"As soon as the house is asleep."
"Fortunately, early hours are kept here, as there is never any company. But the Count and the Captain stay at their cups till ten or eleven o'clock."
"Then by that time they must have drunk enough to make them fall asleep as soon as they are in bed."
"And sometimes before they are in bed, I have heard the servants say."
"Then I will leave my room at half-past eleven, but will make sure that the hall is dark and empty before I proceed."
"And may the saints aid you, Monsieur, when you have to do with the men at the tower!"
"The men will not be expecting me, that is one advantage," said I, trying to seem calm, but trembling with excitement. "If all goes well, we should be out of the chateau soon after midnight."
"And at Hugues's house before one o'clock. You should be on horseback—the Countess and you—by half-past one. Have you money, Monsieur?"
"Yes,—this purse is nearly as full as when I left home."
"That is well, for Madame has none, and I don't know how much Hugues could get together in ten minutes. I have ten crowns in his strong-box, which Madame shall have."
"They shall stay in Hugues's strong-box, and his own money too. I have enough."
"Then I believe that is all, Monsieur, and I'd better be going back. Be on the watch for Brigitte with the key. Do you think of anything else?"
We went hurriedly over the various details of the plan, and then she took her leave, darting along the passage as swiftly as a greyhound and as silently as a ghost. I sat down to think upon what I had undertaken, but my mind was in a whirl. Strangely enough, I, the victor of a single duel, did not shrink from the idea of killing the two guards—or as many as there might be. Perhaps this was because they were sure to be rascals whose lives one could not value very highly, especially as against that of the Countess. Nor did I feel greatly the odds against me, in regard both to their number and to my inexperience in such business. Perhaps the apparent confidence of Mathilde in my ability to dispose of them—a confidence based on my being a gentleman and they underlings—infected me. And yet I chose not to go too deeply into the probabilities. My safest course, for my courage, was not to think too much, but to wait for the moment and then do my best.
It seemed but a short time till there was a tap at my door, and in came the real Brigitte.
"Mathilde got back safe, Monsieur; she was not detected," she said, and handed me a large key.
Ere more could pass, she was gone. I put the key in my breast pocket. It was now time I should show myself to the Count and his friend at table; which I proceeded to do, as boldly as if I had entertained no design against them. They were just back from their ride. It was strange with what outward coolness I was able to carry myself, by dint of not thinking too closely on what I had undertaken. For observe that, besides the immediate task of the night, there was Madame's whole future involved. And how precipitately Mathilde and I had settled upon our course, without pausing to consider if some more prudent measures might not be taken to the same end! But I was hurried by my feeling that I ought to save Madame, the more because no one could say how far the present situation was due to my having killed De Merri, and to my advent at the chateau. Even though she might choose not to escape, it was for me to give her the opportunity, at least. And to tell the truth, I longed to see her again, at any cost. As for Mathilde, there were her pressing fears of a worse fate for her mistress, to excuse her haste. And we were both young, and thought that any project which goes straight and smoothly in the telling must go straight and smoothly in the doing; and we looked not far ahead.
I left the table early, and went to my room. I tore two strips from the sheet of my bed, and wrapped them around my boots so as to cover the soles and deaden my footsteps. Slowly the night came, with stars and a moon well toward the full. But we could keep in shadow while about the chateau, and the light would aid our travelling later. At half-past ten o'clock, the house seemed so still I thought the Count must have gone to bed before his usual time. I stole noiselessly from my room, feeling my way; and partly down the stairs. But when I got to the head of the lower flight, I saw that the hall was still lighted. I peered over the railing. The Count and the Captain were alone, except for two knaves who sat asleep on their bench at the lower end of the hall. The Count lounged limply back in his great chair at the head of the table, unsteadily holding a glass of wine; and the Captain leaned forward on the board, narrowly regarding the Count. Both were well gone in wine, the Count apparently the more so. There was a look of mental torment on the Count's face.
"Yes, I know, I know," he said, wincing at his own words as if they pierced him. "There was opportunity enough with that De Merri. I was blind then. And with this new puppy! Women and lovers have the ingenuity of devils in devising opportunities. And they both admit their interview in the garden. But that he could have his way so soon—is that entirely probable?"
He looked at the Captain almost beseechingly, as if for a spark of hope.
The Captain spoke with the calm certainty of wisdom gained through a world of experience:
"Young blood is quickly stirred. Young lips are quickly drawn to one another. Young arms are quick to reach out, and young bodies quick to yield to them."
The Count uttered a cry of pain and wrath, his eyes fixed as though upon the very scene the Captain imagined.
"The wretches!" said the tortured Count, staggering to his feet. "And I am the Count de Lavardin!"
"The greater nobleman you, the greater conquest for a young nobody to boast of. It is a fine thought for adventurous youth.—'A great lord, and a rich, but it is I, an unknown stripling, who really have possessed what he thinks his dearest treasure.'"
The Count gave a kind of agonized moan, and went lurching across the hall, spilling some wine from his glass. "And a man of my years, too!" he said, with an accent of self-pity.
"The older the husband, the merrier the laugh at his expense," said the Captain.
The Count ground his teeth, and muttered to himself.
"It is always their boasting that betrays them," went on the Count. "When I was young, they used to tell of a famous love affair between the Bussy d'Amboise of that day and the Countess de Montsoreau, wife of the Grand-huntsman. It came out through Bussy's writing to the King's brother that he had stolen the hind of the Grand-huntsman. That is how these young cocks always speak of their conquests.
"Ah, I remember that. He did the right thing, that Montsoreau! He forced his false wife to make an appointment with Bussy, and when Bussy came, it was a dozen armed men who kept the appointment, and the gay lover died hanging from a window. Yes, that Montsoreau!—but he should have killed the woman too! The perfidious creatures! Mon dieu!—when I married her—when she took the vows—she was the picture of fidelity—I could have staked my soul that she was true; that from duty alone she was mine always, only mine!"
He lamented not as one hurt in his love, but as one outraged in his right of possession and in his dignity and pride. And curiously enough, his last words caused a look of jealousy to pass across the face of the Captain. This look, unnoticed by the Count, and speedily repressed, came to me as a revelation. It seemed to betray a bitter envy of the Count's mere loveless and unloved right of possession; and it bespoke the resolve that, if the Captain might not have her smiles, not even her husband might be content in his rights. Such men will give a woman to death rather than to any other man. As in a flash, then, I saw his motive in working upon the Count's insane jealousy. Better the Count should kill her than that even the Count should possess her. I shuddered to think how near to murder the Count had been wrought up but a moment since. At any time his impulse might pass the bounds. I now understood Mathilde's apprehensions, and saw the need for haste in removing the Countess far from the power of this madman and his malign instigator.
The Count, exhausted by his rush of feelings, drained his glass, and almost immediately gave way to the sudden drowsiness which befalls drinkers at a certain stage. He staggered to his seat, and fell back in a kind of daze, the Captain watching him with cold patience. Thinking they would soon be going to bed, I slipped back to my room.
