I heard the key turn in the lock, and the Queen of Navarre leave the cabinet. She took the key with her, so that a tiny beam of light came through the keyhole, giving my dark hiding-place its only illumination.
I felt complete confidence both in Marguerite's show of willingness to save me, and in her ability to do so. All I could do was to wait, and leave my future in her hands.
After a long time, I heard steps in the cabinet outside the closet door, the beam of light from the keyhole was cut off, the key turned again, the door opened, and Marguerite again stood before me.
"Monsieur," she said, "that we may talk without danger, remain in the closet. I will leave the door slightly ajar, thus, and will sit here, near it, with my 'Book of Hours,' as if reading aloud to myself. Should any one come, I can lock your door again and hide the key. Hark! be silent, monsieur!"
And as she spoke, she shut the door, locked it, drew out the key, and sat down. I listened to learn what had caused this act of precaution.
"Madame," I heard some one say, "M. de l'Archant desires, by order of the King, to search your apartments for a man who is to be arrested, and who is thought to have secreted himself somewhere in the palace."
"Let him enter." said Marguerite. My heart stood still. Then I heard her say, in a tone of pleasantry:
"What, M. le Capitain, is there another St. Bartholomew, that people choose my apartments for refuge?"
"This time it is not certain that the fugitive is here," replied Captain de l'Archant, of the bodyguard. "He is known to have been in the palace this morning, and no one answering his description has been seen to leave by any of the gates. It was, indeed, a most sudden and mysterious disappearance; and it is thought that he has run to cover in some chamber or other. We are looking everywhere."
"Who is the man?" asked Marguerite, in a tone of indifference.
"M. de la Tournoire, of the French Guards."
"Very well. Look where you please. If he came into my apartments, he must have done so while I attended thepetite levéeof the King; otherwise I should have seen him. What are you looking at? The door of that closet? He could not have gone there without my knowledge. One of the maids locked it the other day, and the key has disappeared." Whereupon, she tried the door, herself, as if in proof of her assertion.
"Then he cannot be there," said De L'Archant, deceived by her manner; and he took his leave.
For some minutes I heard nothing but the monotonous voice of Marguerite as she read aloud to herself from her "Book of Hours."
Then she opened my door again. Through the tiny crack I saw a part of her head.
"Monsieur," she said to me, keeping her eyes upon the book, and retaining the same changeless tone of one reading aloud, "you see that you are safe, for the present. No one in the palace, save one of my maids, is aware that I know you or have reason to take the slightest interest in you. Your entrance to my apartments was made so naturally and openly that it left no impression on those who saw you come in. I have since sent every one of those persons on some errand, so that all who might happen to remember your coming here will suppose that you left during their absence. It was well that I brought you here; had I merely told you to leave the palace, immediately, you would not have known exactly how matters stood, and you would have been arrested at your lodgings, or on your way to your place of duty. By this time, orders have gone to the city gates to prevent your leaving Paris. Before noon, not only the body-guard, the Provost of the palace, and the French and Scotch Guards will be on the lookout for you, but also the gendarmes of the Provost of Paris. That is why we must be careful, and why stealth must be used in conveying you out of Paris."
"They make a very important personage of me," I said, in a low tone.
"Hush! When you speak imitate my tone, exactly, and be silent the instant I cough. Too many people are not to be trusted. That you may understand me, you must know precisely how matters stand. This morning my mother went to see the King in his chamber before he had risen. They discussed a matter which required my presence, and I was sent for. After we had finished our family council, my mother and I remained for a few words, in private, with each other. While we were talking, M. de Quelus came in and spoke for a while to the King. I heard the King reply, 'Certainly, as he preserved you to me, my friend.' De Quelus was about to leave the King's chamber, when the Duke of Guise was announced. De Quelus waited, out of curiosity, I suppose. M. de Guise was admitted. He immediately told the King that one of his gentlemen, M. de Noyard, had been killed by the Sieur de la Tournoire, one of the French Guards. I became interested, for I remembered your name as that of the gentleman who, according to my maid, had stopped the spy from whom I had had so much to fear. I recalled, also, that you had the esteem of my brother's faithful Bussy d'Amboise. My mother immediately expressed the greatest horror at De Noyard's death, with the greatest sympathy for M. de Guise; and she urged the King to make an example of you."
I remembered, with a deep sigh, what De Rilly had told me,—thatCatherine, to prevent the Duke of Guise from laying the death of DeNoyard to her, would do her utmost to bring me to punishment.
"The King looked at De Quelus," continued Marguerite. "That gentleman, seeing how things were, and, knowing that the King now wishes to seem friendly to the Duke, promptly said, 'This is fortunate. La Tournoire is now waiting for me in the red gallery; I suppose he wishes to beg my intercession. His presumption will be properly punished when the guards arrest him there.'"
I turned sick, at this revelation of treachery. This was the gentleman who owed his life to me, and, in the first outburst of gratitude, had promised to obtain for me a captaincy!
"The King," Marguerite went on, "at once ordered two of the Scotch Guards to arrest you. All this time, I had been standing at the window, looking out, as if paying no attention. My mother stopped the guards to give them some additional direction. No one was watching me. I passed carelessly out, and you know what followed. At thepetite levée, I learned what was thought of your disappearance,—that you had seen the Duke of Guise enter the King's apartments, had guessed his purpose, and had precipitately fled."
I did not dare tell his sister what I thought of a King who would, without hesitation or question, offer up one of his guards as a sacrifice to appease that King's greatest enemy.
"And now, monsieur," said Marguerite, still seeming to read from her book, "the King and the Queen, my mother, will make every effort to have you captured, lest it be thought that they are secretly protecting the slayer of M. de Noyard. To convince you that you may rely on me, thoroughly, I will confess that it is not solely gratitude for your service the other night that induces me to help you,—although my gratitude was great. I had seen the spy rise out of the moat and all night I was in deadly fear that he had reached the guard-house and prevented my brother's flight, or, at least, betrayed me. When I became convinced that he had not done so, I thanked Heaven for the unknown cause that had hindered him. So you may imagine, when my maid told me that a friend of her lover's was that unknown cause, how I felt towards that friend."
"Madame," I said, with emotion, "I ought to be content to die, having had the happiness of eliciting your gratitude!"
"But I am not content that you should die, for I wish you to serve me once more, this time as a messenger to my brother, the Duke of Anjou, who is at Angers; to M. Bussy d'Amboise, who is with him; and to my husband, the King of Navarre, who is at Nerac, in Gascony. Thus it is to my own interest to procure your safe escape from Paris. And if you reach Nerac, monsieur, you cannot do better than to stay there. The King of Navarre will give you some post more worthy of you than that of a mere soldier, which you hold here."
"I enlisted in the French Guards," I hastened to explain, "because I was unknown, and a Huguenot, and could expect no higher beginning."
"For the very reason that you are a Huguenot, you can expect a great deal from the King of Navarre. His kingdom is little more than a toy kingdom, it is true, and his court is but the distant echo of the court of France, but believe me, monsieur,"—and here Marguerite's voice indicated a profound conviction,—"there is a future before my husband, the King of Navarre! They do not know him. Moreover, Paris will never be a safe place for you as long as the Duke of Guise lives. He does not forget!"
