Half-an-hour later, when I quitted the presence of the Queen, it was as one to whom the world was opening afresh, and in that brief interval I had felt and begun to understand the subtle intellect of Catherine, of the existence of which few as yet were aware.
In regard to the mission with which I was entrusted I am pledged to preserve silence. The people concerned in it are dead, and when I follow them the secret will go with me. Let it suffice for me to say that my task was such that a man of honour could accept, and that if I failed the preservation of my skin was my own affair, for help I would get from none. Hidden in the inner pocket of my vest was a dispatch to Montluc, the King's lieutenant in the South. In my hand I openly bore a letter, sealed with thepalleof the Medici, and addressed in the Queen's own writing to the King. It was to be the means of my freeing the gates of Paris if difficulty arose, and how it did so I shall presently show.
I found my friends awaiting me, and Le Brusquet asked:
"Well, have you come forth a made man?"
"Monsieur, I will answer you that," I said with assumed gravity, "if you will tell me who betrayed me to the Queen."
I looked from one to the other, and they both laughed.
"Behold the traitor, then!" And Le Brusquet pointed with his finger at me.
"Yes, you!—as if you had called it from the housetops.Mon ami, did ever hear of a bourgeois handling sword as you, or bearing armsun coq d'or griffe de sable, en champ d'azur? Those arms are on your wine-cups—if they exist still—they are on the hilt of the sword you lent me."
"Morbleu!"
"But that is not all. In the gay, red days, when Lorgnac here and I had all the world before us, we were of the College of Cambrai. It is true we entered as you left; but we knew you, and when all Paris was full of your name Lorgnac and I, and others whom you knew not, aped the fall of your cloak, the droop of your plume, the tilt of your sword. Those days are gone, and until last night you, I thought, were gone with them."
"Monsieur!"
"Listen! There is more yet. I but told the Queen of the arms you bore. She recognised them at once."
"That is not strange; the Vidame d'Orrain is in Paris!"
"True! But she remembered your history—every detail of it. It was long ago, and many things have happened, and the Seine there has rolled much water under its bridges since then, but she had forgotten nothing. My friend, they who say the Medicis ever forgets are fools—blind in their folly. And so, for the sake of last night, and a little for the days that have gone, we will see pretty things yet, God willing! Eh, De Lorgnac?"
"I for one look forward to the day when a brave man will come to his own," replied the other, and their kindness touched me to the quick.
I am not one gifted with the power of speech—indeed, I hold that the greater the tongue the smaller the heart—but I found words to thank these gallant gentlemen, and De Lorgnac said:
"Monsieur, it is enough thanks to hold us in your esteem, and we will say no more about it. I have, however, some information that may be useful. Your brother the Vidame left Paris this evening for the South, it is said. Thus one danger is at any rate removed from your path."
It was something to know that Simon was gone. I thanked De Lorgnac, and added:
"Now, messieurs, for my news. I know not if I have come forth from that chamber"—and I pointed behind me—"a made man or not. This much I know, I am the bearer of a letter, the delivery of which must not be delayed, and I must leave Paris with the dawn, or before—horse or no horse."
"The horses I said were my care," De Lorgnac said. And then turning to Le Brusquet: "Await me on the steps that lead to the eastern gallery; I am relieved in less than an hour. We will then take monsieur here to my house, where there are two horses in the stables at his disposal, and the rest concerns himself."
Le Brusquet and I went back as we came, his constant companion, the ape, with us. Passing through the open arch I have already mentioned we halted on the steps that lead from the balcony to the eastern wing, and here we awaited De Lorgnac.
For a little there was a silence. Perhaps we were both impressed by the scene. In front lay the river, a band of silver, with here and there the twinkling, swaying lights of a crossing boat upon it. All around was the great city, and from the distance there came a murmuring hum of voices, like waves lapping upon a far-off shore. Around us, towering above and ringing us in with its immense strength, rose the Louvre, its vast outlines looking, if possible, larger and more gigantic in the enchanted light.
After a space Le Brusquet began to speak of the Vidame, my brother, and so we passed the time in converse until De Lorgnac came. He bade us haste if we wished to quit the Louvre ere the pontlevis were raised, and hurrying after him we made our way to the southern gate, the only one open. As we went onwards the desolation that marked the entrance to the Queen's apartments was no longer visible. Ever and again we were stopped and challenged by sentries.
"Hein!" exclaimed Le Brusquet, "the Scots archers keep good ward."
"Quick! Hurry!" was De Lorgnac's answer. "There goes the first signal for closing the gates!"
And as he spoke a clarion rang out shrilly. We had reached the outer court by this, and were hurrying for the bridge that led to the pontlevis when we saw a tall man, his cuirass glittering like silver in the moonlight, step out of the shadow and signal to a trumpeter, who stood at his side.
"A moment, De Lorges. Stay!" And Lorgnac ran up to him. "Faith! but your time is punctual."
Montgomery de Lorges laughed as he laid a restraining hand on his trumpeter. "I have more than half a mind to give the signal," he said. "There is a rare flagon of Arbois in my apartment, and you would have been forced to share it. Come, change your mind and stay."
"Thanks; but I cannot. We are bound to my house, where you are very welcome if you care to come."
"And leave my post? No, no!"
"Au revoir, then."
"Au revoir."
And we passed over the bridge. Almost had we freed it when the trumpet sounded again, and with a rattling of chains the huge pontlevis rose.
"Faith! 'twas a narrow thing. Had we been but a minute later the Scot would have barred all egress." And Le Brusquet looked back at the gate through which we had passed. It lay on the other side of the pontlevis—the fosse between us—and was of angular shape, surmounted by a statue of Charles V. of France, and, as De Lorgnac said, was already doomed to destruction to make way for the improvements contemplated by the King.
It was midnight now, and the streets were almost deserted, though here and there were groups of people collected together for mutual protection. As time was short we decided to take the Rue St. Thomas du Louvre despite its ill-paved and noisome condition. Passing the fountain near the Marché des Innocents we turned up by the St. Eustache into the Tiquetonne, and thence Rue Tire Boudin was but a short step. I need not say with what joy the good Pierrebon received me, and after a light supper—in which, I fear, I did but scant justice to De Lorgnac's Joué—I determined to snatch an hour or so of rest before starting. Before doing so, however, Lorgnac took me to see the horses. They looked what he said they were—good, stout roadsters. I asked him his price, but, as I expected from one of his generous nature, he offered them to me as a gift. This I was determined not to accept, and finally, after much persuasion, he took forty crowns of the sun for the two. This was barely their worth, but nothing would induce him to accept a denier more.