A little after eleven, I went forth again. The hall was now dark, and its silence betokened desertion. I groped my way to the door. The key turned more noisily than I should have wished, and there was a bolt to undo, which grated; but I heard no sound of alarm in the house. I stepped out to the court-yard, closing the door after me. The court-yard was bathed in moonlight. Keeping close to the house, so as not to be visible from any upper window, I gained the shadow of the wall separating the two court-yards. As noiselessly as a cat, I followed that wall to its gateway; entered the second court-yard, and saw that the door to the tower was open, a faint light coming from it. The tower itself, obstructing the moon's rays, threw its shadow across the paving-stones. I stepped into that shadow, which was only partial; drew my sword and dagger, and darted straight for the tower entrance, stopping just inside the doorway. By the light of a lantern hanging against the wall, I saw a kind of small vestibule, beyond which was an inner wall, and at one side of which was the beginning of a narrow spiral staircase, that ran up between walls until it wound out of sight. On a bench against the inner wall I have mentioned, sat a man, who rose at sight of me, with one hand grasping a sword, and with the other a pike that was leaning against the bench.
He was a heavy, squat fellow, with short, thick legs and short, thick arms.
"I give you one chance for your life," said I quickly. "Help me to escape with your prisoner, and leave the Count's service for mine."
After a moment's astonishment, the man grunted derisively, and made a lunge at my breast with his pike. I caught the pike with my left hand, still holding my dagger therein, and forced it downward. At the same time I thrust with my rapier, but he parried with his own sword. I thrust instantly again, and would have pinned him to the wall if he had not sprung aside. He was now with his back to the stairs, and neither of us had let go the pike. His sword-point darted at me a second time, but I avoided, and thrust in return. Not quite ready to parry, he escaped by falling back upon the narrow stone steps. Before I could attack, he was on his feet again, and on the second step. We still held to the pike, which troubled me much, both as an impediment to free sword-play and as depriving me of the use of my dagger. I suddenly fell back, trying to jerk it from his grasp; but his grip was too firm. He jerked the pike in turn, and I let go, thinking the unexpected release might cause him a fall.
He did not fall; but I pressed close with sword and dagger before he could bring the pike to use, and he backed further up the stairs. He caught the pike nearer the point, that he might wield it better at close quarters; but the long handle made it an awkward weapon, by striking against the wall, which continually curved behind him. We were sword to sword, and against my dagger he had his pike, but the dagger was the freer weapon for defence though not so far-reaching for attack.
The man was very strong, but he had the shorter thrust and offered the broader target. We continued at it, thrust and parry, give and take. All the time he retreated up the winding staircase, which was so narrow that we had little elbow room, and this was to his advantage as he needed less than I. Another thing soon came to his advantage: the stairs curved out of the light cast by the lantern below, so that he backed into darkness, yet I was still visible to him. I cannot tell by what sense I knew where to meet his sword-point, yet certainly my dagger rang against it each time it would have stung me out of the dark. As for his pike, I now kept it busy enough in meeting my own thrusts. Whether or not I was drawn by the knowledge that the Countess was above, I continued to attack so incessantly, and with such good reach, that my antagonist still retreated upward. I followed him into the darkness; and then the advantage was with me, as being slender.
Hitherto I had offered him my full front, but now I half turned my back to the wall, so that his blade might scarce find me at all, and that I might stand less danger of being forced backward off my feet. Well, so we prodded the darkness with our steel feelers in search of each other's bodies on those narrow stairs, striking sparks from the stone walls which our weapons were bound to meet by reason of the continual curvature.
At last the broad form of my adversary was suddenly thrown into faint light by a narrow window in the wall. I staked all upon one swift thrust. It caught him full in the belly, and ran how far up his body I know not. With a cry he fell forward, and I was hard put to it to save my sword and avoid going down with him. But I got myself and my sword free, and went on up the stairs as fast as I could feel my way.
In a few moments I heard steps coming from above, and a rough voice shouting down, "Ho, Gaspard, did you call? What the devil's up?" It was the other guard, who must have been asleep to have been deaf to the clash of our weapons, but whom his comrade's death-cry had roused. I trusted that the walls of the tower had confined that death-cry from the chateau; fortunately, the narrow window was toward the open fields.
I stopped where I was. When the man's steps sounded a few feet from me, I said "Halt!" and, telling him his comrade was dead, proposed the terms I had offered the latter. There was a moment's silence: then a clicking sound, and finally a great flash of fiery light with a loud report, and the smell of smoke. By good luck I had flattened myself against the wall before speaking, and the charge whizzed past me. Thinking the man might have another pistol in readiness, I stood still. But he turned and ran up the stairs. I stumbled after him.
Presently the stairway curved into light such as we had left at the bottom. The guard ran on in the light, and finally stepped forth to a landing no wider than the stairs; where there hung a lantern over a three-legged stool, beyond which was a door. At sight of this my heart bounded.
At the very edge of the landing the man turned and faced me, pointing a second pistol. As the wheel moved, I dropped forward. The thing missed fire entirely, and, flinging it down with a curse, the man drew his sword and seized a pike that stood against the wall. I charged recklessly up the steps, bending my body to avoid the pike. It went through my doublet, just under the left armpit. Ere he could disencumber it I pressed forward upon the landing. I turned his sword with my dagger, and thrust with my own sword under the pike, piercing his side. Only wounded, he leaped back, drawing the pike from my clothes. He aimed at me again with that weapon. In bending away from it, I fell on my side, but instantly turned upon my back.
The man moved to stand over me. I let go my sword, and caught the pike in my hand as it descended. He then tried to spit me with his sword, but I checked its point with the guard of my dagger. I thought I was near my end. He had only to draw up his sword for another downward thrust; but there was a sudden faltering, or hesitation, in his movements, probably a blindness of his eyes, the effect of his wound. In that instant of his uncertainty, I swung my dagger around and ran it through his leg. He fell forward upon me, nearly driving the breath out of my body. My dagger arm, extended as it had been, was fortunately free. I crooked my elbow, embraced my adversary, and sank the dagger deep into his back. I felt his quiver of death.
After I had rolled his body off me, and sheathed my sword and dagger, I took out the key and unlocked the door. Inside the vaulted room of stone, which was lighted by a candle, stood the Countess and Mathilde.
The Countess, beautiful in her pallor, and looking more angel than woman in the plain robe of blue that clothed her slight figure, met me with a face of mingled reproach, pity, and horror. Mathilde was in tears and utterly downcast. I could see at a glance how matters stood, and ere I had made two steps beyond the threshold, I stopped, abashed.
"Oh, Monsieur, the blood!" cried the Countess sadly, pointing to my doublet.
"It is that of your two guards," I said. "I am not hurt."
"I am glad you are not hurt. But oh, why did you put this bloodshed upon your soul?"
"To save you, Madame."
"Alas, I know. It is not for me to blame you—but could you think I would escape—leave the house of my husband—become a fugitive wife?"
I saw how firm she was in her resolution for all her fragility of body, and I scarce knew what to say.
"Madame, think! He is your husband, yes,—but your persecutor. Where you should have protection, you receive—this." I waved my hand about her prison. "Where you should find safety, you are in mortal danger."