I knew that Marguerite had excellent means of knowing the Duke of Guise, and I did not dispute her assertion. Moreover, I was now quite willing to go from the city wherein I was to have achieved such great things. My self-conceit had been shaken a little.
"But if every exit is watched, how can I leave Paris?" I asked.
"The exits were watched to prevent the going of my brother Anjou," said Marguerite, "but he went. He crossed the Seine with his chamberlain, Simier, and his valet, Cange, and went to the Abbey of St. Genevieve, of which the gardens are bounded by the city wall. The Abbot Foulon was secretly with us. M. Bussy had returned to Paris, and was waiting at the Abbey for Monsieur. They left Paris by way of the Abbey garden. The Abbot is a cautious soul, and to protect himself, in case of discovery, he had M. Bussy tie him to a chair, and after Monsieur and Bussy had joined their gentlemen, outside, and galloped off toward Angers, the Abbot came to the Louvre, and informed the King of Monsieur's escape. Now I suppose we shall have to make use of the same ingenious Foulon."
"You know what is best, madame," I said.
"But the Abbot of Saint Genevieve would not do for you, or even for me, what he would do for my brother Anjou. If he knew who you were, he might gladly seize an opportunity to offset, by giving you up, the suspicion that he had a hand in my brother's escape."
"But if there is a suspicion of that, will they not watch the Abbey now, on my account?"
"No; for you are not of my brother's party, and the Abbot would have no reason for aiding you. The question is how to make him serve us in this. I must now think and act, monsieur, and I shall have to lock you up again."
She rose and did so, and again I was left to meditate. It is astonishing how unconcerned I had come to feel, how reliant on the ingenuity of this charming princess with the small head, the high, broad forehead, the burning, black eyes the curly blonde hair, the quizzically discrete expression of face.
After some hours, during which I learned, again, the value of patience, the door was opened, and Marguerite thrust in some bread and cold meat, which she had brought with her own hand. I took it in silence, and stooped to kiss the hand, but it was too soon withdrawn, and the door locked again.
When the door next opened, Marguerite stood before it with a candle in her hand. I therefore knew that it was night. In her other hand, she held four letters, three of them already sealed, the fourth open.
"I have made all arrangements," she said, quickly. "This letter is to theAbbot Foulon. Read it."
She handed it to me, and held the candle for me while I read:
This gentleman bears private letters to Monsieur. As he was about to depart with them, I learned that the King had been informed of his intended mission, and had given orders for his arrest at the gate. I call upon you to aid him to leave Paris, as you aided my brother Anjou. His arrest would result in a disclosure of how that matter was conducted.
I smiled, when I had finished reading the letter.
"That letter will frighten Brother Foulon into immediate action," said Marguerite, "and he will be compelled to destroy it, as it incriminates him. Take these others. You will first go to Angers, and deliver this to the Duke of Anjou, this to M. de Bussy. Then proceed to Gascony with this, for the King of Navarre."
"And I am to start?"
"To-night. I shall let you down into the moat, as Monsieur was let down. You cannot cross the bridges of the Seine, lest you be stopped by guards at the entrances; therefore I have employed, in this matter, the same boy who served me the other night. Go immediately from the moat to that part of the quay which lies east of the Hôtel de Bourbon. You will find him waiting there in a boat. He will take you across the river to the Quay of the Augustines, and from there you will go alone to the Abbey. When Foulon knows that you come in my name, he will at once admit you. I am sorry that there is not time to have a horse waiting for you outside the fortifications."
"Alas, I must leave my own horse in Paris! I must go forth as a deserter from the Guards!"
"It is better than going to the executioner," said Marguerite, gaily."For the last time, monsieur, become a bird in a cage. I am about toretire. As soon as all my people are dismissed, and the palace is asleep,I shall come for you."
The door closed again upon my prison of a day. I placed the letters within my doublet, and looked to the fastening of my clothes, as a man who prepares for a race or contest. I straightened myself up in my place of concealment, and stood ready to attempt my flight from this Paris of which the King had made a cage to hold me.
More waiting, and then came Marguerite, this time without a candle. She stood in the darkness, in a whiterobe de nuit, like a ghost.
"Now, monsieur," she whispered.
I stepped forth without a word, and followed her through the cabinet into a chamber which also dark. Three of Marguerite's maids stood there, in silence, one near the door, the other two at the window. One of the latter held a stout stick, to the middle of which was fastened a rope, which dangled down to the floor and lay there in irregular coils. I saw this by the little light that came through the window from the clouded night sky.
Marguerite took the stick and held it across the window. It was longer than the width of the window, and hence its ends overlapped the chamber walls on either side.
"Are you ready, monsieur?" asked Marguerite, in a whisper.
"Ready, madame."
Still holding the stick in position with one hand, she opened the window with the other, and looked out. She then drew in her head, and passed the loose end of the rope out of the window. Then she looked at me, and stood a little at one side, that I might have room to pass.
Summoning a bold heart, I mounted the window-ledge, got on my knees with my face towards the chamber, caught the rope in both hands, lowered my head, and kissed one of the hands of the Queen of Navarre; then, resting my weight on my elbows, dropped my legs out of the window. Two more movements took my body after them, and presently I saw before me only the wall of the Louvre, and was descending the rope, hand after hand, the weight of my body keeping the stick above in position.
When I was half-way down, I looked up. The wall of the palace seemed now to lean over upon me, and now to draw back from me. Marguerite was gazing down at me.
At last, looking down, I saw the earth near, and dropped. I cast another glance upward. Marguerite was just drawing in her head, and immediately the rope's end flew out of my reach.
"There's no going back the way I came!" I said, to myself, and strode along the moat to find a place where I could most easily climb out of it. Such a place I found, and I was soon in the street, alone, near where I had been wont to watch under the window of Mlle. d'Arency. I took a last look at the window of Marguerite's chamber. It was closed, and the rope had disappeared. My safety was no longer in the hands of the Queen of Navarre. She had pointed out the way for me, and had brought me thus far; henceforth, I had to rely on myself.
I shivered in the cold. I had left my large cloak beside the dead body of M. de Noyard the previous night, and had worn to the Louvre, in the morning, only a light mantle by way of outer covering.
"Blessings on the night for being so dark, and maledictions on it for being so cold!" I muttered, as I turned towards the river.
I had reached the Hôtel de Bourbon, when I heard, behind me, the sound of footsteps in accord. I looked back. It was a body of several armed men, two of them bearing torches.
Were they gendarmes of the watch, or were they guards of the King? What were they doing on my track, and had they seen me?
Probably they had not seen me, for they did not increase their gait, although they came steadily towards me. The torches, which illuminated everything near them, served to blind them to what was at a distance from them.
Fortunately, I had reached the end of the street, and so I turned eastward and proceeded along the quay, high walls on one side of me, the river on the other. It had been impossible for Marguerite to indicate to me the exact place at which the boat was to be in waiting. I did not think it best, therefore, to go to the edge of the quay and look for the boat while the soldiers were in the vicinity. They might come upon the quay at the moment of my embarking, and in that event, they would certainly investigate. So I walked on along the quay.
