Imagine what it was to me, to whom every moment was worth its weight in gold, to see the group, and, above all, Ravaillac, standing at the door of the Toison d'Or. Was there ever such cross-grained luck? If I could but pass down that narrow street without the hawk's eye of the Flagellant falling on me I might in an hour do all and more than I had ever hoped for. I could—— Buttonne dieu!What was the use of prating about what might be. Through the embrasure of the turret I covered Ravaillac with my pistol, and twice half pressed the trigger and twice restrained myself. Even if he fell the shot would ruin all. It could not be risked, and I thrust the long, black barrel back into my belt with a curse, and began to walk restlessly to and fro in the passage. It was impossible for me to keep still, my nerves were so strung. In a little I began to cool and sought my room, determined to occasionally take a turn to the turret and see if the guard was gone, but not to harass myself by watching them continually. In about an hour or so I wearied of sitting and looked out of my window again in the direction of Madame's room, as I called it to myself. At the moment of my doing so the shutter that was open towards my side suddenly closed. I could just make out a flash of white fingers on the dark woodwork, and then the face I longed to see looked out from the half of the window still open and drew back again almost on the instant. Feeling sure that she would look out once more, I leaned forwards. Madame did as I expected, and I could see the astonishment on her face and hear her cry of joy. She tried to converse with me by signals on her fingers, and for the first time I had occasion to bless what I had up to now considered a foolish accomplishment that I picked up as a boy when I was with Monseigneur de Joyeuse. Enough that Madame made me understand that she was well treated, and I let my dear know that there were those at work who would soon free her, and perhaps there was a word or so besides on a subject which concerned us two alone. It was in the midst of this part of our converse that she drew back all at once with a warning finger on her lips, and though I waited again for a full hour, forgetting the watchers below in the fresh fears that began to assail me, I did not see her again. At the end of that time, however, a white kerchief waved twice from the window and was then withdrawn. I turned back into my room, and now that I was certain she was there my impatience at being penned up as I was became almost insupportable, and heaven alone knows how I held myself in from making a dash for it and risking all on the venture. To cut the matter short, it wanted but a few minutes to sundown when, to my relief, I saw a cloaked figure I could not recognise step out of the Toison d'Or, and, after giving a few orders to the guards, pass briskly down the street. They in their turn went into the house, and at last the road was clear. I hesitated no further and hurried down the stairs. At the door I was stopped by my host, who inquired whither I was hastening.
'I have just seen a friend,' I answered, and the next moment was in the street. As I pressed forwards I had two minds about keeping my appointment with Pantin in the square behind St. Martin's, but as I went on I reflected that I had to pass that way, and as I might need the notary's aid I would wait there a few minutes, and if he did not come, go straight to de Belin with my news.
Although I was not in a frame of mind to observe what was going on around me, I soon became conscious that one of those sudden fogs which extend over the city at this period of the year had arisen, as it were, out of nothing, and in the course of a few minutes I was compelled to slacken pace and pick my way slowly, and with the greatest caution in regard to landmarks, for I could not risk losing my way again. The fog was not a thick one, but it was sufficient, united with the coming evening, to almost blur out the streets and houses and make the figures of passers-by loom out like large and indistinct shadows. Carefully as I had tried to impress the way on my memory, I hesitated more than once as to the route I should take, and it was with something that was like a sigh of relief that I found myself at last behind St. Martin's, whose spire towered above me, a tall, grey phantom. Here I halted for a moment to see if one of the few shadows that flickered now and then through the haze might give some signal by which I might recognise Pantin. It was in vain, and, determining to wait no longer, I set off at a round pace, when I was suddenly arrested by hearing the rich tones of a voice singing:
Frère Jacques, dormez-vous?Dormez-vous, dormez-vous?
Frère Jacques, dormez-vous?Dormez-vous, dormez-vous?
The clear notes rang out through the fog, bringing with them a hundred recollections of the time when I had last heard the chorus. And the voice? That was not to be mistaken. It was de Belin, or else his ghost. Without a moment's hesitation I sang back the lines, advancing at the same time in the direction in which I had heard the voice. I had not gone fifty paces when I saw two tall shadows approaching me, and at the same time heard the verse again.
'Lisois!' I called out.
