CHAPTER XXIIITHE AFTERMATH
Imadeno answer to Lorgnac, but stood for a moment incapable of thought or action; hardly, indeed, realizing that I was free from my shameful bonds. Around me was a sea of faces, and I felt as if all eyes were upon me, although in the gloom one could scarce see a sword’s point ahead. All that could be discerned was a confused crowd of shadows, with here and there the flash of a breastplate or the gleam of a steel cap, as they caught and reflected some lingering ray of light. The thronged room beyond was, however, in brightness. Some one had lit the lamps there, and from where I was leaning against the wall I could see an ever-changing crowd pressing round the spot where Condé stood. High words were passing, too, and there was a veiled threat in the Chancellor’s voice, as, leaning his shaking limbs on his crutches, he turned on Achon in answer to some speech made by the bishop.
“Monsieur! There is no lieutenant-general of the kingdom now. That office died with the late King.”
“And I demand Marcilly’s release.” It was Condé’s voice that cut in, and Achon answered sullenly:
“You must ask for him from the Holy Office, and its hold is firm.”
“But he shall be freed, or you, Monsieur of Arles, will answer for it.” And now I could wait to hear no more. My scattered senses were recovering themselves. I could not linger until all knew my shame, and this they would know soon enough, for such things travel like lightning from mouth to mouth. Lorgnac was still near to me. He still believed me to be a man of honor. He would help me once more, and bending forward I said to him:
“Monsieur! Can you get me out of this? I—I must go.”
He nodded and smiled. Then putting his arm through mine, he led me along the passage into the courtyard. None dared to hinder him. Even if they had dared, they could have done nothing, for everywhere around us were the Queen’s guards. The gates, too, were no longer kept by the archers, but by grim-looking men in a strange uniform of sombre black.
“They are the gendarmes of Aunis,” said Lorgnac, as we passed the gates. “And, now, adieu! I suppose I shall see you to-morrow at the palace, in the Prince’s suite.”
I took the hand he held out to me for a moment, and, muttering my thanks, turned hastilyand mingled with the crowd on the pavement, leaving Lorgnac staring after me in astonishment at my abrupt departure.
In a crowd one is soon lost, and in the uncertain light it would have required sharp eyes to have recognized me, as I threaded my way through the heaving throng. Not that I gave a thought to recapture. My mind was absorbed with one idea, and that was to put miles between me and the scene of my shame. For the moment I was tortured by neither remorse nor fear. I seemed dead to all sensations. All that I wanted was to quit Orleans.
Finally I reached a street that was still in quietness, and halted under a lamp set in the wall of a house above the image of the Virgin. I looked around me. There were but few people stirring here, but some shops were open, and one of these, almost opposite to me, was a place where I saw that I might renew my apparel to some extent, and perhaps get another sword. My purse was still with me, and it was heavy enough, for I was rich in the world’s goods. I determined to act at once; so, crossing the road, I went into the shop and purchased what I wanted—a stout, serviceable sword and a good cloak. The shop-keeper tried to enter into converse with me about the events of the day, the death of the King, and other things, but I cut him short, and paying him his money, stepped out into the street. Once there, I walked on at a brisk pace toward thecity gates. No one attempted to stop me, and passing through, I gained the river shore, and looked out for a ferry-boat, but there was not one in sight. I stood for a little, straining my eyes into the night. The moonlight fell soft and clear on the long quay, and on the slow, creeping river before me. Behind me was the city, and the hum of voices joined themselves to the dreamy lapping of the Loire at my feet. On the opposite bank of the river, the night lights of a few boats were burning, and farther still twinkled a long chain of camp-fires, marking the spot where the Constable lay. Thrice I hailed a boatman, calling loudly, but there was no reply, and I heard nothing except the hum from the city behind, and the whisperings of the stream before me. Seeing at last it was useless to waste time here, I turned to the left, and followed the river face, hoping to come across a boat, but with no results. Finally I stopped again and looked around. Yes! There was no doubt of it. I was close to the spot where Caillaud had suffered his martyrdom, on the day of our entry into Orleans. The scaffold was still there, the stacks of wood, not completely used, near it, and perhaps the ashes of the fire were still warm. I stepped up to the scaffold, and, as I did so, a homeless dog rose from behind the wood, and with a quick, short bark at me, fled into the shivering night. From the distance I heard him howling, and my heart sank within me as I thought how even adog had fled in terror at my approach, a dog to whom I meant no harm.
