CHAPTER XIVTHE HOUSE AT POISSY
WHEN Péron met Choin and his company at the corner of the Rue St. Thomas du Louvre, he had discarded his uniform and wore a dress more becoming to his actual station in life. It was a simple suit of dark blue with a short velvet cloak, and sword, and a hat with plumes, and his collar of rare Flemish lace was one which Madame Michel had produced from the chests in the attic. The change in apparel made a marked one in his appearance, and he looked the man of rank rather than the soldier of fortune. Even Choin noticed it, and glanced keenly at the well made figure and the handsome face of his quondam pupil. The maître d’armes had faithfully executed his part of the bargain, and was waiting with three rough and powerful-looking men-at-arms, who wore the nondescript dress of mercenary soldiers and had the air of being indifferent to the nature of their employment so long as it furnished money for liquor. They had also the two led horses for the women; and after a briefinspection of his party, Péron proceeded at once to the Hôtel de Nançay, where his guards were still on duty. They reported that all was quiet within and without, and that no one had made any attempt either to enter or to leave the house.
It was with no very pleasant anticipations that Péron knocked at the door, and he was not surprised at the delay which followed. He had directed Choin and his men to ride into the lane to the garden gate, that their errand might be less conspicuous, and he was alone on the steps except for the sentinel who sat at the threshold, drowsy with his continuous and unexciting vigil. Péron was forced to knock three times, and was conscious that he was being scrutinized from the windows above, as he had been on the day before. At last, the door was opened reluctantly by a stout young woman with a plain face and sharp black eyes, who looked at him with a frown of displeasure; evidently she had been made to undo the latch against her own judgment.
“What do you want?” she demanded, in a sour tone, placing herself squarely in the opening.
“I am the bearer of a letter for Mademoiselle de Nançay,” Péron replied sternly, “and I must present it to her at once.”
“You take a high tone, monsieur,” exclaimedthe woman, with a toss of her head; “but you shall not see mademoiselle unless she wishes it,” and she slammed the door in his face.
Péron drew back half angry and half amused, but seeing the covert smile on the face of the soldier, he struck his sword peremptorily on the door, determined to gain admittance in spite of the women. He had not long to wait, however, and this time the young woman opened the door wide enough for him to pass through. She was sullen and silent, and only signed to him to follow up the stairs to the same salon where mademoiselle had burned the papers. Here Péron found Renée. She was standing by the window which overlooked the garden, and he saw that she had been observing Choin and his party at the gate, for she commanded a view of the lane. She was dressed in gray with a wide white linen collar, and her golden hair was knotted back more closely than usual. She was very pale, and looked as simple as a little nun; she evidently felt the day and night of suspense, but she bore herself with perfect composure. Her quick glance swept over her visitor, noting every detail of his changed appearance, and there was a little surprise in her eyes. He saluted her gravely, and without a word handed her the cardinal’s letter. She inclined her head as she took it, her manner asgrave as his, but he observed that her hand trembled a little as she opened it. She read it through, and Péron saw her anger rising as she read; her eyes sparkled and a little spot of color came into each cheek, and once she stamped her foot on the floor. When she had finished—and she read it twice—she tore it in fragments and flung them on the ground. Péron expected an outburst; thought that she would refuse to go, and began to wonder what arguments he would use to persuade her. But he had no conception of what was really passing in mademoiselle’s quick mind. She had just read the king’s imperative orders for her to go to Poissy; her refusal would—so the letter said—imperil her father’s life. She knew well enough why she was to go to the house of the Image of Notre Dame, and she was cudgelling her brains for a device to defeat monsignor. She knew her adversary and she set all her woman’s wits to work. She had no thought of refusing to go; the risk was too great while her father was in the toils, but she intended to thwart his enemies. She stood for a while looking out of the window, while Péron expected her refusal to comply with the cardinal’s orders. To his surprise, she turned at last to consent.
“I will go, monsieur,” she said haughtily; “aprisoner must obey her jailor, but I will not go without my woman.”
“That is as you desire, mademoiselle,” Péron replied, much relieved; “you will choose your own maid, and you will be treated with all due consideration.”
She made him a mocking curtsey.
“I thank you humbly, monsieur,” she said, with a contemptuous curl of her lip; “if you will permit me a half-hour, I will wait on you at the garden gate, where I see you have already four cut-throats to attend me.”
She walked past him, without waiting for a reply, and left Péron standing alone in the great salon. He did not remain; his face was scarlet with anger, and he went into the garden and sat down in the rustic seat, under the lime-tree, to wait her pleasure. From his reception, he could easily conjecture what the journey was likely to be, and he set his teeth hard at the thought. After all, had he not been foolish not to leave her to the mercy of some other soldier of the cardinal? Manifestly, she was the same as she had been when a child in the Château de Nançay, though it seemed that now she had lost the softness which had made her run out to the terrace to tell him she was sorry. He regretted his errand bitterly, and reproached himself for a foolto have thrust himself into her way again. He was still occupied with these unpleasant reflections, when the door at the rear of the house opened and she came out with the insolent woman who had admitted him. Both wore cloaks and hoods, and mademoiselle’s face was hidden by a black mask which gave her a mysterious look. Neither spoke, and Péron rose as they advanced, and preceding them to the gate, unfastened it. Choin was there with the horses, and in silence he and Péron assisted the two women to mount. When they were falling into position to begin their journey, mademoiselle spoke for the first time.