'It is he,' I heard de Belin say.
Then the shadows stopped for a moment, and another and slighter figure joined them. Finally, one came forwards, and, when within a yard or so of me, spoke:
'D'Auriac, is it you?'
'Yes. I was hastening to you. Man, I have discovered all!'
'Morbleu!' exclaimed the Compte; 'thechansonwas a happy thought, else we had missed you in this fog.'
'Is Pantin here? We have not a moment to lose.'
'He is. It was he who guided us here. I have brought a friend with me. Do not ask his name; but speak freely before him, and tell us exactly what you have discovered.'
With these words he took me by the arm and led me up to the two. In the shorter there was no difficulty in recognising Pantin. What with the mist, the mask on his face, and the roquelaure that enveloped him to the ears, I could make out nothing of the stranger, who did not even answer my salutation except by a slight inclination of his head. I need not say I wasted no time, but laid the matter before them, and wound up with:
'And now, gentlemen, we are three swords; let Pantin hasten and bring half a dozen of the Compte's people, and I guarantee that we not only free Madame, but take the whole brood of vipers.'
'These cards won't win,' said de Belin. 'We must have more witnesses than ourselves, who are known to be enemies of the Marshal. The King plays at More's this evening. He is like to be there now, or else very soon, for he is bound on a frolic to-night. We will go straight there. Villeroi and Sully are both to be in attendance, and also the Marshal.'
'The Marshal will not be there,' I interrupted.
'If SO I wager the King asks for him, and I will take it on my head to explain. In half an hour we could be back with Sully and Villeroi, and then the game is ours. Do you not agree, monseigneur?' and he turned to the stranger. All the answer was another grave inclination of the head.
'Come,' went on de Belin, slipping his arm into mine. 'Put yourself in my hands, d'Auriac, and I pledge you success. My God!' he broke off suddenly, 'to think we should win so completely.'
There was so much in what he said that I agreed without demur, and Belin hurried me onwards, the stranger and Pantin following a few steps behind. As we went on Belin whispered:
'Ask no questions, d'Auriac; say nothing until you see Sully, and ten minutes after I promise you twenty swords.'
'If I do not get them in an hour,' I said grimly, 'I will go back myself and try what my own sword can do.'
'And I will go back with you, too—there, is that not enough? Come, man!' and we hurried along through the mist as fast as we could walk, keeping on the left side of the road.
As we came up to St. Merri, de Belin stopped and blew sharply on a whistle. There was an answering call, and from under the Flamboyant portico of the church the figure of a man, with a led horse, slipped out into the fog, now yellow with the light of the street lamps. Without a word the stranger mounted, and the two passed us at a trot.
'What the devil does that mean!' I exclaimed. 'Your Monseigneur has left us!'
'To return again,' answered the Compte drily. And then added, 'It will be a gay party at More's to-night, and it is time we were there.'
I made no answer, but, as we went on, could not help feeling uneasy in my mind at the thought of being recognised at More's; for after what de Belin had said of the King's temper towards me, I made sure that I would have scant mercy were I once arrested. And again, I would say that it was not for myself I was in dread, but for the probable consequence to Madame did any harm happen to me at this juncture.
But I had put my foot in the stirrup, and was bound to ride now; and then there was de Belin's word. At last we reached More's, and as we entered the hall I could not help wondering if the good Parisians knew that their King was playing at primero in an ordinary of the city, and would be later on, perhaps, pursued by the watch. More, whom I had not seen since my affair with d'Ayen, was in the hall, and at a word from de Belin conducted us himself up the stairway, though looking askance at me. We at length gained a long corridor, at the beginning of which Pantin was left. We stopped before the closed doors of a private dining-room from within which we could hear shouts of laughter.
'His Majesty and M. de Vitry arrived scarce a half-hour ago,' whispered More as we approached the door.
'We will not trouble you further,' replied the Compte; 'it is the rule at these little parties to enter unannounced.'
With these words he put his hand to the door and went in, I following at his heels. There were at least ten or a dozen men in the room standing round a table, at which sat the King engaged at play with M. de Bassompierre. Neither the King nor Bassompierre, who seemed absorbed in the game, took the least notice of our entrance, nor did they seem in the least disturbed by the constant laughter and converse that went on. The others, however, stopped, and then burst out in joyous greetings of de Belin and very haughty glances at me. M. le Grand, indeed, bent forward from his great height, and whispered audibly to the Compte:
'What scarecrow have you brought here, de Belin!'
