"It is no question I would ask, but a demand I make, not to Count Felix, but to those assembled in this hall. I, Roger Herrick, claim my right by birth to ascend this throne as the true and lawful Duke of Montvilliers!"
THE PRICE OF SUCCESS
As the moment after a catastrophe is ever one of silence, a hush before the piteous wail of anguish rises or the tempest thunders out its fury, so was it now. Herrick's words were followed by utter silence.
Then the tempest broke suddenly. With a hiss of rage, Felix raised his arm to strike his adversary, but Herrick sprang up to him, and gripped it before the blow could fall.
"I stand sponsor for this man's claim!" de Bornais cried, and the men who had stood behind him drew their swords as their chief did, and ranged themselves with him at the foot of the dais.
Other swords leaped from their scabbards in a moment, and women screamed and scattered, fleeing to the side doors of the hall, men pressing back to let them go. Only Christine stood immovable, and Countess Elisabeth made a sudden step forward as though she would go to Felix's help. So round the dais men waited ready to attack or to defend, but no one moved to strike the first blow.
At the end of the hall by the great doors it was different. There was Barbier with his guard, and at a sharp command from the captain they began to move to Felix's rescue. At that moment Jean sprang to his feet in the embrasure of the window, a lighted torch, which spluttered and flared up, in his hand. There was the crash of broken glass, and as he flung theburning torch into the square below, he shouted in a voice that rang high above the tumult:
"Long live Roger the Duke!"
For one instant the cry seemed a solitary one, doomed to die in its own echoes, but the next an answering roar came from the square below, such a rage of sound that even Barbier's men paused.
"Cut down that grinning fool from the window," shouted Barbier, "and forward to the Duke!"
Whatever his faults, Barbier was a brave man. Had Felix had more like him, the situation might have been saved even at this eleventh hour. But his men hung back, and did not strive with a will against the pressure of the crowd. Barbier alone fought his way through all obstacles, and threw himself, sword in hand, upon de Bornais' men. One stumbled, wounded slightly in this onslaught, and then Barbier's sword rattled to the floor, and with a catch in his breath he flung out his arms and fell backward through the crowd which pressed aside to let him go—dead.
"So he pays for his attack on Maurice," whispered Herrick to the man whose arm he still held.
Few moments had elapsed since the Count had raised his arm to strike, and since Barbier had fought and fallen, other swords might well have been crossed in anger had not the roaring from the square held men back. There was a force around them which there was no withstanding, and the cry of "Roger the Duke" now rang in the castle itself, in the court-yards, and in the corridors. Armed men, shouting the cry, rushed into the hall, headed by Gaspard Lemasle, and in the court-yard was a compact throng of men of Vayenne with Pierre Briant at their head. Barbier was dead in the hall, and one or two who had attempted to defend thecastle had been struck down, killed or grievously hurt, that was all. The success of the conspirators was complete.
"Treachery triumphant," Felix said as Herrick let go his arm. "The day is to traitors, Christine."
He had stepped from the dais, and stood beside her, but neither by look nor movement did she show that she had heard his words. Her eyes were fixed upon the place where Barbier had staggered back and fallen through the little lane that pressure on either side had formed for him. It had closed up again immediately, but somewhere behind there he lay, perhaps trampled underfoot. It is not to be supposed that the terrible suddenness of his death had not shocked her, but there was a sense of relief that the whole hall was not full of fighting and death. Beyond this her thoughts were unable to focus themselves. Fear had not held Roger Herrick back, but, as yet, she hardly realized what had happened. She neither looked at Herrick standing on the steps of the dais, nor took in the words of Felix, who was standing beside her.
The shouting was still loud in the court-yards, but in the hall there was silence after the coming of Lemasle and his men.
"Your claim must sound strange to many here," said Father Bertrand. "Is it your will that I explain it?"
"Speak, father," said Herrick.
"So you, then, are chief conspirator, old fox?" sneered the Count. "This farce tires me. Have I permission to retire while you prove to these, my lords and loyal men of Vayenne, how false a claim is made by this man?"
"No. Stay," said Herrick.
Felix glanced at the faces of those about him. Asingle sign would have sufficed to make him their leader in an immediate attack upon their enemies, but no sign was forthcoming. Even those who were his friends, whose hope of future advancement lay with the Count, were afraid to move with those shouts from the court-yard and the square ringing in their ears.
Speaking very deliberately, Father Bertrand recited the history of the last Dukes of Montvilliers, even as he had explained it to Herrick in the Rue St. Romain, showing that although the late Duke, having deposed his predecessor, had ascended the throne by the will of the people, even then there existed one with a prior claim.
"This Roger Herrick was alive then, a child in England, the rightful heir to the Dukedom," said Father Bertrand. "The descent of the late Duke is known to you all, and all that I have said you can verify at your will. Might, and the people's will, set the late Duke upon the throne, and it is in your power to set Count Felix in his place, but not by right of birth while this man Roger Herrick lives."
While the priest had been speaking Christine turned to look at Herrick, but he would not meet her eyes. His glance wandered from face to face in the hall as though he were absorbed in the thought of how far the people were with him. To Christine it seemed that his own ambition possessed him entirely.
"Is Vayenne gone mad that it will believe such a tale as this?" said Felix.
"Let the Duke speak!" cried a voice in the hall, the voice of Lemasle, and there was a shout of applause, which showed the Count how many there were against him.
Then Herrick looked at Christine, and their eyes met.Something he read in them showed him that what he had feared had happened in spite of all his efforts to prevent it. The knowledge forced him to a sudden determination. There were friends about him, but there were many enemies, too. Any indecision would be his ruin; he saw that in the faces which turned to him expectantly. Circumstances still drove him forward, and he dare not say all that it was within his heart to speak. The occasion demanded strong measures.
"Father Bertrand has told you my legal claim," Herrick said, "yet that should hardly suffice without the will of the people. For the moment let might be my right, and understand why that right has been exercised. That success has followed organized rebellion, shows how ready the people were to do away, not with law and order, but with a man unfit to reign over them. For this reason I have pressed my claim, and for no other. Count Felix has friends amongst you, some innocent, some bought with his promises for the future, but the true value of that friendship rested on his becoming Duke. Those who were taken utterly into his confidence I believe to be few, but at all hazards he meant to be Duke, and to achieve this the Duke's son Maurice must be got rid of. The manner in which this was done was clever, worthy of the man who conceived and carried out the treachery. An escort was sent with Mademoiselle de Liancourt to Passey to bring Maurice to Vayenne, an escort that had only one honest man in it, Captain Gaspard Lemasle; the rest were the creatures of Count Felix, paid assassins. This escort on returning to Vayenne was attacked by a strongly armed band of robbers, who were no robbers, but other creatures of the Count, led by the man Barbier, who only a few minutes since so justly paid the penalty ofhis crime. A mock skirmish took place in a clearing in the woods. The result you know. Maurice's body was found and brought to Vayenne, and the Duke and his son were buried at the same time in St. Etienne. My lords, is such a man a Duke you would willingly have to reign over you?"
