THE LAW OF THE LAND
The driver pulled up his horses when Herrick hailed him.
"Are you going into the city?"
"Ay."
"Care to take a passenger?"
"Ay."
"A paying passenger?" said Herrick.
"Ay; they're the sort I care most about."
Herrick climbed up on to the wagon, which was loaded with straw.
"There's for fare," he said, putting money into the driver's hand as the horses moved slowly on again.
The man looked at it.
"I'll take you in and bring you out for this, if you like, and you've a mind to wait while I unload the straw."
"I don't want to come out again," said Herrick. "It's the getting in that's the difficulty. I'm for the new Duke, and there are some who plot against him. I might be stopped at the gate. I propose to lie buried in this straw, and once in the city, I will drop out of the wagon. Will you do me the service?"
The man looked at Herrick doubtfully and then at the money.
"But if there's trouble at the gate and they find you?" he said.
"Then I have climbed up into the wagon as youcame along, and you didn't know it. I warrant you've often given an unconscious lift to a free passenger that way."
"Ay; that's true. I'll do it," the driver answered, putting the money in his pocket. "Get you down in the straw."
They lumbered presently over the bridge, and were passing through the gate when the wagon stopped.
"Where from?" a voice asked.
"Farmer Jacques."
"That's a road that goes toward Passey, isn't it?"
"Ay."
"Met any soldier on the road this morning?"
"No."
"Nor a priest?"
"No. If you want a priest there's one up the street yonder."
"Only straw in your wagon?"
"Ay. Taking it to a man in the Place Beauvoisin. I go there with a load every month."
Then the wagon began to move again and to jolt over rough, cobbled streets. For some time Herrick did not move, but presently lifted his head cautiously to see where they were going, and to choose a moment when he might drop from the wagon without attracting undue attention. To do so unseen would be impossible, for at this hour of the day there were many people in the streets. Herrick chose a busy corner. There was nothing really remarkable in a man leaving a wagon as it lumbered slowly along. The chief risk was that some one had had his suspicions aroused at the gate, and had followed. Herrick dropped carelessly into the roadway close to an alley that led out of the main street, and which he immediately made for. Hewanted to take his bearings; he also wanted a hat. The sooner he could lose himself in the life of the streets the better. Fortunately he was well provided with money, thanks to the dwarf, and he decided to take a lodging at some third-rate café. He had formed no plans as yet beyond the determination to get into the castle, and into the presence of Count Felix somehow. Friend Jean might certainly help him so far, and presently he would go to St. Etienne and look for him. What was to happen when he did succeed in seeing Count Felix he had not thought about. So far fortune had favored him, and to fortune he trusted the future.
The alley ran between a row of dilapidated dwellings, into which one stepped down by two deep steps, and a blank wall. A few dirty children were playing in the doorways, but took no notice of him. He had nearly reached the farther end, which opened into another busy street, when a hand was suddenly laid upon his shoulder. Herrick turned sharply, ready to fight for his liberty if need be.
The man he faced smiled.
"I am a friend," he said, "who knows you are in danger in Vayenne."
"What do you know of me?"
"I was looking for a priest who was with Mademoiselle de Liancourt's escort. Wisely you are a priest no longer. There is an order to arrest all priests entering Vayenne."
"Well, sir, and what then?"
"Some of these children are watching us," was the answer. "There is anger in your face, and they hope to see fighting between us. We are friends, let us walk on."
"I have no proof of your friendship," said Herrick, walking on with the man.
"You would serve Mademoiselle de Liancourt, surely that is why you have returned to Vayenne. I would serve her also. I pray you trust me sufficiently to bear me company. If you are minded, as I believe you are, to strike a blow at Count Felix, who already makes preparations for his coronation, I have power to help you."
Herrick walked on for a few moments in silence. At the best this could only be an attempt to allure him into some plot against the Duke, which was probably more one of secret clamor than open action; yet he might learn something of the support a rising against the Count could depend on. At the worst—he pressed his hand to his side, and felt the revolver there.
"First help me to a new hat; I draw attention by going bare-headed," he said.
"That is easy; and afterward?"
"My good friend, I do not enter Vayenne in this fashion without having friends in the city. I warrant any hurt to me would be amply paid for. I will go with you, and treat you as a friend until I know that you are otherwise; then——"
"Ah! leave all threatening for your enemies," the man answered. "You will find plenty of them."
The hat purchased, a soft one that he could draw down to conceal his face a little, Herrick went with his companion, carefully noting the way they took. For the most part it was by by-streets, and not the shortest way to their destination; but presently they came out close to the Church of St. Etienne. The carillon burst forth as they crossed by the great west doors set deep in a very lacework of stone, and ceased as they passedinto the Rue St. Romain. Herrick's guide stopped and knocked at a small postern there, which was opened immediately by a man in a cassock, who, without a word, stood back to let them enter, and then closed the door.
"Will you wait here a moment, monsieur?" said his companion, leading Herrick into a small, barely furnished room. "I will return immediately."
He left the door open, as though he would emphasize his perfect confidence, but Herrick noted that the man in the cassock who had admitted them remained in the passage. A sudden movement Herrick made caused him to glance round quickly. He was evidently there by design to watch, and Herrick pressed his hand upon his revolver again.
In a few minutes his guide returned, and led him along the passage and up a flight of stairs. He paused before a door there, knocked, and, after waiting for a moment, opened it and motioned Herrick to enter. He did not enter with him, but closed the door, and was immediately joined by the man in the cassock. With a nod of comprehension to each other they took up their positions on either side of the door, an alertness in their attitude which argued ill for Herrick should he attempt to leave that room against their will.
Herrick walked boldly into the room, unconscious that his companion was not following him. His attention was immediately arrested by the man who rose from his seat at the table and came to meet him.
"I welcome a brave man," he said.
"This is not our first meeting," Herrick answered. "You were at the Croix Verte on the night I arrived in Vayenne. You are Father Bertrand."
"I am," said the priest, motioning his visitor to a seat."You can hardly know much concerning me beyond my identity."
"Very little more," said Herrick. "Subsequent events have made me remember a few words overheard at the Croix Verte that night which I took little notice of at the time."
"That is natural," the priest answered. "And you have assumed that we are both bent in helping the same cause."