There as I stood near the scaffold, my mind was again full of bitter thoughts, of useless self-reproach, of hopeless sorrow. I looked toward the river. It moved so calmly. It was so still and deep. Under its placid surface perhaps there would be peace. Better death than this torment in my soul. I made a step toward it, but whether it was cowardice or not, I cannot say; but I stayed myself, and then that hope which never dies flickered once more in my heart. Perhaps I could retrieve myself. If not, surely there was another death yet left to me to die. Not this! I moved back again near the scaffold, and, seating myself on the pile of wood, began to think; but my brain seemed stricken with palsy. All that flamed before my mind, in endless scrolls of fire, was the thought of my infamy. I rose again, but a mist seemed to gather before me. There was a drumming in my ears, and, tottering forward, I clung to the scaffolding to save myself from falling. With my hands clenched to the hoardings, I stood shaking in every limb, and then I suppose I must have fainted. I seemed to be dropping, dropping through endless space, amid the turmoil and din of chaos, amid the unearthly mowings of devils rejoicing at my fall. Then all became blank oblivion. Slowly, slowly I came to myself, and, after a minute or so, gathered strength to stand without the supportof the hoardings. I wiped my forehead, which, cold as it was, was damp with sweat, and once more looked around. It was evident that the excess of my mental torture had broken my strength, and strength I must have to go. I determined to retrace my steps, obtain some food, and then risk swimming the Loire, if necessary, to get out of Orleans. I found myself, soon after, in the Rue des Tanneurs, and finally reached a little square just beyond St. Pierre le Puellier, in the corner of which stood a cabaret of some pretensions. Obscure as the square was, cold as the night was, there were numbers of people about, and, as I peered into the cabaret, I saw that it was all but full. Every gossip, every babbler, every idler who had a brown piece in his pocket, was spending it in Vouvray, in Rochecorbon, or in Cognac, while he talked over the news. I entered quietly, and, seeing in a corner a small vacant table, settled myself there, and ordered some food and a bottle of wine. The food I could barely touch, although I forced myself to eat a little; but the wine warmed me, and I began to recover my faculties, and also gained some of that courage that liquor gives to the weakest.
Up to now I had taken no notice of the company assembled, but as I leaned back and glanced around, I saw, at a table not four paces from me, a half-dozen men seated together drinking and gossiping. Imagine my astonishment on seeing among them Brusquet, the jester, and Carouges,the officer of carabiniers, who had been placed in charge of the escort that was to conduct the Princess of Condé to her prison in the Jacobin priory. Brusquet, I was aware, knew me, and Carouges—had he not been a witness to that awful scene at St. Loup?
They were between me and the door, else I had gone out. As it was, I had to wait, trusting that their preoccupation, and the shadow in which I sat, would prevent them from recognizing me, and resolved to take the first convenient opportunity to depart. And so as I sat I became a compulsory listener to their talk. I caught Carouges’ voice at the end of a sentence.
“Faith of a gentleman! I never saw a man look so, and hope never to see one again. If ever coward and villain were stamped on a man’s face, it was on Vibrac’s.”
“And yet,” said another, whom I knew not, “there are those who refuse to believe the story——” but Carouges interrupted him, saying a little haughtily:
“Monsieur de Quesnay, I was there, and he owned to it—the cur!”
“Hein!” And Brusquet flapped the bladder attached to his sceptre on the table. “Hein!But Vibrac only illustrates what I was always telling my little brother Francis, God rest his soul!”
“And that was?” asked two or three voices.
“That ambition and love will ruin the best man.My cousins of Guise illustrate the first, and in Vibrac we have the proof of the second.”