The valise I had packed contained the requisites for a journey, and having changed my attire I decided to take such rest as I could get in a chair until it was time to start. I seemed to have barely closed my eyes when I was awakened again by the touch of a hand on my shoulder. It was Le Brusquet.
"Eh bien," he said, "but you sleep like an honest man! It has gone three. The horses are ready, and De Lorgnac and Pierrebon await you below. Come!"
So saying he led the way down. We had to go to the stables, and in the yard were the two horses ready saddled. Lorgnac was also there, and to my surprise I saw that he too was mounted.
"I will see you to the gates," he explained as he caressed his horse, a magnificent grey charger.
"And as for me," said Le Brusquet, "I will wish you good fortune here, and a safe return, and the sword you lent me is in secure keeping."
And so we rode out in the grey darkness of the morning through the solitary streets, where there was never a sign of life except an occasional dog, which—homeless and friendless—stared wistfully after us as we went past. I had decided to leave Paris by the Porte St. Michel, and this all the more as the captain of the gate—the Vicomte de Créquy—was a near relative of De Lorgnac, and the passage through might, perhaps, be made easier on this score. It was still dark as we trotted down the Rue de la Harpe under the shadow of the Sorbonne, having passed the Pont au Change and the Pont St. Michel without difficulty, although we expected some check there.
On our coming up to the Porte St. Michel the guard challenged us, threatening to fire with his arquebus if we did not halt. This we were compelled to do, and a parley ensued. The result was that the under-officer of the guard came forth, with two or three of his men, and allowed us to approach.
On our coming up, and on my explaining that I desired to have the gates opened, he swore as he surveyed us with the aid of a lantern that he swung in our faces.
"Mordieu!" he said, with a rough southern accent—and a grim old soldier he was—"are you madmen, or have you dropped from the clouds, not to know that the gates are shut and will not be opened till sunrise?"
"That may be, monsieur," I replied; "but I have a letter to the King—to the King, mind you—which he must get ere he starts for the hunt."
"He!" he said doubtfully. "A letter to the King! You will have to take it on wings, then. But from whom is this letter?" he added suspiciously.
"That, monsieur, does not concern you. The fact remains that I have this letter, and it is you who will have to answer for its late delivery, not I."
"Then let me see it."
I pulled out the letter and showed it to him, without, however, letting it pass from my hands. He cast the light of the lantern on it, and looked this way and that at the seals and at the address, muttering to himself the while.
"Devil take me! But I never could read. Here! Can any one of you read this?" And he turned to his men, but they one and all shook their heads.
"I will read it for you if you like," said De Lorgnac as he pushed his horse forwards.
"You!"
"Yes. I am Monsieur de Lorgnac, the lieutenant of the Queen's guard."
The old soldier made a mock bow. "And I," he said, "am Agrippa Pavanes, without aDe, lieutenant of the Gate of St. Michel; and your friend there is, I suppose, MonsieurdeCroquemort, lieutenant of Trouands. And, as we all know each other now, I tell you plainly you must hold patience by the tail as best you may until the gates are opened. Letter or no letter, I will not let you through."
And so saying he would have turned away, but Lorgnac said quietly:
"You will be good enough, monsieur, to inform Monsieur de Créquy that I am here and desire to see him at once."
Agrippa Pavanes swung round and faced us, his hand on his sword-hilt.
"I am in charge of this gate at present, and I will act as I think best. I may not be able to read or write, but if you do not be off I will make a full stop on you with the point of my sword," he snarled.
Affairs were getting serious. Nor do I know what might have happened, but at this juncture a head appeared at a window in one of the flanking towers of the gate, and an angry and a sleepy voice asked what was the matter below.
"It is I, Créquy," began De Lorgnac, and the other exclaimed:
"You! What in the—saints' name—brings you here, De Lorgnac, at this hour of the night, or rather morning? Is it not enough that I am banished here to keep watch over this infernal gate? And now you——"
"Come, Créquy; this is a matter of urgency. There is a letter here from the Queen which must reach the King before thepetit couvert, and your lieutenant will not let the messenger pass through the gates."
"He is quite right! But a letter from the Queen, did you say?"
"Yes; and to the King in person. Come down, and see for yourself."
"Not I; I am in my shirt, and my health is delicate. Send up the letter. Pavanes, do me the favour to bring it up."
I handed the letter to Agrippa, who took it up, with very much the surly air of a dog walking away with a bone. A moment after he too appeared at the window with his light, and Créquy examined the letter and the seals.
"'Tis right, Pavanes," we heard him say; "'tis the Queen's own hand and seal. Let the messenger through." And leaning out of the window he repeated the same to us.
De Lorgnac thanked him, regretting, at the same time, the necessity he had of arousing him; and Créquy swore back, in mock tones of injury, that he would have a special cell built for disturbers of his rest, and, wishing us the day, retired abruptly.
Agrippa carried out his orders with an ill grace, and made no answer to my thanks; so, bidding farewell to De Lorgnac, I put spurs to my horse, and, followed by Pierrebon, rode out of Paris.
The stars were yet shining as we skirted the heights of Charenton, but it was day when we saw Villaneuve St. Georges on its wooded hill. Here, where the Yères wound between banks covered with willows and poplars, I first drew rein, and taking the King's letter from my pocket tore it into a hundred fragments. Some I let drift down the stream, and the remainder I scattered to the winds. I may say at once that this was in accordance with the Queen's instructions. The letter was merely intended to enable me to free the gates, and after that it was to be destroyed. It had served its purpose, and now went its way. Needless to add, I had no intention to touch at Fontainebleau or disturb thepetit couvertof the King. At Melun, therefore, where horse and man were refreshed, I crossed the bridge, and took the road to Etampes. Half way, where the little town of Alais lies on the Essonne, I turned due south, and entered the Orleannois by Malesherbes.
There was many a league yet between me and Montluc, and though I had to ride hard I had yet to husband the horses, lest they should break down, or in case of emergency.
By avoiding the main roads and large towns and keeping to by-paths I lessened the chance of danger as much as possible. At Candes, which lies at the junction of the Loire and the Vienne, I heard that the Guidon of Montpensier was hard at hand, and, knowing well the reputation of this person, I bade Pierrebon saddle up, and we started without a meal, though we had ridden far and fast. In a short time we entered the forest of Fontevrault, and my spirits rose high at the thought that in a brief space I would be in Poitiers, where Montluc lay, and my mission accomplished.
So far so good; but towards midday I began to feel the need of rest, and splashing across a ford of the Negron I called a halt on the opposite bank and looked around me; whilst Pierrebon, who was a little stiff, jumped from his hackney, and began to mop his brow and stretch his legs.
We were in the heart of the forest, and to the north, south, east, and west of us there was nothing but trees and dense underwood, with here and there a long, shimmering glade or an open space, through which a small streamlet hummed, its banks gay with flowers.