'Our captain for to-night, duc—see, there is the Grand-Master looking as if each crown the King loses was the last drop of blood in the veins of Béthune.' And as he said this, Sully and he glanced at each other, and a light, like that in an opal, flamed in the great minister's eyes.
M. le Grand, however, seemed to be inclined for converse with me, and, stepping up, asked, 'And where do you lead us to-night, monsieur?'
I was about to make some answer when de Vitry interposed, 'My dear duc, there is plenty of time to ask that. I wager you fifty pistoles that d'Ayen there throws higher than you five times out of six.'
'Done,' replied Bellegarde—and then those who were not round the King and Bassompierre, gathered to watch Bellegarde and d'Ayen, whose cheeks were flushed with excitement as he threw with his left hand, the right being still in a sling.
In the meantime the King played on, taking no notice of anyone, his beaked nose dropping lower towards his chin as he lost one rouleau after another to Bassompierre.
'Ventre St. Gris!' he exclaimed at last, 'was ever such luck; at this rate I shall not have a shirt to my back in half an hour.'
'If the Marshal were only here,' said Sully, 'we could start off at once. Sire, instead of risking any more. I see de Belin has brought our guide.'
'Yes; where is Biron? I am sick of this;' and the King, who was a bad loser, rose from his seat impatiently, at the same time forgetting to hand over the last rouleau of pistoles he had lost to Bassompierre, and thrusting them back into his pocket with an absent gesture.
As if in answer to his question the door opened, admitting the slight figure and handsome face of de Gie.
'Where is the Marshal? Where is Biron?' asked ten voices in a breath.
'Yes, M. de Gie,' put in the King; 'where is Biron?'
'Sire, the Marshal is indisposed. He has begged me to present his excuses and to say he is too ill to come to-night;' and as he spoke I saw de Gie's jewelled fingers trembling, and his cheek had lost all colour.
'This is sorry news to spoil a gay evening,' said the King; and the Master-General, pulling a comfit box from his vest pocket, toyed with it in his hand as he followed, 'Biron must be ill, indeed, to stay away. Sire. What does your Majesty think? Shall we begin our rambles by calling on Monseigneur?'
'The very thing, Grand-Master; we will start at once.'
'But, Sire, the Marshal is too ill to see anyone—even your Majesty,' said de Gie desperately, and with whitening lips.
I thought I heard de Vitry mutter 'Traitor' under his thick moustache, but the Guardsman parried my glance with an unconcerned look. There was a silence of a half-minute at de Gie's speech, and the King reddened to the forehead.
'If it is as you say, M. le Vicompte, I know the Marshal too well not to feel sure that there are two persons whom he would see were he dying—which God forbid—and one of these two is his King. Grand-Master, we will go, but—and his voice took a tone of sharp command, and his eyes rested first on de Gie, and then on the figure of a tall cavalier, at whose throat flashed the jewel of the St. Esprit—'but I must first ask M. de Vitry to do his duty.'
As for me I was dumb with astonishment, and half the faces around me were filled with amaze. Then de Vitry's voice broke the stillness:
'My lord of Epernon, your sword—and you too, M. le Vicompte.'
The duke slipped off his rapier with a sarcastic smile and handed the weapon to the Captain of the Guard; but we could hear the clicking of the buckles as de Gie's trembling fingers tried in vain to unclasp his belt. So agitated was he that de Vitry had to assist him in his task before it was accomplished.
The King spoke again in the same grating tones:
'M. de Bassompierre and you, de Luynes, I leave the prisoners in your charge. In the meantime, messieurs, we will slightly change our plans. I shall not go myself to the Marshal's house; but I depute you, Grand-Master, and these gentlemen here, all except de Vitry, who comes with me, to repair there in my name. Should M. de Biron not be able to see you, you will come to me—the Grand-Master knows where.'
'You will be careful, Sire,' said Sully.
'Mordieu!Yes—go, gentlemen.'