Presently I knew, by the sound of their steps, that they, too, had reached the quay, and that they had turned in the direction that I had taken. I was still out of the range of their torchlight.
"How far will I be made to walk by these meddlesome archers?" I asked myself, annoyed at this interruption, and considering it an incident of ill omen. I looked ahead, to see whither my walking would lead me.
I saw another body of gendarmes, likewise lighted by torches, just emerging from a street's end, some distance in front of me. They turned and came towards me.
I stopped, feeling for an instant as if all my blood, all power of motion, had left me. "Great God!" I thought, "I am caught between two rows of teeth."
I must wait no longer to seek the boat. Would God grant that it might be near, that I might reach it before either troop should see me?
I ran to the edge of the quay and looked over into the river. Of all the boats that lay at rest there, not one in sight was unmoored, not one contained a boatman!
The two bodies of men were approaching each other. In a few seconds the two areas of torchlight would merge together. On one side were walls, frowning and impenetrable; on the other was the river.
I took off my sword and dagger, on account of their weight, and dropped them with their sheathes into the river. I started to undo the fastening of my mantle, but the knot held; my fingers became clumsy, and time pressed. So I gave up that attempt, threw away my hat, let myself over the edge of the quay, and slid quietly into the icy water. I immediately dived, and presently came to the surface at some distance from the shore. I then swam for the middle of the river. God knows what powers within me awoke to my necessity. I endured the cold, and found strength to swim in spite of the clothes that impeded my movements and added immensely to my weight.
Without looking back, I could tell, presently, from the talking on the quay that the two detachments of gendarmes had met and were standing still. Had either one descried me, there would have been loud or hurried words, but there were none. After a while, during which I continued to swim, the voices ceased, and I looked back. Two torches remained on the quay. The others were moving away, along the river. I then made a guess, which afterward was confirmed as truth. The boy sent by Marguerite had been discovered in his boat, had been taken to the guard-house, and had given such answers as led to the suspicion that he was waiting to aid the flight of some one. The captain of the Guard, thinking so to catch the person for whom the boatman waited, had sent two bodies of men out, one to occupy the spot near which the boy had been found, the other to patrol the river bank in search of questionable persons. I had arrived on the quay in the interval between the boy's capture and the arrival of the guards.
My first intention was to reach the left bank and proceed to the Abbey of St. Genevieve. But it occurred to me that, although a boat could not pass down the river, out of Paris, at night, because of the chain stretched across the river from the Tour du Coin to the Tour de Nesle, yet a swimmer might pass under or over that chain and then make, through the faubourg outside the walls, for the open country. Neither Marguerite nor I had thought of this way of leaving Paris, because of the seeming impossibility of a man's surviving a swim through the icy Seine, and a flight in wet clothes through the February night. Moreover, there was the necessity of leaving my sword behind, and the danger of being seen by the men on guard at the towers on either side of the river. But now that necessity had driven me into the river, I chose this shorter route to freedom, and swam with the current of the Seine. In front of me lay a dark mass upon the water in the middle of the river. This was the barge moored there to support the chain which stretched, from either side, across the surface of the water, up the bank and to the Tour de Nesle on the left side, and to the Tour du Coin on the right. I might pass either to the right or to the left of this barge. Naturally, I chose to avoid the side nearest the bank from which I had just fled, and to take the left side, which lay in the shadow of the frowning Tour de Nesle.
By swimming close to the left bank of the river, I might pass the boundary without diving under the chain, for the chain ascended obliquely from the water to the tower, leaving a small part of the river's surface entirely free. But this part was at the very foot of the tower, and if I tried passage there I should probably attract the attention of the guard. I was just looking ahead, to choose a spot midway between the barge and the left bank, when suddenly the blackness went from the face of things, a pale yellow light took its place, and I knew that the moon had come from behind the clouds. A moment later, I heard a cry from the right bank of the river, and knew that I was discovered. The shout came from the soldiers whom I had so narrowly eluded.
I knew that it was a race for life now. The soldiers would know that any man swimming the Seine on a February night was a man whom they ought to stop. I did not look back,—the one thing to do was to pass the Tour de Nesle before the guards there should be put on the alert by the cries from the right bank. So on I swam, urging every muscle to its utmost.
Presently came the crack of an arquebus, and spattering sounds behind me told me where the shot had struck the water. I turned to swim upon my left side, and so I got a glimpse of the quay that I had left. By the hurried movement of torches, I saw that the body that had gone to patrol the river bank was returning to rejoin the other force. Of the latter, several men were unmooring and manning a large boat. I turned on my back to have a look at the sky. I saw that very soon a heavy mass of black cloud would obscure the moon. At once I turned, and made towards the left bank, as if not intending to pass the chain. I could hear the men in the boat speaking rapidly at this, as if commenting on my change of course. Again looking back, I saw that the boat had pushed off, and was making towards that point on the left bank for which I seemed to be aiming. And now I had something else to claim my attention: the sound of voices came from the Tour de Nesle. I cast a glance thither. A troop of the watch was out at last, having taken the alarm from the movements on the right bank. This troop from the Tour de Nesle was moving towards the place for which I seemed to be making; hence it was giving its attention solely to that part of the left bank which was inside the fortifications. I felt a thrill of exultation. The moon passed under the clouds. I changed my course, and struck out for the chain. The light of the torches did not reach me. Both the boat from the right bank and the watch from the Tour de Nesle continued to move towards the same point. I approached the chain, took a long breath, dived, felt the stifling embrace of the waters for a season, rose to the surface, breathed the air of heaven again, and cast a look behind. The chain stretched between me and the distant boat and torches. I was out of Paris.
I swam on, past the mouth of the Paris moat, and then made for the left bank. Exhaustion seized me as I laid hold of the earth, but I had strength to clamber up. I fell into a sitting posture and rested my tired arms and legs. What pains of cold and heat I felt I cannot describe. Presently, with returning breath, came the strength to walk,—a strength of which I would have to avail myself, not only that I might put distance between myself and Paris, but also to keep my wet clothes from freezing. I rose and started.
Choosing not to follow the left bank of the Seine, which was unknown territory to me, I turned southeastward, in the hope of finding the road by which I had entered Paris. To reach this, I had but to traverse the Faubourg St. Germaine, along the line of the wall of Paris. I had already gone some distance along the outer edge of the moat, with the sleeping faubourg on my right, when I heard, behind me, the sound of men treading a bridge. I looked back. The bridge was that which crossed the moat from the Tour de Nesle.
Had the guards at last discovered my way of eluding pursuit, and was I now being sought outside the walls? It appeared so, for, after crossing the moat, the troop divided into two bodies, one of which went toward the left bank below the chain, where I had landed, while the other came along the moat after me. I began to run. The moon came out again.