“Ninon rides with me,” she said, as Péron would have assigned the maid to a place behind her mistress.
No opposition was offered to this arrangement, which seemed to surprise and disappoint mademoiselle, who was in the humor to pick a quarrel over a nutshell. So they started two abreast, where the streets were wide enough, and after they left the city limits, Péron rode on the other side of Renée de Nançay, while Choin and his three men followed close at their heels. They rode in silence, and nothing worth noting occurred until they came within sight of Cours la Reine, where were the iron gates which closed this endof the three alleys planted with trees by the queen-mother for the pleasure of her court. As they passed to the right to take the road to Poissy, Péron noticed a man standing near the gates. He looked to be the retainer of some grandee and would not have attracted the young man’s attention except for the pale blue knot on the shoulder of his black cloak. The stranger was staring hard at the party, and Péron gave mademoiselle a quick glance, but she made no sign of seeing the fellow, except to put up her hand to adjust her mask more closely, and Ninon was staring sullenly between her horse’s ears. Péron watched the man narrowly, but he gave no indication of intending to quit his station, and they passed on, leaving him as they had found him.
For the first few leagues of their journey, mademoiselle was stubbornly silent; the men in the rear conversed in low tones, but Péron did not speak. Renée de Nançay, however, was busily engaged in meditating over her own plans, and it was necessary for her to know more about the young soldier riding beside her, and something of his intentions. After awhile, therefore, he was surprised by hearing himself addressed by her.
“Will you stop at Ruel, monsieur?” she asked, turning her face toward him, and he was consciousof the brilliance of her dark eyes looking through the holes in her mask, which effectually concealed her expression.
“Nay, mademoiselle,” he replied, “we shall push on to Poissy, which we must reach to-night.”
“You are a hard taskmaster, monsieur,” she said; “’tis a long ride, and Ninon and I have not been in the saddle since Christmas. Surely, you will give us a breathing space upon the way.”
Péron hesitated. “Mademoiselle de Nançay,” he said, “my orders are exacting, but it may be we can rest awhile this side of St. Germain-en-Laye.”
“St. Germain-en-Laye!” repeated mademoiselle; “why, ’tis but a league from Poissy, and it is five leagues and more from the Rue St. Thomas du Louvre to St. Germain-en-Laye.”
“Yet after all, mademoiselle, six leagues is not a great matter,” remarked Péron; “and I see that you are a fine horsewoman.”
“I will stop at Ruel,” she declared haughtily. “We shall reach Poissy in better time than you will wish for,” she added with a bitter little laugh, the meaning of which he was not slow to interpret.
“Mademoiselle,” he replied, “my instructions were especially directed against a halt at Ruel.”
“But I wish to stop there,” she said, in a tone of surprise at his daring to contradict her wishes.
Péron set his face sternly. “I am sorry,” he said calmly, “but we will not stop at Ruel.”
“I am sorry too, monsieur—I do not know your name?” she added, pausing for his reply.
He thought a moment and rightly conjectured that she would know nothing of the manner of her father’s elevation.
“My name is Jehan de Calvisson,” he said quietly.
“I am sorry then, Monsieur de Calvisson,” she said, “but we will stop at Ruel.”
Péron looked at the erect figure and the firm little chin showing below the mask, and felt that it would be a struggle; but he was determined to win. He did not reply but merely bowed gravely, and she was quick to interpret it as an assent.
“We are near Ruel now, are we not?” she demanded. “I should know the way.”
“We are within a league of it, mademoiselle,” he replied quietly, and then turned back to give Choin a few directions; when he again rode up to her side, his face wore a more composed expression.
“It is cold,” she complained, “and the windblows; monsignor should try the journeys he recommends for others.”
“’Tis certainly not so pleasant as in the summer,” Péron replied dreamily; “I can remember my first ride from Paris on this road, when the fields were green and the violets bloomed at Poissy.”
“You are familiar with this road then?” she remarked, giving him a keen glance; “you know the way to Nançay?”
“It was to Nançay that I went, mademoiselle,” he replied, “with my foster-father, the clockmaker of the Rue de la Ferronnerie.”
For a moment mademoiselle was silent, then she looked at him and laughed a soft little laugh unlike the unmusical sounds with which she had mocked him.
“I know you,” she said; “I was sure that I had seen you before; you are little Péron.”
“Ay, mademoiselle,” he replied, with a smile, “and I have still the bunch of violets from Nançay.”
He could not see her face behind her mask, but he saw a little flush of color come across her chin and throat.
“The violets of Poissy, sir,” she said lightly. “I little thought that you would be the one to take me there against my will; truly, the tables are turned.”
His face flushed now and he was tempted to tell her that had he not come she would have been in worse hands; but that would be an appeal to her gratitude, and he held his peace.
“That is my misfortune, mademoiselle,” he said, “rather than my fault.”