"I know all that, Monsieur,—have known it from the first. But shall I play the runaway on that account? Think what you propose—that I, a wedded wife, shall fly from my husband's roof with a gentleman who is not even of kin to me! Then indeed would my good name deserve to suffer."
"But Madame, heaven knows, as I do, that you are the truest of wives."
"Then let me still deserve that title as my consolation, whatever I may have to endure."
"But to flee from such indignity as this—such slander—such peril of death—"
"It is for me to bear these things," she interrupted, "if he to whom I vowed myself in marriage inflicts them upon me. If they be wrongs, it is I who must suffer but not I who must answer to heaven for them! I may be sinned against, but I will not sin. Though he fail in a husband's duty, I will not fail in a wife's. Do you not understand, Monsieur, it is not the things done to us, but the things we do, that we are accountable for?"
"But I can see no sin in your fleeing from the evils that beset you here, Madame."
"Nay, even if it were not a violation of my marriage vow, it would have the appearance of sin, and that we are to avoid. And it would be to throw away my one hope, that my husband's heart may yet be softened, and his eyes opened to my innocence."
"Alas! I trust it may turn out a true hope, Madame," said I sadly.
"Heaven has caused such things to occur before now," she replied. "As for you, Monsieur, I must never cease to thank you for your chivalrous intent, as I shall thank my good Mathilde for her devotion. And I will ever pray for you. And now, if you would make my lot easier—if you would remove one anxiety from my heart, and give me one solace—you will leave this chateau immediately. Save yourself, I beg. Monsieur: let there be no more blood shed on my account, and that blood yours! Mathilde can let you out at the postern—she knows where the key is hidden. She tells me you have a horse at Montoire. Go, Monsieur—lose not another moment—I implore—nay, if you will recognize me as mistress of this house, I command."
I bowed low. She offered me her hand: I kissed it.
"It will not be necessary for Mathilde to come to the postern," said I. "I know another way out of the chateau. Adieu, Madame!" It was all I could manage to say without the breaking of my voice. I turned and left the room, closing the door that the Countess and Mathilde might be spared the sight of the body on the landing. I then, for a reason, took the key, leaving the door unlocked. I groped my way down the stairs, taking care not to trip over the body below. I crossed the court-yards without any care for secrecy, entered the hall, and sat down upon a bench near the door.
When I had told the Countess I knew another way out of the chateau, I meant only the front gateway. But I did not intend immediately to try that way. I intended, for a purpose which had suddenly come into my head, to wait in the hall till morning and be the first to greet the Count when he appeared.
What I stayed to do was something the Countess herself could do, and probably would do one way or another, if indeed mere circumstances would not do it of themselves: though I felt that none could as I could. But to tell the truth, even if I could not have brought myself to turn my back on that place while she was in such unhappy plight there.
After I had sat awhile in the hall, I went to my room, lighted a candle, and cleansed myself and my weapons, and my clothes as well as I could, of blood. Having put myself to rights, though the rents in my doublet were still gaping, I went back to the bench in the hall, and passed the rest of the night there, sleeping and awake by turns.
At dawn I heard steps and voices in the court-yard as of early risen dependents starting the day. Silence returned for a few minutes, and then came the noise of hurrying feet, and of shouts. There was rapid talk between somebody in the court-yard and somebody at an upper window. I knew it meant that the bodies of the two guards had been discovered, doubtless by the men who had gone to relieve them. In a short time, down the stairs came the Count de Lavardin, his doublet still unfastened, followed by two body-servants. He came in haste toward the front door, but I rose and stood in his path.
"A moment, Monsieur Count. There's no need of haste. You'll find your prisoner safe enough."
"What do you mean?" he asked, having stopped in sheer wonder at my audacity.
"Madame the Countess has not flown, though it is true her guards are slain—I slew them. And Madame the Countess will not fly, though it is true her prison door is unlocked—I unlocked it—with this key, which I borrowed from you last night."
He took the key I handed him, and stared at it in amazement. He then thrust his hand into his doublet pocket and drew out another key, which he held up beside the first, looking from one to the other.
"Yes," said I, "that is a different key, which I left in place of the right one so that you might not discover the loan too soon."
He gazed at me with a mixture of fury and surprise, as at an antagonist whose capacity he must have previously underrated.
"By the horns of Satan," he exclaimed, "you are the boldest of meddling imps."
"I have meddled to good purpose," said I, "though my meddling has not turned out as I planned. But it has turned out so as to bring you peace of mind, at least in one respect."
"What are you talking of?"
"You see that I possessed myself of that key; that I fought my way to the prison of the Countess; that I threw open her prison door."
"And believe me, you shall pay for your ingenuity and daring, my brave youth."
"All that was but the beginning of what I was resolved and able to do. I had prepared our way of escape from the chateau."
"I am not sure of that."
"You may laugh with your lips, Count, but I laugh at you in my heart. Don't think Monsieur de Pepicot is the only man who can get out of the Chateau de Lavardin."
The reminder somewhat sobered the Count.
"I had the means, too," I went on, "to fly with Madame far from this place. We might indeed have been a half-day's ride away by this time. I assure you it is true. Let what I have done convince you of what more I could have done. You don't think I should have gone so far as I have, unless I was sure of going further, do you?"
The Count shrugged his shoulders, pretending derision, but he waited for me.
"And why did I not go further?" I continued. "Because the Countess would not. Because she is the truest of wives. Because, when I opened her door, she met me with a stern rebuke for supposing her capable of flying from your roof. Ah, Monsieur, it would have set your mind at rest, if you had heard her. She bows to your will, though it may crush her, because you are her husband. Never was such pious fidelity to marriage vows. Her only hope is that your mind may be cleared of its false doubts of her."
The Count looked impressed. He had become thoughtful, and a kind of grateful ease seemed to show itself upon his brow. I was pleasing myself with the belief that I had thus, in an unexpected way, convinced him of the Countess's virtue, when a voice at my side broke in upon my satisfaction. I had so closely kept my attention upon the Count that I had not observed Captain Ferragant come down the stairs. It was he that now spoke, in his cool, quiet, scoffing tone:
"Perhaps the Countess had less faith in this gentleman's power to convey her safely away than he seems to have had himself. Perhaps she saw a less promising future for a renegade wife than he could picture to her. Perhaps she, too, perceived the value of her refusal to run away, as evidence of virtue in the eyes of a credulous husband."
The Count's forehead clouded again. I turned indignantly upon the Captain, but addressed my words to the Count, saying:
"Monsieur, you will pardon me, but it seems to a stranger that you allow this gentleman great liberties of speech. Men of honour do not, as a rule, even permit their friends to defame their wives."
"This gentleman is in my confidence," said the Count, his grey face reddening for a moment. "It is you, a stranger as you say, who have taken great liberties in speaking of my domestic affairs. But you shall pay for them, young gentleman. Your youth makes your presumption all the greater, and shall not make your punishment the less. I will trouble you, Captain, to see that he stays here till I return."