"Is such a lie to be easily believed?" the Count burst out.
"I fought beside Captain Lemasle in the young Duke's defence," Herrick cried, "and Mademoiselle de Liancourt can prove the truth of my words."
All eyes turned to her.
"They are true," she said, and then looking at Herrick, she asked: "Is that all there is to tell?"
It was not. The very tone in which she asked the question showed that there was more to be said, and that she knew it. All eyes were turned to Herrick again expectantly.
"There is no more to tell," said Herrick slowly and firmly, looking at Christine with a challenge in his glance. "What need to speak of the silent and careful plotting which has resulted in this night's success? There has been no treachery against the state."
"Long live Duke Roger!" cried Jean, who still stood in the embrasure of the window. "Long live the Duke!"
The cry was taken up by Lemasle and his followers in the hall, and immediately was roared along the corridors, now filled with the men who had followed Pierre Briant into the court-yard. It was no uncertain sound, and not a dissentient voice made itself heard. Even Felix remained silent, and he remembered with sudden fear how Jean had spoken of a Count once who was hanged over the great gate.
"It is the voice of the people," said Father Bertrand,standing by the chair of state in which every Duke of Montvilliers had been crowned. "Roger Herrick, I demand by what right you claim to ascend this throne."
"By right of birth," he answered, his eyes upon Christine.
"Roger Herrick, I charge you, is there any reason known to you which makes your claim a false one?"
"There is no reason," he answered, still with his eyes upon Christine.
"Roger Herrick, do you swear to govern this land according to the same laws of right and liberty by which it has heretofore been governed, and to hold the welfare of your people as a sacred trust?"
"I swear to do this," said Herrick, and then facing the excited crowd he cried: "Is there any here who would question me?"
The sudden silence remained unbroken, and with a firm step Herrick ascended the dais, and seated himself in the chair.
"Roger Herrick, I crown you Duke of Montvilliers," said Father Bertrand in a loud voice, placing the golden circle upon his head. "Presently in St. Etienne must you wear the iron crown, and there receive Heaven's blessing upon this high estate to which you are called."
Then once again the roar went up from a multitude of throats: "Long live Roger the Duke! Long live the Duke!" And an instant later came the first angry growl. "Down with Felix! Death to the Count!"
The Countess Elisabeth with a sharp cry sprang to Felix's side. Christine did not move, but she looked at Herrick as though she wondered to what lengths he would go in the pursuit of his ambition. The Count's death seemed only the natural sequence to the events of that night.
Herrick sprang to his feet.
"Stop!" he cried, and he looked a leader of men as he stood there, his arm outstretched in command. "Stop! No revenge shall have my sanction. Count Felix may yet live to make a good subject. All we need guard against is his becoming a dangerous rebel. You are free, Count, only for a term you must limit your freedom to Vayenne. You are not permitted to leave the city nor to enter the castle. Lemasle, see that the Count has safe conduct through the streets."
The Countess touched Felix on the arm. Whether she believed what had been said of him or not, this was not the time to desert him. Felix bowed his head, and they passed out of the hall together. It would have gone hard with the Count in the corridors and court-yard but for the men who marched beside him to the gate and presently escorted his carriage to the Place Beauvoisin.
"My lords, I would not ask too much of you," said Herrick, when Felix and the Countess Elisabeth had gone. "Here is no trap to catch your loyalty and obedience. You were not bid to my coronation; those who will are free to depart. No harm shall be done you in Vayenne, only within seven days shall you promise me service, or you will be reckoned amongst my enemies."
There was a pause, and then an old man stepped forward.
"My Lord Duke, I have ever been a loyal servant to my country. My name is amongst the oldest in the land, and, therefore, it becomes me, perhaps, to give words to what many here must feel. This that has happened to-night has come without warning. You are a stranger to us, and we cannot know whether allthat we have heard to-night, either of yourself or of Count Felix, is true, or whether there is not something held back from our knowledge which might give a different complexion to this affair. It is only just, therefore, that we have time for consideration, only just that no suspicion should fall upon us though we do not bow the knee and take oaths upon us to-night."
"Your contention is reasonable," Herrick answered. "I have given you seven days."
"I would be the first to wish your Grace long life, and herewith I proffer my service," said de Bornais, kneeling for a moment at the foot of the dais.
A few followed his example, some honestly enough, since they hated the Count, others making haste to put themselves forward prominently. But the greater number chose to take the seven days for consideration, and passed from the hall without kneeling.
De Bornais and his men, still with swords drawn, stood round the dais, the Duke's guard of honor, as the hall slowly emptied. Gaspard Lemasle had cleared the corridors, with the promise that the Duke should come presently on to the terrace above the court-yard and speak to his loyal subjects. The nobles passed to their lodgings in the castle, or waited in ante-rooms until they could be taken through the streets in safety. The murmur of the great crowd, like the distant ocean breaking on a rock-bound shore, could still be heard, but the excitement had died down. The thing that these men had come to do was accomplished.
Jean leaped from the embrasure of the window, and, waddling across the hall, seated himself on the lowest step of the dais, close to where Christine still stood immovable.
"Has Mademoiselle de Liancourt no word forus?" said Herrick, when the last of the nobles had gone.
She started at the sound of her name, but she did not speak.
"You gave us a certain promise, mademoiselle, which I warned you it would be hard to fulfil."
"So hard, sir, that it has already passed from my memory," she said.
"I feared so," Herrick returned quietly. "Later, perhaps, you will understand. Mademoiselle, with you I make no bargain. Take time for consideration, as long as you will. Though you hate me, I swear never to number you among my enemies."
