diff options
Diffstat (limited to '2389-0.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | 2389-0.txt | 9039 |
1 files changed, 9039 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/2389-0.txt b/2389-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2bf0b61 --- /dev/null +++ b/2389-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9039 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Bardelys the Magnificent, by Rafael Sabatini + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Bardelys the Magnificent + +Author: Rafael Sabatini + +Posting Date: March 5, 2009 [EBook #2389] +Release Date: November, 2000 +Last Updated: March 10, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BARDELYS THE MAGNIFICENT *** + + + + +Produced by Polly Stratton + + + + + + + + +BARDELYS THE MAGNIFICENT + + +Being an Account of the Strange Wooing pursued by the Sieur Marcel de +Saint-Pol; Marquis of Bardelys, and of the things that in the course of +it befell him in Languedoc, in the year of the Rebellion + +By Rafael Sabatini + + + +CONTENTS + + I. THE WAGER + II. THE KING'S WISHES + III. RENT: DE LESPERON + IV. A MAID IN THE MOONLIGHT + V. THE VICOMTE DE LAVEDAN + VI. IN CONVALESCENCE + VII. THE HOSTILITY OF SAINT-EUSTACHE + VIII. THE PORTRAIT + IX. A NIGHT ALARM + X. THE RISEN DEAD + XI. THE KING'S COMMISSIONER + XII. THE TRIBUNAL OF TOULOUSE + XIII. THE ELEVENTH HOUR + XIV. EAVESDROPPING + XV. MONSIEUR DE CHATELLERAULT IS ANGRY + XVI. SWORDS + XVII. THE BABBLING OF GANYMEDE + XVIII. SAINT-EUSTACHE IS OBSTINATE XIX. THE FLINT AND THE STEEL + XX. THE “BRAVI” AT BLAGNAC + XXI. LOUIS THE JUST + XXII. WE UNSADDLE + + + + +BARDELYS THE MAGNIFICENT + + + + +CHAPTER I. THE WAGER + +“Speak of the Devil,” whispered La Fosse in my ear, and, moved by the +words and by the significance of his glance, I turned in my chair. + +The door had opened, and under the lintel stood the thick-set figure +of the Comte de Chatellerault. Before him a lacquey in my escutcheoned +livery of red-and-gold was receiving, with back obsequiously bent, his +hat and cloak. + +A sudden hush fell upon the assembly where a moment ago this very man +had been the subject of our talk, and silenced were the wits that but +an instant since had been making free with his name and turning the +Languedoc courtship--from which he was newly returned with the shame of +defeat--into a subject for heartless mockery and jest. Surprise was +in the air for we had heard that Chatellerault was crushed by his +ill-fortune in the lists of Cupid, and we had not looked to see him +joining so soon a board at which--or so at least I boasted--mirth +presided. + +And so for a little space the Count stood pausing on my threshold, +whilst we craned our necks to contemplate him as though he had been +an object for inquisitive inspection. Then a smothered laugh from the +brainless La Fosse seemed to break the spell. I frowned. It was a climax +of discourtesy whose impression I must at all costs efface. + +I leapt to my feet, with a suddenness that sent my chair gliding a full +half-yard along the glimmering parquet of the floor, and in two strides +I had reached the Count and put forth my hand to bid him welcome. He +took it with a leisureliness that argued sorrow. He advanced into the +full blaze of the candlelight, and fetched a dismal sigh from the depths +of his portly bulk. + +“You are surprised to see me, Monsieur le Marquis,” said he, and his +tone seemed to convey an apology for his coming--for his very existence +almost. + +Now Nature had made my Lord of Chatellerault as proud and arrogant as +Lucifer--some resemblance to which illustrious personage his downtrodden +retainers were said to detect in the lineaments of his swarthy face. +Environment had added to that store of insolence wherewith Nature had +equipped him, and the King's favour--in which he was my rival--had gone +yet further to mould the peacock attributes of his vain soul. So that +this wondrous humble tone of his gave me pause; for to me it seemed that +not even a courtship gone awry could account for it in such a man. + +“I had not thought to find so many here,” said he. And his next +words contained the cause of his dejected air. “The King, Monsieur de +Bardelys, has refused to see me; and when the sun is gone, we lesser +bodies of the courtly firmament must needs turn for light and comfort to +the moon.” And he made me a sweeping bow. + +“Meaning that I rule the night?” quoth I, and laughed. “The figure is +more playful than exact, for whilst the moon is cold and cheerless, me +you shall find ever warm and cordial. I could have wished, Monsieur de +Chatellerault, that your gracing my board were due to a circumstance +less untoward than His Majesty's displeasure.” + +“It is not for nothing that they call you the Magnificent,” he answered, +with a fresh bow, insensible to the sting in the tail of my honeyed +words. + +I laughed, and, setting compliments to rest with that, I led him to the +table. + +“Ganymede, a place here for Monsieur le Comte. Gilles, Antoine, see to +Monsieur de Chatellerault. Basile, wine for Monsieur le Comte. Bestir +there!” + +In a moment he was become the centre of a very turmoil of attention. My +lacqueys flitted about him buzzing and insistent as bees about a rose. +Would Monsieur taste of this capon a la casserole, or of this truffled +peacock? Would a slice of this juicy ham a l'anglaise tempt Monsieur +le Comte, or would he give himself the pain of trying this turkey aux +olives? Here was a salad whose secret Monsieur le Marquis's cook had +learnt in Italy, and here a vol-au-vent that was invented by Quelon +himself. + +Basile urged his wines upon him, accompanied by a page who bore a silver +tray laden with beakers and Wagons. Would Monsieur le Comte take white +Armagnac or red Anjou? This was a Burgundy of which Monsieur le Marquis +thought highly, and this a delicate Lombardy wine that His Majesty had +oft commended. Or perhaps Monsieur de Chatellerault would prefer to +taste the last vintage of Bardelys? + +And so they plagued him and bewildered him until his choice was made; +and even then a couple of them held themselves in readiness behind his +chair to forestall his slightest want. Indeed, had he been the very +King himself, no greater honour could we have shown him at the Hotel de +Bardelys. + +But the restraint that his coming had brought with it hung still upon +the company, for Chatellerault was little loved, and his presence there +was much as that of the skull at an Egyptian banquet. + +For of all these fair-weather friends that sat about my table--amongst +whom there were few that had not felt his power--I feared there might +be scarcely one would have the grace to dissemble his contempt of the +fallen favourite. That he was fallen, as much his words as what already +we had known, had told us. + +Yet in my house I would strive that he should have no foretaste of that +coldness that to-morrow all Paris would be showing him, and to this +end I played the host with all the graciousness that role may bear, and +overwhelmed him with my cordiality, whilst to thaw all iciness from the +bearing of my other guests, I set the wines to flow more freely still. +My dignity would permit no less of me, else would it have seemed that +I rejoiced in a rival's downfall and took satisfaction from the +circumstance that his disfavour with the King was like to result in my +own further exaltation. + +My efforts were not wasted. Slowly the mellowing influence of the grape +pronounced itself. To this influence I added that of such wit as Heaven +has graced me with, and by a word here and another there I set myself to +lash their mood back into the joviality out of which his coming had for +the moment driven it. + +And so, presently, Good-Humour spread her mantle over us anew, and +quip and jest and laughter decked our speech, until the noise of our +merry-making drifting out through the open windows must have been borne +upon the breeze of that August night down the rue Saint-Dominique, +across the rue de l'Enfer, to the very ears perhaps of those within the +Luxembourg, telling them that Bardelys and his friends kept another of +those revels which were become a byword in Paris, and had contributed +not a little to the sobriquet of “Magnificent” which men gave me. + +But, later, as the toasts grew wild and were pledged less for the sake +of the toasted than for that of the wine itself, wits grew more barbed +and less restrained by caution; recklessness hung a moment, like a bird +of prey, above us, then swooped abruptly down in the words of that fool +La Fosse. + +“Messieurs,” he lisped, with that fatuousness he affected, and with his +eye fixed coldly upon Chatellerault, “I have a toast for you.” He rose +carefully to his feet--he had arrived at that condition in which to move +with care is of the first importance. He shifted his eye from the Count +to his glass, which stood half empty. He signed to a lacquey to fill +it. “To the brim, gentlemen,” he commanded. Then, in the silence that +ensued, he attempted to stand with one foot on the ground and one on +his chair; but encountering difficulties of balance, he remained +upright--safer if less picturesque. + +“Messieurs, I give you the most peerless, the most beautiful, the most +difficult and cold lady in all France. I drink to those her thousand +graces, of which Fame has told us, and to that greatest and most vexing +charm of all--her cold indifference to man. I pledge you, too, the swain +whose good fortune it maybe to play Endymion to this Diana. + +“It will need,” pursued La Fosse, who dealt much in mythology and +classic lore--“it will need an Adonis in beauty, a Mars in valour, an +Apollo in song, and a very Eros in love to accomplish it. And I fear +me,” he hiccoughed, “that it will go unaccomplished, since the one man +in all France on whom we have based our hopes has failed. Gentlemen, to +your feet! I give you the matchless Roxalanne de Lavedan!” + +Such amusement as I felt was tempered by apprehension. I shot a swift +glance at Chatellerault to mark how he took this pleasantry and this +pledging of the lady whom the King had sent him to woo, but whom he +had failed to win. He had risen with the others at La Fosse's bidding, +either unsuspicious or else deeming suspicion too flimsy a thing by +which to steer conduct. Yet at the mention of her name a scowl darkened +his ponderous countenance. He set down his glass with such sudden force +that its slender stem was snapped and a red stream of wine streaked the +white tablecloth and spread around a silver flowerbowl. The sight of +that stain recalled him to himself and to the manners he had allowed +himself for a moment to forget. + +“Bardelys, a thousand apologies for my clumsiness,” he muttered. + +“Spilt wine,” I laughed, “is a good omen.” + +And for once I accepted that belief, since but for the shedding of that +wine and its sudden effect upon him, it is likely we had witnessed +a shedding of blood. Thus, was the ill-timed pleasantry of my +feather-brained La Fosse tided over in comparative safety. But the topic +being raised was not so easily abandoned. Mademoiselle de Lavedan grew +to be openly discussed, and even the Count's courtship of her came to be +hinted at, at first vaguely, then pointedly, with a lack of delicacy +for which I can but blame the wine with which these gentlemen had made +a salad of their senses. In growing alarm I watched the Count. But he +showed no further sign of irritation. He sat and listened as though no +jot concerned. There were moments when he even smiled at some lively +sally, and at last he went so far as to join in that merry combat of +wits, and defend himself from their attacks, which were made with a +good-humour that but thinly veiled the dislike he was held in and the +satisfaction that was culled from his late discomfiture. + +For a while I hung back and took no share in the banter that was toward. +But in the end--lured perhaps by the spirit in which I have shown that +Chatellerault accepted it, and lulled by the wine which in common with +my guests I may have abused--I came to utter words but for which this +story never had been written. + +“Chatellerault,” I laughed, “abandon these defensive subterfuges; +confess that you are but uttering excuses, and acknowledge that you have +conducted this affair with a clumsiness unpardonable in one equipped +with your advantages of courtly rearing.” + +A flush overspread his face, the first sign of anger since he had +spilled his wine. + +“Your successes, Bardelys, render you vain, and of vanity is presumption +born,” he replied contemptuously. + +“See!” I cried, appealing to the company. “Observe how he seeks to evade +replying! Nay, but you shall confess your clumsiness.” + +“A clumsiness,” murmured La Fosse drowsily, “as signal as that which +attended Pan's wooing of the Queen of Lydia.” + +“I have no clumsiness to confess,” he answered hotly, raising his voice. +“It is a fine thing to sit here in Paris, among the languid, dull, and +nerveless beauties of the Court, whose favours are easily won because +they look on dalliance as the best pastime offered them, and are eager +for such opportunities of it as you fleering coxcombs will afford them. +But this Mademoiselle de Lavedan is of a vastly different mettle. She +is a woman; not a doll. She is flesh and blood; not sawdust, powder, and +vermilion. She has a heart and a will; not a spirit corrupted by vanity +and licence.” + +La Fosse burst into a laugh. + +“Hark! O, hark!” he cried, “to the apostle of the chaste!” + +“Saint Gris!” exclaimed another. “This good Chatellerault has lost both +heart and head to her.” + +Chatellerault glanced at the speaker with an eye in which anger +smouldered. + +“You have said it,” I agreed. “He has fallen her victim, and so his +vanity translates her into a compound of perfections. Does such a woman +as you have described exist, Comte? Bah! In a lover's mind, perhaps, or +in the pages of some crack-brained poet's fancies; but nowhere else in +this dull world of ours.” + +He made a gesture of impatience. + +“You have been clumsy, Chatellerault,” I insisted. + +“You have lacked address. The woman does not live that is not to be won +by any man who sets his mind to do it, if only he be of her station and +have the means to maintain her in it or raise her to a better. A woman's +love, sir, is a tree whose root is vanity. Your attentions flatter her, +and predispose her to capitulate. Then, if you but wisely choose your +time to deliver the attack, and do so with the necessary adroitness--nor +is overmuch demanded--the battle is won with ease, and she surrenders. +Believe me, Chatellerault, I am a younger man than you by full five +years, yet in experience I am a generation older, and I talk of what I +know.” + +He sneered heavily. “If to have begun your career of dalliance at the +age of eighteen with an amour that resulted in a scandal be your title +to experience, I agree,” said he. “But for the rest, Bardelys, for all +your fine talk of conquering women, believe me when I tell you that in +all your life you have never met a woman, for I deny the claim of these +Court creatures to that title. If you would know a woman, go to Lavedan, +Monsieur le Marquis. If you would have your army of amorous wiles suffer +a defeat at last, go employ it against the citadel of Roxalanne de +Lavedan's heart. If you would be humbled in your pride, betake yourself +to Lavedan.” + +“A challenge!” roared a dozen voices. “A challenge, Bardelys!” + +“Mais voyons,” I deprecated, with a laugh, “would you have me journey +into Languedoc and play at wooing this embodiment of all the marvels +of womanhood for the sake of making good my argument? Of your charity, +gentlemen, insist no further.” + +“The never-failing excuse of the boaster,” sneered Chatellerault, “when +desired to make good his boast.” + +“Monsieur conceives that I have made a boast?” quoth I, keeping my +temper. + +“Your words suggested one--else I do not know the meaning of words. They +suggested that where I have failed you could succeed, if you had a mind +to try. I have challenged you, Bardelys. I challenge you again. Go +about this wooing as you will; dazzle the lady with your wealth and your +magnificence, with your servants, your horses, your equipages; and all +the splendours you can command; yet I make bold to say that not a year +of your scented attentions and most insidious wiles will bear you fruit. +Are you sufficiently challenged?” + +“But this is rank frenzy!” I protested. “Why should I undertake this +thing?” + +“To prove me wrong,” he taunted me. “To prove me clumsy. Come, Bardelys, +what of your spirit?” + +“I confess I would do much to afford you the proof you ask. But to take +a wife! Pardi! That is much indeed!” + +“Bah!” he sneered. “You do well to draw back You are wise to avoid +discomfiture. This lady is not for you. When she is won, it will be by +some bold and gallant gentleman, and by no mincing squire of dames, +no courtly coxcomb, no fop of the Luxembourg, be his experiences of +dalliance never so vast.” + +“Po' Cap de Dieu!” growled Cazalet, who was a Gascon captain in the +Guards, and who swore strange, southern oaths. “Up, Bardelys! Afoot! +Prove your boldness and your gallantry, or be forever shamed; a squire +of dames, a courtly coxcomb, a fop of the Luxembourg! Mordemondieu! I +have given a man a bellyful of steel for the half of those titles!” + +I heeded him little, and as little the other noisy babblers, who now on +their feet--those that could stand--were spurring me excitedly to accept +the challenge, until from being one of the baiters it seemed that of +a sudden the tables were turned and I was become the baited. I sat in +thought, revolving the business in my mind, and frankly liking it but +little. Doubts of the issue, were I to undertake it, I had none. + +My views of the other sex were neither more nor less than my words to +the Count had been calculated to convey. It may be--I know now that it +was that the women I had known fitted Chatellerault's description, and +were not over-difficult to win. Hence, such successes as I had had with +them in such comedies of love as I had been engaged upon had given me a +false impression. But such at least was not my opinion that night. I was +satisfied that Chatellerault talked wildly, and that no such woman lived +as he depicted. Cynical and soured you may account me. Such I know I was +accounted in Paris; a man satiated with all that wealth and youth and +the King's favour could give him; stripped of illusions, of faith and +of zest, the very magnificence--so envied--of my existence affording me +more disgust than satisfaction. Since already I had gauged its shallows. + +Is it strange, therefore, that in this challenge flung at me with such +insistence, a business that at first I disliked grew presently to beckon +me with its novelty and its promise of new sensations? + +“Is your spirit dead, Monsieur de Bardelys?” Chatellerault was gibing, +when my silence had endured some moments. “Is the cock that lately +crowed so lustily now dumb? Look you, Monsieur le Marquis, you are +accounted here a reckless gamester. Will a wager induce you to this +undertaking?” + +I leapt to my feet at that. His derision cut me like a whip. If what I +did was the act of a braggart, yet it almost seems I could do no less +to bolster up my former boasting--or what into boasting they had +translated. + +“You'll lay a wager, will you, Chatellerault?” I cried, giving him back +defiance for defiance. A breathless silence fell. “Then have it so. +Listen, gentlemen, that you may be witnesses. I do here pledge my castle +of Bardelys, and my estates in Picardy, with every stick and stone and +blade of grass that stands upon them, that I shall woo and win Roxalanne +de Lavedan to be the Marquise of Bardelys. Does the stake satisfy +you, Monsieur le Comte? You may set all you have against it,” I added +coarsely, “and yet, I swear, the odds will be heavily in your favour.” + +I remember it was Mironsac who first found his tongue, and sought even +at that late hour to set restraint upon us and to bring judgment to our +aid. + +“Messieurs, messieurs!” he besought us. “In Heaven's name, bethink +you what you do. Bardelys, your wager is a madness. Monsieur de +Chatellerault, you'll not accept it. You'll--” + +“Be silent,” I rebuked him, with some asperity. “What has Monsieur de +Chatellerault to say?” + +He was staring at the tablecloth and the stain of the wine that he had +spilled when first Mademoiselle de Lavedan's name was mentioned. His +head had been bent so that his long black hair had tumbled forward and +partly veiled his face. At my question he suddenly looked up. The ghost +of a smile hung on his sensuous lips, for all that excitement had paled +his countenance beyond its habit. + +“Monsieur le Marquis.” said he rising, “I take your wager, and I pledge +my lands in Normandy against yours of Bardelys. Should you lose, they +will no longer call you the Magnificent; should I lose--I shall be a +beggar. It is a momentous wager, Bardelys, and spells ruin for one of +us.” + +“A madness!” groaned Mironsac. + +“Mordieux!” swore Cazalet. Whilst La Fosse, who had been the original +cause of all this trouble, vented his excitement in a gibber of imbecile +laughter. + +“How long do you give me, Chatellerault?” I asked, as quietly as I +might. + +“What time shall you require?” + +“I should prefer that you name the limit,” I answered. + +He pondered a moment. Then “Will three months suffice you?” he asked. + +“If it is not done in three months, I will pay,” said I. + +And then Chatellerault did what after all was, I suppose, the only thing +that a gentleman might do under the circumstances. He rose to his feet, +and, bidding the company charge their glasses, he gave them a parting +toast. + +“Messieurs, drink with me to Monsieur le Marquis de Bardelys's safe +journey into Languedoc, and to the prospering of his undertaking.” + +In answer, a great shout went up from throats that suspense had lately +held in leash. Men leapt on to their chairs, and, holding their glasses +on high, they acclaimed me as thunderously as though I had been the +hero of some noble exploit, instead of the main figure in a somewhat +questionable wager. + +“Bardelys!” was the shout with which the house reechoed. “Bardelys! +Bardelys the Magnificent! Vive Bardelys!” + + + + +CHAPTER II. THE KING'S WISHES + + +It was daybreak ere the last of them had left me, for a dozen or so had +lingered to play lansquenet after the others had departed. With those +that remained my wager had soon faded into insignificance, as their +minds became engrossed in the fluctuations of their own fortunes. + +I did not play myself; I was not in the mood, and for one night, at +least, of sufficient weight already I thought the game upon which I was +launched. + +I was out on the balcony as the first lines of dawn were scoring the +east, and in a moody, thoughtful condition I had riveted my eyes upon +the palace of the Luxembourg, which loomed a black pile against the +lightening sky, when Mironsac came out to join me. A gentle, lovable lad +was Mironsac, not twenty years of age, and with the face and manners of +a woman. That he was attached to me I knew. + +“Monsieur le Marquis,” said he softly, “I am desolated at this wager +into which they have forced you.” + +“Forced me?” I echoed. “No, no; they did not force me. And yet,” I +reflected, with a sigh, “perhaps they did.” + +“I have been thinking, monsieur, that if the King were to hear of it the +evil might be mended.” + +“But the King must not hear of it, Armand,” I answered quickly. “Even if +he did, matters would be no better--much worse, possibly.” + +“But, monsieur, this thing done in the heat of wine--” + +“Is none the less done, Armand,” I concluded. “And I for one do not wish +it undone.” + +“But have you no thought for the lady?” he cried. + +I laughed at him. “Were I still eighteen, boy, the thought might trouble +me. Had I my illusions, I might imagine that my wife must be some woman +of whom I should be enamoured. As it is, I have grown to the age of +twenty-eight unwed. Marriage becomes desirable. I must think of an heir +to all the wealth of Bardelys. And so I go to Languedoc. If the lady be +but half the saint that fool Chatellerault has painted her, so much the +better for my children; if not, so much the worse. There is the dawn, +Mironsac, and it is time we were abed. Let us drive these plaguy +gamesters home.” + +When the last of them had staggered down my steps, and I had bidden a +drowsy lacquey extinguish the candles, I called Ganymede to light me to +bed and aid me to undress. His true name was Rodenard; but my friend +La Fosse, of mythological fancy, had named him Ganymede, after the +cup-bearer of the gods, and the name had clung to him. He was a man of +some forty years of age, born into my father's service, and since become +my intendant, factotum, majordomo, and generalissimo of my regiment of +servants and my establishments both in Paris and at Bardelys. + +We had been to the wars together ere I had cut my wisdom teeth, and thus +had he come to love me. There was nothing this invaluable servant could +not do. At baiting or shoeing a horse, at healing a wound, at roasting +a capon, or at mending a doublet, he was alike a master, besides +possessing a score of other accomplishments that do not now occur to me, +which in his campaigning he had acquired. Of late the easy life in +Paris had made him incline to corpulency, and his face was of a pale, +unhealthy fullness. + +To-night, as he assisted me to undress, it wore an expression of supreme +woe. + +“Monseigneur is going into Languedoc?” he inquired sorrowfully. He +always called me his “seigneur,” as did the other of my servants born at +Bardelys. + +“Knave, you have been listening,” said I. + +“But, monseigneur,” he explained, “when Monsieur le Comte de +Chatellerault laid his wager--” + +“And have I not told you, Ganymede, that when you chance to be among +my friends you should hear nothing but the words addressed to you, see +nothing but the glasses that need replenishing? But, there! We are going +into Languedoc. What of it?” + +“They say that war may break out at any moment,” he groaned; “that +Monsieur le Duc de Montmorency is receiving reenforcements from Spain, +and that he intends to uphold the standard of Monsieur and the rights of +the province against the encroachments of His Eminence the Cardinal.” + +“So! We are becoming politicians, eh, Ganymede? And how shall all this +concern us? Had you listened more attentively, you had learnt that we go +to Languedoc to seek a wife, and not to concern ourselves with Cardinals +and Dukes. Now let me sleep ere the sun rises.” + +On the morrow I attended the levee, and I applied to His Majesty for +leave to absent myself. But upon hearing that it was into Languedoc I +went, he frowned inquiry. Trouble enough was his brother already making +in that province. I explained that I went to seek a wife, and deeming +all subterfuge dangerous, since it might only serve to provoke him when +later he came to learn the lady's name, I told him--withholding yet all +mention of the wager--that I fostered the hope of making Mademoiselle de +Lavedan my marquise. + +Deeper came the line between his brows at that, and blacker grew the +scowl. He was not wont to bestow on me such looks as I now met in his +weary eyes, for Louis XIII had much affection for me. + +“You know this lady?” he demanded sharply. + +“Only by name, Your Majesty.” + +At that his brows went up in astonishment. + +“Only by name? And you would wed her? But, Marcel, my friend, you are a +rich man one of the richest in France. You cannot be a fortune hunter.” + +“Sire,” I answered, “Fame sings loudly the praises of this lady, her +beauty and her virtue--praises that lead me to opine she would make me +an excellent chatelaine. I am come to an age when it is well to wed; +indeed, Your Majesty has often told me so. And it seems to me that all +France does not hold a lady more desirable. Heaven send she will agree +to my suit!” + +In that tired way of his that was so pathetic: “Do you love me a little, +Marcel?” he asked. + +“Sire,” I exclaimed, wondering whither all this was leading us, “need I +protest it?” + +“No,” he answered dryly; “you can prove it. Prove it by abandoning this +Languedoc quest. I have motives--sound motives, motives of political +import. I desire another wedding for Mademoiselle de Lavedan. I wish it +so, Bardelys, and I look to be obeyed.” + +For a moment temptation had me by the throat. Here was an unlooked-for +chance to shake from me a business which reflection was already +rendering odious. I had but to call together my friends of yesternight, +and with them the Comte de Chatellerault, and inform them that by the +King was I forbidden to go awooing Roxalanne de Lavedan. So should my +wager be dissolved. And then in a flash I saw how they would sneer +one and all, and how they would think that I had caught avidly at this +opportunity of freeing myself from an undertaking into which a boastful +mood had lured me. The fear of that swept aside my momentary hesitation. + +“Sire,” I answered, bending my head contritely, “I am desolated that +my inclinations should run counter to your wishes, but to your wonted +kindness and clemency I must look for forgiveness if these same +inclinations drive me so relentlessly that I may not now turn back.” + +He caught me viciously by the arm and looked sharply into my face. + +“You defy me, Bardelys?” he asked, in a voice of anger. + +“God forbid, Sire!” I answered quickly. “I do but pursue my destiny.” + +He took a turn in silence, like a man who is mastering himself before +he will speak. Many an eye, I knew, was upon us, and not a few may have +been marvelling whether already Bardelys were about to share the fate +that yesterday had overtaken his rival Chatellerault. At last he halted +at my side again. + +“Marcel,” said he, but though he used that name his voice was harsh, “go +home and ponder what I have said. If you value my favour, if you desire +my love, you will abandon this journey and the suit you contemplate. If, +on the other hand, you persist in going--you need not return. The Court +of France has no room for gentlemen who are but lip-servers, no place +for courtiers who disobey their King.” + +That was his last word. He waited for no reply, but swung round on his +heel, and an instant later I beheld him deep in conversation with the +Duke of Saint-Simon. Of such a quality is the love of princes--vain, +capricious, and wilful. Indulge it ever and at any cost, else you +forfeit it. + +I turned away with a sigh, for in spite of all his weaknesses and +meannesses I loved this cardinal-ridden king, and would have died for +him had the need occurred, as well he knew. But in this matter--well, I +accounted my honour involved, and there was now no turning back save by +the payment of my wager and the acknowledgment of defeat. + + + + +CHAPTER III. RENE DE LESPERON + + +That very day I set out. For since the King was opposed to the affair, +and knowing the drastic measures by which he was wont to enforce what he +desired, I realized that did I linger he might find a way definitely to +prevent my going. + +I travelled in a coach, attended by two lacqueys and a score of +men-at-arms in my own livery, all commanded by Ganymede. My intendant +himself came in another coach with my wardrobe and travelling +necessaries. We were a fine and almost regal cortege as we passed down +the rue de l'Enfer and quitted Paris by the Orleans gate, taking the +road south. So fine a cortege, indeed, that it entered my mind. His +Majesty would come to hear of it, and, knowing my destination, send +after me to bring me back. To evade such a possibility, I ordered +a divergence to be made, and we struck east and into Touraine. At +Pont-le-Duc, near Tours, I had a cousin in the Vicomte d'Amaral, and at +his chateau I arrived on the third day after quitting Paris. + +Since that was the last place where they would seek me, if to seek me +they were inclined, I elected to remain my cousin's guest for fifteen +days. And whilst I was there we had news of trouble in the South and +of a rising in Languedoc under the Duc de Montmorency. Thus was it that +when I came to take my leave of Amaral, he, knowing that Languedoc was +my destination, sought ardently to keep me with him until we should +learn that peace and order were restored in the province. But I held the +trouble lightly, and insisted upon going. + +Resolutely, then, if by slow stages, we pursued our journey, and came +at last to Montauban. There we lay a night at the Auberge de Navarre, +intending to push on to Lavedan upon the morrow. My father had been on +more than friendly terms with the Vicomte de Lavedan, and upon this I +built my hopes of a cordial welcome and an invitation to delay for a few +days the journey to Toulouse, upon which I should represent myself as +bound. + +Thus, then, stood my plans. And they remained unaltered for all that +upon the morrow there were wild rumours in the air of Montauban. There +were tellings of a battle fought the day before at Castelnaudary, of +the defeat of Monsieur's partisans, of the utter rout of Gonzalo de +Cordova's Spanish tatterdemalions, and of the capture of Montmorency, +who was sorely wounded--some said with twenty and some with thirty +wounds--and little like to live. Sorrow and discontent stalked abroad in +Languedoc that day, for they believed that it was against the Cardinal, +who sought to strip them of so many privileges, that Gaston d'Orleans +had set up his standard. + +That those rumours of battle and defeat were true we had ample proof +some few hours later, when a company of dragoons in buff and steel rode +into the courtyard of the Auberge de Navarre, headed by a young spark of +an officer, who confirmed the rumour and set the number of +Montmorency's wounds at seventeen. He was lying, the officer told us, at +Castelnaudary, and his duchess was hastening to him from Beziers. Poor +woman! She was destined to nurse him back to life and vigour only that +he might take his trial at Toulouse and pay with his head the price of +his rebellion. + +Ganymede who, through the luxurious habits of his more recent years +had--for all his fine swagger--developed a marked distaste for warfare +and excitement, besought me to take thought for my safety and to lie +quietly at Montauban until the province should be more settled. + +“The place is a hotbed of rebellion,” he urged. “If these Chouans but +learn that we are from Paris and of the King's party, we shall have our +throats slit, as I live. There is not a peasant in all this countryside +indeed, scarce a man of any sort but is a red-hot Orleanist, +anti-Cardinalist, and friend of the Devil. Bethink you, monseigneur, to +push on at the present is to court murder.” + +“Why, then, we will court murder,” said I coldly. “Give the word to +saddle.” + +I asked him at the moment of setting out did he know the road to +Lavedan, to which the lying poltroon made answer that he did. In his +youth he may have known it, and the countryside may have undergone since +then such changes as bewildered him. Or it may be that fear dulled his +wits, and lured him into taking what may have seemed the safer rather +than the likelier road. But this I know, that as night was falling +my carriage halted with a lurch, and as I put forth my head I was +confronted by my trembling intendant, his great fat face gleaming +whitely in the gloom above the lawn collar on his doublet. + +“Why do we halt, Ganymede?” quoth I. + +“Monseigneur,” he faltered, his trembling increasing as he spoke, and +his eyes meeting mine in a look of pitiful contrition, “I fear we are +lost.” + +“Lost?” I echoed. “Of what do you talk? Am I to sleep in the coach?” + +“Alas, monseigneur, I have done my best--” + +“Why, then, God keep us from your worst,” I snapped. “Open me this +door.” + +I stepped down and looked about me, and, by my faith, a more desolate +spot to lose us in my henchman could not have contrived had he been at +pains to do so. A bleak, barren landscape--such as I could hardly have +credited was to be found in all that fair province--unfolded itself, +looking now more bleak, perhaps, by virtue of the dim evening mist that +hovered over it. Yonder, to the right, a dull russet patch of sky marked +the west, and then in front of us I made out the hazy outline of the +Pyrenees. At sight of them, I swung round and gripped my henchman by the +shoulder. + +“A fine trusty servant thou!” I cried. “Boaster! Had you told us that +age and fat living had so stunted your wits as to have extinguished +memory, I had taken a guide at Montauban to show us the way. Yet, +here, with the sun and the Pyrenees to guide you, even had you no other +knowledge, you lose yourself!” + +“Monseigneur,” he whimpered, “I was choosing my way by the sun and the +mountains, and it was thus that I came to this impasse. For you may see, +yourself, that the road ends here abruptly.” + +“Ganymede,” said I slowly, “when we return to Paris--if you do not +die of fright 'twixt this and then--I'll find a place for you in the +kitchens. God send you may make a better scullion than a follower!” + Then, vaulting over the wall, “Attend me, some half-dozen of you,” I +commanded, and stepped out briskly towards the barn. + +As the weather-beaten old door creaked upon its rusty hinges, we were +greeted by a groan from within, and with it the soft rustle of straw +that is being moved. Surprised, I halted, and waited whilst one of my +men kindled a light in the lanthorn that he carried. + +By its rays we beheld a pitiable sight in a corner of that building. A +man, quite young and of a tall and vigorous frame, lay stretched upon +the straw. He was fully dressed even to his great riding-boots, and +from the loose manner in which his back-and-breast hung now upon him, +it would seem as if he had been making shift to divest himself of his +armour, but had lacked the strength to complete the task. Beside him +lay a feathered headpiece and a sword attached to a richly broidered +baldrick. All about him the straw was clotted with brown, viscous +patches of blood. The doublet which had been of sky-blue velvet was all +sodden and stained, and inspection showed us that he had been wounded in +the right side, between the straps of his breastplate. + +As we stood about him now, a silent, pitying group, appearing fantastic, +perhaps, by the dim light of that single lanthorn, he attempted to raise +his head, and then with a groan he dropped it back upon the straw that +pillowed it. From out of a face white, as in death, and drawn with +haggard lines of pain, a pair of great lustrous blue eyes were turned +upon us, abject and pitiful as the gaze of a dumb beast that is stricken +mortally. + +It needed no acuteness to apprehend that we had before us one of +yesterday's defeated warriors; one who had spent his last strength in +creeping hither to get his dying done in peace. Lest our presence +should add fear to the agony already upon him, I knelt beside him in the +blood-smeared straw, and, raising his head, I pillowed it upon my arm. + +“Have no fear,” said I reassuringly. “We are friends. Do you +understand?” + +The faint smile that played for a second on his lips and lighted his +countenance would have told me that he understood, even had I not caught +his words, faint as a sigh “Merci, monsieur.” He nestled his head into +the crook of my arm. “Water--for the love of God!” he gasped, to add in +a groan, “Je me meurs, monsieur.” + +Assisted by a couple of knaves, Ganymede went about attending to the +rebel at once. Handling him as carefully as might be, to avoid giving +him unnecessary pain they removed his back-and-breast, which was flung +with a clatter into one of the corners of the barn. Then, whilst one of +them gently drew off his boots, Rodenard, with the lanthorn close beside +him, cut away the fellow's doublet, and laid bare the oozing sword-wound +that gaped in his mangled side. He whispered an order to Gilles, who +went swiftly off to the coach in quest of something that he had asked +for; then he sat on his heels and waited, his hand upon the man's pulse, +his eyes on his face. + +I stooped until my lips were on a level with my intendant's ear. + +“How is it with him?” I inquired. + +“Dying,” whispered Rodenard in answer. “He has lost too much blood, and +he is probably bleeding inwardly as well. There is no hope of his life, +but he may linger thus some little while, sinking gradually, and we can +at least mitigate the suffering of his last moments.” + +When presently the men returned with the things that Ganymede had asked +for, he mixed some pungent liquid with water, and, whilst a servant held +the bowl, he carefully sponged the rebel's wound. This and a cordial +that he had given him to drink seemed to revive him and to afford him +ease. His breathing was no longer marked by any rasping sound, and his +eyes seemed to burn more intelligently. + +“I am dying--is it not so?” he asked, and Ganymede bowed his head in +silence. The poor fellow sighed. “Raise me,” he begged, and when this +service had been done him, his eyes wandered round until they found me. +Then “Monsieur,” he said, “will you do me a last favour?” + +“Assuredly, my poor friend,” I answered, going down on my knees beside +him. + +“You--you were not for the Duke?” he inquired, eyeing me more keenly. + +“No, monsieur. But do not let that disturb you; I have no interest in +this rising and I have taken no side. I am from Paris, on a journey +of--of pleasure. My name is Bardelys--Marcel de Bardelys.” + +“Bardelys the Magnificent?” he questioned, and I could not repress a +smile. + +“I am that overrated man.” + +“But then you are for the King!” And a note of disappointment crept +into his voice. Before I could make him any answer, he had resumed. “No +matter; Marcel de Bardelys is a gentleman, and party signifies little +when a man is dying. I am Rene de Lesperon, of Lesperon in Gascony,” he +pursued. “Will you send word to my sister afterwards?” + +I bowed my head without speaking. + +“She is the only relative I have, monsieur. But”--and his tone grew +wistful--“there is one other to whom I would have you bear a message.” + He raised his hand by a painful effort to the level of his breast. +Strength failed him, and he sank back. “I cannot, monsieur,” he said in +a tone of pathetic apology. “See; there is a chain about my neck with +a locket. Take it from me. Take it now, monsieur. There are some papers +also, monsieur. Take all. I want to see them safely in your keeping.” + +I did his bidding, and from the breast of his doublet I drew some loose +letters and a locket which held the miniature of a woman's face. + +“I want you to deliver all to her, monsieur.” + +“It shall be done,” I answered, deeply moved. + +“Hold it--hold it up,” he begged, his voice weakening. “Let me behold +the face.” + +Long his eyes rested on the likeness I held before him. At last, as one +in a dream-- + +“Well-beloved,” he sighed. “Bien aimee!” And down his grey, haggard +cheeks the tears came slowly. “Forgive this weakness, monsieur,” he +whispered brokenly. “We were to have been wed in a month, had I lived.” + He ended with a sob, and when next he spoke it was more labouredly, as +though that sob had robbed him of the half of what vitality remained. +“Tell her, monsieur, that my dying thoughts were of her. Tell--tell +her--I--” + +“Her name?” I cried, fearing he would sink before I learned it. “Tell me +her name.” + +He looked at me with eyes that were growing glassy and vacant. Then he +seemed to brace himself and to rally for a second. + +“Her name?” he mused, in a far-off manner. “She is--Ma-de-moiselle de +------” + +His head rolled on the suddenly relaxed neck. He collapsed into +Rodenard's arms. + +“Is he dead?” I asked. + +Rodenard nodded in silence. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. A MAID IN THE MOONLIGHT + + +I do not know whether it was the influence of that thing lying in a +corner of the barn under the cloak that Rodenard had flung over it, or +whether other influences of destiny were at work to impel me to rise +at the end of a half-hour and announce my determination to set out on +horseback and find myself quarters more congenial. + +“To-morrow,” I instructed Ganymede, as I stood ready to mount, “you will +retrace your steps with the others, and, finding the road to Lavedan, +you will follow me to the chateau.” + +“But you cannot hope to reach it to-night, monseigneur, through a +country that is unknown to you,” he protested. + +“I do not hope to reach it to-night. I will ride south until I come upon +some hamlet that will afford me shelter and, in the morning, direction.” + +I left him with that, and set out at a brisk trot. Night had now fallen, +but the sky was clear, and a crescent moon came opportunely if feebly to +dispel the gloom. + +I quitted the field, and went back until I gained a crossroad, where, +turning to the right, I set my face to the Pyrenees, and rode briskly +amain. That I had chosen wisely was proved when some twenty minutes +later. I clattered into the hamlet of Mirepoix, and drew up before an +inn flaunting the sign of a peacock--as if in irony of its humbleness, +for it was no better than a wayside tavern. Neither stable-boy nor +ostler was here, and the unclean, overgrown urchin to whom I entrusted +my horse could not say whether indeed Pere Abdon the landlord would +be able to find me a room to sleep in. I thirsted, however; and so I +determined to alight, if it were only to drink a can of wine and obtain +information of my whereabouts. + +As I was entering the hostelry there was a clatter of hoofs in the +street, and four dragoons headed by a sergeant rode up and halted at the +door of the Paon. They seemed to have ridden hard and some distance, for +their horses were jaded almost to the last point of endurance. + +Within, I called the host, and having obtained a flagon of the best +vintage--Heaven fortify those that must be content with his worst!