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diff --git a/old/52734-8.txt b/old/52734-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 760b326..0000000 --- a/old/52734-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,10384 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Scourge of God, by John Bloundelle-Burton - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: The Scourge of God - A Romance of Religious Persecution - -Author: John Bloundelle-Burton - -Release Date: August 6, 2016 [EBook #52734] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SCOURGE OF GOD *** - - - - -Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by -Google Books (Library of the University of Virginia) - - - - - - - - - - - -Transcriber's Notes: - 1. Page scan source: Google Books - https://books.google.com/books?id=LtJEAAAAYAAJ - (Library of the University of Virginia) - - - - - - - Appleton's - Town and Country - Library - No. 251 - - - -THE SCOURGE OF GOD - - - - - - -BY J. BLOUNDELLE-BURTON. - -_Each, 12mo, cloth, $1.00; paper, 50 cents_. - -The Clash of Arms. - -In this stirring romance of the seventeenth century the reader shares -the adventures of an English officer who serves under Turenne in his -German campaigns. The author has written an engrossing story of love -and war. - - -Denounced. - -"The author of 'Denounced' is second to none in the romantic -recounting of the tales of earlier days. A story of the critical times -of the vagrant and ambitious Charles I, it is so replete with incident -and realistic happenings that one seems translated to the very scenes -and days of that troublous era in English history. The interest -throughout is of that absorbing and magnetic kind that holds one's -attention closely from the first chapter to the last."--_Boston -Courier_. - - -In the Day of Adversity - -"We do not hesitate to declare that Mr. Bloundelle-Burton's new -romance will be very hard to beat in its own particular -line. . . . Mr. Burton's creative skill is of the kind which must -fascinate those who revel in the narratives of Stevenson, Rider -Haggard, and Stanley Weyman. Even the author of 'A Gentleman of -France' has not surpassed the writer of 'In the Day of Adversity' in -the moving interest of his tale."--_St. James's Gazette_. - -D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, NEW YORK. - - - - - - -THE SCOURGE OF GOD - -_A ROMANCE -OF RELIGIOUS PERSECUTION_ - - -BY -JOHN BLOUNDELLE-BURTON. -AUTHOR OF DENOUNCED, IN THE DAY OF ADVERSITY, ETC. - - -"Prince! que j'ai honoré comme mon Roi, et -que j'honore encore comme Le Fléau de Dieu!" -Saurin à Louis XIV - - - - -NEW YORK -D. APPLETON AND COMPANY -1898 - - - - - - -COPYRIGHT, 1898, -By D. APPLETON AND COMPANY. - - - - - - -CONTENTS. - -I.--Awaiting the traveller. -II.--The traveller from England. -III.--A parting soul. -IV.--Les attroupés. -V.--'Twixt then and now. -VI.--"La femme, malheureusement si fameuse, funeste et - terrible."--St. Simon. -VII.--The house by the bridge. -VIII.--An exodus. -IX.--"Baville! un magistrat dont les epouvantables rigueurs doivent - être signalée à l'horreur de la postérité"--St. Simon. -X.--The lighted torch. -XI.--"Consorting with heretics." -XII.--"I am a Protestant." -XIII.--Urbaine. -XIV.--The attack. -XV.--Shelter and refuge. -XVI.--Succour. -XVII.--The ruse. -XVIII.--La divinéresse. -XIX.--Lex talionis. -XX.--What is this mystery? -XXI.--"You will never find him." -XXII.--I love you. -XXIII.--"Love her! Beyond all thought! And she is there." -XXIV.--"An errand of life or death." -XXV.--Par le fer et par le feu. -XXVI.--Doomed. -XXVII.--Her father, Urbain Ducaire. -XXVIII.--Baville--superb! -XXIX.--"Her father's murderer." -XXX.--Free. -XXXI.--Betrayed. -XXXII.--The bitterness of death. -XXXIII.--Tout savoir, c'est pardonner. - - - - - - -THE SCOURGE OF GOD. - - - - -CHAPTER I. - -AWAITING THE TRAVELLER. - -With all the pomp and ceremony that should accompany the dying hours -of a great lady of France, the Princesse de Rochebazon--Marquise du -Gast d'Ançilly, Comtesse de Montrachet, Baronne de Beauvilliers, -and possessor of many other titles, as well as the right to the -tabouret--drew near her end. - -A great lady of France, yet a woman against whom scandal had never -breathed a word; a woman whose name had never been coupled with that -of any courtier in a manner disadvantageous to her fame, but who -instead, since first she came into the family a bride, had always been -spoken highly of. As a saint by some--nay, by many; as a Christian by -all; as a good servant of the Church. Now, the priests said, she was -about to reap her reward in another existence, where her exalted rank -would count as nothing and the good deeds of her life as everything. - -Below, in the courtyard of her great hotel--which was situated in the -Rue Champfleury, still called by many La Rue Honteuse because of what -had gone on in that street hundreds of years before--the huge Suisse -stood at the open gateway, leaning on his silver-headed cane, which he -no longer dared to thump vigorously on the ground for fear of -disturbing his dying mistress, stood and gazed forth into the long -though narrow street. Perhaps to see that none intruded within the -crimson cord set in front of the _porte-cochère_ of the Hôtel de -Rochebazon; perhaps to observe--with that pride which the menial takes -in the greatness of his employers--how all the noble and illustrious -callers on his mistress had to leave their coaches and their chairs -outside of that barrier, and advance on foot for some yards along the -filthy _chaussée_ ere they could enter the courtyard; also, perhaps, -to tell himself, with a warm glow of satisfaction, that none below -royalty who had ever approached their end in Paris had been inquired -after by more illustrious visitors. - -Above, in the room where the princess lay dying--yet with all her -faculties about her, and with, though maybe she hardly thought so, a -great deal of vitality still left in her body--everything presented -the appearance of belonging to one of wealth and position. The -apartment was the bed chamber in which none but the chiefs of the -house of de Rochebazon were ever permitted to lie; the bed, of great -splendour and vast antiquity, was the bed in which countless de -Beauvilliers and Montrachets and du Gast d'Ançillys and de Rochebazons -had been born and died. A bed with a _ruelle_ around it as handsome in -its velvet and gold lace and gilt pilasters as the _ruelle_ of _Le -Dieudonné_ himself--for the de Rochebazons assumed, and were allowed -to assume without protest, many of the royal attributes and -peculiarities--a bed standing upon a raised platform, or rostrum, as -though the parquet floor was not exalted enough to come into contact -with the legs of the couch on which the rulers of the house stretched -their illustrious limbs. - -In the room itself all was done that could be done to make it a -fitting apartment for those heads of this great family. Arras and -tapestry hung on the walls, representing religious scenes, battle -scenes, hawking and hunting scenes; upon the uncovered portions of the -wainscot were paintings of members who had borne at different times -the different names of the family; on _plaques_ in other places were -miniatures and pictures by Bordier and Petitot, Mignard and Le Brun. -Also, although 'twas autumn now, all about the great chamber were -placed bowls of flowers and ferns and grasses. These brightened not -only the room, but sweetened it as well, and mingled their pure -perfume with the less pure Pulvilio and _Bouquet du Roi_ with which -the air was impregnated. - -In silvery tones a masterpiece of Fromantil's struck far down the -room, over the mantelshelf of the huge fireplace, by the side of -which a monk sat reading his breviary, and as it did so the princess, -lying on her bed, opened her eyes--large, blue-gray eyes, the -brightness of which age had no power to quench, nor would have till -she was dead--and spoke to a girl seated outside the _ruelle_. - -"What hour was that, Manon? Three or four?" - -"Three, Madame la Princesse," the other answered, rising and passing -under the bar to her mistress. - -"The day is fair," the dying aristocrat said, letting her eyes glance -toward the windows, through the heavy lace curtains of which the sun's -rays strayed. "Fair. There is nothing to impede his journey. He should -be here to-night. He must have crossed from England yesterday, must he -not?" - -"I should suppose so, madame. This is Friday. Your courier left for -London last Sunday. It is certain Monsieur Ashurst must be very near -Paris now." - -"Ah, Manon! Monsieur Ashurst! Monsieur Ashurst! I would, instead, he -were Monsieur de Beauvilliers. Then--then----" She broke off in what -she had been about to say and bade the girl go tell the holy father he -might leave the room, might walk in the garden if he chose, and see if -there were any roses left. His services were not now required; if she -could judge by her feelings, her death was not to be yet. Send him -away, she gave order. - -Obedient to her commands--was she not a patroness of all the religious -foundations in and around Paris, as well as a magnificent -benefactress?--the monk departed. Then the Princesse de Rochebazon -continued: - -"If he were not Monsieur Ashurst, but were instead of my husband's -side, the de Rochebazons would not have come to an end--to an end. My -God! why is he not a de Beauvilliers? Yet, had he been, I might not -have loved him as I do." - -"'Tis pity, madame," the girl said. "Yet even as it is----" then -paused, breaking off. - -"'Even as it is,' you would say, 'he will inherit much--much of the de -Rochebazon fortune.' Yes, 'tis true. He will be well provided for. -After the Church--that first. Also you, Manon, are remembered." - -"Madame!" the girl exclaimed softly, gratefully. Then went on, while -as she spoke the tears stood in her eyes. "You have been always very -good to me, oh! so good, so good, as ever and to all. What shall we -do? What shall we do?" - -"Nay, weep not. And--and--'Good!' Never say that. I----" - -A tap, gentle as became the sick room, was heard at the door, -whereupon the girl, drying her eyes, went down to where it opened, and -after a whispered word with some domestic outside, returned to the bed -and, standing outside the _ruelle_, said, "Madame is here." - -"Again! To-day! She is very thoughtful. Let her be brought to me at -once. And, Manon, we will be alone." - -"Yes, Madame la Princesse," whereupon, bowing, she left her mistress, -going once more toward the door, at which she waited until steps were -heard outside, when she opened it wide and courtesied lowly and -reverently before the woman who had been spoken of as "Madame," and -who now came in. - -A lady well advanced in years, having the appearance of being about -seventy, yet looking almost more, since the sumptuous black in which -she was arrayed seemed by its fashion to be suitable to an older woman -than even she was--a lady stately enough, though not tall, with a -white complexion and worn features, eyes that were piercing though not -dark, a mouth in which there were few teeth left, those that still -remained being black and discoloured. - -"Aurore," she said, advancing to the bedside and passing within the -_ruelle_, a bar of which had been lifted by the attendant ere she went -out, "Aurore, I thank our Heavenly Father that he has not yet thought -fit to take you to himself. I--I--was very desirous of seeing you -again before we meet in Heaven--as I pray we shall ere long." - -"Madame," the princess said, her voice calm and, for one reaching her -end, marvellously clear and distinct, "to see you must always be a -gratification to me, even in my extremity. Madame----" - -"Cease this form of address," the other said, seating herself as she -did so in a low chair by the side of the great bed. "There is no -necessity for ceremony. We have always been friends, going hand in -hand in God's work since--long ago--since you were wife to the Baron -de Beauvilliers and with a greater position still to come; since I was -Madame Scarron only, with little thought of ever being a----" - -"Queen!" - -"Nay! Never that. A king's wife--but no queen." - -"It rested with you. The acknowledgment might have been forthcoming -had you desired it." - -"Even so. Only it was best to--to--let matters remain as they are." - -So far as one so feeble as the princess now was could do so, she bent -her head acquiescingly; doubtless she knew also that it was best that -this woman should never be an acknowledged queen. She had not been a -brilliant figure of the court of France for fifty years without being -aware of all that was said, all that was whispered of Françoise -d'Aubigné ere she found religion--as well as favour in the eyes of the -king! Also, all that was whispered after that favour was found. There -were a thousand tongues for ever wagging, as well as innumerable -pens--the pen of De Sevignés to hint, the pens of Rabutins and -Tallement des Réaux to speak plainly. Also her first lover was -remembered and spoken of with many a courtier's tongue thrust in his, -or her, cheek. - -But now--now! she posed as God's vicegerent in France. Religion, even -God himself, as some said bitterly, had been taken under her -patronage; the king trembled for his soul as she worked on the fears -of his mind, and Jansenists, Calvinists, Huguenots had been driven -forth by hundreds of thousands to other lands, or, remaining in -France, had been dragooned, sent to the galleys, the wheel, and the -flames. The "_femme fameuse et funeste_" was the greatest living saint -in Europe. - -And as a saint, a patroness of the Holy Roman Church, she came now to -visit the Princesse de Rochebazon once more ere she died. - -"Aurore," she said, a moment later, "I have come to you again, hoping -to find you not yet gone before me; because--because--oh, Aurore! -to--to plead once more for the sacred cause of our Church; to beseech -you to consider what you are about to do. Think! Think! You have -worked so much good for that Church--yet you may do more." - -"More!" the dying woman said, her clear, bright eyes fixed full blaze -upon the other. "Madame--well, Françoise, since you insist--what more -can I do? There is no de Rochebazon succeeding to title or estate, the -power to will the latter, and--and all the movables, the _argent -comptant_, is mine. And it is done. Beyond a few gifts to those who -have served me, beyond what I have saved from that which is not justly -mine, the Church will have all--all! Can it demand further?" - -"'Tis that, 'tis that, Aurore! What you have saved from that which is -most justly yours? 