"I understand," she said, turning to him quickly, "and I want no time for consideration. I shall never recognize your title to sit on the throne of Montvilliers. You have cleverly realized your ambition, and in a measure I have unwittingly helped you to it. Count me as you will, but I make no secret of my enmity. It shall last to the end, and those who plot against you shall find me a willing tool. It is not for nothing that I have loved this land, for the good of it I am prepared for any sacrifice, and am I, Christine de Liancourt, to bend the knee to an English adventurer, who, with the help of a fool and a mob and his own mother-wit, seizes the throne? To-night madness has run riot, the reaction has to come, and be very sure it will come. What real value is the support of a mob? To-day it shouts for you, to-morrow it will as easily shout for another. Live out your little dream, I promise you a rude awakening. To-night is yours, and I bow to circumstances which give you power to-night. Have I your leave to depart?"
"Whither, lady?"
She looked at him defiantly.
"Though we have sworn never to count you amongst our enemies, we are not ignorant of the power of so fair a rebel. There was an order issued by Count Felix that Mademoiselle de Liancourt was not to be allowed out of the castle, that order I endorse."
"Am I a prisoner?" she asked.
"No mademoiselle; an honored guest in my Castle of Vayenne. De Bornais, I deliver our guest into your keeping. And, Lemasle, see that the password is changed presently. 'Obedience and trust' have little meaning."
Christine looked at Herrick once swiftly, and then passed out of the hall, followed by de Bornais and his men. Herrick, the golden circle upon his brow, leaned back in his chair like a tired man. Father Bertrand stood beside him. Lemasle stood at the foot of the dais, and Jean sat on the lowest step. They were alone.
"You look too glum for a successful man, friend Roger," said the dwarf.
"Success leaves a bitter taste upon my lips."
"It will pass with morning," said the priest.
"It shall last to the end," said Herrick, repeating Christine's words.
"I fear you have been too lenient," said Lemasle, letting his sword fall with a rattle into its scabbard.
"He, at least, has found the payment sufficiently high," said Jean, and the bells on his bauble jingled as he pointed it at the dead body of Captain Barbier.
A CHANGED MAN
The conviction that the new Duke had been too lenient was more firmly impressed upon Gaspard Lemasle each day, each hour almost. In the captain's conception of life and duty there was much that was primitive; a blow for a blow, treachery for treachery, seemed to him amongst the first laws of existence. Failure would have meant certain death to the conspirators, success naturally ought to mean death to those against whom they had conspired, to Count Felix and all who had aided him.
"A man who holds his power at the hands of the mob cannot afford to be lenient," he said to Jean.
"Is that friend Roger's case?" said the dwarf.
"At present, yes. The few soldiers we can command would hardly serve to crush an organized rising in the Count's favor. I would he were dead."
Lemasle did not speak without reason. The people had come together for a purpose, but that purpose accomplished, the mob was not to be easily dispersed. Such men in rebelling threw law and order behind them, the thought of riot and plunder filled their hearts, yet at the very outset restraint had been put upon them. Nobles had been allowed to pass through the streets and leave the city, strict orders being given that they were not to be molested. Some of the bolder spirits had refused to obey these orders and immediately found themselves confronted by soldiers, their carbines loaded,their swords drawn. The sharp orders from the officers left no doubt in the mind of the crowd what the result of disobedience would be. There had been some looting of shops, and swift punishment had fallen upon the robbers. The command to desist, if not instantly obeyed, was likely to mean sudden death. The crowd was disappointed, and grew quarrelsome. What had been gained by setting this Duke Roger on the throne? The question once asked, there were many quite as ready to fight against Duke Roger as they had been to fight for him, and the mob was split up into factions. Serious street fighting became general, and had to be suppressed with a strong hand. To the Count and his allies, Herrick may have been too lenient, but it soon became evident in Vayenne that the man who had been raised to power was capable of ruling with an iron hand. His prompt action somewhat appeased Lemasle, but it was evident to the captain that the dissatisfaction was not stamped out, but lay hidden, smouldering, waiting its opportunity.
The seven days which Herrick had given the nobles to decide whether they would serve him or not, had passed, and comparatively few of them had submitted. Some asked for an extension of time, some would fain have remained neutral, and others boldly declared their inability to accept his claim as a just one. There was little doubt that Christine de Liancourt's attitude, which had certainly become known in many quarters, had something to do with the position taken up by the nobility; and the people of Vayenne, whose idol Mademoiselle was, were silently, if not openly, opposed to the new Duke in consequence. There was another point which told against Herrick. He refused, for the present, to be crowned in St. Etienne, and people werequick to declare that he was afraid to go through such a ceremony because he knew that his claim was an unjust one. Lemasle urged him to wear the iron crown, pointing out how valuable an effect it would produce, but Herrick remained obdurate.
"Not yet, Lemasle," he answered. "When the iron crown is placed on my head the whole nation shall shout for joy, or the crown shall never rest there."
"You occupy a thorny seat, sir," said the captain, who had easily fallen into his place as a loyal subject of the Duke.
"I care not so long as such men as you, and those you command, love me."
The overbearing and insulting manner of Barbier had proved of great service to Herrick. The best soldiers and men-at-arms, who loved Gaspard Lemasle, were for the new Duke to a man; and if Herrick did not hold his power by the will of the people exactly, he certainly could not have held it without Lemasle. The fact was not unrecognized in the Place Beauvoisin, where Felix still remained, and elsewhere. Lemasle might be bought presently, it was argued; for to men who are not scrupulous themselves every man has his price. Those who hated Roger Herrick could afford to wait.
Herrick issued his orders from the same room whence Count Felix had issued his, and Jean squatted beside him as he had done beside Felix. Herrick had wished to do away with the gaudy raiment and the cap and bells, but the dwarf had pleaded that he might retain them.
"They have proved useful, they may prove so again," said Jean.
Herrick was busy, and the dwarf had not spoken for nearly an hour, when the door opened, and two menwere ushered into the room. In an instant the dwarf's fingers were upon a revolver which he carried underneath his fool's garment, for Jean had constituted himself the Duke's special body-guard. His eyes were ever keenly watching those with whom the Duke conversed. An unfortunate movement might easily have cost a man his life.
Herrick signed to the men who had remained near the door to come forward.
"Do you recognize me?" he asked.
"No, my lord; but I know you are the Duke," answered one.
The other was not so certain.
"One of you helped to cut my bonds one night when I was bound by robbers to a tree in the forest near your hut," said Herrick.
The men remembered at once.
"You little thought your services were given to the Duke of Montvilliers, who does not forget them. We would find you better service in the Castle of Vayenne; but not at once. We have other work for you to do. You remember our speaking of an old, toothless hag who was with those robbers?"
"Yes, my lord."
"She must be found. Can you find her?"
"We can try," was the answer. "We are more likely to be able to trace her than anyone else perhaps."