“Sir, I think we have few misfortunes that are not our fault,” she retorted sharply.
He smiled. “A few, mademoiselle,” he said; “for instance, to be born poor and forced to seek a fortune with the sword or the spade.”
She shrugged her shoulders. “’Tis better to be born poor than born a fool,” she retorted tartly.
“But worst of all to be born both poor and a fool,” he replied calmly.
They were riding through a long lane lined on either hand with trees, and before them stood a cross which marked a certain turn in the road. At the sight of it mademoiselle drew rein so suddenly that she threw the little party into confusion. She wheeled in her saddle and looked over her shoulder.
“This is the wrong road,” she said; “where is Ruel?”
“We have passed it, mademoiselle,” Péron replied, with a composed face, but a smile lurked in his eyes.
She sat erect and motionless, but he knew that behind her mask she was in a storm of passion, for he saw her hand grip the bridle fiercely. She was debating in her mind whether to attempt to go back and risk the opposition of the four stout men behind or to make the most of defeat and go on with the best grace she could. Her temper, naturally high, was fully roused, and to yield a point was bitter. Moreover, she saw the amusement in Péron’s eyes. Her woman reminded her of their situation.
“Come, mademoiselle,” she said bluntly, “you know we must go one way or the other.”
Renée turned on her quickly. “Hush!” she said sharply, and striking her horse briskly, she rode at a canter down the lane ahead of the party toward Poissy.
She had surrendered the point, and her escort drew a sigh of relief as he quickened his own pace to keep up with her, and all of them moved at a better gait. As his horse came abreast of hers, she gave him a sidelong glance.
“Manifestly, you were not born a fool, M. de Calvisson,” she said, “if you were born poor.”
Péron smiled in spite of himself.
“It was only strategy, mademoiselle,” he said.
“I do not yet know how we passed Ruel,” shereplied angrily, “though I have travelled over this road a thousand times.”
“You did not observe the cross-roads when we reached them,” he replied smiling; “there is this way by which Ruel can be entirely avoided.”
“I am dull,” she said; “I should have known that there are ever many ways around the hole of a fox.”
Péron turned his face away to hide a smile at her covert thrust at Richelieu’s house at Ruel.
After this they rode a long way in silence; she was obviously in an ill humor and vouchsafed only monosyllables in reply to any remark of her escort. As night approached it grew colder too and more unpleasant; a thick mist settled on the more distant landscape, and the meadows near at hand lay dark and deserted, while the trees loomed gigantic by the way. The moon was in its first quarter and set early, leaving a starry sky in which only a few light clouds drifted. There was no sound but the even beat of their horses’ hoofs on the hard road. It was already pitch dark when they passed through St. Germain-en-Laye, and mademoiselle stubbornly refused to halt, having now veered around to a steady desire to reach Poissy with all speed. They trotted down the main street of the town, passing the inn,where the revellers were in full sway, and were out on the highroad to Poissy again. Their way now lay through thick forest, and Péron was not without uneasiness, seeing her mood and not knowing the exact extent of the risk they ran of defeat. He would infinitely have preferred the clash of swords to this silent ride through unknown perils, with the responsibility of controlling a wilful and quick-witted young woman who was bent on his discomfiture.
It was with a sharp sense of relief that he saw the lights of Poissy ahead, and he unconsciously quickened his horse’s gait, which brought the others up at a trot. As they reached the gates of the town, mademoiselle held out her hand to him.
“Will you wear this watch?” she said; “I am fearful of losing it, for the chain has broken and I value it; it belonged to my mother. I pray you keep it for me until to-morrow.”
Péron took it with surprise; he could not refuse, though he was suspicious of her motive. He fastened it on a chain that he wore and thrust it into the bosom of his doublet, not without misgivings. The next moment they had entered the gates and he drew rein to make some inquiries for the house he sought. She heard him and laughed.
“I can lead you, monsieur,” she said, and touched her horse with her whip.
Péron followed, afraid to give her a chance to outride him; but as they came near the Golden Pigeon, he caught sight of a tall house in the distance and knew it to be their destination. To reach it without passing the public house was easy, and Péron had no desire to attract notice; he laid his hand on her horse’s rein.
“Not so fast, mademoiselle,” he said; “we can turn here and avoid the inn.”
She shook her bridle free. “I will go my way here, M. de Calvisson,” she replied haughtily; “this is not Ruel!” and she rode straight on in full view of the loungers in the court of the Golden Pigeon. Péron urged his horse to keep abreast of hers, but all the while he kept a sharp lookout for possible signals; but he could observe nothing unusual, and the tavern seemed less crowded than he had seen it on previous occasions. Beyond the inn they turned down a narrow lane, mademoiselle still leading, and came at last to a high, narrow house which wore a black and forbidding aspect. The men with Choin were provided with torches which they lighted now with difficulty in the rising wind, and by their flaring light Péron saw the rude stone figure over the door which gave the houseits name; but its appearance was so forbidding that he remained, for a few moments, motionless in his saddle. It seemed a poor place at which to invite a delicately reared young woman to dismount on a cold and gloomy night, and for such a cause.