“Mention them not in the same breath,” exclaimed Carouges, and the jester answered, waving his sceptre up and down:
“Oui-da!Vibrac was a good enough sword in the Spanish war, and in the Milanese. No? No! I know more than you about this, Carouges, but, of your grace, pass the Milan cheese—I am not yet thirsty enough.”
He helped himself to some cheese to whet his thirst, and, filling his goblet, raised it to his lips. While he drank Quesnay took up the talk.
“But the other—Marcilly—he has not escaped, has he?”
“No,” said Carouges; “he dies to-morrow.”
My heart began to beat, and Brusquet, putting down his glass, stared at Carouges.
“Come, Carouges, you jest. Vibrac has escaped, and all the other prisoners are free.”
“I see, my King of the Cap and Bells, that there are some things that you do not know. Yes, Marcilly has sinned against the Holy Office, and he dies to-morrow on the Martroi, an hour after sunrise.”
There was silence for a moment, and I strained my ears to catch each word. Then Brusquet asked:
“How do you know? Are you sure?”
Carouges shrugged his shoulders and smiled.
“I command the guards at the scaffold,” hesaid. Whereupon the men became silent once more, sipping their wine, and looking at one another.
“Diable!” said one. “What will come next?”
“A decree of the Court of Requests, granting the forfeited lands of Chaumont and Duras to that loyal servant of the King, that faithful shepherd of his flock, Achon, Abbot of St. Savin, Bishop of Arles, and Archbishop designate of Sens.”
With that the jester rose as if to go, but Quesnay pulled at his cloak.
“Sit down,” he said, “and give us a song—our blood runs blue with this talk.”
But Brusquet shook his head, while his strange, wrinkled face seemed to become more and more sharp and acute, as he pointed in the direction of the palace, where the dead King lay, and his voice shook a little as he answered:
“Not to-night. There is some one lies there who loved to listen to me, and who will listen no more; but he is still too near for me to sing.”
So saying, he flung a couple of gold pieces on the table, and, turning, stepped out of the room. He was followed by the others. Outside I heard their voices for a moment in laughing converse, and then they were gone.
And I—I sat there, my head buried in my bosom burning with remorse, half mad with the tortures of memory. Marcilly was to die with to-morrow’s light. The words seemed to hiss inmy ears, and I—I had slain him with a Judas kiss. Oh! I had got my revenge—but where was its sweetness? I had plucked my Dead Sea fruit, and the ashes of it were sere and bitter in my mouth. I called for some Cognac, and sought to obtain a temporary release from my mental tortures in the disgraceful oblivion of the drunken; but the fiery spirit had no more effect upon me than if it had been water.
Sitting still became intolerable, so, paying my account, I went out again into the night. I sought the city gates once more, but they were closed, and, with a curse, I turned and retraced my steps. I was caged in Orleans for the night. I again approached the cabaret, and stood hesitating at the door. Then the thought of the conversation I had overheard came upon me, and I turned away and hastened onward, going I did not know where—and, indeed, I cared not. With the tireless persistence of a madman, I walked for hours through street and square and alley. I walked fast, seeking to weary myself, taking no notice of anything, and must have made the circuit of the city at least twice.
It was late now. The hum of voices, the bustle of tramping feet had died away, and I was alone on those gray roads, that stretched, wound, turned, and twisted in all directions around me. Above floated the moon in a cloudless sky, serene and stately, and under its ivory light I plodded on, feverish and tireless, until at last I cameto a halt near the cloisters at the back of Ste. Croix.
