"Yes," she said in a low voice, "I agree," but her eyes were kept down to hide their expression.
"That, then, is settled. And remember, madame, that we cannot take action until we have the King's grant in writing. De Mouchy here will see that it is properly registered in the Chambre—and remember it must be within a week, or——" And he bent forward and whispered something in her ear.
"It shall be as you desire, Monsieur le Vidame."
"In that case," said Simon, filling himself a glass, "I drink to the health of the Great Enterprise. To the unending radiance of the crescent moon, to your new estate of Chateaux Vieux de Mouchy, and to Simon,Ducd'Orrain!"
With this he drank, and set the glass back on the table with a little click.
There was a silence, and then Diane rose.
"There is nothing further to discuss, I think?" she said.
"No," replied Simon; "except that Dom Antoine here would like to register a certain grant within a week."
She made no answer; but, preceded by De Mouchy and followed by Simon, moved to the door, and all three left the room together. The stars had been with me, and two minutes later I stood beside La Marmotte.
"Well?" she asked.
"There is no time to talk. If we could but get back that rope it would remove all suspicion."
She hesitated, and then: "Perhaps with your sword."
"Excellent!" And, drawing my sword, which I had slung on once more, I leaned forth from the window, and found that the point easily reached the hook. It needed but a turn of the wrist to free the rope, which, a moment after, was drawn in safely.
"And now," I said, "let us be off. If you are wise you will never set foot here again."
She laughed sadly, and we went out together into the lonely Passage of Pity. It was growing dark now, and threading our way through the labyrinth of streets we reached the river face. Here La Marmotte stopped, and abruptly wished me farewell; but I stayed her, thanking her from my heart for her good deed, and ventured, with the utmost diffidence, to say that if she were in need of a friend she could count on me. She understood.
"Nay, monsieur," she said, "for me there is but one way, and that is to follow the light that has come to me. We will never meet again; and, perhaps, what I have done to-day may be some recompense for the past. Farewell!"
Thus we parted; and from that day I never saw or heard of her again. I may mention that when things changed with me I made every effort to discover her, but without avail; and, when, some time after, Torquato Trotto paid the penalty of his crimes, he asserted, even under the rack, that he knew nothing of her, and that she had fled from him. This I believe to be truth, and can only hope that the poor, storm-tossed life found a haven of refuge at last.
That night it was my duty to take the guard outside the Queen's apartments. Circumstances had made it impossible for me to have speech with De Lorgnac, and Le Brusquet was nowhere to be seen, so that I was unable to inform them of what I knew.
Full of the discovery I had made, and with my thoughts running on the danger that threatened mademoiselle, I paced backward and forward before the door leading into the ante-room, my long shadow keeping me ghostly company. It was the night of the great masque given by the King in honour of his Diane's birthday—the masque in which she was to flaunt in the Crown diamonds—and, as may be imagined, there was not a soul to be seen in the gallery that curved before me into dim, mysterious gloom.
Now and again I thought I heard a laugh and the sound of subdued voices from within the ante-room; but, guessing that the mice were probably playing within, I paid no heed, and, being a little tired, seated myself on the coffer that lay in the shadow near the door, and stared moodily into the silence, absorbed in my own sombre reflections.
On a sudden I heard the patter of footsteps—hasty, rapid footsteps coming towards me along the gallery. I challenged, and got the password on the instant in Le Brusquet's voice, and in a half-minute the little man emerged from the gloom and stood beside me.
"I was ready to give my last pistole to see you," I began; but he put up his hand, saying in a low tone, as he pointed to the door:
"Hush! Is there anyone within?"
"Mice, I think," I answered softly.
"Perhaps a cat." And he dropped his voice to the lowest whisper. "Whoever they are I must empty that room ere we speak, for I have, I think, as much for you as you for me."
With this he knocked twice sharply at the door. After a moment it was opened, and putting the curtains aside Le Brusquet slipped into the room. In doing so, whether by accident or design, he left the door open and the curtains drawn back, so that from where I stood in the shadow outside I could see and hear all that passed within. There were only two persons there, and I smiled a little to myself at Le Brusquet's caution, for one was pretty Mademoiselle Davila, seated demurely on a tabouret, and the other was a fair-haired boy of sixteen or so, who stood with a red face and an uncomfortable air some distance away from her.
"Mice, as I thought," I chuckled to myself, whilst Le Brusquet, with a profound bow, said:
"Mademoiselle, I had thought to have found M. de Lorgnac in waiting here."
"Here! M. de Lorgnac!" replied the maid-of-honour, with a little laugh. "No; M. de Lorgnac never ventures here, unless compelled to."
"I suppose neither of you can tell me where he has gone? Can you, De Lorges?" And he turned to the page; but the boy only grew redder, and began to make a fumbling reply.
Mademoiselle Davila, however, cut in. "He has gone to the masque." And with a burst of confidence as she rose to her feet: "The Queen has gone too, monsieur."
"To the masque! The masque she said she would never attend!"
"Oh, the Queen is a woman, monsieur! And so she has gone, and gone masked, too, with Monsieur de Lorgnac in attendance—not a soul else—and I have been left here—ah!" And she stamped her little foot. "One cannot even hear the music. Oh! it is a grave, this place—a grave!"
"Faith! I know those who would think this little waiting-room a heaven."
"Who?" She was a good girl, but a coquette to her finger-tips, and the bait took.
Ere he answered Le Brusquet slipped his arm through that of the page, who seemed to be meditating flight.
"That, mademoiselle," he said slyly, "is a secret between De Lorges and myself."
Mademoiselle coloured very prettily, and half turning from her tormentor, said:
"I shall never speak to you again, monsieur—never."
"Mademoiselle, if you keep that vow I shall die in a week; but see, I will make amends. Why not slip on a hood and go to the masque? De Lorges will be proud to escort you."
She looked around her, half delighted, half frightened at the thought, and then, with a nervous laugh:
"I dare not risk it."
"Why not? Not a soul will know; and if there is any trouble say that Le Brusquet played an evil turn on you, and told you you were summoned by the Queen. I will not deny it; and it will still Madame de Montal's tongue. Come, De Lorges, persuade her."
"It would be a rare jest, mademoiselle!" And, trembling with eagerness, De Lorges made a step forward.
She stood wavering. There was another word of encouragement from LeBrusquet, and she took the plunge.
"A moment," she said, and vanished into the inner room.
"Eh bien, monsieur," and Le Brusquet turned towards De Lorges, "you have a great trust to-night; guard it carefully."
"Monsieur," replied the boy, "with my life," and he touched the hilt of his little sword. He was a gallant lad this son of Montgomery de Lorges.
Le Brusquet bowed to hide the twinkle in his eyes; and now MademoiselleDavila reappeared, disguised in a red hood and mask.