"Look! he is there!" cried one of my pursuers. I heard their footsteps on the frozen earth,—they, too, were running. But I had the advantage in one respect: I had no weapons to impede me. The coming out of the moon did not throw me into despair; it only increased my determination to make good the escape I had carried so far. Though nature, herself, became the ally of the King of France and the Duke of Guise against me, I would elude them. I was filled with hate and resolution.
Suddenly, as I ran, it occurred to me that I was a fool to keep so near the fortifications, for, at any of the gates, guards might emerge, alarmed by the shouts of my pursuers; and even as I thought this, I looked ahead and saw a number of halberdiers coming from the Porte St. Germaine. My situation was now as it had been on the quay, with this disadvantage, that I was seen by my enemies, and this advantage, that I had a way of retreat open on my right; and I turned and sped along a street of the Faubourg St. Germaine, towards the country.
It matters not how many pursue you, if you can run faster and longer than the best of them all. Gradually, as I went, panting and plunging, onward, heedless of every obstacle, I increased the distance between me and the cries behind. Soon I was out of the faubourg, but I did not stop. I do not know what ground I went over, save that I went southward, or what village I presently went through, save that it was silent and asleep. I came upon a good road, at last, and followed it, still running, though a pain in my side warned me that soon I must halt. All my hunters had abandoned the chase now but one. Every time I half turned for a backward look, I saw this one coming after me. He had dropped his weapons, and so had enabled himself to keep up the chase. Not being weakened by a previous swim in the Seine, he was in better form than I, and I knew that he would catch me in time. And what then? He was a large fellow, but since the struggle must come, I would better let it come ere I should be utterly exhausted. So I pretended to stagger and lurch forward, and presently came to my knees and then prone upon the ground. With a grunt of triumph, the man rushed up to me, caught me by the collar of my doublet, and raised me from the ground. Hanging limp, and apparently senseless, I put him quite off his guard.
"Stand up!" he cried. "Stomach of the Pope! Have I come so far only to take a dead man back?"
While he was trying to make me stand, I suddenly gathered all my energy into my right arm and gave him a quick blow in the pit of the stomach. With a fearful howl, he let me go and fell upon his knees. A blow in the face then made him drop as limp as I had pretended to be; and I resumed my flight, this time at a more leisurely pace.
And now all my physical powers seemed to be leaving me. Pains racked my head, and I seemed at one time to freeze and burn all over, at another time to freeze in one part and burn in another. I ached in my muscles, my bones, my stomach. At every step, I felt that it was vastly difficult to take another, that it would be ineffably sweet to sink down upon the earth and rest. Yet I knew that one taste of that sweetness meant death, and I was determined not to lose a life that had been saved from so great peril by so great effort. Despite all the soldiers at their command, the King of France and the Duke of Guise should not have their will with me. At last,—I know not how far from Paris,—I came to an inn. There were still a few crowns in my pocket. Forgetting the danger from which I had fled, not thinking that it might overtake me here, feeling only the need of immediate shelter and rest, I pounded on the door until I got admittance. I have never had any but the vaguest recollection of my installation at that inn, so near to insensibility I was when I fell against its door. I have a dim memory of having exchanged a few words with a sleepy, stolid host; of being glad of the darkness of the night, for it prevented him from noticing my wet, frozen, begrimed, bedraggled, half-dead condition; of my bargaining for the sole occupancy of a room; of his leading me up a winding stairway to a chamber; of my plunging from the threshold to the bed as soon as the door was opened. I slept for several hours. When I awoke, it was about noon, and I was very hungry and thirsty. My clothes had dried upon me, and I essayed to put them into a fairly presentable condition. I found within my doublet the four letters, which had been first soaked and then stiffened. The now useless one addressed to the Abbot Foulon, I destroyed; then I went down to the kitchen, and saw, with relief, that it was empty. I ate and drank hurriedly but ravenously. Again the fear of capture, the impulse to put Paris further and further behind, awoke in me. I bought a peasant's cap from the landlord, telling him that the wind had blown my hat into the river the previous night, and set forth. It was my intention to walk to La Tournoire, that my money might last. Afoot I could the better turn from the road and conceal myself in woods or fields, at any intimation of pursuit. At La Tournoire, I would newly equip myself with clothes, weapons, horse, and money; and thence I would ride to Angers, and finally away, southward, to Nerac.
It was a fine, sunlit day when I stepped from the inn to take the road going southward. I had not gone four steps when I heard horses coming from the north. I sought the shelter of a shed at the side of the inn. There was a crack between two boards of this shed, through which I could look. The horses came into sight, ten of them. The riders were brown-faced men, all armed with swords and pistols, and most of them having arquebusses slung over their backs. Their leader was a large, broad, black-bearded man, with a very ugly red face, deeply scarred on the forehead, and with fierce black eyes. He and his men rode up to the inn, beat on the door, and, when the host came, ordered each a stirrup-cup. When the landlord brought the wine, the leader asked him some questions in a low tone. The landlord answered stupidly, shaking his head, and the horsemen turned to resume their journey. Just as they did so, there rode up, from the south, a merry-looking young cavalier followed by two mounted servants. This newcomer gaily hailed the ill-looking leader of the troop from the north with the words:
"Ah, M. Barbemouche, whither bound, with your back towards Paris?"
"For Anjou, M. de Berquin," growled the leader.
"What!" said the other, with a grin. "Have you left the Duke of Guise to take service with the Duke of Anjou?"
"No, M. le Vicomte," said the leader. "It is neither for nor against the Duke of Anjou that we go into his province. It is to catch a rascal who may be now on the way to hide on his estate there, and whom my master, the Duke of Guise, would like to see back in Paris."
"Indeed? Who is it that has given the Duke of Guise so great a desire for his company?"
"The Sieur de la Tournoire," replied Barbemouche. "Have you met him on the road?"
"I have never heard of him, before," said the young cavalier, indifferently; and he rode on northward, while Barbemouche and his men silently took the opposite direction.
He had never heard of me, as he said, nor I of him; yet he was to know much of me at a time to come, was the Vicomte de Berquin; and so was Barbemouche, the scowling man who was now riding towards Anjou in search of me.
When one is pursued, one's best course is to pursue the pursuer. So, when M. Barbemouche and his troop of Guisards had gone some distance down the road, I came forth from the shed and followed them, afoot, keeping well to the roadside, ready to vanish, should any of them turn back. It was evident that Barbemouche had little or no hope of catching me on the road. His plan was to surprise me at my château, or to lie there in wait for me. He had not shown any persistence in questioning the landlord. The latter, through laziness or sheer stupidity, or a fear of incurring blame for having sheltered a fugitive, had not given him any information that might lead him to suspect that the man he was seeking was so near. So I could follow, in comparative safety, into Anjou.
Their horses constantly increased the distance between the Guise man-hunters and me, their desired prey. In a few hours they were out of sight. Thus they would arrive at La Tournoire long before I could. Not finding me there, they would probably put the servants under restraint, and wait in ambush for me. Several days of such waiting, I said to myself, would exhaust their patience; thereupon, they would give up the hope of my seeking refuge at La Tournoire, and would return to their master. My best course, therefore, would be to take my time on the road, to be on the alert on coming near La Tournoire, and to lie in hiding until I should be assured of their departure. In order to consume as much time as I could, and to wear out the enemy's patience without putting my own to the test, I decided to go first to Angers, deliver Marguerite's letters to Monsieur and Bussy d'Amboise, and then make for La Tournoire. Therefore, when, after a few days of walking, I came to LeMans, I did not turn southward, towards La Tournoire, but followed the Sarthe southwestward to Angers.