At this the Count, motioning his attendants to follow, who had stood out of earshot of our lowered voices, passed on to the court-yard, and thence, of course, to the prison of the Countess.
The Captain stood looking at me with that expression of antipathy and ridicule which I always found it so hard to brook. I had some thought of defying the Count's last words and walking away to see what the Captain would do. But I reflected that this course must end in my taking down, unless I made good a sudden flight from the chateau by the gate; and if I made that I should be fleeing from the Countess. So the best thing was to be submissive, and not bring matters, as between the Count and me, to a crisis. Perhaps a way to help the Countess might yet occur, if I stayed upon the scene to avail myself of it. And in any case by continuing there in as much freedom as the Count might choose to allow me, I might have at least the chance of another sight of her.
So, while we waited half an hour or so in the hall, I gave the Captain no trouble, not even that of speech, which he disdained to take on his own initiative.
The Count returned, looking agitated, as if he had been in a storm of anger which had scarce had time to subside. His glance at me was more charged with hate and menace than ever before. He beckoned the Captain to the other end of the hall, and there they talked for awhile in undertones, the Count often shaking his head quickly, and taking short walks to and fro; sometimes he clenched his fists, or breathed heavy sighs of irritation, or darted at me a swift look of malevolence and threat. I could only assume that something had passed between the Countess and him during his visit to her prison—perhaps she had shown anxiety as to whether I had fled—which had suddenly quickened and increased his jealousy of me.
At last the Count seemed to accept some course advised by his friend. He came towards me, the Captain following with slower steps. In a dry voice, well under control, the Count said to me:
"Permit me to relieve you, Monsieur, of the burden of those weapons you carry. I am annoyed that you should think it desirable to wear them in my house, as if it were the road."
Startled, I put my hands on the hilts of my sword and dagger, and took a step backward.
"Your annoyance is somewhat strange, Monsieur," said I, "considering that you and the Captain wear your swords indoors as well as out. I thought it was the custom of this house."
"If so," replied the Count, with his ghastly smile, "it is a custom that a guest forfeits the benefit of by killing two of my dependents. Come, young gentleman. Don't be so rude as to make me ask twice."
The Captain now stepped forward more briskly, his hand on his own sword. Taking his motion as a threatening one, and scarce knowing what to do, I drew my weapons upon impulse and presented, not the handles, but the points. But ere I could think, the Captain's long rapier flashed out, it moved so swiftly I could not see it, and my own sword was torn from my grip and sent whirring across the hall. In the next instant, the guard of the Captain's sword was locked against the guard of my dagger, and his left hand gripped my wrist. It was such a trick as a fencing master might have played on a new pupil, or as I had heard attributed to my father but had never seen him perform. It showed me what a swordsman that red Captain was, and how much I had yet to learn ere I dared venture against such an adversary. And there was his bold red-splashed face close to mine, smiling in derision of my surprise and discomfiture. He was beginning to exert his strength upon my wrist—that strength which had choked and flung away the great hound. To save my arm, I let go my dagger. The Captain put his foot on it till an attendant, whom the Count had summoned, stooped for it. My sword was picked up by another man, whereupon, at the Count's command, it was hung upon a peg in the wall, and the dagger attached to the handle of the sword. The two men were then ordered to guard me, one at each side. They were burly fellows, armed with daggers.
"Well, Monsieur, what next?" said I in as scornful a tone as I could command.
"Patience, Monsieur; you will see."
There was a low, narrow door in the side of the hall, near the front. At the Count's bidding, an attendant opened this, and I was marched into a very small, bare room, the ceiling of which was scarce higher than my head. This apartment had evidently been designed as a doorkeeper's box. It's only furniture was a bench. A mere eyehole of a window in the corner looked upon the court-yard.
"Remember," I called back to the Count, "you cannot put injuries upon me with impunity. An account will be exacted in due time."
"Remember, you," he replied with a laugh, "that you have murdered two men here, and are subject to my sentence."
My guards left me in the room, and stationed themselves outside the door, which was then closed upon me. There was no lock to the door, but it was possible to fasten the latch on the outside, and this was done, as I presently discovered by trial.
I sat on the bench, and gazed out upon as much of the court-yard as the window showed. Suddenly the window was darkened by something placed against it outside,—a man's doublet propped up by a pike, or some such device. I could not guess why they should cut off my light, unless as a mere addition to the tediousness of my restraint. I disdained to show annoyance, though I might have thrust my arm through the window and displaced the obstruction. Later I saw the reason: it was to prevent my seeing who passed through the court-yard.
It seemed an hour until suddenly my door was flung open. In the doorway appeared the Captain, beckoning me to come forth. I did so.
Half-way up the hall, a little at one side, stood the Count. Near him, and looking straight toward me, sat the Countess in a great arm-chair. Besides the Captain and myself, those two were the only persons in the hall. Even my guards had disappeared, and all doors leading from the hall were shut.
The Countess, as I have said, was looking straight toward me. Her eyes had followed the Captain to my door, she wondering what was to come out of it. For assuredly she had not expected me to come out of it. She had still trusted that I had gone away in the night—the Count had not told her otherwise. Her surprise at seeing me was manifest in her startled look, which was followed by a low cry of compassionate regret.
The Count had been watching her with a painful intentness. He had not even turned his eyes to see me enter, having trusted to his ears to apprise him. At her display of concern, the skin of his face tightened; though that display was no more than any compassionate lady might have given in a similar case. Even the Count, after a moment, appeared to think more reasonably of her demeanour.
I bowed to her, and stood waiting for what might follow, the Captain near me.
The Count, turning toward me for an instant to show it was I he addressed, but fixing his gaze again upon his wife and keeping it there while he continued speaking to me, delivered himself thus, with mocking irony:
"Monsieur, I will not be so trifling or so churlish as to keep you in doubt regarding your fate. In this chateau, where the right of doom lies in me, you have been, by plain evidence and your own confession, guilty of the murder of two men. As to what other and worse crimes you have intended, I say nothing. What you have done is already too much. There is only one sufficient punishment. You may thank me for granting you time of preparation. I will give you two days—a liberal allowance, you will admit—during which you shall be lodged in a secure place, where in solitude and quiet you may put yourself in readiness for death."
The Countess rose with a cry, "No, no!" Her face and voice were charged with something so much more than mere compassion, that I forgot my doom in a wild sweet exultation. At what he perceived, the Count uttered a fierce, dismayed ejaculation. The Captain looked at once triumphant and resentful.
"It is enough!" cried the Count hoarsely. "The truth is clear!"
He motioned me away, and the Captain pushed me back into the little room, quickly fastening the door. But my feeling was still one of ecstasy rather than horror, for still I saw the Countess's tender eyes in grief for me, still saw her arms reaching out toward me, still heard her voice full of wild protest at my sentence. It was to surprise her real feelings that she had been brought to hear, in my presence, my doom pronounced; and my window had been obstructed that our confrontation might be as sudden to me as to her, lest by a prepared look I might put her on her guard. This it was that the Captain had suggested, and excellently it had served. That moment's revelation of her heart, though it brought such sweetness into my soul, could only make her fate worse and my sentence irrevocable.