Herrick struck a gong, and sent for Pierre Briant, who was instructed to take half a dozen men and go with the charcoal-burners.
"This hag must be brought to Vayenne," he said. "Tie her up as you will, but do not injure her. She has a secret, and we shall find means here to make her tell it."
Jean looked at Herrick as the men left the room.
"This mission is a secret, Jean; I would have no one told of it."
The dwarf nodded.
"Vayenne would be alive with rumor in an hour, and that we cannot afford."
"Will you tell Mademoiselle?" Jean asked.
"Why should I tell my enemy?"
"To make her a friend," was the answer.
Herrick laughed, but there was no mirth in his laughter.
"You have changed a good deal, friend Roger," said the dwarf after a pause.
"Is that wonderful? Does a man become a duke without changing? To be nobody particular is the happiest condition, Jean. When you climb up into the seats of the mighty, you get a wider view of the world and the men and women in it. The sight is not pleasant, and the heart and head grow quickly sick of it all."
"Why climb then?" asked Jean.
"We are children of circumstances, and our own inclinations count for little," Herrick returned.
"Twice, at least, you might have ridden to the frontier and left Montvilliers to settle its own quarrels. Why didn't you?"
"Ah! Why didn't I?" said Herrick, asking himself a question rather than making a reply to the dwarf.
There was a long silence, and presently Jean rose to his feet, and going to Herrick, touched him on the arm with his fool's bauble sharply enough to make the bells jingle.
"I alone wear the uniform, friend Roger, but maybe I am not the only fool. There are different kinds of fools. Dukes may be of the brotherhood, and perchancewomen like Mademoiselle de Liancourt. You might find the world a less disagreeable place if you deigned to explain yourself and tried to understand others. Men have become wise before now by following the advice of a fool."
Herrick laughed again, still mirthlessly, as he passed out of the room. His days were full of arduous business. A few stanch friends he had, but mostly enemies surrounded him, enemies who were silent because they feared him. Was it a marvel that he had changed? A man forced to hold his position by inspiring fear must necessarily live apart and take care to show no weaknesses. Sentiment is not for him, and any kindness he may do must be begged for, not given freely. Such a man must own to no mistakes, cannot confess to an ill-judged action, theoretically he must be incapable of doing wrong.
From her window Christine saw Herrick cross the court-yard, and drew back as he glanced up. He had made no attempt to see her, had sent her no message, since that night in the great hall, and not wishing to meet him she had remained in her rooms, although she was at liberty to wander anywhere in the castle. Lucille was her constant companion, and although she was not allowed to go abroad in the city, she did go about in the castle, and from her Christine learned much of what was happening. She heard that many nobles had refused to submit to the new Duke; that rioting had been suppressed with a quick and heavy hand; that the coming and going to and from the castle and the city were under strict supervision.
"They say everywhere that the new Duke is a strong man," said Lucille.
"Has he captured your fancy?" asked Christine.
"Do you see in him the prince who, passing all others, was to come and kneel at your feet?"
"Oh, mademoiselle, of course not," the girl answered, blushing. "I have passed through such excitement since I told you my dream that I had almost forgotten it. Besides——"
"Well, child?"
"Ah, you will be angry, but I thought—I really thought you loved the Duke."
"You have strange fancies. Am I likely to have any feeling but hatred for a tyrant and a usurper?"
And then Christine had wished to be left alone, and Lucille wondered whether her anger was as great as it seemed.
Who shall understand the heart of a woman? Truly, not even her lover. Christine told herself that she was glad Roger Herrick had not been to see her, yet she watched from her window at those times she expected to see him in the court-yard. As Duke he might be nothing more than an ambitious tyrant, but she could not altogether forget what manner of man he had been in the charcoal-burners' hut and at the house in the Place Beauvoisin.
She was alone, and Roger Herrick filled her thoughts, when the door opened, and Herrick entered. He came unannounced, the door was closed behind him, and they were alone. Jean's advice had not passed unheeded. Herrick had come determined to make an explanation. A slight color stole into Christine's face. Perhaps she was glad he had come, yet she resented the manner of his coming; and face to face with her, the memory of her scorn the other night rose vividly in Herrick's mind. In the short pause which ensued, Fate seemed to draw barriers between them.
"Am I denied privacy then?" she asked.
"Had I sent to ask you to see me, you would probably have refused," said Herrick.
"Probably."
"Therefore I use the only way open to me," he answered.
"At present you are master. A prisoner complains of insult in vain."
"You are free to go where you will in the castle, mademoiselle. I thought you understood that."
"I wish to leave the castle," she answered.
"At present that is impossible," he replied. "I have too many enemies abroad as it is."
"Why not crush them while you have the opportunity?" she said. "Kill the Count, kill me. Why do you hesitate?"
"Count Felix certainly merits death," Herrick returned, "but I fear others more than I do the Count."
"Is it Maurice you fear? Your ambition hadn't fully blossomed that day in the forest, or you would not have saved him."
"You are unjust, mademoiselle."
"Do you suppose your action the other night would have been possible had you spoken the whole truth, and declared that Maurice was alive, that you were the one man who knew that he was alive?"
"I took the throne by right of birth, mademoiselle, you forget that. Why should I trouble to explain away Maurice's claim when his cousin Felix had had him buried in St. Etienne?"
"You know Maurice was not buried there?"
"But I do not know for certain that he is alive. Surely I am a better Duke than Felix?"
"You? An Englishman! A mere adventurer!"
"You used kinder language, mademoiselle, when you chose to accept my service."
"Like others I have played into your hands," she answered. "I fail to see the use in prolonging this interview."
"Mademoiselle, I came to explain certain things to you."
"You can force me to listen to you, but there is no explanation I will willingly hear."
"Trust me, there shall be no explanation that you do not willingly listen to," said Herrick. "You compel me to silence, you drive me to harsh measures. Your enmity lends strength to these nobles who refuse to submit to my rule. They await their opportunity to rebel, but alone they are powerless. Their only hope of success is to bring a foreign nation into Montvilliers to help them, and already there are rumors that such negotiations are taking place. I may fall, but with me falls the independence of Montvilliers, and the fault will lie at the door of the woman who has so loudly professed her love for her country—your door, mademoiselle."
"Montvilliers is in the hands of a foreigner now," she answered quietly.
"If you believe that, you know little of your country's history," Herrick answered; "but you do not believe it. I have a claim, and you know it, whether it is a good one in your eyes or not. If there is one man necessary to the state at the present moment, I am that man; and if there is one person who has it in her power to ruin the state, you are that person; therefore you are confined to the castle. Some day, mademoiselle, you may understand that I have given you a lesson in patriotism."