"Captain Lemasle was at the Croix Verte with you. I saw him again at Passey. I found him honest, and I judge a man's companions are of his own choosing and after his own heart."
"I hope to prove myself a suitable comrade for so worthy a captain." And it was difficult to tell whether there was contempt in the priest's tone or whether he spoke in his usual manner. "Rumor has been busy with both of you in the last few hours, if, as I suppose, you were the 'priest' who fought beside Captain Lemasle."
"Rumor often finds it difficult to substantiate her tales," said Herrick, who was not inclined to admit anything until he understood his position more exactly.
"You are both to be arrested, and this I take to mean a short shrift and speedy closing of accounts. Justice in Montvilliers is inclined to be barbarous."
"Justice!" said Herrick.
"I am not considering the point of view," said the priest, with a smile. "Yours is the greater danger, for Lemasle has friends. You were received as a spy at the outset, and have no friends in Vayenne."
"I understood that I was brought here to find some," Herrick answered. "Besides, I have friends in this city."
"You mean those who helped you to escape from the South Tower?"
"That was a simple matter," said Herrick carelessly.
"Yes, Monsieur Herrick?" said the priest inquiringly after a short pause.
"Naturally I do not betray my friends," was the answer.
Father Bertrand smiled again, perhaps to hide his annoyance that his visitor would not speak more openly. He had so constantly found his suave manner a key to open hearts and loosen tongues, that he might well be disappointed now.
"Something more than your name is known to me, Monsieur Herrick—that, of course, was easy to ascertain—but first let me ask you one or two questions."
"I cannot promise to answer them."
"Where is the young Duke Maurice?"
"I do not know."
"Is he dead?"
"That I do not know."
"And Mademoiselle de Liancourt and this Captain Lemasle?"
"I last saw them in the forest which lies on the main road to Passey," Herrick answered.
"You do not look like a man who would lie," said the priest, regarding him intently.
Herrick inclined his head at the compliment. His answers were strictly true; he did not feel himself called upon to enter into explanations.
"Tell me, what made you come to Vayenne—originally, I mean?" said the priest after another pause.
"I came as any traveller might. From childhood Vayenne has always had a fascination for me. Longago I determined to visit it some day, and truly it has treated me very scurvily thus far."
"Why this fascination?"
"Indeed, I cannot tell, but I do know it is being speedily cured," Herrick answered.
"And why have you returned to Vayenne now?"
"I hardly know," laughed Herrick. "The whim of an Englishman to see the game to the end. I might have been wiser to ride to the frontier while I had the chance."
"Perhaps; yet who shall say? Providence, or circumstance, call it what you will, determines these matters. I, too, have schemed, my son, schemed to bring about this very meeting, and after all it comes in a strange manner. It was I who on the night of your arrival arranged to have you captured—no, not as a spy, I never thought of that. I only wanted you brought here."
"Why not have invited me to come?" asked Herrick, who, although astonished at the priest's admission, would not show it.
"I did not know why you had come to Vayenne. I had reasons to be suspicious."
"I cannot congratulate you on your method," said Herrick. "Your fellows nearly succeeded in getting me hanged on the nearest lamp."
"You put such wholesome fear in them that they acted foolishly. One is still in his bed getting his bones mended, the other——"
"Faith, I'll give him some mending to do if he but gives me the chance."
"Poor Mercier," said Father Bertrand; "and you seem to have treated him in friendly fashion to-day."
"Was that he? The man who brought me here?"
"You may be anxious to thank him presently. That night," the priest went on, "I went to the castle, to your cell. I should have proved you were no spy, but you had gone. For the second time this interview was delayed."
"And this third time?" queried Herrick.
"Circumstances have changed. Duke Maurice is reported dead, is believed to be dead; you have said yourself that you do not know whether he is dead or alive. At such a time events happen quickly. Preparation is already active. Felix will be Duke, and once crowned——"
"That shall not be," said Herrick.
"How will you prevent it?"
Father Bertrand snapped out the question, and leaned forward, waiting for the answer. His whole attitude had changed. There was a tenseness about him that seemed subtly to convey itself into Herrick's blood.
"Show me the way," he said, leaning forward in his turn as eagerly as the priest had done.
"There is a mirror yonder, Monsieur Herrick," said the priest, rising suddenly. "If you have forgotten what manner of man you are, look in it."
Herrick had risen as the priest rose, and almost unconsciously turned to look at his own reflection. While he did so, he heard the rattle of a curtain being sharply drawn aside, and turned to see the priest pointing to a picture which the curtain had concealed until now.
"Do you know that face?" he asked.
"Surely, my grandmother—my mother's mother," said Herrick in astonishment.
"The likeness of the face in the mirror to this face leaves no doubt of close relationship. It is a distinctive face, as sometimes happens in families; it cannot behidden. I recognized it in an instant when I saw you at the Croix Verte. That lady, your grandmother, was sister to Robert VI. of Montvilliers. You did not know that?"
"No. I only knew that she was a foreigner, a lady of rank, who was content to become the wife of an English country gentleman."
"Were it not for the law of this land, which forbids the throne to descendants of the female line, your grandmother, or, failing her, your mother, would have been Duchess of Montvilliers. There have been times when the people have been inclined to do away with this law. There are some now who would do away with it in favor of Christine de Liancourt. I have been tempted to wish it done away with. Her determination is fixed, however; she will keep to the very letter of the law, and lest she should loom too prominently in this matter, it is her whim to use none of her many titles, but to be called simply Mademoiselle de Liancourt."
"You mean that you would plot to do away with this law now?" asked Herrick after a pause.
"The breaking of a law which has been long established, and has worked for the general good, is not wise, my son," answered Father Bertrand, going to the table and unfolding a rough pedigree chart there. "This will show my meaning clearer. Here, you see, is Robert IV., dying without issue; Charles, his brother, who predeceased him; and Marie, his sister, your grandmother. On the death of Robert the crown went to Philip I., his cousin, and at his death to his son, a dissolute man, who was deposed in favor of Robert VII., the old Duke who lies waiting burial in the castle yonder. The deposed Duke, Philip II., died suddenly in the South Tower. Hehad no friends to assist him to escape, and plenty of enemies to help him to his death. Robert's elder brother Charles died before Robert seized the throne, leaving one child, Christine de Liancourt. A younger brother, Conrad, died a few years since. Felix is his son."