--I +passed on to make inquiries touching my whereabouts and the way to +Lavedan. This I learnt was but some three or four miles distant. About +the other table--there were but two within the room--stood the dragoons +in a whispered consultation, of which it had been well had I taken heed, +for it concerned me more closely than I could have dreamt. + +“He answers the description,” said the sergeant, and though I heard the +words I took no thought that it was of me they spoke. + +“Padrieu,” swore one of his companions, “I'll wager it is our man.” + +And then, just as I was noticing that Master Abdon, who had also +overheard the conversation, was eyeing me curiously, the sergeant +stepped up to me, and-- + +“What is your name, monsieur?” quoth he. + +I vouchsafed him a stare of surprise before asking in my turn “How may +that concern you?” + +“Your pardon, my master, but we are on the King's business.” + +I remembered then that he had said I answered some description. With +that it flashed through my mind that they had been sent after me by +His Majesty to enforce my obedience to his wishes and to hinder me +from reaching Lavedan. At once came the dominant desire to conceal my +identity that I might go unhindered. The first name that occurred to me +was that of the poor wretch I had left in the barn half an hour ago, and +so-- + +“I am,” said I, “Monsieur de Lesperon, at your service.” + +Too late I saw the mistake that I had made. I own it was a blunder that +no man of ordinary intelligence should have permitted himself to have +committed. Remembering the unrest of the province, I should rather have +concluded that their business was more like to be in that connection. + +“He is bold, at least,” cried one of the troopers, with a burst of +laughter. Then came the sergeant's voice, cold and formal, “In the +King's name, Monsieur de Lesperon, I arrest you.” + +He had whipped out his sword, and the point was within an inch of my +breast. But his arm, I observed, was stretched to its fullest extent, +which forbade his making a sudden thrust. To hamper him in the lunge +there was the table between us. + +So, my mind working quickly in this desperate situation, and realizing +how dire and urgent the need to attempt an escape, I leapt suddenly back +to find myself in the arms of his followers. But in moving I had caught +up by one of its legs the stool on which I had been sitting. As I raised +it, I eluded the pinioning grip of the troopers. I twisted in their +grasp, and brought the stool down upon the head of one of them with +a force that drove him to his knees. Up went that three-legged stool +again, to descend like a thunderbolt upon the head of another. That +freed me. The sergeant was coming up behind, but another flourish of my +improvised battle-axe sent the two remaining soldiers apart to look to +their swords. Ere they could draw, I had darted like a hare between +them and out into the street. The sergeant, cursing them with horrid +volubility, followed closely upon my heels. + +Leaping as far into the roadway as I could, I turned to meet the +fellow's onslaught. Using the stool as a buckler, I caught his thrust +upon it. So violently was it delivered that the point buried itself in +the wood and the blade snapped, leaving him a hilt and a stump of steel. +I wasted no time in thought. Charging him wildly, I knocked him over +just as the two unhurt dragoons came stumbling out of the tavern. + +I gained my horse and vaulted into the saddle. Tearing the reins from +the urchin that held them, and driving my spurs into the beast's flanks, +I went careering down the street at a gallop, gripping tightly with my +knees, whilst the stirrups, which I had had no time to step into, flew +wildly about my legs. + +A pistol cracked behind me; then another, and a sharp, stinging pain in +the shoulder warned me that I was hit. But I took no heed of it then. +The wound could not be serious, else I had already been out of +the saddle, and it would be time enough to look to it when I had +outdistanced my pursuers. I say my pursuers, for already there were +hoofbeats behind me, and I knew that those gentlemen had taken to their +horses. But, as you may recall, I had on their arrival noted the +jaded condition of their cattle, whilst I bestrode a horse that was +comparatively fresh, so that pursuit had but small terrors for me. +Nevertheless, they held out longer, and gave me more to do than I had +imagined would be the case. For nigh upon a half-hour I rode, before I +could be said to have got clear of them, and then for aught I knew +they were still following, resolved to hound me down by the aid of such +information as they might cull upon their way. + +I was come by then to the Garonne. I drew rein beside the swiftly +flowing stream, winding itself like a flood of glittering silver between +the black shadows of its banks. A little while I sat there listening, +and surveying the stately, turreted chateau that loomed, a grey, noble +pile, beyond the water. I speculated what demesne this might be, and I +realized that it was probably Lavedan. + +I pondered what I had best do, and in the end I took the resolve to swim +the river and knock at the gates. If it were indeed Lavedan, I had but +to announce myself, and to one of my name surely its hospitalities would +be spread. If it were some other household, even then the name of Marcel +de Bardelys should suffice to ensure me a welcome. + +By spurring and coaxing, I lured my steed into the river. There is a +proverb having it that though you may lead a horse to the water you +cannot make him drink. It would have now applied to my case, for +although I had brought mine to the water I could not make him swim; or, +at least, I could not make him breast the rush of the stream. Vainly +did I urge him and try to hold him; he plunged frantically, snorted, +coughed, and struggled gamely, but the current was bearing us swiftly +away, and his efforts brought us no nearer to the opposite shore. At +last I slipped from his back, and set myself to swim beside him, leading +him by the bridle. But even thus he proved unequal to the task of +resisting the current, so that in the end I let him go, and swam ashore +alone, hoping that he would land farther down, and that I might then +recapture him. When, however, I had reached the opposite bank, and stood +under the shadow of the chateau, I discovered that the cowardly beast +had turned back, and, having scrambled out, was now trotting away +along the path by which we had come. Having no mind to go after him, I +resigned myself to the loss, and turned my attention to the mansion now +before me. + +Some two hundred yards from the river it raised its great square bulk +against the background of black, star-flecked sky. From the facade +before me down to the spot where I stood by the water, came a flight +of half a dozen terraces, each balustraded in white marble, ending in +square, flat-topped pillars of Florentine design. What moon there was +revealed the quaint architecture of that stately edifice and glittered +upon the mullioned windows. But within nothing stirred; no yellow +glimmer came to clash with the white purity of the moonlight; no sound +of man or beast broke the stillness of the night, for all that the hour +was early. The air of the place was as that of some gigantic sepulchre. +A little daunted by this all-enveloping stillness, I skirted the +terraces and approached the house on the eastern side. Here I found an +old-world drawbridge--now naturally in disuse--spanning a ditch fed +from the main river for the erstwhile purposes of a moat. I crossed the +bridge, and entered an imposing courtyard. Within this quadrangle the +same silence dwelt, and there was the same obscurity in the windows that +overlooked it. I paused, at a loss how to proceed, and I leaned against +a buttress of the portcullis, what time I considered. + +I was weak from fasting, worn with hard riding, and faint from the wound +in my shoulder, which had been the cause at least of my losing some +blood. In addition to all this, I was shivering with the cold of my wet +garments, and generally I must have looked as little like that Bardelys +they called the Magnificent as you might well conceive. How, then, if I +were to knock, should I prevail in persuading these people--whoever they +might be--of my identity? Infinitely more had I the air of some fugitive +rebel, and it was more than probable that I should be kept in durance +to be handed over to my friends the dragoons, if later they came to +ride that way. I was separated from those who knew me, and as things now +stood--unless this were, indeed, Lavedan--it might be days before they +found me again. + +I was beginning to deplore my folly at having cut myself adrift from +my followers in the first place, and having embroiled myself with the +soldiers in the second; I was beginning to contemplate the wisdom of +seeking some outhouse of this mansion wherein to lie until morning, when +of a sudden a broad shaft of light, coming from one of the windows on +the first floor, fell athwart the courtyard. Instinctively I crouched +back into the shadow of my friendly buttress, and looked up. + +That sudden shaft of light resulted from the withdrawal of the curtains +that masked a window. At this window, which opened outward on to a +balcony; I now beheld--and to me it was as the vision of Beatrice may +have been to Dante--the white figure of a woman. The moonlight bathed +her, as in her white robe she leaned upon the parapet gazing upward into +the empyrean. A sweet, delicate face I saw, not endowed, perhaps, with +that exquisite balance and proportion of feature wherein they tell us +beauty lies, but blessed with a wondrously dainty beauty all its own; +a beauty, perhaps, as much of expression as of form; for in that gentle +countenance was mirrored every tender grace of girlhood, all that is +fresh and pure and virginal. + +I held my breath, I think, as I stood in ravished contemplation of that +white vision. If this were Lavedan, and that the cold Roxalanne who had +sent my bold Chatellerault back to Paris empty-handed then were my task +a very welcome one. + +How little it had weighed with me that I was come to Languedoc to woo a +woman bearing the name of Roxalanne de Lavedan I have already shown. But +here in this same Languedoc I beheld to-night a woman whom it seemed I +might have loved, for not in ten years--not, indeed, in all my life--had +any face so wrought upon me and called to my nature with so strong a +voice. + +I gazed at that child, and I thought of the women that I had known--the +bold, bedizened beauties of a Court said to be the first in Europe. And +then it came to me that this was no demoiselle of Lavedan, no demoiselle +at all in fact, for the noblesse of France owned no such faces. Candour +and purity were not to be looked for in the high-bred countenances +of our great families; they were sometimes found in the faces of the +children of their retainers. Yes; I had it now. This child was the +daughter of some custodian of the demesne before me. + +Suddenly, as she stood there in the moonlight, a song, sung at +half-voice, floated down on the calm air. It was a ditty of old +Provence, a melody I knew and loved, and if aught had been wanting to +heighten the enchantment that already ravished me, that soft melodious +voice had done it. Singing still, she turned and reentered the room, +leaving wide the windows, so that faintly, as from a distance, her voice +still reached me after she was gone from sight. + +It was in that hour that it came to me to cast myself upon this fair +creature's mercy. Surely one so sweet and saintly to behold would take +compassion on an unfortunate! Haply my wound and all the rest that I had +that night endured made me dull-witted and warped my reason. + +With what strength I still possessed I went to work to scale her +balcony. The task was easy even for one in my spent condition. The +wall was thick with ivy, and, moreover, a window beneath afforded some +support, for by standing on the heavy coping I could with my fingers +touch the sill of the balcony above. Thus I hoisted myself, and +presently I threw an arm over the parapet. Already I was astride of that +same Parapet before she became aware of my presence. + +The song died suddenly on her lips, and her eyes, blue as +forget-me-nots, were wide now with the fear that the sight of me +occasioned. Another second and there had been an outcry that would have +brought the house about our ears, when, stepping to the threshold of the +room, “Mademoiselle,” I entreated, “for the love of God, be silent! I +mean you no harm. I am a fugitive. I am pursued.” + +This was no considered speech. There had been no preparing of words; I +had uttered them mechanically almost--perhaps by inspiration, for they +were surely the best calculated to enlist this lady's sympathy. And so +far as went the words themselves, they were rigorously true. + +With eyes wide open still, she confronted me, and I now observed that +she was not so tall as from below I had imagined. She was, in fact, of a +short stature rather, but of proportions so exquisite that she conveyed +an impression of some height. In her hand she held a taper by whose +light she had been surveying herself in her mirror at the moment of +my advent. Her unbound hair of brown fell like a mantle about her +shoulders, and this fact it was drew me to notice that she was in +her night-rail, and that this room to which I had penetrated was her +chamber. + +“Who are you?” she asked breathlessly, as though in such a pass my +identity were a thing that signified. + +I had almost answered her, as I had answered the troopers at Mirepoix, +that I was Lesperon. Then, bethinking me that there was no need for such +equivocation here, I was on the point of giving her my name. But noting +my hesitation, and misconstruing it, she forestalled me. + +“I understand, monsieur,” said she more composedly. “And you need have +no fear. You are among friends.” + +Her eyes had travelled over my sodden clothes, the haggard pallor of my +face, and the blood that stained my doublet from the shoulder downward. +From all this she had drawn her conclusions that I was a hunted rebel. +She drew me into the room, and, closing the window, she dragged the +heavy curtain across it, thereby giving me a proof of confidence that +smote me hard--impostor that I was. + +“I crave your pardon, mademoiselle, for having startled you by the rude +manner of my coming,” said I, and never in my life had I felt less at +ease than then. “But I was exhausted and desperate. I am wounded, I have +ridden hard, and I swam the river.” + +The latter piece of information was vastly unnecessary, seeing that the +water from my clothes was forming a pool about my feet. “I saw you from +below; mademoiselle, and surely, I thought, so sweet a lady would have +pity on an unfortunate.” She observed that my eyes were upon her, and +in an act of instinctive maidenliness she bore her hand to her throat to +draw the draperies together and screen the beauties of her neck from my +unwarranted glance, as though her daily gown did not reveal as much and +more of them. + +That act, however, served to arouse me to a sense of my position. What +did I there? It was a profanity--a defiling, I swore; from which you'll +see, that Bardelys was grown of a sudden very nice. + +“Monsieur,” she was saying, “you are exhausted.” + +“But that I rode hard,” I laughed, “it is likely they had taken me to +Toulouse, were I might have lost my head before my friends could have +found and claimed me. I hope you'll see it is too comely a head to be so +lightly parted with.” + +“For that,” said she, half seriously, half whimsically, “the ugliest +head would be too comely.” + +I laughed softly, amusedly; then of a sudden, without warning, a +faintness took me, and I was forced to brace myself against the wall, +breathing heavily the while. At that she gave a little cry of alarm. + +“Monsieur, I beseech you to be seated. I will summon my father, and we +will find a bed for you. You must not retain those clothes.” + +“Angel of goodness!” I muttered gratefully, and being still half dazed, +I brought some of my Court tricks into that chamber by taking her hand +and carrying it towards my lips. But ere I had imprinted the intended +kiss upon her fingers--and by some miracle they were not withdrawn--my +eyes encountered hers again. I paused as one may pause who contemplates +a sacrilege. For a moment she held my glance with hers; then I fell +abashed, and released her hand. + +The innocence peeping out of that child's eyes it was that had in that +moment daunted me, and made me tremble to think of being found there, +and of the vile thing it would be to have her name coupled with mine. +That thought lent me strength. I cast my weariness from me as though it +were a garment, and, straightening myself, I stepped of a sudden to the +window. Without a word, I made shift to draw back the curtain when her +hand, falling on my sodden sleeve, arrested me. + +“What will you do, monsieur?” she cried in alarm. “You may be seen.” + +My mind was now possessed by the thing I should have thought of before. +I climbed to her balcony, and my one resolve was to get me thence as +quickly as might be. + +“I had not the right to enter here,” I muttered. “I--” I stopped short; +to explain would only be to sully, and so, “Good-night! Adieu!” I ended +brusquely. + +“But, monsieur--” she began. + +“Let me go,” I commanded almost roughly, as I shook my arm free of her +grasp. + +“Bethink you that you are exhausted. If you go forth now, monsieur, you +will assuredly be taken. You must not go.” + +I laughed softly, and with some bitterness, too, for I was angry with +myself. + +“Hush, child,” I said. “Better so, if it is to be.” + +And with that I drew aside the curtains and pushed the leaves of the +window apart. She remained standing in the room, watching me, her face +pale, and hex eyes pained and puzzled. + +One last glance I gave her as I bestrode the rail of her balcony. Then +I lowered myself as I had ascended. I was hanging by my hands, seeking +with my foot for the coping of the window beneath me, when, suddenly, +there came a buzzing in my ears. I had a fleeting vision of a white +figure leaning on the balcony above me; then a veil seemed drawn over +my eyes; there came a sense of falling; a rush as of a tempestuous wind; +then--nothing. + + + + +CHAPTER V. THE VICOMTE DE LAVEDAN + + +When next I awakened, it was to find myself abed in an elegant +apartment, spacious and sunlit, that was utterly strange to me. For some +seconds I was content to lie and take no count of my whereabouts. My +eyes travelled idly over the handsome furnishings of that choicely +appointed chamber, and rested at last upon the lean, crooked figure of +a man whose back was towards me and who was busy with some phials at a +table not far distant. Then recollection awakened also in me, and I set +my wits to work to grapple with my surroundings. I looked through the +open window, but from my position on the bed no more was visible than +the blue sky and a faint haze of distant hills. + +I taxed my memory, and the events of yesternight recurred to me. I +remembered the girl, the balcony, and my flight ending in my giddiness +and my fall. Had they brought me into that same chateau, or--Or what? No +other possibility came to suggest itself, and, seeing scant need to tax +my brains with speculation, since there was one there of whom I might +ask the question-- + +“Hola, my master!” I called to him, and as I did so I essayed to move. +The act wrung a sharp cry of pain from me. My left shoulder was numb +and sore, but in my right foot that sudden movement had roused a sharper +pang. + +At my cry that little wizened old man swung suddenly round. He had the +face of a bird of prey, yellow as a louis d'or with a great hooked nose, +and a pair of beady black eyes that observed me solemnly. The mouth +alone was the redeeming feature in a countenance that had otherwise +been evil; it was instinct with good-humour. But I had small leisure +to observe him then, for simultaneously with his turning there had +been another movement at my bedside, which drew my eyes elsewhere. A +gentleman, richly dressed, and of an imposing height, approached me. + +“You are awake, monsieur?” he said in a half interrogative tone. + +“Will you do me the favour to tell me where I am, monsieur?” quoth I. + +“You do not know? You are at Lavedan. I am the Vicomte de Lavedan--at +your service.” + +Although it was no more than I might have expected, yet a dull wonder +filled me, to which presently I gave expression by asking stupidly-- + +“At Lavedan? But how came I hither?” + +“How you came is more than I can tell,” he laughed. “But I'll swear the +King's dragoons were not far behind you. We found you in the courtyard +last night; in a swoon of exhaustion, wounded in the shoulder, and with +a sprained foot. It was my daughter who gave the alarm and called us +to your assistance. You were lying under her widow.” Then, seeing the +growing wonder in my eyes and misconstruing it into alarm: “Nay, have no +fear, monsieur,” he cried. “You were very well advised in coming to us. +You have fallen among friends. We are Orleanists too,--at Lavedan, for +all that I was not in the fight at Castelnaudary. That was no fault of +mine. His Grace's messenger reached me overlate, and for all that I set +out with a company of my men, I put back when I had reached Lautrec upon +hearing that already a decisive battle had been fought and that our side +had suffered a crushing defeat.” He uttered a weary sigh. + +“God help us, monsieur! Monseigneur de Richelieu is likely to have his +way with us. But let that be for the present. You are here, and you are +safe. As yet no suspicion rests on Lavedan. I was, as I have said, too +late for the fight, and so I came quietly back to save my skin, that +I might serve the Cause in whatever other way might offer still. In +sheltering you I am serving Gaston d'Orleans, and, that I may continue +so to do, I pray that suspicion may continue to ignore me. If they were +to learn of it at Toulouse or of how with money and in other ways I have +helped this rebellion--I make no doubt that my head would be the forfeit +I should be asked to pay.” + +I was aghast at the freedom of treasonable speech with which this very +debonnaire gentleman ventured to address an utter stranger. + +“But tell me, Monsieur de Lesperon,” resumed my host, “how is it with +you?” + +I started in fresh astonishment. + +“How--how do you know that I am Lesperon?” I asked. + +“Ma foi!” he laughed, “do you imagine I had spoken so unreservedly to a +man of whom I knew nothing? Think better of me, monsieur, I beseech +you. I found these letters in your pocket last night, and their +superscription gave me your identity. Your name is well known to me,” he +added. “My friend Monsieur de Marsac has often spoken of you and of your +devotion to the Cause, and it affords me no little satisfaction to be of +some service to one whom by repute I have already learned to esteem.” + +I lay back on my pillows, and I groaned. Here was a predicament! +Mistaking me for that miserable rebel I had succoured at Mirepoix, and +whose letters I bore upon me that I might restore them to some one whose +name he had failed to give me at the last moment, the Vicomte de Lavedan +had poured the damning story of his treason into my ears. + +What if I were now to enlighten him? What if I were to tell him that I +was not Lesperon--no rebel at all, in fact--but Marcel de Bardelys, the +King's favourite? That he would account me a spy I hardly thought; but +assuredly he would see that my life must be a danger to his own; he must +fear betrayal from me; and to protect himself he would be justified +in taking extreme measures. Rebels were not addicted to an excess of +niceness in their methods, and it was more likely that I should rise no +more from the luxurious bed on which his hospitality had laid me. But +even if I had exaggerated matters, and the Vicomte were not quite so +bloodthirsty as was usual with his order, even if he chose to accept my +promise that I would forget what he had said, he must nevertheless--in +view of his indiscretion--demand my instant withdrawal from Lavedan. And +what, then, of my wager with Chatellerault? + +Then, in thinking of my wager, I came to think of Roxalanne +herself--that dainty, sweet-faced child into whose chamber I had +penetrated on the previous night. And would you believe it that I--the +satiated, cynical, unbelieving Bardelys--experienced dismay at the very +thought of leaving Lavedan for no other reason than because it involved +seeing no more of that provincial damsel? + +My unwillingness to be driven from her presence determined me to stay. +I had come to Lavedan as Lesperon, a fugitive rebel. In that character +I had all but announced myself last night to Mademoiselle. In that +character I had been welcomed by her father. In that character, then, I +must remain, that I might be near her, that I might woo and win her, and +thus--though this, I swear, had now become a minor consideration with +me--make good my boast and win the wager that must otherwise involve my +ruin. + +As I lay back with closed eyes and gave myself over to pondering the +situation, I took a pleasure oddly sweet in the prospect of urging my +suit under such circumstances. Chatellerault had given me a free hand. I +was to go about the wooing of Mademoiselle de Lavedan as I chose. But +he had cast it at me in defiance that not with all my magnificence, not +with all my retinue and all my state to dazzle her, should I succeed in +melting the coldest heart in France. + +And now, behold! I had cast from me all these outward embellishments; I +came without pomp, denuded of every emblem of wealth, of every sign of +power; as a poor fugitive gentleman, I came, hunted, proscribed, and +penniless--for Lesperon's estate would assuredly suffer sequestration. +To win her thus would, by my faith, be an exploit I might take pride in, +a worthy achievement to encompass. + +And so I left things as they were, and since I offered no denial to the +identity that was thrust upon me, as Lesperon I continued to be known to +the Vicomte and to his family. + +Presently he called the old man to my bedside and I heard them talking +of my condition. + +“You think, then, Anatole,” he said in the end, “that in three or four +days Monsieur de Lesperon may be able to rise?” + +“I am assured of it,” replied the old servant. + +Whereupon, turning to me, “Be therefore of good courage, monsieur,” said +Lavedan, “for your hurt is none so grievous after all.” + +I was muttering my thanks and my assurances that I was in excellent +spirits, when we were suddenly disturbed by a rumbling noise as of +distant thunder. + +“Mort Dieu!” swore the Vicomte, a look of alarm coming into his face. +With a bent head, he stood in a listening attitude. + +“What is it?” I inquired. + +“Horsemen--on the drawbridge,” he answered shortly. “A troop, by the +sound.” + +And then, in confirmation of these words, followed a stamping and rattle +of hoofs on the flags of the courtyard below. The old servant stood +wringing his hands in helpless terror, and wailing, “Monsieur, +monsieur!” + +But the Vicomte crossed rapidly to the window and looked out. Then he +laughed with intense relief; and in a wondering voice “They are not +troopers,” he announced. “They have more the air of a company of +servants in private livery; and there is a carriage--pardieu, two +carriages!” + +At once the memory of Rodenard and my followers occurred to me, and I +thanked Heaven that I was abed where he might not see me, and that thus +he would probably be sent forth empty-handed with the news that his +master was neither arrived nor expected. + +But in that surmise I went too fast. Ganymede was of a tenacious mettle, +and of this he now afforded proof. Upon learning that naught was known +of the Marquis de Bardelys at Lavedan, my faithful henchman announced +his intention to remain there and await me, since that was, he assured +the Vicomte, my destination. + +“My first impulse,” said Lavedan, when later he came to tell me of it, +“was incontinently to order his departure. But upon considering the +matter and remembering how high in power and in the King's favour stands +that monstrous libertine Bardelys, I deemed it wiser to afford +shelter to this outrageous retinue. His steward--a flabby, insolent +creature--says that Bardelys left them last night near Mirepoix, to ride +hither, bidding them follow to-day. Curious that we should have no news +of him! That he should have fallen into the Garonne and drowned himself +were too great a good fortune to be hoped for.” + +The bitterness with which he spoke of me afforded me ample cause for +congratulation that I had resolved to accept the role of Lesperon. Yet, +remembering that my father and he had been good friends, his manner left +me nonplussed. What cause could he have for this animosity to the son? +Could it be merely my position at Court that made me seem in his rebel +eyes a natural enemy? + +“You are acquainted with this Bardelys?” I inquired, by way of drawing +him. + +“I knew his father,” he answered gruffly. “An honest, upright +gentleman.” + +“And the son,” I inquired timidly, “has he none of these virtues?” + +“I know not what virtues he may have; his vices are known to all the +world. He is a libertine, a gambler, a rake, a spendthrift. They say he +is one of the King's favourites, and that his monstrous extravagances +have earned for him the title of 'Magnificent'.” He uttered a short +laugh. “A fit servant for such a master as Louis the Just!” + +“Monsieur le Vicomte,” said I, warming in my own defence, “I swear +you do him injustice. He is extravagant, but then he is rich; he is +a libertine, but then he is young, and he has been reared among +libertines; he is a gamester, but punctiliously honourable at play. +Believe me, monsieur, I have some acquaintance with Marcel de Bardelys, +and his vices are hardly so black as is generally believed; whilst in +his favour I think the same may be said that you have just said of his +father--he is an honest, upright gentleman.” + +“And that disgraceful affair with the Duchesse de Bourgogne?” inquired +Lavedan, with the air of a man setting an unanswerable question. + +“Mon Dieu!” I cried, “will the world never forget that indiscretion? An +indiscretion of youth, no doubt much exaggerated outside Court circles.” + +The Vicomte eyed me in some astonishment for a moment. + +“Monsieur de Lesperon,” he said at length, “you appear to hold this +Bardelys in high esteem. He has a staunch supporter in you and a stout +advocate. Yet me you cannot convince.” And he shook his head solemnly. +“Even if I did not hold him to be such a man as I have pronounced him, +but were to account him a paragon of all the virtues, his coming hither +remains an act that I must resent.” + +“But why, Monsieur le Vicomte?” + +“Because I know the errand that brings him to Lavedan. He comes to woo +my daughter.” + +Had he flung a bomb into my bed he could not more effectively have +startled me. + +“It astonishes you, eh?” he laughed bitterly. “But I can assure you +that it is so. A month ago I was visited by the Comte de +Chatellerault--another of His Majesty's fine favourites. He came +unbidden; offered no reason for his coming, save that he was making a +tour of the province for his amusement. His acquaintance with me was of +the slightest, and I had no desire that it should increase; yet here +he installed himself with a couple of servants, and bade fair to take a +long stay. + +“I was surprised, but on the morrow I had an explanation. A courier, +arriving from an old friend of mine at Court, bore me a letter with the +information that Monsieur de Chatellerault was come to Lavedan at +the King's instigation to sue for my daughter's hand in marriage. The +reasons were not far to seek. The King, who loves him, would enrich him; +the easiest way is by a wealthy alliance, and Roxalanne is accounted +an heiress. In addition to that, my own power in the province is known, +whilst my defection from the Cardinalist party is feared. What better +link wherewith to attach me again to the fortunes of the Crown--for +Crown and Mitre have grown to be synonymous in this topsy-turvy +France--than to wed my daughter to one of the King's favourites? + +“But for that timely warning, God knows what mischief had been wrought. +As it was, Monsieur de Chatellerault had but seen my daughter upon two +occasions. On the very day that I received the tidings I speak of, +I sent her to Auch to the care of some relatives of her mother's. +Chatellerault remained a week. Then, growing restive, he asked when my +daughter would return. 'When you depart, monsieur,' I answered him, +and, being pressed for reasons, I dealt so frankly with him that within +twenty-four hours he was on his way back to Paris.” + +The Vicomte paused and took a turn in the apartment, whilst I pondered +his words, which were bringing me a curious revelation. Presently he +resumed. + +“And now, Chatellerault having failed in his purpose, the King chooses +a more dangerous person for the gratifying of his desires. He sends the +Marquis, Marcel de Bardelys to Lavedan on the same business. No doubt +he attributes Chatellerault's failure to clumsiness, and he has decided +this time to choose a man famed for courtly address and gifted with such +arts of dalliance that he cannot fail but enmesh my daughter in them. It +is a great compliment that he pays us in sending hither the handsomest +and most accomplished gentleman of all his Court--so fame has it--yet it +is a compliment of whose flattery I am not sensible. Bardelys goes hence +as empty-handed as went Chatellerault. Let him but show his face, and +my daughter journeys to Auch again. Am I not well advised, Monsieur de +Lesperon?” + +“Why, yes,” I answered slowly, after the manner of one who deliberates, +“if you are persuaded that your conclusions touching Bardelys are +correct.” + +“I am more than persuaded. What other business could bring him to +Lavedan?” + +It was a question that I did not attempt to answer. Haply he did not +expect me to answer it. He left me free to ponder another issue of this +same business of which my mind was become very full. Chatellerault had +not dealt fairly with me. Often, since I had left Paris, had I marvelled +that he came to be so rash as to risk his fortune upon a matter that +turned upon a woman's whim. That I possessed undeniable advantages +of person, of birth, and of wealth, Chatellerault could not have +disregarded. Yet these, and the possibility that they might suffice to +engage this lady's affections, he appeared to have set at naught when he +plunged into that rash wager. + +He must have realized that because he had failed was no reason to +presume that I must also fail. There was no consequence in such an +argument, and often, as I have said, had I marvelled during the past +days at the readiness with which Chatellerault had flung down the gage. +Now I held the explanation of it. He counted upon the Vicomte de Lavedan +to reason precisely as he was reasoning, and he was confident that no +opportunities would be afforded me of so much as seeing this beautiful +and cold Roxalanne. + +It was a wily trap he had set me, worthy only of a trickster. + +Fate, however, had taken a hand in the game, and the cards were redealt +since I had left Paris. The terms of the wager permitted me to choose +any line of action that I considered desirable; but Destiny, it seemed, +had chosen for me, and set me in a line that should at least suffice +to overcome the parental resistance--that breastwork upon which +Chatellerault had so confidently depended. + +As the rebel Rene de Lesperon I was sheltered at Lavedan and made +welcome by my fellow-rebel the Vicomte, who already seemed much taken +with me, and who had esteemed me before seeing me from the much that +Monsieur de Marsac--whoever he might be--had told him of me. As Rene de +Lesperon I must remain, and turn to best account my sojourn, praying God +meanwhile that this same Monsieur de Marsac might be pleased to refrain +from visiting Lavedan whilst I was there. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. IN CONVALESCENCE + + +Of the week that followed my coming to Lavedan I find some difficulty +in writing. It was for me a time very crowded with events--events that +appeared to be moulding my character anew and making of me a person +different, indeed, from that Marcel de Bardelys whom in Paris they +called the Magnificent. Yet these events, although significant in their +total, were of so vague and slight a nature in their detail, that when I +come to write of them I find really little that I may set down. + +Rodenard and his companions remained for two days at the chateau, and to +me his sojourn there was a source of perpetual anxiety, for I knew not +how far the fool might see fit to prolong it. It was well for me that +this anxiety of mine was shared by Monsieur de Lavedan, who disliked at +such a time the presence of men attached to one who was so notoriously +of the King's party. He came at last to consult me as to what measures +might be taken to remove them, and I--nothing loath to conspire with him +to so desirable end--bade him suggest to Rodenard that perhaps evil had +befallen Monsieur de Bardelys, and that, instead of wasting his time +at Lavedan, he were better advised to be searching the province for his +master. + +This counsel the Vicomte adopted, and with such excellent results that +that very day--within the hour, in fact--Ganymede, aroused to a sense +of his proper duty, set out in quest of me, not a little disturbed in +mind--for with all his shortcomings the rascal loved me very faithfully. + +That was on the third day of my sojourn at Lavedan. On the morrow I +rose, my foot being sufficiently recovered to permit it. I felt a little +weak from loss of blood, but Anatole--who, for all his evil countenance, +was a kindly and gentle--servant was confident that a few days--a week +at most--would see me completely restored. + +Of leaving Lavedan I said nothing. But the Vicomte, who was one of +the most generous and noble hearted men that it has ever been my good +fortune to meet, forestalled any mention of my departure by urging that +I should remain at the chateau until my recovery were completed, and, +for that matter, as long thereafter as should suit my inclinations. + +“At Lavedan you will be safe, my friend,” he assured me; “for, as I have +told you, we are under no suspicion. Let me urge you to remain until the +King shall have desisted from further persecuting us.” + +And when I protested and spoke of trespassing, he waived the point with +a brusqueness that amounted almost to anger. + +“Believe, monsieur, that I am pleased and honoured at serving one who +has so stoutly served the Cause and sacrificed so much to it.” + +At that, being not altogether dead to shame, I winced, and told myself +that my behaviour was unworthy, and that I was practising a detestable +deception. Yet some indulgence I may justly claim in consideration +of how far I was victim of circumstance. Did I tell him that I was +Bardelys, I was convinced that I should never leave the chateau alive. +Very noble-hearted was the Vicomte, and no man have I known more averse +to bloodthirstiness, but he had told me much during the days that I had +lain abed, and many lives would be jeopardized did I proclaim what I had +learned from him. Hence I argued that any disclosure of my identity must +perforce drive him to extreme measures for the sake of the friends he +had unwittingly betrayed. + +On the day after Rodenard's departure I dined with the family, and met +again Mademoiselle de Lavedan, whom I had not seen since the balcony +adventure of some nights ago. The Vicomtesse was also present, a lady +of very austere and noble appearance--lean as a pike and with a most +formidable nose--but, as I was soon to discover, with a mind inclining +overmuch to scandal and the high-seasoned talk of the Courts in which +her girlhood had been spent. + +From her lips I heard that day the old, scandalous story of Monseigneur +de Richelieu's early passion for Anne of Austria. With much unction did +she tell us how the Queen had lured His Eminence to dress himself in the +motley of a jester that she might make a mock of him in the eyes of the +courtiers she had concealed behind the arras of her chamber. + +This anecdote she gave us with much wealth of discreditable detail and +scant regard for either her daughter's presence or for the blushes that +suffused the poor child's cheeks. In every way she was a pattern of the +class of women amongst whom my youth had been spent, a class which had +done so much towards shattering my faith and lowering my estimate of her +sex. Lavedan had married her and brought her into Languedoc, and here +she spent her years lamenting the scenes of her youth, and prone, it +would seem, to make them matter for conversation whenever a newcomer +chanced to present himself at the chateau. + +Looking from her to her daughter, I thanked Heaven that Roxalanne was no +reproduction of the mother. She had inherited as little of her character +as of her appearance. Both in feature and in soul Mademoiselle de +Lavedan was a copy of that noble, gallant gentleman, her father. + +One other was present at that meal, of whom I shall have more to say +hereafter. This was a young man of good presence, save, perhaps, a too +obtrusive foppishness, whom Monsieur de Lavedan presented to me as a +distant kinsman of theirs, one Chevalier de Saint-Eustache. He was +very tall--of fully my own height--and of an excellent shape, although +extremely young. But his head if anything was too small for his body, +and his good-natured mouth was of a weakness that was confirmed by the +significance of his chin, whilst his eyes were too closely set to augur +frankness. + +He was a pleasant fellow, seemingly of that negative pleasantness +that lies in inoffensiveness, but otherwise dull and of an untutored +mind--rustic, as might be expected in one the greater part of whose life +had been spent in his native province, and of a rusticity rendered all +the more flagrant by the very efforts he exerted to dissemble it. + +It was after madame had related that unsavoury anecdote touching the +Cardinal that he turned to ask me whether I was well acquainted with the +Court. I was near to committing the egregious blunder of laughing in his +face, but, recollecting myself betimes, I answered vaguely that I had +some knowledge of it, whereupon he all but caused me to bound from my +chair by asking me had I ever met the Magnificent Bardelys. + +“I--I am acquainted with him,” I answered warily. “Why do you ask?” + +“I was reminded of him by the fact that his servants have been here for +two days. You were expecting the Marquis himself, were you not, Monsieur +le Vicomte?” + +Lavedan raised his head suddenly, after the manner of a man who has +received an affront. + +“I was not, Chevalier,” he answered, with emphasis. “His intendant, an +insolent knave of the name of Rodenard, informed me that this Bardelys +projected visiting me. He has not come, and I devoutly hope that he may +not come. Trouble enough had I to rid myself of his servants, and but +for Monsieur de Lesperon's well-conceived suggestion they might still be +here.” + +“You have never met him, monsieur?” inquired the Chevalier. + +“Never,” replied our host in such a way that any but a fool must have +understood that he desired nothing less than such a meeting. + +“A delightful fellow,” murmured Saint-Eustache--“a brilliant, dazzling +personality.” + +“You--you are acquainted with him?” I asked. + +“Acquainted?” echoed that boastful liar. “We were as brothers.” + +“How you interest me! And why have you never told us?” quoth madame, her +eyes turned enviously upon the young man--as enviously as were Lavedan's +turned in disgust. “It is a thousand pities that Monsieur de Bardelys +has altered his plans and is no longer coming to us. To meet such a man +is to breathe again the air of the grand monde. You remember, Monsieur +de Lesperon, that affair with the Duchess de Bourgogne?” And she smiled +wickedly in my direction. + +“I have some recollection of it,” I answered coldly. “But I think +that rumour exaggerates. When tongues wag, a little rivulet is often +described as a mountain torrent.” + +“You would not say so did you but know what I know,” she informed me +roguishly. “Often, I confess, rumour may swell the importance of such an +affaire, but in this case I do not think that rumour does it justice.” + +I made a deprecatory gesture, and I would have had the subject changed, +but ere I could make an effort to that end, the fool Saint-Eustache was +babbling again. + +“You remember the duel that was fought in consequence, Monsieur de +Lesperon?” + +“Yes,” I assented wearily. + +“And in which a poor young fellow lost his life,” growled the Vicomte. +“It was practically a murder.” + +“Nay, monsieur,” I cried, with a sudden heat that set them staring at +me; “there you do him wrong. Monsieur de Bardelys was opposed to the +best blade in France. The man's reputation as a swordsman was of such +a quality that for a twelvemonth he had been living upon it, doing all +manner of unseemly things immune from punishment by the fear in which +he was universally held. His behaviour in the unfortunate affair we +are discussing was of a particularly shameful character. Oh, I know the +details, messieurs, I can sure you. He thought to impose his reputation +upon Bardelys as he had imposed it upon a hundred others, but Bardelys +was over-tough for his teeth. He sent that notorious young gentleman +a challenge, and on the following morning he left him dead in the +horsemarket behind the Hotel Vendome. But far from a murder, monsieur, +it was an act of justice, and the most richly earned punishment with +which ever man was visited.” + +“Even if so,” cried the Vicomte in some surprise, “why all this heat to +defend a brawler?” + +“A brawler?” I repeated after him. “Oh, no. That is a charge his worst +enemies cannot make against Bardelys. He is no brawler. The duel in +question was his first affair of the kind, and it has been his last, +for unto him has clung the reputation that had belonged until then to La +Vertoile, and there is none in France bold enough to send a challenge +to him.” And, seeing what surprise I was provoking, I thought it well to +involve another with me in his defence. So, turning to the Chevalier, +“I am sure,” said I, “that Monsieur de Saint-Eustache will confirm my +words.” + +Thereupon, his vanity being all aroused, the Chevalier set himself +to paraphrase all that I had said with a heat that cast mine into a +miserable insignificance. + +“At least,” laughed the Vicomte at length, “he lacks not for champions. +For my own part, I am content to pray Heaven that he come not to +Lavedan, as he intended.” + +“Mais voyons, Gaston,” the Vicomtesse protested, “why harbour prejudice? +Wait at least until you have seen him, that you may judge him for +yourself.” + +“Already have I judged him; I pray that I may never see him.” + +“They tell me he is a very handsome man,” said she, appealing to me +for confirmation. Lavedan shot her a sudden glance of alarm, at which I +could have laughed. Hitherto his sole concern had been his daughter, but +it suddenly occurred to him that perhaps not even her years might set +the Vicomtesse in safety from imprudences with this devourer of hearts, +should he still chance to come that way. + +“Madame,” I answered, “he is accounted not ill-favored.” And with a +deprecatory smile I added, “I am said somewhat to resemble him.” + +“Say you so?” she exclaimed, raising her eyebrows, and looking at me +more closely than hitherto. And then it seemed to me that into her +face crept a shade of disappointment. If this Bardelys were not more +beautiful than I, then he was not nearly so beautiful a man as she had +imagined. She turned to Saint-Eustache. + +“It is indeed so, Chevalier?” she inquired. “Do you note the +resemblance?” + +“Vanitas, vanitate,” murmured the youth, who had some scraps of Latin +and a taste for airing them. “I can see no likeness--no trace of one. +Monsieur de Lesperon is well enough, I should say. But Bardelys!” He +cast his eyes to the ceiling. “There is but one Bardelys in France.” + +“Enfin,” I laughed, “you are no doubt well qualified to judge, +Chevalier. I had flattered myself that some likeness did exist, but +probably you have seen the Marquis more frequently than have I, and +probably you know him better. Nevertheless, should he come his way, +I will ask you to look at us side by side and be the judge of the +resemblance.” + +“Should I happen to be here,” he said, with a sudden constraint not +difficult to understand, “I shall be happy to act as arbiter.” + +“Should you happen to be here?” I echoed questioningly. “But surely, +should you hear that Monsieur de Bardelys is about to arrive, you will +postpone any departure you may be on the point of making, so that you +may renew this great friendship that you tell us you do the Marquis the +honour of entertaining for him?” + +The Chevalier eyed me with the air of a man looking down from a great +height upon another. The Vicomte smiled quietly to himself as he combed +his fair beard with his forefinger in a meditative fashion, whilst even +Roxalanne--who had sat silently listening to a conversation that she +was at times mercifully spared from following too minutely--flashed me a +humorous glance. To the Vicomtesse alone who in common with women of +her type was of a singular obtuseness--was the situation without +significance. + +Saint-Eustache, to defend himself against my delicate imputation, and +to show how well acquainted he was with Bardelys, plunged at once into +a thousand details of that gentleman's magnificence. He described his +suppers, his retinue, his equipages, his houses, his chateaux, his +favour with the King, his successes with the fair sex, and I know not +what besides--in all of which I confess that even to me there was a +certain degree of novelty. Roxalanne listened with an air of amusement +that showed how well she read him. Later, when I found myself alone +with her by the river, whither we had gone after the repast and +the Chevalier's reminiscences were at an end, she reverted to that +conversation. + +“Is not my cousin a great fanfarron, monsieur,” she asked. + +“Surely you know your cousin better than I,” I answered cautiously. “Why +question me upon his character?” + +“I was hardly questioning; I was commenting. He spent a fortnight in +Paris once, and he accounts himself, or would have us account him, +intimate with every courtier at the Luxembourg. Oh, he is very amusing, +this good cousin, but tiresome too.” She laughed, and there was the +faintest note of scorn in her amusement. “Now, touching this Marquis de +Bardelys, it is very plain that the Chevalier boasted when he said that +they were as brothers--he and the Marquis--is it not? He grew ill at +ease when you reminded him of the possibility of the Marquis's visit to +Lavedan.” And she laughed quaintly to herself. “Do you think that he so +much as knows Bardelys?” she asked me suddenly. + +“Not so much as by sight,” I answered. “He is full of information +concerning that unworthy gentleman, but it is only information that the +meanest scullion in Paris might afford you, and just as inaccurate.” + +“Why do you speak of him as unworthy? Are you of the same opinion as my +father?” + +“Aye, and with better cause.” + +“You know him well?” + +“Know him? Pardieu, he is my worst enemy. A worn-out libertine; a +sneering, cynical misogynist; a nauseated reveller; a hateful egotist. +There is no more unworthy person, I'll swear, in all France. Peste! The +very memory of the fellow makes me sick. Let us talk of other things.” + +But although I urged it with the best will and the best intentions in +the world, I was not to have my way. The air became suddenly heavy with +the scent of musk, and the Chevalier de Saint-Eustache stood before us, +and forced the conversation once more upon the odious topic of Monsieur +de Bardelys. + +The poor fool came with a plan of campaign carefully considered, bent +now upon overthrowing me with the knowledge he would exhibit, and +whereby he looked to encompass my humiliation before his cousin. + +“Speaking of Bardelys, Monsieur de Lesperon--” + +“My dear Chevalier, we were no longer speaking of him.” + +He smiled darkly. “Let us speak of him, then.” + +“But are there not a thousand more interesting things that we might +speak of?” + +This he took for a fresh sign of fear, and so he pressed what he +accounted his advantage. + +“Yet have patience; there is a point on which perhaps you can give me +some information.” + +“Impossible,” said I. + +“Are you acquainted with the Duchesse de Bourgogne?” + +“I was,” I answered casually, and as casually I added, “Are you?” + +“Excellently well,” he replied unhesitatingly. “I was in Paris at the +time of the scandal with Bardelys.” + +I looked up quickly. + +“Was it then that you met her?” I inquired in an idle sort of way. + +“Yes. I was in the confidence of Bardelys, and one night after we +had supped at his hotel--one of those suppers graced by every wit in +Paris--he asked me if I were minded to accompany him to the Louvre. We +went. A masque was in progress.” + +“Ah,” said I, after the manner of one who suddenly takes in the entire +situation; “and it was at this masque that you met the Duchesse?” + +“You have guessed it. Ah, monsieur, if I were to tell you of the things +that I witnessed that night, they would amaze you,” said he, with a +great air and a casual glance at Mademoiselle to see into what depth of +wonder these glimpses into his wicked past were plunging her. + +“I doubt it not,” said I, thinking that if his imagination were as +fertile in that connection as it had been in mine he was likely, indeed, +to have some amazing things to tell. “But do I understand you to say +that that was the time of the scandal you have touched upon?” + +“The scandal burst three days after that masque. It came as a surprise +to most people. As for me--from what Bardelys had told me--I expected +nothing less.” + +“Pardon, Chevalier, but how old do you happen to be?” + +“A curious question that,” said he, knitting his brows. + +“Perhaps. But will you not answer it?” + +“I am twenty-one,” said he. “What of it?” + +“You are twenty, mon cousin,” Roxalanne corrected him. + +He looked at her a second with an injured air. + +“Why, true--twenty! That is so,” he acquiesced; and again, “what of it?” + he demanded. + +“What of it, monsieur?” I echoed. “Will you forgive me if I express +amazement at your precocity, and congratulate you upon it?” + +His brows went if possible closer together and his face grew very red. +He knew that somewhere a pitfall awaited him, yet hardly where. + +“I do not understand you.” + +“Bethink you, Chevalier. Ten years have flown since this scandal you +refer to. So that at the time of your supping with Bardelys and the wits +of Paris, at the time of his making a confidant of you and carrying you +off to a masque at the Louvre, at the time of his presenting you to the +Duchesse de Bourgogne, you were just ten years of age. I never had cause +to think over-well of Bardelys, but had you not told me yourself, I +should have hesitated to believe him so vile a despoiler of innocence, +such a perverter of youth.” + +He crimsoned to the very roots of his hair. + +Roxalanne broke into a laugh. “My cousin, my cousin,” she cried, “they +that would become masters should begin early, is it not so?” + +“Monsieur de Lesperon,” said he, in a very formal voice, “do you wish me +to apprehend that you have put me through this catechism for the purpose +of casting a doubt upon what I have said?” + +“But have I done that? Have I cast a doubt?” I asked, with the utmost +meekness. + +“So I apprehend.” + +“Then you apprehend amiss. Your words, I assure you, admit of no doubt +whatever. And now, monsieur, if you will have mercy upon me, we will +talk of other things. I am so weary of this unfortunate Bardelys and his +affairs. He may be the fashion of Paris and at Court, but down here his +very name befouls the air. Mademoiselle,” I said, turning to Roxalanne, +“you promised me a lesson in the lore of flowers.” + +“Come, then,” said she, and, being an exceedingly wise child, she +plunged straightway into the history of the shrubs about us. + +Thus did we avert a storm that for a moment was very imminent. Yet some +mischief was done, and some good, too, perhaps. For if I made an enemy +of the Chevalier de Saint-Eustache by humbling him in the eyes of the +one woman before whom he sought to shine, I established a bond 'twixt +Roxalanne and myself by that same humiliation of a foolish coxcomb, +whose boastfulness had long wearied her. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. THE HOSTILITY OF SAINT-EUSTACHE + + +In the days that followed I saw much of the Chevalier de Saint-Eustache. +He was a very constant visitor at Lavedan, and the reason of it was not +far to seek. For my own part, I disliked him--I had done so from +the moment when first I had set eyes on him--and since hatred, like +affection, is often a matter of reciprocity, the Chevalier was not slow +to return my dislike. Our manner gradually, by almost imperceptible +stages, grew more distant, until by the end of a week it had become so +hostile that Lavedan found occasion to comment upon it. + +“Beware of Saint-Eustache,” he warned me. “You are becoming very +manifestly distasteful to each other, and I would urge you to have a +care. I don't trust him. His attachment to our Cause is of a lukewarm +character, and he gives me uneasiness, for he may do much harm if he +is so inclined. It is on this account that I tolerate his presence at +Lavedan. Frankly, I fear him, and I would counsel you to do no less. The +man is a liar, even if but a boastful liar and liars are never long out +of mischief.” + +The wisdom of the words was unquestionable, but the advice in them was +not easily followed, particularly by one whose position was so peculiar +as my own. In a way I had little cause to fear the harm the Chevalier +might do me, but I was impelled to consider the harm that at the same +time he might do the Vicomte. + +Despite our growing enmity, the Chevalier and I were very frequently +thrown together. The reason for this was, of course, that wherever +Roxalanne was to be found there, generally, were we both to be found +also. Yet had I advantages that must have gone to swell a rancour based +as much upon jealousy as any other sentiment, for whilst he was but a +daily visitor at Lavedan, I was established there indefinitely. + +Of the use that I made of that time I find it difficult to speak. From +the first moment that I had beheld Roxalanne I had realized the truth of +Chatellerault's assertion that I had never known a woman. He was right. +Those that I had met and by whom I had judged the sex had, by contrast +with this child, little claim to the title. Virtue I had accounted a +shadow without substance; innocence, a synonym for ignorance; love, a +fable, a fairy tale for the delectation of overgrown children. + +In the company of Roxalanne de Lavedan all those old, cynical beliefs, +built up upon a youth of undesirable experiences, were shattered and +the error of them exposed. Swiftly was I becoming a convert to the faith +which so long I had sneered at, and as lovesick as any unfledged youth +in his first amour. + +Damn! It was something for a man who had lived as I had lived to have +his pulses quicken and his colour change at a maid's approach; to find +himself colouring under her smile and paling under her disdain; to have +his mind running on rhymes, and his soul so enslaved that, if she is not +to be won, chagrin will dislodge it from his body. + +Here was a fine mood for a man who had entered upon his business +by pledging himself to win and wed this girl in cold and supreme +indifference to her personality. And that pledge, how I cursed it during +those days at Lavedan! How I cursed Chatellerault, cunning, subtle +trickster that he was! How I cursed myself for my lack of chivalry and +honour in having been lured so easily into so damnable a business! For +when the memory of that wager rose before me it brought despair in its +train. Had I found Roxalanne the sort of woman that I had looked to +find--the only sort that I had ever known--then matters had been easy. +I had set myself in cold blood, and by such wiles as I knew, to win such +affection as might be hers to bestow; and I would have married her in +much the same spirit as a man performs any other of the necessary acts +of his lifetime and station. I would have told her that I was Bardelys, +and to the woman that I had expected to find there had been no +difficulty in making the confession. But to Roxalanne! Had there been +no wager, I might have confessed my identity. As it was, I found it +impossible to avow the one without the other. For the sweet innocence +that invested her gentle, trusting soul must have given pause to any +but the most abandoned of men before committing a vileness in connection +with her. + +We were much together during that week, and just as day by day, hour by +hour, my passion grew and grew until it absorbed me utterly, so, too, +did it seem to me that it awakened in her a responsive note. There was +an odd light at times in her soft eyes; I came upon her more than once +with snatches of love-songs on her lips, and when she smiled upon +me there was a sweet tenderness in her smile, which, had things been +different, would have gladdened my soul beyond all else; but which, +things being as they were, was rather wont to heighten my despair. I +was no coxcomb; I had had experiences, and I knew these signs. But +something, too, I guessed of the heart of such a one as Roxalanne. To +the full I realized the pain and shame I should inflict upon her when +my confession came; I realized, too, how the love of this dear child, +so honourable and high of mind, must turn to contempt and scorn when +I plucked away my mask, and let her see how poor a countenance I wore +beneath. + +And yet I drifted with the tide of things. It was my habit so to drift, +and the habit of a lifetime is not to be set at naught in a day by a +resolve, however firm. A score of times was I reminded that an evil is +but increased by being ignored. A score of times confession trembled +on my lips, and I burned to tell her everything from its inception--the +environment that had erstwhile warped me, the honesty by which I was now +inspired--and so cast myself upon the mercy of her belief. + +She might accept my story, and, attaching credit to it, forgive me the +deception I had practised, and recognize the great truth that must ring +out in the avowal of my love. But, on the other hand, she might not +accept it; she might deem my confession a shrewd part of my scheme, and +the dread of that kept me silent day by day. + +Fully did I see how with every hour that sped confession became more +and more difficult. The sooner the thing were done, the greater the +likelihood of my being believed; the later I left it, the more probable +was it that I should be discredited. Alas! Bardelys, it seemed, had +added cowardice to his other short-comings. + +As for the coldness of Roxalanne, that was a pretty fable of +Chatellerault's; or else no more than an assumption, an invention of +the imaginative La Fosse. Far, indeed, from it, I found no arrogance +or coldness in her. All unversed in the artifices of her sex, all +unacquainted with the wiles of coquetry, she was the very incarnation +of naturalness and maidenly simplicity. To the tales that--with many +expurgations--I told her of Court life, to the pictures that I drew +of Paris, the Luxembourg, the Louvre, the Palais Cardinal, and the +courtiers that thronged those historic palaces, she listened avidly and +enthralled; and much as Othello won the heart of Desdemona by a recital +of the perils he had endured, so it seemed to me was I winning the heart +of Roxalanne by telling her of the things that I had seen. + +Once or twice she expressed wonder at the depth and intimacy of the +knowledge of such matters exhibited by a simple Gascon gentleman, +whereupon I would urge, in explanation, the appointment in the Guards +that Lesperon had held some few years ago, a position that will reveal +much to an observant man. + +The Vicomte noted our growing intimacy, yet set no restraint upon it. +Down in his heart I believe that noble gentleman would have been +well pleased had matters gone to extremes between us, for however +impoverished he might deem me; Lesperon's estates in Gascony being, as +I have said, likely to suffer sequestration in view of his treason--he +remembered the causes of this and the deep devotion of the man I +impersonated to the affairs of Gaston d'Orleans. + +Again, he feared the very obvious courtship of the Chevalier de +Saint-Eustache, and he would have welcomed a turn of events that would +effectually have frustrated it. That he did not himself interfere so +far as the Chevalier's wooing was concerned, I could but set down to the +mistrust of Saint-Eustache--amounting almost to fear--of which he had +spoken. + +As for the Vicomtesse, the same causes that had won me some of the +daughter's regard gained me also no little of the mother's. + +She had been attached to the Chevalier until my coming. But what did the +Chevalier know of the great world compared with what I could tell? Her +love of scandal drew her to me with inquiries upon this person and that +person, many of them but names to her. + +My knowledge and wealth of detail--for all that I curbed it lest I +should seem to know too much--delighted her prurient soul. Had she been +more motherly, this same knowledge that I exhibited should have made her +ponder what manner of life I had led, and should have inspired her +to account me no fit companion for her daughter. But a selfish woman, +little inclined to be plagued by the concerns of another--even when that +other was her daughter--she left things to the destructive course that +they were shaping. + +And so everything--if we except perhaps the Chevalier de +Saint-Eustache--conspired to the advancement of my suit, in a manner +that must have made Chatellerault grind his teeth in rage if he could +have witnessed it, but which made me grind mine in despair when I +pondered the situation in detail. + +One evening--I had been ten days at the chateau--we went a half-league +or so up the Garonne in a boat, she and I. As we were returning, +drifting with the stream, the oars idle in my hand, I spoke of leaving +Lavedan. + +She looked up quickly; her expression was almost of alarm, and her eyes +dilated as they met mine--for, as I have said, she was all unversed in +the ways of her sex, and by nature too guileless to attempt to disguise +her feelings or dissemble them. + +“But why must you go so soon?” she asked. “You are safe at Lavedan, and +abroad you may be in danger. It was but two days ago that they took +a poor young gentleman of these parts at Pau; so that you see the +persecution is not yet ended. Are you”--and her voice trembled ever so +slightly--“are you weary of us, monsieur?” + +I shook my head at that, and smiled wistfully. + +“Weary?” I echoed. “Surely, mademoiselle, you do not think it? Surely +your heart must tell you something very different?” + +She dropped her eyes before the passion of my gaze. And when presently +she answered me, there was no guile in her words; there were the +dictates of the intuitions of her sex, and nothing more. + +“But it is possible, monsieur. You are accustomed to the great world--” + +“The great world of Lesperon, in Gascony?” I interrupted. + +“No, no; the great world you have inhabited at Paris and elsewhere. +I can understand that at Lavedan you should find little of interest, +and--and that your inactivity should render you impatient to be gone.” + +“If there were so little to interest me then it might be as you say. +But, oh, mademoiselle--” I ceased abruptly. Fool! I had almost fallen a +prey to the seductions that the time afforded me. The balmy, languorous +eventide, the broad, smooth river down which we glided, the foliage, +the shadows on the water, her presence, and our isolation amid such +surroundings, had almost blotted out the matter of the wager and of my +duplicity. + +She laughed a little nervous laugh, and--maybe to ease the tension +that my sudden silence had begotten--“You see,” she said, “how your +imagination deserts you when you seek to draw upon it for proof of what +you protest. You were about to tell me of--of the interests that hold +you at Lavedan, and when you come to ponder them, you find that you +can think of nothing. Is it--is it not so?” She put the question very +timidly, as if half afraid of the answer she might provoke. + +“No; it is not so,” I said. + +I paused a moment, and in that moment I wrestled with myself. Confession +and avowal--confession of what I had undertaken, and avowal of the love +that had so unexpectedly come to me--trembled upon my lips, to be driven +shuddering away in fear. + +Have I not said that this Bardelys was become a coward? Then my +cowardice suggested a course to me--flight. I would leave Lavedan. I +would return to Paris and to Chatellerault, owning defeat and paying my +wager. It was the only course open to me. My honour, so tardily aroused, +demanded no less. Yet, not so much because of that as because it was +suddenly revealed to me as the easier course, did I determine to pursue +it. What thereafter might become of me I did not know, nor in that hour +of my heart's agony did it seem to matter overmuch. + +“There is much, mademoiselle, much, indeed, to hold me firmly at +Lavedan,” I pursued at last. “But my--my obligations demand of me that I +depart.” + +“You mean the Cause,” she cried. “But, believe me, you can do nothing. +To sacrifice yourself cannot profit it. Infinitely better you can serve +the Duke by waiting until the time is ripe for another blow. And how +can you better preserve your life than by remaining at Lavedan until the +persecutions are at an end?” + +“I was not thinking of the Cause, mademoiselle, but of myself alone--of +my own personal honour. I would that I could explain; but I am afraid,” + I ended lamely. + +“Afraid?” she echoed, now raising her eyes in wonder. + +“Aye, afraid. Afraid of your contempt, of your scorn.” + +The wonder in her glance increased and asked a question that I could not +answer. I stretched forward, and caught one of the hands lying idle in +her lap. + +“Roxalanne,” I murmured very gently, and my tone, my touch, and the use +of her name drove her eyes for refuge behind their lids again. A flush +spread upon the ivory pallor of her face, to fade as swiftly, leaving it +very white. Her bosom rose and fell in agitation, and the little hand I +held trembled in my grasp. There was a moment's silence. Not that I +had need to think or choose my words. But there was a lump in my +throat--aye, I take no shame in confessing it, for this was the first +time that a good and true emotion had been vouchsafed me since the +Duchesse de Bourgogne had shattered my illusions ten years ago. + +“Roxalanne,” I resumed presently, when I was more master of myself, “we +have been good friends, you and I, since that night when I climbed for +shelter to your chamber, have we not?” + +“But yes, monsieur,” she faltered. + +“Ten days ago it is. Think of it--no more than ten days. And it seems as +if I had been months at Lavedan, so well have we become acquainted. +In these ten days we have formed opinions of each other. But with this +difference, that whilst mine are right, yours are wrong. I have come to +know you for the sweetest, gentlest saint in all this world. Would to +God I had known you earlier! It might have been very different; I might +have been--I would have been--different, and I would not have done +what I have done. You have come to know me for an unfortunate but honest +gentleman. Such am I not. I am under false colours here, mademoiselle. +Unfortunate I may be--at least, of late I seem to have become so. Honest +I am not--I have not been. There, child, I can tell you no more. I +am too great a coward. But when later you shall come to hear the +truth--when, after I am gone, they may tell you a strange story touching +this fellow Lesperon who sought the hospitality of your father's +house--bethink you of my restraint in this hour; bethink you of my +departure. You will understand these things perhaps afterwards. But +bethink you of them, and you will unriddle them for yourself, perhaps. +Be merciful upon me then; judge me not over-harshly.” + +I paused, and for a moment we were silent. Then suddenly she looked up; +her fingers tightened upon mine. + +“Monsieur de Lesperon,” she pleaded, “of what do speak? You are +torturing me, monsieur.” + +“Look in my face, Roxalanne. Can you see nothing there of how I am +torturing myself?” + +“Then tell me, monsieur,” she begged, her voice a very caress of +suppliant softness,--“tell me what vexes you and sets a curb upon +your tongue. You exaggerate, I am assured. You could do nothing +dishonourable, nothing vile.” + +“Child,” I cried, “I thank God that you are right! I cannot do what is +dishonourable, and I will not, for all that a month ago I pledged myself +to do it!” + +A sudden horror, a doubt, a suspicion flashed into her glance. + +“You--you do not mean that you are a spy?” she asked; and from my heart +a prayer of thanks went up to Heaven that this at least it was mine +frankly to deny. + +“No, no--not that. I am no spy.” + +Her face cleared again, and she sighed. + +“It is, I think, the only thing I could not forgive. Since it is not +that, will you not tell me what it is?” + +For a moment the temptation to confess, to tell her everything, was +again upon me. But the futility of it appalled me. + +“Don't ask me,” I besought her; “you will learn it soon enough.” For +I was confident that once my wager was paid, the news of it and of the +ruin of Bardelys would spread across the face of France like a ripple +over water. Presently-- + +“Forgive me for having come into your life, Roxalanne!” I implored her, +and then I sighed again. “Helas! Had I but known you earlier! I did not +dream such women lived in this worn-out France.” + +“I will not pry, monsieur, since your resolve appears to be so firm. But +if--if after I have heard this thing you speak of,” she said presently, +speaking with averted eyes, “and if, having heard it, I judge you more +mercifully than you judge yourself, and I send for you, will you--will +you come back to Lavedan?” + +My heart gave a great bound--a great, a sudden throb of hope. But as +sudden and as great was the rebound into despair. + +“You will not send for me, be assured of that,” I said with finality; +and we spoke no more. + +I took the oars and plied them vigorously. I was in haste to end the +situation. Tomorrow I must think of my departure, and, as I rowed, I +pondered the words that had passed between us. Not one word of love +had there been, and yet, in the very omission of it, avowal had lain on +either side. A strange wooing had been mine--a wooing that precluded the +possibility of winning, and yet a wooing that had won. Aye, it had won; +but it might not take. I made fine distinctions and quaint paradoxes as +I tugged at my oars, for the human mind is a curiously complex thing, +and with some of us there is no such spur to humour as the sting of +pain. + +Roxalanne sat white and very thoughtful, but with veiled eyes, so that I +might guess nothing of what passed within her mind. + +At last we reached the chateau, and as I brought the boat to the terrace +steps, it was Saint-Eustache who came forward to offer his wrist to +Mademoiselle. + +He noted the pallor of her face, and darted me a quick, suspicion-laden +glance. As we were walking towards the chateau-- + +“Monsieur de Lesperon,” said he in a curious tone, “do you know that a +rumour of your death is current in the province?” + +“I had hoped that such a rumour might get abroad when I disappeared,” I +answered calmly. + +“And you have taken no single step to contradict it?” + +“Why should I, since in that rumour may be said to lie my safety?” + +“Nevertheless, monsieur, voyons. Surely you might at least relieve the +anxieties the affliction, I might almost say--of those who are mourning +you.” + +“Ah!” said I. “And who may these be?” + +He shrugged his shoulders and pursed his lips in a curiously deprecatory +smile. With a sidelong glance at Mademoiselle-- + +“Do you need that I name Mademoiselle de Marsac?” he sneered. + +I stood still, my wits busily working, my face impassive under his +scrutinizing glance. In a flash it came to me that this must be the +writer of some of the letters Lesperon had given me, the original of the +miniature I carried. + +As I was silent, I grew suddenly conscious of another pair of eyes +observing me, Mademoiselle's. She remembered what I had said, she may +have remembered how I had cried out the wish that I had met her earlier, +and she may not have been slow to find an interpretation for my words. I +could have groaned in my rage at such a misinterpretation. I could have +taken the Chevalier round to the other side of the chateau and killed +him with the greatest relish in the world. But I restrained myself, I +resigned myself to be misunderstood. What choice had I? + +“Monsieur de Saint-Eustache,” said I very coldly, and looking him +straight between his close-set eyes, “I have permitted you many +liberties, but there is one that I cannot permit any one--and, much as I +honour you, I can make no exception in your favour. That is to interfere +in my concerns and presume to dictate to me the manner in which I shall +conduct them. Be good enough to bear that in your memory.” + +In a moment he was all servility. The sneer passed out of his face, the +arrogance out of his demeanour. He became as full of smiles and capers +as the meanest sycophant. + +“You will forgive me, monsieur!” he cried, spreading his hands, and with +the humblest smile in the world. “I perceive that I have taken a great +liberty; yet you have misunderstood its purport. I sought to sound you +touching the wisdom of a step upon which I have ventured.” + +“That is, monsieur?” I asked, throwing back my head, with the scent of +danger breast high. + +“I took it upon myself to-day to mention the fact that you are alive and +well to one who had a right, I thought, to know of it, and who is coming +hither tomorrow.” + +“That was a presumption you may regret,” said I between my teeth. “To +whom do you impart this information?” + +“To your friend, Monsieur de Marsac,” he answered, and through his +mask of humility the sneer was again growing apparent. “He will be here +tomorrow,” he repeated. + +Marsac was that friend of Lesperon's to whose warm commendation of +the Gascon rebel I owed the courtesy and kindness that the Vicomte de +Lavedan had meted out to me since my coming. + +Is it wonderful that I stood as if frozen, my wits refusing to work and +my countenance wearing, I doubt not, a very stricken look? Here was one +coming to Lavedan who knew Lesperon--one who would unmask me and say +that I was an impostor. What would happen then? A spy they would of a +certainty account me, and that they would make short work of me I never +doubted. But that was something that troubled me less than the opinion +Mademoiselle must form. How would she interpret what I had said that +day? In what light would she view me hereafter? + +Such questions sped like swift arrows through my mind, and in their +train came a dull anger with myself that I had not told her everything +that afternoon. It was too late now. The confession would come no longer +of my own free will, as it might have done an hour ago, but would be +forced from me by the circumstances that impended. Thus it would no +longer have any virtue to recommend it to her mercy. + +“The news seems hardly welcome, Monsieur de Lesperon,” said Roxalanne +in a voice that was inscrutable. Her tone stirred me, for it betokened +suspicion already. Something might yet chance to aid me, and in the mean +while I might spoil all did I yield to this dread of the morrow. By an +effort I mastered myself, and in tones calm and level, that betrayed +nothing of the tempest in my soul-- + +“It is not welcome, mademoiselle,” I answered. “I have excellent reasons +for not desiring to meet Monsieur de Marsac.” + +“Excellent, indeed, are they!” lisped Saint-Eustache, with an ugly droop +at the corners of his mouth. “I doubt not you'll find it hard to offer +a plausible reason for having left him and his sister without news that +you were alive.” + +“Monsieur,” said I at random, “why will you drag in his sister's name?” + +“Why?” he echoed, and he eyed me with undisguised amusement. He was +standing erect, his head thrown back, his right arm outstretched from +the shoulder, and his hand resting lightly upon the gold mount of his +beribboned cane. He let his eyes wander from me to Roxalanne, then back +again to me. At last: “Is it wonderful that I should drag in the name of +your betrothed?” said he. “But perhaps you will deny that Mademoiselle +de Marsac is that to you?” he suggested. + +And I, forgetting for the moment the part I played and the man whose +identity I had put on, made answer hotly: “I do deny it.” + +“Why, then, you lie,” said he, and shrugged hits shoulders with insolent +contempt. + +In all my life I do not think it could be said of me that I had ever +given way to rage. Rude, untutored minds may fall a prey to passion, +but a gentleman, I hold, is never angry. Nor was I then, so far as the +outward signs of anger count. I doffed my hat with a sweep to Roxalanne, +who stood by with fear and wonder blending in her glance. + +“Mademoiselle, you will forgive that I find it necessary to birch this +babbling schoolboy in your presence.” + +Then, with the pleasantest manner in the world, I stepped aside, and +plucked the cane from the Chevalier's hand before he had so much as +guessed what I was about. I bowed before him with the utmost politeness, +as if craving his leave and tolerance for what I was about to do, and +then, before he had recovered from his astonishment, I had laid that +cane three times in quick succession across his shoulders. With a cry at +once of pain and of mortification, he sprang back, and his hand dropped +to his hilt. + +“Monsieur,” Roxalanne cried to him, “do you not see that he is unarmed?” + +But he saw nothing, or, if he saw, thanked Heaven that things were in +such case, and got his sword out. Thereupon Roxalanne would have stepped +between us, but with arm outstretched I restrained her. + +“Have no fear, mademoiselle,” said I very quietly; for if the wrist that +had overcome La Vertoile were not with a stick a match for a couple of +such swords as this coxcomb's, then was I forever shamed. + +He bore down upon me furiously, his point coming straight for my throat. +I took the blade on the cane; then, as he disengaged and came at me +lower, I made counter-parry, and pursuing the circle after I had caught +his steel, I carried it out of his hand. It whirled an instant, +a shimmering wheel of light, then it clattered against the marble +balustrade half a dozen yards away. With his sword it seemed that his +courage, too, departed, and he stood at my mercy, a curious picture of +foolishness, surprise, and fear. + +Now the Chevalier de Saint-Eustache was a young man, and in the young +we can forgive much. But to forgive such an act as he had been guilty +of--that of drawing his sword upon a man who carried no weapons--would +have been not only a ridiculous toleration, but an utter neglect of +duty. As an older man it behoved me to read the Chevalier a lesson in +manners and gentlemanly feeling. So, quite dispassionately, and purely +for his own future good, I went about the task, and administered him a +thrashing that for thoroughness it would be hard to better. I was not +discriminating. I brought my cane down with a rhythmical precision, and +whether it took him on the head, the back, or the shoulders, I held +to be more his affair than mine. I had a moral to inculcate, and the +injuries he might receive in the course of it were inconsiderable +details so that the lesson was borne in upon his soul. Two or three +times he sought to close with me, but I eluded him; I had no mind to +descend to a vulgar exchange of blows. My object was not to brawl, +but to administer chastisement, and this object I may claim to have +accomplished with a fair degree of success. + +At last Roxalanne interfered; but only when one blow a little more +violent, perhaps, than its precursors resulted in the sudden snapping of +the cane and Monsieur de Eustache's utter collapse into a moaning heap. + +“I deplore, mademoiselle, to have offended your sight with such a +spectacle, but unless these lessons are administered upon the instant +their effect is not half so salutary.” + +“He deserved it, monsieur,” said she, with a note almost of fierceness +in her voice. And of such poor mettle are we that her resentment against +that groaning mass of fopperies and wheals sent a thrill of pleasure +through me. I walked over to the spot where his sword had fallen, and +picked it up. + +“Monsieur de Saint-Eustache,” said I, “you have so dishonoured this +blade that I do not think you would care to wear it again.” Saying +which, I snapped it across my knee, and flung it far out into the river, +for all that the hilt was a costly one, richly wrought in bronze and +gold. + +He raised his livid countenance, and his eyes blazed impotent fury. + +“Par la mort Dieu!” he cried hoarsely, “you shall give me satisfaction +for this!” + +“If you account yourself still unsatisfied, I am at your service when +you will,” said I courteously. + +Then, before more could be said, I saw Monsieur de Lavedan and the +Vicomtesse approaching hurriedly across the parterre. The Vicomte's +brow was black with what might have appeared anger, but which I rightly +construed into apprehension. + +“What has taken place? What have you done?” he asked of me. + +“He has brutally assaulted the Chevalier,” cried Madame shrilly, +her eyes malevolently set upon me. “He is only a child, this poor +Saint-Eustache,” she reproached me. “I saw it all from my window, +Monsieur de Lesperon. It was brutal; it was cowardly. So to beat a boy! +Shame! If you had a quarrel with him, are there not prescribed methods +for their adjustment between gentlemen? Pardieu, could you not have +given him proper satisfaction?” + +“If madame will give herself the trouble of attentively examining +this poor Saint-Eustache,” said I, with a sarcasm which her virulence +prompted, “you will agree, I think, that I have given him very proper +and very thorough satisfaction. I would have met him sword in hand, but +the Chevalier has the fault of the very young--he is precipitate; he was +in too great a haste, and he could not wait until I got a sword. So I +was forced to do what I could with a cane.” + +“But you provoked him,” she flashed back. + +“Whoever told you so has misinformed you, madame. On the contrary, he +provoked me. He gave me the lie. I struck him--could I do less?--and he +drew. I defended myself, and I supplemented my defence by a caning, so +that this poor Saint-Eustache might realize the unworthiness of what he +had done. That is all, madame.” + +But she was not so easily to be appeased, not even when Mademoiselle and +the Vicomte joined their voices to mine in extenuation of my conduct. It +was like Lavedan. For all that he was full of dread of the result and +of the vengeance Saint-Eustache might wreak--boy though he was--he +expressed himself freely touching the Chevalier's behaviour and the +fittingness of the punishment that had overtaken him. + +The Vicomtesse stood in small awe of her husband, but his judgment upon +a point of honour was a matter that she would not dare contest. She +was ministering to the still prostrate Chevalier who, I think, +remained prostrate now that he might continue to make appeal to her +sympathy--when suddenly she cut in upon Roxalanne's defence of me. + +“Where have you been?” she demanded suddenly. + +“When, my mother?” + +“This afternoon,” answered the Vicomtesse impatiently. “The Chevalier +was waiting two hours for you.” + +Roxalanne coloured to the roots of her hair. The Vicomte frowned. + +“Waiting for me, my mother? But why for me?” + +“Answer my question--where have you been?” + +“I was with Monsieur de Lesperon,” she answered simply. + +“Alone?” the Vicomtesse almost shrieked. + +“But yes.” The poor child's tones were laden with wonder at this +catechism. + +“God's death!” she snapped. “It seems that my daughter is no better +than--” + +Heaven knows what may have been coming, for she had the most virulent, +scandalous tongue that I have ever known in a woman's head--which is +much for one who has lived at Court to say. But the Vicomte, sharing +my fears, perhaps, and wishing to spare the child's ears, interposed +quickly “Come, madame, what airs are these? What sudden assumption +of graces that we do not affect? We are not in Paris. This is not +the Luxembourg. En province comme en province, and here we are simple +folk--” + +“Simple folk?” she interrupted, gasping. “By God, am I married to a +ploughman? Am I Vicomtesse of Lavedan, or the wife of a boor of the +countryside? And is the honour of your daughter a matter--” + +“The honour of my daughter is not in question, madame,” he interrupted +in his turn, and with a sudden sternness that spent the fire of her +indignation as a spark that is trampled underfoot. Then, in a calm, +level voice: “Ah, here are the servants,” said he. + +“Permit them, madame, to take charge of Monsieur de Saint-Eustache. +Anatole, you had better order the carriage for Monsieur le Chevalier. I +do not think that he will be able to ride home.” + +Anatole peered at the pale young gentleman on the ground, then he turned +his little wizened face upon me, and grinned in a singularly solemn +fashion. Monsieur de Saint-Eustache was little loved, it seemed. + +Leaning heavily upon the arm of one of the lacqueys, the Chevalier moved +painfully towards the courtyard, where the carriage was being prepared +for him. At the last moment he turned and beckoned the Vicomte to his +side. + +“As God lives, Monsieur de Lavedan,” he swore, breathing heavily in +the fury that beset him, “you shall bitterly regret having taken sides +to-day with that Gascon bully. Remember me, both of you, when you are +journeying to Toulouse.” + +The Vicomte stood beside him, impassive and unmoved by that grim threat, +for all that to him it must have sounded like a death-sentence. + +“Adieu, monsieur--a speedy recovery,” was all he answered. + +But I stepped up to them. “Do you not think, Vicomte, that it were +better to detain him?” I asked. + +“Pshaw!” he ejaculated. “Let him go.” + +The Chevalier's eyes met mine in a look of terror. Perhaps already +that young man repented him of his menace, and he realized the folly of +threatening one in whose power he still chanced to be. + +“Bethink you, monsieur,” I cried. “Yours is a noble and useful life. +Mine is not without value, either. Shall we suffer these lives--aye, +and the happiness of your wife and daughter--to be destroyed by this +vermin?” + +“Let him go, monsieur; let him go. I am not afraid.” + +I bowed and stepped back, motioning to the lacquey to take the fellow +away, much as I should have motioned him to remove some uncleanness from +before me. + +The Vicomtesse withdrew in high dudgeon to her chamber, and I did not +see her again that evening. Mademoiselle I saw once, for a moment, +and she employed that moment to question me touching the origin of my +quarrel with Saint-Eustache. + +“Did he really lie, Monsieur de Lesperon?” she asked. + +“Upon my honour, mademoiselle,” I answered solemnly, “I have plighted my +troth to no living woman.” Then my chin sank to my breast as I bethought +me of how tomorrow she must opine me the vilest liar living--for I was +resolved to be gone before Marsac arrived--since the real Lesperon I did +not doubt was, indeed, betrothed to Mademoiselle de Marsac. + +“I shall leave Lavedan betimes to-morrow, mademoiselle,” I pursued +presently. “What has happened to-day makes my departure all the more +urgent. Delay may have its dangers. You will hear strange things of me, +as already I have warned you. But be merciful. Much will be true, much +false; yet the truth itself is very vile, and--” I stopped short, in +despair of explaining or even tempering what had to come. I shrugged my +shoulders in my abandonment of hope, and I turned towards the window. +She crossed the room and came to stand beside me. + +“Will you not tell me? Have you no faith in me? Ah, Monsieur de +Lesperon--” + +“'Sh! child, I cannot. It is too late to tell you now.” + +“Oh, not too late! From what you say they will tell me, I should think, +perhaps, worse of you than you deserve. What is this thing you hide? +What is this mystery? Tell me, monsieur. Tell me.” + +Did ever woman more plainly tell a man she loved him, and that loving +him she would find all excuses for him? Was ever woman in better case to +hear a confession from the man that loved her, and of whose love she was +assured by every instinct that her sex possesses in such matters? +Those two questions leapt into my mind, and in resolving them I all but +determined to speak even now in the eleventh hour. + +And then--I know not how--a fresh barrier seemed to arise. It was not +merely a matter of telling her of the wager I was embarked upon; not +merely a matter of telling her of the duplicity that I had practised, +of the impostures by which I had gained admittance to her father's +confidence and trust; not merely a matter of confessing that I was not +Lesperon. There would still be the necessity of saying who I was. Even +if she forgave all else, could she forgive me for being Bardelys the +notorious Bardelys, the libertine, the rake, some of whose exploits she +had heard of from her mother, painted a hundred times blacker than they +really were? Might she not shrink from me when I told her I was that +man? In her pure innocence she deemed, no doubt, that the life of every +man who accounted himself a gentleman was moderately clean. She would +not see in me--as did her mother--no more than a type of the best class +in France, and having no more than the vices of my order. As a monster +of profligacy might she behold me, and that--ah, Dieu!--I could not +endure that she should do whilst I was by. + +It may be--indeed, now, as I look back, I know that I exaggerated my +case. I imagined she would see it as I saw it then. For would you credit +it? With this great love that was now come to me, it seemed the ideals +of my boyhood were returned, and I abhorred the man that I had been. The +life I had led now filled me with disgust and loathing; the notions +I had formed seemed to me now all vicious and distorted, my cynicism +shallow and unjust. + +“Monsieur de Lesperon,” she called softly to me, noting my silence. + +I turned to her. I set my hand lightly upon her arm; I let my gaze +encounter the upward glance of her eyes--blue as forget-me-nots. + +“You suffer!” she murmured, with sweet compassion. + +“Worse, Roxalanne! I have sown in your heart too the seed of suffering. +Oh, I am too unworthy!” I cried out; “and when you come to discover how +unworthy it will hurt you; it will sting your pride to think how kind +you were to me.” She smiled incredulously, in denial of my words. “No, +child; I cannot tell you.” + +She sighed, and then before more could be said there was a sound at the +door, and we started away from each other. The Vicomte entered, and my +last chance of confessing, of perhaps averting much of what followed, +was lost to me. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. THE PORTRAIT + + +Into the mind of every thoughtful man must come at times with bitterness +the reflection of how utterly we are at the mercy of Fate, the victims +of her every whim and caprice. We may set out with the loftiest, the +sternest resolutions to steer our lives along a well-considered course, +yet the slightest of fortuitous circumstances will suffice to force us +into a direction that we had no thought of taking. + +Now, had it pleased Monsieur de Marsac to have come to Lavedan at any +reasonable hour of the day, I should have been already upon the road +to Paris, intent to own defeat and pay my wager. A night of thought, +besides strengthening my determination to follow such a course, had +brought the reflection that I might thereafter return to Roxalanne, a +poor man, it is true, but one at least whose intentions might not be +misconstrued. + +And so, when at last I sank into sleep, my mind was happier than it had +been for many days. Of Roxalanne's love I was assured, and it seemed +that I might win her, after all, once I removed the barrier of shame +that now deterred me. It may be that those thoughts kept me awake +until a late hour, and that to this I owe it that when on the morrow I +awakened the morning was well advanced. The sun was flooding my chamber, +and at my bedside stood Anatole. + +“What's o'clock?” I inquired, sitting bolt upright. + +“Past ten,” said he, with stern disapproval. + +“And you have let me sleep?” I cried. + +“We do little else at Lavedan even when we are awake,” he grumbled. +“There was no reason why monsieur should rise.” Then, holding out a +paper, “Monsieur Stanislas de Marsac was here betimes this morning with +Mademoiselle his sister. He left this letter for you, monsieur.” + +Amaze and apprehension were quickly followed by relief, since Anatole's +words suggested that Marsac had not remained. I took the letter, +nevertheless, with some misgivings, and whilst I turned it over in my +hands I questioned the old servant. + +“He stayed an hour at the chateau, monsieur,” Anatole informed me. +“Monsieur le Vicomte would have had you roused, but he would not hear of +it. 'If what Monsieur de Saint-Eustache has told me touching your guest +should prove to be true,' said he, 'I would prefer not to meet him under +your roof, monsieur.' 'Monsieur de Saint-Eustache,' my master replied, +'is not a person whose word should have weight with any man of honour.' +But in spite of that, Monsieur de Marsac held to his resolve, and +although he would offer no explanation in answer to my master's many +questions, you were not aroused. + +“At the end of a half-hour his sister entered with Mademoiselle. They +had been walking together on the terrace, and Mademoiselle de Marsac +appeared very angry. 'Affairs are exactly as Monsieur de Saint-Eustache +has represented them,' said she to her brother. At that he swore a most +villainous oath, and called for writing materials. At the moment of his +departure he desired me to deliver this letter to you, and then rode +away in a fury, and, seemingly, not on the best of terms with Monsieur +le Vicomte.” + +“And his sister?” I asked quickly. + +“She went with him. A fine pair, as I live!” he added, casting his eyes +to the ceiling. + +At least I could breathe freely. They were gone, and whatever damage +they may have done to the character of poor Rene de Lesperon ere they +departed, they were not there, at all events, to denounce me for an +impostor. With a mental apology to the shade of the departed Lesperon +for all the discredit I was bringing down upon his name, I broke +the seal of that momentous epistle, which enclosed a length of some +thirty-two inches of string. + +Monsieur [I read], wherever I may chance to meet you it shall be my duty +to kill you. + +A rich beginning, in all faith! If he could but maintain that +uncompromising dramatic flavour to the end, his epistle should be worth +the trouble of deciphering, for he penned a vile scrawl of pothooks. + +It is because of this [the letter proceeded] that I have refrained from +coming face to face with you this morning. The times are too troublous +and the province is in too dangerous a condition to admit of an act +that might draw the eyes of the Keeper of the Seals upon Lavedan. To +my respect, then, to Monsieur le Vicomte and to my own devotion to the +Cause we mutually serve do you owe it that you still live. I am on my +way to Spain to seek shelter there from the King's vengeance. + +To save myself is a duty that I owe as much to myself as to the Cause. +But there is another duty, one that I owe my sister, whom you have so +outrageously slighted, and this duty, by God's grace, I will perform +before I leave. Of your honour, monsieur, we will not speak, for reasons +into which I need not enter, and I make no appeal to it. But if you have +a spark of manhood left, if you are not an utter craven as well as a +knave, I shall expect you on the day after tomorrow, at any hour before +noon, at the Auberge de la Couronne at Grenade. There, monsieur, if you +please, we will adjust our differences. That you may come prepared, and +so that no time need be wasted when we meet, I send you the length of my +sword. + +Thus ended that angry, fire-breathing epistle. I refolded it +thoughtfully, then, having taken my resolve, I leapt from the bed and +desired Anatole to assist me to dress. + +I found the Vicomte much exercised in mind as to the meaning of Marsac's +extraordinary behaviour, and I was relieved to see that he, at least, +could conjecture no cause for it. In reply to the questions with which +he very naturally assailed me, I assured him that it was no more than +a matter of a misunderstanding; that Monsieur de Marsac had asked me to +meet him at Grenade in two days' time, and that I should then, no doubt, +be able to make all clear. + +Meanwhile, I regretted the incident, since it necessitated my remaining +and encroaching for two days longer upon the Vicomte's hospitality. To +all this, however, he made the reply that I expected, concluding +with the remark that for the present at least it would seem as if +the Chevalier de Saint-Eustache had been satisfied with creating this +trouble betwixt myself and Marsac. + +From what Anatole had said, I had already concluded that Marsac had +exercised the greatest reticence. But the interview between his sister +and Roxalanne filled me with the gravest anxiety. Women are not wont to +practise the restraint of men under such circumstances, and for all that +Mademoiselle de Marsac may not have expressed it in so many words that I +was her faithless lover, yet women are quick to detect and interpret the +signs of disorders springing from such causes, and I had every fear that +Roxalanne was come to the conclusion that I had lied to her yesternight. +With an uneasy spirit, then, I went in quest of her, and I found her +walking in the old rose garden behind the chateau. + +She did not at first remark my approach, and I had leisure for some +moments to observe her and to note the sadness that dwelt in her profile +and the listlessness of her movements. This, then, was my work--mine, +and that of Monsieur de Chatellerault, and those other merry gentlemen +who had sat at my table in Paris nigh upon a month ago. + +I moved, and the gravel crunched under my foot, whereupon she turned, +and, at sight of me advancing towards her, she started. The blood +mounted to her face, to ebb again upon the instant, leaving it paler +than it had been. She made as if to depart; then she appeared to check +herself, and stood immovable and outwardly calm, awaiting my approach. + +But her eyes were averted, and her bosom rose and fell too swiftly to +lend colour to that mask of indifference she hurriedly put on. Yet, as +I drew nigh, she was the first to speak, and the triviality of her words +came as a shock to me, and for all my knowledge of woman's way caused me +to doubt for a moment whether perhaps her calm were not real, after all. + +“You are a laggard this morning, Monsieur de Lesperon.” And, with a half +laugh, she turned aside to break a rose from its stem. + +“True,” I answered stupidly; “I slept over-late.” + +“A thousand pities, since thus you missed seeing Mademoiselle de Marsac. +Have they told you that she was here?” + +“Yes, mademoiselle. Stanislas de Marsac left a letter for me.” + +“You will regret not having seen them, no doubt?” quoth she. + +I evaded the interrogative note in her voice. “That is their fault. They +appear to have preferred to avoid me.” + +“Is it matter for wonder?” she flashed, with a sudden gleam of fury +which she as suddenly controlled. With the old indifference, she added, +“You do not seem perturbed, monsieur?” + +“On the contrary, mademoiselle; I am very deeply perturbed.” + +“At not having seen your betrothed?” she asked, and now for the first +time her eyes were raised, and they met mine with a look that was a +stab. + +“Mademoiselle, I had the honour of telling you yesterday that I had +plighted my troth to no living woman.” + +At that reminder of yesterday she winced, and I was sorry that I had +uttered it, for it must have set the wound in her pride a-bleeding +again. Yesterday I had as much as told her that I loved her, and +yesterday she had as much as answered me that she loved me, for +yesterday I had sworn that Saint-Eustache's story of my betrothal was +a lie. To-day she had had assurance of the truth from the very woman to +whom Lesperon's faith was plighted, and I could imagine something of her +shame. + +“Yesterday, monsieur,” she answered contemptuously, “you lied in many +things.” + +“Nay, I spoke the truth in all. Oh, God in heaven, mademoiselle,” I +exclaimed in sudden passion, “will you not believe me? Will you not +accept my word for what I say, and have a little patience until I shall +have discharged such obligations as will permit me to explain?” + +“Explain?” quoth she, with withering disdain. + +“There is a hideous misunderstanding in all this. I am the victim of a +miserable chain of circumstances. Oh, I can say no more! These Marsacs +I shall easily pacify. I am to meet Monsieur de Marsac at Grenade on +the day after to-morrow. In my pocket I have a letter from this living +sword-blade, in which he tells me that he will give himself the pleasure +of killing me then. Yet--” + +“I hope he does, monsieur!” she cut in, with a fierceness before which +I fell dumb and left my sentence unfinished. “I shall pray God that he +may!” she added. “You deserve it as no man deserved it yet!” + +For a moment I stood stricken, indeed, by her words. Then, my reason +grasping the motive of that fierceness, a sudden joy pervaded me. It was +a fierceness breathing that hatred that is a part of love, than which, +it is true, no hatred can be more deadly. And yet so eloquently did it +tell me of those very feelings which she sought jealously to conceal, +that, moved by a sudden impulse, I stepped close up to her. + +“Roxalanne,” I said fervently, “you do not hope for it. What would your +life be if I were dead? Child, child, you love me even as I love you.” + I caught her suddenly to me with infinite tenderness, with reverence +almost. “Can you lend no ear to the voice of this love? Can you not have +faith in me a little? Can you not think that if I were quite as unworthy +as you make-believe to your very self, this love could have no place?” + +“It has no place!” she cried. “You lie--as in all things else. I do not +love you. I hate you. Dieu! How I hate you!” + +She had lain in my arms until then, with upturned face and piteous, +frightened eyes--like a bird that feels itself within the toils of a +snake, yet whose horror is blent with a certain fascination. Now, as she +spoke, her will seemed to reassert itself, and she struggled to break +from me. But as her fierceness of hatred grew, so did my fierceness of +resolve gain strength, and I held her tightly. + +“Why do you hate me?” I asked steadily. “Ask yourself, Roxalanne, and +tell me what answer your heart makes. Does it not answer that indeed you +do not hate me--that you love me?” + +“Oh, God, to be so insulted!” she cried out. “Will you not release me, +miserable? Must I call for help? Oh, you shall suffer for this! As there +is a Heaven, you shall be punished!” + +But in my passion I held her, despite entreaties, threats, and +struggles. I was brutal, if you will. Yet think of what was in my soul +at being so misjudged, at finding myself in this position, and deal +not over harshly with me. The courage to confess which I had lacked for +days, came to me then. I must tell her. Let the result be what it might, +it could not be worse than this, and this I could endure no longer. + +“Listen, Roxalanne!” + +“I will not listen! Enough of insults have I heard already. Let me go!” + +“Nay, but you shall hear me. I am not Rene de Lesperon. Had these +Marsacs been less impetuous and foolish, had they waited to have seen me +this morning, they would have told you so.” + +She paused for a second in her struggles to regard me. Then, with a +sudden contemptuous laugh, she renewed her efforts more vigorously than +before. + +“What fresh lies do you offer me? Release me, I will hear no more!” + +“As Heaven is my witness, I have told you the truth. I know how wild +a sound it has, and that is partly why I did not tell you earlier. +But your disdain I cannot suffer. That you should deem me a liar in +professing to love you--” + +Her struggles were grown so frantic that I was forced to relax my grip. +But this I did with a suddenness that threw her out of balance, and she +was in danger of falling backwards. To save herself, she caught at my +doublet, which was torn open under the strain. + +We stood some few feet apart, and, white and palpitating in her anger, +she confronted me. Her eyes lashed me with their scorn, but under my +steady, unflinching gaze they fell at last. When next she raised them +there was a smile of quiet but unutterable contempt upon her lips. + +“Will you swear,” said she, “that you are not Rene de Lesperon? That +Mademoiselle de Marsac is not your betrothed?” + +“Yes--by my every hope of Heaven!” I cried passionately. + +She continued to survey me with that quiet smile of mocking scorn. + +“I have heard it said,” quoth she, “that the greatest liars are ever +those that are readiest to take oath.” Then, with a sudden gasp of +loathing, “I think you have dropped something, monsieur,” said she, +pointing to the ground. And without waiting for more, she swung round +and left me. + +Face upwards at my feet lay the miniature that poor Lesperon had +entrusted to me in his dying moments. It had dropped from my doublet in +the struggle, and I never doubted now but that the picture it contained +was that of Mademoiselle de Marsac. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. A NIGHT ALARM + + +I was returning that same afternoon from a long walk that I had +taken--for my mood was of that unenviable sort that impels a man to be +moving--when I found a travelling-chaise drawn up in the quadrangle as +if ready for a journey. As I mounted the steps of the chateau I came +face to face with mademoiselle, descending. I drew aside that she might +pass; and this she did with her chin in the air, and her petticoat drawn +to her that it might not touch me. + +I would have spoken to her, but her eyes looked straight before her with +a glance that was too forbidding; besides which there was the gaze of a +half-dozen grooms upon us. So, bowing before her--the plume of my doffed +hat sweeping the ground--I let her go. Yet I remained standing where +she had passed me, and watched her enter the coach. I looked after the +vehicle as it wheeled round and rattled out over the drawbridge, to +raise a cloud of dust on the white, dry road beyond. + +In that hour I experienced a sense of desolation and a pain to which I +find it difficult to give expression. It seemed to me as if she had gone +out of my life for all time--as if no reparation that I could ever make +would suffice to win her back after what had passed between us that +morning. Already wounded in her pride by what Mademoiselle de Marsac had +told her of our relations, my behaviour in the rose garden had completed +the work of turning into hatred the tender feelings that but yesterday +she had all but confessed for me. That she hated me now, I was well +assured. My reflections as I walked had borne it in upon me how rash, +how mad had been my desperate action, and with bitterness I realized +that I had destroyed the last chance of ever mending matters. + +Not even the payment of my wager and my return in my true character +could avail me now. The payment of my wager, forsooth! Even that lost +what virtue it might have contained. Where was the heroism of such an +act? Had I not failed, indeed? And was not, therefore, the payment of my +wager become inevitable? + +Fool! fool! Why had I not profited that gentle mood of hers when we had +drifted down the stream together? Why had I not told her then of the +whole business from its ugly inception down to the pass to which things +were come, adding that to repair the evil I was going back to Paris to +pay my wager, and that when that was done, I would return to ask her to +become my wife? That was the course a man of sense would have adopted. +He would have seen the dangers that beset him in my false position, +and would have been quick to have forestalled them in the only manner +possible. + +Heigh-ho! It was done. The game was at an end, and I had bungled my part +of it like any fool. One task remained me--that of meeting Marsac at +Grenade and doing justice to the memory of poor Lesperon. What might +betide thereafter mattered little. I should be ruined when I had settled +with Chatellerault, and Marcel de Saint-Pol, de Bardelys, that brilliant +star in the firmament of the Court of France, would suffer an abrupt +eclipse, would be quenched for all time. But this weighed little with +me then. I had lost everything that I might have valued--everything that +might have brought fresh zest to a jaded, satiated life. + +Later that day I was told by the Vicomte that there was a rumour current +to the effect that the Marquis de Bardelys was dead. Idly I inquired how +the rumour had been spread, and he told me that a riderless horse, which +had been captured a few days ago by some peasants, had been recognized +by Monsieur de Bardelys's servants as belonging to their master, and +that as nothing had been seen or heard of him for a fortnight, it was +believed that he must have met with some mischance. Not even that piece +of information served to arouse my interest. Let them believe me dead +if they would. To him that is suffering worse than death to be accounted +dead is a small matter. + +The next day passed without incident. Mademoiselle's absence continued +and I would have questioned the Vicomte concerning it, but a not +unnatural hesitancy beset me, and I refrained. + +On the morrow I was to leave Lavedan, but there were no preparations to +be made, no packing to be done, for during my sojourn there I had been +indebted to the generous hospitality of the Vicomte for my very apparel. +We supped quietly together that night the Vicomte and I--for the +Vicomtesse was keeping her room. + +I withdrew early to my chamber, and long I lay awake, revolving a gloomy +future in my mind. I had given no thought to what I should do after +having offered my explanation to Monsieur de Marsac on the morrow, nor +could I now bring myself to consider it with any degree of interest. I +would communicate with Chatellerault to inform him that I accounted +my wager lost. I would send him my note of hand, making over to him +my Picardy estates, and I would request him to pay off and disband my +servants both in Paris and at Bardelys. + +As for myself, I did not know, and, as I have hinted, I cared but +little, in what places my future life might lie. I had still a little +property by Beaugency, but scant inclination to withdraw to it. To Paris +I would not return; that much I was determined upon; but upon no more. +I had thoughts of going to Spain. Yet that course seemed no less futile +than any other of which I could bethink me. I fell asleep at last, +vowing that it would be a mercy and a fine solution to the puzzle of how +to dispose of the future if I were to awaken no more. + +I was, however, destined to be roused again just as the veil of night +was being lifted and the chill breath of dawn was upon the world. There +was a loud knocking at the gates of Lavedan, confused noises of voices, +of pattering feet, of doors opening and closing within the chateau. + +There was a rapping at my chamber door, and when I went to open, I found +the Vicomte on the threshold, nightcapped, in his shirt, and bearing a +lighted taper. + +“There are troopers at the gate!” he exclaimed as he entered the room. +“That dog Saint-Eustache has already been at work!” + +For all the agitation that must have been besetting him, his manner was +serene as ever. “What are we to do?” he asked. + +“You are admitting them--naturally?” said I, inquiry in my voice. + +“Why, yes”; and he shrugged his shoulders. “What could it avail us to +resist them? Even had I been prepared for it, it would be futile to +attempt to suffer a siege.” + +I wrapped a dressing-gown about me, for the morning air was chill. + +“Monsieur le Vicomte,” said I gravely, “I heartily deplore that Monsieur +de Marsac's affairs should have detained me here. But for him, I had +left Lavedan two days ago. As it is, I tremble for you, but we may +at least hope that my being taken in your house will draw down no ill +results upon you. I shall never forgive myself if through my having +taken refuge here I should have encompassed your destruction.” + +“There is no question of that,” he replied, with the quick generosity +characteristic of the man. “This is the work of Saint-Eustache. Sooner +or later I always feared that it would happen, for sooner or later he +and I must have come to enmity over my daughter. That knave had me in +his power. He knew--being himself outwardly one of us--to what extent +I was involved in the late rebellion, and I knew enough of him to be +assured that if some day he should wish to do me ill, he would never +scruple to turn traitor. I am afraid, Monsieur de Lesperon, that it is +not for you alone--perhaps not for you at all--that the soldiers have +come, but for me.” + +Then, before I could answer him, the door was flung wide, and into the +room, in nightcap and hastily donned robe--looking a very meagre in that +disfiguring deshabille--swept the Vicomtesse. + +“See,” she cried to her husband, her strident voice raised in +reproach--“see to what a pass you have brought us!” + +“Anne, Anne!” he exclaimed, approaching her and seeking to soothe her; +“be calm, my poor child, and be brave.” + +But, evading him, she towered, lean and malevolent as a fury. + +“Calm?” she echoed contemptuously. “Brave?” Then a short laugh broke +from her--a despairing, mocking, mirthless expression of anger. “By God, +do you add effrontery to your other failings? Dare you bid me be calm +and brave in such an hour? Have I been warning you fruitlessly these +twelve months past, that, after disregarding me and deriding my +warnings, you should bid me be calm now that my fears are realized?” + +There was a sound of creaking gates below. The Vicomte heard it. + +“Madame,” he said, putting aside his erstwhile tender manner, and +speaking with a lofty dignity, “the troopers have been admitted. Let me +entreat you to retire. It is not befitting our station--” + +“What is our station?” she interrupted harshly. “Rebels--proscribed, +houseless beggars. That is our station, thanks to you and your insane +meddling with treason. What is to become of us, fool? What is to become +of Roxalanne and me when they shall have hanged you and have driven us +from Lavedan? By God's death, a fine season this to talk of the dignity +of our station! Did I not warn you, malheureux, to leave party faction +alone? You laughed at me.” + +“Madame, your memory does me an injustice,” he answered in a strangled +voice. “I never laughed at you in all my life.” + +“You did as much, at least. Did you not bid me busy myself with women's +affairs? Did you not bid me leave you to follow your own judgment? You +have followed it--to a pretty purpose, as God lives! These gentlemen of +the King's will cause you to follow it a little farther,” she pursued, +with heartless, loathsome sarcasm. “You will follow it as far as the +scaffold at Toulouse. That, you will tell me, is your own affair. But +what provision have you made for your wife and daughter? Did you marry +me and get her to leave us to perish of starvation? Or are we to turn +kitchen wenches or sempstresses for our livelihood?” + +With a groan, the Vicomte sank down upon the bed, and covered his face +with his hands. + +“God pity me!” he cried, in a voice of agony--an agony such as the fear +of death could never have infused into his brave soul; an agony born of +the heartlessness of this woman who for twenty years had shared his +bed and board, and who now in the hour of his adversity failed him so +cruelly--so tragically. + +“Aye,” she mocked in her bitterness, “call upon God to pity you, for I +shall not.” + +She paced the room now, like a caged lioness, her face livid with the +fury that possessed her. She no longer asked questions; she no +longer addressed him; oath followed oath from her thin lips, and the +hideousness of this woman's blasphemy made me shudder. At last there +were heavy steps upon the stairs, and, moved by a sudden impulse +“Madame,” I cried, “let me prevail upon you to restrain yourself.” + +She swung round to face me, her dose-set eyes ablaze with anger. + +“Sangdieu! By what right do you--” she began but this was no time to +let a woman's tongue go babbling on; no time for ceremony; no season for +making a leg and addressing her with a simper. I caught her viciously by +the wrist, and with my face close up to hers “Folle!” I cried, and I'll +swear no man had ever used the word to her before. She gasped and choked +in her surprise and rage. Then lowering my voice lest it should reach +the approaching soldiers: “Would you ruin the Vicomte and yourself?” I +muttered. Her eyes asked me a question, and I answered it. “How do you +know that the soldiers have come for your husband? It may be that they +are seeking me--and only me. They may know nothing of the Vicomte's +defection. Shall you, then, be the one to inform them of it by your +unbridled rantings and your accusations?” + +Her jaw fell open in astonishment. This was a side of the question she +had not considered. + +“Let me prevail upon you, madame, to withdraw and to be of good courage. +It is more than likely that you alarm yourself without cause.” + +She continued to stare at me in her amazement and the confusion that was +congenital with it, and if there was not time for her to withdraw, at +least the possibility I had suggested acted as a timely warning. + +In that moment the door opened again, and on the threshold appeared a +young man in a plumed hat and corselet, carrying a naked sword in one +hand and a lanthorn in the other. Behind him I caught the gleam of steel +from the troopers at his heels. + +“Which of you is Monsieur Rene de Lesperon?” he inquired politely, his +utterance flavoured by a strong Gascon accent. + +I stood forward. “I am known by that name, Monsieur le Capitaine,” said +I. + +He looked at me wistfully, apologetically almost, then “In the King's +name, Monsieur de Lesperon, I call upon you to yield!” said he. + +“I have been expecting you. My sword is yonder, monsieur,” I replied +suavely. “If you will allow me to dress, I shall be ready to accompany +you in a few minutes.” + +He bowed, and it at once became clear that his business at Lavedan +was--as I had suggested to the Vicomtesse might be possible--with me +alone. + +“I am grateful for the readiness of your submission,” said this +very polite gentleman. He was a comely lad, with blue eyes and a +good-humoured mouth, to which a pair of bristling moustaches sought +vainly to impart an expression of ferocity. + +“Before you proceed to dress, monsieur, I have another duty to +discharge.” + +“Discharge your duty, monsieur,” I answered. Whereupon he made a sign to +his men, and in a moment they were ransacking my garments and effects. +While this was taking place, he turned to the Vicomte and Vicomtesse, +and offered them a thousand apologies for having interrupted their +slumbers, and for so rudely depriving them of their guest. He advanced +in his excuse the troublous nature of the times, and threw in a bunch +of malisons at the circumstances which forced upon soldiers the odious +duties of the tipstaff, hoping that we would think him none the less a +gentleman for the unsavoury business upon which he was engaged. + +From my clothes they took the letters addressed to Lesperon which that +poor gentleman had entrusted to me on the night of his death; and among +these there was one from the Duc d'Orleans himself, which would alone +have sufficed to have hanged a regiment. Besides these, they took +Monsieur de Marsac's letter of two days ago, and the locket containing +the picture of Mademoiselle de Marsac. + +The papers and the portrait they delivered to the Captain, who took them +with the same air of deprecation tainted with disgust that coloured all +his actions in connection with my arrest. + +To this same repugnance for his catchpoll work do I owe it that at the +moment of setting out he offered to let me ride without the annoyance of +an escort if I would pass him my parole not to attempt an escape. + +We were standing, then, in the hall of the chateau. His men were already +in the courtyard, and there were only present Monsieur le Vicomte and +Anatole--the latter reflecting the look of sorrow that haunted his +master's face. The Captain's generosity was certainly leading him beyond +the bounds of his authority, and it touched me. + +“Monsieur is very generous,” said I. + +He shrugged his shoulders impatiently. + +“Cap de Dieu!” he cried--he had a way of swearing that reminded me of my +friend Cazalet. “It is no generosity, monsieur. It is a desire to make +this obscene work more congenial to the spirit of a gentleman, which, +devil take me, I cannot stifle, not for the King himself. And then, +Monsieur de Lesperon, are we not fellow-countrymen? Are we not Gascons +both? Pardieu, there is no more respected a name in the whole of Gascony +than that of Lesperon, and that you belong to so honourable a family is +alone more than sufficient to warrant such slight favours as it may be +in my power to show you.” + +“You have my parole that I will attempt no escape, Monsieur le +Capitaine,” I answered, bowing may acknowledgment of his compliments. + +“I am Mironsac de Castelroux, of Chateau Rouge in Gascony,” he informed +me, returning my bow. My faith, had he not made a pretty soldier he +would have made an admirable master of deportment. + +My leave-taking of Monsieur de Lavedan was brief but cordial; apologetic +on my part, intensely sympathetic on his. And so I went out alone with +Castelroux upon the road to Toulouse, his men being ordered to follow in +half an hour's time and to travel at their leisure. + +As we cantered along--Castelroux and I--we talked of many things, and +I found him an amusing and agreeable companion. Had my mood been other +than despairing, the news he gave me might have occasioned me some +concern; for it seemed that prisoners arraigned for treason and +participation in the late rising were being very summarily treated. Many +were never so much as heard in their own defence, the evidence collected +of their defection being submitted to the Tribunal, and judgment being +forthwith passed upon them by judges who had no ears for anything they +might advance in their own favour. + +The evidence of my identity was complete: there was my own admission to +Castelroux; the evidence of the treason of Lesperon was none the less +complete; in fact, it was notorious; and there was the Duke's letter +found amongst my effects. If the judges refused to lend an ear to my +assurances that I was not Lesperon at all, but the missing Bardelys, my +troubles were likely to receive a very summary solution. The fear of it, +however, weighed not over-heavily upon me. I was supremely indifferent. +Life was at an end so far as I was concerned. I had ruined the one +chance of real happiness that had ever been held out to me, and if the +gentlemen of the courts of Toulouse were pleased to send me unheeded to +the scaffold, what should it signify? + +But there was another matter that did interest me, and that was my +interview with Marsac. Touching this, I spoke to my captor. + +“There is a gentleman I wish to see at Grenade this morning. You have +amongst the papers taken from me a letter making this assignation, +Monsieur le Capitaine, and I should be indeed grateful if you would +determine that we shall break our fast there, so that I may have +an opportunity of seeing him. The matter is to me of the highest +importance.” + +“It concerns--?” he asked. + +“A lady,” I answered. + +“Ah, yes! But the letter is of the nature of a challenge, is it not? +Naturally, I cannot permit you to endanger your life.” + +“Lest we disappoint the headsman at Toulouse?” I laughed. “Have no fear. +There shall be no duel!” + +“Then I am content, monsieur, and you shall see your friend.” + +I thanked him, and we talked of other things thereafter as we rode in +the early morning along the Toulouse road. Our conversation found its +way, I scarce know how, to the topic of Paris and the Court, and when +I casually mentioned, in passing, that I was well acquainted with the +Luxembourg, he inquired whether I had ever chanced to meet a young spark +of the name of Mironsac. + +“Mironsac?” I echoed. “Why, yes.” And I was on the point of adding that +I knew the youth intimately, and what a kindness I had for him, when, +deeming it imprudent, I contented myself with asking, “You know him?” + +“Pardieu!” he swore. “The fellow is my cousin. We are both Mironsacs; he +is Mironsac of Castelvert, whilst I, as you may remember I told you, +am Mironsac of Castelroux. To distinguish us, he is always known as +Mironsac, and I as Castelroux. Peste! It is not the only distinction, +for while he basks in the sunshine of the great world of Paris--they +are wealthy, the Mironsacs of Castelvert--I, a poor devil of a Gascony +cadet, am playing the catchpoll in Languedoc!” + +I looked at him with fresh interest, for the mention of that dear +lad Mironsac brought back to my mind the night in Paris on which +my ill-starred wager had been laid, and I was reminded of how that +high-minded youth had sought--when it was too late to reason me out of +the undertaking by alluding to the dishonour with which in his honest +eyes it must be fraught. + +We spoke of his cousin--Castelroux and I--and I went so far now as +to confess that I had some love for the youth, whom I praised in +unmistakable terms. This inclined to increase the friendliness which +my young Captain had manifested since my arrest, and I was presently +emboldened by it to beg of him to add to the many favours that I already +owed him by returning to me the portrait which his men had subtracted +from my pocket. It was my wish to return this to Marsac, whilst at the +same time it would afford corroboration of my story. + +To this Castelroux made no difficulty. + +“Why, yes,” said he, and he produced it. “I crave your pardon for not +having done the thing of my own accord. What can the Keeper of the Seals +want with that picture?” + +I thanked him, and pocketed the locket. + +“Poor lady!” he sighed, a note of compassion in his voice. “By my soul, +Monsieur de Lesperon, fine work this for soldiers, is it not? Diable! It +is enough to turn a gentleman's stomach sour for life, and make him go +hide himself from the eyes of honest men. Had I known that soldiering +meant such business, I had thought twice before I adopted it as a career +for a man of honour. I had remained in Gascony and tilled the earth +sooner than have lent myself to this!” + +“My good young friend,” I laughed, “what you do, you do in the King's +name.” + +“So does every tipstaff,” he answered impatiently, his moustaches +bristling as the result of the scornful twist he gave his lips. “To +think that I should have a hand in bringing tears to the eyes of that +sweet lady! Quelle besogne! Bon Dieu, quelle besogne!” + +I laughed at the distress vented in that whimsical Gascon tongue of his, +whereupon he eyed me in a wonder that was tempered with admiration. For +to his brave soul a gentleman so stoical as to laugh under such parlous +circumstances was very properly a gentleman to be admired. + + + + +CHAPTER X. THE RISEN DEAD + + +It was close upon ten o'clock as we rode into the yard of the imposing +Hotel de la Couronne at Grenade. + +Castelroux engaged a private room on the first floor--a handsome chamber +overlooking the courtyard--and in answer to the inquiries that I made +I was informed by the landlord that Monsieur de Marsac was not yet +arrived. + +“My assignation was 'before noon,' Monsieur de Castelroux,” said I. +“With your permission, I would wait until noon.” + +He made no difficulty. Two hours were of no account. We had all risen +very early, and he was, himself, he said, entitled to some rest. + +Whilst I stood by the window it came to pass than a very tall, +indifferently apparelled gentleman issued from the hostelry and halted +for some moments in conversation with the ostler below. He walked with +an enfeebled step, and leaned heavily for support upon a stout cane. As +he turned to reenter the inn I had a glimpse of a face woefully pale, +about which, as about the man's whole figure, there was a something +that was familiar--a something that puzzled me, and on which my mind was +still dwelling when presently I sat down to breakfast with Castelroux. + +It may have been a half-hour later, and, our meal being at an end, we +were sitting talking--I growing impatient the while that this Monsieur +de Marsac should keep me waiting so--when of a sudden the rattle +of hoofs drew me once more to the window. A gentleman, riding very +recklessly, had just dashed through the porte-cochere, and was in the +act of pulling up his horse. He was a lean, active man, very richly +dressed, and with a face that by its swarthiness of skin and the sable +hue of beard and hair looked almost black. + +“Ah, you are there!” he cried, with something between a snarl and a +laugh, and addressing somebody within the shelter of the porch. “Par la +mort Dieu, I had hardly looked to find you!” + +From the recess of the doorway I heard a gasp of amazement and a cry of +“Marsac! You here?” + +So this was the gentleman I was to see! A stable boy had taken his +reins, and he leapt nimbly to the ground. Into my range of vision +hobbled now the enfeebled gentleman whom earlier I had noticed. + +“My dear Stanislas!” he cried, “I cannot tell you how rejoiced I am to +see you!” and he approached Marsac with arms that were opened as if to +embrace him. + +The newcomer surveyed him a moment in wonder, with eyes grown dull. +Then abruptly raising his hand, he struck the fellow on the breast, and +thrust him back so violently that but for the stable-boy's intervention +he had of a certainty fallen. With a look of startled amazement on his +haggard face, the invalid regarded his assailant. + +As for Marsac, he stepped close up to him. + +“What is this?” he cried harshly. “What is this make-believe feebleness? +That you are pale, poltroon, I do not wonder! But why these tottering +limbs? Why this assumption of weakness? Do you look to trick me by these +signs?” + +“Have you taken leave of your senses?” exclaimed the other, a note of +responsive anger sounding in his voice. “Have you gone mad, Stanislas?” + +“Abandon this pretence,” was the contemptuous answer. “Two days ago at +Lavedan, my friend, they informed me how complete was your recovery; +from what they told us, it was easy to guess why you tarried there +and left us without news of you. That was my reason, as you may have +surmised, for writing to you. My sister has mourned you for dead--was +mourning you for dead whilst you sat at the feet of your Roxalanne and +made love to her among the roses of Lavedan.” + +“Lavedan?” echoed the other slowly. Then, raising his voice, “what the +devil are you saying?” he blazed. “What do I know of Lavedan?” + +In a flash it had come to me who that enfeebled gentleman was. Rodenard, +the blunderer, had been at fault when he had said that Lesperon had +expired. Clearly he could have no more than swooned; for here, in the +flesh, was Lesperon himself, the man I had left for dead in that barn by +Mirepoix. + +How or where he had recovered were things that at the moment did not +exercise my mind--nor have I since been at any pains to unravel the +mystery of it; but there he was, and for the moment that fact was +all-sufficing. What complications would come of his presence Heaven +alone could foretell. + +“Put an end to this play-acting!” roared the savage Marsac. “It will +avail you nothing. My sister's tears may have weighed lightly with you, +but you shall pay the price of them, and of the slight you have put upon +her.” + +“My God, Marsac!” cried the other, roused to an equal fierceness. “Will +you explain?” + +“Aye,” snarled Marsac, and his sword flashed from his scabbard, “I'll +explain. As God lives, I'll explain--with this!” And he whirled his +blade under the eyes of the invalid. “Come, my master, the comedy's +played out. Cast aside that crutch and draw; draw, man, or, sangdieu, +I'll run you through as you stand!” + +There was a commotion below. The landlord and a posse of his +satellites--waiters, ostlers, and stableboys--rushed between them, and +sought to restrain the bloodthirsty Marsac. But he shook them off as +a bull shakes off a pack of dogs, and like an angry bull, too, did he +stand his ground and bellow. In a moment his sweeping sword had cleared +a circle about him. In its lightning dartings hither and thither at +random, it had stung a waiter in the calf, and when the fellow saw the +blood staining his hose, he added to the general din his shrieks that +he was murdered. Marsac swore and threatened in a breath, and a kitchen +wench, from a point of vantage on the steps, called shame upon him and +abused him roundly for a cowardly assassin to assail a poor sufferer who +could hardly stand upright. + +“Po' Cap de Dieu!” swore Castelroux at my elbow. “Saw you ever such an +ado? What has chanced?” + +But I never stayed to answer him. Unless I acted quickly blood would +assuredly be shed. I was the one man who could explain matters, and it +was a mercy for Lesperon that I should have been at hand in the hour of +his meeting that fire-eater Marsac. I forgot the circumstances in which +I stood to Castelroux; I forgot everything but the imminent necessity +that I should intervene. Some seven feet below our window was the roof +of the porch; from that to the ground it might be some eight feet more. +Before my Gascon captain knew what I was about, I had swung myself down +from the window on to the projecting porch. A second later, I created +a diversion by landing in the midst of the courtyard fray, with the +alarmed Castelroux--who imagined that I was escaping--following by the +same unusual road, and shouting as he came “Monsieur de Lesperon! +Hi! Monsieur de Lesperon! Mordieu! Remember your parole, Monsieur de +Lesperon!” + +Nothing could have been better calculated to stem Marsac's fury; nothing +could have so predisposed him to lend an ear to what I had to say, for +it was very evident that Castelroux's words were addressed to me, and +that it was I whom he called by the name of Lesperon. In an instant I +was at Marsac's side. But before I could utter a word, “What the devil +does this mean?” he asked, eyeing me with fierce suspicion. + +“It means, monsieur, that there are more Lesperons than one in France. I +am the Lesperon who was at Lavedan. If you doubt me, ask this gentleman, +who arrested me there last night. Ask him, too, why we have halted here. +Ask him, if you will, to show you the letter that you left at Lavedan +making an assignation here before noon to-day, which letter I received.” + +The suspicion faded from Marsac's eyes, and they grew round with wonder +as he listened to this prodigious array of evidence. Lesperon looked on +in no less amazement, yet I am sure from the manner of his glance that +he did not recognize in me the man that had succoured him at Mirepoix. +That, after all, was natural enough; for the minds of men in such +reduced conditions as had been his upon that night are not prone to +receive very clear impressions, and still less prone to retain such +impressions as they do receive. + +Before Marsac could answer me, Castelroux was at my side. + +“A thousand apologies!” he laughed. “A fool might have guessed the +errand that took you so quickly through that window, and none but a fool +would have suspected you of seeking to escape. It was unworthy in me, +Monsieur de Lesperon.” + +I turned to him while those others still stood gaping, and led him +aside. + +“Monsieur le Capitaine,” said I, “you find it troublesome enough to +reconcile your conscience with such arrests as you are charged to make, +is it not so. + +“Mordieu!” he cried, by way of emphatically assenting. + +“Now, if you should chance to overhear words betraying to you certain +people whom otherwise you would never suspect of being rebels, your +soldier's duty would, nevertheless, compel you to apprehend them, would +it not?” + +“Why, true. I am afraid it would,” he answered, with a grimace. + +“But, if forewarned that by being present in a certain place you should +overhear such words, what course would you pursue?” + +“Avoid it like a pestilence, monsieur,” he answered promptly. + +“Then, Monsieur le Capitaine, may I trespass upon your generosity to +beseech you to let me take these litigants to our room upstairs, and to +leave us alone there for a half-hour?” + +Frankness was my best friend in dealing with Castelroux--frankness and +his distaste for the business they had charged him with. As for Marsac +and Lesperon, they were both eager enough to have the mystery explained, +and when Castelroux having consented--I invited them to my chamber, they +came readily enough. + +Since Monsieur de Lesperon did not recognize me, there was no reason +why I should enlighten him touching my identity, and every reason why +I should not. As soon as they were seated, I went to the heart of the +matter at once and without preamble. + +“A fortnight ago, gentlemen,” said I, “I was driven by a pack of +dragoons across the Garonne. I was wounded in the shoulder and very +exhausted, and I knocked at the gates of Lavedan to crave shelter. That +shelter, gentlemen, was afforded me, and when I had announced myself as +Monsieur de Lesperon, it was all the more cordially because one Monsieur +de Marsac, who was a friend of the Vicomte de Lavedan, and a partisan +in the lost cause of Orleans, happened often to have spoken of a +certain Monsieur de Lesperon as his very dear friend. I have no doubt, +gentlemen, that you will think harshly of me because I did not enlighten +the Vicomte. But there were reasons for which I trust you will not press +me, since I shall find it difficult to answer you with truth.” + +“But is your name Lesperon?” cried Lesperon. + +“That, monsieur, is a small matter. Whether my name is Lesperon or +not, I confess to having practised a duplicity upon the Vicomte and his +family, since I am certainly not the Lesperon whose identity I accepted. +But if I accepted that identity, monsieur, I also accepted your +liabilities, and so I think that you should find it in your heart to +extend me some measure of forgiveness. As Rene de Lesperon, of Lesperon +in Gascony, I was arrested last night at Lavedan, and, as you may +observe, I am being taken to Toulouse to stand the charge of high +treason. I have not demurred; I have not denied in the hour of trouble +the identity that served me in my hour of need. I am taking the +bitter with the sweet, and I assure you, gentlemen, that the bitter +predominates in a very marked degree.” + +“But this must not be,” cried Lesperon, rising. “I know not what use +you may have made of my name, but I have no reason to think that you can +have brought discredit upon it, and so--” + +“I thank you, monsieur, but--” + +“And so I cannot submit that you shall go to Toulouse in my stead. Where +is this officer whose prisoner you are? Pray summon him, monsieur, and +let us set the matter right.” + +“This is very generous,” I answered calmly. “But I have crimes enough +upon my head, and so, if the worst should befall me, I am simply atoning +in one person for the errors of two.” + +“But that is no concern of mine!” he cried. + +“It is so much your concern that if you commit so egregious a blunder as +to denounce yourself, you will have ruined yourself, without materially +benefitting me.” + +He still objected, but in this strain I argued for some time, and to +such good purpose that in the end I made him realize that by betraying +himself he would not save me, but only join me on the journey to the +scaffold. + +“Besides, gentlemen,” I pursued, “my case is far from hopeless. I have +every confidence that, as matters stand, by putting forth my hand at the +right moment, by announcing my identity at the proper season, I can, if +I am so inclined, save my neck from the headsman.” + +“If you are so inclined?” they both cried, their looks charged with +inquiry. + +“Let that be,” I answered; “it does not at present concern us. What +I desire you to understand, Monsieur de Lesperon, is that if I go to +Toulouse alone, when the time comes to proclaim myself, and it is found +that I am not Rene de Lesperon, of Lesperon in Gascony, they will assume +that you are dead, and there will be no count against me. + +“But if you come with me, and thereby afford proof that you are alive, +my impersonation of you may cause me trouble. They may opine that I have +been an abettor of treason, that I have attempted to circumvent the +ends of justice, and that I may have impersonated you in order to render +possible your escape. For that, you may rest assured, they will punish +me. + +“You will see, therefore, that my own safety rests on your passing +quietly out of France and leaving the belief behind you that you are +dead--a belief that will quickly spread once I shall have cast off your +identity. You apprehend me?” + +“Vaguely, monsieur; and perhaps you are right. What do you say, +Stanislas?” + +“Say?” cried the fiery Marsac. “I am weighed down with shame, my poor +Rene, for having so misjudged you.” + +More he would have said in the same strain, but Lesperon cut him short +and bade him attend to the issue now before him. They discussed it +at some length, but always under the cloud in which my mysteriousness +enveloped it, and, in the end, encouraged by my renewed assurances that +I could best save myself if Lesperon were not taken with me, the Gascon +consented to my proposals. + +Marsac was on his way to Spain. His sister, he told us, awaited him +at Carcassonne. Lesperon should set out with him at once, and in +forty-eight hours they would be beyond the reach of the King's anger. + +“I have a favour to ask of you, Monsieur de Marsac,” said I, rising; +for our business was at an end. “It is that if you should have an +opportunity of communicating with Mademoiselle de Lavedan, you will +let her know that I am not--not the Lesperon that is betrothed to your +sister.” + +“I will inform her of it, monsieur,” he answered readily; and then, of a +sudden, a look of understanding and of infinite pity came into his eyes. +“My God!” he cried. + +“What is it, monsieur?” I asked, staggered by that sudden outcry. + +“Do not ask me, monsieur, do not ask me. I had forgotten for the moment, +in the excitement of all these revelations. But--” He stopped short. + +“Well, monsieur?” + +He seemed to ponder a moment, then looking at me again with that same +compassionate glance, “You had better know,” said he. “And yet--it is a +difficult thing to tell you. I understand now much that I had not dreamt +of. You--you have no suspicion of how you came to be arrested?” + +“For my alleged participation in the late rebellion?” + +“Yes, yes. But who gave the information of your whereabouts? Who told +the Keeper of the Seals where you were to be found?” + +“Oh, that?” I answered easily. “Why, I never doubted it. It was the +coxcomb Saint-Eustache. I whipped him--” + +I stopped short. There was something in Marsac's black face, something +in his glance, that forced the unspoken truth upon my mind. + +“Mother in heaven!” I cried. “Do you mean that it was Mademoiselle de +Lavedan?” + +He bowed his head in silence. Did she hate me, then, so much as that? +Would nothing less than my death appease her, and had I utterly crushed +the love that for a little while she had borne me, that she could bring +herself to hand me over to the headsman? + +God! What a stab was that! It turned me sick with grief--aye, and with +some rage not against her, oh, not against her; against the fates that +had brought such things to pass. + +I controlled myself while their eyes were yet upon me. I went to the +door and held it open for them, and they, perceiving something of my +disorder, were courteous enough to omit the protracted leave-takings +that under other auspices there might have been. Marsac paused a moment +on the threshold as if he would have offered me some word of comfort. +Then, perceiving, perhaps, how banal must be all comfort that was of +words alone, and how it might but increase the anger of the wound it was +meant to balm, he sighed a simple “Adieu, monsieur!” and went his way. + +When they were gone, I returned to the table, and, sitting down, I +buried my head in my arms, and there I lay, a prey to the most poignant +grief that in all my easy, fortunate life I had ever known. That she +should have done this thing! That the woman I loved, the pure, sweet, +innocent girl that I had wooed so ardently in my unworthiness at +Lavedan, should have stooped to such an act of betrayal! To what had I +not reduced her, since such things could be! + +Then, out of my despair grew comfort, slowly at first, and more +vigorously anon. The sudden shock of the news had robbed me of some of +my wit, and had warped my reasoning. Later, as the pain of the blow grew +duller, I came to reflect that what she had done was but a proof--an +overwhelming proof--of how deeply she had cared. Such hatred as this +can be but born of a great love; reaction is ever to be measured by the +action that occasions it, and a great revulsion can only come of a great +affection. Had she been indifferent to me, or had she but entertained +for me a passing liking, she would not have suffered so. + +And so I came to realize how cruel must have been the pang that had +driven her to this. But she had loved me; aye, and she loved me still, +for all that she thought she hated, and for all that she had acted as +if she hated. But even if I were wrong--even if she did hate me--what a +fresh revulsion would not be hers when anon she learnt that--whatever my +sins--I had not played lightly with her love; that I was not, as she had +imagined, the betrothed of another woman! + +The thought fired me like wine. I was no longer listless--no longer +indifferent as to whether I lived or died. I must live. I must enlighten +the Keeper of the Seals and the judges at Toulouse concerning my +identity. Why, indeed, had I ever wavered? Bardelys the Magnificent must +come to life again, and then--What then? + +As suddenly as I had been exalted was I cast down. There was a rumour +abroad that Bardelys was dead. In the wake of that rumour I shrewdly +guessed that the report of the wager that had brought him into Languedoc +would not be slow to follow. What then? Would she love me any the +better? Would she hate me any the less? If now she was wounded by the +belief that I had made sport of her love, would not that same belief be +with her again when she came to know the truth? + +Aye, the tangle was a grievous one. Yet I took heart. My old resolve +returned to me, and I saw the need for urgency--in that alone could +lie now my redemption in her eyes. My wager must be paid before I again +repaired to her, for all that it should leave me poor indeed. In the +mean while, I prayed God that she might not hear of it ere I returned to +tell her. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. THE KING'S COMMISSIONER + + +For that most amiable of Gascon cadets, Monsieur de Castelroux, I have +naught but the highest praise. In his every dealing with me he revealed +himself so very gallant, generous, and high-minded a gentleman that it +was little short of a pleasure to be his prisoner. He made no inquiries +touching the nature of my interview with those two gentlemen at the +Hotel de la Couronne, and when at the moment of leaving I requested him +to deliver a packet to the taller of those same two he did so without +comment or question. That packet contained the portrait of Mademoiselle +de Marsac, but on the inner wrapper was a note requesting Lesperon not +to open it until he should be in Spain. + +Neither Marsac nor Lesperon did I see again before we resumed our +journey to Toulouse. + +At the moment of setting out a curious incident occurred. Castelroux's +company of dragoons had ridden into the courtyard as we were mounting. +They lined up under their lieutenant's command, to allow us to pass; +but as we reached the porte-cochere we were delayed for a moment by a +travelling-carriage, entering for relays, and coming, apparently, from +Toulouse. Castelroux and I backed our horses until we were in the midst +of the dragoons, and so we stood while the vehicle passed in. As it +went by, one of the leather curtains was drawn back, and my heart was +quickened by the sight of a pale girl face, with eyes of blue, and brown +curls lying upon the slender neck. Her glance lighted on me, swordless +and in the midst of that company of troopers, and I bowed low upon the +withers of my horse, doffing my hat in distant salutation. + +The curtain dropped again, and eclipsed the face of the woman that had +betrayed me. With my mind full of wild surmisings as to what emotions +might have awakened in her upon beholding me, I rode away in silence +at Monsieur de Castelroux's side. Had she experienced any remorse? Any +shame? Whether or not such feelings had been aroused at sight of me, it +certainly would not be long ere she experienced them, for at the Hotel +de la Couronne were those who would enlighten her. + +The contemplation of the remorseful grief that might anon beset her when +she came to ponder the truth of matters, and, with that truth, those +things that at Lavedan I had uttered, filled me presently with regret +and pity. I grew impatient to reach Toulouse and tell the judges of the +mistake that there had been. My name could not be unknown to them, and +the very mention of it, I thought, should suffice to give them pause and +lead them to make inquiries before sending me to the scaffold. Yet I was +not without uneasiness, for the summariness with which Castelroux had +informed me they were in the habit of dealing with those accused of high +treason occasioned me some apprehensive pangs. + +This apprehension led me to converse with my captor touching those +trials, seeking to gather from him who were the judges. I learnt then +that besides the ordinary Tribunal, a Commissioner had been dispatched +by His Majesty, and was hourly expected to arrive at Toulouse. It would +be his mission to supervise and direct the inquiries that were taking +place. It was said, he added, that the King himself was on his way +thither, to be present at the trial of Monsieur le Duc de Montmorency. +But he was travelling by easy stages, and was not yet expected for some +days. My heart, which had leapt at the news, as suddenly sank again +with the consideration that I should probably be disposed of before the +King's arrival. It would behoove me, therefore, to look elsewhere for +help and for some one to swear to my identity. + +“Do you know the name of this King's Commissioner?” I asked. + +“It is a certain Comte de Chatellerault, a gentleman man said to stand +very high in His Majesty's favour.” + +“Chatellerault!” I cried in wondering joy. + +“You know him?” + +“Most excellently!” I laughed. “We are very intimately acquainted.” + +“Why, then, monsieur, I augur you this gentleman's friendship, and that +it may pilot you through your trouble. Although--” Being mercifully +minded, he stopped short. + +But I laughed easily. “Indeed, my dear Captain, I think it will,” + said I; “although friendship in this world is a thing of which the +unfortunate know little.” + +But I rejoiced too soon, as you shall hear. + +We rode diligently on, our way lying along the fertile banks of the +Garonne, now yellow with the rustling corn. Towards evening we made our +last halt at Fenouillet, whence a couple of hours' riding should bring +us to Toulouse. + +At the post-house we overtook a carriage that seemingly had halted for +relays, but upon which I scarce bestowed a glance as I alighted. + +Whilst Castelroux went to arrange for fresh horses, I strode into the +common room, and there for some moments I stood discussing the viands +with our host. When at last I had resolved that a cold pasty and a +bottle of Armagnac would satisfy our wants, I looked about me to take +survey of those in the room. One group in a remote corner suddenly +riveted my attention to such a degree that I remained deaf to the voice +of Castelroux, who had just entered, and who stood now beside me. In +the centre of this group was the Comte de Chatellerault himself, a +thick-set, sombre figure, dressed with that funereal magnificence he +affected. + +But it was not the sight of him that filled me with amazement. For that, +Castelroux's information had prepared me, and I well understood in what +capacity he was there. My surprise sprang rather from the fact +that amongst the half-dozen gentlemen about him--and evidently in +attendance--I beheld the Chevalier de Saint-Eustache. Now, knowing as I +did, the Chevalier's treasonable leanings, there was ample cause for my +astonishment at finding him in such company. Apparently, too, he was +on very intimate terms with the Count, for in raising my glance I +had caught him in the act of leaning over to whisper familiarly in +Chatellerault's ear. + +Their eyes--indeed, for that matter the eyes of the entire company--were +turned in my direction. + +Perhaps it was not a surprising thing that Chatellerault should gaze +upon me in that curious fashion, for was it not probable that he had +heard that I was dead? Besides, the fact that I was without a sword, and +that at my side stood a King's officer, afforded evidence enough of +my condition, and well might Chatellerault stare at beholding me so +manifestly a prisoner. + +Even as I watched him, he appeared to start at something that +Saint-Eustache was saying, and a curious change spread over his face. +Its whilom expression had been rather one of dismay; for, having +believed me dead, he no doubt accounted his wager won, whereas seeing me +alive had destroyed that pleasant conviction. But now it took on a look +of relief and of something that suggested malicious cunning. + +“That,” said Castelroux in my ear, “is the King's commissioner.” + +Did I not know it? I never waited to answer him, but, striding across +the room, I held out my hand over the table--to Chatellerault. + +“My dear Comte,” I cried, “you are most choicely met.” + +I would have added more, but there was something in his attitude that +silenced me. He had turned half from me, and stood now, hand on hip, his +great head thrown back and tilted towards his shoulder, his expression +one of freezing and disdainful wonder. + +Now, if his attitude filled me with astonishment and apprehension, +consider how these feelings were heightened by his words. + +“Monsieur de Lesperon, I can but express amazement at your effrontery. +If we have been acquainted in the past, do you think that is a +sufficient reason for me to take your hand now that you have placed +yourself in a position which renders it impossible for His Majesty's +loyal servants to know you?” + +I fell back a pace, my mind scarce grasping yet the depths of this +inexplicable attitude. + +“This to me, Chatellerault?” I gasped. + +“To you?” he blazed, stirred to a sudden passion. “What else did you +expect, Monsieur de Lesperon?” + +I had it in me to give him the lie, to denounce him then for a low, +swindling trickster. I understood all at once the meaning of this +wondrous make-believe. From Saint-Eustache he had gathered the mistake +there was, and for his wager's sake he would let the error prevail, and +hurry me to the scaffold. What else might I have expected from the man +that had lured me into such a wager--a wager which the knowledge he +possessed had made him certain of winning? Would he who had cheated at +the dealing of the cards neglect an opportunity to cheat again during +the progress of the game? + +As I have said, I had it in my mind to cry out that he lied--that I was +not Lesperon; that he knew I was Bardelys. But the futility of such an +outcry came to me simultaneously with the thought of it. And, I fear +me, I stood before him and his satellites--the mocking Saint-Eustache +amongst them--a very foolish figure. + +“There is no more to be said,” I murmured at last. + +“But there is!” he retorted. “There is much more to be said. You shall +render yet an account of your treason, and I am afraid, my poor rebel, +that your comely head will part company with your shapely body. You and +I will meet at Toulouse. What more is to be said will be said in the +Tribunal there.” + +A chill encompassed me. I was doomed, it seemed. This man, ruling the +province pending the King's arrival, would see to it that none came +forward to recognize me. He would expedite the comedy of my trial, and +close it with the tragedy of my execution. My professions of a mistake +of identity--if I wasted breath upon them would be treated with disdain +and disregarded utterly. God! What a position had I got myself into, and +what a vein of comedy ran through it--grim, tragic comedy, if you will, +yet comedy to all faith. The very woman whom I had wagered to wed had +betrayed me into the hands of the very man with whom I laid my wager. + +But there was more in it than that. As I had told Mironsac that night in +Paris, when the thing had been initiated, it was a duel that was being +fought betwixt Chatellerault and me--a duel for supremacy in the King's +good graces. We were rivals, and he desired my removal from the Court. +To this end had he lured me into a bargain that should result in my +financial ruin, thereby compelling me to withdraw from the costly life +of the Luxembourg, and leaving him supreme, the sole and uncontested +recipient of our master's favour. Now into his hand Fate had thrust a +stouter weapon and a deadlier: a weapon which not only should make him +master of the wealth that I had pledged, but one whereby he might +remove me for all time, a thousandfold more effectively than the mere +encompassing of my ruin would have done. + +I was doomed. I realized it fully and very bitterly. + +I was to go out of the ways of men unnoticed and unmourned; as a rebel, +under the obscure name of another and bearing another's sins upon my +shoulders, I was to pass almost unheeded to the gallows. Bardelys the +Magnificent--the Marquis Marcel Saint-Pol de Bardelys, whose splendour +had been a byword in France--was to go out like a guttering candle. + +The thought filled me with the awful frenzy that so often goes with +impotency, such a frenzy as the damned in hell may know. I forgot in +that hour my precept that under no conditions should a gentleman give +way to anger. In a blind access of fury I flung myself across the table +and caught that villainous cheat by the throat, before any there could +put out a hand to stop me. + +He was a heavy man, if a short one, and the strength of his thick-set +frame was a thing abnormal. Yet at that moment such nervous power did +I gather from my rage, that I swung him from his feet as though he had +been the puniest weakling. I dragged him down on to the table, and there +I ground his face with a most excellent good-will and relish. + +“You liar, you cheat, you thief!” I snarled like any cross-grained +mongrel. “The King shall hear of this, you knave! By God, he shall!” + +They dragged me from him at last--those lapdogs that attended him--and +with much rough handling they sent me sprawling among the sawdust on +the floor. It is more than likely that but for Castelroux's intervention +they had made short work of me there and then. + +But with a bunch of Mordieus, Sangdieus, and Po' Cap de Dieus, the +little Gascon flung himself before my prostrate figure, and bade them in +the King's name, and at their peril, to stand back. + +Chatellerault, sorely shaken, his face purple, and with blood streaming +from his nostrils, had sunk into a chair. He rose now, and his first +words were incoherent, raging gasps. + +“What is your name, sir?” he bellowed at last, addressing the Captain. + +“Amedee de Mironsac de Castelroux, of Chateau Rouge in Gascony,” + answered my captor, with a grand manner and a flourish, and added, “Your +servant.” + +“What authority have you to allow your prisoners this degree of +freedom?” + +“I do not need authority, monsieur,” replied the Gascon. + +“Do you not?” blazed the Count. “We shall see. Wait until I am in +Toulouse, my malapert friend.” + +Castelroux drew himself up, straight as a rapier, his face slightly +flushed and his glance angry, yet he had the presence of mind to +restrain himself, partly at least. + +“I have my orders from the Keeper of the Seals, to effect the +apprehension of Monsieur de Lesperon; and to deliver him up, alive or +dead, at Toulouse. So that I do this, the manner of it is my own affair, +and who presumes to criticize my methods censoriously impugns my honour +and affronts me. And who affronts me, monsieur, be he whosoever he may +be, renders me satisfaction. I beg that you will bear that circumstance +in mind.” + +His moustaches bristled as he spoke, and altogether his air was very +fierce and truculent. For a moment I trembled for him. But the Count +evidently thought better of it than to provoke a quarrel, particularly +one in which he would be manifestly in the wrong, King's Commissioner +though he might be. There