"In words you are indeed a bold man," she said.
"My deeds speak for themselves. They have saved Montvilliers from Count Felix; with your help they should save the land from invasion and conquest. Will you ask me to explain all I came to say to you to-day?"
"Is it necessary?" she asked. "You are afraid of me, I want no explanation to understand that."
"You once said that for your country's good you would marry Count Felix. Were they words merely, or did you mean it?"
"I meant it."
"And you hated him?"
"It would have been a sacrifice."
"Are you still prepared to make such a sacrifice?" Herrick asked. "It is in your power to save the country from the double peril of civil war and invasion. Will you do it?"
"Marry Felix? Now?"
"Why not, if your country demands it, or a worse than Felix if necessary. To-day Felix is nothing, he holds no power. The power is with me. Make the sacrifice, mademoiselle; trust me to fulfil my part—marry me."
"Marry you!" she said, shrinking back from him.
"That you hate me does not count, that is altogether beside the bargain. It is the country you have to consider; you make the sacrifice for your country."
"Enough. I refuse to make such a sacrifice as this," she answered.
"That I love you counts for nothing, I suppose?" said Herrick after a pause.
She did not answer at once. She saw again the man kneeling to her in the hut, and again that night whenFelix had broken in upon them. Had he kneeled to her now, she might have relented.
She sank into a chair.
"Less than nothing," she said slowly after a pause.
Herrick's face hardened. In his heart was love, passionate longing, and the madness of desire, but he suppressed all outward sign of the tempest that raged within him.
"I had built much on your friendship, mademoiselle," he said quietly, "I had even dared to hope that my love had touched an answering chord in your heart. I little thought to stand alone in my love for this land of ours."
"Ours!"
"Truly its ruin cannot hurt you much since you care for it so little. Could I leave it, and all that belongs to it, I would do so, for I have learned hard lessons in it."
"You have reached your ambition," she said.
"Have I? I believed in a woman's trust, and I have awakened from a dream. I will trouble you no more. The times demand the Duke; Roger Herrick ceases to exist. The Duke lives to hold Montvilliers against her enemies. Roger Herrick was a poor fool who loved and trusted you, mademoiselle."
He turned, and left her, the door closing heavily behind him. For a moment Christine stood where she was, angry, defiant, then she sank into a chair, and sobbed. Wounded pride, disappointment, loneliness, and love were in her tears.
"If he were only Roger Herrick and no Duke," she said, "I could have loved, I would have done all that he— But he shall suffer. I have power, and right is on my side. He has defied the law, why should not I? The people would make me Duchess. Why should I not wear the crown?"
And then she rose quickly, stepping back into theshadows, as the door opened again. She thought Herrick was returning, and she would not have him see her tears. It was not Herrick, it was Father Bertrand.
"Did your master send you to me?" she asked.
"Mademoiselle, I have no masters but the Church and my conscience."
She laughed, dashing the last tears from her eyes.
"The Duke you have helped to make should reward you well."
"Even a priest may be mistaken, mademoiselle," Father Bertrand said slowly. "I came to talk to you about the Duke. Already they do not love him in Vayenne."
"And you, father?"
The priest went to the door, opened it quickly to surprise any listener there might be, then closed it again, and stepped to Christine's side.
"His friends were chiefly his friends because of you, mademoiselle. They thought you believed in Roger Herrick, that he had your support. At your word Vayenne would rise to-morrow."
Christine did not answer for a moment. Her power suddenly frightened her. Then she said slowly:
"I will listen attentively to all you have to say, Father Bertrand. You find me a prisoner and in the mood to be rebellious."
And the room grew dark as the priest talked, yet she did not call for lights.
FATHER BERTRAND JUSTIFIES HIMSELF
Even the busier streets of Vayenne were quieter now after nightfall than they were wont to be. Those who were abroad went quickly and direct to their destination, for to loiter, or appear to have no particular object in view, was to be suspected. The new Duke was ruling the city with a heavy hand, and those who passed in and out of the gates were closely questioned. A few there were who approved this caution; it was temporary only, and justified by the rumors of disturbance on the frontier; but others, and they were the majority, were discontented and sullen. Had they not helped to place a tyrant at the head of the state? Would there have been any trouble on the frontier if Count Felix had become their Duke?
Few people passed along the dimly lighted Rue St. Romain even in the daytime, and at night it was practically deserted. Those who went to visit Father Bertrand were fewer now than formerly. He was heart and soul for Duke Roger, had evidently been privy to the sudden and unexpected claim to the throne, and many began to mistrust him. They waited, expecting to hear that great honors had been showered upon him for his services. He was surely a politician seeking place and power rather than a priest.
Father Bertrand sat at his table in the well-appointed room where he had received Herrick. He was busy with his papers, some of which required careful studyand deciphering, for to the casual reader they would have been meaningless. Opposite to him sat Mercier, watching him and waiting for him to speak.
"He who plots sets out on a thorny path," said the priest presently, looking suddenly at his companion.
"He turns enemies into distrustful friends, and his friends into bitter enemies. I sometimes wish I could steal quietly out of Vayenne in the night, and never return."
"Have you bad news there, father?" Mercier asked, pointing to the papers.
"No. On paper all is plausible and easy, but few know the resource of the man we have to reckon with. The Duke is a strong man, Mercier, a worthy successor to the old Duke. I thought to smooth my road when I helped to raise him to the throne; I have instead set a thousand new difficulties in the way."
"The hand that made can unmake, and surely the people——"
"Hist!" said Father Bertrand sharply, as he raised a warning finger. There were steps in the passage without, and then, after a knock and a pause, the door was thrown open, and a man and woman, closely muffled up, entered the room.
The priest rose to welcome them, and Mercier drew chairs to the table for them.
"You came through the city safely?" said Father Bertrand.
"Ay; hurrying like a couple of bourgeois bent on doing their marketing cheaply and expeditiously," said Count Felix, undoing his cloak; and turning to his companion, he helped her to loosen her wraps. It was the Countess Elisabeth.
"Since you came to the Place Beauvoisin the othernight you have been constantly in my thoughts, Father Bertrand," Felix went on. "Your reason for supporting this traitor puzzles me more and more."
"And why do you now plot against him?" said the Countess. It was clear that she distrusted the priest. It was her love for Felix which had brought her to the Rue St. Romain to-night. If treachery were intended she would be there to defend him or die with him.