"Had Duke Robert no claim to the throne?" asked Herrick.
"You can trace it here," said Father Bertrand, pointing the descent with his finger; "through the male line all along you note until we come to Robert II., who had many children, of whom only the eldest and youngest survived—the eldest being the ancestor of your mother, the youngest of Duke Robert. This was the Duke's claim, and putting aside the deposition of Philip II., for which the people had no quarrel with him, a righteous claim but for one fact. You see what this youngest son was called."
"Called The Bastard," Herrick read from the chart.
"Nicknamed so in his own day," said the priest. "His father's love for a young girl in his old age has entered into the regions of romance in this country. You may find ballads which it has inspired. No one has ever doubted the story until it pleased the people to forget it when they made Robert Duke. Do you understand how the matter stands?"
"The story goes back so far, it may well be forgotten," Herrick answered.
"If Maurice came to the throne, yes; but not if Felix is the heir. The law which forbids women to reign in Montvilliers, and under ordinary conditions excludes even their male descendants, has one important provision which is this: that failing a direct male heir, the son through the female line shall inherit."
"Then?"
Father Bertrand glanced at the picture from which the curtain had been withdrawn, and then looked again at his visitor.
"Have I made it quite clear to Roger Herrick, the real Duke of Montvilliers?" he said slowly.
HOW JEAN LOST HIS ENEMIES
Herrick looked from the priest to the picture, and then again at the chart lying on the table. He bent over it, his finger travelling from name to name as though he were carefully tracing the descent once more to satisfy himself that the priest was right. It was a ruse to gain time, to collect his thoughts, for they had leaped back to his mother, his youth, and his dreams. Now he understood why Vayenne had always had such a fascination for him. He was of it, a part of its life. The source of the blood that tingled in his veins lay far back in history. They were his ancestors who had kept Montvilliers inviolate as it was to-day, his fathers who had fought in the forefront of the battle, thrusting back their foes at the sword's point. Herrick did not remember his grandmother, and had only a faint recollection of his mother, who had died when he was young; but there certainly was a lady who came into his boyhood's life at intervals, and whom he remembered well. Perhaps she was a friend of his mother's or grandmother's, and he had often sat on her knee while she told him stories which stirred him, stories of Vayenne, so that the name of the city figured in his games of soldiers and doughty deeds, and sank deep down into his heart. One day he would go to Vayenne had been his determination as he dreamed lad's dreams of life and the future. That day had come. His finger had unconsciously travelled down the chart until it rested on his grandmother's name.
"There is no flaw," said Father Bertrand, and his voice made Herrick start, so lost was he in his thoughts. "This chart is no secret; it is copied from one which is common property, open to all who choose to study it, and in which every date is fully given. I am no maker and unmaker of dukes, no mere plotter for place and power. The late Duke, with all his harshness, was a just man in the main. Under his rule the country was at peace, and there was prosperity. His son, were he alive, would make but a poor ruler. Count Felix would assuredly prove a bad one. Is it not right that the reign of the usurping house should end here and now? I have only to bring this chart to date thus." And the priest took a pencil, and under the name of Herrick's grandmother drew a little vertical line, then paused, and said: "What was your mother's name?"
"Mary."
"Mary, daughter of Marie, and then Mary's son, Roger Herrick." And, perhaps unconsciously, he wrote the name more firmly and a little larger.
"And your plans, Father Bertrand?" said Herrick shortly.
"They are a tangled skein. How could they be otherwise until you came to help in the unravelling? But there are loose ends to catch hold of, and after the first few knots are unfastened, the skein is likely to fall easily apart. The Count moves swiftly; we must work swiftly too. Duke Robert is to be buried without delay. Courtiers and men of account have already been summoned from the country; and they come not only to a funeral, but to a coronation. Once Felix is crowned, it will be harder to foster a rising against him. Among those who will come to Vayenne is one Gerard de Bornais, a man of wealth, whose friendshipI have. He will bring a certain retinue with him, and you shall join yourself to his company. Events must decide our actions. For the rest——"
There was a single, sharp knock upon the door, given by the same man, Herrick thought, who had brought him hither. It was evidently an understood sign, for the priest did not answer.
"For the present you must be my guest," said Father Bertrand, drawing back the curtain from another door.
"I have friends in Vayenne. I must see them," said Herrick.
"My son, there is danger for you in the streets."
"Am I virtually a prisoner then?"
"If you would oppose Count Felix by the means I have shown you, yes, for yours is too tell-tale a face to be seen at present. If you decide not to claim your rights, yonder is the door you entered by, and you are free to go."
"I will stay," said Herrick after a moment's reflection. "One friend I have whose worth I know, and who may be of value to us among the people. Will you find and bring here Jean who is called the dwarf of St. Etienne?"
"Would you put your trust in a fool!" exclaimed Father Bertrand.
"There is more wisdom, strength, and cunning in that crooked body than lies in most of your straight-limbed men. I know. He is a hater of the Count besides."
"I should advise——"
"Either he comes, or I go," said Herrick.
"You quickly learn the part you are to play. You command, I obey. Jean shall be found." And the priest smiled, and led the way into another room. "Iwill return to you as soon as possible. In the meanwhile Mercier shall attend to your wants. You have forgiven him for attacking you in the Rue de la Grosse Horloge?"
"Indeed, I have not."
"I petition that you do," said Father Bertrand. "I know him. He will be useful to us. A duke should grant so humble a petition when it is the first made to him."
"Send this Mercier. I will not harm him," said Herrick. "If I can mount the throne as easily as I grant the petition, we have no very thorny path to travel."
The dwarf, however, was not to be found that day, although Father Bertrand looked for him in St. Etienne and Mercier sought him at all the haunts he knew of. Jean remained in the house by the wall, and that night again crossed the river to make inquiry of the farmer. A wagoner was at the farm that night, and chancing to hear that he had been to Vayenne that day, Jean questioned him.
"Ay; sure they were on the lookout at the gate," he answered, "but I had seen no soldier or priest, as I told them."
He was an honest fellow, and remembering the coins in his pocket, held his tongue.
It was toward dusk the next day that Jean entered St. Etienne. Lights were burning dimly in one of the chapels where vespers were being said, and as he stood in the shadows of one of the great pillars, Father Bertrand, who was about to leave the church, saw him.