On this journey, I skirted Rambouillet, Anneau, and the other towns in my way, and avoided large inns, for fear of coming up with the Guise party. I made my money serve, too, by purchasing cheaply the hospitality of farmers and woodmen. My youth had withstood well the experiences attending my escape from Paris, and enabled me to fare on the coarse food of the peasantry. There was plenty of healthy blood in my veins to keep me warm. Outside of my doublet, my shoulders had no covering but the light mantle, of which I was now glad that I had been unable to rid myself in my swim down the Seine. People who saw me, with my rumpled clothes and shapeless ruff and peasant's cap, probably took me for a younger son who had endured hard fortune.
Such was my condition when I reached Angers and presented myself at the gate of the château wherein the Duke of Anjou had taken residence. There were many soldiers in and about the town, and horsemen were arriving and departing. I might not easily have obtained audience of the Duke, had not Bussy d'Amboise ridden up at the head of a small troop of horse, while I was waiting at the gate. I called out his name, and he recognized me, showing surprise at my appearance. I gave him his letter, and he had me conducted to the Duke, who was striding up and down the hall of the château. His mind was evidently preoccupied, perhaps already with fears as to the outcome of his rebellious step, and he did not look at me when he took the letter. His face brightened, though, when he saw the inscription in Marguerite's handwriting, and he went, immediately, to a window to read the letter. Bussy d'Amboise, who had dismounted and come in with me, now beckoned me to follow him, and when we were outside, he offered to supply me with a horse, money and arms, proposing that I enter the service of the Duke of Anjou. But I told him that I was bound for Gascony, and when he still offered me some equipment, I protested that I would refurnish myself at my own château; so he let me go my way. I could see that he was in haste to break the seal of Marguerite's letter.
I had gone two leagues or more northward from Angers, and was about to turn eastward toward La Tournoire, when I saw a long and brilliant cortege approaching from the direction of Paris. Several men-at-arms were at the head, then came a magnificent litter, then a number of mounted ladies and gentlemen, followed by a host of lackeys, a number of mules with baggage, and another body of soldiers. This procession was winding down the opposite hillside. The head of it was already crossing the bridge over a stream that coursed through the valley toward the Sarthe. Slowly it came along the yellow road, the soldiers and gentlemen holding themselves erect on their reined-in horses, the ladies chatting or laughing, and looking about the country, the wind stirring the plumes and trappings, the sunlight sparkling on the armor and halberds of the guards, the sword-hilts of the gentlemen, the jewels and rich stuffs which shone in the attire of the riders. There were velvet cloaks and gowns; satin and silk doublets, breeches, and hose; there were cloth of gold and cloth of silver. Here and there the cavalcade passed clumps of trees that lined the road, and it was then like pictures you have seen in tapestry.
Concealment had lately become an instinctive act with me, and I now sought refuge in the midst of some evergreen bushes, at a little distance from the road, from which I could view the cavalcade as it passed. On it came, the riders throwing back their shoulders as they filled their lungs with the bracing country air. The day was a mild one for the time of year, and the curtains of the litter were open. Inside sat a number of ladies. With a start, I recognized two of the faces. One was Mlle. d'Arency's; the other was the Queen-mother's. Mlle. d'Arency was narrating something, with a derisive smile, to Catherine, who listened with the slightest expression of amusement on her serene face.
Catherine was going to try to persuade her son, the Duke of Anjou, to give up his insurrectionary designs and return to the court of his brother. I guessed this much, as I lay hidden in the bushes, and I heartily wished her failure. As for Mlle. d'Arency, I have no words for the bitterness of my thoughts regarding her. I grated my teeth together as I recalled how even circumstance itself had aided her. She could have had no assurance that in the combat planned by her I should kill De Noyard, or that he would not kill me, and yet what she had desired had occurred. When the troop had passed, I arose and started for La Tournoire. It seemed to me that a sufficient number of days had now passed to tire the patience of Barbemouche, and that I might now visit my château for the short time necessary.
Nevertheless, it was with great caution that I approached the neighborhood in which all my life, until my departure for Paris, had been passed. At each bend of the road, I stopped and listened before going on. When I entered a piece of woods, I searched, with my eyes, each side of the road ahead, for a possible ambush. When I approached the top of a hill, it was with my ears on the alert for the sound of horsemen or of human feet, and, when I reached the crest, I found some spot where, lying on my stomach or crouching behind underbrush, I could survey the lowland ahead. And so, meeting no indication of peril, treading familiar and beloved ground, I at last reached the hill-top from which I would have my long-expected view of La Tournoire. It was just sunset; with beating heart, I hastened forward, risking something in my eagerness to look again upon the home of my fathers. I gazed down, ready to feast my eyes on the dear old tower, the peaceful garden, the—
And I saw only a smouldering pile of ruins, not one stone of my château left upon another, save a part of the stables, before which, heeding the desolation no more than crows are repelled by the sight of a dead body, sat M. Barbemouche and two of his men throwing dice. Only one tree was left in the garden, and from one of its limbs hung the body of a man, through which a sword was thrust. By the white hair of the head, I knew the body was that of old Michel.
So this was the beginning of the revenge of the Duke of Guise upon a poor gentleman for having eluded him; thus he demonstrated that a follower of his might not be slain with impunity. And the Duke must have had the assurance of the King that this deed would be upheld; nay, probably the King, in his design of currying favor with his powerful subject, had previously sanctioned this act, or even suggested it, that the Duke might have no ground for suspecting him of protecting me.
Grief at the sight of the home of my youth, the house of my ancestors, laid low, gave way to rage at the powerful ones to whom that sight was due,—the Duke who despoiled me, the King who had not protected me, the Queen as whose unknowing tool I had made myself liable to this outrage. As I stood on that hill-top, in the dusk, and looked down on the ruins of my château, I declared myself, until death, the enemy to that Queen, that Duke, and that King,—most of all to that King; for, having saved the life of his favorite, having taken humble service in his Guards, and having received from him a hinted promise of advancement, I had the right to expect from him a protection such as he gave every day to worthless brawlers.
At nightfall, I went to the hovel of a woodman, on whose fidelity I knewI could depend. At my call, he opened the door of his little hut, andreceived me with surprise and joy. With him was a peasant namedFrolichard.
"Then you are alive, monsieur?" cried the woodman, closing the door after me, and making for me a seat on his rude bed.
"As you see," I replied. "I have come to pass the night in your hut.To-morrow I shall be off for the south."
"Alas, you have seen what they have done! I knew nothing of it until Michel was dead, and the servants came fleeing through the woods. They have gone, I know not where, and the tenants, too. All but Frolichard. As yet, the soldiers have not found this hut."