was an exchange of questionable compliments +betwixt the officer and the Count, whereafter, to avoid further +unpleasantness, Castelroux conducted me to a private room, where we took +our meal in gloomy silence. + +It was not until an hour later, when we were again in the saddle +and upon the last stage of our journey, that I offered Castelroux an +explanation of my seemingly mad attack upon Chatellerault. + +“You have done a very rash and unwise thing, monsieur,” he had commented +regretfully, and it was in answer to this that I poured out the whole +story. I had determined upon this course while we were supping, for +Castelroux was now my only hope, and as we rode beneath the stars of +that September night I made known to him my true identity. + +I told him that Chatellerault knew me, and I informed him that a wager +lay between us--withholding the particulars of its nature--which had +brought me into Languedoc and into the position wherein he had found and +arrested me. At first he hesitated to believe me, but when at last I +had convinced him by the vehemence of my assurances as much as by +the assurances themselves, he expressed such opinions of the Comte de +Chatellerault as made my heart go out to him. + +“You see, my dear Castelroux, that you are now my last hope,” I said. + +“A forlorn one, my poor gentleman!” he groaned. + +“Nay, that need not be. My intendant Rodenard and some twenty of my +servants should be somewhere betwixt this and Paris. Let them be sought +for monsieur, and let us pray God that they be still in Languedoc and +may be found in time.” + +“It shall be done, monsieur, I promise you,” he answered me solemnly. +“But I implore you not to hope too much from it. Chatellerault has it in +his power to act promptly, and you may depend that he will waste no time +after what has passed.” + +“Still, we may have two or three days, and in those days you must do +what you can, my friend.” + +“You may depend upon me,” he promised. + +“And meanwhile, Castelroux,” said I, “you will say no word of this to +any one.” + +That assurance also he gave me, and presently the lights of our +destination gleamed out to greet us. + +That night I lay in a dank and gloomy cell of the prison of Toulouse, +with never a hope to bear company during those dark, wakeful hours. + +A dull rage was in my soul as I thought of my position, for it had not +needed Castelroux's recommendation to restrain me from building false +hopes upon his chances of finding Rodenard and my followers in time +to save me. Some little ray of consolation I culled, perhaps, from my +thoughts of Roxalanne. Out of the gloom of my cell my fancy fashioned +her sweet girl face and stamped it with a look of gentle pity, of +infinite sorrow for me and for the hand she had had in bringing me to +this. + +That she loved me I was assured, and I swore that if I lived I would +win her yet, in spite of every obstacle that I myself had raised for my +undoing. + + + + +CHAPTER XII. THE TRIBUNAL OF TOULOUSE + + +I had hoped to lie some days in prison before being brought to +trial, and that during those days Castelroux might have succeeded in +discovering those who could witness to my identity. Conceive, therefore, +something of my dismay when on the morrow I was summoned an hour before +noon to go present myself to my judges. + +From the prison to the Palace I was taken in chains like any thief--for +the law demanded this indignity to be borne by one charged with the +crimes they imputed to me. The distance was but short, yet I found it +over-long, which is not wonderful considering that the people stopped +to line up as I went by and to cast upon me a shower of opprobrious +derision--for Toulouse was a very faithful and loyal city. It was within +some two hundred yards of the Palace steps that I suddenly beheld a face +in the crowd, at the sight of which I stood still in my amazement. This +earned me a stab in the back from the butt-end of the pike of one of my +guards. + +“What ails you now?” quoth the man irritably. “Forward, Monsieur le +traite!” + +I moved on, scarce remarking the fellow's roughness; my eyes were +still upon that face--the white, piteous face of Roxalanne. I smiled +reassurance and encouragement, but even as I smiled the horror in her +countenance seemed to increase. Then, as I passed on, she vanished from +my sight, and I was left to conjecture the motives that had occasioned +her return to Toulouse. Had the message that Marsac would yesterday have +conveyed to her caused her to retrace her steps that she might be near +me in my extremity; or had some weightier reason influenced her return? +Did she hope to undo some of the evil she had done? Alas, poor child! If +such were her hopes, I sorely feared me they would prove very idle. + +Of my trial I should say but little did not the exigencies of my story +render it necessary to say much. Even now, across the gap of years, my +gorge rises at the mockery which, in the King's name, those gentlemen +made of justice. I can allow for the troubled conditions of the times, +and I can realize how in cases of civil disturbances and rebellion +it may be expedient to deal summarily with traitors, yet not all the +allowances that I can think of would suffice to condone the methods of +that tribunal. + +The trial was conducted in private by the Keeper of the Seals--a +lean, wizened individual, with an air as musty and dry as that of the +parchments among which he had spent his days. He was supported by +six judges, and on his right sat the King's Commissioner, Monsieur +de Chatellerault--the bruised condition of whose countenance still +advertised the fact that we had met but yesterday. + +Upon being asked my name and place of abode, I created some commotion +by answering boldly “I am the Sieur Marcel de Saint-Pol, Marquis of +Bardelys, of Bardelys in Picardy.” + +The President--that is to say, the Keeper of the Seals--turned +inquiringly to Chatellerault. The Count, however, did no more than +smile and point to something written on a paper that lay spread upon the +table. The President nodded. + +“Monsieur Rene de Lesperon,” said he, “the Court may perhaps not be able +to discriminate whether this statement of yours is a deliberate attempt +to misguide or frustrate the ends of justice, or whether, either in +consequence of your wounds or as a visitation of God for your treason, +you are the victim of a deplorable hallucination. But the Court wishes +you to understand that it is satisfied of your identity. The papers +found upon your person at the time of your arrest, besides other +evidence in our power, remove all possibility of doubt in that +connection. Therefore, in your own interests, we implore you to abandon +these false statements, if so be that you are master of your wits. Your +only hope of saving your head must lie in your truthfully answering our +questions, and even then, Monsieur de Lesperon, the hope that we hold +out to you is so slight as to be no hope at all.” + +There was a pause, during which the other judges nodded their heads in +sage approval of their President's words. For myself, I kept silent, +perceiving how little it could avail me to continue to protest, and +awaited his next question. + +“You were arrested, monsieur, at the Chateau de Lavedan two nights ago +by a company of dragoons under the command of Captain de Castelroux. Is +that so?” + +“It is so, monsieur.” + +“And at the time of your arrest, upon being apprehended as Rene de +Lesperon, you offered no repudiation of the identity; on the contrary, +when Monsieur de Castelroux called for Monsieur de Lesperon, you stepped +forward and acknowledged that you were he.” + +“Pardon, monsieur. What I acknowledged was that I was known by that +name.” + +The President chuckled evilly, and his satellites smiled in polite +reflection of his mood. + +“This acute differentiating is peculiar, Monsieur de Lesperon, to +persons of unsound mental condition,” said he. “I am afraid that it will +serve little purpose. A man is generally known by his name, is he not?” + I did not answer him. “Shall we call Monsieur de Castelroux to confirm +what I have said?” + +“It is not necessary. Since you allow that I may have said I was known +by the name, but refuse to recognize the distinction between that and +a statement that 'Lesperon' is my name, it would serve no purpose to +summon the Captain.” + +The President nodded, and with that the point was dismissed, and he +proceeded as calmly as though there never had been any question of my +identity. + +“You are charged, Monsieur de Lesperon, with high treason in its most +virulent and malignant form. You are accused of having borne arms +against His Majesty. Have you anything to say?” + +“I have to say that it is false, monsieur; that His Majesty has no more +faithful or loving subject than am I.” + +The President shrugged his shoulders, and a shade of annoyance crossed +his face. + +“If you are come here for no other purpose than to deny the statements +that I make, I am afraid that we are but wasting time,” he cried +testily. “If you desire it, I can summon Monsieur de Castelroux to swear +that at the time of your arrest and upon being charged with the crime +you made no repudiation of that charge.” + +“Naturally not, monsieur,” I cried, somewhat heated by this seemingly +studied ignoring of important facts, “because I realized that it was +Monsieur de Castelroux's mission to arrest and not to judge me. Monsieur +de Castelroux was an officer, not a Tribunal, and to have denied this or +that to him would have been so much waste of breath.” + +“Ah! Very nimble; very nimble, in truth, Monsieur de Lesperon, but +scarcely convincing. We will proceed. You are charged with having taken +part in several of the skirmishes against the armies of Marshals +de Schomberg and La Force, and finally, with having been in close +attendance upon Monsieur de Montmorency at the battle of Castelnaudary. +What have you to say?” + +“That it is utterly untrue.” + +“Yet your name, monsieur, is on a list found among the papers in the +captured baggage of Monsieur le Duc de Montmorency.” + +“No, monsieur,” I denied stoutly, “it is not.” + +The President smote the table a blow that scattered a flight of papers. + +“Par la mort Dieu!” he roared, with a most indecent exhibition of temper +in one so placed. “I have had enough of your contradictions. You forget, +monsieur, your position--” + +“At least,” I broke in harshly, “no less than you forget yours.” + +The Keeper of the Seals gasped for breath at that, and his fellow +judges murmured angrily amongst themselves. Chatellerault maintained his +sardonic smile, but permitted himself to utter no word. + +“I would, gentlemen,” I cried, addressing them all, “that His Majesty +were here to see how you conduct your trials and defile his Courts. As +for you, Monsieur le President, you violate the sanctity of your office +in giving way to anger; it is a thing unpardonable in a judge. I have +told you in plain terms, gentlemen, that I am not this Rene de Lesperon +with whose crimes you charge me. Yet, in spite of my denials, ignoring +them, or setting them down either to a futile attempt at defence or to +an hallucination of which you suppose me the victim, you proceed to lay +those crimes to my charge, and when I deny your charges you speak of +proofs that can only apply to another. + +“How shall the name of Lesperon having been found among the Duke of +Montmorency's papers convict me of treason, since I tell you that I am +not Lesperon? Had you the slightest, the remotest sense of your high +duty, messieurs, you would ask me rather to explain how, if what I +state be true, I come to be confounded with Lesperon and arrested in +his place. Then, messieurs, you might seek to test the accuracy of what +statements I may make; but to proceed as you are proceeding is not to +judge but to murder. Justice is represented as a virtuous woman with +bandaged eyes, holding impartial scales; in your hands, gentlemen, by my +soul, she is become a very harlot clutching a veil.” + +Chatellerault's cynical smile grew broader as my speech proceeded and +stirred up the rancour in the hearts of those august gentlemen. The +Keeper of the Seals went white and red by turns, and when I paused there +was an impressive silence that lasted for some moments. At last the +President leant over to confer in a whisper with Chatellerault. Then, +in a voice forcedly calm--like the calm of Nature when thunder is +brewing--he asked me, “Who do you insist that you are, monsieur?” + +“Once already have I told you, and I venture to think that mine is a +name not easily forgotten. I am the Sieur Marcel de Saint-Pol, Marquis +of Bardelys, of Bardelys in Picardy.” + +A cunning grin parted his thin lips. + +“Have you any witnesses to identify you?” + +“Hundreds, monsieur!” I answered eagerly, seeing salvation already +within my grasp. + +“Name some of them.” + +“I will name one--one whose word you will not dare to doubt.” + +“That is?” + +“His Majesty the King. I am told that he is on his way to Toulouse, and +I but ask, messieurs, that you await his arrival before going further +with my trial.” + +“Is there no other witness of whom you can think, monsieur? Some witness +that might be produced more readily. For if you can, indeed, establish +the identity you claim, why should you languish in prison for some +weeks?” + +His voice was soft and oily. The anger had all departed out of it, which +I--like a fool--imagined to be due to my mention of the King. + +“My friends, Monsieur le Garde des Sceaux, are all either in Paris or in +His Majesty's train, and so not likely to be here before him. There +is my intendant, Rodenard, and there are my servants--some twenty +of them--who may perhaps be still in Languedoc, and for whom I would +entreat you to seek. Them you might succeed in finding within a few days +if they have not yet determined to return to Paris in the belief that I +am dead.” + +He stroked his chin meditatively, his eyes raised to the sunlit dome of +glass overhead. + +“Ah-h!” he gasped. It was a long-drawn sigh of regret, of conclusion, or +of weary impatience. “There is no one in Toulouse who will swear to your +identity monsieur?” he asked. + +“I am afraid there is not,” I replied. “I know of no one.” + +As I uttered those words the President's countenance changed as abruptly +as if he had flung off a mask. From soft and cat-like that he had been +during the past few moments, he grew of a sudden savage as a tiger. He +leapt to his feet, his face crimson, his eyes seeming to blaze, and +the words he spoke came now in a hot, confused, and almost incoherent +torrent. + +“Miserable!” he roared, “out of your own mouth have you convicted +yourself. And to think that you should have stood there and wasted the +time of this Court--His Majesty's time--with your damnable falsehoods! +What purpose did you think to serve by delaying your doom? Did you +imagine that haply, whilst we sent to Paris for your witnesses, the +King might grow weary of justice, and in some fit of clemency announce a +general pardon? Such things have been known, and it may be that in your +cunning you played for such a gain based upon such a hope. But justice, +fool, is not to be cozened. Had you, indeed, been Bardelys, you had seen +that here in this court sits a gentleman who is very intimate with him. +He is there, monsieur; that is Monsieur le Comte de Chatellerault, of +whom perhaps you may have heard. Yet, when I ask you whether in Toulouse +there is any one who can bear witness to your identity, you answer me +that you know of no one. I will waste no more time with you, I promise +you.” + +He flung himself back into his chair like a man exhausted, and mopped +his brow with a great kerchief which he had drawn from his robes. His +fellow judges laid their heads together, and with smiles and nods, winks +and leers, they discussed and admired the miraculous subtlety and acumen +of this Solomon. Chatellerault sat, calmly smiling, in solemn mockery. + +For a spell I was too thunderstruck to speak, aghast at this +catastrophe. Like a fool, indeed, I had tumbled into the pit that had +been dug for me by Chatellerault for I never doubted that it was of his +contriving. At last, “My masters,” said I, “these conclusions may +appear to you most plausible, but, believe me, they are fallacious. I am +perfectly acquainted with Monsieur de Chatellerault, and he with me, +and if he were to speak the truth and play the man and the gentleman +for once, he would tell you that I am, indeed, Bardelys. But Monsieur le +Comte has ends of his own to serve in sending me to my doom. It is in a +sense through his agency that I am at present in this position, and that +I have been confounded with Lesperon. What, then, could it have availed +me to have made appeal to him? And yet, Monsieur le President, he was +born a gentleman, and he may still retain some notion of honour. Ask +him, sir--ask him point-blank, whether I am or not Marcel de Bardelys.” + +The firmness of my tones created some impression upon those feeble +minds. Indeed, the President went so far as to turn an interrogative +glance upon the Count. But Chatellerault, supremely master of the +situation, shrugged his shoulders, and smiled a pitying, long-suffering +smile. + +“Must I really answer such a question, Monsieur le President?” he +inquired in a voice and with a manner that clearly implied how low would +be his estimate of the President's intelligence if he were, indeed, +constrained to do so. + +“But no, Monsieur le Comte,” replied the President with sudden haste, +and in scornful rejection of the idea. “There is no necessity that you +should answer.” + +“But the question, Monsieur le President!” I thundered, my hand +outstretched towards Chatellerault. “Ask him--if you have any sense of +your duty--ask him am I not Marcel de Bardelys.” + +“Silence!” blazed the President back at me. “You shall not fool us any +longer, you nimble-witted liar!” + +My head drooped. This coward had, indeed, shattered my last hope. + +“Some day, monsieur,” I said very quietly, “I promise you that your +behaviour and these gratuitous insults shall cost you your position. +Pray God they do not cost you also your head!” + +My words they treated as one might treat the threats of a child. That +I should have had the temerity to utter them did but serve finally to +decide my doom, if, indeed, anything had been wanting. + +With many epithets of opprobrium, such as are applied to malefactors +of the lowest degree, they passed sentence of death upon me, and with +drooping spirits, giving myself up for lost and assured that I should +be led to the block before many hours were sped, I permitted them to +reconduct me through the streets of Toulouse to my prison. + +I could entertain you at length upon my sensations as I walked between +my guards, a man on the threshold of eternity, with hundreds of men and +women gaping at me--men and women who would live for years to gape upon +many another wretch in my position. The sun shone with a brilliance that +to such eyes as mine was a very mockery. Thus would it shine on through +centuries, and light many another unfortunate to the scaffold. The very +sky seemed pitiless in the intensity of its cobalt. Unfeeling I deemed +the note that everywhere was struck by man and Nature, so discordant was +it with my gloomy outlook. If you would have food for reflection upon +the evanescent quality of life, upon the nothingness of man, upon +the empty, heartless egoism implicit in human nature, get yourselves +sentenced to death, and then look around you. With such a force was all +this borne in upon me, and with such sufficiency, that after the first +pang was spent I went near to rejoicing that things were as they were, +and that I was to die, haply before sunset. It was become such a world +as did not seem worth a man's while to live in: a world of vainness, of +hollowness, of meanness, of nothing but illusions. The knowledge that I +was about to die, that I was about to quit all this, seemed to have +torn some veil from my eyes, and to have permitted me to recognize the +worthless quality of what I left. Well may it be that such are but the +thoughts of a man's dying moments, whispered into his soul by a merciful +God to predispose him for the wrench and agony of his passing. + +I had been a half-hour in my cell when the door was opened to admit +Castelroux, whom I had not seen since the night before. He came to +condole with me in my extremity, and yet to bid me not utterly lose +hope. + +“It is too late to-day to carry out the sentence,” said he, “and as +to-morrow will be Sunday, you will have until the day after. By then +much may betide, monsieur. My agents are everywhere scouring the +province for your servants, and let us pray Heaven that they may succeed +in their search.” + +“It is a forlorn hope, Monsieur de Castelroux,” I sighed, “and I will +pin no faith to it lest I suffer a disappointment that will embitter my +last moments, and perhaps rob me of some of the fortitude I shall have +need of.” + +He answered me, nevertheless, with words of encouragement. No effort was +being spared, and if Rodenard and my men were still in Languedoc then +was every likelihood that they would be brought to Toulouse in time. +Then he added that that, however, was not the sole object of his visit. +A lady had obtained permission of the Keeper of the Seals to visit me, +and she was waiting to be admitted. + +“A lady?” I exclaimed, and the thought of Roxalanne flitted through my +mind. “Mademoiselle de Lavedan?” I inquired. + +He nodded. “Yes,” said he; then added, “She seems in sore affliction, +monsieur.” + +I besought him to admit her forthwith, and presently she came. +Castelroux closed the door as he withdrew, and we were left alone +together. As she put aside her cloak, and disclosed to me the pallor of +her face and the disfiguring red about her gentle eyes, telling of +tears and sleeplessness, all my own trouble seemed to vanish in the +contemplation of her affliction. + +We stood a moment confronting each other with no word spoken. Then, +dropping her glance, and advancing a step, in a faltering, hesitating +manner “Monsieur, monsieur,” she murmured in a suffocating voice. + +In a bound I was beside her, and I had gathered her in my arms, her +little brown head against my shoulder. + +“Roxalanne!” I whispered as soothingly as I might--“Roxalanne!” + +But she struggled to be free of my embrace. + +“Let me go, monsieur,” she pleaded, a curious shrinking in her very +voice. “Do not touch me, monsieur. You do not know--you do not know.” + +For answer, I enfolded her more tightly still. + +“But I do know, little one,” I whispered; “and I even understand.” + +At that, her struggles ceased upon the instant, and she seemed to lie +limp and helpless in my arms. + +“You know, monsieur,” she questioned me--“you know that I betrayed you?” + +“Yes,” I answered simply. + +“And you can forgive me? I am sending you to your death and you have no +reproaches for me! Oh, monsieur, it will kill me!” + +“Hush, child!” I whispered. “What reproaches can I have for you? I know +the motives that impelled you.” + +“Not altogether, monsieur; you cannot know them. I loved you, monsieur. +I do love you, monsieur. Oh! this is not a time to consider words. If I +am bold and unmaidenly, I--I--” + +“Neither bold nor unmaidenly, but--oh, the sweetest damsel in all +France, my Roxalanne!” I broke in, coming to her aid. “Mine was a +leprous, sinful soul, child, when I came into Languedoc. I had no +faith in any human good, and I looked as little for an honest man or a +virtuous woman as one looks for honey in a nettle. I was soured, and my +life had hardly been such a life as it was meet to bring into contact +with your own. Then, among the roses at Lavedan, in your dear company, +Roxalanne, it seemed that some of the good, some of the sweetness, some +of the purity about you were infused anew into my heart. I became young +again, and I seemed oddly cleansed. In that hour of my rejuvenation I +loved you, Roxalanne.” + +Her face had been raised to mine as I spoke. There came now a flutter of +the eyelids, a curious smile about the lips. Then her head drooped again +and was laid against my breast; a sigh escaped her, and she began to +weep softly. + +“Nay, Roxalanne, do not fret. Come, child, it is not your way to be +weak.” + +“I have betrayed you!” she moaned. “I am sending you to your death!” + +“I understand, I understand,” I answered, smoothing her brown hair. + +“Not quite, monsieur. I loved you so, monsieur, that you can have no +thought of how I suffered that morning when Mademoiselle de Marsac came +to Lavedan. + +“At first it was but the pain of thinking that--that I was about to lose +you; that you were to go out of my life, and that I should see you no +more--you whom I had enshrined so in my heart. + +“I called myself a little fool that morning for having dreamed that +you had come to care for me; my vanity I thought had deluded me into +imagining that your manner towards me had a tenderness that spoke of +affection. I was bitter with myself, and I suffered oh, so much! Then +later, when I was in the rose garden, you came to me. + +“You remember how you seized me, and how by your manner you showed +me that it was not vanity alone had misled me. You had fooled me, I +thought; even in that hour I imagined you were fooling me; you made +light of me; and my sufferings were naught to you so that I might give +you some amusement to pass the leisure and monotony of your sojourn with +us.” + +“Roxalanne--my poor Roxalanne!” I whispered. + +“Then my bitterness and sorrow all turned to anger against you. You had +broken my heart, and I thought that you had done it wantonly. For that I +burned to punish you. Ah! and not only that, perhaps. I think, too, that +some jealousy drove me on. You had wooed and slighted me, yet you had +made me love you, and if you were not for me I swore you should be +for no other. And so, while my madness endured, I quitted Lavedan, and +telling my father that I was going to Auch, to his sister's house, I +came to Toulouse and betrayed you to the Keeper of the Seals. + +“Scarce was the thing done than I beheld the horror of it, and I hated +myself. In my despair, I abandoned all idea of pursuing the journey +to Auch, but turned and made my way back in haste, hoping that I might +still come to warn you. But at Grenade I met you already in charge of +the soldiers. At Grenade, too I learnt the truth--that you were not +Lesperon. Can you not guess something of my anguish then? Already +loathing my act, and beside myself for having betrayed you, think into +what despair I was plunged by Monsieur de Marsac's intimation. + +“Then I understood that for reasons of your own you had concealed your +identity. You were not perhaps, betrothed; indeed, I remembered then +how, solemnly you had sworn that you were not; and so I bethought me +that your vows to me may have been sincere and such as a maid might +honourably listen to.” + +“They were, Roxalanne! they were!” I cried. + +But she continued “That you had Mademoiselle de Marsac's portrait was +something that I could not explain; but then I hear that you had also +Lesperon's papers upon you; so that you may have become possessed of the +one with the others. And now, monsieur--” + +She ceased, and there against my breast she lay weeping and weeping +in her bitter passion of regret, until it seemed to me she would never +regain her self-control. + +“It has been all my fault, Roxalanne,” said I, “and if I am to pay the +price they are exacting, it will be none too high. I embarked upon a +dastardly business; which brought me to Languedoc under false colours. +I wish, indeed, that I had told you when first the impulse to tell you +came upon me. Afterwards it grew impossible.” + +“Tell me now,” she begged. “Tell me who you are.” + +Sorely was I tempted to respond. Almost was I on the point of doing so, +when suddenly the thought of how she might shrink from me, of how, even +then, she might come to think that I had but simulated love for her for +infamous purposes of gain, restrained and silenced me. During the few +hours of life that might be left me I would at least be lord and master +of her heart. When I was dead--for I had little hope of Castelroux's +efforts--it would matter less, and perhaps because I was dead she would +be merciful. + +“I cannot, Roxalanne. Not even now. It is too vile! If--if they carry +out the sentence on Monday, I shall leave a letter for you, telling you +everything.” + +She shuddered, and a sob escaped her. From my identity her mind fled +back to the more important matter of my fate. + +“They will not carry it out, monsieur! Oh, they till not! Say that you +can defend yourself, that you are not the man they believe you to be!” + +“We are in God's hands, child. It may be that I shall save myself yet. +If I do, I shall come straight to you, and you shall know all that there +is to know. But, remember, child”--and raising her face in my hands, I +looked down into the blue of her tearful eyes--“remember, little one, +that in one thing I have been true and honourable, and influenced by +nothing but my heart--in my wooing of you. I love you, Roxalanne, with +all my soul, and if I should die you are the only thing in all this +world that I experience a regret at leaving.” + +“I do believe it; I do, indeed. Nothing can ever alter my belief again. +Will you not, then, tell me who you are, and what is this thing, which +you call dishonourable, that brought you into Languedoc?” + +A moment again I pondered. Then I shook my head. + +“Wait, child,” said I; and she, obedient to my wishes, asked no more. + +It was the second time that I neglected a favourable opportunity of +making that confession, and as I had regretted having allowed the first +occasion to pass unprofited, so was I, and still more poignantly, to +regret this second silence. + +A little while she stayed with me yet, and I sought to instil some +measure of comfort into her soul. I spoke of the hopes that I based upon +Castelroux's finding friends to recognize me--hopes that were passing +slender. And she, poor child, sought also to cheer me and give me +courage. + +“If only the King were here!” she sighed. “I would go to him, and on my +knees I would plead for your enlargement. But they say he is no nearer +than Lyons; and I could not hope to get there and back by Monday. I will +go to the Keeper of the Seals again, monsieur, and I will beg him to be +merciful, and at least to delay the sentence.” + +I did not discourage her; I did not speak of the futility of such a +step. But I begged her to remain in Toulouse until Monday, that +she might visit me again before the end, if the end were to become +inevitable. + +Then Castelroux came to reconduct her, and we parted. But she left me +a great consolation, a great strengthening comfort. If I were destined, +indeed, to walk to the scaffold, it seemed that I could do it with a +better grace and a gladder courage now. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. THE ELEVENTH HOUR + + +Castelroux visited me upon the following morning, but he brought no news +that might be accounted encouraging. None of his messengers were yet +returned, nor had any sent word that they were upon the trail of my +followers. My heart sank a little, and such hope as I still fostered +was fast perishing. Indeed, so imminent did my doom appear and so +unavoidable, that later in the day I asked for pen and paper that I +might make an attempt at setting my earthly affairs to rights. Yet when +the writing materials were brought me, I wrote not. I sat instead with +the feathered end of my quill between my teeth, and thus pondered the +matter of the disposal of my Picardy estates. + +Coldly I weighed the wording of the wager and the events that had +transpired, and I came at length to the conclusion that Chatellerault +could not be held to have the least claim upon my lands. That he had +cheated at the very outset, as I have earlier shown, was of less account +than that he had been instrumental in violently hindering me. + +I took at last the resolve to indite a full memoir of the transaction, +and to request Castelroux to see that it was delivered to the King +himself. Thus not only would justice be done, but I should--though +tardily--be even with the Count. No doubt he relied upon his power to +make a thorough search for such papers as I might leave, and to destroy +everything that might afford indication of my true identity. But he had +not counted upon the good feeling that had sprung up betwixt the little +Gascon captain and me, nor yet upon my having contrived to convince the +latter that I was, indeed, Bardelys, and he little dreamt of such a step +as I was about to take to ensure his punishment hereafter. + +Resolved at last, I was commencing to write when my attention was +arrested by an unusual sound. It was at first no more than a murmuring +noise, as of at sea breaking upon its shore. Gradually it grew its +volume and assumed the shape of human voices raised in lusty clamour. +Then, above the din of the populace, a gun boomed out, then another, and +another. + +I sprang up at that, and, wondering what might be toward, I crossed to +my barred window and stood there listening. I overlooked the courtyard +of the jail, and I could see some commotion below, in sympathy, as it +were, with the greater commotion without. + +Presently, as the populace drew nearer, it seemed to me that the +shouting was of acclamation. Next I caught a blare of trumpets, and, +lastly, I was able to distinguish above the noise, which had now grown +to monstrous proportions, the clattering hoofs of some cavalcade that +was riding past the prison doors. + +It was borne in upon me that some great personage was arriving in +Toulouse, and my first thought was of the King. At the idea of such a +possibility my brain whirled and I grew dizzy with hope. The next moment +I recalled that but last night Roxalanne had told me that he was no +nearer than Lyons, and so I put the thought from me, and the hope +with it, for, travelling in that leisurely, indolent fashion that was +characteristic of his every action, it would be a miracle if His Majesty +should reach Toulouse before the week was out, and this but Sunday. + +The populace passed on, then seemed to halt, and at last the shouts died +down on the noontide air. I went back to my writing, and to wait until +from my jailer, when next he should chance to appear, I might learn the +meaning of that uproar. + +An hour perhaps went by, and I had made some progress with my memoir, +when my door was opened and the cheery voice of Castelroux greeted me +from the threshold. + +“Monsieur, I have brought a friend to see you.” + +I turned in my chair, and one glance at the gentle, comely face and +the fair hair of the young man standing beside Castelroux was enough to +bring me of a sudden to my feet. + +“Mironsac!” I shouted, and sprang towards him with hands outstretched. + +But though my joy was great and my surprise profound, greater still was +the bewilderment that in Mironsac's face I saw depicted. + +“Monsieur de Bardelys!” he exclaimed, and a hundred questions were +contained in his astonished eyes. + +“Po' Cap de Dieu!” growled his cousin, “I was well advised, it seems, to +have brought you.” + +“But,” Mironsac asked his cousin, as he took my hands in his own, “why +did you not tell me, Amedee, that it was to Monsieur le Marquis de +Bardelys that you were conducting me?” + +“Would you have had me spoil so pleasant a surprise?” his cousin +demanded. + +“Armand,” said I, “never was a man more welcome than are you. You are +but come in time to save my life.” + +And then, in answer to his questions, I told him briefly of all that had +befallen me since that night in Paris when the wager had been laid, and +of how, through the cunning silence of Chatellerault, I was now upon the +very threshold of the scaffold. His wrath burst forth at that, and +what he said of the Count did me good to hear. At last I stemmed his +invective. + +“Let that be for the present, Mironsac,” I laughed. “You are here, and +you can thwart all Chatellerault's designs by witnessing to my identity +before the Keeper of the Seals.” + +And then of a sudden a doubt closed like a cold hand upon my brain. I +turned to Castelroux. + +“Mon Dieu!” I cried. “What if they were to deny me a fresh trial?” + +“Deny it you!” he laughed. “They will not be asked to grant you one.” + +“There will be no need,” added Mironsac. “I have but to tell the King--” + +“But, my friend,” I exclaimed impatiently, “I am to die in the morning!” + +“And the King shall be told to-day--now, at once. I will go to him.” + +I stared askance a moment; then the thought of the uproar that I had +heard recurring to me, “Has the King arrived already?” I exclaimed. + +“Naturally, monsieur. How else do I come to be here? I am in His +Majesty's train.” + +At that I grew again impatient. I thought of Roxalanne and of how she +must be suffering, and I bethought me that every moment Mironsac now +remained in my cell was another moment of torture for that poor child. +So I urged him to be gone at once and carry news of my confinement to +His Majesty. He obeyed me, and I was left alone once more, to pace up +and down in my narrow cell, a prey to an excitement such as I should +have thought I had outlived. + +At the end of a half-hour Castelroux returned alone. + +“Well?” I cried the moment the door opened, and without giving him so +much as time to enter. “What news?” + +“Mironsac tells me that His Majesty is more overwrought than he has ever +seen him. You are to come to the Palace at once. I have an order here +from the King.” + +We went in a coach, and with all privacy, for he informed me that His +Majesty desired the affair to be kept secret, having ends of his own to +serve thereby. + +I was left to wait some moments in an ante-chamber, whilst Castelroux +announced me to the King; then I was ushered into a small apartment, +furnished very sumptuously in crimson and gold, and evidently set apart +for His Majesty's studies or devotions. As I entered, Louis's back was +towards me. He was standing--a tall, spare figure in black--leaning +against the frame of a window, his head supported on his raised left arm +and his eyes intent upon the gardens below. + +He remained so until Castelroux had withdrawn and the door had closed +again; then, turning suddenly, he confronted me, his back to the light, +so that his face was in a shadow that heightened its gloom and wonted +weariness. + +“Voila, Monsieur de Bardelys!” was his greeting, and unfriendly. “See +the pass to which your disobedience of my commands has brought you.” + +“I would submit, Sire,” I answered, “that I have been brought to it by +the incompetence of Your Majesty's judges and the ill-will of others +whom Your Majesty honours with too great a confidence, rather than by +this same disobedience of mine.” + +“The one and the other, perhaps,” he said more softly. “Though, after +all, they appear to have had a very keen nose for a traitor. Come, +Bardelys, confess yourself that.” + +“I? A traitor?” + +He shrugged his shoulders, and laughed without any conspicuous mirth. + +“Is not a traitor one who runs counter to the wishes; of his King? And +are you not, therefore, a traitor, whether they call you Lesperon or +Bardelys? But there,” he ended more softly still, and flinging himself +into a chair as he spoke, “I have been so wearied since you left me, +Marcel. They have the best intentions in the world, these dullards, +and some of them love me even; but they are tiresome all. Even +Chatellerault, when he has a fancy for a jest--as in your case +perpetrates it with the grace of a bear, the sprightliness of an +elephant.” + +“Jest?” said I. + +“You find it no jest, Marcel? Pardieu, who shall blame you? He would be +a man of unhealthy humour that could relish such a pleasantry as that of +being sentenced to death. But tell me of it. The whole story, Marcel. I +have not heard a story worth the listening to since--since you left us.” + +“Would it please you, Sire, to send for the Comte de Chatellerault ere I +begin?” I asked. + +“Chatellerault? No, no.” He shook his head whimsically. “Chatellerault +has had his laugh already, and, like the ill-mannered dog he is, he has +kept it to himself. I think, Marcel, that it is our turn now. I have +purposely sent Chatellerault away that he may gain no notion of the +catastrophic jest we are preparing him in return.” + +The words set me in the very best of humours, and to that it may be due +that presently, as I warmed to my narrative, I lent it a vigour that +drew His Majesty out of his wonted apathy and listlessness. He leaned +forward when I told him of my encounter with the dragoons at Mirepoix, +and how first I had committed the false step of representing myself to +be Lesperon. + +Encouraged by his interest, I proceeded, and I told my story with as +much piquancy as I was master of, repressing only those slight matters +which might reflect upon Monsieur de Lavedan's loyalty, but otherwise +dealing frankly with His Majesty, even down to the genuineness of the +feelings I entertained for Roxalanne. Often he laughed, more often still +he nodded approvingly, in understanding and sympathy, whilst now and +then he purred his applause. But towards the end, when I came to the +matter of the Tribunal of Toulouse, of how my trial was conducted, and +of the part played in it by Chatellerault, his face grew set and hard. + +“It is true--all this that you tell me?” he cried harshly. + +“As true as the Gospels. If you deem an oath necessary, Sire, I swear +by my honour that I have uttered nothing that is false, and that, in +connection with Monsieur de Chatellerault, even as I have suppressed +nothing, so also have I exaggerated nothing.” + +“The dastard!” he snapped. “But we will avenge you, Marcel. Never fear +it.” + +Then the trend of his thoughts being changed, he smiled wearily. + +“By my faith, you may thank God every night of your worthless life that +I came so opportunely to Toulouse, and so may that fair child whose +beauty you have limned with such a lover's ardour. Nay, never redden, +Marcel. What? At your age, and with such a heavy score of affaires to +your credit, has it been left for a simple Languedoc maiden to call a +blush to your callous cheek? Ma foi, they say truly that love is a great +regenerator, a great rejuvenator!” + +I made him no answer other than a sigh, for his words set me thinking, +and with thought came a tempering of the gay humour that had pervaded +me. Remarking this, and misreading it, he laughed outright. + +“There, Marcel, never fear. We will not be rigorous. You have won both +the maid and the wager, and, by the Mass, you shall enjoy both.” + +“Helas, Sire,” I sighed again, “when the lady comes to know of the +wager--” + +“Waste no time in telling her, Marcel, and cast yourself upon her mercy. +Nay, go not with so gloomy a face, my friend. When woman loves, she can +be very merciful; leastways, they tell me so.” + +Then, his thoughts shifting ground once more, he grew stern again. + +“But first we have Chatellerault to deal with. What shall we do with +him?” + +“It is for Your Majesty to decide.” + +“For me?” he cried, his voice resuming the harshness that was never far +from it. “I have a fancy for having gentlemen about me. Think you I will +set eyes again upon that dastard? I am already resolved concerning him, +but it entered my mind that it might please you to be the instrument of +the law for me.” + +“Me, Sire?” + +“Aye, and why not? They say you can play a very deadly sword upon +necessity. This is an occasion that demands an exception from our edict. +You have my sanction to send the Comte de Chatellerault a challenge. And +see that you kill him, Bardelys!” he continued viciously. “For, by the +Mass, if you don't, I will! If he escapes your sword, or if he survives +such hurt as you may do him, the headsman shall have him. Mordieu! is it +for nothing that I am called Louis the Just?” + +I stood in thought for a moment. Then-- + +“If I do this thing, Sire,” I ventured, “the world will say of me that I +did so to escape the payment I had incurred.” + +“Fool, you have not incurred it. When a man cheats, does he not forfeit +all his rights?” + +“That is very true. But the world--” + +“Peste!” he snapped impatiently, “you are beginning to weary me, +Marcel--and all the world does that so excellently that it needs not +your collaboration. Go your ways, man, and do as you elect. But take my +sanction to slay this fellow Chatellerault, and I shall be the better +pleased if you avail yourself of it. He is lodged at the Auberge Royale, +where probably you will find him at present. Now, go. I have more +justice to dispense in this rebellious province.” + +I paused a moment. + +“Shall I not resume my duties near Your Majesty?” + +He pondered a moment, then he smiled in his weary way. + +“It would please me to have you, for these creatures are so dismally +dull, all of them. Je m'ennuie tellement, Marcel!” he sighed. “Ough! +But, no, my friend, I do not doubt you would be as dull as any of them +at present. A man in love is the weariest and most futile thing in all +this weary, futile world. What shall I do with your body what time your +soul is at Lavedan? I doubt me you are in haste to get you there. So go, +Marcel. Get you wed, and live out your amorous intoxication; marriage is +the best antidote. When that is done, return to me.” + +“That will be never, Sire,” I answered slyly. + +“Say you so, Master Cupid Bardelys?” And he combed his beard +reflectively. “Be not too sure. There have been other passions--aye, as +great as yours--yet have they staled. But you waste my time. Go, Marcel; +you are excused your duties by me for as long as your own affairs shall +hold you elsewhere--for as long as you please. We are here upon a gloomy +business--as you know. There are my cousin Montmorency and the others +to be dealt with, and we are holding no levees, countenancing no revels. +But come to me when you will, and I will see you. Adieu!” + +I murmured my thanks, and very deep and sincere were they. Then, having +kissed his hand, I left him. + +Louis XIII is a man who lacks not maligners. Of how history may come to +speak of him it is not mine to hazard. But this I can say, that I, +at least, did never find him other than a just and kindly master, an +upright gentleman, capricious at times and wilful, as must inevitably +be the case with such spoilt children of fortune as are princes, but +of lofty ideals and high principles. It was his worst fault that he was +always tired, and through that everlasting weariness he came to entrust +the determining of most affairs to His Eminence. Hence has it resulted +that the censure for many questionable acts of his reign, which were the +work of my Lord Cardinal, has recoiled upon my august master's head. + +But to me, with all the faults that may be assigned him, he was ever +Louis the Just, and wherever his name be mentioned in my hearing, I bare +my head. + + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. EAVESDROPPING + + +I turned it over in my mind, after I had left the King's presence, +whether or not I should visit with my own hands upon Chatellerault the +punishment he had so fully earned. That I would have gone about the task +rejoicing you may readily imagine; but there was that accursed wager, +and--to restrain me--the thought of how such an action might be +construed into an evasion of its consequences. Better a thousand times +that His Majesty should order his arrest and deal with him for his +attempted perversion of justice to the service of his own vile ends. The +charge of having abused his trust as King's commissioner to the extent +of seeking to do murder through the channels of the Tribunal was one +that could not fail to have fatal results for him--as, indeed, the King +had sworn. + +That was the position of affairs as it concerned Chatellerault, the +world, and me. But the position must also be considered as it concerned +Roxalanne, and deeply, indeed, did I so consider it. Much pondering +brought me again to the conclusion that until I had made the only +atonement in my power, the only atonement that would leave me with clean +hands, I must not again approach her. + +Whether Chatellerault had cheated or not could not affect the question +as it concerned Mademoiselle and me. If I paid the wager--whether in +honour bound to do so or not--I might then go to her, impoverished, +it is true, but at least with no suspicion attaching to my suit of any +ulterior object other than that of winning Roxalanne herself. + +I could then make confession, and surely the fact that I had paid where +clearly there was no longer any need to pay must earn me forgiveness and +afford proof of the sincerity of my passion. + +Upon such a course, then, did I decide, and, with this end in view, I +took my way towards the Auberge Royale, where His Majesty had told me +that the Count was lodged. It was my purpose to show myself fully aware +of the treacherous and unworthy part he had played at the very inception +of the affair, and that if I chose to consider the wager lost it was +that I might the more honestly win the lady. + +Upon inquiring at the hostelry for Monsieur de Chatellerault I was +informed by the servant I addressed that he was within, but that at the +moment he had a visitor. I replied that I would wait, and demanded a +private room, since I desired to avoid meeting any Court acquaintances +who might chance into the auberge before I had seen the Count. + +My apparel at the moment may not have been all that could have been +desired, but when a gentleman's rearing has taken place amid an army of +servitors to minister to his every wish, he is likely to have acquired +an air that is wont to win him obedience. With all celerity was I +ushered into a small chamber, opening on the one side upon the +common room, and being divided on the other by the thinnest of wooden +partitions from the adjoining apartment. + +Here, the landlord having left me, I disposed myself to wait, and here I +did a thing I would not have believed myself capable of doing, a thing +I cannot think of without blushing to this very day. In short, I played +the eavesdropper--I, Marcel Saint-Pol de Bardelys. Yet, if you who read +and are nice-minded, shudder at this confession, or, worse still, shrug +your shoulders in contempt, with the reflection that such former +conduct of mine as I have avowed had already partly disposed you against +surprise at this I do but ask that you measure my sin by my temptation, +and think honestly whether in my position you might not yourselves have +fallen. Aye--be you never so noble and high-principled--I make bold to +say that you had done no less, for the voice that penetrated to my ears +was that of Roxalanne de Lavedan. + +“I sought an audience with the King,” she was saying, “but I could not +gain his presence. They told me that he was holding no levees, and that +he refused to see any one not introduced by one of those having the +private entree.” + +“And so,” answered the voice of Chatellerault, in tones that were +perfectly colourless, “you come to me that I may present you to his +Majesty?” + +“You have guessed it, Monsieur le Comte. You are the only gentleman +of His Majesty's suite, with whom I can claim acquaintance--however +slight--and, moreover, it is well known how high you stand in his royal +favour. I was told that they that have a boon to crave can find no +better sponsor.” + +“Had you gone to the King, mademoiselle,” said he, “had you gained +audience, he would have directed you to make your appeal to me. I am his +Commissioner in Languedoc, and the prisoners attainted with high treason +are my property.” + +“Why then, monsieur,” she cried in an eager voice, that set my pulses +throbbing, “you'll not deny me the boon I crave? You'll not deny me his +life?” + +There was a short laugh from Chatellerault, and I could hear the +deliberate fall of his feet as he paced the chamber. + +“Mademoiselle, mademoiselle, you must not overrate my powers. You must +not forget that I am the slave of Justice. You may be asking more than +is in my power to grant. What can you advance to show that I should be +justified in proceeding as you wish?” + +“Helas, monsieur, I can advance nothing but my prayers and the assurance +that a hideous mistake is being made.” + +“What is your interest in this Monsieur de Lesperon?” + +“He is not Monsieur de Lesperon,” she cried. + +“But, since you cannot tell me who he is, you must be content that we +speak of him at least as Lesperon,” said he, and I could imagine the +evil grin with which he would accompany the words. + +The better that you may appreciate that which followed, let me here +impart to you the suspicions which were already sinking into my mind, to +be changed later into absolute convictions touching the course the Count +intended to pursue concerning me. The sudden arrival of the King had +thrown him into some measure of panic, and no longer daring to carry out +his plans concerning me, it was his object, I made no doubt, to set me +at liberty that very evening. Ere he did so, however, and