"Jean, there is a friend of yours at my house who wishes to see you."
"What friend? I have hundreds in Vayenne."
"The one who broke from the South Tower."
"What does he in your house, father?"
"For the present he hides, and waits for you. Go to him at once."
The dwarf shuffled down the long aisle. In the porch he paused, half expecting the priest to follow him. Was this a trap? Had Jean known of any way in which his capture could help Father Bertrand, he certainly would not have gone; and as it was, he stood before the small door in the Rue St. Romain for some time before he knocked. The door was opened almost immediately, and the man in the cassock stood back to let him enter, which Jean did, one hand upon his knife under the folds of his loose tunic.
The man closed the door, and bade the dwarf follow him. He led him upstairs, and at the end of a passage knocked at a door. The dwarf entered the room, and waited until the man had closed the door again and the sound of his retreating footsteps had ceased. Then he looked at Herrick, who had risen from his chair.
"They don't lock you in?" he said in astonishment.
"No."
"Why stay then?"
"I asked them to bring you here that I might tell you what has happened," said Herrick.
"Strange happenings, surely, to bring you to this place, friend Roger!" And as Herrick sat down again, Jean doubled his legs under him and squatted on the floor.
Herrick told him all that had occurred to the time Mercier had met him and brought him to the Rue St. Romain.
"Then the pale scholar is not dead," said Jean. "In Vayenne they believe he is."
"He was not dead when the robbers carried him away, and they would certainly do their best to keep him alive. How he will fare with those to whom he is sold I cannot say."
Jean expressed no opinion.
"And now, friend Roger, what happens now? You have come to tell the truth to the Count, and have fallen into the fox's hole on the way."
"Wait, Jean; let us consider the position for a moment. Had I gone boldly to the castle, what would my fate have been, do you suppose?"
"A dangle at the end of a rope over the great gate as likely as not," the dwarf answered.
"Exactly—and perhaps without a chance of seeing Count Felix at all," said Herrick. "Now Father Bertrand has promised to get me into the castle in the suite of one De Bornais, who comes to the Duke's funeral. In this way I shall attract no attention, and shall be ready when the moment for action arrives."
"What action?"
"That must depend on circumstances; but it shall be some action that shall prevent Count Felix being crowned Duke of Montvilliers."
"Friend Roger, you have proved yourself a brave man, but here is a task that would make a body of giants ponder and turn pale."
"Since we parted across the river yonder, I have learned strange things, Jean; so strange that I dare not speak of them yet. They will stir the very heart of Vayenne, and the Count himself shall be afraid."
"From whence heard you these things? From Father Bertrand?"
"Partly."
Jean shook his head.
"The fox enters the poultry run with a smile on his face and an air of harmlessness, but he brings death and destruction all the same."
"Listen, Jean. I am not trusting Father Bertrand without knowing that what he says is true," said Herrick earnestly. "Now I want to know who are my friends, whom I can trust; so I sent for you."
"The only friend you have in Vayenne," said Jean.
"You forget Mademoiselle de Liancourt and Captain Lemasle."
"Who are not in Vayenne, friend Roger, however friendly they may be. There are orders to arrest Captain Lemasle."
"Treachery must be met with cunning, and the time is short," said Herrick. "By this they are no doubt safe within the city. I will tell you the whole story soon, but there is no time now; there is work to do to-night."
Jean shook his head, one eye shut the while.
"Cannot you trust me?" Herrick asked.
"Not your wisdom. You talk of using cunning, but many as wise a man as you are has thought himself cunning, and been the victim all the time. I have no relish for pulling an oar in the same boat with Father Bertrand. I've been in Vayenne longer than you have, friend Roger, and know him better than you do."
"Listen, Jean. It is Father Bertrand who has told things to me, not I to him," said Herrick. "He does not know the whole story of the attack in the forest as I have told it to you; he does not know what has happened to Duke Maurice, nor of Mademoiselle, nor of Captain Lemasle. He knows nothing of what I want you to do to-night."
The dwarf was on his feet in an instant.
"Good, friend Roger, good! I see the smile of the fox on your face now. What is the work? I am content to hear the rest of your story another time."
"Do you know the house of the Countess Elisabeth?" asked Herrick.
"The outside of it."
"You must get in on some pretext, and see Mademoiselle de Liancourt."
"Faith! She has chosen as strange a hiding-place as you have."
"It was of her own choosing," said Herrick. "See her. Say you come from me. Say that she must remain in hiding until I send to her again; that Count Felix must be allowed to believe that Duke Maurice is dead. Tell her that since leaving her in the forest I have learned that which makes me certain that Count Felix will never be crowned. Can you remember the message?"
Jean repeated it, marking each item off on his fingers.
"And what have I to say to Captain Lemasle?" he asked.
"Tell him to wait for a message from me," said Herrick.
"You must have impressed him greatly, friend Roger, to command him in this fashion. He's a man more easily led than driven."
"And one thing more," said Herrick, who was too busy thinking of all it was necessary to tell to notice the dwarf's comment. "You will not say where I am. They do not know what has happened since I left them. They might not understand my being in Father Bertrand's house."
"Then we are all in the dark until it pleases friend Roger to open the door," said Jean. "Well, since you undertake giants' work, it is hardly strange you shouldset about it in queer fashion. For all our sakes I pray your wisdom is as great as your courage."
At Herrick's summons the man in the cassock came and took Jean to the street door again, closing it gently behind him without a word.
It was quite dark now, and the dim lamps at intervals only served to cast deep, gloomy shadows across the Rue St. Romain. The dwarf stood still for some moments, looking up and down the street, and his sharp eyes searched the shadows. He was not certain, but one particular spot did not satisfy him; he thought a man stood there. He expected to be watched and followed, for he had little faith in Father Bertrand. Jean was even surprised with himself for believing Roger Herrick so easily, for he placed small reliance on any man's disinterestedness. He moved away slowly, and was soon aware that he had not been mistaken, that he was being followed.
"He must know Vayenne well if he hopes to keep me in sight," chuckled the dwarf to himself as he turned sharply into a narrow alley and began the task of losing his enemy. For half an hour he dodged round corners, up dark alleys, and across small streets, returning at the end of that time to a spot close to the Rue St. Romain; and he chuckled to think of the dance he had led his follower.