By questioning him, I learned that M. Barbemouche had denounced me as a heretic and a traitor (I could see how my desertion from the French Guards might be taken as implying intended rebellion and treason), and had told Michel that my possessions were confiscated. What authority he pretended to have, I could not learn. It was probably in wrath at not finding me that he had caused the destruction of my château, to make sure that it might not in any circumstances shelter me again.
I well knew that, whatever my rights might be, my safety lay far from LaTournoire; and so did my means of retaliation.
"If I had but a horse and a sword left!" I said.
"There is a horse which I have been using, in my shed," replied the forester; "and I made one of the servants leave here the swords that he was carrying away in his flight. Moreover, he had filled a bag with crowns from Michel's strong box. So you need not leave entirely unprovided."
I thanked the faithful fellow as he brought forth the swords and the little bag of gold pieces from under his bed, and then I lay down to sleep. The peasant Frolichard was already dozing in a corner by the fire.
I was awakened suddenly by a shake of the shoulder. The woodman stood by the bed, with every sign of alarm on his face.
"Monsieur," he whispered, "I fear you would best eat and begone. That cursed rascal, Frolichard, left while I was asleep. I am sure that the devil has been too much for him. He has probably gone to tell the soldiers that you are here. Eat, monsieur!"
I sprang up, and saw that the forester had already prepared some porridge for me.
"It is nearly dawn," he added, as I looked around I swallowed a few mouthfuls of the porridge, and chose the better one of the swords. Then I took up the little bag of golden crowns, and went out to mount horse. The animal that the woodman held for me was a sorry one, the ugliest and oldest of my stable.
Yet I rode blithely through the woods, happy to have again a horse under me, and a sword at my side. I knew that the forester could take care of himself as long as there should remain woods to hunt in or streams to fish in.
When I reached, the road it was daylight. I made for the hill-top, and stopped for a last look at my fields. I did not have to hesitate as to my course. In my doublet was Marguerite's letter, to be borne to the King of Navarre. Yet there was another reason why I should not attach myself to the Duke of Anjou, although he was already in rebellion against the King: the look on his face, when I saw him at Angers, had convinced me that he would not hold out. Should Catherine not win him back to allegiance, his own weakness would. I would place my hopes in the future of Henri of Navarre. Nothing could, as yet, be predicted with assurance concerning this Prince, who, being the head of the house of Bourbon, which constituted the younger branch of the Royalty of France, was the highest, by blood, of the really Huguenot leaders. Some, however, whispered that there was more in him than appeared in his amours and his adventures of the chase.
I was just about to turn my horse's head towards the south, when a man came out of my half-ruined stable and looked up at me. Instantly he called to some one in the stable, and two or three other soldiers came out. I recognized the burly form of one of these as that of Barbemouche. Another figure, a limp and cringing one, was that of Frolichard the peasant. Barbemouche gave some orders, and two or three brought horses out of the stable. I knew what all this meant.
I turned my horse, and galloped off towards the south. In a few moments I heard the footfalls of galloping horses behind me. Again I was the object of a chase.
When I had gone some distance, I looked back and saw my hunters coming, ten of them, down the hillside behind me. But the morning was bracing, and my horse had more life in him than at first sight appeared. I put another hill behind me, but in time my followers appeared at its crest. Now they gained on me, now I seemed to leave them further behind. All day this race continued. I bore directly southward, and hence passed far east of Angers. I soon made up my mind that M. Barbemouche was a man of persistence. I did not stop anywhere for food or drink. Neither did M. Barbemouche. I crossed the Loire at Saumur. So did he.
"Very well," I said. "If my horse only holds out, I will lead you all the way to Gascony."
Once I let my horse eat and rest; twice I let him drink.
At nightfall, the sound of the hoofs behind me gradually died away. My own beast was foaming and panting, so I reined in to a walk. Near Loudun, I passed an inn whose look of comfort, I thought, would surely tempt my tired pursuers to tarry, if, indeed, they should come so far. Some hours later, coming to another and smaller inn, and hearing no sound of pursuit behind me, I decided to stop for a few hours, or until the tramp of horses' feet should disturb the silence of the night.
The inn kitchen, as I entered, was noisy with shouts and curses. One might have expected to find a whole company of soldiers there, but to my surprise, I saw only one man. This was a robust young fellow, with a big round face, piercing gray eyes, fiercely up-sprouting red mustache, and a double—pointed reddish beard. There was something irresistibly pugnacious, and yet good-natured, in the florid face of this person. He sat on a bench beside a table, forcibly detaining an inn maid with his left arm, and holding a mug of wine in his right hand. Beside him, on the bench, lay a sword, and in his belt was a pistol. He wore a brown cloth doublet, brown breeches, and green hose.
"A thousand devils!" he roared, as I entered. "Must a fighting man stand and beg for a kiss from a tavern wench? I don't believe in any of your painted saints, wooden or ivory, but I swear by all of them, good-looking girls are made to be hugged, and I was made to hug them! Here, you ten times damned dog of a landlord, bring me another bottle of your filthy wine, or I'll make a hole in your barrel of a body! Be quick, or I'll roast you on your own spit, and burn down your stinking old inn!" At this moment he saw me, as I stood in the doorway. "Come, monsieur!" he cried, "I'm not fastidious, curse me, and you might drink with me if you were the poxy old Pope himself! Here, wench, go and welcome the gentleman with a kiss!" And he shoved the girl towards me and began to pound, in sheer drunken turbulence, on the table with his mug.
I left the kitchen to this noisy guest, and took a room up-stairs, where the landlord presently brought me light and supper.
I paid in advance for my night's lodging, and arranged to have access, at any time during the night, to the shed in which was my horse, so that at the least alarm I might make hasty flight. I opened my window, that the sound of horses on the road might be audible to me from a distance. Then, having eaten, I put out my light and lay down, in my clothes, ready on occasion to rise and drop from the window, take horse, and be off.
From the kitchen, below, came frequent sounds emitted or caused by the tipsy young Hercules in the brown doublet. Now he bellowed for wine, now he thundered forth profanity, now he filled the place with the noise of Gargantuan laughter; now he sang at the top or the depth of his big, full voice; then could be heard the crash of furniture in collision. These sounds continued until far into the night.
I had intended not to sleep, but to lie with ears alert. I could not yet bring myself to feel that I was safe from pursuit. So used had I become to a condition of flight, that I could not throw off the feeling of being still pursued. And yet, I had hoped that Barbemouche would tire of the chase. My plan had not been to confuse him as to my track, by taking by-roads or skirting the towns, but merely to outrun him. Because I wished to reach Nerac at the earliest possible moment, and because the country was new to me and I desired not to lose my way, I had held to the main road southward, being guided in direction by the sun or the stars. Moreover, had I made detours, or skirted cities, Barbemouche might have gone ahead by the main road and lain in wait further south for my coming up, for Frolichard, the peasant, had heard me tell the woodman my destination. So, in that first day's flight, I had trusted to the speed of my horse, and now there was some reason to believe that Barbemouche had abandoned pursuit, as the soldiers had done who chased me from Paris. And yet, it seemed to me that this ugly Barbemouche was not one to give up his chosen prey so soon.