"No one will guess." And Le Brusquet surveyed her with a critical air, whilst De Lorges, who longed to be off, burst out: "Come, mademoiselle! I shall steal a mask and hood from somewhere later on."
But a new obstacle had arisen. "I forgot," she said, "the guard at the door."
"Reassure yourself, mademoiselle. It is a friend—Orrain."
"The hero!" And she clapped her hands. "Come, De Lorges." And, with a little nod to Le Brusquet, she ran to the door, followed by the page. As the two came forth she stopped.
"Monsieur d'Orrain, you will not betray us?"
"Not I, mademoiselle."
"Then as a reward I tell you there is someone you would like to see reading Marot's verses in the Queen's cabinet."
Without waiting for an answer, she tripped off down the gallery, De Lorges by her side. There was a flash of the red hood, and the two were gone.
"Enfin!" And Le Brusquet sat himself down on the coffer. "We are rid of that chattering feather-brain; but, before everything, tell me when you will be relieved."
"Within the hour."
"That will do excellently. Now for your news. Mine can keep for ten minutes."
I told him what I had learned, and he listened without a word until the end, listened seated on the coffer, with his chin resting on his knees, his long nose drooping over his mouth, and his keen little eyes shining like beads.
"A good day's work," he said when I had finished; "never better. Two things are in my favour; one is that they have not got that grant yet; the other, that the three seem to be dissatisfied with their angles of the triangle. Each wants what the other has, like cats over their bowls of milk; and there is an old proverb, too, about thieves falling out, which you, no doubt, remember."
"I shall put the whole matter before the Queen, and beg her to placeMademoiselle de Paradis in safety until this is ended."
"There is much water to flow under the bridges before this will end; but it will be a good move. The Admiral too will know of the triangle in three days; and, if I mistake not, that means that the Peace of Vaucelles is waste-paper. It will stop the Spanish pensions, at any rate for a time, and hit our vampires hard." And he chuckled as he slipped down from the coffer on to his feet. "Mon ami," he went on in his strange way, "to-night and to-morrow I shall be stirring this porridge, and by noon to-morrow you will have certain news, and then we can act. And now for your task."
"My task?"
"Yes. I knew the Queen was at the masque; she has gone there to see Diane wearing her jewels.Thatshe will never forgive; and there will be a bitter vengeance some day—mark my words! The Queen requires the attendance of Mademoiselle de Paradis. She knows of this. It was arranged before, and she is merely awaiting the summons in the cabinet yonder, and you are to take her to the masque."
"But I have neither mask nor hood!"
"That is arranged also, and I have them ready for you. I will take mademoiselle out now, and you will meet us after your relief on the battlements outside the Philippine. You know the spot where the stairway leads from the gallery?"
"Perfectly."
"Thenau revoir!" With this he slipped back into the ante-room, and five minutes after came forth, accompanied by a masked and hooded figure that would have been unrecognisable except that I knew it was Mademoiselle de Paradis.
As they came out we heard, far away in the distance, the challenge of a sentry.
"It is the relief," I said. "Quick!"
They waved their hands to me and sped like sprites along the gallery; and I waited, wondering what more the night would bring forth.
In about ten minutes the relief came up; and M. de Tolendal, who was in charge, was so eager to get back to the masquerade that he made no inquiries, and got off as soon as possible, dismissing me at the same time. I let monsieur hurry back along the gallery, following at a slow pace behind him, until I came to the steps that led down to the battlements, and passing through the archway reached the place appointed by Le Brusquet. Here I found the two awaiting me in the shadow of the donjon, and Le Brusquet said: "Here is your hood and mask. I kept them here to save trouble in carrying them. Remember that mademoiselle is the double of the Queen and you of De Lorgnac. And now away with you; I have other fish to fry." With this he ran up the stairway, and entered the Philippine.
"Mademoiselle," I asked, "can you guess what this means?"
"No, monsieur. All that I know is that it is the Queen's command, and that we are to be there by midnight."
"It will be that soon, so come."
She put her arm in mine, and we hastened along the edge of the battlements. We could hear music now; and as we went on the strains grew louder and louder, and at last we stood on the parapet overlooking the Ladies' Terrace. Beneath us stretched the gardens of the palace, and thousands of lights glowed, in many-coloured radiance, from within the foliage of the trees wherein they were set; or, raised high in the air, burned in rainbow-hued arches and fantastic loops and curves.
Beneath these lights, in and out of the shrubberies, amongst the parterres, in the shadows and in the light, was an ever-moving crowd and the continuous hum of voices, and now and again merry ripples of laughter came to us as we watched from above. A little beyond, to the right, the façade of the audience hall was ablaze with light, and on the broad flight of steps leading to the main entrance were gay groups, the rich colouring of their dresses—orange, red, gold, and purple—making them appear in the distance like masses of gorgeous flowers.
We were soon in the crowd below, making our way towards the audience hall; but our progress was not rapid, for time after time a mask or a group of hooded revellers stopped us; but with light words and merry jests we put them aside, and descending the steps entered the great hall. Here the crowd was so great that we were barely able to move; but at last we reached a pillar, on the base of which I placed my charge, and, standing beside her, we looked here, there, and everywhere for the Queen and De Lorgnac.
"I do not see them," whispered mademoiselle.
"'Tis like searching for a needle in sand; but, if I mistake not,Madame de Poitiers will prove a magnet. Let us keep our eyes there."
With this I pointed before me towards the upper end of the hall, where a large empty space was reserved for dancing, though for the present the music had ceased, and the musicians were seated idle in the galleries above. Beyond this space was a dais, surmounted by a canopy of pale blue silk, spangled with the silver crescents of Diane de Poitiers. Behind the dais ran a huge buffet, many stages in height, rich with matchless plate, and in the centre was a sword, an enormous cross-hilted sword, said to be the Joyeuse of Charlemagne.
On each side of the dais stood the two hundred gentlemen of the King's house in violet and gold, the bright steel blades of the battle-axes they bore on their shoulders reflecting back the light in dazzling rays, and immediately in front stood the herald Montjoy with his trumpeters.
Although every soul in the crowd wore a mask and hood there were many on the dais who wore no disguise, and amongst these was the King. Henri was clad in white, with a white plume in his cap, in memory of the day years ago when, arrayed in white armour, he had ridden the lists at Fontainebleau in honour of Diane, and borne her arms to victory. Near him was Laval, the gallant Bois-Dauphin, who ran the King hard in that gentle day, and, but for the short splintering of a lance, might have been declared the victor. He too was clad in memory of the day, all in scarlet, with a phoenix for his crest—the arms of Claude de Foix. For the moment he was engaged in talk with a brilliant cavalier, the Bayard of his age, Francis, Marquis de Vieilleville.
