his honour restored to him... He had forgotten what it felt like to smile so widely and so long as he did now.
Well, he would tell Laurent to-morrow, and hear his answer—if he could only get some sleep to-night...
After a few more minutes, this wish, at least, seemed as hopeless as it had ever been. But he was too tired to go on walking back and forth, and so he went and sat on the window-seat—and a few moments after that had lowered his head and hidden his face upon his arms, for he had remembered the moment earlier that day when he had told d'Andigné how Laurent had mended the jartier for him. He had thought at the time that the addition he made to that piece of credit was perhaps too daring a venture—but the look on Laurent's face had done away with that worry. Yes, surely he did... Oh, it was hopeless! Aymar, who was not without self-awareness in his predicament, laughed to himself as he sat there with his head bent forward to his arms and the moonlight shining upon him.
And it was perhaps for that reason that he did not hear the sound of the door slowly opening behind him, or the first few careful footsteps which his visitor took across the room. Only when the tread sounded upon the side of the bed nearest to him did Aymar look up—with a little smile, and without any surprise, for it seemed perfectly natural that he should be here—and say, 'Not in bed, Laurent?'
'Well, and are you?' said Laurent, sitting beside him upon the window-seat and placing his candle on a little table close by. 'And after such a day! I'm afraid M Perrelet would scold us both thoroughly, if he were here.'
'Happily he is not,' said Aymar.
They exchanged a few more pleasantries upon the events of the evening. Laurent's manner held all the spirited joy of earlier in the day, only slighted muted by the lateness of the hour and the quietness which belongs to moonlight. His smile was as ready as ever, and his eyes sparkled with something more than simple merriment as he rejoiced over Aymar's acquittal once again.
At last, however, the seriousness behind this happiness seemed to get the upper hand, and they were both silent for several minutes. Presently Aymar said, 'What's the matter, mon ami? Cannot you sleep?'
'No,' admitted Laurent. 'It has been too exciting a day, I think... Is it the same with you?'
'Perhaps,' said Aymar; and his tone must have spoken more than he intended, for Laurent frowned.
'There is nothing else troubling you, is there, mon cher?' he said, placing a gentle hand upon Aymar's knee. 'All your cares are over.'
'So they are,' said Aymar vaguely. He looked at Laurent's hand. 'No, nothing has been troubling me—rather the reverse.' And, before the simple relief on Laurent's face could establish itself firmly as a belief that he referred to nothing more than the successes of the day, he continued, 'In fact, Laurent, I was thinking about you.'
'About me?' Laurent's eyebrows rose. 'There is nothing troubling me either—you have nothing to lose sleep over on my account, Aymar!'
'I didn't quite mean that,' said Aymar. He stood up from the window-seat, and as Laurent followed he took his friend's hand in his.
'What did you mean?' What was the note which made Laurent's voice sound so strange—urgency? incredulity? ...hope? 'Aymar—' He was clutching Aymar's hand tightly.
'Is it possible—can I hope that you know what I mean, Laurent?'
Laurent's grey eyes were wide and shining in the moonlight. Slowly, and with his grip upon Aymar's hand tightening and yet becoming more steady, he nodded.
For a few moments they stood there, equally unaware of anything else in the world but each other. Then Aymar brought his other arm carefully round Laurent, drew him closer to himself and kissed him—not as he had kissed him when taking leave of him at Sessignes, on either cheek, as any Frenchman might kiss his friend, but full upon the mouth.
The expression on Laurent's face when, a few moments later, Aymar opened his eyes and looked at him was indescribably adorable. Aymar stroked the back of Laurent's hand where he still held it in his own; Laurent made a little hesitating movement towards him, and then they kissed again. Laurent kissed him with all the gentleness with which he had cared for him at Arbelles, and all the ardent earnestness with which he had spoken at the trial and fought that ridiculous duel on his behalf—Aymar smiled at the memory of it; but thank Heaven he had not been hurt!—and all the love which had been in his every action, all along. Aymar, feeling Laurent warm and eager in his arms, felt that his own heart was fairly ready to take wing.
'You reminded me,' said Aymar musingly, a little while later, 'coming into my room with your candle like that, of the night I spent under your roof in Devonshire—ages ago. You were so polite. You hoped I would sleep well, I remember.'
'I remember it,' said Laurent. 'Did you sleep well?' A smile was playing round the corners of his mouth, making little dimples which were picked out in the candlelight.
'Certainly I did,' said Aymar seriously.
'I believe I loved you already then... no, I believe I loved you almost as soon as I first saw you. I thought I must be dreaming, to have you there that night.' His fingers moved softly through the hair at the back of Aymar's neck.