But I confess that at the moment I had no eyes for the scene—for the yellow mary-buds, the blue of the wild hyacinth, or the white stars of the wind-flowers; for leaf and shade, and all the enchantment of the woodland. In brief, I was famished, and would have given a gold Henri to have seen a signboard swinging in the air. And, besides, it was dawning upon me that somehow we had missed the track.
"Pierrebon," I said, "do you know how far it is to Marçay?"
Pierrebon shook his head dolefully, saying as he did so that he did not even know where we were.
"Then, my friend, we are lost in Fontevrault Forest."
Pierrebon made no answer to this, but mounted his hackney. And, touching my nag with the spur, we cantered along a lean glade, trusting that the track which ran along it would hap to be the right one. Now and again as we sped onwards a startled deer would break cover and rush through brake and bramble, and once an evil-tempered old boar, feeding under an older oak, glared savagely at us as we passed, grinding his tusks in senseless rage till the foam flecked his brindled sides.
We were in the deeps of the forest now, and, high noon as it was, it was grey as twilight. Here, as we eased up for a moment, a dog-wolf crossed our path, and with snarling lip and shining fangs slunk into the thorn. Oh, for a leash of hounds now! But on we went, catching a glimpse of a grim head peering after us through the thorn—a head with blazing, angry eyes, that almost seemed to speak. It was lucky it was not winter-tide, or that gentleman there would not be alone, but, with a hundred or so of his fellows, would have made rare sport with us, according to his lights.
Still we went on through the endless woods, which closed in deeper and deeper around us, until at last the track died utterly away in the tanglewood, and the horses began to give sign that they were beaten.
I saw that it was necessary to rest the beasts, and as I came to this conclusion we came upon a little natural clearing, where, around a clump of enormous elms, the turf was green as emerald and spangled with a hundred flowers. Immediately behind the trees the ground rose, forming a low hill covered with wild juniper and white thorn, and a little stream bustled by it, whilst from the leafy shades above the voices of many birds warbled sweet and low.
There was no need to tighten rein. The horses seemed to know of their own accord that they were to stop, and five minutes later they were cropping the rich forage; whilst I, stretched on the turf, my back against a tree, was resting with a sense of repose that would have been delicious except for the pangs of hunger gnawing at me in a manner that would take no denial.
"Hein," I grumbled to myself, "nothing to eat but grass! If I were the good King Nebuchadnezzar, now, I might do very well; but as it is——" And then I heard a chuckle, and saw Pierrebon fumbling with the valise. He cast a sly look at me, his blue eyes twinkling.
"Monsieur is hungry?"
"Famished."
"And thirsty?"
"Well, I have drank a little"—and I glanced at the streamlet—"but a cup of d'Arbois now, or even some white Rochecorbon, would be nectar. Confound my stupidity at losing the way! We should have been at Marçay hours ago; but—what the devil——"
In effect I might well have exclaimed, for Pierrebon had opened the valise and taken therefrom a bulging wallet; and as I watched him with astonished eyes he rapidly unpacked it, pulling forth a cold chicken, some Mayence ham, a loaf of bread, and a bottle of wine, which last he put down with a little flourish, saying as he did so: "'Tis red Joué, monsieur. Not so good as d'Arbois, nor so bad as Rochecorbon."
But I had already attacked the fowl, and answered, with my mouth full:
"Pierrebon, this is the best service you have ever rendered. Open the wine, and sit down and eat.Corbleu! but I will dub you knight, and you shall bear arms for this—a trussed capon on a field vert."
And then there was a silence, for, with the feast before us, time spent in talking was time wasted. Finally, the capon disappeared, the last slice of ham was divided with the edge of my dagger, the last drop drained from the bottle, and restful and contented we lay back in the shade; and Pierrebon slept, whilst I slipped into a waking dream. How long this lasted I know not; but I came to myself with a start, and looked around me.
The shadow had shifted, leaving Pierrebon asleep in the sunshine, his red face looking straight up at the blue sky. The horses too were asleep in the purple loosestrife, and there was an intense peace over all things. There as I lay, listening to the splashing of the water and the song of the birds, a line of deer came out to drink, and, catching sight of us, stopped and gazed, until a sudden panic took a little speckled fawn, and it dashed away madly through the thicket, followed by its mother and a cluster of startled doe, the stag going last at a slow trot.
I rose to my feet and saw how long the shadows were. In truth, it was time to be up and moving. So, arousing Pierrebon, we were soon mounted and jogging through the woods, with our backs to the west. We made good way now, for the nags were refreshed; yet we knew not where the night would bring us, for we were wholly lost.
Farther and farther we rode into the woods, holding desperately on to a faint track that wound and twisted through the endless aisles of the forest. As the hour grew later the sky overhead changed from blue to crimson and gold, and the sunset, stabbing through the lace-work of branches overhead, cast ruddy lights on the trees, deepening the shadows, and giving a ghostly distance to objects around, so that we seemed in a fairy realm of enchantment.
As the sunset began to fade, and the red and gold overhead changed softly to purple and grey, over which the silver light of the moon would soon be cast, we decreased our speed, and now, riding side by side, peered anxiously into the wood for some sign of a human habitation; but there was none to be seen.
We rode in silence, for Pierrebon, to say truth, was uneasy at the uncanny stillness, and that awe with which Nature in her lonely grandeur inspires the dullest of mortals had begun to fill us. And so no word was spoken.
In and out the track wound, until at last it brought us to the very heart of the forest, where the shadows lay black and deep. Around us on every side the huge and aged trees, stretching in long lines of receding obscurity, stood like a phantom army of giants guarding some dreadful secret of the past. Twisted, distorted, and bent, with hairy, moss-grown trunks from which the decaying bark peeled like the mouldering cement on some old and forgotten ruin, the kings of the forest stood silent and grim, their branches stretched out in grisly menace—giant arms that threatened death to all who approached.
Deeper and yet more deep we rode into the gloom, though the sunset yet clung in a girdle of fire round the horizon, casting red blades of light between the tree trunks; and Pierrebon's cheek grew pale, for goblin and gnome and fay lived to him, and even I, who did not believe, felt if my sword played freely in my sheath. And then I tried to sing.
But so dismal were the echoes, so lowering the aspect of the mighty trees, that seemed, in the quaking shadows, to be instinct with life and motion, that "The Three Cavaliers" died away at the first verse; and then, from the woods in front of us, rang out a scream for help, so shrill and sharp in its agony that it froze the blood in our veins.
"'Tis a spirit!" gasped Pierrebon, with pale lips, and half pulled his horse round; but even as he did so the shriek rang out again—a woman's voice—and high and shrill in its octave of suffering. It was enough for me, and, sword in hand, I galloped for the sound.