'Tis that! You told me," and now her voice, never -loud, sank almost to a whisper, as though she feared that even in this -vast room there might still be some who could overhear her, "that to -this young man, this Martin Ashurst--this _Anglais_--you have left -those savings. A noble heritage, five hundred thousand pistoles. -Oh, Aurore! Aurore! think, think! it is French money, and he -is--English----" - -"He is my own flesh and blood," the other interjected. "My brother's -child! And he is of our Church!" - -"That alone redeems it. Yet think of all our Church, here in this -France of ours, needs. Money to extirpate the heretics--some can even -be _bought_ with money, they say; in the _Midi_ there are those who -will adopt our religion for a handful of Louis d'ors----" - -"They must have changed since their grandfather's days!--since La -Rochelle!" - -"They _have_ changed, though--Vengeance confound and crush them!--some -are still obstinate. But, Aurore, listen. This young man, this nephew, -needs not the money. He is provided for, will be provided for in his -own land. He will do well--go far under the heretic, Anne. Oh, Aurore, -he is your flesh and blood, I know. 'Tis but nature that you should -benefit him--yet not so much, not so much. God is before man--before -all earthly relations." - -"He is my brother's child," the Princesse de Rochebazon repeated. "And -I loved that brother. Also this one has been my care----" - -"I know, I know! Supported, educated by you, given money hourly to -squander in waste. Yet I speak not against that; he is of your race. -But now you will give him all this--so great a sum! And France needs -money. Aurore," she cried, "do you know that our--that Louis'--coffers -are empty? The wars, the buildings, the pomps and vanities, the awful -prodigalities of the court have left those coffers bare. And money is -needed so, needed so--especially for the work of the Church--needed so -much!" - -And she almost wrung her hands as thus she pleaded. Yet again the -dying aristocrat murmured: "My own flesh and blood. Also of our -faith." - -Exhausted by her own efforts, the De Maintenon--the Curse of France! -as many had termed her--seemed now to desist, to be beaten back by the -words of the princess. Then suddenly seemed also roused to fresh -excitement as the other spoke again--excitement mixed this time with -anger, as testified by the glances her eyes shot forth. For the dying -woman had continued: "Though I provide for him I must tell him the -truth--tell all. I can not die with a lie on my lips--in my heart." - -"Aurore!" she exclaimed--had she not been a king's wife, had this not -been a sick-room, it might almost have seemed that she screamed at the -other--"Aurore, your brain is gone. You are mad. Tell him all, and -lead to further evil to our Church. Aurore, for God's sake say this is -a fantasy of your mind. Why," she exclaimed, her passion mounting with -her thoughts, "why should you, a stranger to France, a woman raised by -marriage to your high position, bring scandal on the name of a noble -family--reveal secrets that have slumbered for years?" - -"I can not die," the other repeated, "with the truth hidden." - -"The truth," Madame de Maintenon muttered through her discoloured -teeth, "the truth! What has the truth to do with--what account is it -when set against our faith! Aurore, in the name of that faith, recall -your words, your resolve." - -But the dying woman was unshaken. Even the other, whose influence -terrified all France, could not affright her--perhaps because the -princess knew that henceforth she had to answer to a greater than she. - -"I must confess it to him--I must--I must!" she murmured faintly. "I -must. I can not die with such a secret in my heart." - - - - -CHAPTER II. - -THE TRAVELLER FROM ENGLAND. - - -A great _Berline à quatre chevaux_ halted at the North Gate outside -Paris, and the young man seated within the carriage let down the -window and prepared to once more answer all the questions that would -be put to him. Yet he also thanked Heaven, in a somewhat wearied -manner, that this must be the last of it. After that he would be in -Paris, with nothing before him but to drive as fast as might be to the -Rue Champfleury, known long ago as La Rue Honteuse. - -Then the formula began once more, was repeated and gone through with, -precisely in the same manner as it had been gone through with at -Boulogne, where he had landed, at Amiens, Abbeville, and half a dozen -other towns and villages. - -"Monsieur's name?" asked the _guet_, respectfully enough, while as -each answer was made he glanced at the passport handed to him and -countersigned by the Ambassador to England from "Louis, Roi de France -et de Navarre, etc." - -"Martin Ashurst." - -"Country?" - -"England." - -"Position?" - -"Gentleman. Also----" - -But here he found that no more explanation whatever was required from -him. Precisely as he had found it all along the road, whenever the -inquiring eyes of warders or _guets_ or gatekeepers (in some cases -soldiers) had lit upon one of the many statements appended to his -passport--the statement that Monsieur Ashurst was nephew to "Madame la -Princesse de Rochebazon." - -"Passez, monsieur," said the man, as all the other men had said on -seeing this, and saluting as all the other men had saluted; after -which, with a direction to the coachman to proceed, he retired into -his room in the gatehouse. - -"The last, thank God," the occupant of the Berline muttered, "the -last. It has been wearisome, but, well, it is over. Now for my aunt." - -In spite of his weariness incurred by an unhalting journey from -London, in which sleep could only be obtained by snatches here and -there, in spite of the dust along the highroads both of England and -France having discoloured his scarlet coat and tarnished his gold -lacings and rendered dirty his Valenciennes cravat, as well as having -turned the whiteness of his wig to a dirty yellowish brown, Martin -Ashurst presented an attractive appearance. His features were handsome -and manly, clear-cut and aristocratic--Madame la Princesse de -Rochebazon, once Aurora Ashurst, had herself possessed the same -features when young--his figure was slight, yet strong and well knit, -his whole appearance satisfactory. Also he bore about him those -indefinable traits which mark the gentleman, which, perhaps, it may be -said without offence to others, mark and distinguish the English -gentleman particularly. A certain calm, a self-contained air, a lack -of perception of the existence of those who were unknown to him, and -thereby without his ken, distinguished Martin Ashurst as it has always -distinguished so many of the well-bred of our land. - -Yet his life had not been all passed in England, the first fifteen -years of it being, indeed, spent in France under the patronage of the -aunt to whom the _Berline à quatre chevaux_ was now bearing him as -fast as four heavy Flanders roadsters could drag it. - -Gabriel Ashurst, his father, and Gabriel's sister Aurora, had been two -among the hundreds of Royalists who, in the year 1647, were taken by -their parents to France as soon as it was possible to escape out of -England and from the clutches of the Parliamentarians. Then, in -France, in Paris, had begun for them that long career of exile against -which so many of the followers of the Stuarts had repined so much at -first, and which, in due course, so many had come to like and, in some -cases, to appreciate. Also there had come to this exiled family a -splendid piece of good fortune, the like of which did not fall often -in the way of English exiles. Aurora Ashurst, a girl of twenty, had -won the heart of Henri de Beauvilliers, then Baron de Beauvilliers, -but with, before him in the near future, the titles and wealth and -great positions of Comte de Montrachet, Marquis du Gast d'Ançilly, and -Prince de Rochebazon, for the head of the house who held them all was -near his end; they were almost within the grasp of Henri, as he stood -at the altar with his English bride. Three months after their marriage -they were his. - -Time passed. Gabriel married, as well as his sister, his wife being a -countrywoman of his own, also in exile with her family. Cromwell died, -the Stuarts were restored. Then Gabriel and his wife returned to -England, but the lad, Martin, was left in charge of the Princesse de -Rochebazon, who had become by now a childless widow--was, indeed, -almost adopted by her. It was true she could not make him heir to the -great titles--those must die out!--but at least she could provide for -him, and she set about doing it. The whole control of the de -Rochebazon wealth was hers to do what she pleased with; she -might, if she had desired, have left their châteaux, their -woods and forests in half a dozen provinces, their hotel in the Rue -Champfleury--everything, to him. Only, because she was a just woman -and a religious, she would not do that, recognising that the wealth -accumulated by generations of French nobles ought not in common -honesty to go to one who had no tie of blood with them and who -belonged to a land which was almost always at war with France. -Therefore, urged partly by the promptings of her own heart and deep -Catholic feelings, partly by the promptings of a priest, and partly by -those of the De Maintenon, as well as by a whispered hint in the soft -courtly tones of _le Roi Soleil_, now cowering under the awful terrors -that too often assail the self-righteous, she left all the wealth of -the heirless De Rochebazons to the Church, reserving only for Martin -Ashurst the fortune she had saved out of her private purse. - -Yet 'twas a fortune which would make him rich for life, place him on a -high pinnacle in either France or England, cause women either at St. -James's or Versailles to angle for him, and throw aside forever, as -commodities too expensive to be indulged in, the men whom they loved; -a fortune that would buy him a peerage in England, obtain for him the -_justaucorps à brevet_ in France, and orders and decorations, the -command of regiments, the governorships of provinces, embassies, stars -and ribbons, surround him with parasites and flatterers! Half a -million pistoles! In English money nigh upon five hundred thousand -guineas! - -As the berline rolled through St. Ouen and Aubervilliers, the wheels -sometimes sticking in a rut of the ill-kept roads--whereby the great, -cumbersome vehicle lurched so heavily that the young man expected to -be overturned at every moment--sometimes, too, scattering a flock of -ducks and fowls before it as they sought for subsistence amid the dust -and filth, while the coachman and postillion hurled curses at all and -everything that came in their way, and the English man servant in the -banquette roared with laughter, Martin Ashurst thought of what lay -before him in the future. For he knew well enough to what he went--the -princess had long since apprised him of the inheritance that was to be -his--he knew that future. Yet he was not particularly enamoured of it. - -"The conditions," he muttered more than once to himself, "are irksome. -To live in France, yet with my thoughts ever cast back to England, to -London, to St. James's and the suppers at Locket's and Pontac's, the -merry nights at Chaves's and White's. And--and--to be banished from -England! Faugh! whatever my aunt has to leave me can scarce be worth -that." - -In sober truth, although he knew he was heir to Madame la Princesse, -he did not know how great the inheritance was to be. In thinking it -all over, in talking it all over, too, with his father and mother, he -had imagined with them that there might be some thirty or forty -thousand pounds which would be his, and that, owning this sum of -money, he would thereby be a rich man. But that any such sum as that -which his aunt had really put aside was ever likely to come to him had -never entered his thoughts. - -"Also," he mused, "how serve Louis, be subject to him when my own -country may require me? And though we are at peace, how long shall we -be so? Marlborough, the Dutch, are restless; they itch to fly at this -French king's throat. It will come again. It must. No treaty ever yet -put an end to our wars for any considerable time. Also--also--there is -the other thing. In honour I must tell her that, even though by doing -so I cause her to renounce me, to disinherit me. To leave me not so -much as will pay the score at Locket's for suppers. She must know it." - -Down the Rue de la Boucherie the berline rumbled, the dry fetid smell -of the blood of slaughtered beasts being perceptible to the young -man's nostrils as he passed through it, since it was still the -shambles of Paris; down the Rue des Chants Poulets and past the Rue -des Mauvais Garçons it went, with still the driver hurling curses at -all who got in his way, at children playing in the road and at a -_cordelier_ telling his beads as he walked, yet glinting an evil eye -at the coachman and muttering maledictions at him under his breath, -and with the English servant still laughing as now he donned his -drugget coat and put on his puff wig. For the driver, in between his -curses and howls and whoops at the animals, had found time to mutter -that the next street was La Rue Champfleury, though, _diantre!