But though here and there a great name, or a striking figure on the dais, might attract attention, almost all interest was centred on a woman, who stood with the fingers of one hand resting lightly on the King's arm. It was Diane de Poitiers herself. Tall, with black, curling hair and perfect features, with dark, melting eyes, she bore herself as a queen. The royal jewels of France sparkled on her head, at her throat, and on her arms, and glittered amidst the robes of black and white she wore. Her voice when she spoke was low and sweet, yet I had heard it as hard as steel, and I had seen those red lips curve wickedly, and those dark eyes had looked with sullen and pitiless indifference on scenes of hideous torture and death. There were two masks in front of us, arm-in-arm, watching the scene as intently as we were.
"That woman was born to be queen over men. Look at those eyes,Montaigne!"
The answer came in a dry, precise voice: "Eyes are the windows of the soul; butQuid tibi praecipiam molles vitare fenestras?—and you are courtier enough, De Brantôme, to appreciate Fontanus' warning."
"I am courtier enough, my philosopher, to know that the crescent moon, for instance, is out of my reach, not like that orange mask there."
"I do not know to whom you refer."
"There, at the edge of the dais. 'Tis De Ganache, who, from the day he set foot in Court, has followed Diane about like a spaniel; and though I care not to gossip——"
Mademoiselle shivered, and half turned towards me; but the talk came to an abrupt ending, for the herald Montjoy made a sign, and the trumpeters, advancing each a step, sounded a flourish. It was the signal for the galliard. As the flourish ended the music broke forth, and in a moment the empty space before us was gay with moving colours, like a wind-stirred flower bed. Those on the dais seemed to melt away, and mademoiselle, leaning forwards, whispered: "Take me out of this! Anywhere but here!"
She took my arm again, and we edged our way back to the entrance. Here, however, we found the throng so great that it was impossible to pass, and seeing a little passage to our right I turned down it. Here, amidst some foliage, was a secluded seat, and seating her there I took my stand beside her, at a narrow window that opened out upon the Ladies' Terrace. The night was warm, and throwing back her hood and removing her mask mademoiselle leaned forward and looked out upon the fairy scene in the gardens. The music came to us in fitful strains of melody, and outside was a glittering enchantment.
"Have you changed your opinion of the Court, mademoiselle?" I asked.
"No!—a hundred times no! Monsieur, I would rather be the poorest peasant girl on my lands than Diane de Paradis."
I was about to reply when we heard a laugh and the sound of low voices near us. Where we sat it was almost dark; but there was a dim light in the passage, and through the foliage we saw two figures standing side by side not three feet from us. In the orange hood of one I recognised De Ganache, and the other—yes, that laugh and voice, once heard, were never to be forgotten.
De Ganache held her hand in his. He raised it to his lips, and covering it with kisses broke into mad, foolish words—the speech of a man who has cast aside all self-respect, all honour. Ere he had spoken ten words, however, mademoiselle had sprung from her seat and stepped out into the passage, I following on her heels. At sight of her De Ganache went back as if he had been struck; but with superb insolence the Duchess stood in her way.
"So," she said in hard tones, "this is the second time to-night!" And then, with a shameless laugh, she turned to De Ganache. "You are unfortunate, Monsieur le Vicomte; you see, I have a rival even here. I congratulate mademoiselle on the quickness with which she has learned the lessons of the Court." And with a mocking bow she took De Ganache by the arm and swept down the passage.
Mademoiselle was shivering from head to foot, and even by the uncertain light I could see her eyes were swimming with tears. For a moment all her courage, all her high spirit, seemed to have left her.
"Oh, what does this mean?" she moaned. "What does she mean by the second time? I——"
"She meant, mademoiselle, that she had met the Queen, who is masked as you are; but, Queen or no Queen," I went on grimly, "you have had enough of this, and I will take you back at once. There! Put on your mask, and draw your hood up—and come!"
I led her back towards the main entrance, which we managed to gain this time without much difficulty, and thence into the gardens. Mademoiselle spoke no word, nor did I intrude upon her thoughts. We crossed the Ladies' Terrace, the little groups of people scattered here and there being much too absorbed in their own business to take any note of us, and finally stood once more upon the battlements. Along these we hurried until we reached the stairway leading to the Philippine, and as we came up two figures stepped out of the shadow into our path. My charge shrank back with a little gasp of alarm, so sudden and unexpected was their appearance, and I half drew my poniard, but put it back again on the moment, for I recognised De Lorgnac and Le Brusquet.
"I thought we would meet you here," said the latter; "but your task ends now, Chevalier. De Lorgnac will now escort mademoiselle back."
"If I am permitted the honour," put in De Lorgnac.
"It seems that to-night I must play the marionette to your pulling, Le Brusquet," I laughed as I made way for De Lorgnac; and for once the little man made no reply, but addressing Diane said: "The Queen has already returned, and you will find the salon full, mademoiselle; but before you go give me that hood; it might tell tales. I will see it safely returned."
Diane removed the hood, and handed the soft silken folds to Le Brusquet.
"Messieurs," she said, her eyes shining brightly behind the mask she still wore, "it seems that you are hiding something from me. What is it?"
"You will know in a few minutes, mademoiselle," said De Lorgnac, "for the Queen herself will tell you."
She made no answer, but, gravely wishing us good-night, followed De Lorgnac up the stone steps, and, passing through the archway, the two were lost to our view. When they had gone I turned to Le Brusquet.
"I too am in the dark. What did De Lorgnac mean?"
"He meant that his Majesty, by some means or other, discovered that the Queen was at the masque and who remained behind in the cabinet. The result was that, an hour after you took mademoiselle away, the King, attended only by the Vidame d'Orrain—both wearing masks and hoods—visited the Queen's apartments, and——" He stopped and chuckled.
"And what?" I said.
"And found the Queen alone in her cabinet reading Ronsard."
Where the gardens of the Louvre touch upon the river is a lonely and secluded walk. There upon the afternoon of the fourth day following the masquerade I found myself in the shadow of a high, ivy-covered wall, slowly pacing towards the round-tower that forms the western outwork of the palace. I had taken an opportunity the chance afforded to inform the Queen of the bargain struck between the favourite, Simon and De Mouchy, and she heard me in a downcast silence. She seemed for the time to be utterly overcome by the victorious progress of Diane. Finally she thanked me listlessly, and I withdrew, determined, however, if even at the cost of my life, to checkmate the plotters.
Whilst tossing the matter over in my mind the sudden rustling of leaves and a croaking sound arrested my attention. Glancing up I saw a small brown ape clinging to the ivy at the top of the wall and mowing at a couple of peacocks preening themselves on the level turf beneath him. Half amused, despite my sombre thoughts, I stopped and watched, until at last, after a stare at their tormentor, the great birds stalked away like offended beauties.