A few strides of the good beast, a leap over a fallen tree trunk, and in a wide clearing I saw before me a deed of shame.
There was a man lying dead on the ground. There was a white-robed woman, screaming and struggling as two men tried to force her on to a horse; whilst another man, mounted on a white horse, with a white mask on his face, was urging them on to their work, and a long sword glittered in his hand.
I stayed not for a second, but, galloping straight on, made so sudden an assault that one of the knaves was down and twisting on the grass like a snake with a broken back, and the other had fled with a howl into the forest almost before my coming was realised.
But as the horse carried me on I felt a felon blow graze my cap, and I had but time to half turn and parry another when I found myself face to face with the masked man.
Even as the sparks flew from our swords, and I felt that I had met a master of fence, I knew it was Simon despite his mask. There lived not a man like him. Tall and thin, with long, bird-like limbs and a stooping back, with the features concealed by the white mask all but the eyes, which glittered like those of an angry asp, he seemed more spirit than man; and I felt as if I were crossing blade with some uncanny phantom of the woods rather than a thing of flesh and blood, as after a fierce bout we circled round, watching each other warily.
"So, brother, we meet at last," I said. But he made no answer, though his eyes flashed evilly as he came on again with a swift, lightning attack that chance alone enabled me to avoid. And then my life was on my wrist and eye; but I kept it, and began to slowly force him back.
God forgive me! he was my brother; but he would have slain me there like a mad dog—and life is dear. He never said a word until he was being driven back, and then an oath broke from him.
'Tis an ill thing to swear with a sword in one's hand. That oath gave me strength and cooled me to ice.
"Come!" I said, "you would not slay your heir; or are you going to make room for me, Simon?" And my sword point ripped his doublet.
The answer was a thrust that ripped my coat in turn, and then followed the rasp of our blades. It was almost dark above us now, but a lance height from the ground the horizon was still flaming red. We could barely see each other's blades, but guided ourselves by the little circles of light the sword points made as they flashed hither and thither, seeking for an opening, to slip forward like a snake's tongue.
Twice had I been touched. The first time it was a parryen primethat saved me; the second time Simon had hit me on my bridle arm. It was only a touch; but I felt the warm blood on my sleeve, and Simon laughed like a devil.
But he mistook his man. Collecting all my strength I made so furious an attack that I slowly drove him against the belting of trees, and then there was a lightning thrust in tierce, a quick parry, and a return over Simon's heart, but the point of my blade glanced from a steel vest he wore. In glancing, however, it slipped upwards, and catching the mask almost rent it from my brother's face, leaving it half hanging, and almost blinding him.
In my fury I followed up the thrust with another, but with the skill that was his alone he partly parried it, though my blade found his sword arm, just above the elbow joint; but as Simon's now useless hand fell to his side he saw his defeat, and, with matchless presence of mind, drove his spurs into his horse, and dashing off at full speed was lost to view in a moment.
It was useless to follow, though I rode a few yards after him, and then, restraining myself, I pulled round and came back. Then I heard a voice thank me, and Pierrebon appeared at my horse's head, as though he had dropped from the clouds, and as I dismounted he burst forth: "Now, praise to St. Hugo of Orrain! We have defeated the bandits."
Man of the world and of many experiences as I was; old courtier, who had seen the fairest of my land in the galleries of the Tournelles, or the salons of the Louvre, I confess that I had never seen so graceful a figure, or heard so sweet a voice as that which thanked me now. As for her, when I stepped up, my sword still in my hand, some thought that she had only escaped the beak of the vulture to feel the talons of the hawk made her shrink back into silence.
I felt this, and, bowing, said gravely: "There is no danger now, mademoiselle. I doubt if our friends will return; but I fear it is far to any refuge to-night."
My words had effect. She was brave enough, and she answered:
"We are not far from the Mable, monsieur!"
"From the Mable! Then Marçay is behind?"
"About six miles."
"Ah! I thought we had overridden ourselves. And Richelieu is at hand?"
"'Tis but a bare league."
"Then in two hours at most we will be there. You will, of course, ride my horse, and Pierrebon and I will share the other."
"Thank you!" she said simply. And then with an effort, as she pointed before her: "Monsieur, there is a man lying there who gave up his life for me. I cannot leave him thus."
And Pierrebon answered: "There are two, lady. I have covered them with their cloaks, for they are both dead."
"A moment," I said, and I too went and looked at the twain.
There was no mistake. For these two the trees and the sky, the good and the bad of the world had ceased to be; and as I pulled their cloaks over their faces I muttered to myself, with a remembrance of the course of "The Philosophy":
"Maximum vitae bonum mors."
Then I came back to the lady's side. "Mademoiselle, for these two lying there, the honest man and the knave, what can be done at present has been done. Come, I pray you! It grows late."
"Oh, but I cannot!" And she too went forward to where the long dark things lay stretched out on the sward, and shrinking, she looked, and then on a sudden she sank on her knees, and prayed, and because, whatever had happened, I had never lost my faith in God, without whom we are nothing, I knelt too, and Pierrebon with me, and in our own way we each sought comfort. After a while mademoiselle rose again, and with a voice half choked with tears, said:
"Monsieur, I am ready."
We placed her on my brown horse, which Pierrebon led, I riding his, and so we took our way in silence—a silence now and again broken by a sob from the girl. I said nothing, deeming it wiser to let her be with her thoughts; but as we came to the skirts of the wood I spoke:
"Mademoiselle, I promise you that I will see to the Christian burial of your friend."
And then she wept unrestrainedly. To tell the truth, I knew not what to do, and Pierrebon kept his head well to the front, looking neither to the right nor to the left. In sheer desperation I asked her not to weep, whereat she wept the more; and then I touched her shoulder with my hand, as one would caress a child; but she shook me off, turning a face that seemed scared with terror to me, and I could only stammer out an apology, and remain silent. At last the violence of her grief abated, and I ventured to ask who the dead man was.
"He," she answered sadly, "was a trusted servant, and he was taking me home. His name was Olivet."
"Will not mademoiselle do me the honour to give me her name as well? I am called Bertrand Broussel."
She looked up as I spoke, and a nervous laugh escaped her.
"I am glad I know your name, monsieur; it is one I shall always think upon with gratitude. As for me, I—I am called Diane. I am the niece of Cujus the furrier, a citizen of Tours, who is as a father to me. I was going to rejoin him from Saumur when all this happened."
"Have you any friends near, where I can leave you?"
"Oh yes! Near Richelieu I have friends; and, once in the house of theBailiff of Muisson, I would be safe."
"I will see you there, with your permission."