_ few -flowers grew there now, except in the gardens of the great Princesse -de Rochebazon. - -"Sir," said the man servant, glancing down through the open window in -the back of the great vehicle, "we are nearly there." - -"I know it," Martin Ashurst replied. Then asked suddenly, as they -passed under the _Beau Dieu_ stuck in a corner house of the street, -"Why does he roar afresh, and why pull up with such a jerk?" - -"There are red cords stretched all about the street, sir, in front of -a great house; also the road is half a foot deep in tan to deaden -sounds. And a fellow with a three-cornered hat as big as a table waves -a gilt stick to him to stop. What shall we do?" - -"Why, stop to be sure. Also I will alight. We have arrived." - -Whereon he descended out of the berline, bidding the man follow with -his sword, as well as pay the driver and see to the necessaries being -taken off the roof. After which he passed through the cords, and -addressing the Suisse, said: - -"How is it with Madame la Princesse?" - -"Madame la Princesse still lives, monsieur," the man replied, his eye -roving over the scarlet coat and richly laced hat of the traveller; -noticing, too, the rings upon his fingers and the silver-hilted rapier -carried by the servant. "Doubtless monsieur is the nephew of Madame la -Princesse, expected to-day." - -"I am he." - -With a bow the man invited Martin Ashurst to follow him, and led him -through a cool vestibule to where some footmen stood about, then -ordered them to conduct monsieur to his apartment, saying that -possibly he would desire to make his toilet. - -"The rooms prepared for monsieur are those he has occupied often -before, I hear," this man of importance said. "Upon this _étage_, -giving on the garden, if monsieur pleases." - -And now, left alone with only his servant to attend upon him, monsieur -made a hasty toilet, washing from off his hands and face the dust and -dirt of the journey, discarding, too, his scarlet coat and waistcoat -for others of a more suitable colour, changing his wig and shoes and -stockings. Then bade the man go say that if the princess would receive -him he was ready to attend upon her. - -Sitting there waiting to be summoned to her presence, his eyes -glancing out through the long open windows on to the fresh, green -garden with its banks of roses, now drooping with the advent of -autumn, he thought of all that she had done for him since first he -could remember. Of how, as a child, when he lived in this great house, -or went with her in the summer heats to fair Touraine--where was a -castle of the de Rochebazon's embowered in woods--or to that other -great château in Perche, or to still a third one which hung over the -golden sands of La Gironde, she seemed to live almost to shower gentle -kindnesses upon him, her brother's child. To do all for him that she -would have done had he been her own; to surround him with luxuries far -too good and dainty for one so young as he; to provide him with tutors -and keepers, with horses and carriages and rich silks and satins, and -gold pieces in his pockets to fling to beggars as other men flung sols -and deniers, because she loved him, and in her love had but one -regret--that he was not a de Rochebazon to succeed to all they owned. - -Also, when they were separated, he in England, she at Versailles, how -much she had done for him as he grew to manhood! How much! How much! -Money sent over for his pleasures because she desired that, in all -things, he should have the best, should be able to hold his own with -those who were in the court circle and the fashion. That his early -years should never know any narrowness of means which in after life -might cramp him as he recalled it; also that, as he stepped over the -threshold of youth and reached manhood, he should do so with ease and -comfort. - -"I owe her all, everything," he mused to himself as still his eyes -gazed out upon the trim-kept and still luxurious _parterres_ of the -great gardens. "All, all! My father, beggared as he was by his -loyalty, could have done naught beyond equipping me for some -simple, unambitious calling, beyond, perhaps, obtaining me a pair of -colours in some marching regiment. I owe her all--the clothes upon -my back, the food I eat, the very knowledge of how to wield a sword! -And--and--God forgive me! I have deceived her for years, kept back for -years a secret that should not have existed for one hour. Still, she -shall know now. She shall not go to her grave without knowing that I -have no right to own one single livre that she has put aside for me." - -As he finished his reflections the door was rapped at, and the -footman, entering at his command, told him that the Demoiselle Manon -was without and waiting to escort him to the bedside of Madame la -Princesse. - - - - -CHAPTER III. - -A PARTING SOUL. - - -Looking down upon her as she lay in the great bed whereon had reposed -so many of the de Rochebazons for generations--when they had been the -head of the house--Martin Ashurst told himself how, except for the -reason that he was about to lose the kindest benefactress and -kinswoman any man had ever had, there was no cause for the tears to -rise to his eyes. - -For never was a more peaceful parting about to be made, to all -external appearances; never could a woman have trod more calmly the -dark road that, sooner or later, all have to pass along, than was now -treading Aurora, Princesse de Rochebazon. Also it seemed as if death -was smoothing away every wrinkle that time had brought to her face, -changing back that face to the soft, innocent one which, in the spring -of life, had been Aurora Ashurst's greatest charm; the face that had -been hers when, as a winsome child, she played in the meadows round -her father's old home in Worcestershire--demolished by Lambert; the -face that, but a few years later, had won Henri de Beauvilliers away -from the intoxicating charms of Mancinis, of Clerembaults, of -Baufremonts, and Châtillons, and a hundred other beauties who then -revolved round the court of the young king, now grown so old. - -"You do not suffer, dear and honoured one," Martin said, bending over -her and gazing into the eyes that were still so bright--the last awful -glazed look and vacant stare, which tell of the near end being still -some hours off; "you do not suffer, dear one. That I can see, and -thank God for so seeing." - -"No," the princess said, "I have no pain. I am dying simply of what -comes to all--decay. I am seventy years of age, and it has come to me -a little earlier than it does sometimes. That is all. But, Martin, we -have no time to talk of this. Time is short--I know that." Then, -suddenly lifting the clear eyes to his own, she said, "Do you know why -I sent a special courier to London for you?" - -"To bid me hurry to you, I should suppose, dear one. To give me your -blessing. Oh!" he exclaimed, bending a little nearer to her, "you are -a saint. You would not part from me without giving me that. Therefore -bless me now!" and he made as though he would kneel by her side -betwixt the bed and the _ruelle_. - -"Wait," she said, "wait. I have something to tell you. After I have -done so I know not if you will still deem me a saint, still desire my -blessing. Bring that chair within the _ruelle_; sit down and listen." - -Because he thought that already her mind was beginning to enter that -hazy approach to death in which the senses lose all clearness, and the -dying, when they speak at all, speak wanderingly, he neither showed -nor felt wonderment at her words. Instead, because he desired to -soothe and calm her, he did as she bade him, drawing the chair within -the rail and holding her hand as he did so. - -"Whatever," he said softly, "you may tell me can make no difference in -my love and reverence for you--make me desire your blessing less or -deem you less a saint. Yet--yet--if it pleases you to speak, if you -have aught you desire to say, say on. Still, I beseech you, weary not -yourself." - -At first she did not answer him, but lay quite still, her eyes fixed -on his face; lay so still that from far down the room he heard the -ticking of the clock, heard the logs fall softly together with a -gentle clash now and again, even found himself listening to a bird -twittering outside in the garden. - -Then, suddenly, once more her voice sounded clearly in the silence of -the room; he heard her say: "What I tell you now will make me accursed -in the eyes of all the Church--our Church. I am about to confide to -you a secret that all in that Church have ordered me never to divulge, -or I would have done it long since. Yet now I must tell it." - -"A secret," he repeated silently to himself, "a secret!" Therefore he -knew that her mind must indeed be wandering. What secret could this -saintly woman have to reveal? Ah! yes, she was indeed wandering! Yet, -even as he thought this, he reflected how strange a thing it was that, -while he had actually a revelation to make to her--one that his honour -prompted him to make--she, in the delirium of coming death, should -imagine that she had something which it behooved her to disclose. - -Once more he heard her speaking. Heard her say: - -"All deem that with me perishes the last bearer, man or woman, of the -de Rochebazon name. It is not so. There is probably one in existence." - -"Madame!" the young man exclaimed very quietly, yet startled, almost -appalled. "Madame! A de Rochebazon in existence! Are you conscious of -what you are saying?" and he leaned a little over the coverlet and -gazed into her eyes as he spoke. Surely _this_ was wandering. - -"As conscious as that I am dying here, as that you, Martin Ashurst, -are sitting by my side." - -"I am astounded. How long has what you state been known--supposed--by -you?" - -"Known--not supposed--since I became Henri de Beauvillier's wife, -forty-six years ago." - -"My God! What does it mean? A de Rochebazon alive! Man or woman?" - -"Man!" - -Again Martin exclaimed, "My God!" Then added: "And this man, -therefore, is, has been since the death of your husband, the Prince de -Rochebazon?" - -"Before my husband's death," the other answered quietly, calmly, as -though speaking on the most trivial subject. "My husband never was the -prince." - -Unintentionally, without doubt--perhaps, too, unnoticed by her--his -hand released hers, slipping down from the bedside to his knee, where -it lay, while he, his eyes fixed full on her now and still seeking to -read in her face whether that which she uttered was the frenzy of a -dying woman or an absolute truth, said slowly and distinctly: - -"Nor you, therefore--that I must utter the words!--the princess?" - -"Nor I the princess." - -"It is incredible. Beyond all belief." - -"It is true." - -Again there was a pause; filled up on Martin Ashurst's part with a -hurtling mass of thoughts which he could not separate one from the -other, though above all others there predominated one--the thought -that this was the derangement of a mind unhinged by the weakness of -approaching death, clouded by the gradual decay of nature. And, -thinking thus, he sat silent, wondering if in very truth--since all -she had said seemed so utterly beyond the bound of possibility--it -were worth disturbing her with questions. - -Yet her next words seemed uttered as though with a determination to -force him to believe that what she had said was no delusion. - -"There are others who know it--only they will never tell." - -"Others! Who?" - -"Madame knows it"--he was well enough aware _what_ "Madame" she -referred to, and that it was to neither her of Orleans nor any of the -daughters of the house of France--"so, too, does La Chaise, and also -Chamillart. Also," and now her voice sank to a whisper, "Louis." - -"Louis!" he repeated, also whisperingly, yet not recognising that his -voice was lowered instinctively. "The king! knows and permits. My -God!" - -"He must permit, seeing that she--De Maintenon--holds him in a grasp -of steel." - -"Knowing--herself?" - -"I have said." - -Again over the room there fell a silence, broken only by the ticking -of the distant clock; also now the shadows of evening were drawing on, -soon the night would be at hand--a silence caused by the dying woman -having ceased to speak, by the man at her side forbearing to ask more -questions. - -Yet he was warned by signs which even he, who had as yet but little -acquaintance with death, could not misinterpret; that what more was to -be told must be declared at once, or--never. For the dying woman made -no further effort to divulge more, or to explain aught which should -elucidate the strange statement she had startled him with; instead, -lay back upon her pillows, her eyes open, it was true, but staring -vacantly upon the embossed and richly-painted ceiling, her breathing -still regular but very low. - -"She will speak no more," he said to himself, "no more. Thank -God, the secret does not die with her. Yet will those whom she has -mentioned--this woman who is the king's wife; the king himself; La -Chaise, who, if all accounts are true, is a lying, crafty priest; the -minister Chamillart--will they assist to right a wrong? Alas, I fear -not! Ah, if she could but speak again--tell all!" - -As thus he thought, the door opened and the waiting maid came in, -accompanied by a gentleman clad in sombre black, his lace being, -however, of the whitest and most costly nature, and his face as white -as that lace itself. And the girl, advancing down the room, followed -by the other, explained to Martin, when she had reached the bed, that -the gentleman accompanying her was Monsieur Fagon, _premier Médecin du -Roi_. - -Bowing to him with much courtliness, the physician passed within the -_ruelle_ and stood gazing down upon the dying woman in what was now no -better than twilight, but going through, as the other observed, none -of the usual ceremonies of feeling the pulse or listening to the -breathing. Then once he nodded his head, after which he turned away, -stepping outside the _ruelle_. - -"What may we hope, monsieur?" the young man asked, following Fagon -down the room. - -"What," answered Fagon in return, "does monsieur hope?" - -"That she may be spared for yet some hours--more, I fear, can scarcely -be expected. Also that she may be able to speak again and clearly. I -am her nephew, and, in a manner of speaking, am--was to be--her heir." - -From under his bushy eyebrows Fagon shot a glance out of his small -twinkling eyes. Then he said: "So I have heard. Yet monsieur, if he -will pardon me, phrases his statement strangely, in spite of his -having the French extremely well. 