Mercier did know Vayenne well, however, he was perhaps the very last man in the city to be deceived by such tactics, and no sooner had the dwarf set out on a more direct route, than he came from a turning and went after him.
Jean was crossing one of the larger streets, which was well lighted, on his way to the Place Beauvoisin, when half a dozen soldiers suddenly caught sight of him.
"Well met, Jean," cried one, grasping his arm. "Where have you been roosting? The Count has been sending everywhere to find you to-day and yesterday."
"For what?"
"Nobody knows why—maybe to make a captain of you. But this we know, that he's promised silver enough to the man that finds you to pay for a merry night at the tavern. So you must come with us."
"That's certain," answered one of his companions, taking Jean's other arm.
Why should he be sought for? The wounded sentry must have gathered some of his scattered wits and remembered something of the spy's escape from the South Tower.
"The Count honors me," he said; "and if he makes a captain of me, we'll have merry times. I'll come with you; but at the top of the street yonder is the Barbe Noire, where is good liquor, and I have the wherewithal to pay. What say you? The Count is in no such hurry that he cannot wait another hour after waiting two days."
"The Barbe Noire let it be," they cried; and with Jean in their midst, they went up the street, Mercier following them.
But they drank no ale or wine at the Barbe Noire that night. Within a hundred yards of it there was a side street leading to the old markets, around which there was a perfect network of alleys and byways. As they came abreast of this street, the dwarf suddenly wrenched his arms free, dropped to the ground, and catching one of the soldiers by the legs, pitched him over his back among his comrades, and in a moment was rushing along the side street. In anticipation ofthe drink, and believing that the dwarf had no desire to get away from them, the soldiers were unprepared for this manœuvre, and were utterly taken by surprise; so that the dwarf had travelled some distance before they took up the pursuit. For the second time that night Jean's ingenuity was taxed to lose his enemies.
The pursuit was not long confined to the soldiers. Mercier was the first to join in it, and then some idlers about the corners of the old markets began to run, until presently a mob of forty or fifty were making the streets echo with their hurrying feet.
Jean had not enough advantage in the race to enable him to deliberate which way he should take. He had no desire to draw his pursuers into the Place Beauvoisin where, even if he succeeded in eluding them, they might watch for a long time, and prevent his gaining entrance to the Countess Elisabeth's house. But presently there seemed no other way for him to take with any reasonable hope of safety. He entered the square by a narrow thoroughfare close to the high wall which surrounded the house, and had a moment's respite before the crowd turned the corner. Adjoining the high wall there was a lower one, surrounding a yard. To run across the square and escape by the other entrance would carry him into well-lighted streets, where a hundred others might join in the chase, and where he was almost certain to be captured. His decision was taken in an instant. With a spring, such as some great ape might make, he was upon this lower wall, and another bound took him to the top of the high wall. No light shone upon it, and he lay down along it full length upon his stomach. A moment later, the crowd was rushing past underneath him.
A pause was made when no one was seen flying acrossthe square, and a dozen voices began to shout advice. He had done this! He had done that! He had never entered the square! He had managed to cross it before they had got in! It was a babel of tongues, everybody shouting, no one listening.
Jean had seen no one as he sprang on to the wall, but the crowd saw a man in the square, and rushed toward him.
"Which way did he go?" they cried.
Jean ventured to raise his head a little. He could not hear the man's answer, but since the crowd did not rush back to the wall, he concluded that either the man had not noticed him, or had no intention of betraying him.
There was a moment's silence, and then a voice cried out:
"We've lost the little game, but we catch the larger. It's Lemasle, and there's an order for his arrest!"
In an instant there was a struggling mass of humanity. So closely and so suddenly was Lemasle pressed, that there was no opportunity to use any weapon. The dwarf ached to go to his assistance, but that would have meant the capture of both of them. That would be worse than useless. So Jean remained motionless on the wall.
Lemasle said not a word. He struck out right and left for a few moments, and one or two had reason enough to regret that they had ever joined in the chase; but numbers overpowered him. Then as they succeeded in binding his arms, he laughed.
"Tell me," he said, "whom were you hunting when you chanced upon me?"
"That devil of St. Etienne," said a soldier, with an oath.
"Such a devil plays the saint sometimes, and perhapshe'll tell all my friends where I am. Faith! half the city should be knocking at the castle for my release before noon to-morrow."
"Maybe you'll swing an hour or two earlier, and then they can have your body," said one of the soldiers brutally. He had felt the weight of the captain's arm a few moments earlier.
Lemasle had raised his voice, speaking clearly and distinctly. He had not seen Jean, but he guessed that he was not far off, and would perchance hear him.
The dwarf lay motionless as the crowd passed along under the wall, and he understood.
OBEDIENCE AND TRUST
Some two hours ago the porter had opened the small door in the high wall, and before he could prevent her, or ask her business, a woman, heavily cloaked, had stepped hastily in, and bade him close the door again. He obeyed her command almost unconsciously, and then recovered himself sufficiently to ask the meaning of this sudden intrusion.
The woman laughed as she let the cloak, which she had held lightly across her, fall apart.
"Your wits move slowly, my friend. An enemy might enter while you were making up your mind to ask his business. Go and tell your mistress that Mademoiselle de Liancourt would speak with her."
Countess Elisabeth met her with a smiling welcome and outstretched arms, yet Lucille, who was with her when the message was brought, had seen an expression in her face which was certainly not one of pleasure, and was surprised at the sudden change as the door opened and Christine entered.
"Forgive me coming to you in this fashion, Elisabeth," Christine said. "I knew I should find a safe retreat here."
"Retreat?"
"Yes, or hiding-place if you will, for that is the true meaning of my coming. I would not have it known that I am in Vayenne for a while."
"Take the cloak, Lucille," said the Countess, lifting it from Christine's shoulders.
"Thank you; and Lucille, although it is a well-worn one, see that it is not thrown away, for it is borrowed," laughed Christine; and then when the girl had gone she went on. "I am travel-stained altogether, Elisabeth, and look strangely out of keeping with the comfort of this room. You will give me food presently, and perhaps lend me a gown; we are sufficiently of a size for that, I think. I have not had my clothes off for three nights."
"I do not understand," said Elisabeth.