I looked about me. In that shivering light all was silent and still. Pure and white above me towered the temple of the Holy Rood, and to the right the black mass of the palace loomed against the sky, a phantom castle of cloudland. From two windows of the keep lights were burning like twin stars. It was there they kept the death watch of the King. It was there that the King’s Peace had come upon him, whose white lips had offered it to us that night when we stood by his bedside. For a space I watched the windows, and then moved hastily onward. The curse of Cain was upon me, and I could not rest. But now my strength began to give way, and the tremendous exertions of the past hours to tell upon me. I held on, however, passing through the labyrinth of streets beyond the cloisters, and drew up once more, utterly tired out, on the edge of a deserted and barren stretch of ground, covered here and there with the castaway rubbish of building materials. Across this waste was a small row of ruined houses. They had been gutted by fire, and the blackened and charred walls stood starkly up before me. Here, at any rate, was a refuge where I might lie securely till the morning, and stepping across the field, I slunk into the gaping doorway nearest to me, like a wolf seeking his lair, and worn out and exhausted sank down upon a heap of wreckage. But wearyand broken though I was in body, my mind was awake, and the eternal self-torment ceased not for a moment. In my despair I dared to call upon God to have mercy upon me and ease me of my pain. I know not if that prayer ever reached beyond the moonlight. For a while I lay thus brooding, until my agony became once more intolerable, and hunted me from my place of rest. I rose on my elbow, when the sound of a sliding footstep and the crumbling of stones came to me, and I waited startled and expectant. Who was this other wanderer of the night that had sought the same dreary refuge as I had? Again I heard the footstep, slow and stealthy, but light withal. The noise came from within the house, and whoever it was must have entered before I had. Where I lay it was black shadow, but streaming through the door was a bright ribbon of moonlight, that stretched right in front of me, and over which the new-comer would have to pass. For a time there was a dead silence, then there was another cautious step, then another, and at last, with a light bound, a misshapen, ape-like figure leaped into the moonlight and stood glancing around. Strange and monstrous indeed was the shape—the height that of a child, the body that of a man. The long, black muscular arms, reaching below the knees, were bare. A tattered red cloak hung to his shoulders, and his head, from which two yellow eyes glared hideously, was bound up in a scarf thatwas wound round the jaws. For a breath I thought it was some goblin of the night, some evil spirit that stood before me in bodily presentment. Then the thing made a strange, cackling noise from its throat, and I knew it was Majolais.
And as I looked upon the dwarf a strange feeling, it was almost gladness, came upon me. Hideous, hardly human as he was, I had at least found one whom I knew, one who, in his own wild way, had shown a savage affection for me for little kindnesses done.
“Majolais!” I cried softly.
The dwarf started. His eyes flashed as he crouched backward, peering into the darkness, and the moonlight played on the shining blade of a dagger in his hand.
“Majolais! It is I—Vibrac,” and rising, I approached him, but he had already recognized my voice, and was at my feet, his frame trembling, his poor, dumb throat choked with sobs.
I let the fit pass him, patting him gently on the shoulder as if he were a dog, and for one brief moment, in the thought of another’s sufferings, I forgot my own. We sat down together on a fallen rafter, where the moon fell brightly on us, and I tried to talk to him and to get him to explain, by signs if possible, how he had escaped from Achon; but though he understood me he could not explain to me. He unwound the scarf to show me his mutilated head, and on his body and upon his arms were the cruel welts of thelash. These he showed me, moaning and gibbering, and at each mention of Achon’s name he snarled like a tiger-cat.
I sat on a fallen rafter, Majolais crouching at my feet, and we talked for long. At least, I spoke, and gathered what I could from his signs and the broken sounds he made. At last the moon sank and the dark hours came. The dwarf drew the remnants of his cloak over his shoulders, and, curling himself up like a dog, fell asleep.
But there came no rest for me, and with burning eyes I sat staring through the darkness, where the black shadows took the form and substance of mocking devils, that flitted backward and forward, gibing at my fall. I had lost all. Wherever I went the shadow of my sin would dog my footsteps. I had diced for my soul with the fiend, and lost. Is there one who can win at that game?
Death! Yes, death offered its release; but I could not die by my own hand. It would set the seal to my infamy; and then, there was another life beyond the grave. I tried once more to pray for health and strength, but a feeling I could not restrain choked the words on my lips. For very shame I could not pray. I could not creep before God’s throne to ask back what I had thrown away with both hands.
As I sat thus Majolais shivered and moaned. Poor wretch! The cold struck him sorely, and removing my cloak, I cast it over him while heslept. I then drew my doublet closer together, and in doing so my fingers touched something soft. I took hold of it, and the faint fragrance of violets came to me. It was the remains of the little offering Yvonne de Mailly had made to me.