"Pompon!" I called out.
In answer, the little ape turned his ribald wit upon me; but now a head appeared above the parapet, a hand seized Pompon and drew him back, and Le Brusquet's voice hailed me, bidding me come up to him. This I did with the aid of a friendly tree, and found him on the top of the wall, stretched out like a lizard in the sun. As I reached his side he rose to a sitting posture, and made room for me beside him.
"I have got the 'can't-help-its,'" he said, "and came here to let them work off. I have much to say to you."
"You have news, then?"
"Yes; and grave news. Listen! This morning, as usual, I attended thepetit couvert, and found myself alone in the breakfast-room, where covers were laid for two. The soup was warming at a little stove, for the King takes this, the first meal of the day, without attendance. I said I was alone; but that is not exactly the case, as Pompon was, of course, with me, and the ape had one of his evil fits. He hopped in front of me, mopping and mowing, and I cannot tell why—perhaps it was because some of Créquy's red Joué—I supped with him over-night—was still ringing a chime in my head, but a sudden feeling of irritation came upon me at his antics. I seized the little beast by the scruff of his neck and dropped him out of the window on to the balcony beneath, where he remained, content enough with a plum that I took the liberty of lifting from the table and flinging after him. Then, leaning out of the window, I watched the morning, wondering to myself what new jest I could devise for the King's amusement. But I was in a morose humour, and could think of nothing. All at once I heard the hissing rustle of silken robes. I turned, and faced Madame Diane. I tell you, Orrain, never was woman born so beautiful. The rose of the morning was on her cheeks. Her eyes—they are blue-black, not black—met mine, with a laugh in them, as she said:
"'Well, Le Brusquet, have you lost your ape, or has some jest failed you?—you look so sad."
"'Neither, madame,' I answered; 'but I have lost my heart.'
"'Tell me,' she said, 'who is it? Is it La Beauce?—or, perhaps,Madame de Montal?'
"'Neither, madame; it has strayed much higher.'
"She laughed at my speech, and was about to reply, but stopped, for at that moment the curtain lifted, and the King entered the room. He seemed in the best of spirits; nothing affects him for long.
"'Bon jour, Le Brusquet!' He gave me his hand to kiss. 'What news have you brought me this morning?'
"'A bagful, sire, for I supped with Créquy over-night.'
"'Then you shall open the bag whilst I breakfast, for I am famished.' And, slipping his arm through Diane's he led her to the table. I settled myself on a stool near the window, whilst Diane gave his soup to the King, contenting herself with some fruit, which she picked at like a bird. Through the heavy curtains and the closed door we could hear the hum of voices from the anterooms coming to us like the distant murmurs of the sea. For some little time the King ate in silence, whilst Diane and I exchanged a few laughing words. Finally he finished his last sippet of bread steeped in soup, pushed aside his plate, helped himself to a plum, and looked around him.
"'How!' he exclaimed. 'No roses in the room this morning!'
"'You are in error, sire,' I said. 'I have never seen finer roses thanI do now.'
"'Where?' he asked, looking around.
"But I only looked at La Valentinois, and this time she was red enough. She can blush at will, I believe. Strange that behind so fair a face lies so twisted a soul! And as the King followed my glance the blush on her cheek became deeper and deeper.
"'Ma petite,' and he pinched her ear, 'I find I have a rival. I shall have to send him to the Châtelet.' Whereat every one laughed, and Pompon, hearing the sounds, hopped in through the window, and helped himself to another plum.
"'Ah, bandit!' And the King flung a sippet of toast after him as he added: 'I am hedged in with robbers.'
"'That is true, sire,' I said gravely.
"'You heard that at Créquy's last night.' And there was a sharp note in Diane's voice.
"'Oh yes; and much worse.'
"'Come, tell us!' said the King.
"'Sire, you will remember that Monsieur Joué and Monsieur d'Arbois are inveterate gossips.'
"'I will not forget. Well, what did these gentlemen say?'
"'Amongst other things, that your Majesty would totally cancel the edicts you have suspended, and freely pardon all the Christaudins.'
"I had risked my shot, and now awaited the result. It had hit its mark, I knew, for the King began to hum and haw, and Diane gave me a look from those blue-black eyes of hers. It is wonderful how their expression can change. They seemed to grow small, with a hard, pitiless look in them, and little cobwebs of wrinkles gathered near her temples.
"'It would be madness!—folly!' And her foot kept tapping the carpet.
"'Caraffa and Lorraine are right; it would be a sin.' And the King crossed himself. 'No, no! I will purge the land of its heresy. You have proved their disloyalty to me, Diane. Scarce three weeks have passed since the edicts were suspended, and see what head these Huguenots make! But I will let them see that I am King!'
"And Diane bent forward and kissed his cheek.
"As for me, I knew I was treading on dangerous ground, and so, for the present, went warily, and kept silence. And then La Valentinois knelt by the side of the King, holding his hand in hers, and looking into his eyes.
"'Sire,' she said, 'I have a boon to ask.'
"'Ask, then.' And Henri pushed aside the curls from her forehead.
"'It is that you reward the faithful whilst you punish the guilty.'
"'Let it be as you wish,ma petite.'
"'Then sign this, sire.' And, rising to her feet, she took a paper from her dress and held it before the King, standing beside him, with one white arm round his neck.
"Henri read, and his face fell a little. 'So,' he said, 'you want the goods of all heretics condemned in Paris granted to our most faithful subjects—Diane, Duchess de Valentinois; Simon, Vidame d'Orrain; and Antoine, Sire de Mouchy, Inquisitor of Faith! Madame, this is a matter for the council.' And, in his weak way, the King tried to put off the matter.
"Diane removed her arm from his neck. 'As you please, sire,' she said coldly; and then: 'But remember the Châtillons are making head in the north, and tomorrow they may break the peace with Spain. Remember how full Paris is of these traitors to their King and Holy Church! Never mind my request; but, sire,' and her voice sank to the tenderest note, 'think of those who love you and fear for you—and—let the council to-day be firm.'
"'Oh, it will be that. I will see to that.'
"'Thank Heaven! And now, my King, my King! for the last time!' And she knelt and kissed his hand, and there were tears—tears, Orrain!—in her eyes.
"Henri was much moved. 'What does this mean, Diane?' And he raised her gently to her feet.
"'It means, sire'—her eyes refused to meet his, and her voice shook—'that the time has come for me to go. To-morrow I leave Paris; but, wherever I go, my sorrow will be with me, and my memory of——' And once more she kissed his hand.
"'Diane!'
"She made no answer except to sob, and he put his arm round her, and tried to comfort her, but she gently withdrew herself.