"How should you? But you know that I went to Passey?"
"I have heard of that disaster and the death of the Duke," said Elisabeth.
"All Vayenne has heard of that, I suppose," said Christine.
"Such ill news travels quickly," was the answer; "if it is ill news altogether. Perhaps for the country's sake the death is not such an unfortunate one."
"You did not know Maurice," said Christine quietly.
"You must not be angry with me," the Countess went on. "I am thinking of the country, not of the individual, and I am sorry for the poor boy. But I do not understand why you should want to be in Vayenne secretly."
"A duke is not murdered without some upheaval in the state," said Christine. "The Duke's partisans may be the next victims."
"Is your life in jeopardy, Christine?"
"For three days I have been hiding in a charcoal-burner's hut. I should hardly have done so without good reason. Captain Lemasle saved me when we were attacked in the woods, and only to-night have I ventured to the city. I came by the North Gate, since it wasnearest to your house, entering in the company of some market women, borrowing one of their cloaks to conceal myself as much as possible. How Captain Lemasle has fared, I know not. Let me see him if he comes, Elisabeth. He knows where I was bent on seeking sanctuary."
"But Felix——"
"I know. He will be Duke," said Christine, interrupting her.
"And powerful to shield you," said Elisabeth.
"He sent an escort to shield Maurice. It failed miserably in its purpose. Maybe Felix thinks, as you do, that Maurice's death happened fortunately for Montvilliers."
"Even then, I do not understand your position, Christine. Is not Felix to know that you are in Vayenne?"
"Not yet. He will know presently. As you love me, Elisabeth, let my being here remain a secret at present."
"But why?"
"Have you never heard that Felix wishes to marry me?" Christine asked.
"Yes; I have heard so. I know nothing of the truth of the story," said the Countess.
"It is true enough. Oh, there is no romance in it, Elisabeth. I have some power and wealth in the state. It might be a good marriage for Felix. There you have the whole truth of it."
"And you do not love him?"
"I do not think so. How can I tell? I have lived all these years on the earth without knowing what love is. Love, perhaps, finds no easy road into the Castle of Vayenne."
"Still, without love, you would marry him?" said the Countess.
"For the good of the country, perhaps; but if I do, he will probably live to wish that he had found another wife, even if she cost him a crown."
"Surely, Christine, if you have not learnt to love, you have learnt how to hate."
"Time enough for that when Felix and I are married. Will you keep me here for a while, and let it be a secret?"
"Yes; I promise. I will, even at the risk of Felix's anger. Am I not brave?" And she laughed lightheartedly.
"Then come and pick me out a gown, the prettiest you have, Elisabeth. I long to shake off the charcoal dust and the dirt of the highway. I want to feel just a woman, and look pretty again."
"Surely this Captain Lemasle— Did you not say he might come to-night?" said the Countess.
Christine laughed.
"This old house gives you romantic notions, my dear. Let us call Lucille, and bid her help to choose the gown, for with such ideas in your head you may be jealous of me, and foist upon me some cast-off garment that no girl could possibly look charming in. You are so pretty yourself, Elisabeth, that I am inclined not to trust you in this affair." And with their arms about each other, they went out of the room, calling for Lucille.
Captain Lemasle did not come, and only the porter heard any disturbance in the square. It woke him from a doze, but not sufficiently to send him out to see what the cause of the noise might be. He was a sleepy old man at the best of times, and if there were any breaking of heads being done, he argued that he was safer in his little lodge on the inside of the wall.
They talked no more of politics that night. For one thing, Lucille was present, and this was a relief, for both Christine and the Countess were busy with their own thoughts. Countess Elisabeth had told Felix that they had come to the parting of the ways. She loved him, of that she made no secret, but she had been unselfish enough to urge his marriage with Christine. His good came before her desire. With the death of Maurice, it seemed to her that all reason why Felix should marry Christine vanished; and since circumstances had thus been kind to her, she looked for the reward of her great unselfishness. When Felix had come to her the other day, she had fully expected him to rejoice that all barriers between them were now cast down. He had not done so; he still saw a necessity for marrying Christine; and although too proud to question him closely, she had made him understand that for the future things must be different between them. Perhaps she understood his character more thoroughly, at this moment, than she had ever done; but she loved him. Hers was not that love which lies close to the borderland of hatred; wounded, it yet found excuses for him. To-night she had learned something of Christine's feelings toward him. She might marry him, but time could never bring love into that union. Christine had declared that it would bring hatred. Felix must be saved from this, and the Countess tried to persuade herself that she thought only of him in this matter. She would keep Christine's secret. Felix should not know that she was in Vayenne; more, if necessary, she would keep Christine a prisoner for a time, so that Felix might understand how easily he could do without her, that he was free to marry where he would. This Lemasle was Christine's lover, surely, since she had not denied it. Elisabethmight presently betray this secret to Felix. "Yes, I may do that," she said as she came to this climax of her thoughts in her room that night, and the expression on the fair face which her mirror reflected almost startled her. For an instant she saw deeper into her own soul than she dared to look as a rule. She was frightened, but not repentant.
And Christine had been silent that evening, too. She knew nothing of Felix's visits to the Place Beauvoisin. She knew that he did not really love her; she believed that he did not love any woman. She had come to Countess Elisabeth for refuge and with the intention of telling her the whole truth of the attack in the forest; but Elisabeth's evident partisanship of Felix had stopped the tale. Christine had to give some other reason for her desire to remain concealed. The fact that Felix wished to make her his wife, and her reluctance to such a union, seemed a reason that would be most likely to appeal to another woman, and the introduction of Lemasle's name added force to the argument; so Christine laughed and spoke no words of denial. But there was little laughter in her heart as she locked herself in her room. Lemasle had not come. He had said he would, and she knew him well enough to understand that he was unable to keep his promise. He had not succeeded in entering Vayenne without being seen, and she dreaded to think what his fate might be, once he fell into the hands of Felix. There was something strange about Elisabeth. Her welcome had been forced. She had been under some restraint all the evening. It was doubtful if this house was a safe refuge after all. What had Roger Herrick done? How had he fared? Brave man as he was, what could he hope to accomplish against Felix? Herrick andLemasle might both be taken, and they would both die a speedy death. Felix could not afford to let such men live, for they knew the truth.