I removed the flowers and held them in my hand. They were soft, delicate, and pure as the girl’s heart—and I—I had cast aside a priceless gem that lay at my feet, to wander after an elf-light that led me into the deeps. I put the flowers by carefully. They are with me to this day. Sometimes I open my cabinet and look at them, and as I gaze the withered blossoms seem to renew their freshness, and their sweet scent to come back to them. And then I shut them up again reverently, as things too sacred for the light.
Be this as it may, as I put aside the sad little gift there flickered once more within me a faint hope. A way was pointed to me to seek the death that I craved. There was something of honor in it. Yes, I would die by Marcilly’s side. I could not save him; but I would try to, and the clean sword that I wore would be used for the first and the last time by me in a manner worthy of its brightness. Strength came to me with the thought; and feverish and impatient, I watched the long hours steal past, until the time came for me to go. I heard the Lauds, and although it was still black darkness I could stay no longer.Stooping down I shook Majolais by the shoulder. He awoke with a gasp and a start, but recovered himself at once, and, as I resumed my cloak, he seized and kissed my hand, his hot lips burning like a seal. I told him I was going, and that he should, when it was light, seek the Princess of Condé, there he would find rest and safety; but Majolais clung to my cloak, and somehow made me understand that he would not be parted from me. So we two went out of our refuge.
Long and slow was our passage. We must have wandered in the darkness like derelict ships, but at last we reached the Martroi. The watch-fires were burning, and here and there was the gleam of a torch, or the flash of a light; for early as was the hour, dark as it was, there were those who had already assembled to see a fellow-creature die.
Aided by the darkness, we approached near the scaffold. Close to it were a series of wooden galleries, and, drawing my sword, I slipped behind one of these, and waited for the time to come—it would not be long now—when I should die sword in hand, and whiten, if only a little, my stained shield.
Majolais was beside me when I took my place. I saw his yellow eyes watching the sword, and, as if he understood, he drew his dagger and felt the point of it with his finger. But I had no intention of sacrificing him. I whispered to him to be gone. I told him in low, quick words what Imeant to do; but he remained immovable. Finally, I threatened him angrily, but to no purpose, and I was about to resign myself to fate, when a sudden idea seemed to possess him. He chuckled like a night-jar, and, drawing himself up the hoardings, he crept along them on all fours with cat-like agility, and vanished in the darkness. I was glad he was gone. He knew where to go for safety, and this business of mine had to be done alone.
And now the sky began to whiten, and night-fire and torch to pale at the coming day. From all hands there was a murmur and hum of voices. Ghostly figures swarmed in the galleries, and the tramp of feet echoed from every side of the square. Slowly the day brightened, the hum and bustle increased, while sometimes one heard a laugh or a cry, a rough oath or a ribald jest, rise above the buzz of voices.
The block was not ten paces from me, and on the opposite side was a gallery, with a balcony draped in velvet; but it was as yet unoccupied. Suddenly there came the tramp of horses’ hoofs, the clash of arms, a sharp order or two, and the space round the scaffold was filled with armed men, who were so close to me that, from where I stood in concealment, I could have touched the nearest with my hand. I heard Carouges’ voice, and then a figure stepped from his side and mounted the platform of the scaffold. It was a masked man, robed all in black, with a long,two-handed sword over his shoulder. He stood by the block, leaning on the cross-hilt of his sword, and so absorbed was I in watching him, that I fairly started as I felt a cold hand on mine, and looking down beheld Majolais. I signed to him to go, but for answer he pointed between the slits of the boards toward the gallery opposite to us. It was occupied now, and the malign countenance that looked out thence upon the morning was that of Achon. The dwarf’s face was like that of a devil; and then he suddenly and swiftly backed from me, and was gone once more. I leaned forward and watched, and, as I did so, the faint odor of something burning struck me. I glanced behind, but could make out nothing, and my attention was taken off by Carouges, as he spoke to another who stood by his side, wrapped in a long cloak.