"Thank you! And I want to tell you how this happened. I was going back home from Saumur, under the charge of Olivet, and we halted at Marçay to rest. About a half-hour after leaving Marçay we were set upon and taken prisoners by the men from whom you have saved me.
"Where they were taking us I cannot tell. As evening came I heard your voice singing, and, screaming for help, I slipped from my saddle, with the intention of running towards you. Olivet made a brave effort to help me—but——" And it was only with an effort that she prevented another breakdown.
"Have you any idea who these men are?"
She remained silent, as if collecting her thoughts. And I went on:
"I ask because I recognised one—the leader."
"Ah, monsieur, I feared to mention his name. He is a great noble, and he—he—but I cannot tell you." And she stopped, with a little shiver.
"You need not, madame. He is Simon, Vidame d'Orrain."
"Yes," she said, and our talk stopped. My cheeks were burning at the thought of Simon's deed of shame, and I put this down to the long score I had against him. And so on we rode, until we passed the skirts of the forest, though still keeping to its edge, and came to a stretch of moorland, beyond which was a series of small hills. We could now hear water running like a mill-race, and from the hills there glinted the lights of a large village.
"That is Richelieu, monsieur," exclaimed mademoiselle, "and the water that we hear is the Mable."
"See there, monsieur!" Pierrebon suddenly cut in, as he arrested mademoiselle's horse, and pointed to his right, where on the edge of the forest we saw lights at the windows of a low-lying, irregular building half concealed amidst trees. "See there!" continued Pierrebon; "that is a house where at least we shall be able to sup and get a guide."
"A guide," I exclaimed, "with Richelieu before us!"
"Listen to the Mable," urged Pierrebon; "is there a bridge? If not we must ford it; and they say the river is deep and dangerous; but perhaps mademoiselle knows the ford?"
"Indeed I do not."
Considering all things, I came to the conclusion that Pierrebon was right, and that it would be wiser to seek the house. As we approached it, mademoiselle said:
"It may be the hunting-lodge of Le Jaquemart, belonging to the Sieur deRichelieu."
"Well, we will know soon," I said, and urged Pierrebon to quicken his pace. There was but a bare quarter mile of moorland, covered with yellow broom and purple thistle, to be passed, and then we came up to the house. As we did so we perceived that it was surrounded by a high stone wall, and mademoiselle exclaimed positively:
"It is Le Jaquemart; but it is strange it is occupied, for the Sieur deRichelieu is in Italy."
"Bien," I thought to myself, "the furrier's niece knows all about the Sieurs de Richelieu!" And then aloud: "Perhaps he has returned with Montluc, mademoiselle; or it may be that friends of his hunt the forest."
"M. de Parthenay is near Loudon."
I made no answer, for at this moment we reined up before the gate, and glanced at the massive, studded portal, and the old wall, with its soft crowning of ivy on the top, and grey-green, moss-covered sides, where the yellow wall-pepper and white serpyllum pushed between the crevices of the stonework. And as we looked we heard from within a peal of loud laughter, a woman's voice mingling with the deeper tones of that of a man. As the laughter ceased Pierrebon exclaimed:
"They are gay within, monsieur!" And then, on a sign from me, he knocked long and loudly.
"Enough, enough! You would waken the dead."
"One more, monsieur!" And Pierrebon, who already smelt his supper, brought the brass lion's head of the knocker with such force against the studded door that it might have been heard a quarter mile away.
From within came a shrill whistle, and a voice called out, with a foreign accent: "The gate, Piero! Who is it? Someone knocks."
"And will knock again soon if you do not make haste," grumbled Pierrebon; whilst I pricked up my ears, and glanced at mademoiselle, and saw her drooping in her saddle. Now we heard a heavy, lurching step on the other side of the gate, a sliding panel covering a Judas Hole was drawn back, a man's face appeared dimly, and a voice asked in halting French:
"Who are you? What do you want?"
"Supper and a guide," began Pierrebon; but dismounting I put him aside, and said:
"We are three travellers, one of whom is a lady. We have lost our way, and seek but a guide to the ford."
As I spoke the man on the other side of the gate raised a dark lantern he had hitherto held low in his hand, and flashed it through the opening, whilst he peered at us.
"Only three?" he asked.
"And one a lady," I answered; whilst Pierrebon let his tongue wag: "Oh, the mole! To want a lantern in this moonlight!" And following his words came the voice from the house, asking again in Italian:
"What is the matter, Piero?"
To which Piero answered: "I come, signor," and with a brief "Wait!" to us, swung round on his heel and went back, Pierrebon, as he looked at the retreating figure through the grille, saying, "By St. Hugo! monsieur, we might be a party of the Guidon's Free Riders, or Captain Loup and his gang!" But, paying no heed to his words, I turned to mademoiselle.
"I like not this place. We had better take our chance of finding the ford. Come!"
At this Pierrebon, with the freedom of an old servant, began to protest, and mademoiselle aided him.
"Oh, monsieur, could we not rest here for a little?"
"We may rest here for ever if we do," I said a little sharply. "Come!"
My words had, perhaps, too much of command in their tone, for she answered back coldly: "I intend to rest here, monsieur; you may go on if you like."
At this I said nothing more, and let her have her way, but gave Pierrebon a warning grip of the arm to be careful. Pierrebon nodded in comprehension. He was no fool, though many thought him so, and though if his betters drew steel he as a rule let matters lie with them, yet he could be dangerous—a thing which people found out sometimes when it was a trifle late.
We had to wait a space, then we heard the woman's voice laughing once more within. Something in its hard, clear tones jarred upon me, and I glanced at mademoiselle, but she kept her face aside. But now we heard returning footsteps, the grating of a bolt drawn back, the turning of a key, and then the gate opened; whilst Piero, a huge figure, stood before us, swinging his lantern, and beside him another man, armed with an arquebus, the fuse burning like a glow-worm.
"Enter," said Piero; "the signor will receive you."
"Facilis est descensus Averni," I murmured to myself, and led the way, and the gate was shut behind us. Before us lay a short drive bordered with tall poplars, and on either hand a tangle of a garden that had run to a wilderness. As we rode up a woman's figure appeared at an open window, but stepped back at once, and I asked Piero, in his own Italian:
"Has Monsieur de Richelieu returned?"
The giant answered gruffly: "I know not, signor. He who is within is the Captain Torquato Trotto."
"Torquato Trotto! I know not the name."
And Piero made no answer, for we had now come to the door of the house. Here I helped mademoiselle to alight, whilst Pierrebon took charge of the horses, and mademoiselle and I entered the house. At the same time a man came running down the stairs to meet us. As his eyes fell on us a slight exclamation of surprise broke from him; but he checked it on the instant, and advanced, saying in French:
"You are very welcome, madame and monsieur, I do assure you—very welcome."