"God grant he does not silence me before I have called him traitor!" she cried passionately; and then her mood changed suddenly, and a soft look came into her eyes. "I was wrong to let him ride back to Vayenne," she murmured; and for a little while she sat thinking, her mental vision reaching far beyond the four walls of her chamber, seeing the rough hut, the smouldering peat fire, and a man kneeling to her, swearing to serve her to the death.
Suddenly she shook herself free of such dreams. This was no time for visions. Even now Felix might be planning the death of this man—and of Lemasle. They must be saved. She would go to the castle to-night. The room seemed to have grown hot and stifling, and she threw open the window to fill her lungs with the cool night air.
Below her, the garden was in darkness. The night was overcast, but the trees were whispering together, and from the distance came the faint music of the carillon.
"I will go," she said, turning quickly from the window. "In some dungeon that music may penetrate to him as he counts the hours to dawn—and death. Felix shall listen to me."
The borrowed cloak was lying on a chair. She hastily wrapped it round her, and her hand was upon the key in the door when she stopped and turned round sharply.
"Mademoiselle!"
There was a face at the open window, a shaggy head that might well startle any woman, and two knottedhands grasped the window-frame, the muscles straining as the man drew himself slowly in.
"Pardon, mademoiselle. I have waited a long time. I knew no other way to get to you."
"Jean!"
"At your service, mademoiselle," said the dwarf as he got into the room and fell on his knee before her, a strangely grotesque figure, yet surely an honest man.
"What do you want with me?" Christine asked.
"I have a message from friend Roger. You are to remain in hiding until he sends to you again. Count Felix must believe that Duke Maurice is dead. Since leaving you in the forest, friend Roger has learnt strange things."
"What has he learnt?"
"That Count Felix will never be Duke of Montvilliers," Jean answered.
"But tell me why? What makes him say this? Come, Jean, tell me quickly. I have no wit to-night to think of questions to drag out your story."
"There is no story to be dragged out, mademoiselle. That is all the message, all I have to tell."
"I must know more," said Christine.
"I know no more," the dwarf answered. "Friend Roger was mysterious. He would tell me more presently, he said, but to-night there was work to do; and I have done it, although 'tis a marvel I am here at all. I have been hunted half over the city like a rabbit, and for longer than I care to remember have lain on my stomach on the wall of yonder garden, so still that a cat climbed over me and found nothing strange with the wall."
"Where is Roger Herrick?" asked Christine.
"That he bade me not tell you. He said you wouldnot understand. I do not understand either. It is a place I should not choose to hide in. But there, it's a good thing all animals do not make for the same hole."
"Is he in danger?"
"He doesn't seem to think so."
"Has he been to the castle?"
"No. Friend Roger would hardly be such a fool as that."
"He spoke truly; I do not understand," said Christine.
"So far then he is wise, for he said you would not," Jean answered. "I had a message for Captain Lemasle, but he is not here. He also was to wait until friend Roger sent for him."
"You have seen Captain Lemasle?"
"Yes; but had no word with him. First one man followed me to-night, and I lost him; then presently half a dozen soldiers pounced on me, saying Count Felix had need of me. I was in a strait how to break loose and deliver my message. I said I was willing to go to the Count, but why should we not drink first; and as we went I got free. It was a long chase, mademoiselle, and presently I turned into the square here, and leaped on to the wall, and lay there. The crowd rushed by, and fell upon another man in the square—the captain."
"And took him?" said Christine.
"He fought as a man should, but there were fifty against him. Then he asked who they had been hunting, and when they told him, he shouted out that I might tell his friends. He guessed I was not far off, and I understood."
"They will hang him before to-morrow," said Christine.
"There are many hours yet before to-morrow," Jeananswered. "I dropped into the garden, and have waited a long time. I did not want to climb to the wrong window. I was just going to break into the house, and bring my message, though I had to wake you from sleep to give it, when you looked down. In that moment the garden grew light, mademoiselle. You have your cloak on. Were you thinking of going out to-night?"
"Yes. To the castle to beg life for——"
"For Lemasle? I will do that."
"You! Who will listen to you?"
"Few know the castle as I do, mademoiselle. Friend Roger escaped from the South Tower, and the Captain shall not hang to-morrow, or, if he does, I will hang with him."
"That would be of small use to him," Christine said. "It would be company. Shall I take word to friend Roger that you will obey him?"
"Obey?"
"Indeed, he sent the message as though it were a command."
Christine slowly let the cloak slip from her shoulders. "Yes. I will obey. He sent no other message?"
The dwarf looked at her.
"No, mademoiselle. He was full of business to-night, he had no thought for anything else. Is your—your obedience all the message I carry back?"
"Yes. And tell him of Gaspard Lemasle."
"I will tell him. The captain shall not hang." And Jean began to get out of the window. "The creepers are strongly grown here; where a friend can enter an enemy may. Shut the window fast, mademoiselle." Christine, stood by the window as the dwarf let himself hang by the creeper.
"A still tongue, mademoiselle, will make this place safer than it otherwise might be."
"I know, Jean."
"Good-night, mademoiselle."
"Good-night, Jean."
The dwarf paused in his descent, and Christine leaned from the window.
"Jean," she whispered, "you may say to Roger Herrick that I trust him."
"Obedience and trust," murmured the dwarf as he dropped into the garden, and the ghost of a laugh floated up to Christine as she closed the window.
THE DUKE'S FOOL
The towers and spires of the city were silhouetted against the early grey of the dawn when Jean stood knocking at the postern beside the great gates of the castle.
The dwarf had hurried through the dark and deserted streets from the Place Beauvoisin to the Rue St. Romain, and had watched Herrick closely as he gave him the message, the promise of obedience and trust. By neither look nor word did Herrick betray whether the promise were more or less than he had hoped for; he seemed entirely absorbed in the events which must shortly come to pass. First with Herrick alone, and then with Father Bertrand, who joined them, Jean sat through the night discussing revolution and the fighting spirit that was in the people of Vayenne. At dawn he was at the castle to learn what was to happen to Gaspard Lemasle.
"You!" exclaimed the soldier as Jean stepped in.
"I've come to see the Count. It's no good to laugh and refuse me admittance. He wants to see me; has sent all over the city for me, I hear."
"That's true enough, and last night when they found you, you slipped away."