"'Sire, let me go! I had forgotten that with a woman love lasts for ever, but beauty fades. I have to-day learned my lesson.' And, sitting herself down, she buried her face in her hands.
"Henri looked helplessly around, and then, rising hurriedly, paced the room. Once he came up to me, where I stood near the window, and stared at me, or rather stared across me, as though he did not see me. He was yielding, I knew, and another sob from Diane broke him.
"He took up the paper, and it rustled in his trembling hand. One more glance at the bowed figure beside him, and he called out:
"'Le Brusquet, give me a pen.'
"I made no answer, but stood as if I had not heard. I swear to you, Orrain, that I would rather have let my right hand wither than do his bidding. Twice he repeated his order; but I stood like a stone. Diane made no movement. His face flushed, and with a sudden effort he walked towards a cabinet, and the next moment the accursed paper was signed. He brought it back with him, and stood humbly beside Diane, but she did not appear to see. At last he took her hands from her face and placed the deed within them.
"'There, little one! Speak no more of broken hearts.' And he kissed her. She rose, and let her head fall on his shoulder, standing there with closed eyes, but with fingers that held the paper with a clutch like the talons of a hawk. After a little she drew back; there was a lovely smile on her lips, and the blue-black eyes were sparkling.
"'Sire,' she said, 'I thank you.' Then, with a glance behind her at the curtains that covered the door leading to the ante-rooms: 'It grows late, and messieurs there are waiting.' So saying, she bowed low to the King, and ran from the room into the inner apartments, carrying her paper with her.
"The King stood gazing after her, and I stood leaning out of the open window. After a little he came up behind me, and with studied unconcern in his voice said:
"'An obol for your thoughts, King of Folly.'
"'I was but watching those birds, sire.' And I pointed at a shoal of swallows that darted hither and thither in the sunlight snapping up the flies.
"'Ah! The swallows! What of them?'
"'They are lovely birds, sire; but, you see, they spare nothing.' And even as I spoke there was the flash of a bronze-green wing, and a wretched moth that was fluttering in the air was borne away.
"The King took my meaning, and laughed uneasily.
"'You mean I have done wrong.'
"'The Duchess is a lovely woman, sire.' And I saw him flush with shame and anger—the anger of a weak man. He controlled himself with an effort, however, and said coldly:
"'Monsieur de Besmé, have the goodness to strike that gong.'
"I did so, and in a moment the doors were flung open, showing the glittering throng without. The King kept his back turned towards me, and, taking the hint, I picked up the ape and withdrew. So, you see, my news is of the gravest, and Diane has won the rubber."
"You think so?"
"It is all over. The council to-day will revoke the suspension of the edicts, and once more the hell-fires will be lit on the parvis of every church in Paris. I am off to grow pears at Besmé. My office is for sale; but I will give it to you, with my cap and bells and baton, as a free gift if within two days you do not place a certain fair lady on a pillion behind you and ride for the Swiss cantons."
For a little there was a silence, and then I rose to my feet.
"I am going," I said. "What has to be done must be done quickly."
He nodded assent. "I shall come with you part of the way," he said, and called to his ape.
With this we descended from the wall, and walked back together to theLadies' Terrace.
The gardens were full, for the perfect day had tempted all within the palace who could do so to come forth. Scattered here and there in the walks, or resting on the seats, were knots of people, the bright colours of their dresses all the brighter in the mellow sunshine. As we were passing the fountain called the Three Graces we were stopped by a little man with a round face and bulging eyes. He was quite young, not more than four or five and twenty, but, young as he was, Monsieur de Brantôme had already acquired the reputation of being an inveterate gossip, and was feared more than the plague. I had but a passing acquaintance, two days' old, with him, but he seized Le Brusquet.
"Eh bien, Le Brusquet! I hear that you were with the King and madame early this morning, and that high words passed. Is it true that you leave the Court?"
"I promise to leave it, monsieur, if you will but take my office."
"Your office!" said Brantôme in surprise.
"Yes; I have always felt myself unworthy of it since I had the honour to meet you."
"Not at all, my friend," grinned Brantôme; "you do yourself injustice. The man who quarrels with madame has unequalled claims. You have no rival.Au revoir!"
And, chuckling to himself, the little abbe went on, leaving Le Brusquet biting his lip. Brantôme stopped the next person he met to tell him of the passage-at-arms, and turning the walk we found ourselves in front of the Ladies' Terrace.
Somewhat apart from the gay groups that crowded together in the centre of the Terrace was a solitary figure standing near the pedestal of a bronze satyr, cast for the late King by Messer Benvenuto the Florentine. It was mademoiselle herself, and with a word to Le Brusquet I left him and walked straight up to her.
"I was wondering to myself if I should see you here," she said as she greeted me.
"And I came specially to see you, so that Fate has been kind for once."
She smiled, and was about to make some answer, when there was a burst of laughter and the sound of many voices, and turning we saw Diane de Poitiers on the stairway leading down to the Terrace, surrounded, as usual, by a heedless and ever-laughing crowd. She stood for a moment, her Court around her, whilst the people on the other parts of the Terrace broke up their talk and came towards us. Then La Valentinois, who was robed in crimson, began to descend the marble steps slowly, and as she reached the Terrace all those assembled there bowed to her as though she were the Queen. All except myself and mademoiselle, who stood plucking at the ivy leaves on the pedestal of the statue beside her, apparently unconscious of La Valentinois' presence. Whether the Duchess noticed me or not I do not know, but I saw her eyes fixed on mademoiselle, and she stopped full, about two paces from her. Mademoiselle, however, maintained her attitude of total unconcern; but after a moment she looked up and the glances of the two crossed each other. Mademoiselle stared past the favourite as though she did not see her, and Diane's face became like ivory, and her dark eyes frosted with an icy hate—a hate cold and pitiless as everlasting snow. All eyes were fixed on them now, and there was a dead silence as the two—the woman and the girl—faced each other. But it was mademoiselle who was winning. Far away as her look was there was that in it that brought the colour back to Diane's cheeks, to make it go again. Her bosom rose and fell, she played nervously with her fan, and at last she spoke, with a voice that shook in spite of her efforts to restrain it:
"I hear, mademoiselle, that you do not find the Court to your liking."And the reply was a simple bow.
The Duchess was all red and white now. The insult was open and patent; but worse was to follow, for she made a mistake, and went on, with a sneer:
"It is a pity they do not care more for the education of girls in Poitou; but I think you are right, mademoiselle. The Court is not suited to you. You should take the veil and the black robe."
"I should prefer the black robe to a crimson one, madame. The latter reminds one too much, amongst other things, of the blood of the martyrs."