The priest had not expected to see her, but he did not show his surprise in any way. He knew that the Count was everything to her, knew that she was prepared to make any sacrifice for him. There was no danger in her presence; indeed, she might prove a useful tool ready to his hand.
"Are we not here to talk of the future rather than the past?" he said. "If I must defend myself," and he turned to the Countess, "it must be remembered that I was not in Count Felix's confidence. Had I known everything, I might have acted differently."
"We will not quarrel, father," Felix returned. "The past is past for all of us, and many a man's future has served to obliterate the past from the remembrance of his generation. You shall not find us ungrateful."
"To obliterate the past we all have to make sacrifices," answered the priest.
Again there were heavy steps in the passage, and after a knock and a pause the door was opened, and Gerard de Bornais entered. He too had been closely muffled up, but had unfastened his cloak on his way to the room. It seemed certain that he knew who he was to meet there. He saluted Felix and bowed to the Countess. Father Bertrand welcomed him with cordiality, and himself drew forward a chair to the table for his guest.
"We meet again under strange circumstances," said Felix.
"We live in strange times, Count," answered de Bornais. "Shall we listen to Father Bertrand? Under certain conditions we are likely to be no longer enemies. Who is that man, father?" he asked shortly, looking at Mercier.
"One we can trust; a useful ambassador who is with us to the death." And then as the Countess shuddered a little, he added: "I speak of possibilities and probabilities, madame, but when we defy a strong and determined enemy there are always contingencies, and death is one of them."
"True; and time presses, father," said de Bornais, and there was an authority in his tone which caused Felix to set his teeth firmly together. He could not afford to speak as he would.
"Twice lately I have seen Mademoiselle de Liancourt," the priest began, leaning back in his chair, "and, as we know now, she does not recognize the claim of this Roger Herrick to the throne. In helping him we were under the impression that he had her support."
He looked at de Bornais, who nodded.
"Now Roger Herrick's claim is a valid one, since the descent of the late Duke is open to question, and that under certain conditions the heir in the female line can inherit. Mademoiselle de Liancourt maintains, however, that her uncle's claim was a just one, that having deposed an incompetent ruler, he was Duke by his birthright, besides which he ascended the throne by the people's will. Therefore his son, or, failing him, Count Felix, is the rightful heir. But Mademoiselle goes further than this. Roger Herrick, she argues, is analien, an Englishman, and that any claim he may have is annulled by this fact. In this argument she is likely to have the ear of the people, for it is obvious, with an Englishman on the throne, England may at any time become the overlord of Montvilliers."
"If this fellow has any right, which I do not admit, Christine's argument is an excellent one," said Felix.
"It would appear, Count, that in Mademoiselle's opinion you are the heir; indeed, Maurice being dead, there can be no two opinions on this point; but the fact remains that you are not apersona gratawith the people, and Herrick's damaging statement in the great hall that night has seriously affected your position."
"Is a man's character to be ruined by a lie?" said Felix.
"It often is," Father Bertrand answered quietly; "and Mademoiselle does not seem able to decide whether it was all a lie. How far this doubt influences her in her determination, I am unable to say, but her first thought, her only thought indeed, is her country. Do you follow me?"
"You use over-many words, it seems to me," said the Count irritably. "The position is simple. Those who deny my right to the throne are traitors. An ocean of words cannot alter that fact."
"Nor the fact that without help you are at this moment as powerless as any man in Vayenne," said de Bornais.
There was a pause, during which the Countess laid her hand gently on Felix's arm to keep him silent.
"We now come to Mademoiselle's last argument," said the priest. "That the people have shown themselves ready to admit a claim through the female line, a claim which has never been put forward until now inthe whole history of Montvilliers, seems to her a proof that the claim of a woman herself will be recognized, and under certain conditions, seeing that the country is in jeopardy, she is determined to make that claim."
"Become Duchess!" Felix exclaimed. "I——"
"Would it not be well to hear the conditions, Count?" said Father Bertrand.
"Pardon. I appear to be in the hands of my friends," Felix answered sneeringly.
"Believing that your coming to the throne would be the cause of further difficulties and dissensions," the priest went on, "believing also that she is beloved by the people, Mademoiselle agrees to marry you, and reign with you, equal to you in authority in all things. The state shall have, in fact, two heads instead of one, and no order or paper shall be valid without the signature of the Duchess as well as that of the Duke."
"The Duchess being the more powerful," said Countess Elisabeth quietly.
"Your decision must not be delayed, Count," said de Bornais. "I would as soon Mademoiselle had taken the throne without any reference to you, but on a point of law she has her scruples."
"In these days you have become a maker of dukes, de Bornais, and appear little satisfied with your own work," said Felix.
"For what I conceive to be right I place myself a second time in jeopardy," was the answer. "In Duke Roger we have a strong man to contend with."
"I do not understand how it is you have so quickly learned to hate him," said the Countess. "Such easy friendship as you seem able to give is a dangerous thing for any man to accept. I should refuse to be bound by such conditions as these, Felix."
"Madame, the Count is powerless without his friends," said the priest.
"And with them he becomes a tool, liable to be thrown away at any moment and crushed underfoot. I have little faith in Mademoiselle or her advisers. There is something under this conspiracy which you do not speak of."
"The Count has until to-morrow to decide," said de Bornais. "If he will not fulfil the conditions, he sinks into insignificance in Montvilliers. By marrying Mademoiselle he will cement all parties in the state. If you are with us, Count, success is certain, but without you we have still a good hope of success. It is for you to choose."
"Wait. You have until to-morrow," whispered the Countess.
"The new Duke is strong in Vayenne," said Felix. "How do you propose to outwit him?"
"When we have had your answer you shall know more of our schemes," de Bornais answered.
"Success comes easiest through the sudden death of enemies," said the Count. "Is there no rascal about the castle who for a reward can shoot straight when he finds himself alone with the Duke?"
"We are not murderers, Count."
"Nor statesmen either, de Bornais, if you call such a thing murder. Is it to you I send my answer to-morrow, Father Bertrand?"
"Yes, Count."
Felix helped the Countess with her cloak, and then wrapped his own round him.
"I am inclined to doubt whether Montvilliers is worth all this trouble," he said.
"It is for you to judge," said de Bornais as the Count and Countess passed out.
De Bornais and Father Bertrand looked at each other as the door closed.
"We plot against a man to serve a cur," said de Bornais.
"It is Mademoiselle we serve," said the priest.
"Truly we serve her badly to help the Count to marry her," was the answer.