Despite my intention, I feel asleep, and when I awoke it was daylight. I sprang up and went cautiously down-stairs, sword in hand. But there was no danger. Only the host and a servant were stirring in the inn. I made a rapid breakfast, and went to see my horse fed. Before the shed, I saw the young man who had made such drunken tumult in the kitchen the previous night. He was just about to mount his horse; but there was now nothing of the roysterer about his look or manner. He had restored neatness to his attire, and his expression was sedate and humble, though strength and sturdiness were as apparent in him as ever.
"A fine morning," I said, as the inn-servant brought out my own horse.
"Yes, monsieur," said the young man, in a very respectful tone. "A sunrise like this is a gift from the good God."
"Yet you look pensive."
"It is because I know how little I deserve such mercy as to live on such a day," answered the man, gravely; and he bowed politely, and rode southward.
This devoutness and humility impressed me as being strangely out of harmony with the profanity and turbulence of the night before, yet the one seemed no less genuine than the other.
My horse fed, I mounted and rode after the sturdy youth.
Not far from Mirebeau, happening to turn my head towards the north, I saw, in the distance, a group of horsemen approaching at a steady gallop. From having looked back at this group many times during the preceding day, I had stamped certain of its figures on my memory, and I now recognized it as Barbemouche and his party.
"Another day of it," I said, to myself, and spurred my horse to a gallop.
An increase in their own pace told me that they in turn had recognized me.
"This grows monotonous," I mused. "If there were only fewer of them, or more of me, I would make a stand."
Presently I came up with the young man in the brown doublet. He stared at me with a look of inquiry as I passed at such speed; then he looked back and saw the distant horsemen coming on at equal speed. He appeared to realize the situation at a glance. Without a word, he gave his own horse a touch of the spur, with the manifest intention of keeping my company in my flight.
"You have a good horse," I said to him, at the same time watching him out of the corner of my eye, seeking some indication that might show whether, on occasion, he would stand as my friend or my enemy.
"Better than yours, I fear, monsieur," he replied.
"Mine has been hard run," I said, lightly.
Presently he looked back, and said:
"Ah, the devil! Your friends, back there, are sending out an advance guard. Three of them are making a race of it, to see which shall have the honor of first joining you."
I looked back. It was true; three of them were bearing down with great speed, evidently on fresh horses. Barbemouche remained back with the rest.
I urged on my horse.
"It is useless, monsieur," said the young man at my side. "Your beast is no match for theirs. Besides, you will not find a better place to make a stand than the bridge yonder." And he pointed ahead to a bridge that crossed a narrow stream that lay between high banks.
"What, face ten men?" I said.
"There are only three. The thing may be over before the others come up."
I laughed. "Well, admitting that, three against one—" I began.
"Oh, there will be two of us," replied the other.
My heart gave a joyous bound, but I said, "I cannot expect you to risk your life in my quarrel."
And he answered, "By God! I myself have a quarrel with every man that wears on his hat the white cross of the Guises!" His grey eyes flashed, his face became red with wrath. "Let us stop, monsieur."
We stopped and turned our horses on the narrow bridge. We both drew sword and waited. My new-found ally threw back his hat, and I saw across his forehead a deep red scar, which I had not before noticed.
The three men rode up to the attack. They all stopped suddenly before they reached the bridge.
"Give up your sword and come with us, monsieur," cried one of them to me.
I said nothing. "Go to hell!" roared my companion. And with that he charged with the fury of a wild beast, riding between two of the horsemen, and thrusting his sword through the eye and into the brain of one before either could make the least show of defence. His horse coming to a quick stop, he drew his weapon out of the slain man's head and turned on the other. While there was some violent fencing between the two, and while the dead man's horse reared, and so rid itself of its bleeding burden, the third horseman urged his horse towards me. I turned the point of his rapier, whereupon he immediately backed, and then came for me again just as I charged on him. Each was too quick to meet the other's steel with steel. His sword passed under my right arm and my sword under his right arm, and we found ourselves linked together, arm to arm. I saw him reach with his left hand for his dagger, and I grew sick at the thought that I had no similar weapon with which to make matters even. He plucked the dagger from his belt, and raised it to plunge it into my back; but his wrist was caught in a clutch of iron. My man in the brown doublet, in backing his horse to make another charge on his still remaining opponent, had seen my antagonist's motion, and now, with a twist of his vigorous fingers, caused the dagger to fall from a limp arm. Then my comrade returned to meet his own enemy, and I was again on equal terms with mine. We broke away from each other. I was the quicker to right myself, and a moment later he fell sidewise from his horse, pierced through the right lung.
I backed my horse to the middle of the bridge, and was joined by my stalwart friend, who had done for his second man with a dagger thrust in the side.
"Whew!" he panted, holding his dripping weapons on either side of him, so as not to get any more blood on his clothes. Then a grin of satisfaction appeared on his perspiring face, and he said:
"Three Guisards less to shout 'Vive la messe.' It's a pity we haven't time to exchange horses with these dead whelps of hell. But the others are coming up, and we ought to rest awhile."
We sheathed our weapons and spurred on our horses, again southward. Looking back, soon, we saw that the other pursuers, on coming up to their dead comrades, had chosen first to look after the belongings of the latter rather than to avenge their deaths. And while Barbemouche and his men, of whom there were now six, tarried over the dead bodies, we made such good speed that at last we were out of sight of them.
My first use of my returned breath was to thank my stalwart ally.
He received my gratitude with great modesty, said that the Lord had guided his arm in the fight, and expressed himself with a humility that was in complete contrast to the lion-like fury shown by him in the combat. Judging him, from his phrases, to be a Huguenot, I asked whether he was one, by birth, as I was.
"By birth, from my mother," he replied. "My father was a Catholic, and in order to win my mother, he pretended to have joined the reformers. That deceit was the least of his many rascally deeds. He was one of the chosen instruments of the devil,—a violent, roystering cut-throat, but a good soldier, as was shown in Italy and at St. Quentin, Calais, Jarnac, and elsewhere. My mother, though only the daughter of an armorer's workman, was, in goodness, an angel. I thank God that she sometimes has the upper hand in me, although too often it is my father that prevails in me." He sighed heavily, and looked remorseful.
In subsequent talk, as we rode, I learned that he was a soldier who had learned war, when a boy, under Coligny. He had fought at his father's side against Italians, Spanish, and English, and against his father in civil war. His father had died of a knife-wound, received, not in battle, but from a comrade in a quarrel about a woman, during the sacking of a town. His mother, when the news of the fate of her unworthy spouse reached the village where she lived, died of grief. The son was now returning from that village, which was near Orleans, and whither he had been on a visit to his relations, to Gascony, where he had been employed as a soldier in the small army with which Henri of Navarre made shift to garrison his towns.
I told him that I hoped to find a place in that little army.