It was a crushing retort, and one to which there was no answer, for the affair of the tailor of St. Antoine's was fresh in all minds. Something like a murmur went up from those around. The Duchess gave a little gasp; but, preserving her composure with an effort, turned and walked away, her head in the air, but wounded to the quick. The crowd followed her, but one figure remained—a man with a white, drawn face and dark circles under his eyes. Thrice he made a movement as if to step up to us and say something, but each time his courage failed him; and then, turning, he too hastily followed the others. And from my soul I pitied De Ganache.
We were left alone together, the bronze satyr leering down upon us as if in mockery. La Valentinois stood at the other end of the Terrace surrounded by her Court, and ever and again there were whisperings amongst them, and strange glances bent towards us. We might have been plague-stricken, in such manner did all shrink from us.
"Mademoiselle," I said, "you have been too rash. Look!" And I glanced at the group around Diane de Poitiers. She followed my eyes, and a little smile played upon her lips.
"I care not, nor do I fear her."
"But, mademoiselle, there are others who fear for you, and that has happened which you must hear. Not here! Come away from this, where we will be secure from prying eyes."
For a little she seemed to hesitate, and then: "Very well, monsieur; the air will, perhaps, be purer away from here."
So, side by side, we went down the steps together, and I felt, rather than heard or saw, the mutterings and the glances that followed us.
On the other side of the lawn, facing the Ladies' Terrace and leading towards the riding-school, is a walk hedged in with high shrubbery on either hand. We followed this about half way up its length, and then passing through a narrow wicket found ourselves in a part of the gardens to which few, if any, of the Court ever went. Here, amidst a bewildering maze of rose bushes running almost wild, stood an old oak. There was a little clearing at its base, around which a rough seat was placed; and here, sitting by her side, I told mademoiselle what I knew, and of the crisis that had arrived.
Invisible ourselves, we could from where we were see the Gallery ofApollo and the council hall; and as I ended a figure appeared at one ofthe windows and waved a 'kerchief in the direction of the Ladies'Terrace. It was the King.
"See!" and I pointed to the window, "there is the King, and you can guess to whom he signals. Whilst we talk here the council is over, and the peril is at hand."
She did not flinch nor change colour, for she was brave, but she rose and looked steadily at the council room, where we could now see other figures moving in the shadow behind the King. Then she turned to me. I had risen too, and was standing beside her.
"Do you think they will begin at once?" she asked.
"I cannot say. They will undoubtedly begin as soon as they can."
"It is horrible! Can nothing be done? Oh! why am I so helpless? Why was I not born a man?"
"Mademoiselle, the game is not lost yet. There is still safety before you. I have told the Queen, and she knows of this plot, but is powerless to stay the course of these vampires. She can and will, I know, help you to fly. Leave this place, to-night if possible, and I will see you to the Palatinate, or the Swiss cantons. They cannot touch you there. Mademoiselle, you trusted me once before, trust me again; I will not fail you."
Without a word she held out her hand, and I took it in mine. So we stood for a little, neither speaking, and then she said:
"But I know not how to leave this place; it has a thousand eyes, a thousand ears——"
"We must blind those eyes and make those ears deaf. This evening at dusk come to this spot. I will arrange that either Le Brusquet or De Lorgnac will meet you here and take you to the gate behind the riding-school. I shall be in waiting there with horses, and we will be free of the gates before even they know we are gone. We have more than four hours yet before it grows dark. Think of it! Four hours to prepare! We will beat them."
I spoke cheerily, though I well knew that all was hanging by a hair. My words had their effect, and I saw the light of hope in her eyes; but all at once she shrank from me and, covering her face with her hands, sank back upon the seat.
I confess that I knew not what to do, or which way to turn, for if mademoiselle's courage failed now it was fatal.
"Come," I said, "be brave. In a few hours you will be safe." And I placed my hand on her shoulder. At my touch she collected herself, and rose once again, her face pale, her eyes wet.
"Monsieur," she said, "I cannot take your offer. It is impossible."
"But why?" And I looked at her in blank astonishment.
"Listen!" And she spoke in low but quick accents. "Were I to avail myself of this chance I know I should be safe, for the bravest heart in France would be protecting me. But, monsieur, I should be saving myself and leaving the others—my people, those of my own faith—to die. I am a woman, and a woman may be forgiven weakness in this—for death, and such a death, is horrible—but could I forgive myself? I who knew, and fled, and left my people to die! Do you know who all are in Paris? There are scores of them. There is kind old De Mouy, there is Rochambeau, there is D'Albain, there are fifty more. Are they to die? Besides these there are the poorer brethren, rich in nothing but their faith. Are they to die? Can I leave them, without a word of warning, to the torture, to the rack, to the slow death of the estrapade?"
She stopped, her eyes all alight, her breath coming fast; but I made no answer, and stood before her in silence.
"You have nothing to say," she went on—"nothing! Orrain, were you in my place what would you do?"
"I am a man."
"And is honour less dear to a woman than to a man?"
I knew she was brave, but never before had I realised how brave and strong; and, yielding to an impulse I could not resist, I bent down and touched her hand with my lips.
"Mademoiselle," I said, "you have taught me what is right. You cannot go thus. Your friends must be warned."
"I knew you would say that," she burst in; "I knew that nothing else would come from you. Yes; they must be warned! A word here and there would be enough if there were time; but there is not, and there is only one way left."
"And that is?"
"I will tell you. Close to the Sorbonne, in a little street called the Rue des Mathurins, which leads into the Rue St. Jacques, is a house where my people meet to pray, and to-night all, if not, most of them, will be there. This much I know. But where the house is exactly I do not know, for I have never been to it. If we could get there we would be in time to warn them."
"From whom did you hear this? It is necessary for me to know."
"From Montgomery de Lorges."
"The captain of the Archer Guard?"
"Yes; he is of us, and always has been."
"Then, mademoiselle, there is light in the black sky. I will warn your friends; more we cannot do. And, since there are so many, I feel confident that the plotters will not strike for a day or so. Our warning will give those who can time to escape, and you and I will have done all that can be done. In the meantime our original plan must be carried out; but it is to a friend that I must trust you for a few hours until I have given the warning and can join you——"
She stayed me with a gesture of her hands.
"Monsieur, why should I not go with you?"
For a moment I hesitated, and then it flashed upon me that it was the best possible thing. After giving the warning there was nothing to prevent our escaping at once.
"Very well, mademoiselle. Then meet me here at dusk. And now perhaps it is time to go back."
We did not return as we came, but making for the Lime Walk, went along it slowly, talking and planning many things. In the shade, on a seat under one of the lime-trees, was a merry party of five or six people, and as we came opposite them young De Lorges the page, who was of their number, called out to us to join them; but, pointing at the Louvre, I shook my head, and as we passed on I heard Mademoiselle Davila's voice singing:
"J'aime mieux m'amieO gai!J'aime mieux m'aimeO gai!"
and a girlish voice, I know not whose it was, broke into a merry peal of laughter. In spite of what was in my mind I could not help glancing at my companion; but she was walking by my side as though she had not seen or heard, and, perhaps, this was the case.