"But afterward." And the priest laid his hand on his shoulder. "The fight has been a long one, de Bornais, but the end is in sight. The labor of years is soon to be paid for. It will be a glorious triumph."
"Father Bertrand, all is yet to win, remember," was the answer. "Whatever his faults, whatever his ambition, this Roger Herrick is a man. You thought to make him a tool, and you find you cannot use him; now you hope to put him aside, it is possible we shall not be able to do so. He is an honest man, and if we overthrow him, in my heart I shall feel a traitor to the end of my days."
"True, quite true, but our cause acquits our conscience," said the priest.
"Do foul means justify even a good cause?" asked de Bornais.
"In this case, yes—a thousand times, yes. I speak not as a man, but as a priest. Evil must sometimes be done that good may come. It is a truth burnt into the record of all times and into the annals of every nation."
"I would there were another way than this," de Bornais returned as he fastened his cloak, "or that the work had fallen into other hands."
"But you are faithful?"
"To the death, father; and I almost hope that death may finish it."
The priest raised his hand in a silent blessing as de Bornais went out.
Father Bertrand reseated himself at the table, and Mercier put back the chairs into their places. Then he sat down on the opposite side of the table, and watched the priest, who, taking up paper after paper, seemed to do so half unconsciously, and merely to look at them, while his thoughts were elsewhere. It was Mercier who broke the silence.
"You drive a strange and unruly team, father. I do not understand it."
The priest looked at him as though he had forgotten his presence altogether until he spoke.
"True, Mercier. The goal I have struggled toward lies at the end of crooked ways, but the ways are justified. The judgment of men would condemn me, but for such judgment I care nothing." And he paused, almost as if he doubted the truth of his own statement. Then he went on hurriedly. "This you know, Mercier, that the end I strive for is the Church's good, her triumph here, and throughout the world. Long ago my superiors decided that it was not for the Church's good that Montvilliers should remain a separate state. Their reasons were many and complex, looking toward the future, and when I was chosen for the work, I had only to obey. Duke Robert's position was too strong to be assailed. I could no more than prepare the ground; but the future held great possibilities. His son was a weakling, yet strongly supported by Mademoiselle de Liancourt; Count Felix was feared, but he was strong since he was unlikely to let any obstacle stand in his way to power. Here lay all the elements of a civil war, and with such a war would come the opportunity of the neighboring nations. They wereready to strike when the word was given, are awaiting at this moment as you know, Mercier."
Mercier nodded.
"I espoused the cause of the scholar of Passey—Mademoiselle's cause. A weak man in power would inevitably have brought rebellion. In the midst of my plotting, on the night of the Duke's death, I saw Roger Herrick at the Croix Verte, and recognized that his face was strangely like the face of the picture yonder. It was not so wonderful that I should do so, for in seeking for means to bring about the desired end, I had often wondered whether a further element of discord might not be introduced through this branch of the family. You know our attempt to secure him."
"I am unlikely to forget it," Mercier answered, "and poor Pigou will go crippled to the end of his days."
"He has suffered in a good cause," said Father Bertrand. "Then came the death of Maurice. The way was open to Count Felix; all my schemes had come suddenly to the ground. This Roger Herrick was the only hope. He had a claim—a good one. The success of my scheme was only too complete. It is true rebellion smoulders in Vayenne, but it is also true that we have raised a strong man to the throne, a worthy successor to the old Duke. Left alone, he is capable of turning his enemies into friends, of strengthening Montvilliers, of annulling all my work of years. That Mademoiselle de Liancourt now plays into our hands, that de Bornais is for the Church before all else, these things constitute our last hope. Duke Roger has not had time to win the hearts of the people, but he will fight to the end. We strike without delay, Mercier; the hour is at hand."
Mercier did not answer.
"Does your silence accuse me?" said the priest, rising and standing by the table, and the inspiration of enthusiasm was in his face. "It is naught to me who rules, so that the Church triumphs. Am I seeking rewards for myself? Would not high place be mine if I threw in my lot with the Duke? It is along that road that riches and honor await me; yet I choose the other, which may lead by a quick descent to death. There is nothing of self in this—nothing, nothing."
"My silence did not accuse you," said Mercier. "I have served you, Father Bertrand, and shall serve you. If I take reward for my services that does not alter your position. I am a worldly man. After my fashion I am honest, too, for I do not pretend that self does not enter into the bargain. I only claim to keep my word to those to whom it is given. I am satisfied, father. It has paid me well."
"We have worked together so long, Mercier, that, almost unconsciously, I have been justifying my actions to you," said Father Bertrand, with a smile. "For all my boasting I suppose, like others, I do care something for what men—for what my friends think of me. Something of the world must cling to the cassock of even the saintliest priest, and Heaven knows, I claim no such exalted rank for myself. For you, Mercier, there are greater rewards in store. These papers are ready. At dawn to-morrow, Mercier, you must leave Vayenne, and make all speed for the frontier. There is no suspicion that we are not heart and soul with the Duke. There will be no difficulty at the gates. But every moment counts, Mercier. Already the Duke has cleverly appealed to the nobles who will not submit. The country is in danger of invasion, he has told them, and has urged that internal enmity shouldbe set aside until the common foe is driven back. Afterward he has pledged himself to retain the throne only at the call of three-fourths of the nation. Oh, he is a man, a great man. I have not dared to tell de Bornais this; he is too much fascinated with him as it is. To return successful would win for Duke Roger the applause of the whole nation, so there is no time to lose. Start at dawn, Mercier, at dawn."
"I shall not fail." And as Mercier went out, Father Bertrand lay back in his chair pale and exhausted. When the dawn crept into the room it found him sleeping there.
THE OLD HAG
Every man has his weak points, even the strongest, and it will often happen that the greatest weaknesses are to be found in the strongest men. The very characteristics which make them great in one direction tend to make them contemptible in another.
It had never occurred to Roger Herrick that he was in any way a hero; he had merely played a man's part in the circumstances which had forced him into a prominent position, and so far he was a strong man; but he entirely overlooked the fact that others could not possibly judge his actions from the same standpoint as he did himself, and herein he was weak. Pride and obstinacy fastened themselves upon him. He had fully intended to give an explanation to Christine, and because she was not ready to applaud his actions, he remained silent. He loved her with the sudden strong passion of a man who has not frittered away his affections by playing at love with many women, and he obstinately resented her outspoken criticism, while pride stepped in and made him play the tyrant. He became conscious of his own strength, and would bend her to his will. She must recognize that he was right and that she was wrong. Out of her knowledge of him she must learn not to misunderstand him. The Herricks had always been proud and self-willed, and it was perhaps hardly wonderful that the family trait should forcibly show itself now.