presuming upon +my ignorance of His Majesty's presence in Toulouse, Chatellerault would +of a certainty have bound me down by solemn promise--making that promise +the price of my liberty and my life--to breathe no word of my captivity +and trial. No doubt, his cunning brain would have advanced me plausible +and convincing reasons so to engage myself. + +He had not calculated upon Castelroux, nor that the King should already +have heard of my detention. Now that Roxalanne came to entreat him to do +that which already he saw himself forced to do, he turned his attention +to the profit that he might derive from her interestedness on my behalf. +I could guess also something of the jealous rage that must fill him at +this signal proof of my success with her, and already I anticipated, I +think, the bargain that he would drive. + +“Tell me, then,” he was repeating, “what is your interest in this +gentleman?” + +There was a silence. I could imagine her gentle face clouded with the +trouble that sprang from devising an' answer to that question; I could +picture her innocent eyes cast down, her delicate cheeks pinked by some +measure of shame, as at last, in a low, stifled voice, the four words +broke from her “I love him, monsieur.” + +Ah, Dieu! To hear her confess it so! If yesternight it had stirred me to +the very depths of my poor, sinful soul to have her say so much to me, +how infinitely more did it not affect me to overhear this frank avowal +of it to another! And to think that she was undergoing all this to the +end that she might save me! + +From Chatellerault there came an impatient snort in answer, and his feet +again smote the floor as he resumed the pacing that for a moment he had +suspended. Then followed a pause, a long silence, broken only by the +Count's restless walking to and fro. At last “Why are you silent, +monsieur?” she asked in a trembling voice. + +“Helas, mademoiselle, I can do nothing. I had feared that it might be +thus with you; and, if I put the question, it was in the hope that I was +wrong.” + +“But he, monsieur?” she exclaimed in anguish. “What of him?” + +“Believe me, mademoiselle, if it lay in my power I would save him were +he never so guilty, if only that I might spare you sorrow.” + +He spoke with tender regret, foul hypocrite that he was! + +“Oh, no, no!” she cried, and her voice was of horror and despair. “You +do not mean that--” She stopped short; and then, after a pause, it was +the Count who finished the sentence for her. + +“I mean, mademoiselle, that this Lesperon must die!” + +You will marvel that I let her suffer so, that I did not break down the +partition with my hands and strike that supple gentleman dead at her +feet in atonement for the anguish he was causing her. But I had a mind +to see how far he would drive this game he was engaged upon. + +Again there was a spell of silence, and at last, when Mademoiselle +spoke, I was amazed at the calm voice in which she addressed him, +marvelling at the strength and courage of one so frail and childlike to +behold. + +“Is your determination, indeed, irrevocable, monsieur? If you have any +pity, will you not at least let me bear my prayers and my tears to the +King?” + +“It would avail you nothing. As I have said, the Languedoc rebels are +in my hands.” He paused as if to let those words sink well into her +understanding; then, “If I were to set him at liberty, mademoiselle, if +I were to spirit him out of prison in the night, bribing his jailers to +keep silent and binding him by oath to quit France at once and never to +betray me, I should be, myself, guilty of high treason. Thus alone could +the thing be done, and you will see, mademoiselle, that by doing it I +should be endangering my neck.” + +There was an ineffable undercurrent of meaning in his words--an +intangible suggestion that he might be bribed to do all this to which he +so vaguely alluded. + +“I understand, monsieur,” she answered, choking--“I understand that it +would be too much to ask of you.” + +“It would be much, mademoiselle,” he returned quickly, and his voice was +now subdued and invested with an odd quiver. “But nothing that your lips +might ask of me and that it might lie in the power of mortal man to do, +would be too much!” + +“You mean?” she cried, a catch in her breath. Had she guessed--as I, +without sight of her face, had guessed--what was to follow? My gorge was +rising fast. I clenched my hands, and by an effort I restrained myself +to learn that I had guessed aright. + +“Some two months ago,” he said, “I journeyed to Lavedan, as you may +remember. I saw you, mademoiselle--for a brief while only, it is +true--and ever since I have seen nothing else but you.” His voice went a +shade lower, and passion throbbed in his words. + +She, too, perceived it, for the grating of a chair informed me that she +had risen. + +“Not now, monsieur--not now!” she exclaimed. “This is not the season. I +beg of you think of my desolation.” + +“I do, mademoiselle, and I respect your grief, and, with all my heart, +believe me, I share it. Yet this is the season, and if you have this +man's interests at heart, you will hear me to the end.” + +Through all the imperiousness of his tone an odd note of respect--real +or assumed--was sounding. + +“If you suffer, mademoiselle, believe me that I suffer also, and if I +make you suffer more by what I say, I beg that you will think how what +you have said, how the very motive of your presence here, has made me +suffer. Do you know, mademoiselle, what it is to be torn by jealousy? +Can you imagine it? If you can, you can imagine also something of the +torture I endured when you confessed to me that you loved this Lesperon, +when you interceded for his life. Mademoiselle, I love you--with all my +heart and soul I love you. I have loved you, I think, since the first +moment of our meeting at Lavedan, and to win you there is no risk that I +would not take, no danger that I would not brave.” + +“Monsieur, I implore you--” + +“Hear me out, mademoiselle!” he cried. Then in quieter voice he +proceeded: “At present you love this Monsieur de Lesperon--” + +“I shall always love him! Always, monsieur!” + +“Wait, wait, wait!” he exclaimed, annoyed by her interruption. “If he +were to live, and you were to wed him and be daily in his company, I +make no doubt your love might endure. But if he were to die, or if he +were to pass into banishment and you were to see him no more, you would +mourn him for a little while, and then--Helas! it is the way of men and +women--time would heal first your sorrow, then your heart.” + +“Never, monsieur--oh, never!” + +“I am older, child, than you are. I know. At present you are anxious +to save his life anxious because you love him, and also because you +betrayed him, and you would not have his death upon your conscience.” + He paused a moment; then raising his voice, “Mademoiselle,” said he, “I +offer you your lover's life.” + +“Monsieur, monsieur!” cried the poor child, “I knew you were good! I +knew--” + +“A moment! Do not misapprehend me. I do not say that I give it--I offer +it.” + +“But the difference?” + +“That if you would have it, mademoiselle, you must buy it. I have said +that for you I would brave all dangers. To save your lover, I brave +the scaffold. If I am betrayed, or if the story transpire, my head +will assuredly fall in the place of Lesperon's. This I will risk, +mademoiselle--I will do it gladly--if you will promise to become my wife +when it is done.” + +There was a moan from Roxalanne, then silence; then--“Oh, monsieur, you +are pitiless! What bargain is this that you offer me?” + +“A fair one, surely,” said that son of hell--“a very fair one. The risk +of my life against your hand in marriage.” + +“If you--if you truly loved me as you say, monsieur,” she reasoned, “you +would serve me without asking guerdon.” + +“In any other thing I would. But is it fair to ask a man who is racked +by love of you to place another in your arms, and that at the risk of +his own life? Ah, mademoiselle, I am but a man, and I am subject to +human weaknesses. If you will consent, this Lesperon shall go free, but +you must see him no more; and I will carry my consideration so far as +to give you six months in which to overcome your sorrow, ere I present +myself to you again to urge my suit.” + +“And if I refuse, monsieur?” + +He sighed. + +“To the value which I set upon my life you must add my very human +jealousy. From such a combination what can you hope for?” + +“You mean, in short, that he must die?” + +“To-morrow,” was that infernal cheat's laconic answer. + +They were silent a little while, then she fell a-sobbing. + +“Be pitiful, monsieur! Have mercy if you, indeed, love me. Oh, he must +not die! I cannot, I dare not, let him die! Save him, monsieur, and I +will pray for you every night of my life; I will pray for you to our +Holy Mother as I am now praying to you for him.” + +Lived there the man to resist that innocent, devout appeal? Lived there +one who in answer to such gentle words of love and grief could obtrude +his own coarse passions? It seems there did, for all he answered was +“You know the price, child.” + +“And God pity me! I must pay it. I must, for if he dies I shall have +his blood upon my conscience!” Then she checked her grief, and her voice +grew almost stern in the restraint she set upon herself. “If I give you +my promise to wed you hereafter--say in six months' time--what proof +will you afford me that he who is detained under the name of Lesperon +shall go free?” + +I caught the sound of something very like a gasp from the Count. + +“Remain in Toulouse until to-morrow, and to-night ere he departs he +shall come to take his leave of you. Are you content?” + +“Be it so, monsieur,” she answered. + +Then at last I leapt to my feet. I could endure no more. You may marvel +that I had had the heart to endure so much, and to have so let her +suffer that I might satisfy myself how far this scoundrel Chatellerault +would drive his trickster's bargain. + +A more impetuous man would have beaten down the partition, or shouted +to her through it the consolation that Chatellerault's bargain was no +bargain at all, since I was already at large. And that is where a more +impetuous man would have acted upon instinct more wisely than did I upon +reason. Instead, I opened the door, and, crossing the common room, I +flung myself down a passage that I thought must lead to the chamber in +which they were closeted. But in this I was at fault, and ere I had come +upon a waiter and been redirected some precious moments were lost. +He led me back through the common room to a door opening upon another +corridor. He pushed it wide, and I came suddenly face to face with +Chatellerault, still flushed from his recent contest. + +“You here!” he gasped, his jaw falling, and his cheeks turning pale, +as well they might; for all that he could not dream I had overheard his +bargaining. + +“We will go back, if you please, Monsieur le Comte.” said I. + +“Back where?” he asked stupidly. + +“Back to Mademoiselle. Back to the room you have just quitted.” And none +too gently I pushed him into the corridor again, and so, in the gloom, I +missed the expression of his face. + +“She is not there,” said he. + +I laughed shortly. + +“Nevertheless, we will go back,” I insisted. + +And so I had my way, and we gained the room where his infamous traffic +had been held. Yet for once he spoke the truth. She was no longer there. + +“Where is she?” I demanded angrily. + +“Gone,” he answered; and when I protested that I had not met her, “You +would not have a lady go by way of the public room, would you?” he +demanded insolently. “She left by the side door into the courtyard.” + +“That being so, Monsieur le Comte,” said I quietly, “I will have a +little talk with you before going after her.” And I carefully closed the +door. + + + + +CHAPTER XV. MONSIEUR DE CHATELLERAULT IS ANGRY + + +Within the room Chatellerault and I faced each other in silence. And how +vastly changed were the circumstances since our last meeting! + +The disorder that had stamped itself upon his countenance when first he +had beheld me still prevailed. There was a lowering, sullen look in his +eyes and a certain displacement of their symmetry which was peculiar to +them when troubled. + +Although a cunning plotter and a scheming intriguer in his own +interests, Chatellerault, as I have said before, was not by nature a +quick man. His wits worked slowly, and he needed leisure to consider +a situation and his actions therein ere he was in a position to engage +with it. + +“Monsieur le Comte,” quoth I ironically, “I make you my compliments upon +your astuteness and the depth of your schemes, and my condolences upon +the little accident owing to which I am here, and in consequence of +which your pretty plans are likely to miscarry.” + +He threw back his great head like a horse that feels the curb, and +his smouldering eyes looked up at me balefully. Then his sensuous lips +parted in scorn. + +“How much do you know?” he demanded with sullen contempt. + +“I have been in that room for the half of an hour,” I answered, rapping +the partition with my knuckles. + +“The dividing wall, as you will observe, is thin, and I heard everything +that passed between you and Mademoiselle de Lavedan.” + +“So that Bardelys, known as the Magnificent; Bardelys the mirror of +chivalry; Bardelys the arbiter elegantiarum of the Court of France, is +no better, it seems, than a vulgar spy.” + +If he sought by that word to anger me, he failed. + +“Lord Count,” I answered him very quietly, “you are of an age to know +that the truth alone has power to wound. I was in that room by accident, +and when the first words of your conversation reached me I had not been +human had I not remained and strained my ears to catch every syllable +you uttered. For the rest, let me ask you, my dear Chatellerault, since +when have you become so nice that you dare cast it at a man that he has +been eavesdropping?” + +“You are obscure, monsieur. What is it that you suggest?” + +“I am signifying that when a man stands unmasked for a cheat, a liar, +and a thief, his own character should give him concern enough to +restrain him from strictures upon that of another.” + +A red flush showed through the tan of his skin, then faded and left him +livid--a very evil sight, as God lives. He flung his heavily-feathered +hat upon the table, and carried his hand to his hilt. + +“God's blood!” he cried. “You shall answer me for this.” + +I shook my head and smiled; but I made no sign of drawing. + +“Monsieur, we must talk a while. I think that you had better.” + +He raised his sullen eyes to mine. Perhaps the earnest impressiveness of +my tones prevailed. Be that as it may, his half-drawn sword was thrust +back with a click, and “What have you to say?” he asked. + +“Be seated.” I motioned him to a chair by the table and when he had +taken it I sat down opposite to him. Taking up a quill, I dipped it in +the ink-horn that stood by, and drew towards me a sheet of paper. + +“When you lured me into the wager touching Mademoiselle de Lavedan,” + said I calmly, “you did so, counting upon certain circumstances, of +which you alone had knowledge, that should render impossible the urging +of my suit. That, Monsieur le Comte, was undeniably the action of a +cheat. Was it not?” + +“Damnation!” he roared, and would have risen, but, my hand upon his arm, +I restrained him and pressed him back into his chair. + +“By a sequence of fortuitous circumstances,” I pursued, “it became +possible for me to circumvent the obstacle upon which you had based your +calculations. Those same circumstances led later to my being arrested in +error and in place of another man. You discovered how I had contravened +the influence upon which you counted; you trembled to see how the +unexpected had befriended me, and you began to fear for your wager. + +“What did you do? Seeing me arraigned before you in your quality as +King's Commissioner, you pretended to no knowledge of me; you became +blind to my being any but Lesperon the rebel, and you sentenced me to +death in his place, so that being thus definitely removed I should be +unable to carry out my undertaking, and my lands should consequently +pass into your possession. That, monsieur, was at once the act of a +thief and a murderer. Wait, monsieur; restrain yourself until I shall +have done. To-day again fortune comes to my rescue. Again you see me +slipping from your grasp, and you are in despair. Then, in the eleventh +hour, Mademoiselle de Lavedan comes to you to plead for my life. By that +act she gives you the most ample proof that your wager is lost. What +would a gentleman, a man of honour, have done under these circumstances? +What did you do? You seized that last chance; you turned it to the best +account; you made this poor girl buy something from you; you made her +sell herself to you for nothing--pretending that your nothing was a +something of great value. What term shall we apply to that? To say that +you cheated again seems hardly adequate.” + +“By God, Bardelys!” + +“Wait!” I thundered, looking him straight between the eyes, so that +again he sank back cowed. Then resuming the calm with which hitherto I +had addressed him, “Your cupidity,” said I, “your greed for the estates +of Bardelys, and your jealousy and thirst to see me impoverished and so +ousted from my position at Court, to leave you supreme in His Majesty's +favour, have put you to strange shifts for a gentleman, Chatellerault. +Yet, wait.” + +And, dipping my pen in the ink-horn, I began to write. I was conscious +of his eyes upon me, and I could imagine his surmisings and bewildered +speculations as my pen scratched rapidly across the paper. In a few +moments it was done, and I tossed the pen aside. I took up the sandbox. + +“When a man cheats, Monsieur le Comte, and is detected, he is invariably +adjudged the loser of his stakes. On that count alone everything that +you have is now mine by rights.” Again I had to quell an interruption. +“But if we wave that point, and proceed upon the supposition that you +have dealt fairly and honourably with me, why, then, monsieur, you +have still sufficient evidence--the word of Mademoiselle, herself, +in fact--that I have won my wager. And so, if we take this, the most +lenient view of the case”--I paused to sprinkle the sand over my +writing--“your estates are still lost to you, and pass to be my +property.” + +“Do they, by God?” he roared, unable longer to restrain himself, and +leaping to his feet. “You have done, have you not? You have said all +that you can call to mind? You have flung insults and epithets at me +enough to earn the cutting of a dozen throats. You have dubbed me cheat +and thief”--he choked in his passion--“until you have had your fill--is +it not so? Now, listen to me, Master Bardelys, master spy, master +buffoon, master masquerader! What manner of proceeding was yours to go +to Lavedan under a false name? How call you that? Was that, perhaps, not +cheating?” + +“No, monsieur, it was not,” I answered quietly. “It was in the terms of +your challenge that I was free to go to Lavedan in what guise I listed, +employing what wiles I pleased. But let that be,” I ended, and, creasing +the paper, I poured the sand back into the box, and dusted the document. +“The point is hardly worth discussing at this time of day. If not one +way, why, then, in another, your wager is lost.” + +“Is it?” He set his arms akimbo and eyed me derisively, his thick-set +frame planted squarely before me. “You are satisfied that it is so? +Quite satisfied, eh?” He leered in my face. “Why, then, Monsieur le +Marquis, we will see whether a few inches of steel will win it back for +me.” And once more his hand flew to his hilt. + +Rising, I flung the document I had accomplished upon the table. “Glance +first at that,” said I. + +He stopped to look at me in inquiry, my manner sowing so great a +curiosity in him that his passion was all scattered before it. Then +he stepped up to the table and lifted the paper. As he read, his hand +shook, amazement dilated his eyes and furrowed his brow. + +“What--what does it signify?” he gasped. + +“It signifies that, although fully conscious of having won, I prefer +to acknowledge that I have lost. I make over to you thus my estates of +Bardelys, because, monsieur, I have come to realize that that wager was +an infamous one--one in which a gentleman should have had no part--and +the only atonement I can make to myself, my honour, and the lady whom we +insulted--is that.” + +“I do not understand,” he complained. + +“I apprehend your difficulty, Comte. The point is a nice one. But +understand at least that my Picardy estates are yours. Only, monsieur, +you will be well advised to make your will forthwith, for you are not +destined, yourself, to enjoy them.” + +He looked at me, his glance charged with inquiry. + +“His Majesty,” I continued, in answer to his glance, “is ordering your +arrest for betraying the trust he had reposed in you and for perverting +the ends of justice to do your own private murdering.” + +“Mon Dieu!” he cried, falling of a sudden unto a most pitiful affright. +“The King knows?” + +“Knows?” I laughed. “In the excitement of these other matters you have +forgotten to ask how I come to be at liberty. I have been to the King, +monsieur, and I have told him what has taken place here at Toulouse, and +how I was to have gone to the block tomorrow!” + +“Scelerat!” he cried. “You have ruined me!” Rage and grief were blent in +his accents. He stood before me, livid of face and with hands clenching +and unclenching at his sides. + +“Did you expect me to keep such a matter silent? Even had I been so +inclined it had not been easy, for His Majesty had questions to ask +me. From what the King said, monsieur, you may count upon mounting the +scaffold in my stead. So be advised, and make your will without delay, +if you would have your heirs enjoy my Picardy chateau.” + +I have seen terror and anger distort men's countenances, but never +have I seen aught to compare with the disorder of Chatellerault at +that moment. He stamped and raved and fumed. He poured forth a +thousand ordures of speech in his frenzy; he heaped insults upon me and +imprecations upon the King, whose lapdog he pronounced me. His short, +stout frame was quivering with passion and fear, his broad face +distorted by his hideous grimaces of rage. And then, while yet his +ravings were in full flow, the door opened, and in stepped the airy +Chevalier de Saint-Eustache. + +He stood still, amazed, beneath the lintel--marvelling to see all this +anger, and abashed at beholding me. His sudden appearance reminded me +that I had last seen him at Grenade in the Count's company, on the day +of my arrest. The surprise it had occasioned me now returned upon seeing +him so obviously and intimately seeking Chatellerault. + +The Count turned on him in his anger. + +“Well, popinjay?” he roared. “What do you want with me?” + +“Monsieur le Comte!” cried the other, in blent indignation and reproach. + +“You will perceive that you are come inopportunely,” I put in. “Monsieur +de Chatellerault is not quite himself.” + +But my speech again drew his attention to my presence; and the wonder +grew in his eyes at finding me there, for to him I was still Lesperon +the rebel, and he marvelled naturally that I should be at large. + +Then in the corridor there was a sound of steps and voices, and as I +turned I beheld in the doorway, behind Saint-Eustache, the faces +of Castelroux, Mironsac, and my old acquaintance, the babbling, +irresponsible buffoon, La Fosse. From Mironsac he had heard of my +presence in Toulouse, and, piloted by Castelroux, they were both come to +seek me out. I'll swear it was not thus they had looked to find me. + +They pushed their way into the room, impelling Saint-Eustache +forward, and there were greetings exchanged and felicitations, whilst +Chatellerault, curbing his disorder, drew the Chevalier into a corner of +the room, and stood there listening to him. + +At length I heard the Count exclaim-- + +“Do as you please, Chevalier. If you have interests of your own to +serve, serve them. As for myself--I am past being interested.” + +“But why, monsieur?” the chevalier inquired. + +“Why?” echoed Chatellerault, his ferocity welling up again. Then, +swinging round, he came straight at me, as a bull makes a charge. + +“Monsieur de Bardelys!” he blazed. + +“Bardelys!” gasped Saint-Eustache in the background. + +“What now?” I inquired coldly, turning from my friends. + +“All that you said may be true, and I may be doomed, but I swear before +God that you shall not go unpunished.” + +“I think, monsieur, that you run a grave risk of perjuring yourself!” I +laughed. + +“You shall render me satisfaction ere we part!” he cried. + +“If you do not deem that paper satisfaction enough, then, monsieur, +forgive me, but your greed transcends all possibility of being ever +satisfied.” + +“The devil take your paper and your estates! What shall they profit me +when I am dead?” + +“They may profit your heirs,” I suggested. + +“How shall that profit me?” + +“That is a riddle that I cannot pretend to elucidate.” + +“You laugh, you knave!” he snorted. Then, with an abrupt change of +manner, “You do not lack for friends,” said he. “Beg one of these +gentlemen to act for you, and if you are a man of honour let us step out +into the yard and settle the matter.” + +I shook my head. + +“I am so much a man of honour as to be careful with whom I cross steel. +I prefer to leave you to His Majesty's vengeance; his headsman may be +less particular than am I. No, monsieur, on the whole, I do not think +that I can fight you.” + +His face grew a shade paler. It became grey; the jaw was set, and the +eyes were more out of symmetry than I had ever seen them. Their glance +approached what is known in Italy as the mal'occhio, and to protect +themselves against the baneful influences of which men carry charms. A +moment he stood so, eyeing me. Then, coming a step nearer-- + + “You do not think that you can fight me, eh? You do not think it? +Pardieu! How shall I make you change your mind? To the insult of words +you appear impervious. You imagine your courage above dispute because by +a lucky accident you killed La Vertoile some years ago and the fame of +it has attached to you.” In the intensity of his anger he was breathing +heavily, like a man overburdened. “You have been living ever since by +the reputation which that accident gave you. Let us see if you can die +by it, Monsieur de Bardelys.” And, leaning forward, he struck me on +the breast, so suddenly and so powerfully--for he was a man of abnormal +strength--that I must have fallen but that La Fosse caught me in his +arms. + +“Kill him!” lisped the classic-minded fool. “Play Theseus to this bull +of Marathon.” + +Chatellerault stood back, his hands on his hips, his head inclined +towards his right shoulder, and an insolent leer of expectancy upon his +face. + +“Will that resolve you?” he sneered. + +“I will meet you,” I answered, when I had recovered breath. “But I swear +that I shall not help you to escape the headsman.” + +He laughed harshly. + +“Do I not know it?” he mocked. “How shall killing you help me to escape? +Come, messieurs, sortons. At once!” + +“Sor,” I answered shortly; and thereupon we crowded from the room, and +went pele-mele down the passage to the courtyard at the back. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. SWORDS! + + +La Fosse led the way with me, his arm through mine, swearing that +he would be my second. He had such a stomach for a fight, had this +irresponsible, irrepressible rhymester, that it mounted to the heights +of passion with him, and when I mentioned, in answer to a hint dropped +in connection with the edict, that I had the King's sanction for this +combat, he was nearly mad with joy. + +“Blood of La Fosse!” was his oath. “The honour to stand by you shall be +mine, my Bardelys! You owe it me, for am I not in part to blame for +all this ado? Nay, you'll not deny me. That gentleman yonder, with +the wild-cat moustaches and a name like a Gascon oath--that cousin of +Mironsac's, I mean--has the flair of a fight in his nostrils, and a +craving to be in it. But you'll grant me the honour, will you not? +Pardieu! It will earn me a place in history.” + +“Or the graveyard,” quoth I, by way of cooling his ardour. + +“Peste! What an augury!” Then, with a laugh: “But,” he added, indicating +Saint-Eustache, “that long, lean saint--I forget of what he is +patron--hardly wears a murderous air.” + +To win peace from him, I promised that he should stand by me. But the +favour lost much of its value in his eyes when presently I added that +I did not wish the seconds to engage, since the matter was of so very +personal a character. + +Mironsac and Castelroux, assisted by Saint-Eustache, closed the heavy +portecochere, and so shut us in from the observation of passers-by. The +clanging of those gates brought the landlord and a couple of his knaves, +and we were subjected to the prayers and intercessions, to the stormings +and ravings that are ever the prelude of a stable-yard fight, but which +invariably end, as these ended, in the landlord's withdrawal to run for +help to the nearest corps-de-garde. + +“Now, my myrmillones,” cried La Fosse in bloodthirsty jubilation, “to +work before the host returns.” + +“Po' Cap de Dieu!” growled Castelroux, “is this a time for jests, master +joker?” + +“Jests?” I heard him retorting, as he assisted me to doff my doublet. +“Do I jest? Diable! you Gascons are a slow-witted folk! I have a taste +for allegory, my friend, but that never yet was accounted so low a thing +as jesting.” + +At last we were ready, and I shifted the whole of my attention to the +short, powerful figure of Chatellerault as he advanced upon me, stripped +to the waist, his face set and his eyes full of stern resolve. Despite +his low stature, and the breadth of frame which argue sluggish motion, +there was something very formidable about the Count. His bared arms were +great masses of muscular flesh, and if his wrist were but half as +supple as it looked powerful, that alone should render him a dangerous +antagonist. + +Yet I had no qualm of fear, no doubt, even, touching the issue. Not that +I was an habitual ferrailleur. As I have indicated, I had fought but one +man in all my life. Nor yet am I of those who are said to know no fear +under any circumstances. Such men are not truly brave; they are stupid +and unimaginative, in proof of which I will advance the fact that you +may incite a timid man to deeds of reckless valour by drugging him with +wine. But this is by the way. It may be that the very regular fencing +practice that in Paris I was wont to take may so have ordered my mind +that the fact of meeting unbaited steel had little power to move me. + +Be that as it may, I engaged the Count without a tremor either of the +flesh or of the spirit. I was resolved to wait and let him open the +play, that I might have an opportunity of measuring his power and seeing +how best I might dispose of him. I was determined to do him no hurt, +and to leave him, as I had sworn, to the headsman; and so, either by +pressure or by seizure, it was my aim to disarm him. + +But on his side also he entered upon the duel with all caution and +wariness. From his rage I had hoped for a wild, angry rush that should +afford me an easy opportunity of gaining my ends with him. Not so, +however. Now that he came with steel to defend his life and to seek +mine, he appeared to have realized the importance of having keen wits to +guide his hand; and so he put his anger from him, and emerged calm and +determined from his whilom disorder. + +Some preliminary passes we made from the first engagement in the lines +of tierce, each playing warily for an opening, yet neither of us giving +ground or betraying haste or excitement. Now his blade slithered on +mine with a ceaseless tremor; his eyes watched mine from under lowering +brows, and with knees bent he crouched like a cat making ready for a +spring. Then it came. Sudden as lightning was his disengage; he +darted under my guard, then over it, then back and under it again, and +stretching out in the lunge--his double-feint completed--he straightened +his arm to drive home the botte. + +But with a flying point I cleared his blade out of the line of my +body. There had been two sharp tinkles of our meeting swords, and now +Chatellerault stood at his fullest stretch, the half of his steel past +and behind me, for just a fraction of time completely at my mercy. Yet +I was content to stand, and never move my blade from his until he had +recovered and we were back in our first position once again. + +I heard the deep bass of Castelroux's “Mordieux!” the sharp gasp of +fear from Saint-Eustache, who already in imagination beheld his friend +stretched lifeless on the ground, and the cry of mortification from La +Fosse as the Count recovered. But I heeded these things little. As +I have said, to kill the Count was not my object. It had been wise, +perhaps, in Chatellerault to have appreciated that fact; but he did not. +From the manner in which he now proceeded to press me, I was assured +that he set his having recovered guard to slowness on my part, never +thinking of the speed that had been necessary to win myself such an +opening as I had obtained. + +My failure to run him through in that moment of jeopardy inspired +him with a contempt of my swordplay. This he now made plain by the +recklessness with which he fenced, in his haste to have done ere we +might chance to be interrupted. Of this recklessness I suddenly availed +myself to make an attempt at disarming him. I turned aside a vicious +thrust by a close--a dangerously close--parry, and whilst in the act of +encircling his blade I sought by pressure to carry it out of his hand. I +was within an ace of succeeding, yet he avoided me, and doubled back. + +He realized then, perhaps, that I was not quite so contemptible an +antagonist as he had been imagining, and he went back to his earlier and +more cautious tactics. Then I changed my plans. I simulated an attack, +and drove him hard for some moments. Strong he was, but there were +advantages of reach and suppleness with me, and even these advantages +apart, had I aimed at his life, I could have made short work of him. But +the game I played was fraught with perils to myself, and once I was +in deadly danger, and as near death from the sword as a man may go and +live. My attack had lured him, as I desired that it should, into making +a riposte. He did so, and as his blade twisted round mine and came +slithering at me, I again carried it off by encircling it, and again I +exerted pressure to deprive him of it. But this time I was farther from +success than before. He laughed at the attempt, as with a suddenness +that I had been far from expecting he disengaged again, and his point +darted like a snake upwards at my throat. + +I parried that thrust, but I only parried it when it was within some +three inches of my neck, and even as I turned it aside it missed me as +narrowly as it might without tearing my skin. The imminence of the +peril had been such that, as we mutually recovered, I found a cold sweat +bathing me. + +After that, I resolved to abandon the attempt to disarm him by pressure, +and I turned my attention to drawing him into a position that might lend +itself to seizure. But even as I was making up my mind to this--we were +engaged in sixte at the time--I saw a sudden chance. His point was held +low while he watched me; so low that his arm was uncovered and my point +was in line with it. To see the opening, to estimate it, and to take my +resolve was all the work of a fraction of a second. The next instant I +had straightened my elbow, my blade shot out in a lightning stroke and +transfixed his sword-arm. + +There was a yell of pain, followed by a deep growl of fury, as, wounded +but not vanquished, the enraged Count caught his falling sword in his +left hand, and whilst my own blade was held tight in the bone of his +right arm, he sought to run me through. I leapt quickly aside, and then, +before he could renew the attempt, my friends had fallen upon him and +wrenched his sword from his hand and mine from his arm. + +It would ill have become me to taunt a man in his sorry condition, else +might I now have explained to him what I had meant when I had promised +to leave him for the headsman even though I did consent to fight him. + +Mironsac, Castelroux, and La Fosse stood babbling around me, but I paid +no heed either to Castelroux's patois or to La Fosse's misquotations of +classic authors. The combat had been protracted, and the methods I had +pursued had been of a very exhausting nature. I leaned now against the +porte-cochere, and mopped myself vigorously. Then Saint-Eustache, who +was engaged in binding up his principal's arm, called to La Fosse. + +I followed my second with my eyes as he went across to Chatellerault. +The Count stood white, his lips compressed, no doubt from the pain his +arm was causing him. Then his voice floated across to me as he addressed +La Fosse. + +“You will do me the favour, monsieur, to inform your friend that this +was no first blood combat, but one a outrance. I fence as well with my +left arm as with my right, and if Monsieur de Bardelys will do me the +honour to engage again, I shall esteem it.” + +La Fosse bowed and came over with the message that already we had heard. + +“I fought,” said I in answer, “in a spirit very different from that by +which Monsieur de Chatellerault appears to have been actuated. He made +it incumbent upon me to afford proof of my courage. That proof I have +afforded; I decline to do more. Moreover, as Monsieur de Chatellerault +himself must perceive, the light is failing us, and in a few minutes it +will be too dark for sword-play.” + +“In a few minutes there will be need for none, monsieur,” shouted +Chatellerault, to save time. He was boastful to the end. + +“Here, monsieur, in any case, come those who will resolve the question,” + I answered, pointing to the door of the inn. + +As I spoke, the landlord stepped into the yard, followed by an officer +and a half-dozen soldiers. These were no ordinary keepers of the peace, +but musketeers of the guard, and at sight of them I knew that their +business was not to interrupt a duel, but to arrest my erstwhile +opponent upon a much graver charge. + +The officer advanced straight to Chatellerault. + +“In the King's name, Monsieur le Comte,” said he. “I demand your sword.” + +It may be that at bottom I was still a man of soft heart, unfeeling +cynic though they accounted me; for upon remarking the misery and +gloom that spread upon Chatellerault's face I was sorry for him, +notwithstanding the much that he had schemed against me. Of what +his fate would be he could have no shadow of doubt. He knew--none +better--how truly the King loved me, and how he would punish such +an attempt as had been made upon my life, to say nothing of the +prostitution of justice of which he had been guilty, and for which alone +he had earned the penalty of death. + +He stood a moment with bent head, the pain of his arm possibly forgotten +in the agony of his spirit. Then, straightening himself suddenly, with +a proud, half scornful air, he looked the officer straight between the +eyes. + +“You desire my sword, monsieur?” he inquired. + +The musketeer bowed respectfully. + +“Saint-Eustache, will you do me the favour to give it to me?” + +And while the Chevalier picked up the rapier from the ground where it +had been flung, that man waited with an outward calm for which at the +moment I admired him, as we must ever admire a tranquil bearing in one +smitten by a great adversity. And than this I can conceive few +greater. He had played for much, and he had lost everything. Ignominy, +degradation, and the block were all that impended for him in this world, +and they were very imminent. + +He took the sword from the Chevalier. He held it for a second by the +hilt, like one in thought, like one who is resolving upon something, +whilst the musketeer awaited his good pleasure with that deference which +all gentle minds must accord to the unfortunate. + +Still holding his rapier, he raised his eyes for a second and let them +rest on me with a grim malevolence. Then he uttered a short laugh, and, +shrugging his shoulders, he transferred his grip to the blade, as if +about to offer the hilt to the officer. Holding it so, halfway betwixt +point and quillons, he stepped suddenly back, and before any there could +put forth a hand to stay him, he had set the pummel on the ground and +the point at his breast, and so dropped upon it and impaled himself. + +A cry went up from every throat, and we sprang towards him. He rolled +over on his side, and with a grin of exquisite pain, yet in words of +unconquerable derision “You may have my sword now, Monsieur l'Officier,” + he said, and sank back, swooning. + +With an oath, the musketeer stepped forward. He obeyed Chatellerault to +the letter, by kneeling beside him and carefully withdrawing the sword. +Then he ordered a couple of his men to take up the body. + +“Is he dead?” asked some one; and some one else replied, “Not yet, but +he soon will be.” + +Two of the musketeers bore him into the inn and laid him on the floor of +the very room in which, an hour or so ago, he had driven a bargain with +Roxalanne. A cloak rolled into a pillow was thrust under his head, +and there we left him in charge of his captors, the landlord, +Saint-Eustache, and La Fosse the latter inspired, I doubt not, by that +morbidity which is so often a feature of the poetic mind, and which +impelled him now to witness the death-agony of my Lord of Chatellerault. + +Myself, having resumed my garments, I disposed myself to repair at once +to the Hotel de l'Epee, there to seek Roxalanne, that I might set her +fears and sorrows at rest, and that I might at last make my confession. + +As we stepped out into the street, where the dusk was now thickening, +I turned to Castelroux to inquire how Saint-Eustache came into +Chatellerault's company. + +“He is of the family of the Iscariot, I should opine,” answered the +Gascon. “As soon as he had news that Chatellerault was come to Languedoc +as the King's Commissioner, he repaired to him to offer his services +in the work of bringing rebels to justice. He urged that his thorough +acquaintance with the province should render him of value to the King, +as also that he had had particular opportunities of becoming acquainted +with many treasonable dealings on the part of men whom the State was far +from suspecting.” + +“Mort Dieu!” I cried, “I had suspected something of such a nature. You +do well to call him of the family of the Iscariot. He is more so than +you imagine: I have knowledge of this--ample knowledge. He was +until lately a rebel himself, and himself a follower of Gaston +d'Orleans--though of a lukewarm quality. What reasons have driven him to +such work, do you know?” + +“The same reason that impelled his forefather, Judas of old. The desire +to enrich himself. For every hitherto unsuspected rebel that shall be +brought to justice and whose treason shall be proven by his agency, he +claims the half of that rebel's confiscated estates.” + +“Diable!” I exclaimed. “And does the Keeper of the Seals sanction this?” + +“Sanction it? Saint-Eustache holds a commission, has a free hand and a +company of horse to follow him in his rebel-hunting.” + +“Has he done much so far?” was my next question. + +“He has reduced half a dozen noblemen and their families. The wealth he +must thereby have amassed should be very considerable, indeed.” + +“To-morrow, Castelroux, I will see the King in connection with this +pretty gentleman, and not only shall we find him a dungeon deep and +dank, but we shall see that he disgorges his blood-money.” + +“If you can prove his treason you will be doing blessed work,” returned +Castelroux. “Until tomorrow, then, for here is the Hotel de l'Epee.” + +From the broad doorway of an imposing building a warm glow of light +issued out and spread itself fanwise across the ill-paved street. +In this--like bats about a lamp--flitted the black figures of gaping +urchins and other stragglers, and into this I now passed, having taken +leave of my companions. + +I mounted the steps and I was about to cross the threshold, when +suddenly above a burst of laughter that greeted my ears I caught the +sound of a singularly familiar voice. This seemed raised at present to +address such company as might be within. One moment of doubt had I--for +it was a month since last I had heard those soft, unctuous accents. +Then I was assured that the voice I heard was, indeed, the voice of +my steward Ganymede. Castelroux's messenger had found him at last, it +seemed, and had brought him to Toulouse. + +I was moved to spring into the room and greet that old retainer for +whom, despite the gross and sensuous ways that with advancing years were +claiming him more and more, I had a deep attachment. But even as I was +on the point of entering, not only his voice, but the very words that +he was uttering floated out to my ears, and they were of a quality that +held me there to play the hidden listener for the second time in my life +in one and the same day. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. THE BABBLING OF GANYMEDE + + +Never until that hour, as I stood in the porch of the Hotel de l'Epee, +hearkening to my henchman's narrative and to the bursts of laughter +which ever and anon it provoked from his numerous listeners, had I +dreamed of the raconteur talents which Rodenard might boast. Yet was +I very far from being appreciative now that I discovered them, for the +story that he told was of how one Marcel Saint-Pol, Marquis de Bardelys, +had laid a wager with the Comte de Chatellerault that he would woo and +win Mademoiselle de Lavedan to wife within three months. Nor did he +stop there. Rodenard, it would seem, was well informed; he had drawn +all knowledge of the state of things from Castelroux's messenger, and +later--I know not from whom--at Toulouse, since his arrival. + +He regaled the company, therefore, with a recital of our finding the +dying Lesperon, and of how I had gone off alone, and evidently assumed +the name and role of that proscribed rebel, and thus conducted my +wooing under sympathy inspiring circumstances at Lavedan. Then came, he +announced, the very cream of the jest, when I was arrested as Lesperon +and brought to Toulouse and to trial in Lesperon's stead; he told them +how I had been sentenced to death in the other man's place, and he +assured them that I would certainly have been beheaded upon the morrow +but that news had been borne to him--Rodenard--of my plight, and he was +come to deliver me. + +My first impulse upon hearing him tell of the wager had been to stride +into the room and silence him by my coming. That I did not obey that +impulse was something that presently I was very bitterly to regret. How +it came that I did not I scarcely know. I was tempted, perhaps, to see +how far this henchman whom for years I had trusted was unworthy of +that trust. And so, there in the porch, I stayed until he had ended by +telling the company that he was on his way to inform the King--who by +great good chance was that day arrived in Toulouse--of the mistake that +had been made, and thus obtain my immediate enlargement and earn my +undying gratitude. + +Again I was on the point of entering to administer a very stern reproof +to that talkative rogue, when of a sudden there was a commotion within. +I caught a scraping of chairs, a dropping of voices, and then suddenly I +found myself confronted by Roxalanne de Lavedan herself, issuing with a +page and a woman in attendance. + +For just a second her eyes rested on me, and the light coming through +the doorway at her back boldly revealed my countenance. And a very +startled countenance it must have been, for in that fraction of time I +knew that she had heard all that Rodenard had been relating. Under +that instant's glance of her eyes I felt myself turn pale; a shiver +ran through me, and the sweat started cold upon my brow. Then her gaze +passed from me, and looked beyond into the street, as though she had not +known me; whether in her turn she paled or reddened I cannot say, +for the light was too uncertain. Next followed what seemed to me an +interminable pause, although, indeed, it can have been no more than a +matter of seconds--aye, and of but few. Then, her gown drawn well aside, +she passed me in that same irrecognizing way, whilst I, abashed, shrank +back into the shadows of the porch, burning with shame and rage and +humiliation. + +From under her brows her woman glanced at me inquisitively; her liveried +page, his nose in the air, eyed me so pertly that I was hard put to it +not to hasten with my foot his descent of the steps. + +At last they were gone, and from the outside the shrill voice of her +page was wafted to me. He was calling to the ostler for her carriage. +Standing, in my deep mortification, where she had passed me, I +conjectured from that demand that she was journeying to Lavedan. + +She knew now how she had been cheated on every hand, first by me and +later, that very afternoon, by Chatellerault, and her resolve to quit +Toulouse could but signify that she was done with me for good. That it +had surprised her to find me at large already, I fancied I had seen in +her momentary glance, but her pride had been quick to conquer and stifle +all signs of that surprise. + +I remained where she had passed me until her coach had rumbled away into +the night, and during the moments that elapsed I had stood arguing with +myself and resolving upon my course of action. But despair was fastening +upon me. + +I had come to the Hotel de l'Epee, exulting, joyous, and confident of +victory. I had come to confess everything to her, and by virtue of what +I had done that confession was rendered easy. I could have said to her: +“The woman whom I wagered to win was not you, Roxalanne, but a certain +Mademoiselle de Lavedan. Your love I have won, but that you may foster +no doubts of my intentions, I have paid my wager and acknowledge defeat. +I have made over to Chatellerault and to his heirs for all time my +estates of Bardelys.” + +Oh, I had rehearsed it in my mind, and I was confident--I knew--that I +should win her. And now--the disclosure of that shameful traffic coming +from other lips than mine had ruined everything by forestalling my +avowal. + +Rodenard should pay for it--by God, he should! Once again did I become a +prey to the passion of anger which I have ever held to be unworthy in a +gentleman, but to which it would seem that I was growing accustomed to +give way. The ostler was mounting the steps at the moment. He carried in +his hand a stout horsewhip with a long knotted thong. Hastily muttering +a “By your leave,” I snatched it from him and sprang into the room. + +My intendant was still talking of me. The room was crowded, for Rodenard +alone had brought with him my twenty followers. One of these looked up +as I brushed past him, and uttered a cry of surprise upon recognizing +me. But Rodenard talked on, engrossed in his theme to the exclusion of +all else. + +“Monsieur le Marquis,” he was saying, “is a gentleman whom it is, +indeed, an honour to serve--” + +A scream burst from him with the last word, for the lash of my whip had +burnt a wheal upon his well-fed sides. + +“It is an honour that shall be yours no more, you dog!” I cried. + +He leapt high into the air as my whip cut him again. He swung round, his +face twisted with pain, his flabby cheeks white with fear, and his eyes +wild with anger, for as yet the full force of the situation had not been +borne in upon him. Then, seeing me there, and catching something of the +awful passion that must have been stamped upon my face, he dropped on +his knees and cried out something that I did not understand for I was +past understanding much just then. + +The lash whistled through the air again and caught him about the +shoulders. He writhed and roared in his anguish of both flesh and +spirit. But I was pitiless. He had ruined my life for me with his +talking, and, as God lived, he should pay the only price that it lay in +his power to pay--the price of physical suffering. Again and again my +whip hissed about his head and cut into his soft white flesh, +whilst roaring for mercy he moved and rocked on his knees before me. +Instinctively he approached me to hamper my movements, whilst I moved +back to give my lash the better play. He held out his arms and joined +his fat hands in supplication, but the lash caught them in its sinuous +tormenting embrace, and started a red wheal across their whiteness. +He tucked them into his armpits with a scream, and fell prone upon the +ground. + +Then I remember that some of my men essayed to restrain me, which to my +passion was as the wind to a blaze. I cracked my whip about their heads, +commanding them to keep their distance lest they were minded to share +his castigation. And so fearful an air must I have worn, that, daunted, +they hung back and watched their leader's punishment in silence. + +When I think of it now, I take no little shame at the memory of how I +beat him. It is, indeed, with deep reluctance and yet deeper shame that +I have brought myself to write of it. If I offend you with this +account of that horsewhipping, let necessity be my apology; for the +horsewhipping itself I have, unfortunately, no apology, save the blind +fury that obsessed me--which is no apology at all. + +Upon the morrow I repented me already with much bitterness. But in that +hour I knew no reason. I was mad, and of my madness was born this harsh +brutality. + +“You would talk of me and my affairs in a tavern, you hound!” I cried, +out of breath both by virtue of my passion and my exertions. “Let the +memory of this act as a curb upon your poisonous tongue in future.” + +“Monseigneur!” he screamed. “Misericorde, monseigneur!” + +“Aye, you shall have mercy--just so much mercy as you deserve. Have I +trusted you all these years, and did my father trust you before me, +for this? Have you grown sleek and fat and smug in my service that you +should requite me thus? Sangdieu, Rodenard! My father had hanged you +for the half of the talking that you have done this night. You dog! You +miserable knave!” + +“Monseigneur,” he shrieked again, “forgive! For your sainted mother's +sake, forgive! Monseigneur, I did not know--” + +“But you are learning, cur; you are learning by the pain of your fat +carcase; is it not so, carrion?” + +He sank down, his strength exhausted, a limp, moaning, bleeding mass of +flesh, into which my whip still cut relentlessly. + +I have a picture in my mind of that ill-lighted room, of the startled +faces on which the flickering glimmer of the candles shed odd shadows; +of the humming and cracking of my whip; of my own voice raised in oaths +and epithets of contempt; of Rodenard's screams; of the cries raised +here and there in remonstrance or in entreaty, and of some more bold +that called shame upon me. Then others took up that cry of “Shame!” so +that at last I paused and stood there drawn up to my full height, as if +in challenge. Towering above the heads of any in that room, I held my +whip menacingly. I was unused to criticism, and their expressions of +condemnation roused me. + +“Who questions my right?” I demanded arrogantly, whereupon they one and +all fell silent. “If any here be bold enough to step out, he shall have +my answer.” Then, as none responded, I signified my contempt for them by +a laugh. + +“Monseigneur!” wailed Rodenard at my feet, his voice growing feeble. + +By way of answer, I gave him a final cut, then I flung the whip-- +which had grown ragged in the fray--back to the ostler from whom I had +borrowed it. + +“Let that suffice you, Rodenard,” I said, touching him with my foot. +“See that I never set eyes upon you again, if you cherish your miserable +life!” + +“Not that, monseigneur.” groaned the wretch. “Oh, not that! You have +punished me; you have whipped me until I cannot stand; forgive me, +monseigneur, forgive me now!” + +“I have forgiven you, but I never wish to see you again, lest I should +forget that I have forgiven you. Take him away, some of you,” I bade my +men, and in swift, silent obedience two of them stepped forward and bore +the groaning, sobbing fellow from the room. When that was done “Host,” I +commanded, “prepare me a room. Attend me, a couple of you.” + +I gave orders thereafter for the disposal of my baggage, some of which +my lacqueys brought up to the chamber that the landlord had in haste +made ready for me. In that chamber I sat until very late; a prey to the +utmost misery and despair. My rage being spent, I might have taken some +thought for poor Ganymede and his condition, but my own affairs crowded +over-heavily upon my mind, and sat the undisputed rulers of my thoughts +that night. + +At one moment I considered journeying to Lavedan, only to dismiss the +idea the next. What could it avail me now? Would Roxalanne believe the +tale I had to tell? Would she not think, naturally enough, that I was +but making the best of the situation, and that my avowal of the truth +of a story which it was not in my power to deny was not spontaneous, but +forced from me by circumstances? No, there was nothing more to be done. +A score of amours had claimed my attention in the past and received +it; yet there was not one of those affairs whose miscarriage would have +afforded me the slightest concern or mortification. It seemed like an +irony, like a Dies ire, that it should have been left to this first true +passion of my life to have gone awry. + +I slept ill when at last I sought my bed, and through the night I nursed +my bitter grief, huddling to me the corpse of the love she had borne me +as a mother may the corpse of her first-born. + +On the morrow I resolved to leave Toulouse--to quit this province +wherein so much had befallen me and repair to Beaugency, there to grow +old in misanthropical seclusion. I had done with Courts, I had done +with love and with women; I had done, it seemed to me, with life itself. +Prodigal had it been in gifts that I had not sought of it. It had spread +my table with the richest offerings, but they had been little to my +palate, and I had nauseated quickly. And now, when here in this remote +corner of France it had shown me the one prize I coveted, it had been +swift to place it beyond my reach, thereby sowing everlasting discontent +and misery in my hitherto pampered heart. + +I saw Castelroux that day, but I said no word to him of my affliction. +He brought me news of Chatellerault. The Count was lying in a dangerous +condition at the Auberge Royale, and might not be moved. The physician +attending him all but despaired of his life. + +“He is asking to see you,” said Castelroux. + +But I was not minded to respond. For all that he had deeply wronged +me, for all that I despised him very cordially, the sight of him in his +present condition might arouse my pity, and I was in no mood to waste +upon such a one as Chatellerault even on his deathbed--a quality of +which I had so dire a need just then for my own case. + +“I will not go,” said I, after deliberation. “Tell him from me that I +forgive him freely if it be that he seeks my forgiveness; tell him that +I bear him no rancour, and--that he had better make his will, to save me +trouble hereafter, if he should chance to die.” + +I said this because I had no mind, if he should perish intestate, to go +in quest of his next heirs and advise them that my late Picardy estates +were now their property. + +Castelroux sought yet to persuade me to visit the Count, but I held +firmly to my resolve. + +“I am leaving Toulouse to-day,” I announced. + +“Whither do you go?” + +“To hell, or to Beaugency--I scarce know which, nor does it matter.” + +He looked at me in surprise, but, being a man of breeding, asked no +questions upon matters that he accounted secret. + +“But the King?” he ventured presently. + +“His Majesty has already dispensed me from my duties by him.” + +Nevertheless, I did not go that day. I maintained the intention until +sunset; then, seeing that it was too late, I postponed my departure +until the morrow. I can assign no reason for my dallying mood. Perhaps +it sprang from the inertness that pervaded me, perhaps some mysterious +hand detained me. Be that as it may, that I remained another night at +the Hotel de l'Epee was one of those contingencies which, though slight +and seemingly inconsequential in themselves, lead to great issues. Had +I departed that day for Beaugency, it is likely that you had never heard +of me--leastways, not from my own pen--for in what so far I have told +you, without that which is to follow, there is haply little that was +worth the labour of setting down. + +In the morning, then, I set out; but having started late, we got no +farther than Grenade, where we lay the night once more at the Hotel de +la Couronne. And so, through having delayed my departure by a single +day, did it come to pass that a message reached me before it might have +been too late. + +It was high noon of the morrow. Our horses stood saddled; indeed, some +of my men were already mounted--for I was not minded to disband them +until Beaugency was reached--and my two coaches were both ready for the +journey. The habits of a lifetime are not so easy to abandon even when +Necessity raises her compelling voice. + +I was in the act of settling my score with the landlord when of a sudden +there were quick steps in the passage, the clank of a rapier against the +wall, and a voice--the voice of Castelroux--calling excitedly “Bardelys! +Monsieur de Bardelys!” + +“What brings you here?” I cried in greeting, as he stepped into the +room. + +“Are you still for Beaugency?” he asked sharply, throwing back his head. + +“Why, yes,” I answered, wondering at this excitement. + +“Then you have seen nothing of Saint-Eustache and his men?” + +“Nothing.” + +“Yet they must have passed this way not many hours ago.” Then tossing +his hat on the table and speaking with sudden vehemence: “If you have +any interest in the family of Lavedan, you will return upon the instant +to Toulouse.” + +The mention of Lavedan was enough to quicken my pulses. Yet in the +past two days I had mastered resignation, and in doing that we school +ourselves to much restraint. I turned slowly, and surveyed the little +Captain attentively. His black eyes sparkled, and his moustaches +bristled with excitement. Clearly he had news of import. I turned to the +landlord. + +“Leave us, Monsieur l'Hote,” said I shortly; and when he had departed, +“What of the Lavedan family, Castelroux?” I inquired as calmly as I +might. + +“The Chevalier de Saint-Eustache left Toulouse at six o'clock this +morning for Lavedan.” + +Swift the suspicion of his errand broke upon my mind. + +“He has betrayed the Vicomte?” I half inquired, half asserted. + +Castelroux nodded. “He has obtained a warrant for his apprehension from +the Keeper of the Seals, and is gone to execute it. In the course of a +few days Lavedan will be in danger of being no more than a name. This +Saint-Eustache is driving a brisk trade, by God, and some fine prizes +have already fallen to his lot. But if you add them all together, they +are not likely to yield as much as this his latest expedition. Unless +you intervene, Bardelys, the Vicomte de Lavedan is doomed and his family +houseless.” + +“I will intervene,” I cried. “By God, I will! And as for +Saint-Eustache--he was born under a propitious star, indeed, if he +escapes the gallows. He little dreams that I am still to be reckoned +with. There, Castelroux, I will start for Lavedan at once.” + +Already I was striding to the door, when the Gascon called me back. + +“What good will that do?” he asked. “Were it not better first to return +to Toulouse and obtain a counter-warrant from the King?” + +There was wisdom in his words--much wisdom. But my blood was afire, and +I was in too hot a haste to reason. + +“Return to Toulouse?” I echoed scornfully. “A waste of time, Captain. +No, I will go straight to Lavedan. I need no counter-warrant. I know too +much of this Chevalier's affairs, and my very presence should be enough +to stay his hand. He is as foul a traitor as you'll find in France; +but for the moment God bless him for a very opportune knave. Gilles!” I +called, throwing wide the door. “Gilles!” + +“Monseigneur,” he answered, hastening to me. + +“Put back the carriages and saddle me a horse,” I commanded. “And bid +your fellows mount at once and await me in the courtyard. We are not +going to Beaugency, Gilles. We ride north--to Lavedan.” + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. SAINT-EUSTACHE IS OBSTINATE + + +On the occasion of my first visit to Lavedan I had disregarded--or, +rather, Fate had contrived that I should disregard--Chatellerault's +suggestion that I should go with all the panoply of power--with my +followers, my liveries, and my equipages to compose the magnificence +all France had come to associate with my name, and thus dazzle by my +brilliant lustre the lady I was come to win. As you may remember, I had +crept into the chateau like a thief in the night,--wounded, bedraggled, +and of miserable aspect, seeking to provoke compassion rather than +admiration. + +Not so now that I made my second visit. I availed myself of all the +splendour to which I owed my title of “Magnificent,” and rode into the +courtyard of the Chateau de Lavedan preceded by twenty well-mounted +knaves wearing the gorgeous Saint-Pol liveries of scarlet and gold, with +the Bardelys escutcheon broidered on the breasts of their doublets--on a +field or a bar azure surcharged by three lilies of the field. They +were armed with swords and musketoons, and had more the air of a royal +bodyguard than of a company of attendant servants. + +Our coming was in a way well timed. I doubt if we could have stayed the +execution of Saint-Eustache's warrant even had we arrived earlier. But +for effect--to produce a striking coup de theatre--we could not have +come more opportunely. + +A coach stood in the quadrangle, at the foot of the chateau steps: +down these the Vicomte was descending, with the Vicomtesse--grim and +blasphemant as ever, on one side, and his daughter, white of face and +with tightly compressed lips, on the other. Between these two women--his +wife and his child--as different in body as they were different in soul, +came Lavedan with a firm step, a good colour, and a look of well-bred, +lofty indifference to his fate. + +He disposed himself to enter the carriage which was to bear him to +prison with much the same air he would have assumed had his destination +been a royal levee. + +Around the coach were grouped a score of men of Saint-Eustache's +company--half soldiers, half ploughboys--ill-garbed and indifferently +accoutred in dull breastplates and steel caps, many of which were +rusted. By the carriage door stood the long, lank figure of the +Chevalier himself, dressed with his wonted care, and perfumed, curled, +and beribboned beyond belief. His weak, boyish face sought by scowls and +by the adoption of a grim smile to assume an air of martial ferocity. + +Such was the grouping in the quadrangle when my men, with Gilles at +their head, thundered across the drawbridge, giving pause to those +within, and drawing upon themselves the eyes of all, as they rode, two +by two, under the old-world arch of the keep into the courtyard. And +Gilles, who knew our errand, and who was as ready-witted a rogue as +ever rode with me, took in the situation at a glance. Knowing how much +I desired to make a goodly show, he whispered an order. This resulted +in the couples dividing at the gateway, one going to the left and one +to the right, so that as they came they spread themselves in a crescent, +and drawing rein, they faced forward, confronting and half surrounding +the Chevalier's company. + +As each couple appeared, the curiosity--the uneasiness, probably--of +Saint-Eustache and his men, had increased, and their expectancy was on +tiptoe to see what lord it was went abroad with such regal pomp, when I +appeared in the gateway and advanced at the trot into the middle of the +quadrangle. There I drew rein and doffed my hat to them as they stood, +open-mouthed and gaping one and all. If it was a theatrical display, a +parade worthy of a tilt-ground, it was yet a noble and imposing advent, +and their gaping told me that it was not without effect. The men looked +uneasily at the Chevalier; the Chevalier looked uneasily at his men; +mademoiselle, very pale, lowered her eyes and pressed her lips yet more +tightly; the Vicomtesse uttered an oath of astonishment; whilst Lavedan, +too dignified to manifest surprise, greeted me with a sober bow. + +Behind them on the steps I caught sight of a group of domestics, old +Anatole standing slightly in advance of his fellows, and wondering, no +doubt, whether this were, indeed, the bedraggled Lesperon of a little +while ago--for if I had thought of pomp in the display of my lacqueys, +no less had I considered it in the decking of my own person. Without +any of the ribbons and fopperies that mark the coxcomb, yet was I clad, +plumed, and armed with a magnificence such as I'll swear had not been +seen within the grey walls of that old castle in the lifetime of any of +those that were now present. + +Gilles leapt from his horse as I drew rein, and hastened to hold +my stirrup, with a murmured “Monsieur,” which title drew a fresh +astonishment into the eyes of the beholders. + +I advanced leisurely towards Saint-Eustache, and addressed him with such +condescension as I might a groom, to impress and quell a man of this +type your best weapon is the arrogance that a nobler spirit would +resent. + +“A world of odd meetings this, Saint-Eustache,” I smiled disdainfully. +“A world of strange comings and goings, and of strange transformations. +The last time we were here we stood mutually as guests of Monsieur le +Vicomte; at present you appear to be officiating as a--a tipstaff.” + +“Monsieur!” He coloured, and he uttered the word in accents of awakening +resentment. I looked into his eyes, coldly, impassively, as if waiting +to hear what he might have to add, and so I stayed until his glance fell +and his spirit was frozen in him. He knew me, and he knew how much I was +to be feared. A word from me to the King might send him to the wheel. +It was upon this I played. Presently, as his eye fell, “Is your business +with me, Monsieur de Bardelys?” he asked, and at that utterance of my +name there was a commotion on the steps, whilst the Vicomte started, and +his eyes frowned upon me, and the Vicomtesse looked up suddenly to scan +me with a fresh interest. She beheld at last in the flesh the gentleman +who had played so notorious a part, ten years ago, in that scandal +connected with the Duchesse de Bourgogne, of which she never tired of +reciting the details. And think that she had sat at table with him day +by day and been unconscious of that momentous fact! Such, I make no +doubt, was what passed through her mind at the moment, and, to judge +from her expression, I should say that the excitement of beholding +the Magnificent Bardelys had for the nonce eclipsed beholding even her +husband's condition and the imminent sequestration of Lavedan. + +“My business is with you, Chevalier,” said I. “It relates to your +mission here.” + +His jaw fell. “You wish--?” + +“To desire you to withdraw your men and quit Lavedan at once, abandoning +the execution of your warrant.” + +He flashed me a look of impotent hate. “You know of the existence of +my warrant, Monsieur de Bardelys, and you must therefore realize that a +royal mandate alone can exempt me from delivering Monsieur de Lavedan to +the Keeper of the Seals.” + +“My only warrant,” I answered, somewhat baffled, but far from abandoning +hope, “is my word. You shall say to the Garde des Sceaux that you have +done this upon the authority of the Marquis de Bardelys, and you have my +promise that His Majesty shall confirm my action.” + +In saying that I said too much, as I was quickly to realize. + +“His Majesty will confirm it, monsieur?” he said interrogatively, and he +shook his head. “That is a risk I dare not run. My warrant sets me under +imperative obligations which I must discharge--you will see the justice +of what I state.” + +His tone was all humility, all subservience, nevertheless it was firm +to the point of being hard. But my last card, the card upon which I was +depending, was yet to be played. + +“Will you do me the honour to step aside with me, Chevalier?” I +commanded rather than besought. + +“At your service, sir,” said he; and I drew him out of earshot of those +others. + +“Now, Saint-Eustache, we can talk,” said I, with an abrupt change +of manner from the coldly arrogant to the coldly menacing. “I marvel +greatly at your temerity in pursuing this Iscariot business after +learning who I am, at Toulouse two nights ago.” + +He clenched his hands, and his weak face hardened. + +“I would beg you to consider your expressions, monsieur, and to control +them,” said he in a thick voice. + +I vouchsafed him a stare of freezing amazement. “You will no doubt +remember in what capacity I find you employed. Nay, keep your hands +still, Saint-Eustache. I don't fight catchpolls, and if you give me +trouble my men are yonder.” And I jerked my thumb over my shoulder. “And +now to business. I am not minded to talk all day. I was saying that +I marvel at your temerity, and more particularly at your having laid +information against Monsieur de Lavedan, and having come here to arrest +him, knowing, as you must know, that I am interested in the Vicomte.” + +“I have heard of that interest, monsieur,” said he, with a sneer for +which I could have struck him. + +“This act of yours,” I pursued, ignoring his interpolation, “savours +very much of flying in the face of Destiny. It almost seems to me as if +you were defying me.” + +His lip trembled, and his eyes shunned my glance. + +“Indeed--indeed, monsieur--” he was protesting, when I cut him short. + +“You cannot be so great a fool but that you must realize that if I tell +the King what I know of you, you will be stripped of your ill-gotten +gains, and broken on the wheel for a double traitor--a betrayer of your +fellow-rebels.” + +“But you will not do that, monsieur?” he cried. “It would be unworthy in +you.” + +At that I laughed in his face. “Heart of God! Are you to be what you +please, and do you still expect that men shall be nice in dealing with +you? I would do this thing, and, by my faith, Monsieur de Eustache, I +will do it, if you compel me!” + +He reddened and moved his foot uneasily. Perhaps I did not take the best +way with him, after all. I might have confined myself to sowing fear in +his heart; that alone might have had the effect I desired; by visiting +upon him at the same time the insults I could not repress, I may have +aroused his resistance, and excited his desire above all else to thwart +me. + +“What do you want of me?” he demanded, with a sudden arrogance which +almost cast mine into the shade. + +“I want you,” said I, deeming the time ripe to make a plain tale of it, +“to withdraw your men, and to ride back to Toulouse without Monsieur +de Lavedan, there to confess to the Keeper of the Seals that your +suspicions were unfounded, and that you have culled evidence that the +Vicomte has had no relations with Monsieur the King's brother.” + +He looked at me in amazement--amusedly, almost. + +“A likely story that to bear to the astute gentlemen in Toulouse,” said +he. + +“Aye, ma foi, a most likely story,” said I. “When they come to consider +the profit that you are losing by not apprehending the Vicomte, and can +think of none that you are making, they will have little difficulty in +believing you.” + +“But what of this evidence you refer to?” + +“You have, I take it, discovered no incriminating evidence--no documents +that will tell against the Vicomte?” + +“No, monsieur, it is true that I have not--” + +He stopped and bit his lip, my smile making him aware of his +indiscretion. + +“Very well, then, you must invent some evidence to prove that he was in +no way, associated with the rebellion.” + +“Monsieur de Bardelys,” said he very insolently, “we waste time in idle +words. If you think that I will imperil my neck for the sake of serving +you or the Vicomte, you are most prodigiously at fault.” + +“I have never thought so. But I have thought that you might be induced +to imperil your neck--as you have it--for its own sake, and to the end +that you might save it.” + +He moved away. “Monsieur, you talk in vain. You have no royal warrant +to supersede mine. Do what you will when you come to Toulouse,” and he +smiled darkly. “Meanwhile, the Vicomte goes with me.” + +“You have no evidence against him!” I cried, scarce believing that he +would dare to defy me and that I had failed. + +“I have the evidence of my word. I am ready to swear to what I +know--that, whilst I was here at Lavedan, some weeks ago, I discovered +his connection with the rebels.” + +“And what think you, miserable fool, shall your word weigh against +mine?” I cried. “Never fear, Monsieur le Chevalier, I shall be in +Toulouse to give you the lie by showing that your word is a word to +which no man may attach faith, and by exposing to the King your past +conduct. If you think that, after I have spoken, King Louis whom they +name the just will suffer the trial of the Vicomte to go further on your +instigation, or if you think that you will be able to slip your own neck +from the noose I shall have set about it, you are an infinitely greater +fool than I deem you.” + +He stood and looked at me over his shoulder, his face crimson, and his +brows black as a thundercloud. + +“All this may betide when you come to Toulouse, Monsieur de Bardelys,” + said he darkly, “but from here to Toulouse it is a matter of some twenty +leagues.” + +With that, he turned on his heel and left me, baffled and angry, to +puzzle out the inner meaning of his parting words. + +He gave his men the order to mount, and bade Monsieur de Lavedan enter +the coach, whereupon Gilles shot me a glance of inquiry. For a second, +as I stepped slowly after the Chevalier, I was minded to try armed +resistance, and to convert that grey courtyard into a shambles. Then I +saw betimes the futility of such a step, and I shrugged my shoulders in +answer to my servant's glance. + +I would have spoken to the Vicomte ere he departed, but I was too deeply +chagrined and humiliated by my defeat. So much so that I had no room in +my thoughts even for the very natural conjecture of what Lavedan must be +thinking of me. I repented me then of my rashness in coming to Lavedan +without having seen the King--as Castelroux had counselled me. I had +come indulging vain dreams of a splendid overthrow of Saint-Eustache. I +had thought to shine heroically in Mademoiselle's eyes, and thus I had +hoped that both gratitude for having saved her father and admiration at +the manner in which I had achieved it would predispose her to grant me +a hearing in which I might plead my rehabilitation. Once that were +accorded me, I did not doubt I should prevail. + +Now my dream was all dispelled, and my pride had suffered just such a +humiliating fall as the moralists tell us pride must ever suffer. There +seemed little left me but to go hence with lambent tail, like a dog that +has been whipped--my dazzling escort become a mockery but that it served +the more loudly to advertise my true impotency. + +As I approached the carriage, the Vicomtesse swept suddenly down the +steps and came towards me with a friendly smile. “Monsieur de Bardelys,” + said she, “we are grateful for your intervention in the cause of that +rebel my husband.” + +“Madame,” I besought her, under my breath, “if you would not totally +destroy him, I beseech you to be cautious. By your leave, I will have my +men refreshed, and thereafter I shall take the road to Toulouse again. I +can only hope that my intervention with the King may bear better fruit.” + +Although I spoke in a subdued key, Saint-Eustache, who stood near us, +overheard me, as his face very clearly testified. + +“Remain here, sir,” she replied, with some effusion, “and follow us when +you are rested.” + +“Follow you?” I inquired. “Do you then go with Monsieur de Lavedan?” + +“No, Anne,” said the Vicomte politely from the carriage. “It will be +tiring you unnecessarily. You were better advised to remain here until +my return.” + +I doubt not that the poor Vicomte was more concerned with how she would +tire him than with how the journey might tire her. But the Vicomtesse +was not to be gainsaid. The Chevalier had sneered when the Vicomte spoke +of returning. Madame had caught that sneer, and she swung round upon him +now with the vehement fury of a virago. + +“He'll not return, you think, you Judas!” she snarled at him, her lean, +swarthy face growing very evil to see. “But he shall--by God, he shall! +And look to your skin when he does, monsieur the catchpoll, for, on +my honour, you shall have a foretaste of hell for your trouble in this +matter.” + +The Chevalier smiled with much restraint. “A woman's tongue,” said he, +“does no injury.” + +“Will a woman's arm, think you?” demanded that warlike matron. “You +musk-stinking tipstaff, I'll--” + +“Anne, my love,” implored the Vicomte soothingly, “I beg that you will +control yourself.” + +“Shall I submit to the insolence of this misbegotten vassal? Shall I--” + +“Remember rather that it does not become the dignity of your station to +address the fellow. We avoid venomous reptiles, but we do not pause to +reproach them with their venom. God made them so.” + +Saint-Eustache coloured to the roots of his hair, then, turning hastily +to the driver, he bade him start. He would have closed the door with +that, but that madame thrust herself forward. + +That was the Chevalier's chance to be avenged. “You cannot go,” said he. + +“Cannot?” Her cheeks reddened. “Why not, monsieur Lesperon? + +“I have no reasons to afford you,” he answered brutally. “You cannot +go.” + +“Your pardon, Chevalier,” I interposed. “You go beyond your rights in +seeking to prevent her. Monsieur le Vicomte is not yet convicted. Do +not, I beseech you, transcend the already odious character of your +work.” + +And without more ado I shouldered him aside, and held the door that she +might enter. She rewarded me with a smile--half vicious, half whimsical, +and mounted the step. Saint-Eustache would have interfered. He came +at me as if resenting that shoulder-thrust of mine, and for a second I +almost thought he would have committed the madness of striking me. + +“Take care, Saint-Eustache,” I said very quietly, my eyes fixed on his. +And much as dead Caesar's ghost may have threatened Brutus with Philippi +“We meet at Toulouse, Chevalier,” said I, and closing the carriage door +I stepped back. + +There was a flutter of skirts behind me. It was mademoiselle. So brave +and outwardly so calm until now, the moment of actual separation--and +added thereunto perhaps her mother's going and the loneliness that for +herself she foresaw--proved more than she could endure. I stepped aside, +and she swept past me and caught at the leather curtain of the coach. + +“Father!” she sobbed. + +There are some things that a man of breeding may not witness--some +things to look upon which is near akin to eavesdropping or reading the +letters of another. Such a scene did I now account the present one, and, +turning, I moved away. But Saint-Eustache cut it short, for scarce had +I taken three paces when his voice rang out the command to move. The +driver hesitated, for the girl was still hanging at the window. But a +second command, accompanied by a vigorous oath, overcame his hesitation. +He gathered up his reins, cracked his whip, and the lumbering wheels +began to move. + +“Have a care, child!” I heard the Vicomte cry, “have a care! Adieu, mon +enfant!” + +She sprang back, sobbing, and assuredly she would have fallen, thrown +out of balance by the movement of the coach, but that I put forth my +hands and caught her. + +I do not think she knew whose were the arms that held her for that brief +space, so desolated was she by the grief so long repressed. At last she +realized that it was this worthless Bardelys against whom she rested; +this man who had wagered that he would win and wed her; this impostor +who had come to her under an assumed name; this knave who had lied to +her as no gentleman could have lied, swearing to love her, whilst, in +reality, he did no more than seek to win a wager. When all this she +realized, she shuddered a second, then moved abruptly from my grasp, +and, without so much as a glance at me, she left me, and, ascending the +steps of the chateau, she passed from my sight. + +I gave the order to dismount as the last of Saint-Eustache's followers +vanished under the portcullis. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. THE FLINT AND THE STEEL + + +“Mademoiselle will see you, monsieur,” said Anatole at last. + +Twice already had he carried unavailingly my request that Roxalanne +should accord me an interview ere I departed. On this the third occasion +I had bidden him say that I would not stir from Lavedan until she had +done me the honour of hearing me. Seemingly that threat had prevailed +where entreaties had been scorned. + +I followed Anatole from the half-light of the hall in which I had been +pacing into the salon overlooking the terraces and the river, where +Roxalanne awaited me. She was standing at the farther end of the room by +one of the long windows, which was open, for, although we were already +in the first week of October, the air of Languedoc was as warm and balmy +as that of Paris or Picardy is in summer. + +I advanced to the centre of the chamber, and there I paused and waited +until it should please her to acknowledge my presence and turn to face +me. I was no fledgling. I had seen much, I had learnt much and been in +many places, and my bearing was wont to convey it. Never in my life +had I been gauche, for which I thank my parents, and if years ago--long +years ago--a certain timidity had marked my first introductions to the +Louvre and the Luxembourg, that timidity was something from which I had +long since parted company. And yet it seemed to me, as I stood in that +pretty, sunlit room awaiting the pleasure of that child, scarce out of +her teens, that some of the awkwardness I had escaped in earlier years, +some of the timidity of long ago, came to me then. I shifted the weight +of my body from one leg to the other; I fingered the table by which I +stood; I pulled at the hat I held; my colour came and went; I looked +at her furtively from under bent brows, and I thanked God that her back +being towards me she might not see the clown I must have seemed. + +At length, unable longer to brook that discomposing silence-- + +“Mademoiselle!” I called softly. The sound of my own voice seemed to +invigorate me, to strip me of my awkwardness and self-consciousness. It +broke the spell that for a moment had been over me, and brought me back +to myself--to the vain, self-confident, flamboyant Bardelys that perhaps +you have pictured from my writings. + +“I hope, monsieur,” she answered, without turning, “that what you +may have to say may justify in some measure your very importunate +insistence.” + +On my life, this was not encouraging. But now that I was master of +myself, I was not again so easily to be disconcerted. My eyes rested +upon her as she stood almost framed in the opening of that long window. +How straight and supple she was, yet how dainty and slight withal! She +was far from being a tall woman, but her clean length of limb, her very +slightness, and the high-bred poise of her shapely head, conveyed an +illusion of height unless you stood beside her. The illusion did not +sway me then. I saw only a child; but a child with a great spirit, with +a great soul that seemed to accentuate her physical helplessness. That +helplessness, which I felt rather than saw, wove into the warp of my +love. She was in grief just then--in grief at the arrest of her father, +and at the dark fate that threatened him; in grief at the unworthiness +of a lover. Of the two which might be the more bitter it was not mine to +judge, but I burned to gather her to me, to comfort and cherish her, to +make her one with me, and thus, whilst giving her something of my man's +height and strength, cull from her something of that pure, noble spirit, +and thus sanctify my own. + +I had a moment's weakness when she spoke. I was within an ace of +advancing and casting myself upon my knees like any Lenten penitent, to +sue forgiveness. But I set the inclination down betimes. Such expedients +would not avail me here. + +“What I have to say, mademoiselle,” I answered after a pause, “would +justify a saint descending into, hell; or, rather, to make my metaphor +more apt, would warrant a sinner's intrusion into heaven.” + +I spoke solemnly, yet not too solemnly; the least slur of a sardonic +humour was in my tones. + +She moved her head upon the white column of her neck, and with the +gesture one of her brown curls became disordered. I could fancy the +upward tilt of her delicate nose, the scornful curve of her lip as she +answered shortly “Then say it quickly, monsieur.” + +And, being thus bidden, I said quickly “I love you, Roxalanne.” + +Her heel beat the shimmering parquet of the floor; she half turned +towards me, her cheek flushed, her lip tremulous with anger. + +“Will you say what you have to say, monsieur?” she demanded in a +concentrated voice, “and having said it, will you go?” + +“Mademoiselle, I have already said it,” I answered, with a wistful +smile. + +“Oh!” she gasped. Then suddenly facing round upon me, a world of anger +in her blue eyes--eyes that I had known dreamy, but which were now +very wide awake. “Was it to offer me this last insult you forced your +presence upon me? Was it to mock me with those words, me--a woman, with +no man about me to punish you? Shame, sir! Yet it is no more than I +might look for in you.” + +“Mademoiselle, you do me grievous wrong--” I began. + +“I do you no wrong,” she answered hotly, then stopped, unwilling haply +to be drawn into contention with me. “Enfin, since you have said what +you came to say will you go?” And she pointed to the door. + +“Mademoiselle, mademoiselle--” I began in a voice of earnest +intercession. + +“Go!” she interrupted angrily, and for a second the violence of her +voice and gesture almost reminded me of the Vicomtesse. “I will hear no +more from you.” + +“Mademoiselle, you shall,” I answered no whit less firmly. + +“I will not listen to you. Talk if you will. You shall have the walls +for audience.” And she moved towards the door, but I barred her passage. +I was courteous to the last degree; I bowed low before her as I put +myself in her way. + +“It is all that was wanting--that you should offer me violence!” she +exclaimed. + +“God forbid!” said I. + +“Then let me pass.” + +“Aye, when you have heard me.” + +“I do not wish to hear you. Nothing that you may say can matter to me. +Oh, monsieur, if you have any instincts of gentility, if you have any +pretension to be accounted anything but a mauvais sujet, I beg of you to +respect my grief. You witnessed, yourself, the arrest of my father. This +is no season for such as scene as you are creating.” + +“Pardon! It is in such a season as this that you need the comfort and +support that the man you love alone can give you.” + +“The man I love?” she echoed, and from flushed that they had been, her +cheeks went very pale. Her eyes fell for an instant, then--they were +raised again, and their blue depths were offered me. “I think, sir,” she +said, through her teeth, “that your insolence transcends all belief.” + +“Can you deny it?” I cried. “Can you deny that you love me? If you +can--why, then, you lied to me three nights ago at Toulouse!” + +That smote her hard--so hard that she forgot her assurance that she +would not listen to me--her promise to herself that she would stoop to +no contention with me. + +“If, in a momentary weakness, in my nescience of you as you truly are, +I did make some such admission, I did entertain such feelings for +you, things have come to my knowledge since then, monsieur, that have +revealed you to me as another man; I have learnt something that has +utterly withered such love as I then confessed. Now, monsieur, are you +satisfied, and will you let me pass?” She said the last words with a +return of her imperiousness, already angry at having been drawn so far. + +“I am satisfied, mademoiselle,” I answered brutally, “that you did not +speak the truth three nights ago. You never loved me. It was pity that +deluded you, shame that urged you--shame at the Delilah part you had +played and at your betrayal of me. Now, mademoiselle, you may pass,” + said I. + +And I stood aside, assured that as she was a woman she would not pass +me now. Nor did she. She recoiled a step instead. Her lip quivered. Then +she recovered quickly. Her mother might have told her that she was a +fool for engaging herself in such a duel with me--me, the veteran of +a hundred amorous combats. Yet though I doubt not it was her first +assault-at-arms of this description, she was more than a match for me, +as her next words proved. + +“Monsieur, I thank you for enlightening me. I cannot, indeed, have +spoken the truth three nights ago. You are right, I do not doubt it now, +and you lift from me a load of shame.” + +Dieu! It was like a thrust in the high lines, and its hurtful violence +staggered me. I was finished, it seemed. The victory was hers, and she +but a child with no practice of Cupid's art of fence! + +“Now, monsieur,” she added, “now that you are satisfied that you +did wrong to say I loved you, now that we have disposed of that +question--adieu!” + +“A moment yet!” I cried. “We have disposed of that, but there was +another point, an earlier one, which for the moment we have disregarded. +We have--you have disproved the love I was so presumptuous as to believe +you fostered for me. We have yet to reckon with the love I bear you, +mademoiselle, and of that we shall not be able to dispose so readily.” + +With a gesture of weariness or of impatience, she turned aside. “What is +it you want? What do you seek to gain by thus provoking me? To win your +wager?” Her voice was cold. Who to have looked upon that childlike face, +upon those meek, pondering eyes, could have believed her capable of so +much cruelty? + +“There can no longer be any question of my wager; I have lost and paid +it,” said I. + +She looked up suddenly. Her brows met in a frown of bewilderment. +Clearly this interested her. Again was she drawn. + +“How?” she asked. “You have lost and paid it?” + +“Even so. That odious, cursed, infamous wager, was the something which +I hinted at so often as standing between you and me. The confession that +so often I was on the point of making--that so often you urged me to +make--concerned that wager. Would to God, Roxalanne, that I had told +you!” I cried, and it seemed to me that the sincerity ringing in my +voice drove some of the harshness from her countenance, some of the +coldness from her glance. + +“Unfortunately,” I pursued, “it always seemed to me either not yet time, +or already too late. Yet so soon as I regained my liberty, my first +thought was of that. While the wager existed I might not ask you to +become my wife, lest I should seem to be carrying out the original +intention which embarked me upon the business of wooing you, and brought +me here to Languedoc. And so my first step was to seek out Chatellerault +and deliver him my note of hand for my Picardy possessions, the bulk--by +far the greater bulk--of all my fortune. My second step was to repair to +you at the Hotel de l'Epee. + +“At last I could approach you with clean hands; I could confess what +I had done; and since it seemed to me that I had made the utmost +atonement, I was confident of success. Alas! I came too late. In the +porch of the auberge I met you as you came forth. From my talkative +intendant you had learnt already the story of that bargain into which +Bardelys had entered. You had learnt who I was, and you thought that you +had learnt why I wooed you. Accordingly you could but despise me.” + +She had sunk into a chair. Her hands were folded in a listless manner in +her lap, and her eyes were lowered, her cheeks pale. But the swift heave +of her bosom told me that my words were not without effect. “Do you know +nothing of the bargain that I made with Chatellerault?” she asked in a +voice that held, I thought, some trace of misery. + +“Chatellerault was a cheat!” I cried. “No man of honour in France would +have accounted himself under obligation to pay that wager. I paid it, +not because I thought the payment due, but that by its payment I might +offer you a culminating proof of my sincerity.” + +“Be that as it may,” said she, “I passed him my word to--to marry him, +if he set you at liberty.” + +“The promise does not hold, for when you made it I was at liberty +already. Besides, Chatellerault is dead by now--or very near it.” + +“Dead?” she echoed, looking up. + +“Yes, dead. We fought--” The ghost of a smile, of sudden, of scornful +understanding, passed like a ray of light across her face. “Pardieu!” I +cried, “you do me a wrong there. It was not by my hands that he fell. It +was not by me that the duel was instigated.” + +And with that I gave her the whole details of the affair, including the +information that Chatellerault had been no party to my release, and that +for his attempted judicial murder of me the King would have dealt +very hardly with him had he not saved the King the trouble by throwing +himself upon his sword: + +There was a silence when I had done. Roxalanne sat on, and seemed to +ponder. To let all that I had said sink in and advocate my cause, as +to me was very clear it must, I turned aside and moved to one of the +windows. + +“Why did you not tell me before?” she asked suddenly. “Why--oh, why--did +you not confess to me the whole infamous affair as soon as you came to +love me, as you say you did?” + +“As I say I did?” I repeated after her. “Do you doubt it? Can you doubt +it in the face of what I have done?” + +“Oh, I don't know what to believe!” she cried, a sob in her voice. “You +have deceived me so far, so often. Why did you not tell me that night +on the river? Or later, when I pressed you in this very house? Or again, +the other night in the prison of Toulouse?” + +“You ask me why. Can you not answer the question for yourself? Can you +not conceive the fear that was in me that you should shrink away from me +in loathing? The fear that if you cared a little, I might for all time +stifle such affection as you bore me? The fear that I must ruin your +trust in me? Oh, mademoiselle, can you not see how my only hope lay in +first owning defeat to Chatellerault, in first paying the wager?” + +“How could you have lent yourself to such a bargain?” was her next +question. + +“How, indeed?” I asked in my turn. “From your mother you have heard +something of the reputation that attaches to Bardelys. I was a man of +careless ways, satiated with all the splendours life could give me, +nauseated by all its luxuries. Was it wonderful that I allowed myself +to be lured into this affair? It promised some excitement, a certain +novelty, difficulties in a path that I had--alas!--ever found all +too smooth--for Chatellerault had made your reputed coldness the chief +bolster of his opinion that I should not win. + +“Again, I was not given to over-nice scruples. I make no secret of my +infirmities, but do not blame me too much. If you could see the fine +demoiselles we have in Paris, if you could listen to their tenets and +take a deep look into their lives, you would not marvel at me. I had +never known any but these. On the night of my coming to Lavedan, your +sweetness, your pure innocence, your almost childish virtue, dazed me by +their novelty. From that first moment I became your slave. Then I was in +your garden day by day. And here, in this old Languedoc garden with you +and your roses, during the languorous days of my convalescence, is it +wonderful that some of the purity, some of the sweetness that was of +you and of your roses, should have crept into my heart and cleansed it +a little? Ah, mademoiselle!” I cried--and, coming close to her, I would +have bent my knee in intercession but that she restrained me. + +“Monsieur,” she interrupted, “we harass ourselves in vain. This can have +but one ending.” + +Her tones were cold, but the coldness I knew was forced--else had she +not said “we harass ourselves.” Instead of quelling my ardour, it gave +it fuel. + +“True, mademoiselle,” I cried, almost exultantly. “It can end but one +way!” + +She caught my meaning, and her frown deepened. I went too fast, it +seemed. + +“It had better end now, monsieur. There is too much between us. You +wagered to win me to wife.” She shuddered. “I could never forget it.” + +“Mademoiselle,” I denied stoutly, “I did not.” + +“How?” She caught her breath. “You did not?” + +“No,” I pursued boldly. “I did not wager to win you. I wagered to win +a certain Mademoiselle de Lavedan, who was unknown to me--but not you, +not you.” + +She smiled, with never so slight a touch of scorn. + +“Your distinctions are very fine--too fine for me, monsieur.” + +“I implore you to be reasonable. Think reasonably.” + +“Am I not reasonable? Do I not think? But there is so much to think +of!” she sighed. “You carried your deception so far. You came here, for +instance, as Monsieur de Lesperon. Why that duplicity?” + +“Again, mademoiselle, I did not,” said I. + +She glanced at me with pathetic disdain. + +“Indeed, indeed, monsieur, you deny things very bravely.” + +“Did I tell you that my name was Lesperon? Did I present myself to +monsieur your father as Lesperon?” + +“Surely--yes.” + +“Surely no; a thousand times no. I was the victim of circumstances in +that, and if I turned them to my own account after they had been +forced upon me, shall I be blamed and accounted a cheat? Whilst I was +unconscious, your father, seeking for a clue to my identity, made an +inspection of my clothes. + +“In the pocket of my doublet they found some papers addressed to Rene de +Lesperon--some love letters, a communication from the Duc d'Orleans, +and a woman's portrait. From all of this it was assumed that I was +that Lesperon. Upon my return to consciousness your father greeted me +effusively, whereat I wondered; he passed on to discuss--nay, to tell me +of--the state of the province and of his own connection with the rebels, +until I lay gasping at his egregious temerity. Then, when he greeted +me as Monsieur de Lesperon, I had the explanation of it, but too late. +Could I deny the identity then? Could I tell him that I was Bardelys, +the favourite of the King himself? What would have occurred? I ask you, +mademoiselle. Would I not have been accounted a spy, and would they not +have made short work of me here at your chateau?” + +“No, no; they would have done no murder.” + +“Perhaps not, but I could not be sure just then. Most men situated as +your father was would have despatched me. Ah, mademoiselle, have you not +proofs enough? Do you not believe me now?” + +“Yes, monsieur,” she answered simply, “I believe you.” + +“Will you not believe, then, in the sincerity of my love?” + +She made no rely. Her face was averted, but from her silence I took +heart. I drew close to her. I set my hand upon the tall back of her +chair, and, leaning towards her, I spoke with passionate heat as must +have melted, I thought, any woman who had not a loathing for me. + +“Mademoiselle; I am a poor man now,” I ended. “I am no longer that +magnificent gentleman whose wealth and splendour were a byword. Yet am I +no needy adventurer. I have a little property at Beaugency--a very spot +for happiness, mademoiselle. Paris shall know me no more. At Beaugency +I shall live at peace, in seclusion, and, so that you come with me, in +such joy as in all my life I have done nothing to deserve. I have no +longer an army of retainers. A couple of men and a maid or two shall +constitute our household. Yet I shall account my wealth well lost if for +love's sake you'll share with me the peace of my obscurity. I am poor, +mademoiselle yet no poorer even now than that Gascon gentleman, Rene de +Lesperon, for whom you held me, and on whom you bestowed the priceless +treasure of your heart.” + +“Oh, might it have pleased God that you had remained that poor Gascon +gentleman!” she cried. + +“In what am I different, Roxalanne?” + +“In that he had laid no wager,” she answered, rising suddenly. + +My hopes were withering. She was not angry. She was pale, and her gentle +face was troubled--dear God! how sorely troubled! To me it almost seemed +that I had lost. + +She flashed me a glance of her blue eyes, and I thought that tears +impended. + +“Roxalanne!” I supplicated. + +But she recovered the control that for a moment she had appeared upon +the verge of losing. She put forth her hand. + +“Adieu, monsieur!” said she. + +I glanced from her hand to her face. Her attitude began to anger me, for +I saw that she was not only resisting me, but resisting herself. In her +heart the insidious canker of doubt persisted. She knew--or should have +known--that it no longer should have any place there, yet obstinately +she refrained from plucking it out. There was that wager. But for that +same obstinacy she must have realized the reason of my arguments, the +irrefutable logic of my payment. She denied me, and in denying me she +denied herself, for that she had loved me she had herself told me, and +that she could love me again I was assured, if she would but see the +thing in the light of reason and of justice. + +“Roxalanne, I did not come to Lavedan to say 'Good-bye' to you. I seek +from you a welcome, not a dismissal.” + +“Yet my dismissal is all that I can give. Will you not take my hand? May +we not part in friendly spirit?” + +“No, we may not; for we do not part at all.” + +It was as the steel of my determination striking upon the flint of hers. +She looked up to my face for an instant; she raised her eyebrows in +deprecation; she sighed, shrugged one shoulder, and, turning on her +heel, moved towards the door. + +“Anatole shall bring you refreshment ere you go,” she said in a very +polite and formal voice. + +Then I played my last card. Was it for nothing that I had flung away +my wealth? If she would not give herself, by God, I would compel her +to sell herself. And I took no shame in doing it, for by doing it I was +saving her and saving myself from a life of unhappiness. + +“Roxalanne!” I cried. The imperiousness of my voice arrested and +compelled her perhaps against her very will. + +“Monsieur?” said she, as demurely as you please. + +“Do you know what you are doing?”