I had not been back in the little room a minute, when it occurred to me to reach through the window and displace the obstruction. I was in time to see the Countess escorted back across the court-yard by her husband. This could mean only that she was again to occupy her prison in the tower. I was glad at least to know where she was, that I might imagine her in her surroundings, of which I had obtained so brief a glimpse.
Presently my door opened slightly, that my breakfast might be passed in on a trencher; and again an hour later, that the trencher might be taken out. Soon after that, the door was thrown wide, and a man of some authority, whom I had already taken to be the seneschal of the chateau, courteously requested me to step forth. When I did so, he told me my lodging was ready and bade me follow. At my elbows were two powerful armed servitors of this strange half-military household, to escort me.
I had a moment's hope that I might be taken to some chamber in the great tower; I should thus be nearer the Countess. But such was not the Count's will. I was conducted to the hall staircase, and up two flights, thence along the corridor past my former sleeping chamber, and finally by a small stairway to a sort of loft at that very corner of the chateau against which the great tower was built.
It was a small chamber with one window and an unceiled roof that sloped very low at the sides. I suppose it had been used as a store-room for rubbish. Two worm-eaten chests were its only furniture. On one of these were a basin, a jug of water, and a towel. On the other were a blanket, a sheet, and a pillow. Here then were my bed and wash-stand. There was still space left on the first chest to serve me as dining-table.
Before I could find anything to say upon these meagre accommodations for a gentleman's last lodging in this world, the seneschal bade me good-day, the door was closed and locked, and I was left to my reflections. The room not having been designed as a prison, there was no grilled opening in the door, and I was not exposed to the guard's view.
The Count might have kept me in my former chamber, thought I, the time being so short. Perhaps he feared my making a rope of bed clothes and dropping to the terrace. As for the little room off the hall, it had no real lock, and the guards might become sleepy at night. But why did he make this respite of two days? Was it to give himself time for devising some peculiarly humiliating and atrocious form of death? Or was it mere ironical pretence of mercy in his justice, and might I be surprised with the fatal summons as soon as he was in the humour for it? To this day, I do not clearly know,—or whether he had other matters for his immediate care; or indeed whether, at the instant of pronouncing my sentence in order to discover the Countess's feelings, he actually intended carrying it out.
In any case, now that her heart had betrayed itself, I had little hope of mercy. What came nearest to daunting me was the thought that, if I died, my people might never know for certain what had been my fate, for the Count would probably keep my death a secret, his own dependents being silenced by interest and fear. Yet I felt I had no right to complain of Fate. I had come from home to see danger, and here it was, though my present adventure was something different from cutting off the moustaches of Brignan de Brignan. And still my emotions were sweetened by the sense of what the Countess had disclosed, fatal though that disclosure might be to her also.
Such were the materials of my thoughts for the first hour or so, while I sat on the chest that was to be my bed. But suddenly there came a sharper consciousness of what death meant, and how closely it threatened me. I sprang up, to bestir myself in seeking if there might be some means of escape. The situation had changed since I had willingly lingered at the chateau in order to be near the Countess. The reluctance to betake myself from the place where she was, had not diminished; but I had awakened to the knowledge that my only hope of ever seeing her again lay in present flight, if that were possible. I could serve her better living than dead, better free than a prisoner.
I went to the window, which was wide enough for me to put my head out. My room was at the top of the building, and only the great tower, partly visible at my right, rose higher toward the sky. Below me was a narrow paved space between the house and the outer wall: it ran from the base of the tower at my right, to the garden, far at the left. Beyond the wall was the moat: beyond that, the country toward Montoire. If I could let myself down to the earth by any means, I should still be on the wrong side of the wall. But I might find the postern key, buried under the rose bush near the postern itself.
I looked around the room, but there was nothing that would serve as a means of descent, except the bedding on the larger chest. This I examined: it was the scantiest, being merely a strip of blanket and a strip of sheet, together just sufficient to cover the top of the chest. With the pillow cover and towel, they would not reach half-way to the ground.
Perhaps the chests might contain old clothes, or other materials that would serve to eke out. I tried the lids, but both were strongly locked. The larger chest looked very ancient and rotten: its hinges might be loose. I pulled one end of it out from against the wall, to examine the back. The hinges were immovable. Despondent, I ran my hand further down the back at random, and, to my surprise, felt a small irregular hole, through which I could thrust two fingers. It was evidently a rat hole, for I saw now that when close to the wall, it must have corresponded to a chink between the stones thereof.
My fingers inside the chest came in contact with nothing but rat-bitten papers, to my sad disappointment. But, having gone so far, I was moved to continue until I had patiently twisted a few documents out through the hole. I straightened and glanced at them. The edges were fretted by the rats. One writing was an account of moneys expended for various wines; another was a list of remedies for the diseases of horses; but the third, when I caught its meaning and saw the name signed at the end, made my heart jump. It was the last page of a letter, and ran thus:
"One thing is certain, by our careful exclusion of fools and weaklings, our plot is less liable to premature discovery than any of those which have hitherto been attempted, and, as you say, if we fail we have but to lock ourselves up in our chateaux till all blows over, the K. being so busy at present with the Dutch. In that event, my dear Count, the Chateau de Lavardin is a residence that some of the rest of us will envy you. Your servant ever,"Collot d'Arniol."
"One thing is certain, by our careful exclusion of fools and weaklings, our plot is less liable to premature discovery than any of those which have hitherto been attempted, and, as you say, if we fail we have but to lock ourselves up in our chateaux till all blows over, the K. being so busy at present with the Dutch. In that event, my dear Count, the Chateau de Lavardin is a residence that some of the rest of us will envy you. Your servant ever,
"Collot d'Arniol."
The name was that of the chief mover of the late conspiracy, who had paid the penalty of his treason without betraying his accomplices. If this was indeed his signature, with which the authorities were certainly acquainted, the scrap of paper, were I free to carry it to Paris, would put the life of the Count de Lavardin in my hands.
To be possessed of such a weapon—such a means of rescuing the Countess from her fearful situation—and yet lack freedom wherein to use it, was too vexing for endurance. I resolved, rather than wait inactively for death with that weapon useless, to employ the most reckless means of escape. Meanwhile I pocketed the fragment of letter, and thrust the other papers back into the chest, which I then pushed to its former place.
After thinking awhile, I poured the water from the heavy earthen jug into the basin. I then sat down on the large chest, leaning forward, elbows upon knees, my head upon my hands, the empty jug beside me as if I had lazily left it there after drinking from it. In this attitude I waited through a great part of the afternoon, until I began to wonder if the Count was not going to send me any more food that day.
At last, when the sun was low, I heard my lock turned, the door opened into the room, and one of my new guards entered with a trencher of bread and cold meat. With the corner of my eye, I saw that nobody was immediately outside my door; so I assumed that my other guard, if there were still two, was stationed at the foot of the short flight of stairs leading to my room. The man with the food, having cast a look at me as I sat in my listless attitude, passed me in order to put the trencher on the other chest, which was further from the door.