'Was to be her heir!' Has monsieur -reason to apprehend that Madame la Princesse has made any alteration -in her testamentary dispositions?" - -"Monsieur has no reason to apprehend that such is the case. Yet," -changing the subject, "he would be very glad if he could know that -some hours of life will still be granted to--to--Madame la Princesse; -that he might hope she will be able to converse again." - -"Sir," Fagon said, with still the little twinkling eyes upon him, "she -may live two or three more hours. I doubt her ever speaking again. -There is no more to be done. Sir, I salute you." With which words he -departed, escorted by the maid servant Manon. - -It seemed, however, to Martin as though even should his aunt recover -consciousness and be able to throw any further light upon the strange -story which she had commenced, no opportunity would arise for her to -do so, for Fagon had not been gone a quarter of an hour, during which -time she lay so motionless in her bed that more than once he gazed -down upon her, wondering if already the soul had parted from the body, -before the monk who had previously been in attendance came in, and -going toward the great fireplace drew forth his missal and began to -read it. Nor was it without some difficulty that Martin was able to -induce him to quit the room. - -"Depart!" this holy man said, glancing up at the tall form of the -other as he whispered his request to him. "Depart, my son! Alas! do -you not know that the end is near--that at any moment the last -services of the Church may be required to speed the passing soul?" - -"I know, nor do I intend that she shall be deprived of those services. -But, reverend sir, it is necessary I should be alone with my -kinswoman; if she recovers her intelligence even at the last moment we -have much to say to one another. I beg you, therefore, to leave us -together; be sure you shall not be debarred from ministering to her -when she desires you. I request you to remain outside--yet within -call." - -Because he knew not how to resist, because also he was but a humble -member of the Théatine confraternity who, in Paris at least, owed much -to the wealth and support of the Rochebazons, also because in his -ignorance he thought he stood in the presence of him who was, he -imagined in his simplicity, the next possessor of that great name and -the vast revenues attached to it, he went as bidden, begging only that -he might be summoned at the necessary moment. - -Then for a little while kinsman and kinswoman were alone once more. - -"Will she ever speak again, tell me further?" Martin mused again, -gazing down on the silent woman lying there, her features now lit up a -little by the rays of a shaded _veilleuse_ that had been brought into -the chamber by Manon and placed near the great bed. "I pray God she -may." Then murmured to himself: "As well as I can see--'tis but -darkly, Heaven knows--yet so far as I can peer into the future, on me -there falls the task of righting a great wrong, done, if not by her, -at least by those to whose house she belongs. But, to do so much, I -must have light." - -It seemed to him, watching there, as though the light was coming--was -at hand. For now the occupant of the bed by which he sat stirred; her -eyes, he saw, were fixed on him; a moment later she spoke. But the -voice was changed, he recognised--was hoarse and harsh, hollow and -toneless. - -"Henri," she murmured, with many pauses 'twixt her words, "Henri was -not the eldest. There was--another--son--a--a--Protestant--a -Huguenot----" - -"Great God! what sin is here?" the startled watcher muttered; then -spoke more loudly: "Yes, yes, oh, speak, speak! Continue, I beseech -you. Another son--a Huguenot--and the eldest!" - -"That a de Rochebazon should be--a--Huguenot," the now dry voice -muttered raucously, "a Huguenot! And fierce--relentless--strong, even -to renouncing all--all--his rank, his name, his birthri----" - -Again she ceased; he thought the end had come. Surely the once clear -eyes were glazing now, surely this dull glare at vacancy which -expressed indefinitely that, glare how they might, they saw nothing, -foretold death--near, close at hand. - -"Some word, some name, madame, dear one," the listener whispered. -"Speak, oh! speak, or else all effort must fail. His name--that which -his brother called him--that which he took, if he renounced his -rightful one. The name--or--God help us all! naught can be done." - -"His name," the dying woman whispered through white lips, in accents -too low to reach the listener's ears, "was----" - -If she uttered it he did not hear it. Moreover, at this supreme moment -there came another interruption--the last! - -The door opened again. Down the room, advancing toward the bed, came a -priest, a man thin to attenuation, dry and brown as a mummy, with eyes -that burned like coals beneath an eyebrowless forehead, yet one who -told his beads even as he advanced, his lips quivering and moving -while he prayed. - -Do the dying know, even as we bend over them, seeking to penetrate -beneath that glassy stare which suggests so deep an oblivion, of the -last word we would have them speak, the last question we would have -answered ere the veil of dense impenetrable darkness falls forever -between them and us? - -Almost it seemed as if she, this sinking woman who had lived for years -a great princess, yet, by her own avowal, was none, did in truth know -what her kinsman sought to drag from her--the clew which should lead -to the righting of a great wrong, as he had said. - -For, as the priest came through the lurking shadows of the room and -out of the darkness of the farther end, toward where the small night -lamp cast its sickly shadow, the hand which Martin Ashurst held closed -tighter upon his own, and with a quivering grasp drew his toward her -body, placing it upon a small substance that had lain sheltering -'twixt her arm and side. - -And even as thus his hand closed over hers, while that other quivered -warm and damp within it, the priest knelt and, over his crucifix, -uttered up prayers for the passing soul. - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - -LES ATTROUPÉS. - - -It was October in the year 1701 when she who had borne the title for -so long of Princesse de Rochebazon was laid in the family vault in the -Church of St. Sépulcre. It was July of the next year when a gentleman, -looking somewhat travel-stained and weary, halted his horse at the -foot of the Mont de Lozère, in Languedoc--the same man who had -travelled from England eight months ago as Martin Ashurst, to attend -his aunt's death-bed, but who since then had been known as Monsieur -Martin. - -There were more reasons than one why this change of name should be -made--primarily because war having been declared by England in -conjunction with Austria and Holland against Louis, no subject of -Queen Anne was permitted within France, or, being in, would be safe -if known and identified as such. But with an assumed name, or rather -with part of his own name discarded--Martin being common to both -countries--and with his knowledge of the French language perfect, -owing to his long residence in the country as a child, the -identification of Martin Ashurst with England was, if he held his -peace, almost impossible. Also there were other reasons. He believed -that at last he had found traces of the missing man, of him to whom by -right fell all the vast wealth of the de Rochebazons, accumulated for -centuries. - -"Yet even now," he said to himself, "God knows if I shall succeed in -finding him, or even should I do so, if I shall persuade him to claim -what is his own. And, though he should still be willing, will that -scourge of God, Louis, that curse of France, his wife, let one penny -ever come to his hands? A Huguenot, and with the Huguenots in open -rebellion, what chance would he have? I must be careful, more careful -than ever, now that I am in the hotbed of revolution." - -As he pondered thus he turned his wrist and urged his horse forward at -a walk, making his way on slowly through the mountains to the village -of Montvert. - -"Three months," he said, "three months since I set out for -Switzerland--for Geneva and Lausanne--and now, even now, but little -nearer to the end than before. Coming here, I was told that it was -almost impossible that Cyprien de Beauvilliers could have settled in -the Cévennes without being known; travelling on to Savoy and to -Lausanne, I learn at last that he did most undoubtedly come here from -Geneva years ago. Shall I ever know--ever find out?" - -A league or so accomplished at a walking pace, for his poor beast was -almost exhausted now, it having been ridden across the mountains from -St. Victor de Gravière since daybreak, and from Geneva within the last -three weeks, and the banks of a river named Le Tarn being slowly -followed, the rider entered Montvert, and passing across the bridge, -proceeded slowly up the village street. Yet even as he did so he cast -his eyes on a house at the side of that bridge and on the small trim -garden between it and the stream, muttering to himself: - -"Ah! Monsieur l'abbé! Monsieur l'abbé! you are one of the firebrands -who stir up dissension in these valleys--you and your familiar spirit, -Baville. Also your evil fame has travelled far. You are known and -hated in Geneva, Lausanne, Vevey--maybe in Holland by now. 'Tis best -you pray to Heaven to avert your fate. 'Tis threatened! And, if all -the stories of you be true, it is almost deserved, no matter in what -form it comes." - -Proceeding still farther along the little main street of the bourg, he -came to a wooden house also standing in a small trimly-kept garden, in -which there grew all kinds of simple flowers that made the place gay -with their colours, and here he dismounted, while calling to a boy who -was raking the crushed shells on the path, he bade him take his horse -to the stable in the rear. - -"For you see, Armand," he said with a pleasant smile, "here I am back -again, after a long while--yet still back." - -The boy smiled a greeting and said all would be glad to welcome him, -then did as he was bid and led the animal away, while Martin, going up -to the door, knocked lightly on it and asked, as he threw his voice -into the passage, if the _pasteur_ was within. - -To which, in answer, there came down toward the door an elderly -gray-haired man, who held out both his hands and shook those of the -younger one cordially. - -"Back! Back!" he exclaimed joyously. "Ah! this is good. Come in. Come -in. The room is always ready, the bed kept aired, the lavender in the -drawers. Welcome! Welcome!" Then, after looking at him and saying that -his journey had not harmed him, he exclaimed: "Well, what news? Or--is -it disappointment again?" - -"But little news; scarcely, in truth, more than before. Yet something. -I met a man at Geneva who had known Cyprien de Beauvilliers, but he -was very old and, alas! it is forty years and more since he set eyes -on him." - -"Forty years! A lifetime!" - -"Ay, a lifetime--long enough for him to have disappeared from all -human knowledge, to have died. That, I fear, is what has happened. -Otherwise, this man says, they of the reformed faith would almost -surely have heard of him." - -"Not of necessity," the pastor answered. "If he so hated his kin and -their religion that he was determined to break off forever from them -and their customs, he may have resolved to obliterate every clew. He -told the princess's husband that he renounced his name, his -birthright. Other men have resolved on that, and kept their -resolution." - -While they had been speaking the pastor had led Martin Ashurst into -his little salon, and he called now to an elderly woman to prepare the -evening meal. - -"And a good one to-night, Margot; a good one to-night to welcome back -the wanderer." - -Whereon the old servant smiled upon that wanderer and murmured also -some words of greeting, while she said it should be a good one. -_Fichtre_, but it should! - -"_Soit!_ Let us see," went on her master. "First for the solids. Now, -there is a trout, caught this morning and brought me by Leroux--oh, -such a trout! Two kilos if an ounce, and with the true deep speckles. -_Ma foi!_ he was a fool, he clung too much to the neighbourhood of the -lower bridge, derided Leroux with his wicked eye; yet, observe, Leroux -has got him. _Si! Si!_ Half an hour hence he will be _truite au vin -blanc_, a thing not half so wholesome for him as the stream and the -rushes. _Hein!_" - -Martin smiled to himself, yet gravely, as always now since his aunt's -dying revelation. How far off seemed to him the merry days, or nights, -at Locket's and Pontac's, and the jokes and jeers and flashes of wit -of Betterton and Nokes, Vanburgh and gentle Farquhar!