. + +“But yes--perfectly.” + +“Pardieu, you do not. I will tell you. You are sending your father to +the scaffold.” + +She turned livid, her step faltered, and she leant against the frame of +the doorway for support. Then she stared at me, wide-eyed in horror. + +“That is not true,” she pleaded, yet without conviction. “He is not +in danger of his life. They can prove nothing against him. Monsieur de +Saint-Eustache could find no evidence here--nothing.” + +“Yet there is Monsieur de Saint-Eustache's word; there is the fact--the +significant fact--that your father did not take up arms for the King, +to afford the Chevalier's accusation some measure of corroboration. At +Toulouse in these times they are not particular. Remember how it had +fared with me but for the King's timely arrival.” + +That smote home. The last shred of her strength fell from her. A great +sob shook her, then covering her face with her hands “Mother in heaven, +have pity on me!” she cried. “Oh, it cannot be, it cannot be!” + +Her distress touched me sorely. I would have consoled her, I would have +bidden her have no fear, assuring her that I would save her father. +But for my own ends, I curbed the mood. I would use this as a cudgel to +shatter her obstinacy, and I prayed that God might forgive me if I did +aught that a gentleman should account unworthy. My need was urgent, my +love all-engrossing; winning her meant winning life and happiness, and +already I had sacrificed so much. Her cry rang still in my ears, “It +cannot be, it cannot be!” + +I trampled my nascent tenderness underfoot, and in its room I set a +harshness that I did not feel--a harshness of defiance and menace. + +“It can be, it will be, and, as God lives, it shall be, if you persist +in your unreasonable attitude.” + +“Monsieur, have mercy!” + +“Yes, when you shall be pleased to show me the way to it by having mercy +upon me. If I have sinned, I have atoned. But that is a closed question +now; to reopen it were futile. Take heed of this, Roxalanne: there is +one thing--one only in all France can save your father.” + +“That is, monsieur?” she inquired breathlessly. + +“My word against that of Saint-Eustache. My indication to His Majesty +that your father's treason is not to be accepted on the accusation of +Saint-Eustache. My information to the King of what I know touching this +gentleman.” + +“You will go, monsieur?” she implored me. “Oh, you will save him! Mon +Dieu, to think of the time that we have wasted here, you and I, whilst +he is being carried to the scaffold! Oh, I did not dream it was so +perilous with him! I was desolated by his arrest; I thought of some +months' imprisonment, perhaps. But that he should die--! Monsieur de +Bardelys, you will save him! Say that you will do this for me!” + +She was on her knees to me now, her arms clasping my boots, her eyes +raised in entreaty--God, what entreaty!--to my own. + +“Rise, mademoiselle, I beseech you,” I said, with a quiet I was far from +feeling. “There is no need for this. Let us be calm. The danger to your +father is not so imminent. We may have some days yet--three or four, +perhaps.” + +I lifted her gently and led her to a chair. I was hard put to it not to +hold her supported in my arms. But I might not cull that advantage from +her distress. A singular niceness, you will say, perhaps, as in your +scorn you laugh at me. Perhaps you are right to laugh--yet are you not +altogether right. + +“You will go to Toulouse, monsieur?” she begged. + +I took a turn in the room, then halting before her “Yes,” I answered, “I +will go.” + +The gratitude that leapt to her eyes smote me hard, for my sentence was +unfinished. + +“I will go,” I continued quickly, “when you shall have promised to +become my wife.” + +The joy passed from her face. She glanced at me a moment as if without +understanding. + +“I came to Lavedan to win you, Roxalanne, and from Lavedan I shall not +stir until I have accomplished my design,” I said very quietly. “You +will therefore see that it rests with you how soon I may set out.” + +She fell to weeping softly, but answered nothing. At last I turned from +her and moved towards the door. + +“Where are you going?” she cried. + +“To take the air, mademoiselle. If upon deliberation you can bring +yourself to marry me, send me word by Anatole or one of the others, and +I shall set out at once for Toulouse.” + +“Stop!” she cried. Obediently I stopped, my hand already upon the +doorknob. “You are cruel, monsieur!” she complained. + +“I love you,” said I, by way of explaining it. “To be cruel seems to be +the way of love. You have been cruel to me.” + +“Would you--would you take what is not freely given?” + +“I have the hope that when you see that you must give, you will give +freely.” + +“If--if I make you this promise--” + +“Yes?” I was growing white with eagerness. + +“You will fulfil your part of the bargain?” + +“It is a habit of mine, mademoiselle--as witnesses the case of +Chatellerault.” She shivered at the mention of his name. It reminded her +of precisely such another bargain that three nights ago she had made. +Precisely, did I say? Well, not quite precisely. + +“I--I promise to marry you, then,” said she in a choking voice, +“whenever you choose, after my father shall have been set at liberty.” + +I bowed. “I shall start at once,” said I. + +And perhaps out of shame, perhaps out of--who shall say what +sentiments?--I turned without another word and left her. + + + + +CHAPTER XX. THE “BRAVI” AT BLAGNAC + + +I was glad to be in the open once more--glad of the movement, as I rode +at the head of my brave company along the bank of the Garonne and in the +shade of the golden, autumn-tinted trees. + +I was in a measure angry with myself that I had driven such a bargain +with Roxalanne, in a measure angry with her that she had forced me to +it by her obstinacy. A fine gentleman I, on my soul, to have dubbed +Chatellerault a cheat for having done no worse than I had now brought +myself to do! Yet, was it so? No, I assured myself, it was not. A +thousand times no! What I had done I had done as much to win Roxalanne +to me as to win her from her own unreasonableness. In the days to come +she should thank me for my harshness, for that which now she perhaps +accounted my unfairness. + +Then, again, would I ask myself, was I very sure of this? And so the two +questions were flung the one against the other; my conscience divided +itself into two parties, and they waged a war that filled me with a +depressing uncertainty. + +In the end shame was overthrown, and I flung back my head with a +snort of assurance. I was doing no wrong. On the contrary, I was doing +right--both by myself and by Roxalanne. What matter that I was really +cheating her? What matter that I had said I would not leave Lavedan +until I had her promise, whilst in reality I had hurled my threat at +Saint-Eustache that I would meet him at Toulouse, and passed my word to +the Vicomtesse that I would succour her husband? + +I gave no thought to the hidden threat with which Saint-Eustache had +retorted that from Lavedan to Toulouse was a distance of some twenty +leagues. Had he been a man of sterner purposes I might have been uneasy +and on my guard. But Saint-Eustache pshaw! + +It is ill to underestimate an enemy, be he never so contemptible, +and for my disdain of the Chevalier I might have paid dearly had not +Fortune--which of late had been practising singular jests upon me after +seemingly abandoning me, returned to my aid at the last moment. + +It was Saint-Eustache's purpose that I should never reach Toulouse +alive, for in all the world I was the one man he feared, the one man +who would encompass his undoing and destruction by a word. And so he had +resolved and disposed that I should be removed, and to accomplish this +he had left a line of bravi along the road I was to pass. + +He had counted upon my lying the night in one of the intervening towns, +for the journey was over-long to be accomplished at a stretch, and +wherever I might chance to lie, there I should have to reckon with his +assassins. The nearer Toulouse--although I knew not this--the thicker +grew my danger. Into the very thick of it I rode; in the very thick of +it I lay, and all that came of it was that I obtained possession of one +more and overwhelming piece of evidence against my murderous Chevalier. +But I outrun my story. + +It had been my purpose to change horses at Grenade, and so push on and +reach Toulouse that very night or in the early hours of the following +morning. At Grenade, however, there were no horses to be obtained, at +least not more than three, and so, leaving the greater portion of my +company behind, I set out, escorted only by Gilles and Antoine. Night +had fallen long before we reached Lespinasse, and with it came foul +weather. The wind rose from the west, grew to the violence of a +hurricane, and brought with it such a deluge of cold, cutting rain as +never had it been my ill-chance to ride through. From Lespinasse to +Fenouillet the road dips frequently, and wherever this occurred it +seemed to us that we were riding in a torrent, our horses fetlock-deep +in mud. + +Antoine complained in groans; Gilles growled openly, and went the length +of begging me, as we rode through the ill-paved, flooded streets of +Fenouillet, to go no farther. But I was adamant in my resolve. Soaked to +the skin, my clothes hanging sodden about me, and chilled to the marrow +though I was, I set my chattering teeth, and swore that we should not +sleep until we reached Toulouse. + +“My God,” he groaned, “and we but halfway!” + +“Forward!” was all I answered; and so as midnight chimed we left +Fenouillet behind us, and dashed on into the open country and the full +fury of the tempest. + +My servants came after me upon their stumbling horses, whining and +cursing by turns, and forgetting in their misery the respect that they +were accustomed to pay me. I think now that it was a providence that +guided me. Had I halted at Fenouillet, as they would have had me do, +it is odds that this chronicle would never have been penned, for likely +enough I had had my throat cut as I slept. A providence was it also that +brought my horse down within a half-mile of Blagnac, and so badly did it +founder that it might not be ridden farther. + +The beasts my men bestrode were in little better condition, and so, with +infinite chagrin, I was forced to acknowledge defeat and to determine +that at Blagnac we should lie for the remainder of the night. After all, +it mattered little. A couple of hours' riding in the morning would bring +us to Toulouse, and we would start betimes. + +I bade Gilles dismount--he had been the louder in his complainings--and +follow us afoot, bringing my horse to the Auberge de l'Etoile at +Blagnac, where he would await him. Then I mounted his jaded beast, and, +accompanied by Antoine--the last of my retainers--I rode into Blagnac, +and pulled up at the sign of the “Star.” + +With my whip I smote the door, and I had need to smite hard if I would +be heard above the wind that shrieked and howled under the eaves of that +narrow street. Yet it almost seemed as if some one were expected, for +scarce had my knocking ceased when the door was opened, and the landlord +stood there, shading a taper with his hand. For a moment I saw the +glow of its light on his rosy, white-bearded face, then a gust of wind +extinguished it. + +“Diable!” he swore, “an ugly night for travelling”; adding as an +afterthought, “You ride late, monsieur.” + +“You are a man of supreme discernment, Monsieur l'Hote,” said I testily, +as I pushed him aside and stepped into the passage. “Will you keep me +in the rain till daylight whilst you perpend how late I ride? Is your +ostler abed? See to those beasts yourself, then. Afterwards get me +food--for me and for my man and beds for both of us.” + +“I have but one room, monsieur,” he answered respectfully. “You shall +have that, and your servant shall sleep in the hayloft.” + +“My servant sleeps in my room, if you have but one. Set a mattress on +the floor for him. Is this a night to leave a dog to sleep in a hayloft? +I have another servant following. He will be here in a few minutes. You +must find room for him also--in the passage outside my door, if no other +accommodation be possible.” + +“But, monsieur--” he began in a tone of protest, which I set down to the +way a landlord has of making difficulties that he shall be the better +paid for such lodging as he finds us. + +“See to it,” I ordered peremptorily. “You shall be well paid. Now go +tend those horses.” + +On the wall of the passage fell a warm, reddish glow from the common +room, which argued a fire, and this was too alluring to admit of my +remaining longer in discussion with him. I strode forward, therefore. +The Auberge de l'Etoile was not an imposing hostelry, nor one at which +from choice I had made a halt. This common room stank most vilely of +oil, of burning tallow--from the smoky tapers--and of I know not what +other noisome unsavourinesses. + +As I entered, I was greeted by a resonant snore from a man seated in +a corner by the fire. His head had fallen back, displaying the brown, +sinewy neck, and he slept--or seemed to sleep--with mouth wide open. +Full length on the hearth and in the red glare of the burning logs +lay what at first glance I took to be a heap of rags, but which closer +scrutiny showed me to be another man, seemingly asleep also. + +I flung my sodden castor on the table; I dropped my drenched cloak on +the ground, and stepped with heavy tread and a noisy rattle of spurs +across the floor. Yet my ragged gentleman slept on. I touched him +lightly with my whip. + +“Hold, mon bonhomme!” I cried to him. Still he did not move, whereat I +lost patience and caught him a kick full in the side, so choicely aimed +that first it doubled him up, then brought him into a sitting posture, +with the snarl of a cross-grained dog that has been rudely aroused. + +From out of an evil, dirty countenance a pair of gloomy, bloodshot eyes +scowled threateningly upon me. The man on the chair awoke at the same +instant, and sat forward. + +“Eh bien?” said I to my friend on the hearth: “Will you stir yourself?” + +“For whom?” he growled. “Is not the Etoile as much for me as for you, +whoever you may be?” + +“We have paid our lodging, pardieu!” swore he of the chair. + +“My masters,” said I grimly, “if you have not eyes to see my sodden +condition, and if you therefore have not the grace to move that I may +approach the fire; I'll see to it that you spend the night not only a +l'Etoile, but a la belle etoile.” With which pleasantry, and a touch +of the foot, I moved my friend aside. My tone was not nice, nor do I +generally have the air of promising more than I can fulfil. + +They were growling together in a corner when Antoine came to draw off +my doublet and my boots. They were still growling when Gilles joined us +presently, although at his coming they paused to take his measure with +their eyes. For Gilles was something of a giant, and men were wont to +turn their heads--aye, and women too--to admire his fine proportions. +We supped--so vilely that I have not the heart to tell you what we +ate--and, having supped, I bade my host light me to my chamber. As for +my men, I had determined that they should spend the night in the common +room, where there was a fire, and where--notwithstanding the company +of those two ruffians, into whose presence I had not troubled to +inquire--they would doubtless be better than elsewhere in that poor +hostelry. + +In gathering up my cloak and doublet and other effects to bear them off +to the kitchen, the host would have possessed himself also of my sword. +But with a laugh I took it from him, remarking that it required no +drying. + +As we mounted the stairs, I heard something above me that sounded like +the creaking of a door. The host heard it also, for he stood suddenly +still, his glance very questioning. + +“What was that?” said he. + +“The wind, I should say,” I answered idly; and my answer seemed to +reassure him, for with a “Ah, yes--the wind,” he went on. + +Now, for all that I am far from being a man of tremors or unwarranted +fears, to tell the truth the hostelry of the “Star” was beginning to +fret my nerves. I could scarce have told you why had you asked me, as I +sat upon the bed after mine host had left me, and turned my thoughts to +it. It was none of the trivial incidents that had marked my coming; but +it was, I think, the combination of them all. First there was the host's +desire to separate me from my men by suggesting that they should sleep +in the hayloft. Clearly unnecessary, when he was not averse to turning +his common room into a dormitory. There was his very evident relief +when, after announcing that I would have them sleep one in my room and +one in the passage by my door, I consented to their spending the night +below; there was the presence of those two very ill-looking cut-throats; +there was the attempt to carry off my sword; and, lastly, there was that +creaking door and the host's note of alarm. + +What was that? + +I stood up suddenly. Had my fancy, dwelling upon that very incident, +tricked me into believing that a door had creaked again? I listened, but +a silence followed, broken only by a drone of voices ascending from the +common room. As I had assured the host upon the stairs, so I now assured +myself that it was the wind, the signboard of the inn, perhaps, swaying +in the storm. + +And then, when I had almost dismissed my doubts, and was about to divest +myself of my remaining clothes, I saw something at which I thanked +Heaven that I had not allowed the landlord to carry off my rapier. My +eyes were on the door, and, as I gazed, I beheld the slow raising of the +latch. It was no delusion; my wits were keen and my eyes sharp; there +was no fear to make me see things that were not. Softly I stepped to +the bed-rail where I had hung my sword by the baldrick, and as softly I +unsheathed it. The door was pushed open, and I caught the advance of a +stealthy step. A naked foot shot past the edge of the door into my room, +and for a second I thought of pinning it to the ground with my rapier; +then came a leg, then a half-dressed body surmounted by a face--the face +of Rodenard! + +At sight of it, amazement and a hundred suspicions crossed my mind. How, +in God's name, came he here, and for what purpose did he steal so into +my chamber? + +But my suspicions perished even as they were begotten. There was so +momentous, so alarmingly warning a look on his face as he whispered the +one word “Monseigneur!” that clearly if danger there was to me it was +not from him. + +“What the devil--” I began. + +But at the sound of my voice the alarm grew in his eyes. + +“Sh!” he whispered, his finger on his lips. “Be silent, monseigneur, for +Heaven's sake!” + +Very softly he closed the door; softly, yet painfully, he hobbled +forward to my side. + +“There is a plot to murder you, monseigneur,” he whispered. + +“What! Here at Blagnac?” + +He nodded fearfully. + +“Bah!” I laughed. “You rave, man. Who was to know that I was to come +this way? And who is there to plot against my life?” + +“Monsieur de Saint-Eustache.” he answered. + +“And for the rest, as to expecting you here, they did not, but they +were prepared against the remote chance of your coming. From what I have +gathered, there is not a hostelry betwixt this and Lavedan at which +the Chevalier has not left his cutthroats with the promise of enormous +reward to the men who shall kill you.” + +I caught my breath at that. My doubts vanished. + +“Tell me what you know,” said I. “Be brief.” + +Thereupon this faithful dog, whom I had so sorely beaten but four nights +ago, told me how, upon finding himself able to walk once more, he had +gone to seek me out, that he might implore me to forgive him and not +cast him off altogether, after a lifetime spent in the service of my +father and of myself. + +He had discovered from Monsieur de Castelroux that I was gone to +Lavedan, and he determined to follow me thither. He had no horse and +little money, and so he had set out afoot that very day, and dragged +himself as far as Blagnac, where, however, his strength had given out, +and he was forced to halt. A providence it seemed that this had +so befallen. For here at the Etoile he had that evening overheard +Saint-Eustache in conversation with those two bravi below stairs. It +would seem from what he had said that at every hostelry from Grenade to +Toulouse--at which it was conceivable that I might spend the night--the +Chevalier had made a similar provision. + +At Blagnac, if I got so far without halting, I must arrive very late, +and therefore the Chevalier had bidden his men await me until daylight. +He did not believe, however, that I should travel so far, for he had +seen to it that I should find no horses at the posthouses. But it was +just possible that I might, nevertheless, push on, and Saint-Eustache +would let no possibility be overlooked. Here at Blagnac the landlord, +Rodenard informed me, was also in Saint-Eustache's pay. Their intention +was to stab me as I slept. + +“Monseigneur,” he ended, “knowing what danger awaited you along the +road, I have sat up all night, praying God and His saints that you might +come this far, and that thus I might warn you. Had I been less bruised +and sore, I had got myself a horse and ridden out to meet you; as it +was, I could but hope and pray that you would reach Blagnac, and that--” + +I gathered him into my arms at that, but my embrace drew a groan from +him, for the poor, faithful knave was very sore. + +“My poor Ganymede!” I murmured, and I was more truly moved to sympathy, +I think, than ever I had been in all my selfish life. Hearing his +sobriquet, a look of hope gleamed suddenly in his eye. + +“You will take me back, monseigneur?” he pleaded. “You will take me +back, will you not? I swear that I will never let my tongue--” + +“Sh, my good Ganymede. Not only will I take you back, but I shall strive +to make amends for my brutality. Come, my friend, you shall have twenty +golden Louis to buy unguents for your poor shoulders.” + +“Monseigneur is very good,” he murmured, whereupon I would have embraced +him again but that he shivered and drew back. + +“No, no, monseigneur,” he whispered fearfully. “It is a great honour, +but it--it pains me to be touched.” + +“Then take the will for the deed. And now for these gentlemen below +stairs.” I rose and moved to the door. + +“Order Gilles to beat their brains out,” was Ganymede's merciful +suggestion. + +I shook my head. “We might be detained for doing murder. We have no +proof yet of their intentions--I think--” An idea flashed suddenly +across my mind. “Go back to your room, Ganymede,” I bade him. “Lock +yourself in, and do not stir until I call you. I do not wish their +suspicions aroused.” + +I opened the door, and as Ganymede obediently slipped past me and +vanished down the passage “Monsieur l'Hote,” I called. “Ho, there, +Gilles!” + +“Monsieur,” answered the landlord. + +“Monseigneur,” replied Gilles; and there came a stir below. + +“Is aught amiss?” the landlord questioned, a note of concern in his +voice. + +“Amiss?” I echoed peevishly, mincing my words as I uttered them. “Pardi! +Must I be put to it to undress myself, whilst those two lazy dogs of +mine are snoring beneath me? Come up this instant, Gilles. And,” I added +as an afterthought, “you had best sleep here in my room.” + +“At once, monseigneur,” answered he, but I caught the faintest tinge +of surprise in his accents, for never yet had it fallen to the lot of +sturdy, clumsy Gilles to assist me at my toilet. + +The landlord muttered something, and I heard Gilles whispering his +reply. Then the stairs creaked under his heavy tread. + +In my room I told him in half a dozen words what was afoot. For answer, +he swore a great oath that the landlord had mulled a stoup of wine for +him, which he never doubted now was drugged. I bade him go below and +fetch the wine, telling the landlord that I, too had a fancy for it. + +“But what of Antoine?” he asked. “They will drug him.” + +“Let them. We can manage this affair, you and I, without his help. +If they did not drug him, they might haply stab him. So that in being +drugged lies his safety.” + +As I bade him so he did, and presently he returned with a great steaming +measure. This I emptied into a ewer, then returned it to him that he +might take it back to the host with my thanks and our appreciation. Thus +should we give them confidence that the way was clear and smooth for +them. + +Thereafter there befell precisely that which already you will be +expecting, and nothing that you cannot guess. It was perhaps at the end +of an hour's silent waiting that one of them came. We had left the door +unbarred so that his entrance was unhampered. But scarce was he within +when out of the dark, on either side of him, rose Gilles and I. Before +he had realized it, he was lifted off his feet and deposited upon the +bed without a cry; the only sound being the tinkle of the knife that +dropped from his suddenly unnerved hand. + +On the bed, with Gilles's great knee in his stomach, and Gilles's hands +at his throat, he was assured in unequivocal terms that at his slightest +outcry we would make an end of him. I kindled a light. We trussed him +hand and foot with the bedclothes, and then, whilst he lay impotent and +silent in his terror, I proceeded to discuss the situation with him. + +I pointed out that we knew that what he had done he had done +at Saint-Eustache's instigation, therefore the true guilt was +Saint-Eustache's and upon him alone the punishment should fall. But ere +this could come to pass, he himself must add his testimony to ours--mine +and Rodenard's. If he would come to Toulouse and do that make a full +confession of how he had been set to do this murdering--the Chevalier +de Saint-Eustache, who was the real culprit, should be the only one to +suffer the penalty of the law. If he would not do that, why, then, he +must stand the consequences himself--and the consequences would be the +hangman. But in either case he was coming to Toulouse in the morning. + +It goes without saying that he was reasonable. I never for a moment held +his judgment in doubt; there is no loyalty about a cut-throat, and it is +not the way of his calling to take unnecessary risk. + +We had just settled the matter in a mutually agreeable manner when the +door opened again, and his confederate--rendered uneasy, no doubt, +by his long absence--came to see what could be occasioning this +unconscionable delay in the slitting of the throats of a pair of +sleeping men. + +Beholding us there in friendly conclave, and no doubt considering +that under the circumstances his intrusion was nothing short of an +impertinence, that polite gentleman uttered a cry--which I should like +to think was an apology for having disturbed us and turned to go with +most indecorous precipitancy. + +But Gilles took him by the nape of his dirty neck and haled him back +into the room. In less time than it takes me to tell of it, he lay +beside his colleague, and was being asked whether he did not think that +he might also come to take the same view of the situation. Overjoyed +that we intended no worse by him, he swore by every saint in the +calendar that he would do our will, that he had reluctantly undertaken +the Chevalier's business, that he was no cut-throat, but a poor man with +a wife and children to provide for. + +And that, in short, was how it came to pass that the Chevalier de +Saint-Eustache himself, by disposing for my destruction, disposed +only for his own. With these two witnesses, and Rodenard to swear how +Saint-Eustache had bribed them to cut my throat, with myself and Gilles +to swear how the attempt had been made and frustrated, I could now go +to His Majesty with a very full confidence, not only of having the +Chevalier's accusations, against whomsoever they might be, discredited, +but also of sending the Chevalier himself to the gallows he had so +richly earned. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. LOUIS THE JUST + + +“For me,” said the King, “these depositions were not necessary. Your +word, my dear Marcel, would have sufficed. For the courts, however, +perhaps it is well that you have had them taken; moreover, they form +a valuable corroboration of the treason which you lay to the charge of +Monsieur de Saint-Eustache.” + +We were standing--at least, La Fosse and I were standing, Louis XIII +sat--in a room, of the Palace of Toulouse, where I had had the honour of +being brought before His Majesty. La Fosse was there, because it would +seem that the King had grown fond of him, and could not be without him +since his coming to Toulouse. + +His Majesty was, as usual, so dull and weary--not even roused by the +approaching trial of Montmorency, which was the main business that had +brought him South that even the company of this vapid, shallow, but +irrepressibly good-humoured La Fosse, with his everlasting mythology, +proved a thing desirable. + +“I will see,” said Louis, “that your friend the Chevalier is placed +under arrest at once, and as much for his attempt upon your life as for +the unstable quality of his political opinions, the law shall deal +with him--conclusively.” He sighed. “It always pains me to proceed to +extremes against a man of his stamp. To deprive a fool of his head seems +a work of supererogation.” + +I inclined my head, and smiled at his pleasantry. Louis the just rarely +permitted himself to jest, and when he did his humour was as like unto +humour as water is like unto wine. Still, when a monarch jests, if you +are wise, if you have a favour to sue, or a position at Court to seek or +to maintain, you smile, for all that the ineptitude of his witless wit +be rather provocative of sorrow. + +“Nature needs meddling with at times,” hazarded La Fosse, from behind +His Majesty's chair. “This Saint-Eustache is a sort of Pandora's box, +which it is well to close ere--” + +“Go to the devil,” said the King shortly. “We are not jesting. We have +to do justice.” + +“Ah! Justice,” murmured La Fosse; “I have seen pictures of the lady. +She covers her eyes with a bandage, but is less discreet where the other +beauties of her figure are in question.” + +His Majesty blushed. He was above all things a chaste-minded man, modest +as a nun. To the immodesty rampant about him he was in the habit of +closing his eyes and his ears, until the flagrancy or the noise of it +grew to proportions to which he might remain neither blind nor deaf. + +“Monsieur de la Fosse,” said he in an austere voice, “you weary me, and +when people weary me I send them away--which is one of the reasons why +I am usually so much alone. I beg that you will glance at that +hunting-book, so that when I have done with Monsieur de Bardelys you may +give me your impressions of it.” + +La Fosse fell back, obedient but unabashed, and, moving to a table by +the window, he opened the book Louis had pointed out. + +“Now, Marcel, while that buffoon prepares to inform me that the book has +been inspired by Diana herself, tell me what else you have to tell.” + +“Naught else, Sire.” + +“How naught? What of this Vicomte de Lavedan.” + +“Surely Your Majesty is satisfied that there is no charge--no heedful +charge against him?” + +“Aye, but there is a charge--a very heedful one. And so far you have +afforded me no proofs of his innocence to warrant my sanctioning his +enlargement.” + +“I had thought, Sire, that it would be unnecessary to advance proofs of +his innocence until there were proofs of his guilt to be refuted. It +is unusual, Your Majesty, to apprehend a gentleman so that he may show +cause why he did not deserve such apprehension. The more usual course +is to arrest him because there are proofs of his guilt to be preferred +against him.” + +Louis combed his beard pensively, and his melancholy eyes grew +thoughtful. + +“A nice point, Marcel,” said he, and he yawned. “A nice point. You +should have been a lawyer.” Then, with an abrupt change of manner, “Do +you give me your word of honour that he is innocent?” he asked sharply. + +“If Your Majesty's judges offer proof of his guilt, I give you my word +that I will tear that proof to pieces.” + +“That is not an answer. Do you swear his innocence?” + +“Do I know what he carries in his conscience?” quoth I still fencing +with the question. “How can I give my word in such a matter? Ah, Sire, +it is not for nothing that they call you Louis the Just,” I pursued, +adopting cajolery and presenting him with his own favourite phrase. “You +will never allow a man against whom there is no shred of evidence to be +confined in prison.” + +“Is there not?” he questioned. Yet his tone grew gentler. History, he +had promised himself, should know him as Louis the Just, and he would +do naught that might jeopardize his claim to that proud title. “There is +the evidence of this Saint-Eustache!” + +“Would Your Majesty hang a dog upon the word of that double traitor?” + +“Hum! You are a great advocate, Marcel. You avoid answering questions; +you turn questions aside by counter-questions.” He seemed to be talking +more to himself than tome. “You are a much better advocate than +the Vicomte's wife, for instance. She answers questions and has a +temper--Ciel! what a temper!” + +“You have seen the Vicomtesse?” I exclaimed, and I grew cold with +apprehension, knowing as I did the licence of that woman's tongue. + +“Seen her?” he echoed whimsically. “I have seen her, heard her, +well-nigh felt her. The air of this room is still disturbed as a +consequence of her presence. She was here an hour ago.” + +“And it seemed,” lisped La Fosse, turning from his hunting-book, “as if +the three daughters of Acheron had quitted the domain of Pluto to take +embodiment in a single woman.” + +“I would not have seen her,” the King resumed as though La Fosse had not +spoken, “but she would not be denied. I heard her voice blaspheming in +the antechamber when I refused to receive her; there was a commotion at +my door; it was dashed open, and the Swiss who held it was hurled +into my room here as though he had been a mannikin. Dieu! Since I have +reigned in France I have not been the centre of so much commotion. She +is a strong woman, Marcel the saints defend you hereafter, when she +shall come to be your mother-in-law. In all France, I'll swear, her +tongue is the only stouter thing than her arm. But she's a fool.” + +“What did she say, Sire?” I asked in my anxiety. + +“Say? She swore--Ciel! how she did swear! Not a saint in the calendar +would she let rest in peace; she dragged them all by turns from their +chapter-rolls to bear witness to the truth of what she said.” + +“That was--” + +“That her husband was the foulest traitor out of hell. But that he was a +fool with no wit of his own to make him accountable for what he did, and +that out of folly he had gone astray. Upon those grounds she besought +me to forgive him and let him go. When I told her that he must stand his +trial, and that I could offer her but little hope of his acquittal, +she told me things about myself, which in my conceit, and thanks to you +flatterers who have surrounded me, I had never dreamed. + +“She told me I was ugly, sour-faced, and malformed; that I was +priest-ridden and a fool; unlike my brother, who, she assured me, is a +mirror of chivalry and manly perfections. She promised me that Heaven +should never receive my soul, though I told my beads from now till +Doomsday, and she prophesied for me a welcome among the damned when my +time comes. What more she might have foretold I cannot say. She wearied +me at last, for all her novelty, and I dismissed her--that is to say,” + he amended, “I ordered four musketeers to carry her out. God pity you, +Marcel, when you become her daughter's husband!” + +But I had no heart to enter into his jocularity. This woman with her +ungovernable passion and her rash tongue had destroyed everything. + +“I see no likelihood of being her daughter's husband,” I answered +mournfully. + +The King looked up, and laughed. “Down on your knees, then,” said he, +“and render thanks to Heaven.” + +But I shook my head very soberly. “To Your Majesty it is a pleasing +comedy,” said I, “but to me, helas! it is nearer far to tragedy.” + +“Come, Marcel,” said he, “may I not laugh a little? One grows so sad +with being King of France! Tell me what vexes you.” + +“Mademoiselle de Lavedan has promised that she will marry me only when +I have saved her father from the scaffold. I came to do it, very full of +hope, Sire. But his wife has forestalled me and, seemingly, doomed him +irrevocably.” + +His glance fell; his countenance resumed its habitual gloom. Then he +looked up again, and in the melancholy depths of his eyes I saw a gleam +of something that was very like affection. + +“You know that I love you, Marcel,” he said gently. “Were you my own son +I could not love you more. You are a profligate, dissolute knave, and +your scandals have rung in my ears more than once; yet you are different +from these other fools, and at least you have never wearied me. To have +done that is to have done something. I would not lose you, Marcel; as +lose you I shall if you marry this rose of Languedoc, for I take it +that she is too sweet a flower to let wither in the stale atmosphere +of Courts. This man, this Vicomte de Lavedan, has earned his death. Why +should I not let him die, since if he dies you will not wed?” + +“Do you ask me why, Sire?” said I. “Because they call you Louis the +Just, and because no king was ever more deserving of the title.” + +He winced; he pursed his lips, and shot a glance at La Fosse, who was +deep in the mysteries of his volume. Then he drew towards him a sheet of +paper, and, taking a quill, he sat toying with it. + +“Because they call me the Just, I must let justice take its course,” he +answered presently. + +“But,” I objected, with a sudden hope, “the course of justice cannot +lead to the headsman in the case of the Vicomte de Lavedan.” + +“Why not?” And his solemn eyes met mine across the table. + +“Because he took no active part in the revolt. If he was a traitor, he +was no more than a traitor at heart, and until a man commits a crime +in deed he is not amenable to the law's rigour. His wife has made his +defection clear; but it were unfair to punish him in the same measure as +you punish those who bore arms against you, Sire.” + +“Ah!” he pondered. “Well? What more?” + +“Is that not enough, Sire?” I cried. My heart beat quickly, and my +pulses throbbed with the suspense of that portentous moment. + +He bent his head, dipped his pen and began to write. + +“What punishment would you have me mete out to him?” he asked as he +wrote. “Come, Marcel, deal fairly with me, and deal fairly with him--for +as you deal with him, so shall I deal with you through him.” + +I felt myself paling in my excitement. “There is banishment, Sire--it +is usual in cases of treason that are not sufficiently flagrant to be +punished by death.” + +“Yes!” He wrote busily. “Banishment for how long, Marcel? For his +lifetime?” + +“Nay, Sire. That were too long.” + +“For my lifetime, then?” + +“Again that were too long.” + +He raised his eyes and smiled. “Ah! You turn prophet? Well, for how +long, then? Come, man.” + +“I should think five years--” + +“Five years be it. Say no more.” + +He wrote on for a few moments; then he raised the sandbox and sprinkled +the document. + +“Tiens!” he cried, as he dusted it and held it out to me. “There is my +warrant for the disposal of Monsieur le Vicomte Leon de Lavedan. He is +to go into banishment for five years, but his estates shall suffer no +sequestration, and at the end of that period he may return and enjoy +them--we hope with better loyalty than in the past. Get them to execute +that warrant at once, and see that the Vicomte starts to-day under +escort for Spain. It will also be your warrant to Mademoiselle de +Lavedan, and will afford proof to her that your mission has been +successful.” + +“Sire!” I cried. And in my gratitude I could say no more, but I sank on +my knee before him and raised his hand to my lips. + +“There,” said he in a fatherly voice. “Go now, and be happy.” + +As I rose, he suddenly put up his hand. + +“Ma foi, I had all but forgotten, so much has Monsieur de Lavedan's fate +preoccupied us.” He picked up another paper from his table, and tossed +it to me. It was my note of hand to Chatellerault for my Picardy +estates. + +“Chatellerault died this morning,” the King pursued. “He had been asking +to see you, but when he was told that you had left Toulouse, he dictated +a long confession of his misdeeds, which he sent to me together with +this note of yours. He could not, he wrote, permit his heirs to enjoy +your estates; he had not won them; he had really forfeited his own +stakes, since he had broken the rules of play. He has left me to deliver +judgment in the matter of his own lands passing into your possession. +What do you say to it, Marcel?” + +It was almost with reluctance that I took up that scrap of paper. It had +been so fine and heroic a thing to have cast my wealth to the winds of +heaven for love's sake, that on my soul I was loath to see myself master +of more than Beaugency. Then a compromise suggested itself. + +“The wager, Sire,” said I, “is one that I take shame in having entered +upon; that shame made me eager to pay it, although fully conscious that +I had not lost. But even now, I cannot, in any case, accept the forfeit +Chatellerault was willing to suffer. Shall we--shall we forget that the +wager was ever laid?” + +“The decision does you honour. It was what I had hoped from you. Go now, +Marcel. I doubt me you are eager. When your love-sickness wanes a little +we shall hope to see you at Court again.” + +I sighed. “Helas, Sire, that would be never.” + +“So you said once before, monsieur. It is a foolish spirit upon which +to enter into matrimony; yet--like many follies--a fine one. Adieu, +Marcel!” + +“Adieu, Sire!” + +I had kissed his hands; I had poured forth my thanks; I had reached the +door already, and he was in the act of turning to La Fosse, when it came +into my head to glance at the warrant he had given me. He noticed this +and my sudden halt. + +“Is aught amiss?” he asked. + +“You-you have omitted something, Sire,” I ventured, and I returned +to the table. “I am already so grateful that I hesitate to ask an +additional favour. Yet it is but troubling you to add a few strokes of +the pen, and it will not materially affect the sentence itself.” + +He glanced at me, and his brows drew together as he sought to guess my +meaning. + +“Well, man, what is it?” he demanded impatiently. + +“It has occurred to me that this poor Vicomte, in a strange land, alone, +among strange faces, missing the loved ones that for so many years he +has seen daily by his side, will be pitiably lonely.” + +The King's glance was lifted suddenly to my face. “Must I then banish +his family as well?” + +“All of it will not be necessary, Your Majesty.” + +For once his eyes lost their melancholy, and as hearty a burst of +laughter as ever I heard from that poor, weary gentleman he vented then. + +“Ciel! what a jester you are! Ah, but I shall miss you!” he cried, as, +seizing the pen, he added the word I craved of him. + +“Are you content at last?” he asked, returning the paper to me. + +I glanced at it. The warrant now stipulated that Madame la Vicomtesse de +Lavedan should bear her husband company in his exile. + +“Sire, you are too good!” I murmured. + +“Tell the officer to whom you entrust the execution of this warrant +that he will find the lady in the guardroom below, where she is being +detained, pending my pleasure. Did she but know that it was your +pleasure she has been waiting upon, I should tremble for your future +when the five years expire.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. WE UNSADDLE + + +Mademoiselle held the royal warrant of her father's banishment in her +hand. She was pale, and her greeting of me had been timid. I stood +before her, and by the door stood Rodenard, whom I had bidden attend me. + +As I had approached Lavedan that day, I had been taken with a great, an +overwhelming shame at the bargain I had driven. I had pondered, and it +had come to me that she had been right to suggest that in matters of +love what is not freely given it is not worth while to take. And out of +my shame and that conclusion had sprung a new resolve. So that nothing +might weaken it, and lest, after all, the sight of Roxalanne should +bring me so to desire her that I might be tempted to override my +purpose, I had deemed it well to have the restraint of a witness at our +last interview. To this end had I bidden Ganymede follow me into the +very salon. + +She read the document to the very end, then her glance was raised +timidly again to mine, and from me it shifted to Ganymede, stiff at his +post by the door. + +“This was the best that you could do, monsieur?” she asked at last. + +“The very best, mademoiselle,” I answered calmly. “I do not wish to +magnify my service, but it was that or the scaffold. Madame your mother +had, unfortunately, seen the King before me, and she had prejudiced your +father's case by admitting him to be a traitor. There was a moment +when in view of that I was almost led to despair. I am glad, however, +mademoiselle, that I was so fortunate as to persuade the King to just so +much clemency.” + +“And for five years, then, I shall not see my parents.” She sighed, and +her distress was very touching. + +“That need not be. Though they may not come to France, it still remains +possible for you to visit them in Spain.” + +“True,” she mused; “that will be something--will it not?” + +“Assuredly something; under the circumstances, much.” + +She sighed again, and for a moment there was silence. + +“Will you not sit, monsieur?” said she at last. She was very quiet +to-day, this little maid--very quiet and very wondrously subdued. + +“There is scarce the need,” I answered softly; whereupon her eyes were +raised to ask a hundred questions. “You are satisfied with my efforts, +mademoiselle?” I inquired. + +“Yes, I am satisfied, monsieur.” + +That was the end, I told myself, and involuntarily I also sighed. Still, +I made no shift to go. + +“You are satisfied that I--that I have fulfilled what I promised?” + +Her eyes were again cast down, and she took a step in the direction of +the window. + +“But yes. Your promise was to save my father from the scaffold. You have +done so, and I make no doubt you have done as much to reduce the term of +his banishment as lay within your power. Yes, monsieur, I am satisfied +that your promise has been well fulfilled.” + +Heigho! The resolve that I had formed in coming whispered it in my ear +that nothing remained but to withdraw and go my way. Yet not for all +that resolve--not for a hundred such resolves--could I have gone thus. +One kindly word, one kindly glance at least would I take to comfort me. +I would tell her in plain words of my purpose, and she should see that +there was still some good, some sense of honour in me, and thus should +esteem me after I was gone. + +“Ganymede.” said I. + +“Monseigneur?” + +“Bid the men mount.” + +At that she turned, wonder opening her eyes very wide, and her glance +travelled from me to Rodenard with its unspoken question. But even as +she looked at him he bowed and, turning to do my bidding, left the room. +We heard his steps pass with a jingle of spurs across the hall and out +into the courtyard. We heard his raucous voice utter a word of command, +and there was a stamping of hoofs, a cramping of harness, and all the +bustle of preparation. + +“Why have you ordered your men to mount?” she asked at last. + +“Because my business here is ended, and we are going.” + +“Going?” said she. Her eyes were lowered now, but a frown suggested +their expression to me. “Going whither?” + +“Hence,” I answered. “That for the moment is all that signifies.” I +paused to swallow something that hindered a clear utterance. Then, +“Adieu!” said I, and I abruptly put forth my hand. + +Her glance met mine fearlessly, if puzzled. + +“Do you mean, monsieur, that you are leaving Lavedan--thus?” + +“So that I leave, what signifies the manner of my going?” + +“But”--the trouble grew in her eyes; her cheeks seemed to wax paler than +they had been--“but I thought that--that we made a bargain.” + +“'Sh! mademoiselle, I implore you,” I cried. “I take shame at the +memory of it. Almost as much shame as I take at the memory of that other +bargain which first brought me to Lavedan. The shame of the former one +I have wiped out--although, perchance, you think it not. I am wiping out +the shame of the latter one. It was unworthy in me, mademoiselle, but +I loved you so dearly that it seemed to me that no matter how I came by +you, I should rest content if I but won you. I have since seen the error +if it, the injustice of it. I will not take what is not freely given. +And so, farewell.” + +“I see, I see,” she murmured, and ignored the hand that I held out. “I +am very glad of it, monsieur.” + +I withdrew my hand sharply. I took up my hat from the chair on which I +had cast it. She might have spared me that, I thought. She need not +have professed joy. At least she might have taken my hand and parted in +kindness. + +“Adieu, mademoiselle!” I said again, as stiffly as might be, and I +turned towards the door. + +“Monsieur!” she called after me. I halted. + +“Mademoiselle?” + +She stood demurely, with eyes downcast and hands folded. “I shall be so +lonely here.” + +I stood still. I seemed to stiffen. My heart gave a mad throb of hope, +then seemed to stop. What did she mean? I faced her fully once more, +and, I doubt not, I was very pale. Yet lest vanity should befool me, I +dared not act upon suspicions. And so “True, mademoiselle,” said I. “You +will be lonely. I regret it.” + +As silence followed, I turned again to the door, and my hopes sank with +each step in that direction. + +“Monsieur!” + +Her voice arrested me upon the very threshold. + +“What shall a poor girl do with this great estate upon her hands? It +will go to ruin without a man to govern it.” + +“You must not attempt the task. You must employ an intendant.” + +I caught something that sounded oddly like a sob. Could it be? Dieu! +could it be, after all? Yet I would not presume. I half turned again, +but her voice detained me. It came petulantly now. + +“Monsieur de Bardelys, you have kept your promise nobly. Will you ask no +payment?” + +“No, mademoiselle,” I answered very softly; “I can take no payment.” + +Her eyes were lifted for a second. Their blue depths seemed dim. Then +they fell again. + +“Oh, why will you not help me?” she burst out, to add more softly: “I +shall never be happy without you!” + +“You mean?” I gasped, retracing a step, and flinging my hat in a corner. + +“That I love you, Marcel--that I want you!” + +“And you can forgive--you can forgive?” I cried, as I caught her. + +Her answer was a laugh that bespoke her scorn of everything--of +everything save us two, of everything save our love. That and the pout +of her red lips was her answer. And if the temptation of those lips--But +there! I grow indiscreet. + +Still holding her, I raised my voice. + +“Ganymede!” I called. + +“Monseigneur?” came his answer through the open window. + +“Bid those knaves dismount and unsaddle.” + + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Bardelys the Magnificent, by Rafael Sabatini + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BARDELYS THE MAGNIFICENT *** + +***** This file should be named 2389-0.txt or 2389-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/3/8/2389/ + +Produced by Polly Stratton + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project +Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +http://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the Foundation” + or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the phrase “Project +Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase “Project Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +“Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, “Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.” + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +“Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right +of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +http://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at http://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit http://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. +To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. |