"You do well, monsieur," said the young soldier, whose intelligence and native dignity made him, despite his peasant origin, one with whom a gentleman might converse. "Some day they will learn in France of what stuff the little Bearnaise King is made. I have stood watching him when he little supposed that a common soldier might take note of such things, and I have seen on his face the sign of great intentions. More goes on under that black hair than people guess at,—he can do more than drink and hunt and make love and jest and swear."
He was in no haste to reach Gascony, he said, and so he intended to visit a former comrade who dwelt in a village some leagues from my road. In the afternoon, coming to the by-road which led to this place, he left me, with the words:
"My name is Blaise Tripault, and should it happen that you ever enroll a company for the King of Navarre—"
"The first name on my list shall be Blaise Tripault," I replied, smiling, and rode on, alone.
Whenever I heard riders behind me, I looked back. At evening I reached an eminence which gave a good view of the country through which I had passed. Two groups of horsemen were visible. One of these consisted of seven men. The chief figure was a burly one which I could not mistake,—that of Barbemouche.
"Peste!" I muttered, frowning. "So they are following me into Poitou! Am I never to have any rest?"
I took similar precautions that night to those which I had taken the night before. The next day, about noon, emerging out of a valley, I saw my pursuers on the top of the hill at my rear. Plainly, they intended to follow me to the end of the earth. I hoped they would stop in Poitiers and get drunk, but they tarried there no more than I. And so it was, later, at Civray and at Angoulême.
Every day I got one or two glimpses of this persistent pack of hounds. Every night I used like measures to make sudden flight possible. One night the sound for which I kept my ears expectant reached them,—the sound of horses' hoofs on the hard road. I dropped from the open window of the inn at which I was, led out my horse from the shed, and made off, southward. The noise made by their own horses prevented my pursuers from hearing that made by mine. Presently the clatter abruptly ceased, whereupon I knew that they had stopped at the inn which I had left. My relief at this was offset by chagrin at a discovery made by me at the same moment: I had left my bag of golden crowns in the inn chamber. I dared not now go back for them. Well, Nerac could not be far away, now. I had traversed a good part of Guienne. The Dordogne was behind me.
I was glad that I had taken better care of the letter from Marguerite to her husband than I had taken of my crowns. Fortunately it had not left my doublet. I felt that my future depended on the delivery of that letter. There could be no doubt that Marguerite had recommended me in it with a favor that would obtain for me both protection and employment from the King of Navarre.
Daylight came, and with it hunger. I stopped at an inn, and was about to dismount, when I remembered that I had no money.
I could do without food for a time, but my horse could not. I told the landlord,—a short, heavy, square-faced, small-eyed man,—that I would, later, send him payment for a breakfast. He looked at me with a contempt that even a peasant dare show to a gentleman, when the gentleman has no money.
"Very well, then," I said. "I will leave you security."
He looked more respectful at this, and made a quick examination of me with his eyes.
"Unless you have some jewelry about you," he said, "your sword is the only thing that I would accept."
"You clod," I exclaimed, in a rage. "I ought to give you my sword through the body."
"A gentleman ought not to demand, for nothing, that which a poor man makes his living by selling," answered the host, turning to go in.
I looked down at my horse, which had already shown an endurance beyond its stock, and which now turned its eyes, hungrily, towards the inn stable. At the same time I thought I heard the sound of hoofs, away northward. After all, the delivery of the letter depended more on the horse than on my sword, for one horse is more likely to beat seven horses than one sword to beat seven swords.
To try whether it were possible, I made one movement, as if to hand over the weapon. But my arm refused. As well try to pluck the heart out of my body, and give it to the dog's keeping. Rather kill the man on his own threshold and, like a brigand, help myself. But I chose to be merciful.
"Be quick, then," I said. "Bring me some wine, and feed my horse as it stands here. I could take, for nothing, what you ask such high security for."
"And I have three strong sons," said the innkeeper, impudently. But he brought the wine, and ordered one of his sons to bring oats for the horse. So we made our breakfast there, horse and man, standing before the inn door. When the animal had licked up the last grain, I suddenly hurled the heavy wine-mug at the innkeeper's head, wheeled my horse about, and galloped off, shouting back to the half-stunned rascal, "Your three sons must be swift, as well as strong, to take my sword." And I rode on, southward.
"Will the Guisards follow me over this river, also?" I asked myself, asI crossed the Garonne.
In the afternoon, I stopped for another look backward. There was not a soul to be seen on the road.
"Adieu, M. Barbemouche!" I said. "I believe you have grown tired of me at last."
At that instant a group appeared at the distant turn of the road. I counted them. Seven! And they were coming on at the speed of the wind.
I patted my horse on his quivering neck. "Come, old comrade," I said."Now for one last, long race. In your legs lies my future."
He obeyed the spur, and his increased pace revealed a slight lameness, which had not before been perceptible.
"We have only to reach some Gascon town," I said to him. "The soldiers of the King of Navarre will protect the bearer of a letter to him from their Queen."
I turned in my saddle, and looked back. They were gaining ground.
"They know that this is their last chance," I said. "We are near the country held by the King of Navarre, and so they make a last effort before giving up the chase. On, my staunch fellow! You shall have fine trappings, and shall fare as well as your master, for this!"
The animal maintained its pace as if it understood; but it panted heavily and foamed, its eyes took on a wild look, and its lameness increased.
"They are coming nearer, there is no doubt of it!" I told myself. "Have I escaped from the Louvre and from Paris, led my enemies a chase through five provinces, to be taken when refuge is at last in sight? Shall Marguerite's letter to Henri of Navarre fall into the hands of those who wish him no good?"
Tears gushed from my eyes as I thought of the cruelty of destiny, which had sustained me so far in order to betray me at the end. I took the letter from my doublet, and held it ready to tear into pieces should I indeed be caught. Although Marguerite was thought to have secrets with the Duke of Guise, it was likely that she would not wish him to know what she might write to her husband, whose political ally she always was.
And now my horse dropped its head lower at each bound forward. The seven horses behind showed no sign of tiring.
"Thank God, I kept my sword! I can kill one of them, at least!"
I no longer looked back. Blindly forward I went, impelled only to defer the end to the last possible moment. God knew what might yet intervene.
Suddenly my horse gave a snort of pain, stumbled blindly, and fell to his knees. He slid forward a short distance, carried on by his impetus, and then turned over on his side, and lay quivering. I had taken my feet from the stirrups at his stumble, so that I now stood over his body.
I heard the loud clank of the hoofs behind. I stepped over the horse, and drew my sword. A short distance ahead was a clump of scrubby pines; there I would turn and make my stand.
Then was the time when I might have torn up the letter, had I not suddenly forgotten my intention. I held it clutched in my hand, mechanically, as I ran. I was conscious of only one thing,—that death was bearing down on me. The sound of the horses' footfalls filled my ears. Louder and louder came that sound, drowning even the quick panting of my breath. Again came that aching in the side, that intolerable pain which I had felt in my flight from Paris.
I pressed my hand to my side, and plunged forward. Suddenly the road seemed to rise and strike me in the face. I had fallen prostrate, and now lay half-stunned on the earth. I had just time to turn over on my back, that I might face my pursuers, when the foremost horse came up.