--while still the -good old pastor prattled on, happy at preparing his little feast. - -"_Truite au vin blanc_. Ha! And the right wine, too, to wash it down. -Ha! The _Crépi_, in the long, tapering glasses that the Chevalier de -Fleuville brought me from Villefranche. Poor de Fleuville! Poor, poor -de Fleuville! Then, Margot, the _ragoût_ and the white chipped bread, -and, forget not these, clean _serviettes_ to-night, if we never have -others, and the cheese from Joyeuse. Oh! we will _faire la noce_ -to-night, _mon brave_. God forgive me," he broke off suddenly, his -voice changing, "that even your return should make me think of feasts -and _noces_ at such a time as this--a time of blood and horror and -cruelty!" - -Over the meal, the trout being all that was expected of him, and the -_Crépi_ a fitting accompaniment thereto, they talked on what had been -the object of "Monsieur Martin's" journey into Switzerland, then -neutral in both religion and politics, and offering, consequently, a -home for refugees of all classes and denominations; talked also of -what results that journey had had, or had failed to have. But all -ended, or was comprised, in what the young man had already told the -other--namely, that it seemed certain that Cyprien de Beauvilliers had -at first gone to Geneva and Lausanne after he renounced his family and -his religion, and that from there he had come to Languedoc, meaning to -settle in the one spot in France where Protestantism was in its -strongest force. - -"He would thereby," the pastor said, as now they reached the _fromage -de Joyeuse_, nestling white and creamy in the vine leaves, "be able to -enjoy his religion in peace for many years, until--until the unhappy -events of '85. Alas! that revocation! That revocation, born of that -fearful woman! What--what will be the outcome of all, for even now it -is but beginning to bear its worst fruits. Martin," he continued, -"Martin, _mon ami_, we are but at the commencement. I fear for what -will happen here ere long. I fear, I fear, I fear." - -"Here! Is it as bad as that?" - -"It is dreadful, appalling. My friend, they will suffer no longer. -They can support neither Baville's tyranny, which extends over all the -district, nor--here, in this little village once so happy--the -monstrous cruelties of the abbé." - -"The abbé! Du Chaila! What is he doing now?" - -"Tongue scarce dare tell for fear of not being believed. In after -years, in centuries to come, when religion is free and tolerant, as -some day it must be--it must! it must!--those who read of what we have -suffered will deem the story false. O Martin! there, in that house by -the bridge, are done things that would almost excite the envy of the -Inquisition, ay! of Torquemada himself, were he still in existence. -And he, this abbé, is the man who will light the flame in this -tranquil spot. I pray God it may be extinguished almost ere lit." And -Martin Ashurst saw that even as he spoke his hands were folded under -the table, as though in prayer, and that his lips moved. - -"But what," he said, "what do you fear? Also to what extremes does he -now proceed?" - -"'Proceed!' Ah, Martin, listen. There in that house by the bridge, -once Fleuville's, who was hung by De Genne upon the bridge itself, so -that his wife might see the thing each morning when she rose, he -tortures us, the Protestants. Keeps prisoners confined, too, in the -cellars deeper than the river itself. In stocks some, naked some, some -with food only twice a week. He boasts he is God's appointed, then -jeers and says, 'Appointed, too, by Baville under Louis.'" - -"And Louis knows this?" - -"Some say not, some say yes. For myself, I do not know. But things are -near the end." And again the good pastor murmured, "I fear, I fear, I -fear." Then went on, his voice lowered now and his eyes glancing -through the windows, opened to let in the soft autumn air, cool and -luscious as though it had passed over countless groves of flowers: -"Listen. Masip--you have heard of him, Masip, the guide, he who shows -the way to Switzerland and freedom--he is now there, in the cellars, -in the stocks, bent double, his hands through two holes above the two -where his feet are." - -"For what?" - -"He showed the Demoiselles Sexti the road to Chambery--they went -dressed as boys. The girls escaped into the mountains. Masip is -doomed. He dies to-morrow." - -"God help him!" - -"Him! God help all, Martin. He hunts us everywhere. Some of my brother -preachers have been executed; I myself am suspended, my hour may -come--to-night--to-morrow. Sooner or later it must come. Then for me -the wheel or the flames or the gibbet--there." And he pointed down the -street toward where the bridge was on which Fleuville's body had been -hanged. - -"Never! Never!" Martin exclaimed, touching the old man's arm. "Never, -while I have a sword by my side." Then added, a moment later: - -"My friend, I must declare myself. While all are so brave, all going -to, or risking, their doom, I am but a craven hound to wear a mask. -To-morrow I announce--or rather denounce--myself as a Protestant. My -aunt died ere I could tell the secret which would have caused her to -curse me instead of leaving me her heir. Here, I will shelter myself -under that secret no more. To-morrow I see this abbé in his own house, -to-morrow I defy him to do his worst on me as on others. I proclaim -myself." - -"No, no, no!" the old pastor cried, springing at him, placing his hand -upon his lips to prevent further words from being heard or from -penetrating outside. "No, no! In God's name, no! I forbid you. If you -do that, how will you ever find de Beauvilliers--de Rochebazon, as he -is if alive--or, he being dead, find his children? I forbid you," he -reiterated again and again in his agitation. "I forbid you." - -"Forbid me? Force me to live a coward in my own esteem? To see those -of my own faith slaughtered like oxen in the shambles and stand by, a -poltroon, afraid to declare myself?" - -"I forbid you. Not yet, at least. Remember, too, you are an -Englishman, of France's deepest, most hated foes; your doom is doubly -threatening. Yet, oh, oh, my son," he exclaimed in a broken voice, -"how I love, how I reverence you! Brave man, brave, honest Protestant, -I love--my God!" he exclaimed, changing his tone suddenly, desisting -in his speech, "My God! what is that?" - -Desisted, turning a stricken, blanched face upon the younger man, who -had reached for his sword and sash and was already donning them, while -he whispered through white lips, "It has come! It has come! The storm -has burst," while even as he spoke he fell on his knees by the table, -and sinking his head into his hands, commenced to pray long and -silently. - -Prayed long and silently, while from outside the bourg--yet advancing, -approaching nearer every moment--there came a deep sound. At first a -hum, then, next, a clearer, more definite noise, and next, they being -distinguishable, the words of a hymn sung by many voices. - -Upon the soft night air, so calm and peaceful a moment earlier, those -words rolled, the cadence falling and rising until it seemed as though -it must reach the mountain tops o'erhanging the village. Rolled up and -swelled, and sunk and rose again, telling how the Lord set ambushments -against the children of Ammon, Moab, and Mount Seir, who came against -Judah; telling how, when they had made an end of one of their -particular foes, each helped to destroy another. - -Again the pastor moaned: "They have risen. They have risen. God help -us all!" - -"Who?" asked Martin. "Who? Our own faith? The Protestants? The -Camisards? Risen at last." - -"At last! At last!" the old man said, glancing up from his prayers. -And he began to pray aloud to God to avert the horrors of battle and -murder and sudden death. - -The tramp of many men came nearer. Past the foot of the garden those -men went, a compact mass; in their hands and belts, and borne also -upon their shoulders, swords, old halberds, musketoons and pistols, in -some cases scythes and reaping hooks. And ahead of all marched three -gaunt, weird men, the inspired ones, the prophets of the Cevennes, of -the Camisards. - -"Keep all within doors," a deep-toned voice exclaimed from out the -throng, "on pain of death. Disturb not the children of God, his -persecuted ones. No harm is meant to those who interfere not. Keep -within doors, also appear not at the windows. All will thereby be -well." - -And again the psalm uprose, though now there were some who shouted: -"To the vile abbé's! To the murderer's! To the house on the bridge! -On! On! The soldiers first, the abbé next! On! On! To avenge the -Lord!" - -Then from farther ahead there rang the report of musketry, and one man -fell dead pell-mell among the moving crowd, and was left lying in the -white dust of the roadway, as from the window Martin could well see. -But still the others shouted: "On! On! God's will be done!" - -And again the pastor lifted his hands from where he knelt and cried -aloud, "From battle, murder, and sudden death, good Lord deliver us." - - - - -CHAPTER V. - -'TWIXT THEN AND NOW. - - -When Martin Ashurst bent over her who had borne for over forty years -the title of Princesse de Rochebazon, and saw that, at last, the light -had gone out of her eyes forever, he recognised how her dying words -had changed his whole existence. Not only was he no more the heir to -the wealth she had put by for him--his honour never halted for one -moment in telling him that, or in dictating the renouncement of every -sol that was hers--but also there had arisen before him a task which, -his honour again speaking clear and trumpet-tongued, he must devote -his life to fulfilling. He had to find the true Prince de Rochebazon, -or, which was more likely, if he ever succeeded in his search at all, -to find that man's children and put before them a plain account of all -the wealth which was theirs, even though they should not be induced to -accept it. - -That if he could discover the missing de Rochebazon, even though he -were still alive, he would find him willing to reclaim what was his, -he doubted. A man who could for more than forty years renounce one of -the most brilliant positions in France because of his religious -convictions was not very likely now to alter those convictions, he -knew. Also Martin Ashurst's acquaintance with the land over which the -Grand Monarque reigned was amply sufficient to tell him that here, and -under the all-powerful domination of the self-righteous De Maintenon, -Louis would never allow a hated Protestant to step into the wealth and -titles of so Romish a family as that of the de Rochebazons. Between -these two stumbling blocks, therefore--the Protestantism of the lost -man on one side, and the bigotry of the arbiter of France on the -other--it was scarcely to be hoped that even though he should find him -whom he sought, he should succeed in his endeavour to restore to that -man what was his. - -Yet, because he was honest and straightforward, he swore to at least -make the attempt. - -Regaining his own room, in which the lights had been placed--even with -the mistress and last ruler of the great house lying dead in it, the -major domo had deemed it fit that waxen candles should blaze from -girandoles in every passage and room of the hotel, and that naught -should be omitted which testified to its sumptuousness and -magnificence--he recollected that he was still grasping in his hand -the packet which the dying woman had directed that hand to, for he had -forgotten almost that he had received it from her, so agitated was he -during her last moments; now that it recalled its presence to him, he -determined that he would as soon as might be discover what it -contained. - -But first he knew that there were other things to be done: Orders to -be given that due proclamation of her death should be made; that, -above all, the heads of her Church should at once be communicated -with, since the monk now praying by her side would not, he was aware, -quit the house, even though he had to leave the body while it was -prepared for the grave; that a courier should be sent to Marly, where -the king was; that the seals should be put on everything. - -There was much to do still ere he could open that packet which might -tell him all--or nothing. - -Yet by midnight, before the great bell struck the hour from St. -Eustache, as much was done as possible. Aurora, Princesse de -Rochebazon, lay, not in her coffin; that, with its emblazonments -and silver feet and coronets at its corners, as well as the great -silver plaque telling of all the rank and honours and titles she had -borne--unrighteously, if her own dying words were true--could not be -prepared hurriedly. Instead, upon her bed, now transformed into a -temporary bier, as the great room in which she had died had been -transformed into a _Chapelle Ardente_. Also the courier was gone, the -Church apprised of the death of its open-handed benefactress; already -the Abbé Le Tellier (confessor to the king and all the royal family, -and titulary bishop and coadjutor of Reims) was here, he having -arrived from St. Cloud as fast as his _chaise roulante_ could bring -him; also the place swarmed with priests--Theatines, Dominicans, -Benedictines, and Augustines; the seals, too, were on doors and -coffers and bureaux. - -Likewise, Samuel Bernard, _traitant_ and banker to the _haut monde_, -had paid a visit and been closeted for an hour with the clergy. For -the Church was the principal inheritor of the de Rochebazon wealth, -and the time had come for it to grasp its heritage. - -Yet now, at midnight, the great house was at last quiet; the monks -prayed in silence in the room where the dead woman lay; the Suisse sat -behind the high closed gates refreshing himself with the flask of -yellow muscadine which the butler had brought him, and discussing with -that functionary what _legs_ each were like to get; some women -servants who had loved their dead mistress wept in their beds. - -All was still at last. - -Martin opened the packet in that silence--he had dismissed his own -servant an hour before--and inspected its contents. - -They were not numerous--half a dozen letters and a lock of hair, -golden, fair as the ripening cornfield, long, and with a curl to it. -But, except that and the letters, nothing else. Whose hair it was that -had thus been preserved in a piece of satin Martin never knew, yet -perhaps could guess. - -The letters lay one above the other in the order they had been -written. The first and uppermost had the upper portion of it torn -away, possibly by accident, or perhaps, instead, by the recipient who, -it may be, was not desirous that the place whence it was dated should -be known. At least such, Martin Ashurst fancied, might be the case. -The paper it was written on was yellow with age, the ink faded, yet -the words still clear and distinct, the writing firm. Because the top -of the sheet was torn away some of the first lines of the -communication were themselves missing, therefore the letter ran thus: - - -"... her fault upon me. _Soit!