Aymar laughed softly. 'As soon as you saw me! Was my absurd venture into the Dart as attractive as that, then?'
'Yes,' said Laurent, and went to kiss him once more—not so hesitatingly, this time...
Laurent was still wearing his uniform coat and waistcoat, but he very readily allowed Aymar to push the former back from off his shoulders and begin to undo the buttons of the latter. Aymar's state of partial undress, however, gave Laurent the advantage in this respect. Drawing back from the kiss for a moment, he pulled Aymar's shirt out of his breeches and then—carefully and very gently—reached up and began to move his hands over the bare skin of Aymar's back and sides. Aymar made a little noise mingled of contentment and desire, and pulled him closer... before remembering what he was about, and moving Laurent away again so that he could get his coat off properly. Laurent, in his determination to keep pressing little kisses to the side of Aymar's neck, now made this considerably more difficult than it might have been, and Aymar must laugh at him again.
'Come to bed, Laurent,' he said softly—moving far enough back to look at him as he said it.
Several minutes passed, not uneventfully. Aymar was just able to think to himself how much greater a happiness this was than anything he could have dreamt possible in the weary dread of that morning... Presently, however, he nudged Laurent gently away—he was lying back upon the pillows, and Laurent had propped himself on one arm half-above him—and said, 'Wait a moment, dear—I want to see you better.'
He rose and fetched the candle which Laurent had brought into the room, and also retrieved his own candle from the dresser where he had left it—pausing briefly on the way to lock the door. Then he sat down on the bed again, and placed both candles upon the bedside table.
'There; that's better,' he said, taking Laurent's hand. And since he had by this time succeeded in divesting Laurent of his waistcoat and shirt, he was indeed amply rewarded in the soft golden candlelight... But Laurent was frowning at him.
'Aymar, are you sure you want to do this—now?' he said. 'You must be tired, after all, and—you are still not strong...'
Aymar lay back down. 'I'm not so very weak,' he said, demonstrating this fact by reaching an arm round Laurent to bring him back to his own former position, 'and you and I have waited a long time for this already, I think... Yes, Laurent, I want you now.'
And at the smile which Laurent gave him then, he was yet more glad of the candlelight.
The moon had made sufficient progress round the sky that its light had left the floor and was illuminating, in a weird lopsided slant, the dark oak wardrobe on the far side of the room, making little highlights and tiny mysterious shadows of the intricate carving round its panels, when Laurent, raising his head a little, said in a voice of sleepy contentment, 'You know, I wish you would grow your hair out again, Aymar. It is very beautiful.' And he emphasised his point by stroking his hand through Aymar's hair as he spoke.
Aymar laughed. 'And be so much the rustic once more?' he said. '...Perhaps to please you, mon cher.'
Laurent's own fair curls were in adorable disarray, falling down over his forehead as he moved. Aymar steadied his arms round him, under the blankets which he had pulled up to cover them both, and kissed him; and for some minutes they were again silent.
'When I was in Paris,' Laurent began eventually, 'my three great-aunts—I have told you about them, haven't I?... my three great-aunts were quite sure that I must be in love. I so clearly had something on my mind, they said. Actually I think they were horrified to see me not so interested in the King's return as themselves, and could only think of one possible subject more absorbing.'
'How perceptive your aunts are,' observed Aymar.
'It was not only that, as you know... yet you see they were quite right, after all.' He smiled up at Aymar from where his head was resting on Aymar's shoulder; and after a few moments began again, 'Will you start for Sessignes to-morrow?'
'Laurent, you're very talkative!' said Aymar at this, laughing.
'I am very happy,' replied Laurent at once.
And it was only after Aymar had spent some time kissing him thoroughly again that he eventually said, 'Yes, I shall go to Sessignes. But I hope you will come with me for a while. Will you? I would like very much to see you there again. And I own I could not bear to part from you just now, Laurent...'
'There I entirely agree with you,' said Laurent firmly. 'Yes, of course I'll come with you.'
They were speaking softly, lying there in the dim glow which the candles cast over the great four-poster bed; Laurent was slowly rubbing his legs against Aymar's where they were tangled together beneath the blankets. Slowly there came upon Aymar an awareness of how very tired he was. He closed his eyes and thought vaguely of what an absurdly eventful day this had been... Laurent must have noticed it, for he said—and Aymar heard rather than saw his smile as he spoke—'There, I'll stop talking and let you sleep now.'
Aymar's answer to this, though wordless, was definite enough. A few moments later Laurent sat up and leaned over to blow out the candles; and then there was only the distant moonlight, and the quiet night, and the warmth of Laurent lying nestled against him—and a welcome and a happy rest.