I was about to follow the others, but Belin caught me by the arm as he passed out. 'Stay where you are,' he whispered, and then we waited until the footsteps died away along the corridor, the King standing with his brows bent and muttering to himself:
'If it were not true—if it were not true.'
Suddenly he roused himself. 'Come, de Vitry—my mask and cloak; and you, too, sir,' he said, turning on me with a harsh glance. He put on his mask, drew the collar of his roquelaure up to his ears, and in a moment I recognised the silent stranger who had ridden off so abruptly from under the portico of St. Merri. I could not repress my start of surprise, and I thought I caught a strange glance in de Vitry's eyes; but the King's face was impassive as stone.
'We go out by the private stair, Sire; d'Aubusson is there with the horses.' With these words he lifted the tapestry of the wall and touched a door. It swung back of its own accord, and the King stepped forward, the Captain of the Guard and myself on his heels. When we gained the little street at the back of More's, we saw there three mounted men with three led horses.
De Vitry adjusted the King's stirrup, who sprang into the saddle in silence, and then, motioning me to do likewise, mounted himself.
'Monsieur,' said the King to me, reining in his restive horse, 'you will lead us straight to your lodging, next to the Toison d'Or.'
'Sire,' I made answer, 'but it will be necessary to leave the horses by St. Martin's, as their presence near the Toison d'Or might arouse curiosity and suspicion.'
'I understand, monsieur; have the goodness to lead on.'
I rode at the head of the small troop, nosing my way through the fog with my mind full of feelings it was impossible to describe, but with my heart beating with joy. Neither d'Aubusson nor de Vitry gave a sign that they knew me, and, but for an occasional direction that I gave to turn to the right or left, we rode in silence through the mist, now beginning to clear, and through which the moon shone with the light of a faint night lamp behind lace curtains. At St. Martin's we dismounted. There was a whispered word between the lieutenant and de Vitry, and then the King, de Vitry, and myself pressed forwards on foot, leaving d'Aubusson and the troopers with the horses. It would take too long, if indeed I have the power, to describe the tumult in my mind as we wound in and out of the cross streets and bye lanes towards the Toison d'Or. At last we came to the jaws of the blind passage, and I whispered to de Vitry that we were there. Henry turned to de Vitry and asked:
'Are you sure the signals are understood, de Vitry?'
'Yes, Sire.'
There was no other word spoken, and keeping on the off side of the road, to avoid passing immediately before the door of the Toison d'Or, where it was possible a guard might be set, we went onward towards my lodging. Favoured by the mist, which still hung over the passage, we got through without accident; but I perceived that not a light glimmered from the face of Babette's house, though I could hear the bolts of the entrance-door being drawn, as if some one had entered a moment or so before we came up. My own lodging was, however, different, and through the glaze of the window we could see the sickly glare of the light in the shop, where Monsieur and Madame were no doubt discussing the business of the day.
'We must quiet my landlord and his wife,' I whispered to Vitry as we came up to the door.
'Very well,' he said, and then I knocked.
The fence, who was alone, himself opened the door. 'Ah, captain,' he exclaimed, 'we thought you were lost; but I see you have friends.' He said no more, for I seized his throat with a grip of iron, whilst de Vitry laced him up with his own belt. An improvised gag put a stop to all outcry, and in a thrice he was lying like a log amongst his own stolen wares.
'Madame is doubtless in bed,' I said to him, and a sharp scream interrupted my words, for the woman, doubtless hearing the scuffle, had rushed into the room. M. de Vitry was, however, equal to the occasion, and she, too, was deposited beside her husband.
The King, who had taken no part in these proceedings, now said:
'I trust that woman's cry will not raise an alarm—Ventre St. Grisif it does!'
'Have no fear. Sire,' I said in a low tone; 'the cries of women in this part of your capital are too frequent to attract the least notice. They will but think that there has been a little conjugal difference.'
'So far, so good. De Vitry, you will stay here. At the first sound of the Grand-Master's whistle you will answer it, and they will know what to do. I have something to say to M. d'Auriac. Take me to your room, sir.'
I bowed, and, lighting a taper that stood in a holder of moulded brass—a prize that had doubtless come to my landlord through one of his clients—led the way up the rickety stairs, and stopping at the door of my chamber, opened it to let the King pass. For an instant he hesitated, fixing his keen and searching eyes on me—eyes that flashed and sparkled beneath the mask that covered half his features, and then spoke:
'M. d'Auriac, are you still an enemy of your King?'