The instant his back was toward me, I silently grasped the earthen jug, sprang after him, and brought the jug down upon the back of his head with all my strength while he was leaning forward to place the trencher. He staggered forward. I gave him a second blow, and he sprawled upon the chest, which stopped his fall.
I ran to the open door, pushed it almost shut, and waited behind it, the jug raised in both hands. My blows and the guard's fall had not been without noise.
"Hola! what's that?" cried somebody outside and a little below. I gave no answer, and presently I heard steps rapidly mounting to my door. Then the door was lightly pushed, but I stopped it; whereupon the head of my other guard was thrust in through the narrow opening. Down came my jug, and the man dropped to his hands and knees, in the very act of drawing his weapons. I struck him again, laying him prostrate. Then I dragged him into the room, and tried to wrest his dagger from his grasp. Finding this difficult, I ran back to the first guard, took his dagger from its sheath as he was beginning to come to, wielded my jug once more to delay his awakening, and, stepping over the second man's body, passed out of the room. The man with the trencher had left the key in the lock. I closed the door and turned the key, which I put in my pocket. I then hastened down the stairs, fled along the deserted passage, descended the main stairway to the story below, traversed without a moment's pause the rooms leading to the picture gallery, crossed that and found the door at the end unlocked, ran down the stairs of the Countess's former apartments, unlocked the door to the garden, and sped along the walk toward the postern. In all this, I had not seen a soul: I was carried forward by a bracing resolve to accomplish my escape or die in attempting it, as well as by an inspiriting faith in the saying of the Latin poet that fortune favours the bold, and by a feeling that for me everything depended on one swift, uninterrupted flight.
I gained the postern; fell on my knees by the nearest rose bush, and, choosing a spot where the soil swelled a little, dug rapidly with the dagger, throwing the earth aside with my hand. In my impatience, much time seemed to go: I feared that here at last I was stayed: great drops fell from my brow upon my busy hands: I trembled and could have wept for vexation. But suddenly my dagger struck something hard, and in a moment I grasped the key. It opened the lock. I stood upon the ledge outside, and re-locked the door; then dashed across the plank over the moat, and made for the forest.
I had no time to spare. My guards might be already returned to consciousness and doing their best to alarm the house from within their prison. Bloodhounds might soon be on my track. I ran along the edge of the forest, therefore, which covered my movements till I was past the village of St. Outrille, close to Montoire. I then altered my pace to a walk, lest a running figure in the fields might attract the notice of the Count's watchman on the tower; and, going in the lurching manner of a rustic, came to a road by which I crossed the river and gained the town. I entered the inn, sought the host, and called for my bill, baggage, and horse.
The innkeeper did not recognize me at first, and, when he did, showed great wonder and curiosity at my absence. He was inclined to be friendly, though, and, when he perceived I was in haste, did not delay my departure with inquisitive talk. I saw that my horse had been properly cared for in my absence, and was glad to be on its back again, the more because I should thus leave no further scent for bloodhounds to follow.
I rode out of the archway and turned my horse toward the road for Les Roches and Paris. As I crossed the square, I could not help glancing over my right shoulder toward the Lavardin road. In doing so, I happened to see a young man coming out of the church, whose face I knew. I thought a moment, then reined my horse around to intercept him, and, as he was about to pass, said in a low voice:
"Good evening, Hugues."
He stopped in surprise, recalling my features but not my identity. I leaned over my horse's neck, and spoke in an undertone:
"You will remember I met you on your way back from Sablé, whither you had carried a certain lady's message. I have since heard of you from that lady. She is in a most unhappy plight, and so is her maid Mathilde."
The young miller turned pale at this.
"I have just escaped from the chateau," I continued, "where the Count meant to kill me. I am going as fast as possible to Paris, where I can use means to render him powerless. But that will take time, and meanwhile the worst may befall the Countess—and no doubt her faithful Mathilde also. They are imprisoned in the tower. I thank God I have met you, for now there is one friend here to whose solicitude I may leave that unfortunate lady and her devoted maid while I am away."
"Monsieur," said he, with deep feeling, "I know no reason why you should play a trick on me, and you don't look as if you were doing so. I will trust you, therefore. But can you not come to my house, where we can talk fully?"
"Where is your house?"
"About a quarter of a league down that road." He pointed toward the road that ran northward from the square, as my road ran northeastward. "When you are ready to go on, you can get the Paris road by a lane, without coming back to the town."
There were good reasons against my losing any time before starting for Paris. But it was well, on the other hand, for Hugues to know exactly how matters stood at the chateau. I put my reasons hastily to him, and he said he could promise me a safe hiding-place at his mill. And I could travel the faster in the end for a rest now, which I looked as if I needed,—in truth, I had slept little and badly in the hall the previous night, and the day's business had told upon me. So, perhaps most because it was pleasant to be with a trusty companion who shared my cause of anxiety, I agreed to go to his house for supper, and to set out after night-fall.
"Good!" said Hugues. "Then you had best ride ahead, Monsieur, so we are not seen together. You can leave me now as if you had been merely asking your way. If you ride slowly when you are out of the town, I shall catch up."
I did as he suggested, and he soon overtook me on the road. His house proved to be a cottage of good size built against a mill, with a small barn at one side of the yard and a stable at the other. When I had dismounted at his door, we unsaddled and unbridled my horse, so that it might pass for a new horse of his own if pursuers looked into his stable. He then called his boy and his woman-servant, and told them what to say if anybody came inquiring. We carried my saddle, bridle, and portmanteau through the cottage to the mill, and thence to a small cellar which was reached by means of a well-concealed trap-door in the mill-floor. This cellar should be my refuge in case the Count's men came there seeking me.
"I made this hiding-place," said Hugues, moving his candle about to show how well floored and walled it was, "because one could never say when Mathilde, living in that fearful chateau, might want a place to fly to. She would not leave her mistress, you know, though the Countess's other women went gladly enough when the Count sent them off. Nobody knows there is anything between Mathilde and me, Monsieur,—except the Countess. It is safer so. We have been waiting for the Count to die, so that all might be well with the Countess, for Mathilde could marry me then with easy mind."
"I hope that God will send that time soon," said I.
"But meanwhile, this present danger?" said Hugues.
We returned to the living-room of the cottage, and talked of the matter while we had supper. I told Hugues everything, misrepresenting only so far as to make it appear that the Count's jealousy was still entirely unfounded, and that he had mistaken the Countess's feelings at our confrontation. Whatever Hugues may have thought upon this last point, he made no comment thereon; but he showed the liveliest sense of the increased danger in which the Countess stood. He feared that my escape would make her position still worse, and that her hours might be already numbered. He considered there was not time for me to go to Paris and return: the Countess's rescue ought to be attempted promptly, or the attempt would be too late.
In all this, he but echoed the feeling that had come back to me with double force while I told him the situation. But there was the Countess's determination not to flee. Hugues said that as this determination must be overcome for the Countess's own sake, any pressure that could be brought to bear upon her feelings would be justifiable. Let it be urged upon her that if she persisted in waiting for death, Mathilde's life also would doubtless be sacrificed; let every argument, every persuasion be employed; let me beseech, let me reproach, let me even use imperative means if need be. Suddenly, as he talked, I saw a way by which I thought she might be moved. It was one chance, but enough to commit me to the effort.