_ I bow to what you say. Yet, if -disinheritance of all that should be mine is your determination, my -place in the world you can never disinherit me from; I myself alone -can renounce that. The pity is great that you have it not also in your -power to deprive me of the qualities of mind and heart which you have -transmitted to me. Yet I pray God that I may find in myself the -strength to do so, to cast away from me the pride of race, the fierce -cruelty of heart, the intolerance of all that is not within my own -circle of vision. Also your power of hating another for the fault -committed, not by himself, but an unhappy mother--a mother driven to -sin by coldness from him who should have reverenced her; the victim of -a gloomy, morose nature, of a self-esteem that would be absurd even in -the king himself, of a pride that might rival the pride of Lucifer. - -"To reproach you, however, for sins which I may myself have inherited -from you--since even you do not deny me as your son--would be useless. -Therefore it is better for me to write at once that I do not oppose -the disinheritance with which you threaten me. Nay, rather, I go hand -in hand with you, only, also, I go to a greater extent. You tell me -that if I embrace the Reformed Faith no sol or denier of the de -Rochebazon wealth shall ever be mine, that I shall enjoy a barren -title. This you can not force me to do. I will support no title -whatever. Henceforth, neither de Rochebazon, nor d'Ançilly, nor -Montrachet, nor Beauvilliers have aught to do with me. I cast them -off. I forget that the house which bears those titles is one with -which I have any connection. I go forth into the world alone, under a -lowly name. The roof that covers me, the food for my mouth, the -clothes to cover my nakedness, will be earned by my own hands. -Moreover, so do I steel my heart that henceforth even my brother, -Henri, will be lost to me forever. He becomes, therefore, your heir; -may he find in you a better father than I have ever done. -Consequently, for the last time on this earth, I sign myself, - -"CYPRIEN DE BEAUVILLIERS." - - -Martin laid the paper down on the table before him and sat back musing -in his chair. "A stern, fierce determination that," he muttered to -himself, "arrived at by a man who would keep his word. Let us see for -the next." - -As he read this next one it was easy to perceive what course the -rupture between the father and son had taken; how the iron will of the -one had beaten down that of the other. Already the elder had sued for -reconciliation--and had failed. - - -"What you now desire," the man wrote, who had once been Cyprien de -Beauvilliers, "is impossible. First, on the ground of religion, and -secondly, because of yourself. I am now of the Protestant faith, have -embraced that faith in Holland, to which country you appear to have -tracked my steps, I know not how. Yet that you shall never be able to -do so in the future, I leave it at once, and from the time when I quit -it I defy you to ever discover my whereabouts. Let me remind you that -this change of faith alone is a bar to my ever reassuming my position -as your successor; if it were not such bar I would proceed to even -other extremes to deprive myself of the succession; would draw my -sword against France if by doing so I could more utterly sever myself -from you and all connected with you. - -"You ask me if I hate you? I reply that I hate the man who drove my -mother to evil by his intolerant and contemptible pride, and, fallen -as she became, I love and adore her memory. But my heart is not large -enough to find space in it for aught else. Not large enough----" - - -There was no more. The sheet of paper turned over at the word -"enough," and no other succeeded to it. - -Again Martin lay back musing. - -"He was firm," he murmured. "Firm. The years which have rolled by and -become forgotten since he wrote these lines, now so faded, prove that; -otherwise _she_ would have known of his existence, his whereabouts. -And--and--she was a just woman in spite of the deception of her life. -If she had known that he was still alive she would never have -consented to usurp all his rights. Nay, not though every priest in -France bade her do so." - -As the word "priest" rose to his mind he started with a new thought. - -"Who were the others," he whispered, "she said who knew of it? Louis, -the king! Almost it seems impossible. Then, next, the woman--his -wife--Madame! Also La Chaise and Chamillart. La Chaise, a -bigot--Chamillart, the man they speak of as _une fine lame!_ They all -know it, and will keep the secret well. What was it she said? 'They -will never tell.'" - -Once more from St. Eustache close at hand the hour rolled forth; -almost it seemed as if the deep boom of the great bell echoed in his -ears the words he had repeated to himself, "They will never tell." - -"Will they not?" he mused again. "Will they not? Neither Louis, nor -his wife, nor the priest, nor the scheming politicians. Will never -tell! Therefore all search must be unavailing. Yet--yet---we will see. -Only, even though I should find him, even though I forced from one of -them the acknowledgment that he still lived, was the true heir, would -he himself consent to take what is his? The man who wrote that letter -in bygone years will not have grown softer, more easily persuaded by -now. Yet I will make some attempt." - -He sought his bed now, and once there, still lay awake for some time -longer, musing and meditating on the secret which had been confided to -him; wondering, too, if what he was doing was owing absolutely to a -determination to right a great wrong, or, instead, was only the -outcome of that strong, latterly-embraced Protestantism of his, which, -through this embrace, now caused him to desire to outwit these -scheming papists. Yet he might have found the answer by studying his -own feelings, his own resolves, arrived at the moment he learned of -the hidden secret of the great family to which he was allied. For if -he held his tongue now it was easily enough to be supposed that all -which he had inherited from the dead woman would at once be made over -to him. If he spoke on the subject of the lawful inheritor, not one -jot of the fortune that woman had left him would ever come his way. - -Only he did not so reflect, did not remember, or, remembering, did not -hold that he was ruining himself in his determination not so much to -outwit the Romish Church and its principal adherents as to set right -the horrible wrong that had been committed--committed, in the first -place, by the real de Rochebazon himself toward his children by the -renunciation of all that he should have guarded for them; in the -second place, by those who were only too willing to assist in -depriving him, whom they doubtless termed the heretic, of what was -his. - -He rose the next morning with his mind made up as to what should be -his future course, as to what, from this very day, he would set about -doing. Rose, calm and collected, knowing that he had undertaken a task -that must deprive him of that inheritance which by his silence alone -might easily be his; a task that might, in the state of autocratic -government which prevailed in France, lead him to a violent end. - -Yet his mind was made up. He would not falter. Never. Even though he -should find the last de Rochebazon still as firmly set in his -determination as he had been in long-past years; even though when -found, if ever, he should spurn him from his threshold with curses for -having unearthed him, still he would do it. To right the wrong! To -repay in some way all that he had already received from this -family--his education, the luxury that had accompanied his earlier -days, the profusion of ease and comfort showered on him by one who, in -very truth, had no right to appropriate one crown or pistole of that -family's wealth. He would do it! To right the wrong! - -"Where," he said, sending for the _maître d'hôtel_, who presented -himself at once before him, already clothed in decorous black, "where, -do you know, is Madame de Maintenon now?" - -"I know not, monsieur, unless it be at St. Cyr. She is much there now; -almost altogether." - -"Can you ascertain?" - -"I will endeavour to do so, monsieur." - -"If you will." - -It was to her that, after the reflections of the night, he had -determined to address himself. To her, knowing full well even as he -did so, the little likelihood which existed of his obtaining any -information. Had not the woman now lying dead upstairs said that she, -among the others, would never tell? - -Only it was not altogether with the desire to obtain information that -he was about to seek her. Instead, perhaps, to volunteer some, to tell -her that he knew the secret of the manner in which the existence of -Cyprien de Beauvilliers had been ignored for many years; to see if -there was no possibility of moving her to help in the deed of justice. - -She was spoken of by some as God's chosen servant in France, as a -woman who was rapidly bringing a corrupt king, a corrupt court, a -corrupt land into a better path--a path that should lead to salvation. - -Surely, surely she would not be a partner in this monstrous act of -injustice, a participator in this monstrous lie. - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - -"LA FEMME, MALHEUREUSEMENT SI FAMEUSE, FUNESTE ET TERRIBLE."--ST. -SIMON. - - -Once past Versailles, and St. Cyr was almost reached, the horse which -Martin Ashurst had ordered to be made ready for him that morning -bearing its rider easily and pleasantly along. Almost reached, yet -still a league off, wherefore the young man once more set about -collecting his thoughts ere that distance should be compassed. -Arranged once more in his own mind the manner in which he would -approach "Madame," if she would consent to receive him. - -After much consideration, after remembering, or perhaps it should -better be said never forgetting, that what he was about to do might so -envelop him in perils that his life would not be worth a day's--nay, -an hour's--purchase, he had decided that he would be frank and -truthful--that was it, frank and truthful--before this woman who was -now the king's wife, this woman who held the destinies of all in -France in the hollow of her hand almost as much as they were held in -the hand of Louis. - -He would plainly tell what he knew, or thought he knew; would seek -confirmation of that knowledge from her into whose house, to whose -presence, he was determined, if possible, to penetrate. - -If she would consent to receive him! - -Only--would she? - -He knew that, by all report, even by such gossip as penetrated as far -as London, where she was much discussed in not only political but also -general circles, an audience with her was as difficult to be obtained -as with Le Dieudonné himself; that, with few exceptions, none outside -the charmed circle of the royal children, her own creatures, and her -own ecclesiastics, were ever able to penetrate to her presence. Nay, -had he not even heard it said that those on whom she poured benefits -could never even obtain a sight of her? that her especial favourites, -the Duchesse du Maine, the brilliant Marshals Villars, Tallard, and -d'Harcourt, could get audience of her only with difficulty? And these -were her friends, and he was--she might well deem that he was--her -enemy. - -All the same he was resolved to see her if it were possible. - -His dead kinswoman had been her friend, surely his passport was -there--in that. - -He reached the outer gate of St. Cyr even as the clock set high above -it struck one, and addressing himself to a soberly clad man servant, -who was standing by the half-open gateway which led into a courtyard, -he asked calmly if "Madame" was visible--if it was permissible for him -to see her? - -Then, at first, he feared that he had indeed come upon a bootless -errand, for the grave and decorous servitor showed in his face so deep -an astonishment at the request, so blank an appearance of surprise, -that he thought the answer about to issue from the man's lips could be -none other than one of flat refusal. - -"Madame," he answered, in, however, a most respectful tone, "sees no -one without an appointment. If monsieur has that she will doubtless -receive him, or if he bears a message either from his Majesty or the -Duc du Maine. Otherwise----" and he shrugged his shoulders -expressively. - -"I have none such," Martin replied, "nor have I any appointment. Yet I -earnestly desire to see Madame. I am the nephew