I could make no answer; I did not know what to say, and stood, candle in hand, in silence. Then Henry laughed shortly and stepped into the room. I shut the door as I followed, and turned up the lamp on my table. Then, facing the King, I said, 'Sire, I await your orders.'
He had flung off his cloak and mask, and was leaning against the wardrobe, one hand on the hilt of his sword, and at my words he spoke slowly: 'I desire to see this room in the Toison d'Or, and to look upon the assembly that has met there with my own eyes.'
'Now, Sire?'
'Yes, now.'
'Your Majesty, it is not now possible!'
'Ventre St. Gris!—not possible!'
'Permit me, Sire—the only way is by this window. If your Majesty will step here, you will see the risk of it. I will go and see if they have met; but I conjure you not to make the attempt. The slightest accident would be fatal.'
'Do you think I have never scaled a rock before?' he said, craning out of the window. 'Am I a child, M. d'Auriac, ormille tonnerres!because my beard is grey, am I in my dotage? I will go, sir, and thank God that for this moment I can drop the King and be a simple knight. You can stay behind, monsieur, if you like. I go to test the truth of your words.'
'Your Majesty might save yourself the trouble. I again entreat you; your life belongs to France.'
'I know that,' he interrupted haughtily. 'No more prating, please. Will you go first, or shall I?'
There was no answer to this. It flashed on me to call to de Vitry for aid to stop the King, but one look at those resolute features before me convinced me that such a course would be useless. I lowered the light, and then testing the ends of the ladder again and again, made the ascent as before. Leaning through the embrasure, I saw the dark figure of the King already holding on to the ladder, and he followed me, as agile as a cat. Making a long arm, I seized him by the shoulder, and with this assistance he clambered noiselessly over the parapet and lay beside me.
'Cahors over again,' he whispered; 'and that is the skylight. They burn bright lamps.'
'The easier for us to see, Sire. Creep forward softly and look.'
One by one we stole up to the skylight, and the King, raising himself, glanced in, my eyes following over his shoulders. For full five minutes we were there, hearing every word, seeing every soul, and then the King bent down softly, and, laying a hand on my shoulder, motioned me back. It was not until we reached the parapet that he said anything, and it was as if he were muttering a prayer to himself.
When we got back I helped him to dress. He did not, however, resume his roquelaure or hat, but stood playing with the hilt of his sword, letting his eye run backward and forward over the vacant space in my room. At last he turned to me:
'Monsieur, you have not answered the question I put you a moment before.'
'Sire,' I answered boldly, 'is it my fault?'
He began to pull at his moustache, keeping his eyes to the ground and saying to himself, 'Sully will not be here for a little; there is time.' As for me, I took my courage in both hands and waited. So a half-minute must have passed before he spoke again.
'Monsieur, if a gentleman has wronged another, there is only one course open. There is room enough here—take your sword and your place.'
'I—I——,' I stammered. 'Your Majesty, I do not understand.'
'I never heard that monsieur le chevalier was dense in these matters. Come, sir, time presses—your place.'
'May my hand wither if I do,' I burst out 'I will never stand so before the King.'
'Not before the King, monsieur, but before a man who considers himself a little wronged, too. What! is d'Auriac so high that he cannot stoop to cross a blade with plain Henri de Bourbon?'
And then it was as if God Himself took the scales from my eyes, and I fell on my knees before my King.
He raised me gently. 'Monsieur, I thank you. Had I for one moment led a soul to suspect that I believed in you from the first, this nest of traitors had never been found. St. Gris—even Sully was blinded. So far so good. It is much for a King to have gained a friend, and hark! if I am not mistaken, here is de Vitry.'
Turning, we beheld de Vitry at the open door, the small and narrow figure of Pantin at his elbow, and, close behind, the stern features of the Grand-Master, the anxiety on whose face cleared as he saw the King before him. He was about to speak, but Henry burst in rapidly:
'I know all, my lord. It is time to act, not talk.Arnidieu!But I shall long remember this frolic!'
'It would seem that God has given us a great deliverance. Sire. All is ready. I came but to see that your Majesty was safe and unharmed, and to leave Du Praslin with a sufficient guard for your person whilst we took our prisoners.'