“Are none of the Court coming? Is only he to be here?” Carouges made a movement of his hand toward Achon, and it was Richelieu who answered him.
“Oh! There are many in the galleries, but no royalties. They respect the dead King. However, Monsieur of Arles, though he sits there alone, is a host in himself.”
“Faith! If a host, he gives his guest a grewsome banquet,” laughed the other, and then this idle talk was interrupted by a murmur from the crowd that swelled to a roar, and then died away again in a death-like silence.
“He comes!” said Richelieu in a low voice, and I tightened my grip on my sword, and measured the distance for my rush to the scaffold.
The silence still continued. The crowd seemed to be spellbound; and now the awful music of the death hymn fell upon our ears, and all strained forward, eager and expectant. Slowly the chant came, nearer and yet more near, louder and louder grew the solemn voices, and I could catch each word of that song of praise to the Most High, misused so blasphemously by those who called themselves His priests:
Quæso, Christe rex invicte,Tu succure misero,Sub extrema mortis horaQuum jussus abiero,Nullum in me jus tyrannoPræbeatur impio.
Quæso, Christe rex invicte,Tu succure misero,Sub extrema mortis horaQuum jussus abiero,Nullum in me jus tyrannoPræbeatur impio.
Quæso, Christe rex invicte,Tu succure misero,Sub extrema mortis horaQuum jussus abiero,Nullum in me jus tyrannoPræbeatur impio.
Quæso, Christe rex invicte,
Tu succure misero,
Sub extrema mortis hora
Quum jussus abiero,
Nullum in me jus tyranno
Præbeatur impio.
I could hear the sad words but could see nothing, except that Achon had arisen, his white hands clasping the balustrade before him, and his eyes peering downward in the direction of the voices. He looked, as he stood, like some obscene bird of prey watching for his quarry to come within striking distance. There was a movement among the soldiers, who parted to make room for the doomed man, and then two by two the mournful procession came into sight, the monks before and behind the prisoner, chanting the last verse of the hymn. As they passed the gallery beneathAchon they stopped for a moment, and he leaned forward like a stooping vulture to look at Marcilly, and at that moment the morning sun came out in glorious light, and with it a fresh breeze arose. The two, destroyer and victim, faced each other, a smile of infernal malice on Achon’s face, Marcilly pale, but calm and proud. Then Achon made a slight gesture with his hand, the procession moved onward, and I boldly stepped out of my concealment, and stood behind the soldiers. No one noticed me—all eyes were on the man who was about to die.
They had reached the death platform by this, the executioner had bowed to his victim, when suddenly a roar of fright and horror burst from the people, and dense volumes of smoke broke out from the galleries. There was a wild shriek of “Fire! Fire!” There was a rushing and crowding of human beings like sheep. Achon turned an alarmed face toward the galleries, when, from beneath his own stand, a black cloud of smoke came up, and the next instant the hangings had caught fire, and he was enveloped in a circle of flame. For a moment the execution was stayed. The guard gathered round the prisoner, hiding him from view; and Richelieu, springing forward, attempted to scale the steps leading to Achon’s gallery; but fell back beaten and baffled by the smoke. The uproar was indescribable; but through it all, my heart leaped as I heard the rattle of drums, and they were—my God! theywere beating theRappel d’Aunis. But even as I heard this, and others heard it too, we turned our eyes to the burning gallery, where Achon was alone. The sunlight hid the flames, but now and then a warm orange flash showed where they worked, and puffs of black smoke went up in long spirals to the sky. The dry wood burnt merrily, the breeze fanned the fire, and within his burning cage Achon ran to and fro like a mad animal.
“Help! Help!” he shrieked. “Oh, God! Help!”
They would have given it if they could. Even I could not see him die like this, and, forcing my way somehow through the crowd, I tried to face the frail stairway, but ere I had gone four steps, the charred wood broke, and I fell heavily. As I rose to my feet, blackened and bruised, I saw Marcilly was safe. It was but a glance I gave; but it was enough, for Cipierre was beside him, and the black uniforms of the gendarmes of Aunis everywhere.