And he bowed before us, courteously enough; but I caught the veiled mockery in his voice, and as I took the speaker in I thought he was bravo to his finger-tips.
"Monsieur," I said, "I thank you. We but crave permission to rest a while, and seek a guide to the ford of the Mable, for we have to be at Richelieu to-night."
"We will do what we can for you, monsieur. Be pleased to ascend. I will be with you in a moment. I have but a word to say to my man here. Excuse me!"
Leaving us to find our way upstairs Torquato Trotto went out into the porch where Piero the giant stood, cast a glance at the retreating figure of Pierrebon, who was leading the horses away, looked over his shoulder like a cat, and, gripping Piero by the arm, shook with laughter.
"Maledetto!" exclaimed Piero, who was of an evil temper, as he freed himself from Trotto's clutches, and looked at the swaying figure before him. "Loose hold, signor! Have you been bitten by a tarantula?"
"Oh! I could sing, I could shout, I could dance. Man! that is the very girl we want; and Monsieur the Vidame, who lies within, twisting in his chair, will pay a thousand fat, gold Henris for her when he knows. Ho! it will be rare news for him!"
"Are you sure?"
"As I live. Did I not watch her for a whole week at Saumur? 'Tis well we have not Aramon and the rest with us. The fewer there are the larger the shares. Can Malsain deal with the lackey?"
Piero grinned for reply.
"Well! let him be his care, and you had better stay at hand here. Give me the key of the gate, and, remember, a hundred crowns apiece to you and Malsain for this. And now for a word in the Vidame's ear."
With this he turned back into the house, leaving Piero looking after him.
"A hun—dred crowns apiece!Diavolo! Captain Torquato! If I knew the money was here I would make the whole thousand mine; and then—hey for Rome again! But a hundred crowns are a hundred crowns, and fill a purse rarely. Well, I go to warn Malsain!"
And the giant went slowly off, regretting in his heart what might have been.
In the meantime we found ourselves on a landing before an open door, disclosing a room brightly lit. There was a glimpse too of a table laid for supper, and near the table stood a tall woman, with black hair that hung to her waist, with bare rounded arms and painted cheeks, and a face that was beautiful still, though she had come to be what she was.
She was holding a cup of red wine in her hand, but stopped in the act of lifting it to her lips as she caught sight of us, and setting down the wine untasted advanced, saying:
"Enter, I pray you. La Marmotte bids you welcome."
"I thank you, madame," I replied bowing, with many misgivings in my heart, and inwardly cursing the folly that had made me yield and enter this house. But who is there who does not make mistakes?—and I for one have never set claim to be infallible. I was wrong, and I admit it—that is enough.
And so we went in, and for the first time there was light enough to see mademoiselle's face, and as I looked there came to me a sting of regret for the days that would never return. It was as if some devil had flashed before me a mirror in which the past was reflected; and, believe me, when one has lived and regretted it is not necessary to be in love for such a lightning flash of bitter memory to come to a man when he sees beside him the purity of innocence.
And so it was too with La Marmotte, who had turned to us with a light laugh, and lighter words to her lips; but laugh and words died away as she met the girl's look, and—I could read her like an open page—awakened memory took the woman back to the time when she herself was as the girl before her. And so, because there were yet undefiled wells of good in her soul, there came upon her an unwonted timidity, and it was with a respectful hesitation that she pressed upon us seats and refreshment. But even as she did so her eyes met mine with a half-imploring, half-defiant glance. She felt that I knew, though I thanked her for her courtesy as if she were a princess of the land.
Mademoiselle sank weariedly into a chair; whilst La Marmotte, with all the silent notes in her heart touched in some undefinable way, hovered over her, fearing to approach her, and yet feeling as if she must.
For me, I remained standing, softly rubbing my wounded arm, over which I had drawn my cloak, and looking around me here, there, and everywhere, for I knew we were in a trap, and trapped by my own folly. As I looked I saw something white showing beneath the cushions of a settle, and taking the cup of wine that La Marmotte handed to me I moved thereto, and, sitting down, looked more closely. It was a white mask. Softly drawing it forth, and, unobserved, slipping it into the pocket of my cloak, I saw in doing so that it was stained with fresh blood, and then I knew we were in the house of death.
At this moment Torquato Trotto appeared at the door with suave apologies, and stepping forward, rubbing his hands together, he said: "I regret to have appeared so discourteous; I trust that monsieur and madame will remain here for to-night."
"I am afraid, Signer Torquato Trotto, that is impossible."
"Per Bacco! You know me!" exclaimed the Italian in slight surprise.
"The name of Torquato Trotto is known in France," I said, and the brow of the man darkened.
"Perhaps I too can return the compliment, monsieur. You are——"
"Bertrand Broussel, bourgeois, of the Rue des Lavandières, Paris," I interrupted, and I caught a strange expression of disappointment in mademoiselle's eyes. "Hum!" I thought, "does the furrier's niece take me for a prince of the blood in disguise?"
La Marmotte, however, cut in at this juncture, for she saw the storm in the air, and I again said that we would go on at once, if Messire Trotto would of his kindness provide us with a guide; if not, we would go without one.
And Trotto answered blandly:
"Impossible! My lieutenant is away with my men, and I have no one here who knows the way. I am totally ignorant myself, or I would willingly help you. Besides, to go now would be madness. The road is infested by robbers—faith of a gentleman!"
"That is indeed true! I have just escaped them—thanks to the bravery of this gentleman here," exclaimed mademoiselle.
"Madame, you are lucky to have escaped; but you must tell us of your adventures as we sup," and he moved towards the table.
In the meantime Pierrebon, looking well to the right and left, led the horses towards the stables. Every shadow in the winding walk, every recess in the over-grown privet, hid a secret enemy to him. He avoided passing near the ruined summer-house for fear of the ambush that might be within, and then, finding the hedges close in upon the road, boldly took his beasts along the neglected parterres until at last he reached the stables. Here, near the open door he saw Malsain, tall and thin, but muscular and strong as whipcord, sitting down by the light of a guttering candle to a meagre repast of bread and cheese, washed down with water—for Malsain never touched wine.
"An evil-looking man," Pierrebon thought, as he glanced at Malsain sitting on a stool; and evil-looking indeed he was, with his hawk's face, thin cruel slit of a mouth, and one wicked eye that glowed with the same sombre fire as the fuse of his arquebus, which leaned against the wall behind him. And then from the man himself Pierrebon glanced at the hermit's fare before him. "St. Siege!" he groaned, "bread and cheese and cold water—with a dagger-thrust to follow for digestion, perhaps."