The question now was, how to communicate with the Countess, and to accomplish the rescue. This Hugues and I settled ere we went to bed. I slept that night in the mill, by the trap-door. Hugues lay awake, listening for any alarm. None came, and in the morning we agreed that either the Count had elected not to seek me at all, or had traced me to the inn, and, learning I had taken horse, supposed I was far out of the neighbourhood. I stayed indoors all that day, while Hugues was absent in furtherance of our project, the woman and boy being under strict orders as to their conduct in the event of inquiries. In the evening Hugues returned with various acquisitions, among them being a sword for me, and a long rope ladder, both obtained at Troo.
We awaited the fall of night, then set out. I upon my horse, Hugues riding one of his and leading the other. We went by obscure lanes, crossed the river, gained the forest, and lingered in its shades till the church clock of Montoire struck eleven. We then proceeded through the forest, near the edge, till we were behind the Chateau de Lavardin.
Besides the rope-ladder, we had with us a cross-bow that Hugues owned, a long slender cord, and a paper on which I had written some brief instructions during the afternoon.
The night was starlit, though the moon would come later. We hoped to be away from the chateau before it rose. There was a gentle breeze, which we rather welcomed as likely to cover what little noise we might make.
Leaving our horses tied in the forest, and taking the cross-bow and other things, we stole along the moat skirting the Western wall, till we were opposite the great tower. It rose toward the sky, sheer from the black water that separated us from it by so few yards. We gazed upward, and I pointed out the window which I thought, from its situation, must be that of the Countess, if she still occupied her former prison.
Our first plan depended upon her still occupying that prison, or some other with an unbarred window in that side of the tower; and upon her being still accompanied by Mathilde.
If the man on top of the tower were to look down now, thought I! We had considered that chance. It was not likely he would come to the edge of the tower and look straight down. His business apparently was to watch the road at a distance and in both directions. He could do this best from the Northeastern part of the tower. From what I knew now, I could guess why the Count had stationed him there: a conspirator never knows when he is safe from belated detection and a visit of royal guards. This accounted also, perhaps as much as the Count's jealousy, for his inhospitality to strangers, and for the half-military character of his household.
Hugues uttered a bird-call, which had been one of his signals to Mathilde in their meetings. We waited, looking up and wishing the night were blacker. He repeated the cry.
Something faintly whitish appeared in the dark slit which I had taken to be the Countess's window. It was a face.
"Mathilde," whispered Hugues to me.
Keeping his gaze upon her, he held up the cross-bow for her notice; then the bolt, to which we had attached the slender cord. Next, before adjusting the bolt, he aimed the unbent bow at her window: this was to indicate what he was about to do. Then he lowered the bow, and looked at her without further motion, awaiting some sign of understanding from her. She nodded her head emphatically, and drew it in.
Hugues fitted the string and the bolt, raised the bow, and stood motionless for I know not how many seconds; at last the string twanged; the bolt sang through the air. It did not fall, nor strike stone, and the cord remained suspended from above: the bolt had gone through the window.
"Good!" I whispered in elation; and truly Hugues deserved praise, for he had had to allow both for the wind and for the cord fastened to the bolt.
The cord was soon pulled upward. Our end of it was tied to the rope ladder, which Hugues unfolded as it continued to be drawn up by Mathilde. At the junction of cord and ladder was fixed the paper with instructions. Mathilde could not overlook this nor mistake its purpose. When the ladder was nearly all in the air, its movement ceased. We knew then that Mathilde had the other end of it. Presently the window became faintly alight.
"They have lighted a candle, to read the note," I whispered.
Hugues kept a careful hold upon our end of the ladder, to which there was fastened another cord, shorter and stronger than the first. My note gave instructions to attach the ladder securely to a bed, or some other suitable object, which, if movable, should then be placed close to the window, but not so as to impede my entrance. It announced my intention of visiting the Countess for a purpose of supreme importance to us both. When the ladder was adjusted, a handkerchief should be waved up and down in the window.
"The Countess surely will not refuse to let me come and say what I have to," I whispered, to reassure myself after we had waited some time.
"Surely not, Monsieur. She does not know yet what it is," replied Hugues.
At that moment the handkerchief waved in the window.
Hugues drew the ladder taut and braced himself. I grasped one of the rounds, found a lower one with my foot, and began to mount. The ladder formed, of course, an incline over the moat. When I had ascended some way, Hugues, as we had agreed, allowed the ladder to swing gradually across the moat and hang against the tower, he retaining hold of the cord by which to draw the lower end back at the fit time. I now climbed perpendicularly, close to the tower. It was a laborious business, requiring great patience. Once I ran my eyes up along the tall tower and saw the stars in the sky; once I looked down and saw them reflected in the moat: but as these diversions made my task appear the longer, and had a qualmish effect upon me, I thereafter studied only each immediate round of the ladder as I came to it. As I got higher, I felt the wind more; but it only refreshed me. Toward the end I had some misgiving lest the ladder should lie too tight against the bottom of the window for me to grasp the last rounds. But this fear proved groundless. Mathilde had placed a pillow at the outer edge of the sill, for the ladder to run over; and I had no sooner thrust my hand into the window than it was caught in a firm grasp and guided to the proper round. Another step brought my head above the sill: at the next, I had two arms inside the long, shaft-like opening; my body followed, as Mathilde's receded. I crawled through; lowered myself, hands and knees, to the couch beneath; leaped to the floor, and kneeling before the Countess, kissed her hand.
She was standing, and her dress was the same blue robe in which I had seen her in the same room two nights before. The candle was on a small table, which held also an illuminated book and an image of the Virgin, and above which a crucifix hung against the wall. Besides the bed at the window, there were another bed, a trunk, a chair, and a three-legged stool.
The Countess's face was all anxiety and question.
"Thank God you are still safe!" said I.
"And you!" she replied. "Brigitte told us you had escaped. I had prayed your life might be saved. But now you put yourself in peril again. I had hoped you were far away. Oh, Monsieur, what is it brings you back to this house of danger?"
"My going has surely made it a house of greater danger to you. It is a marvel the Count has not already taken revenge upon you for my escape. I thank God I am here while you still live."
"My life is in God's hands. Was it to say this that you have risked yours again, Monsieur? Oh, your coming here but adds to my sorrow."
"Hear what sorrow you will cause, Madame, if you refuse to be saved while there is yet time. I ask you to consider others. Below, waiting for us, is Hugues, who has enabled me to come here to-night. You know how that good brave fellow loves Mathilde. And you know that if you die, Mathilde will share your fate, for the Count will wish to give his own story of your death."
"But Mathilde must not stay to share my fate. She must go away with you now, while there is opportunity."
"I will not stir from your side, Madame,—they will have to tear me away when they come to kill you," said Mathilde, and then to me, "They have not sent Madame any food to-day. I think the plan is to starve us."