But for the moment all eyes were fixed on Achon. There were other, and sadder, things going on elsewhere in the burning square, for there the innocent were dying with the guilty; but here, where we were, this was what froze us with horror, and moved us all to pity. Ay, pity! Though he whom God’s hand was striking was the worst of men.
As yet the flames had not touched him, but leaped and danced around the wretch as thoughplaying with him, as though they meant to let him die mentally a hundred deaths before the end came. Three times did he try to break through, and three times we saw his face, evil, white, and despairing, as he fell back, howling curses.
And now there was a yell of horror from those around us, horror and terror unspeakable, and a monk, one of those who sang the death hymn, cried out in a voice that rose shrill and high:
“’Tis the devil! The devil come for him!”
Achon had again dashed to the flaming balustrade, but this time not alone. A black, misshapen thing was at his side, and two long black arms were wound round his neck. He struggled and cried out in a broken voice, and his glazed eyes shone with an awful terror, as he looked at the hideous face pressing close to his. Down they fell together, backward, to reappear again after a breathless movement. They strove madly together. They were hardly human. So closely were they clenched, so grimed were they both by the smoke, that it was barely possible to distinguish the one from the other, and as they came to the edge of the balcony, where the burning balustrade had dropped away, their limbs writhed and worked, like that of some monstrous spider in an agony.
Beneath them was a hissing, seething pit of flame, and, balancing on that perilous ledge, they fought together mutely. Long arms of fire shot up to them from the blazing deep below, seekingto clutch them and drag them down, but still they fought for the life that was already lost to both. For one brief moment I caught Achon’s glance, and it froze me to stone, for he was looking through me, and the terror of that which lies beyond the grave, and who knows what besides, glared from his eyes.
No one spoke. No one stirred, but all watched and watched for the end. At last it came. For a breath the frightful pair swayed and tottered together backward and forward, and then—fell, locked in their death-grip, into the flames beneath.
A shuddering cry went up from the crowd, and then all was still. Once we saw the dwarf, a dim figure, rise through the flames, and wave an arm wildly, and then he vanished in the roaring fire.
My tale is done. It is not for me to tell the history of the time, or to relate how the coming of the Constable gave a breath of peace to my afflicted land. It is sufficient for me to say that, after the death of Achon, the one enemy who would have troubled to harm me was removed. As for the others, those whom I had betrayed to their death, and whom God saved from their peril, they let me drop into oblivion. Here to my own halls of Vibrac did I return. Here have I hidden my shame. Here have I learned to repent. Who shall know the hours of agony, the days, the years of penitence and bitter remorse that I havepassed? No man! But there is One who knows, One at whose feet I have knelt and humbled myself with tears of blood; and He who despised not the thief on the Cross will, perhaps, have mercy upon a broken and a contrite heart.
THE END
Transcriber’s Notes:On pages 1 and 280, chateaux has been changed to châteaux.On page 5, added “my” missed by typesetter.On page 37, Conde has been changed to Condé.On page 52, dais has been changed to daïs.On page 124, Chatelet has been changed to Châtelet.On page 157, Chatillon has been changed to Châtillon.On page 225, Bailleul has been changer to Baillieul.On page 226, Crequy has been changed to Crequi.On page 294, ansewred has been changed to answered.Minor, silent changes have been made to clarify punctuation.All other spelling, hyphenation and non-English words and phrases have been left as typeset.
Transcriber’s Notes:
Transcriber’s Notes:
On pages 1 and 280, chateaux has been changed to châteaux.
On page 5, added “my” missed by typesetter.
On page 37, Conde has been changed to Condé.
On page 52, dais has been changed to daïs.
On page 124, Chatelet has been changed to Châtelet.
On page 157, Chatillon has been changed to Châtillon.
On page 225, Bailleul has been changer to Baillieul.
On page 226, Crequy has been changed to Crequi.
On page 294, ansewred has been changed to answered.
Minor, silent changes have been made to clarify punctuation.
All other spelling, hyphenation and non-English words and phrases have been left as typeset.