As Sully spoke the King threw his roquelaure over his arm and answered coldly, 'Monsieur, you are very good. When I want a guard I shall ask for one. I have yet to learn that Henri de Bourbon is to lurk in a corner whilst blows are going, and I shall lead the assault myself!'
'And the first shot from a window, fired by somecroquemort, might leave France at the feet of Spain, I cut in bluntly, whilst de Vitry stamped his foot with vexation, and the forehead of the Grand-Master wrinkled and furrowed, though he gave me an approving look from under his shaggy brows.
For a moment it was as if my words would have stayed the King. He looked at me fixedly and stabbed at the carpet with the point of his blade, repeating to himself, 'At the feet of Spain—Spain! Never!' he added, recovering himself and looking highly around. 'Never! Messieurs, we shall all yet see the lilies flaunting over the Escorial.'
'Amen!' exclaimed a voice from the darkness of the stairway, and I heard the grinding of a spurred heel on the woodwork of the floor.
'Come,' said the King, 'we have no time to lose, and if we delay longer that hot-head de Belin, will strike the first blow.'
'With your Majesty's permission, I will make an assault on the rear,' I said.
'On the rear!' exclaimed de Vitry, whilst the Grand-Master said, 'It is impossible!'
But I only pointed to the window, and Henry laughed.
'Ventrebleu!I understand—a great idea! But, monsieur, take care how you give away a secret. I shall have no peace if Monseigneur the Grand-Master hears what has happened.'
I was young enough still to feel my face grow hot at the approval in the King's voice, and then, without another word, they passed out,tramp,tramp, down the stairs, all except Sully, who stayed behind for a moment.
'Monsieur,' he asked, 'what has happened between you and the King?'
'His Majesty has pardoned me.'
'A child might see that. What else? Be quick!'
'And has given me orders to meet you as you enter the Toison d'Or.'
The frown on his face cleared. 'Well answered, chevalier. The King, I see, has won a faithful and discreet friend. Make your attack when you hear the petard.' Then he, too, turned his broad shoulders on me and followed the rest.
As the sound of the heavy footfalls ceased I gave a last look at my pistols, drew in my sword-belt by a hole, and, all booted as I was, essayed the ladder again. The practice I had with it made the ascent easy now, and perhaps it was this that rendered me careless, for, as I was climbing, my foot slipped with a grating noise, and as I stopped for a moment, with one leg over the parapet and the other trailing over the drop behind, I heard a quick 'What is that?' through the open skylight. The voice was the Marshal's, and I almost felt that I could see his nervous start and rapid upward glance as the scrabbling noise reached his ears. Then came Lafin's answer, in those cool tones that can penetrate so far:
'A cat—only a cat, monseigneur!'
All was still again, and I crept softly to the opening. I did not dare look in, but crouched beneath the skylight, waiting for the signal. I had already observed that the skylight was but a light, wooden framework, with a glazing between, and would need no great effort to break down—one strong push and the way was clear before me. So I stayed for a minute of breathless silence, then from far below came a sharp, shrill whistle, hurried exclamations from the plotters, and now the explosion of the petard, that made the house rock to and fro like a tree in the wind.
I had no need to force open the skylight. The effect of the explosion did that most effectually for me and blew out the lamps in the room below as well, reducing it on a sudden to absolute darkness. There was a yell of terror from the room, and, without a moment's hesitation, I swung through the window and dropped down amongst the conspirators. They were to a man crowding to the door, and not one took any note of my entrance, so great was their confusion. I followed the rush of hurrying figures as they passed through the door into a passage in dim light from a fire that burned in a small grate. One end of this passage was full of smoke, against which the bright flashes of drawn swords were as darts of lightning. Beyond the smoke and below we could hear the clash of steel, cries of pain, and savage oaths, where men were fighting and dying hard. As I dashed down the passage, sword in hand, my only thought to reach the prisoner's room, one of the retreating figures turned and called out, 'Quick, monseigneur! follow me—the secret stair!'
It was Lafin. In the confusion and semi-gloom he had mistaken me for his chief. I made no answer, but, as I rushed forwards, struck him on the face with the hilt of my sword, and he rolled over like a log.