At the Ladies' Terrace we parted, and I hastened at once to seek Le Brusquet. As luck would have it, I met both him and De Lorgnac face to face as I was crossing the inner courtyard, and drawing them aside explained matters to them in a few brief words. My chagrin may be imagined when I heard that Montgomery de Lorges, from whom I hoped to get further particulars of the house in the Mathurins, had left the Louvre that afternoon for Fontainebleau to help in the arrangements for a hunt there for the King. But Le Brusquet put heart into me.
"Eh bien," said he, "you cannot miss finding the house, as the Mathurins is not a bowshot in length; but, in any case, whilst you go and prepare for your departure I will try and find the secret of the house out, and warn some who, I know, are of the new faith. To think of aprêchein the very shadow of the Sorbonne!" And he laughed to himself.
"Le Brusquet is right," said De Lorgnac. "I too have some friends whom I must warn. Have no fear that Mademoiselle de Paradis will have any difficulty in keeping her tryst; I will see to that. Go now at once to the Rue Tire Boudin and make you ready; we will stand by you to the end."
I thanked these brave friends, and was about to turn away, when LeBrusquet called out:
"Stay! I have one thing to ask you, Orrain."
"And that is?"
"You have still with you, I hope, a certain ring?"
"Vendôme's ring, or rather the ring of the King of Navarre, as we must call him now. Yes; it is beneath this glove." And I held out my left hand.
"May I see it for a moment?"
"Certainly!" And removing the glove I slipped off the ring and handed it to him. He looked at it curiously, and said:
"I think its time has come."
"Is there anything you are holding back from me?"
"No; but I have a warning in my heart that you will need it. I am superstitious enough never to neglect such a warning. Lend it to me for to-day."
"With pleasure! But is the ring of any avail? Vendôme has forgotten me. He hardly ever returns my salute when we meet——"
"The King of Navarre will at any rate pay this debt of the Duc de Vendôme—I swear it," said Le Brusquet solemnly as he slipped the ring on to his finger, and with that I left them.
On arrival at the Rue Tire Boudin I summoned Pierrebon, and informing him of the state of affairs told him to have all in readiness for our departure that night. This being over, and finding that I had still over two hours before me, I retraced my steps to the Louvre. I went to the tennis courts, where the King was playing a match against Monsieur d'Aumale, and mingling amongst the onlookers sought to pick up as much information as I could glean about the proceedings of the council held that day. M. de Tolendal, who had been on guard in the council room, said that there were only four there, and that amongst the four were De Mouchy and Caraffa the Legate.
"It is not war they talked about, I am sure," he went on, "as neither the Constable nor Vieilleville was present. I dare swear it was all about those cursed Huguenots; but we will hear soon—ha! good stroke!" And he turned from me towards the game.
Seeing that there was nothing to be picked up here I took myself off, and after a little found myself upon the Ladies' Terrace. The afternoon was hot, and the Terrace was deserted, but in the shade of the hedgerow on the opposite side of the lawn a solitary figure was seated looking over a small packet of letters. I looked, and saw it was De Ganache himself. He had changed much from the day we first met. His face was thin and sunken; there was a red spot on each cheek and a fierce light in his hollow eyes. For a moment I stood watching him, and then, having made up my mind, stepped up to him. As I approached he stared at me with his livid glance and then rose slowly to his feet. So deadly a hate shone on his face that for a second it came to me to turn away and leave him to his fate; but, fallen as he was, I could not let him go to his death without a word or a sign. So I walked straight up to him.
"Monsieur, a word with you."
He simply looked at me. I saw his forehead flush hot, and he passed his tongue over dry lips, and then, as if controlling himself with an effort, he turned from me. But I called out:
"M. de Ganache, this is life and death. I have come to warn——"
He flung round on his heel and faced me once more, his hand on the hilt of his poniard.
"Begone!" he said, "begone! else I may slay you where you stand! I——" And his voice failed him, but his eyes glared like those of a boar at bay.
"Monsieur," I said calmly, "fifty windows look down upon us, and there may be a hundred eyes watching us. If you wish it, I will cross swords with you with pleasure, but listen to what I say first. Your life, and the lives of your friends of your faith, hang on a hair. The council to-day has applied anew the edicts. As you value your life, get your fastest horse and leave Paris at once."
"In what tavern have you heard this?" he sneered.
"Monsieur," I answered gravely, "this is no jest. If you care not to take the warning yourself, give it to others. I myself will warn those of your faith who meet to-night in the Rue des Mathurins. There may be others you know of; give them at least a chance. As for yourself, you have had yours."
What answer he would have made I know not, but at this moment a sharp voice cut in upon us.
"Eh bien, Monsieur de Ganache! but it seems to me that Madame de Valentinois signals to you from the window yonder."
There was a little rustling in the bushes, and Le Brusquet stepped out, his ape perched upon his shoulder.
"Behold!" he said, "the crescent moon is already out." And he pointed to a window overlooking the lawn, where a group of ladies stood watching us.
"It must be to you, Monsieur le Vicomte, that madame signals," Le Brusquet went on. "Orrain here is too ugly, and as for me, she loves me no better than my ape."
With an oath De Ganache pushed past Le Brusquet and hurried across the lawn, leaving us staring after him.
"He had his warning," said Le Brusquet. "I heard every word, and thought it was time to step in ere he drew his poniard. The man is mad! But what is this?" And stepping towards the seat he picked up the small packet of letters that De Ganache was reading.
"They belong to De Ganache," I said; "he was reading them as I came up."
"In that case I will return them to monsieur with my own hands." And Le Brusquet slipped the packet into his pocket. Then turning he took me by the arm and led me off, telling me some absurd story, and laughing loudly, until we had passed out of sight of the windows. Then he stopped.
"Do not forget this," he said: "the fifth house on the right-hand side of the Rue des Mathurins as you enter from the Rue St. Jacques."
"Thanks; I will not forget. However did you find out?"
"It is too long to tell, and I must return these papers to De Ganache."
So saying, he went off.
The wicket gate near the riding-school was used almost exclusively by the servants of the palace, to whom it gave access to that maze of nameless streets, dingy, tumble-down houses, and squalid shops that was known as the Magasins. Here it was that the waiting-woman and the lackey stole forth to meet their lovers. Through this filtered all the backstairs' gossip of the Louvre, and more besides, for the small shopkeepers of the Magasins upheld a reputation as evil as the place in which they plied their trade.