It was unfortunate for the country that the man's self-will was opposed to an equally strong will in the woman. She, too, was proud, and since she had been kept in the dark it was only natural that she should suppose Herrick's ambition had triumphed over every other consideration. A woman loves a man for what she believes him to be, and in Christine's case the proud woman had bent to a humble though brave suitor. She was prepared to give much, but it must be pleaded for. Now it was demanded of her by a man who, having promised to serve her, had merely used her as a stepping-stone to power. She could not hate him even now, although she told herself that she did, but he must suffer, he must recognize her power, no matter what the consequences to herself might be. She found the means ready to her hand in the schemes of Father Bertrand, who, although he had not divulged to her his true and ultimate aim, had persuaded her that the actions he suggested were for the good of the country. It was an appeal which went straight to her heart, and in her present state of mind no sacrifice was too great.
The savage instinct lies latent in us all, and it was well that Herrick had little time to brood over his trouble. The pressing affairs of the state called forth all his energies, and the dangers which surrounded and threatened him brought out all that was best in his character. The fact that he was Duke absorbed him, and the individuality of Roger Herrick, the English country gentleman, was swallowed up in the wider personality of the Ruler of Montvilliers. He was a changed man, and while the dwarf missed something in the new man, Gaspard Lemasle rejoiced in the Duke he served. The captain knew that he was a fighterand a man of resource; he now understood that he was a strategist, a statesman, and a born leader of men.
The rumors from the frontier grew each day more definite. The enemy was gathered there ready for invasion. Any day news might come that the frontier had been crossed, and the Duke's actions were eagerly watched. His enemies said he was afraid to move from Vayenne, that he would not be able to get even the semblance of an army to follow him, while even his friends wondered how he could extricate himself from his difficulties.
The Dukes of Montvilliers had ever been autocrats, asking advice but seldom, and Herrick, even if he had wished to be otherwise, was forced into the same position. To none did he explain all his thoughts and actions. Only Jean knew that Pierre Briant and the charcoal-burners were searching for the hag. Only Lemasle knew what steps he had taken to meet the dangers that threatened on the frontier. Only de Bornais had been his counsellor in other matters, and he had encouraged Father Bertrand to visit Christine and bring her to reason. He had not attempted to see her again himself.
Jean was alone with him when news came from Pierre Briant.
"Sir, we found her lying on a heap of dead leaves in the most solitary depths of the forest," said the soldier.
"She cursed us for not leaving her to die in peace. She was ill, of that there was no doubt, and we carried her to the charcoal-burners' hut. She is still alive, but Briant thought it would not do to bring her to Vayenne. The journey would probably kill her."
"We will come to her to-morrow," said Herrick."Hasten back at once, and tell Pierre Briant to treat her well, and keep her alive."
The man saluted, and went out.
"So we are not contented with the difficulties we have, friend Roger, but go quickly to raise up others," said Jean.
"We try to be honest," was the careless answer, "but it's a difficult world to be honest in."
"Ay; even our friends stand in the way," said the dwarf. "You'll have to choose between your friends and honesty some day."
"I am going to try and satisfy both." And the dwarf laughed as Herrick sent for de Bornais and Lemasle.
They entered the room together, Lemasle expecting orders that had been long waited for, de Bornais a little disturbed in his mind, as was natural to a man holding such a secret as he did.
"It is time that the threatened danger on the frontier should be brought to a definite issue," said Herrick. "Lemasle, we march to-night. De Bornais, we leave the city in your charge. We must keep what men are necessary to defend the castle and the town, but as few as possible must remain. We shall have need of all the men we can command. Arrange it with Captain Lemasle. At the first sight of riot in the city, deal firmly with it, de Bornais. The men who would plot and rise against us when their country's freedom is at stake, deserve little mercy."
"I will defend the town," said de Bornais, and perhaps he hated himself a little for the deceit he practised, for he added: "Your army must be small, my lord; is it wise to leave Vayenne?"
"Before we meet the enemy I hope it will be larger," Herrick answered. "There are some honest menamongst my enemies. In the country's need I have appealed to them to forget civil dissension for the time being, and some are inclined to listen to me. I have appointed a meeting-place, where all honest men in Montvilliers shall send me what help they can. To-morrow I expect to find a goodly array of stalwart soldiers there. The enemy at the frontier shall find that we can still bite, de Bornais, and are not such curs that we cannot drop our own quarrels when face to face with a common danger."
De Bornais bowed. Words could not come easily. Did the Duke suspect him, and was this a subtle appeal to his honor?
So at midnight, when a moonless sky was brilliant with low-hanging stars, the commotion in the court-yard woke Christine out of her first sleep, and she got up, and went to the window. The torches threw a weird, dancing light over the scene. Impatient steeds were pawing the uneven stones, men called hoarsely to one another, and at sharp commands swung themselves quickly to their saddles, and in troops passed through the open gate and across the great square, and caused other sleepers to awake and go to their windows, disturbed by the unusual noise in the streets. Vayenne had heard no rumor of this midnight march. Christine had known nothing of it. She watched the men mount and go, recognized Captain Lemasle as he superintended the departure, and presently saw him mount his own horse. Then a figure appeared on the terrace and slowly descended the steps. How different now to that night when, at the foot of those steps, she had mounted her horse, and had ridden across the court-yard to look into the face of a spy. Herrick stood for a moment at the bottom of the steps, and looked up into the starlit sky—orwas the look only toward her window?—and the next moment he was settling himself in his saddle. Jean was leaning from the terrace to look at him, and Christine leaned forward to see him better. Had Herrick looked up again, he might have caught sight of the white figure at the window. But he did not turn. He bent down to say something to de Bornais, and then with the last of the soldiers rode out of the gate, which was immediately closed. Then the dwarf looked up at the window, and saw the white figure, and wondered!
The city grew silent under the night when the last of the soldiers had passed out of it and across the river, the last round was that of the horses as they passed over the bridge; and to Jean the castle seemed empty, ghost-haunted, and a place to feel fear in. He could not sleep on such a night; he climbed to the summit of the western tower, and was alone with the stars and his thoughts.
When they had been riding for about an hour, Herrick left Lemasle in command, and taking half-a-dozen men with him, turned in the direction of the forest. One of the men who knew the hut of the charcoal-burners acted as guide, and early in the morning they came to the place so full of memories to Herrick. Pierre Briant heard the horses, and came out of the hut.