But now Malsain heard him, his hand went out silently to the arquebus, and he turned a yellow, threatening face towards the visitor.
"Hola!" exclaimed Pierrebon. "It is I. I have brought monsieur's horses for a feed and a rest."
"Ho! it is you." And Malsain, putting down his arquebus, returned to his cheese again as he added: "There are two stalls vacant there, and you will find oats in that barrel." He had not, of course, it will be understood, received Trotto's message as yet.
Pierrebon entered without further ceremony. There were already three horses in the stables; but, as Malsain had said, there were still two stalls vacant, and here he put the nags. Whilst attending to them, however, he kept glancing uneasily at the supper before Malsain, which was diminishing at a frightful rate, for the thin man ate like a cormorant. At last, unable to endure this more, he stopped rubbing down the brown hackney, and, stepping up to the table, took a seat on a stool opposite Malsain. Then, drawing his dagger, he helped himself without further ceremony to some cheese and bread, and glanced somewhat ruefully into the jug of water.
"Diable!" grumbled Malsain, "you are eating my supper."
"Well," and Pierrebon looked at him, "am I not your guest, as my master is your master's?"
Malsain said nothing, but scowled across the table at Pierrebon; and the latter, who was as alert as a weasel when it came to the push, went on: "But,compère, they feed you thinly here—and no wine!"
"I eat to my taste, and drink to my taste," growled Malsain; butPierrebon, not heeding his ill temper, continued:
"Now, with my master there is always a bottle of Rochecorbon, and a cut from a pasty, not to mention a crown-piece here and a crown-piece there; and I wager that in the house yonder there is something more than acid cheese and dry bread for hunger, or spring water for thirst."
"Be silent, fool! Take what you can get, or leave it," said Malsain sullenly, his hand slipping down to his side; but Pierrebon laughed cheerily as he cut another slice of cheese, his two blue Burgundian eyes steadily fixed on Malsain's sallow face, and as they looked at each other there came a heavy footfall outside, and Piero called out in his deep voice:
"Malsain! Here! A word with you!"
Malsain rose slowly, and went outside, and Pierrebon, following him with his glance, saw Piero's huge figure in the moonlight, and a chill came upon him.
"By St. Hugo! 'tis the ogre himself! And they consult together!" he murmured, wishing himself a hundred miles away, and he watched the twain moving off into the shadow, straining his ears to catch a word if possible, but at first he could hear nothing. Thus a minute or so passed, whilst the evil pair outside stood in the shadow of a copper beech whispering together. If Pierrebon could but hear a word to guide him! He dared not attempt to approach them, but was forced to stay where he was. At last he caught something. Malsain laughed out like a hyena: "I would slit their throats for fifty, and throw the Vidame into that——" But Piero roughly bade him lower his voice, and the whispering continued.
Pierrebon heard no more. That there was danger in the air he knew. He had not forgotten my warning pressure on his arm as we entered the gates of Le Jaquemart, and now his worst fears were confirmed. For a moment his heart sank, but for a moment only, for as he looked around him his eyes fell on the arquebus, where it leaned against the wall. The fuse was still alight. There was no time to hesitate. Malsain was already returning; and if it were to be war Pierrebon thought he might as well begin, and strike the first blow. Quick as thought he arose, and taking up the arquebus moved off near the horses, and he was blowing on the match to hearten the fire when Malsain stepped in.
"Blood of a Jew! what are you doing with the arquebus, fool? Put it down this instant, or I slit your throat." And Malsain, his poniard in his hand, stood near the table, glaring savagely at Pierrebon.
"Pardon!" said Pierrebon. "I was but looking at it. 'Tis a noble weapon. And one well suited to a soldier's hand."
"It could kill too, I wager," said Pierrebon, laughing, as he raised the weapon, and pointed it at Malsain, who went back the step he had taken, saying, with an oath,
"It is loaded, fool! Put it down at once."
"Hein! it is loaded. It would kill, then, if I fired—eh?" And then, with a sudden change of voice and manner: "Ah, bandit! move a step, utter the slightest cry, and you are a dead man! Throw down your poniard!"
Malsain looked at the barrel of the arquebus. It was steady as a rock, and behind the little black muzzle the match burned bravely; whilst behind the match was a red face with two blue eyes that looked as if they meant what their owner said. Malsain let his dagger drop with a clash.
Pierrebon then advanced a couple of paces nearer, still holding the arquebus at Malsain's breast.
"Now, my friend! Take that bridle from the peg at your hand and fasten your ankles together. What!—you hesitate?"
Malsain hissed something between his teeth, and snatched the bridle from the peg.
"Go on! A running knot—lap it well round, and finish off! There!That is right! You are no novice, I see,mon vieux!"
Malsain made no answer, but stood bolt upright before Pierrebon, his face grey, his one eye bloodshot, his lips livid. It is true that he had tied himself as loosely as possible, but still he was terribly crippled; and from his soul he regretted that he had not made a rush at Pierrebon, and chanced his fortune; but now this was hopeless.
Worse, however, was to come, and it came at once.
"Now," said Pierrebon, "fasten your wrist to your ankle—your left wrist."
"It is impossible," said Malsain thickly.
"Then I shall blow your brains out when I have counted three. One!"
Malsain looked about him with his red eye, and shuffled uneasily.
"Two!"
Malsain swore again, a nameless oath.
"Th——"
Malsain stooped down with the rapidity of lightning, and began fumbling with the yard or so of trailing rein.
He tried to deceive Pierrebon; but the candle gave enough light to see, and Pierrebon was sharp. There was no help for it, and at last it was done, badly done, but enough to utterly cripple Malsain. The final order now came:
"Now lie down on your face."
This was difficult; but there are circumstances under which men do all but impossible things, and Malsain performed the feat.
After this the worthy Pierrebon took a more active part in the binding of Malsain. Still holding the arquebus in one hand he unhitched another bridle from its peg. Then, placing the arquebus athisfeet, he drew his dagger and approached Malsain, upon whom he sat, and with a gentle prick or so reminded him it was unsafe to struggle or cry. He fastened up his free arm, and finished off the work in an artistic manner. When it was over Malsain was like a trussed fowl. Pierrebon stepped back, and surveyed his work with the satisfaction of one who knows that he has done well.
"Ah, I had forgotten!" he exclaimed. Then he pulled from his pocket a 'kerchief. A touch at Malsain's throat with his poniard was hint enough. Malsain opened his mouth, and the handkerchief, rolled into a ball, was thrust inside.
Pierrebon fumbled once more in his pocket, and produced some stout twine. He gave a little grunt of satisfaction as he lashed it around Malsain's jaws, and felt at last that victory was his.
"It is complete—eh,mon vieux?"