"And that's true, too, comrade," answered the dwarf.
"The Count heard of it, and you'll find him in no good mood this morning, I warrant."
"He'll listen to reason, and there was no reason in last night's affair," Jean returned. "Come, comrade, think of it yourself. Here was I, peaceably walking along a street, counting the moments that brought me nearer to my love, when——"
"Love!" laughed the soldier.
"Did I not speak plainly, or is it that your head is full of sleep yet and you are somewhat deaf?"
"Do you mean a girl?"
"Faith, friend, this is full early to be full of liquor," answered the dwarf. "What should a man love but a girl?"
The soldier nearly choked with laughter, and this brought two other men out of the guard-house to see what it was that so amused him.
"A girl! He says there's a girl who loves—who loves him," spluttered the soldier.
The dwarf looked from one to the other, an expression of blank dismay on his face.
"He laughs because a man courts a girl," Jean said to the other men. "Where is the humor in it? What goes he after when he goes courting? A talking parrot in a cage or a cat mow-wowing on a wall?"
"How long have you called yourself a man?" asked one of the soldiers, laughing.
"About as many years as you have. I warrant there were not many months between the time that you and I began to run alone," answered the dwarf; and then as though a reason for their mirth had only just occurred to him, Jean looked down at his deformed limbs. "Ah, now I see! That's the humor of it!" And he began to laugh uproariously too.
"You'd forgotten what you were like, eh, Jean?" they said in chorus.
The question only made the dwarf laugh the more, and his companions were astonished into seriousness.
"To think—to think that you are such fools!" Jean cried. "Do you suppose all girls love such men as you? Why, set you in a row, marching in step round the court-yard, and there aren't a dozen women in Vayenne who could pick out their own man. You're all alike, comrades, there are girls, mark you, who favor men more distinguished, men there is no mistake about, and care not a jot for just a sample of the ordinary kind, which look as though they had been turned out of the same mould by the dozen. My girl's of that sort."
"Pretty, Jean?" asked one.
"What's the color of her eye?" asked another; "for surely she can only have one, and that defective, if she looks with favor upon you."
"Last night I climbed to her balcony," said Jean solemnly. "My lady looked down from her window, as an angel might from an open door in heaven, and all the world seemed flooded with silver light. There was music in the air, music that thrilled my soul, her voice and her laughter. There was a sense of holiness about me as when incense rises from before an altar, and the prayers of saints meet sinners' prayers and, mingling, float upward to the throne of God. Her eyes were twin stars, afire with truth, to guide me in the way that leads to the hereafter; her hair an aureole like to the crown that I may win; and her breath, the essence of all the perfumes that cling about the fair fields of Paradise."
The men were silent, and laughed no more, for the dwarf looked almost inspired as he spoke.
"'Twas in St. Etienne. Surely he saw a vision last night," whispered one man to his companions.
"Wouldn't you have rushed from half a dozen miserablesoldiers when such a love was awaiting your coming?" asked the dwarf, turning sharply to them. "It was not that I minded visiting the Count. He is hardly out of bed yet, eh, comrades, and I scent the perfume of coffee through the doorway there. Will you welcome me? The chill of the morning is in my bones."
"Come you in. I'll risk it," said the soldier who had opened the postern. "I ought to lock you up lest you escape again. Look you, Jean, the Count's in the mood to hang me if you run away."
"You shall not hang, comrade; my hand on it."
"They lost you last night, but they captured a bigger prize," said one man.
"That may easily be," the dwarf returned. "There are men of more inches than I am in plenty. Who was it they captured?"
"Captain Lemasle."
"Ah! a truculent man, but a brave soldier," said Jean. "What's his crime, and what will they do with him?"
"I know not the crime, but he's like to end there," was the answer as the man pointed to the top of the gate.
"That will be waste of good material," said Jean. "I must speak to the Count about it. Meanwhile the smell of that coffee haunts me." And he moved toward the door.
The man who told Count Felix that the dwarf had come to the castle, told him also that Jean was strange and talked of visions he had seen.
"Bring him to me here, at once. I will see him alone."
It was in a superstitious frame of mind that Felixhad had the dwarf searched for. Deep in his schemes, with enemies constantly about him, and living in hourly uncertainty of what might happen, he was in the mood to augur good or ill from dreams and visions.
"I have sought for you everywhere," he said when Jean entered and the man who had brought him had gone.
"You were unfortunate in not finding me," said the dwarf, with a grotesque bow. "I am always at the Duke's service."
"Tell me, Jean, why do you call me Duke? You are in advance of time. The crown has not yet touched this head of mine."
"We speak of to-morrow ere the sun has risen upon it," the dwarf answered.
"True; but it might never dawn."
"Ah, my lord, one cannot stop to consider possibilities if life is to be lived."
"The other day you spoke of visions, visions in St. Etienne in the night. Is it true that you have been dreaming again?" asked Felix.
"I always dream; so do other men, only with the light they forget. I remember. Half our life is a dream, visions of things we long for, yet never attain to. Love, hope, ambition, they are all dreams, sometimes turned to realities, yet seldom fulfilling expectation."
"Have I entered into your visions?" asked Felix, and eagerness was in the question in spite of his efforts to conceal it.
"Often," answered the dwarf, quick to catch the trend of the Count's question. "Often, as lover, as a man of hope, as a slave of ambition."
"How say you? Slave!"
"Truly we are all slaves in varying degree; slaves to love, slaves——"
"Since when have I been slave to love?" asked Felix.
"Since the day a woman first said you nay," was the quick answer. It was a general answer enough, applicable to any man, yet the Count, remembering Elisabeth and Christine, found it easy to apply it forcibly to himself.
"And for the others, hope and ambition, what of them?" he asked.
"They stand with one foot on the steps of a throne," said Jean.
"And shall I mount it? Have your visions told you that?"
"Who can stop you?" asked the dwarf. "Is not the pale scholar of Passey dead? You did not know that when last we talked together, nor did I. Did I not leave you to go and welcome him at the gate of Vayenne? Yet I called you Duke then. I am but the dwarf of St. Etienne, a fool; yet maybe I sometimes utter prophecies."
There were steps outside the room, and then a soldier entered.
"Stand you here, Jean," said Felix. "You shall see how I deal with traitors."