of--of--the Princesse -de Rochebazon, who died yesterday. She was Madame's friend. If I can -be received upon that score I shall be grateful." - -At once he saw that, as it had been before--upon, for instance, his -journey from the coast toward Paris--so it was now. That name, his -connection with that great and illustrious family, opened barriers -which might otherwise have been closed firmly against him, removed -obstacle after obstacle as they presented themselves. - -The look upon the man's face became not more respectful, since that -was impossible, but less hard, less inflexible; then he said: - -"If monsieur will give himself the trouble to dismount and enter the -courtyard his name shall be forwarded to Madame. Whether she will -receive monsieur it is impossible for me to say. Madame is now about -to take her _déjeûner d'après midi_. But the name shall be sent." - -Therefore Martin Ashurst, feeling that at least he was one step nearer -to what he desired, dismounted from his horse, and resigning it to a -stableman who was summoned, entered the courtyard of the château, or -institution, as it was more often termed, of St. Cyr. An institution -where the strange woman who ruled over it brought up and educated, and -sometimes dowered, the daughters of the nobility and gentry to whom -she considered something was due from her. - -At first he thought this courtyard had been constructed in imitation -of some tropical garden or hothouse, so oppressive was the heat caused -in it by the total exclusion of all air--a heat so great that here -rich exotics grew in tubs as they might have grown in the soil of -those far distant lands, notably Siam, from which they had been -brought by missionaries as presents to their all-powerful mistress. -Then he remembered that among other things peculiar to this woman was -her love of warmth and her hatred of fresh air--perhaps the only -subject on which she was at variance with Louis. And sitting there in -the warm, sickly atmosphere, waiting to know what reception, if any, -might be accorded him, he wondered how the king, whose love of open -windows and of the cool breezes which blew across the woods and -forests of his various palaces and châteaux was proverbial, could ever -contrive to pass as much of his life as he did in the confined and -vaporous air which perpetually surrounded his wife. - -As thus he reflected there came toward him an elderly lady, preceded -by the servitor who had received him--a woman dressed in total black, -whom at first he thought might be Madame de Maintenon herself, would -have felt sure that it was she had not the newcomer, bowed--nay, -courtesied to him--as she drew; near, while she spoke in a tone of -civil deference which he scarcely thought one so highly placed as the -king's unacknowledged wife would have used. - -"Madame will receive monsieur," this lady said very quietly, in a -soft, almost toneless voice, "if he will follow me. Also she will be -pleased if he will join her at her _déjeûner_." - -"It is Mademoiselle Balbien," the servitor said, by way of -introduction of this ancient dame, "Madame's most cherished -attendant." Whereon Martin bowed to the other with a grace which she, -"attendant" though she might be, returned with as much ease as though -her life had been passed in courts from the days of her long-forgotten -infancy. - -"Monsieur may have heard of me," the old lady chirped pleasantly as -now she motioned Martin to follow her, smiling, too, while she spoke. -"The Princesse de Rochebazon knew me very well indeed--alas, poor -lady, and she is dead!" - -Yes, Martin had heard of her, and from his aunt, too, as well as -others. Had heard of her deep devotion to the woman who now ruled not -only France but France's king--had heard, in truth, that the De -Maintenon might have been dead long years ago of starvation, of -bitter, pinching want, had it not been for this faithful creature. Had -heard his aunt tell, when inclined to gossip, of how Nanon Balbien had -taken Scarron's widow to her garret after the death of the bankrupt -and poverty-stricken poet; had shared her bed and her daily -meal--generally a salted herring and some bread--with the woman now -omnipotent in France; had preserved her life thereby and prevented her -succumbing to cold and destitution and starvation. Knew, too, that -there were those in France who said that in so doing Nanon Balbien had -unwittingly perpetrated the greatest sin, the greatest evil, against -the land that was possible. That it would have been better had she -left the object of her charity to die in the gutters of the street -than to preserve her life, and thereby raise up and nourish the snake -which sucked the life blood from France and all within it. - -Still following this old woman, through corridors from which all air -was as equally excluded as from the glass-roofed courtyard they had -left--corridors, too, in which there stood in niches alabaster busts -of saints, and one, with above it a sacred light, of the Figure -itself--Martin Ashurst went on, until at last he and his conductor -neared a huge ebony door the handle of which was of massive silver and -representing an angel's head--a door outside which there stood four -ladies in waiting, all dressed in black, none of them young, and one -only passably good-looking, yet whom he divined to be women of the -oldest and best blood in France, and divined rightly, too. Three of -them were high-born noblemen's daughters, one the daughter of a -prince--De Rohan. - -"Mademoiselle de Rochechouart," said Martin's guide, "this is the -gentleman. Will you conduct him to Madame?" and she drew back now, -resigning the visitor to the lady whom she addressed. - -"Come, monsieur," that lady said, her voice soft and low, "follow me." - -A moment later and he stood before the marvellous woman, the -Protestant woman born in a prison, now a bigoted papist and a king's -wife. Yet Martin remembered only at the moment the words of his dead -kinswoman, "Madame knows it." Remembered, too, how she had said of her -that she was one who would never tell. - -Almost he thought that she had but just risen from the _prie Dieu_ -which stood beneath another figure of the Saviour that was placed in a -niche here, as was its fellow in the corridor; that she had been -engaged in prayer while awaiting the moment when he should be -conducted to her presence. Thought so, yet doubted. For if she knew, -if she divined upon what errand he had come, would she, even she, this -reputed mask of duplicity, of self-righteous deceit, be praying on her -knees at such a moment? Or, for so also he thought in that swift -instant, was she seeking for guidance, beseeching her God to cleanse -and purify her heart, to give her grace to speak and to reveal the -truth? - -But now she stood there calm, erect, notwithstanding her sixty-five -years of life, waiting for him to be brought to her, for his approach. -Yet not defiantly or arrogantly--only waiting. - -The murmured words of Mademoiselle de Rochechouart served as -introduction; the courtly bow of Martin Ashurst made acknowledgment of -his presentation, then she spoke: - -"My tears, my prayers, my supplications for Aurore de Rochebazon," she -said--and he marvelled that her voice was so low and sweet, he having -imagined, he knew not why, that it should be harsh and bitter--"have -been offered up many times since I have heard of her death. Monsieur, -I accept as a favour at your hands that you have ridden from Paris to -see me here. Doubtless you knew that I should be soothed to hear of -the end she made. Is it not so, monsieur?" - -"It is so to some extent, madame. Yet, if you will be so gracious, -there are other matters on which I shall crave leave to address you, -if I have your permission." - -"You shall have full permission to speak as it may please you. Yet, -first, you have ridden from Paris. Also it is my hour for the midday -repast. Monsieur," and she put out her silk mittened hand, "your arm." - -And taking it she led him through a heavily-curtained door into an -adjoining room. Within that room, sombrely furnished, dark, too, and -somewhat dismal because of the ebony fittings and adornments, was a -table with covers for two. Also upon it a silver gong. And, alone to -relieve the gloom of all around, there stood upon it also a rich -_épergne_, filled almost to overflowing with rich luscious -fruit--peaches, choice grapes, and nectarines. - -At first Madame said nothing, or little, to Martin Ashurst beyond the -ordinary speech of a courteous hostess to a stranger guest; also -Mademoiselle de Rochechouart and a waiting maid were always present, -the former standing behind the mistress's chair and directing the -latter by a glance. But at last the _déjeûner_ drew to a conclusion, -the meal of few but extremely choice _plats_ was finished, and two -little handleless cups of coffee (which Madame de Maintenon never -concluded any meal whatever without) were placed in front of hostess -and guest. Then they were alone. - -"Now," she said, her deep eyes fixed upon Martin, "now tell me of the -end which Aurore de Rochebazon made. Tell me all--all--her last words. -They were those of one at peace, I pray." - -Her voice was sweet and low as she spoke, yet not more calm than that -of the man who sat before her, as he answered: - -"Madame, it is to tell you of her last words that I have sought your -presence. Yet, alas----" - -"Alas!" she repeated quickly. "Alas! Why do you say that? Alas--what?" - -"Her last words were scarce those of peace. Instead, the words of one -whose end was not peaceful; of one who wandered--was distraught--or -revealed in her dying moments a secret that should have been divulged -long, years ago." - -The ivory of his listener's face did not become whiter as he spoke, -neither to her cheeks did any blood mantle. There was no sign that in -the mind of this, woman, marble alike in look and heart, was any -knowledge of what the revealed secret was, or only one such sign. A -duller glance from the deep sunken eyes, as though a film had risen -before them and hidden them from him who gazed at her. Then she said: - -"Doubtless she wandered. Was distraught, as you say." - -"Nay, madame. For she left behind her proofs--letters--testifying----" - -"_What?_" - -"That my aunt was not the Princesse de Rochebazon. That, instead, she -and her husband usurped a position which was never theirs. That a deep -wrong had been done which must, which shall be, righted." - -"By whom?" - -"By me, with God's grace." - - - * * * * * * * - - -The night was falling as he rode back to Paris and entered the city by -the western gate, making his way to the Rue Champfleury. - -Yet neither the challenge of the _guet_ at the barrier nor the noise -inside it when once he was within the city, nor the crowd waiting -outside a theatre to witness a revival of L'Écolier de Salamanque, -which was the production of the poor decayed creature who had been the -first husband of the inscrutable woman he had visited that day, had -power to rouse him from his thoughts, nor to drive from out his memory -her last words: - -"Even if all this were true you will never find him. Even though he -lives you will never succeed." - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - -THE HOUSE BY THE BRIDGE. - - -"Come," said Martin to the trembling pastor, "come. We may do -something, avert some awful calamity. You are of their faith. They -will listen to you," and he arranged his _porte épée_ and motioned to -the old man to follow him. - -"Not you! Not you!" the other whispered, shuddering. "Not you! You -know not what will befall you if you take part in this." - -"Yes, I. I must go too. I am a Protestant as much as they. I tell you, -Pastor Buscarlet, I will wear the mask no longer. Come. Hark! There is -firing. Come. We can do nothing here. Help neither Huguenot nor -Papist." - -"On my knees I beseech you to stop," the old man said, flinging -himself upon them before Martin, "on my knees. You know not what you -do. Think, think! If these men have risen it is at the worst but -Frenchmen against Frenchmen. But with you--you are English. And we are -at war again. Oh! I sicken with dread that it should be known." - -"It can never be known. I have the French as well as you, or -they--better than they, for mine is the speech of Paris and theirs of -the mountains. Hark! they sing of Judah once more--also there is -firing. Come with me or let me go alone." And he tore himself from the -hands of the other. - -Yet he did not go alone; even as he stepped into the garden the pastor -went with him, running by his side to keep pace with his eager -strides, whispering, entreating as he did so. - -"Promise me, promise me, Martin," he said, "that you will take no part -in any fray that is happening, will not to-night proclaim yourself. -Oh, promise me! Remember," and he sunk his quavering voice even still -lower, "Cyprien de Beauvilliers." - -Recalled to himself by that name, recollecting the atonement of many -years that had yet to be made, the wrong that had to be righted, as he -himself had said, he too sunk his own voice, saying: "I promise. -To-night I do nothing." - -Down the street they went, therefore, together, Buscarlet's hand in -Martin's, both glancing at the closed windows of the thatched houses -and seeing the lights in them, with white faces against the mica panes -and dark eyes gleaming from behind curtains, yet with no head showing. -The orders to keep within doors were being followed. - -In all the street (there was but one) no form was visible; if it had -not been for the uproar at the end of it, where Le Tarn rolled under -the three small bridges, and for the spits and tongues of flame that -belched forth out of musketoons and carabines from the windows of the -"house by the bridge," beneath the deeper, denser flames that rolled -from under the eaves of that house, they might have deemed it was a -deserted village or one peopled only with the dead. - -Yet again the solemn chant uprose as they drew close to that house, -but mingled now with something deeper than itself--the hammering of -great trees, or tree trunks, on doors, the rumbling of flames escaping -from the burning house, the firing from the windows, the loud shrieks -from within the house itself. - -"What are you?" cried a huge man as they entered the crowd, "Papist or -Protestant? Child of God or Devil? Answer, or----" then ceased, seeing -Buscarlet still holding Martin's hand; ceased and murmured, "Pardon, -reverend; I did not see or know in the darkness. Yet begone; seek a -safer place. The villain has his house full of De Broglie's fusileers -to fire on us and help him. Oh, Lord of Hosts, wilt thou let them help -such as he?" - -"What will you--they--do?" Martin asked. - -"Release the prisoners. If he resists, slay him. We have suffered too -long." - -"Nay, nay," said Buscarlet, "that must not be. Murder must not be -done; or, if done, not by our side. Let the shedding of blood be -theirs----" - -"It has been for too long," the Cévenole answered sternly, his eyes -glittering. "It has been. Now it is our turn. What saith the -Scriptures? 