Now I was right in amongst the scared plotters, cheek by jowl with M. de Savoye's envoy, and I could have dropped him then and there, but that my whole heart was in Madame's room, and I knew that there were others who could and would deal with him.
As I elbowed my way through the press, vainly endeavouring to find the way to my dear's prison, we reached a landing from which a long stair led straight up, and here I heard the Marshal's voice, cracked with rage and fear.
'Lafin! de Gomeron! To me—here! here!'
'Ladies first. Marshal. I must look to my bride.'
Then through the smoke I saw de Gomeron's tall figure mounting the stair, and I rushed forward to follow him.
It was at this juncture that a portion of our own party forced their way to the landing, and one of them, whose sword was broken, flung himself upon me, dagger in hand, shouting, 'Death to traitors.' I had just time to seize his wrist. He tripped sideways over something that lay very quiet at our feet, and, dragging me down, we rolled over and over, with the clash of blades over us. 'It is I—fool—I, d'Auriac—let go,' I shouted, as he tried to stab at me.
'Let go you,' sputtered d'Aubusson's voice, and we loosed each other. I had no time for another word, and grasping my sword, which was hanging to my wrist by the knot, I sprang up, and the next moment was hot foot after de Gomeron.
I managed somehow to force my way through the crowd, but the stairway was half-full of men, and at the head of it stood the free-lance, with a red sword in his hand, and two or three huddled objects that lay in shapeless masses around him.
Some one, with a reckless indifference to his own life—it was, I afterwards found out, Pantin—held up a torch, and as the flare of it shot up the stairway de Gomeron threw back his head and laughed at us.
'Twenty to one—come, gentlemen—or must I come to you?' He took a couple of steps down the stairs, and the crowd, that had made as if it would rush him, wavered and fell back, bearing me, hoarse with shouting for way, with them to the landing.
For the moment, penned up and utterly unable to get forward, I was a mere spectator to what followed.
The free-lance took one more downward step, and then a slight figure, with one arm in a sling, slid out from the press and flew at him.
It was d'Ayen, and I felt a sudden warming of the heart to the man who was going to his death.
'You—you traitor,' he gasped, as, using his sword with his left hand, his sword ripped the free-lance's ruff.
'Stand back, old fool—stand back—or—there! Take it,' and, with a sharp scream, d'Ayen fell backwards, the crowd splitting for a moment, so that he rolled to the foot of the stairs and came up at my feet. God rest his soul! He died at the last like a gallant man.
They were backing in confusion now, and above the din I could hear the mocking of de Gomeron.
'Come, gentlemen, do not delay, time presses.'
One rush through at that time might have saved him, but he stood there playing with death. With an effort I pushed d'Ayen, who was still breathing, against the side of the wall, to let the poor wretch die in such comfort as could be, and, seeing my chance at last, made my way to the front.
De Gomeron was half-way down the stairs by this, and when our swords met he did not for the moment recognise me. But at the second pass he realised, and the torchlight showed him pale to the forehead.
'You!' he said between his teeth.
'Yes—I—from under the Seine,' and I had run him through the throat but for our position, where the advantage was all his, and my reach too short. He had backed a step up as I spoke. Whether it was my sudden appearance or what, I know not, but from this moment his bravado left him, and he now fought doggedly and for dear life.
There was a hush behind me, and the light became brighter as more torches were brought, and I could now see the Camarguer white as a sheet, with two red spots on his cheeks.
'Do you like fighting a dead man, monsieur?' I asked as I parried a thrust in tierce.
He half groaned, and the red spot on his cheek grew bigger, but he made no answer, and step by step I forced him upwards.
He had been touched more than once, and there was a stain on his white satin doublet that was broadening each moment, whilst thrust and parry grew weaker, and something, I know not what, told me he was my man.
Messieurs, you who may read this, those at least of you who have stood sword in hand and face to face with a bitter foe, where the fight is to the last, will know that there are moments when it is as if God Himself nerves the arm and steels the wrist. And so it was then with me. I swear it that I forestalled each movement of the twinkling blade before me, that each artifice and trick the skilful swordsman who was fighting for his life employed was felt by something that guided my sword, now high, now low, and ever and again wet its point against the broad breast of the Camarguer.