"Horrible!" I said. "That, no doubt, is because of my escape. But who knows when the Count, in one of the rages caused by his fancies, may turn to some method still more fearful. Madame, how can you endure this? Why, it is to encourage his crime, when you might escape!"
"Monsieur, you cannot tempt me with sophistries. What God permits—"
"Has not God permitted me to come here, with the means of escape? Avail yourself of them—see if God will not permit that."
"We know that God permits sin, Monsieur, for his own good reasons. It is for us to see that we are not they to whom it is permitted."
"But can you think it a sin to save yourself?"
"It is always a sin to break vows, Monsieur. And now—to go with you, of all men—would be doubly a sin." She had lowered her voice, and she lowered her eyes, too, and drew slightly back from me.
"Then go with Hugues, Madame," said I, my own voice softened almost to a whisper. "Only let me follow at a little distance to see that you are safe. And when you are safe, finally and surely, I will go away, and we shall be as strangers."
Tears were in her eyes. But she answered:
"No, Monsieur; I should still be a truant wife—still a breaker of vows made to the Church and heaven."
"Then you would rather die, and have poor Mathilde die after you—Mathilde, who has no such scruples?"
"Mathilde must go away with you to-night. I command her—she will not disobey what may be the last orders I shall ever give her."
"Madame, I have never disobeyed yet, but I will disobey this time. I will not leave you." So said Mathilde, with quiet firmness.
"Ah, Mathilde, it is unkind, unfair! You will save yourself for Hugues's sake."
"I will save myself when you save yourself, Madame; not before."
The Countess sank upon the chair, and turning to the Virgin's image, said despairingly:
"Oh, Mother of heaven, save this child from her own fidelity!"
"It is not Mathilde alone that you doom," I now said, thinking it time to try my last means. "It is not only that you will darken the life of poor Hugues. There is another who will not leave Lavardin if you will not: one who will stay near, sharing your danger; and who, if you die, will seek his own death in avenging you."
"Oh, no, Monsieur!" she entreated. "I was so glad to learn you had escaped. Do not rob me of that consolation. Do not stay at Lavardin. Live!—live and be happy, for my sake. So brave—so tender—the world needs you; and you must not die for me—I forbid you!"
"You will find me as immovable as Mathilde," said I.
She looked from one to the other of us, and put forth her hands pleadingly; then broke down into weeping.
"Oh, will you make my duty the harder?" she said. "God knows I would gladly die to save you."
"It is not dying that will save us. The only way is to save yourself."
"Monsieur, you shall not drive me to sin by your temptations! Heaven will save you both in spite of yourselves. That will be my reward for putting this sin from me."
"You persist in calling it a sin, Madame: very well. But is it not selfish to go free from sin at the expense of others? If one can save others by a sin of one's own, is it not nobler to take that sin upon one's soul? Nay, is it not the greater sin to let others suffer, that one's own hands may be clean?"
"Oh, you tempt me with worldly reasoning, Monsieur. Kind mother of Christ," she said, fixing her eyes upon the image of Mary, "what shall I do? Be thou my guide—speak to my soul—tell me what to do!"
After a moment, the Countess again turned to me, still perplexed, agitated, unpersuaded.
"Madame," said I, "when one considers how soon the Count de Lavardin must surely suffer for crimes of which you know nothing, your death at his hands seems the more grievous a fate. Do you know that he is a traitor?—that his treason will soon be known to the King's ministers? If his jealousy had only waited a short while, or if my discovery had occurred a little earlier, his death would have spared you all this. But now, if you are not starved or slain before he is arrested, he will surely kill you when he finds himself about to be taken.—My God, I had not thought of that when I resolved to go to Paris at once! Oh, Madame, fly now while there is chance! I assure you that doom is hovering over the Count's head; if you stay here, I cannot go to Paris; but Hugues shall go with this paper in my stead."
"What is the paper, Monsieur? What do you mean by this talk of the Count and treason?" she asked in sheer wonder.
"It is a proof of the Count's participation in the late conspiracy. I found it in the room where I was imprisoned. And come what may, I will see that it goes to Paris for the inspection of the Duke de Sully. And then there will be a short shrift for the Count de Lavardin, I promise you."
"But in that case, it would be you that caused his death, Monsieur!" she exclaimed.
"The executioner would cause his death—and the law. I should be but the humble instrument of heaven to bring it to pass."
"But you would be the instrument of my husband's death, Monsieur! That must not be. You, of all men! No, no. Why, it would be an eternal barrier between us—in thought and kind feeling, I mean,—in the next world too. Oh, no; you must not use that paper, nor cause it to be used."
"But, Madame, he is a traitor. What matters it whether I or another—it is only justice—my duty to the King."
"But you do not understand. I should not dare even pray for you! And I must not let you denounce him—I must prevent your using that paper. I am his wife, Monsieur,—I must prevent. Otherwise, I should be consenting to my husband's death!"
"He has no scruples about consenting to yours, Madame."
"The sin is on his part, then, not on mine. Come, Monsieur, you must let me destroy that paper." She advanced toward me.
"No, Madame; not I. Nay, I will use force to keep it, if need be! It is my one weapon, my one means of vengeance." I tore my wrist from her hand, and put the paper back into my inner pocket.
"Then, Monsieur, I have said my last to you. I must put you out of my thoughts, out of my prayers even. And if I find means, I must warn my husband."
"Listen, Madame. There is one condition upon which I will destroy this paper and keep silence."
She uttered a joyful cry. I knew that what she thought of was not her husband's fate, but the barrier she had mentioned.
"It is that you will escape with me at once," I said.
The joy passed out of her face; but she was silent.
"Consider," I went on. "Not merely your own life, not merely mine, not merely Mathilde's, and the happiness of Hugues: it is in your power to save your husband's life also, and to save his soul from the crime of your murder, if there be any degree between act and intent. Is it not a sin and a folly to refuse? Think of the blood already shed by reason of this matter. Why should there be more?"
At last she wavered. I turned to Mathilde, to speak of the order in which we should descend the ladder.
At that instant I heard the key begin to grate in the lock.
"Some one is coming in!" whispered the Countess in alarm.
Instantly I pushed Mathilde upon the couch beneath the window, in a sitting posture, so that her body would conceal the end of the rope ladder. The next moment I had pulled the other bed a little way out from the wall, and was crouching behind it.
The door opened, and I heard the noise of men entering with heavy tread. Then the door closed. There was a sound of swift movement, then a scream from Mathilde and a terrified cry from the Countess, both voices being suddenly silenced at their height. I raised my head, and saw two powerful men in black masks, one of whom was grasping the Countess by the throat with his left hand while, with his right assisted by his teeth, he was endeavouring to pass a looped cord around her neck. The other man had both hands about the neck of Mathilde, that he might sufficiently overpower her to apply a similar cord.
I leaped over the bed, and upon the man who was trying to strangle the Countess. Mad to save and avenge her, I sank my dagger into the back of his shoulder, and he fell without having seen who had attacked him. The murderer who was struggling with Mathilde immediately turned from her and drew sword to attack me, at the same time crying out, "Garoche, to the rescue!"