At the mouth of one of these streets, only a few yards away from the wicket, was a small eating-house. It was here that I repaired at sunset, and calling for a basin of lentil soup sat me down at a rough table near the door, which commanded a view of the gate. It had rained that afternoon, a summer shower that passed as quickly as it came, but the eaves were still dripping, and the water was trickling in glistening lines down the walls and bubbling in the gutters. There were three other clients in the house besides myself. One contented himself, as I had, with some lentil soup, and the other two, sitting near a great spit, impatiently watched a leg of kid they had brought with them for their supper being turned thereon by a small dog, now and then exchanging a word or so with the bare-armed hostess who was supervising the process. Whilst this was going on my fellow-companion with the lentil soup kept casting envious glances at the spit, sniffing the savoury odour of the roasting meat as he slowly ate pieces of black bread sopped in the thick soup.
The wicket was open, for until compline ingress and egress was free; nevertheless, there was a sentry on duty, an arquebusier, who paced slowly up and down whistling the "Rappel d'Aunis," stopping only to exchange some barrack-room badinage with every serving-wench who, as she went out or came in, found a moment or so to spare for him. It was a lax enough watch, and it was clear that guard duty at the wicket was not so dull a matter as one might have imagined.
One of these passing affairs was rather longer and more interesting than usual, and he of the lentil soup was chuckling to himself over it, when we heard the clattering of horses at a trot coming up the road lying between us and the gate. The girl uttered a little cry and fled down the walk towards the Louvre, whilst the sentry drew himself up stiffly.
In another minute a party of about half a dozen horsemen filed up, a spare horse with them, and judge of my surprise and fear when I saw it was Simon himself who led them. As the sentry saluted the Vidame he rode close up to the man, and, bending down from the saddle, said something in a quick, low voice, but it was too far off for me to hear. The sentry saluted again, and began a steady pacing backwards and forwards; whilst Simon, dismounting three of his men, had the horses taken towards the riding-school, he remaining at the gate on foot with his three followers.
"An arrest!" exclaimed my unknown companion, and the words brought the two others from their kid, which they were just sitting down to demolish, to the door, where they were joined by the landlady and the turnspit dog.
The worst suspicions crowded upon me, and from where I sat I watched Simon anxiously, for all depended on his object in being here. He took no notice of the little group observing him, however, but, drawing his men up against the wall, leaned against a buttress, moodily pulling at his long moustache.
"We are going to see pretty things," said the hostess; "that tall crookback is the Vidame d'Orrain himself, and 'twas just the same way last year that he took poor Monsieur de Mailly."
For about ten minutes we waited impatiently, but with no result, and so the owners of the kid went back to their repast, and the man with the lentil soup called for another basin. The suspense, however, was not to be for long. Presently a man came down the walk towards the wicket, coming slowly, keeping as much as possible in the shadow of the trees, now and again stopping and looking around him as though he feared being followed. Finally, as he neared the gate, he put a bold face on the matter, and with an air of unconcern stepped towards the sentry. His hat was pulled over his eyes; but there was no mistaking De Ganache, and I watched with breathless interest. As he came up the arquebusier began to whistle his eternal "Rappel d'Aunis" once more, and the figures near the wall closed in around the buttress. In five paces De Ganache had passed the sentry and was at the gate. In another step he freed the wicket, and came face to face with the Vidame. De Ganache started, retreated a half pace, and then, recovering himself, said with affected gaiety:
"Well met, Orrain! I——" And then he stopped as he met the Vidame's sombre look and saw drawn swords on either side of him.
"Is this a jest or an outrage? What does this mean, monsieur?" And, hand to his sword, he faced Simon, who answered coldly:
"It means, monsieur, that you are my prisoner. Your sword, in theKing's name!"
"I! Arrested! It is impossible! What foolery is this?"
But the Vidame simply held out a paper. "You may read this if you doubt."
Almost mechanically De Ganache took the paper and ran his eyes over it. As he did so his fingers seemed to lose power, for the paper slipped from his hand and fluttered to the ground. The Vidame picked it up, and said again:
"Your sword, monsieur!" And then, with a bitter scorn in his voice: "A traitor's game is a losing game, Monsieur le Vicomte, and the King knows you at last."
What the words meant I was to find out later, but they took all heart from De Ganache. He put his hand to his head as one dazed, and then, dropping it again, unbuckled his sword, and handed it to the Vidame without a word. There was a sharp whistle. The horses came up. De Ganache, who seemed utterly broken, was mounted on the spare horse. The troopers surrounded him, and then came the quick order:
"The Châtelet!" And they were gone.
"Harnibleu!" exclaimed the hostess, "that was not how Monsieur de Mailly allowed himself to be taken. He swore like the Constable, and fought right across the road, up to this very door, and might have escaped had he not tripped up. As for that hare there—pouf!" And with an expressive shrug of her shoulders and a snap of her fingers she went back to her spit.
I sat still, wondering, but with a great relief in my heart. There was a little talk, as will be when things of this kind occur, and then matters settled down. A few more customers came in. The twilight began to fall, and then, all at once, I saw two figures at the gate. They were mademoiselle and De Lorgnac. In a moment I had joined them, and together we went on towards the river face.
At the corner of the Rue St. Thomas, De Lorgnac bade us farewell, but as he left us I took the opportunity to whisper to him the news of De Ganache's arrest.
"Then put wings to your business," he said, and pressing my hand went off, and mademoiselle and I were alone. Silently she took the arm I offered, and we hastened towards the river.
It was the fall of the evening, and the moon, almost in its full, had already arisen, dividing the sky with the last lights of sunset. We had turned to the left on reaching the river, our faces towards the Châtelet, whose square grey walls frowned over the Pont au Change. Here and there the cloud edges still flamed in gold, that slowly faded to a fleecy silver-white before the moonlight. To our left was the long row of gabled houses, some of them seven storeys or more in height, that stretched, a jagged outline of pointed roofs and overhanging turrets, to the Rue St. Denis, there to be split up in the labyrinth of streets between St. Denis, St. Martin, and the purlieus of the Marais and the Temple. Above the houses peered the square tower of St. Jacques de la Boucherie, and in the weird half light the river droned along to our right. A grey, creeping mist was slowly covering the faubourgs and the Ile de la Cité. Through this, as it quivered onwards, one saw a limitless sea of roofs; and sharp and clear, for they were still in light, stood out the lofty campaniles of Ste. Chapelle and St. Severin. But what caught the eye and arrested the glance was that which rose from the very heart of the great city; for there, looming vast and immense, the stately pile of Nôtre Dame brooded over Paris.
Mademoiselle shivered on my arm. "Oh, monsieur, these streets, these houses, this immense city, they oppress me like a very spirit of evil!"
"Courage!" I answered. "In two hours we will have left the spirit of evil behind."