So, too, with him—he was lost, and he knew it. But he was a brave man, if ever there was one, and he pulled himself together as we reached the upper landing for one last turn with the death that dogged him. So fierce was the attack he now made, that had he done so but a moment before, when the advantage of position was his, I know not what had happened. But now it was different. He was my man. I was carried away by the fire within me, or else in pity I might have spared him; but there is no need to speak of this more. He thrust too high. I parried and returned, so that the cross hilt of my rapier struck dully over his heart, and he died where he fell.
But one word escaped him, some long-lost memory, some secret of that iron heart came up at the last.
'Denise!' he gasped, and was gone.
I stood over him for a moment, a drumming in my ears, and then I heard the ringing of cheers and the rush of feet. Then a half-dozen strong shoulders were at the door before me, and as it fell back with a crash I sprang in and took a tall, slim, white-robed figure in my arms, and kissed her dear face again and again.
One by one those in the room stepped out and left us together, and for once a brave heart gave way and she sobbed like a child on my shoulder.
I said nothing, but held her to me, and so we might have been for a half-hour, when I heard de Belin's voice at the broken door:
'D'Auriac! Come, man!—the King waits! And bring your prisoner!'
There was a laugh in his voice and a light on his face as he spoke, and my dear lifted her swimming eyes to my face, and I kissed her again, saying:
'Come—my prisoner!'
As we passed out I kept between Claude and the grim figure still lying stark on the landing, and held her to me so that she could not see. So, with Lisois before us, we passed down the passage, filled now with men-at-arms, and halted before a room, the door of which was closed.
'We must wait here a moment,' said de Belin; and merely to say something, I asked:
'I suppose we have the whole nest?'
'All who were not killed. Stay! One escaped—that rascal Ravaillac. I could have run him through, but did not care to soil my sword with suchcanaille, so his skin is safe.'
'And Babette?'
He gave me an expressive look and muttered something about Montfauçon. Then the door was flung open and a stream of light poured forth. We entered, and saw the King standing surrounded by his friends, and a little on one side was the dejected group of conspirators.
The Marshal, now abject, mean, and cringing, was kneeling before Henry, who raised him as we entered, saying:
'Biron, and you, Tremouille, and you all who called yourselves my friends, and lay in wait to destroy me and destroy your country—I cannot forget that we were old comrades, and for old friendships' sake I have already told you that I forgive; and God give you all as clean a conscience as I have over the blood that has been spilt to-day.'
He ran his eye over the group, and they stood before him abashed and ashamed, and yet overcome with joy at escape when death seemed so certain; and he, their leader, the man who hoped to see his head on a crown-piece, broke into unmanly sobbing, and was led away vowing repentance—vows that he broke again, to find then that the mercy of the King was already strained to breaking-point.
As Lafin, with a white and bleeding face, led his master away, Henry's eye fell on me, and he beckoned me to advance. I did so, leading Claude by the hand.
'Chevalier,' he said, 'it is saying little when I say that it is through you that these misguided gentlemen have realised their wrong-doing. There is one recompense you would not let me make you for the wrongs you have suffered. There is, however, a reward for your services which perhaps you will accept from me. I see before me a Royal Ward who has defied her guardian—Ventre St. Gris!My beard is getting over grey to look after such dainties. I surrender my Ward to your care.' As he said this he took Claude's hand and placed it in mine. 'I see, madame,' he added, 'that this time you have no objections to the King's choice. There—quite right. Kiss her, man!'
It is all over at last—that golden summer that was so long, and yet seems but a day. It is ten years ago that those shining eyes, that never met mine but with the love-light in them, were closed for ever; and the gift that God gave me that did He take back.
I am old, and grey, and worn. My son, the Vicompte de Bidache, is in Paris with the Cardinal, whilst I wait at Auriac for the message that will call me to her. When she went, Bidache, where we lived, became unbearable to me, and I came back here to wait till I too am called—to wait and watch the uneasy sea, to hear the scream of the gulls, and feel the keen salt air.
I have come to the last of the fair white sheets of paper theCurébrought for me from Havre this autumn, and it grows strangely dark even for my eyes. I will write no more, but sit out on the terrace and wait for the sunset. Perhaps she may call me to-day.
'Jacques, my hat and cloak!'