And so saying he dragged Malsain with no tender hand across the pavement of the stable. There was a black, vicious-looking cob in one of the stalls. Pierrebon flung his victim on the straw near the beast. "I should lie still," he said in warning; "the horse might kick."
Then he saddled up again, calmly selecting a third horse from the stable, from a stall where he saw some ladies' saddlery.
"This will do for mademoiselle," he muttered as he glanced around him with satisfaction; "all is ready here. And now for the ogre." Taking up the arquebus he looked at the priming, and made his way cautiously to the house.
It is necessary to hark back a little now to the moment when Torquato Trotto, having given his instructions to Piero, went into the house. The stairway was empty, for both I and my charge were with La Marmotte, and the Italian ran upstairs with a footfall as light as that of a cat. On reaching the landing he stopped for a second, glanced around him, with the same feline caution that marked all his movements, and then, creeping forward on tiptoe, went along a corridor leading to a wing of the house.
At the extreme end of this gallery was a door, at which Trotto knocked softly. From within a strident voice said: "Come in!" Then followed an exclamation of pain, and a free oath.
Trotto smiled, shrugged his shoulders, as only an Italian can, pushed open the door, and entered the chamber. The spear-shaped flames of two tall candles but half lit the room, making a circle of wavering light. Beyond all was in uncertain gloom, through which one could dimly see the old tapestry and massive furniture of bygone years.
Where the light was brightest was an easy-chair, and there sat Simon of Orrain, with his bandaged right arm resting on a cushion, placed on a low table drawn close to him. As Trotto entered he looked up with a snarl.
"What is it? Did I not say I was to be left alone? Curse this arm!"
"Ah, excellency," and Trotto glanced at the throbbing arm, "you should have waited for Aramon's return, or taken us with you." But Simon broke in: "I tell you, Trotto, the plan was perfect, and if it had not been for the accident of that villain's coming our bird would have been here by this. Even when he came, if La Crotte had but stood his ground—but there! Give me some of that wine. My blood is red hot, and my throat on fire with the pain of this wound!"
Torquato Trotto filled a cup from a flagon that lay on the table near the Vidame. Simon took it from him with his left hand, drained it, and flung it from him, so that it struck the wainscoting of the wall, and fell with a crash on the floor.
"La Crotte shall hang for this," he went on savagely. "The cur! the coward!"
"You will make your wound worse, excellency. Be calm! There is time for things to mend."
"Time! When the whole affair has been bungled—and by you."
"By me, excellency?"
"Yes; if you had given me Piero and Malsain instead of those serving-wenches Billot and La Crotte."
Torquato lifted a deprecating hand. "They did well before, excellency; and Billot could not have done better, for he is dead, you say. And as for La Crotte——"
"He shall hang—hang to the first tree."
"As your excellency pleases. He has, however, to be caught first. But in the meantime I have intruded on you because I think we can yet save the game."
"Ugh!"
"Your excellency, I have a plan; and I think we win the odd trick."
"Well, what is your brilliant idea?"
Trotto coughed. "But the risk, excellency, is greatly increased now that this man is mixed up in the affair."
Simon straightened himself in his chair and looked at the captain.
"I suppose you want more money. Well, what is your plan?"
"With your excellency's permission I will keep that to myself, for a plan is a plan when one head holds it. But if I were to place your prize in your hands by tomorrow morning?"
"Impossible!"
"But I say it is possible."
"Then five hundred crowns the day you reach Paris."
Trotto shook his head. "It could be done for a thousand, excellency—for certain."
Simon's eyes seemed to sink back deeper into their hollow sockets, and his face became paler, if possible.
"A thousand devils! Impossible! It's a fortune!"
"Your excellency is playing for a fortune; and this time we win—faith of a gentleman! Make it a thousand crowns, and your bonny bird is yours with the dawn, and I will myself perform the wedding ceremony if you like."
"You?"
"Yes, excellency," and Trotto put his hand to the crown of his head. "My hair has grown, but, you will remember, I am none the less a priest for all that."
There was another silence. Simon knitted his brow, as if in thought.Then he cursed again at his wounded arm, and spoke:
"It is an exorbitant sum; but I agree on one condition."
"And that is?"
"If you fail you get nothing; you have sucked enough from me already."
"As your excellency pleases." And then, bending for an instant over the wounded arm: "He must have been a rare swordsman to have beaten you."
Simon writhed in his chair. "Beaten me! I had the dog at my mercy, but was not quick enough in the last parry."
"Ah, excellency, 'tis always that little delay that causes accidents like this." And Trotto made a gesture towards the wounded arm; but Simon snarled at him:
"Don't touch it, fool! Ugh! how it stings! There is one consolation, however—that he must be squirming himself with pain now."
"Eh! Then you touched him?"
"Twice, Trotto, twice!"
"Ah! that accounts for his wearing his cloak so tightly over his left shoulder."
Simon started: "Wearing his cloak so tightly! Have you seen him?"
Torquato nodded, and the Vidame went on impatiently: "Are you dreaming, or am I? You have not been out of the house."
"But, excellency, benighted travellers might seek the house for rest and a guide to the ford of the Mable." At these words a red flush came over Simon's face, and he half rose from his chair.
"Here, here!" he exclaimed, his voice almost cracking with excitement—"here!—in Le Jaquemart! My sword, Trotto—quick!" And he shivered with pain as he attempted to stand; but Torquato made him sit back, and when he had succeeded told him what is already known.
"And so," he concluded, "Malsain has by this time disposed of the lackey, and La Marmotte is keeping the other birds amused until my return. When it is all settled," and Trotto laughed, "your excellency may make ready for the wedding, and La Marmotte will make a rare bridesmaid." With these words he bowed, and went to the door, but stopped at Simon's voice.
"Trotto!"
"Excellency!"
"Be sure, and fail not!"
"With a wounded man? Be happy, excellency! 'Twill be all over by midnight. I will have it done before Aramon returns, to save sharing the crowns. Good-night."
"Trotto!"
The captain put his head back through the door, and Simon said:
"Call me when 'tis over. I would see the carrion ere we put it away."
Trotto nodded, and closing the door left Simon of Orrain, full of stinging pains in his body and burning evil thoughts in his soul, and returning to us led the way to the supper-table. There, whilst we sat, mademoiselle told them of her peril, and how she was rescued, and as she concluded Trotto set down the cup of wine he was tasting, and turning to me, said:
"I congratulate you, monsieur. I trust, however, that your wounds do not hurt you?"
"Wounds!" exclaimed mademoiselle. "You are hurt, and you have said never a word! Why did you not tell me? You must have them seen to at once." And she rose from her seat. La Marmotte following her example, and Trotto added his voice to hers, and was thanked with a look.