'An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.' So be it! The -Papists have shed blood--our blood--like water; now let them look to -themselves. You know, father, that the downtrodden have risen. At -last!" - -"God help us all!" Buscarlet exclaimed, wringing his hands. - -"Ay, God help us all! Yet even he can not give us back our dead--those -who have hung in chains on the bridges of Montpellier, Nîmes, Anduse, -even here upon this bridge of Montvert. What balm is there for our -daughters whipped to death through the streets, our sons sent to the -galleys without trial, our pastors--your brethren--broken on the -wheel, burnt at the stake? We have risen; it will not end here. That -great evil king still sits in his great white palace, his reformed -wanton by his side; she is old now, yet she shall not es----" - -He staggered as he spoke, flung out his arms, then fell heavily to the -ground to the sound of a fresh discharge of musketry. The fusileers of -De Broglie had fired another volley from the windows of the abbé's -house, and a bullet had found the man's heart. - -"Come," said Martin, "come. We can do naught here. I may not draw my -sword. No use to be mowed down here. Let us gain the bridge; there are -no windows which give on that." - -Half supporting, wholly leading the unhappy old man, he made his way -through the besiegers who remained outside the house, some still -singing their psalms and hymns of praise, while amid them moved the -inspired ones, the prophets--men who were crazed with religious -fervour and maddened with persecution until they did, in truth, -believe that they were appointed by Heaven to direct and guide the -others. - -Also among this mass of infuriated peasants, some of whom fell or -staggered away as fresh discharges came from the house, were three -persons who had been brought from out of it. One, bent double from -long confinement in the stocks, was Masip, of whom Buscarlet had -spoken. The second was a girl not over sixteen, who screamed, "My -back, my back, O God, my back!" if any touched her. She had been -thrashed daily, because she would not be converted, by thongs steeped -in pitch which had been allowed to harden ere the abbé used the whip. -The third was an old man who could not stand, and with an arm broken. - -Gaining the bridge, Martin and Buscarlet saw a fresh sight of horror. - -The roof of the house was alight now. From between the walls and where -the eaves of thatch hung over, bubbles and puffs of flame burst out -and leaped toward the thatch itself, each tongue flickering higher -until at last the ends of straw glowed and sparkled, then caught and -began to burn. And on the sloping roof was a man crouching, his heels -dug tight into the dried straw and reeds to prevent him from slipping -down and over into the garden beneath, while with his hands he -frantically twisted round a chimney stack a coil of white rope which -another man, clinging himself to the roof, handed to him. - -It was the abbé and his valet. - -"Could we but save them," Buscarlet whispered, "but save them! Return -evil with good, repay his persecutions with Christian charity and -mercy. Oh, that we might!" - -"Nothing can save them," Martin replied, watching the men's actions in -the gleam of the flames from below, and also in the light of the now -fast-rising moon. "Nothing. They are doomed. If they stay there they -must be burned to death; if they descend it is only to be caught; also -if seen now, those below will shoot them like sparrows on the roof. -All are lost who are in that house--all! The soldiers too!" - -He had judged right. Both men were doomed. - -Infuriated by still further fusillades from De Broglie's soldiers by -which two more men were killed, maddened, too, by the sight of the -abbé's victims, some of whom were lying on the ground from inability -to stand, the rioters determined to make an end of their first act of -revenge. From the chapel, therefore, in the vicinity--into which they -had also broken by now--they fetched the benches on which the -worshippers sat, as well as the altar-rails and the pulpit, and piled -them up in the old square hall of the house, thereby to add fuel to -the flames. And also from the living rooms in that house they took the -furniture and flung it on too, not even forgetting the straw -mattresses which the soldiers had brought with them when the abbé -applied to Nîmes for a guard, saying that he feared an attack, and on -which they slept nightly. - -The house was doomed. - -Paralyzed with fear, terror-stricken and horrified, Buscarlet could -bear the sight no longer. His white hair streaming in the night -breeze, he rushed into the midst of the Camisards, screaming to them -to show mercy, begging them to desist, imploring them to forget their -own sufferings in the past, and to save the abbé and all within the -house. Yet his appeal touched not one single heart. - -"Away, old man," said one of the inspired prophets, "away to your bed -and out of this. The hour for mercy is gone; the servants of the Lord -have arisen. Go preach to women and babes; leave us, the priests of -men, to deal with men," and as he spoke he dragged Buscarlet out of -the crowd, telling Martin also to beware lest he interfered. - -The latter was nigh doing so now. Protestant as he was, with, in his -heart, a hatred for the cruelties which he knew the Papists practised -here in Languedoc--cruelties condemned, indeed, by many of their -brother Roman Catholics, so terrible were they--he could yet scarce -keep his hand from his sword hilt, scarce forbear rushing into that -burning house and endeavouring to save Du Chaila's life. - -For now the end was very near. If the man was not saved soon his -final hope was gone. The soldiers had fired their last shots, their -powder-horns and cartouches were empty, they were endeavouring to -escape, some leaping from the lower windows at which they, fortunately -for themselves, had been stationed, and plunging into the little river -and across it; some rushing out into the crowd of fierce Cévenoles, -only to be cut down to the earth by reaping hooks and scythes, or, -more happily, to escape with wounds alone. There were none left now in -the burning house but the abbé and his man-servant. On the former all -eyes were fixed, the crowd drawing farther back from the dwelling to -get a fairer view of the roof on which they could see him still -crouched, or moving on to the bridge, thereby the better to observe -his fate. And they gloated over it--these miserable peasants who had -turned at last, these human downtrodden worms who had not been allowed -to practise their religion in peace in their own land, nor permitted -to emigrate to others where they might do so; they fed themselves full -with revenge on this the first night of their uprising. One, a -marksman, raised his carabine and covered Du Chaila as he clung to the -roof--maybe his heart was not yet entirely warped nor turned to the -deepest tinge of cruelty, and he wished to end the wretch's -sufferings--but it was knocked up by half a dozen strong arms. A dozen -voices cried fiercely: - -"Help him not, assist him to no easy death. Remember our brothers' -dooms, our fathers in the flames, our girls' backs raw and bleeding. -Observe Fleurette lying there at your feet; let him expiate all. Then, -after him, the others. There are more to suffer too. Baville--ho, -Baville!--_le Roi de Languedoc_, as he is termed--the prior of St. -Maurice--the priest of Frugéres--it is their turn to-morrow." - -And above the roar of the flames these louder roars of threatened -vengeance rose; above all else their psalms were heard telling how -Jehoshaphat exhorted the people, how Jahaziel prophesied, and how the -God of Battles had delivered the enemy into their hands. - -The end was near. - -Du Chaila, the cruellest priest in the Cévennes--the man who, under -the office of Inspector of Roman Catholic Missions in Languedoc, had -for sixteen years perpetrated cruelties on the Protestants which, it -was said in the district, he could have only learned while a -missionary in Siam--was about to expiate his merciless rigour on -others. - -Part of the eaves overhanging the garden had by now fallen away in -great masses of charred straw. One of two things alone could happen -soon: either he must perish in the flames when the roof fell in, as it -would do in a few moments, or he must escape from that roof. It was -the latter which he prepared to attempt, hoping perhaps that even now -he might do so without his intentions being known. - -Slowly, therefore, he crept away from the spot where he had crouched -so long. They could see his hands and feet thrust deep into the thatch -at each move he made. He disappeared from their sight, yet for a -moment only; for as he left the side of the house where the rioters -were, so those rioters followed below in the road. Compactly, in a -mass, all went together, and silently. Their voices, their hymns had -ceased; but for their footfalls there was naught to tell of how they -were tracking the man from beneath as he himself moved above. Like -sleuth-hounds who make no noise as they follow their trail, yet follow -it unerringly, these human sleuth-hounds followed him. - -They passed round the house, they stood upon the slope leading to the -bridge. Between them and the house itself there ran a thick-set privet -hedge, separating the latter from the road and shielding the lower -rooms on that side from the dusts of summer and the snows of winter. -Now, on this July night, convolvuli and roses and honeysuckle twined -about it, dotting the deep green with many a delicate blossom and -emitting sweet perfumes on the air. And above this hedge, between it -and the roof, the doomed man was hanging at this time, clinging to a -rope made of twisted bedclothes, wrenched, doubtless, from the beds of -the upper rooms. - -None spoke in all that crowd, no hymn was sung. Save for the sobs of -Buscarlet and the moans of Fleurette, who lay in her sister's arms, no -sound broke the silence--none until, a second later, while all their -eyes were turned up to that frantic figure and while the moon's rays -glistened on their eyeballs, a piercing shriek broke the stillness and -the abbé fell headlong some thirty feet into the hedge, bounding off -from one of the stakes, that supported it at intervals, into the dusty -road; then lay there groaning. The roughly and hastily constructed -rope had given way, and in his fall, as was soon seen, his leg was -broken. - -"Spare me!" he moaned--he who had never yet spared one, man, woman, or -child--"spare me!" - -At first none answered him, none spoke. Then amid the silence, from -the lips of Pierre Esprit, the chief of the three prophets, the words -fell: - -"You are lost--your body in this world, your soul in the next." - -"Alas!" he wailed, "even though I have damned myself, will you too do -the same thing by murdering me?" - -His words were the signal for his doom. - -They rushed at him as he lay there and plunged their knives into his -body, one man exclaiming, "This for my mother, burned at Nîmes," -another, "This for my father, broken at Anduse"; a third, "This for my -brother, sent to the galley, '_Le Réquin_'"; a fourth, "This for my -sister, Fleurette, lying here." - -When his nephew, Le Marquis du Chaila, afterward recovered his body -from where they left it, it was pierced by fifty-two wounds, of which -twenty-four were mortal. - -"The beginning has been made," Pierre Esprit exclaimed. "There must be -no backsliding. Henceforth each man's hand to guard each man's life. -Now for the prior of St. Maurice, next for the priest of Frugéres. -While for those who have been rescued from that man's clutches, away -with them to the mountains and safety. Come, let us sing unto the -Lord." - -And up the slopes and pastures of the purple hills encircling the -little village rose once more the chant of the army of Jehoshaphat. - -Soon none were left in the blood-stained road but the pastor, -Buscarlet, lying where he had fainted, and Martin Ashurst, white to -the lips and endeavouring to arrange the dead man's limbs into -something resembling humanity. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - -AN EXODUS. - - -In the coming dawn, when the stars had paled and died away, and when -far off, where the Basses Alpes lifted their heads eastward, the gray -light turned into daffodil and told that the day was at hand, Martin -carried the pastor back into his little house. - -"Rest," he said, "rest, and endeavour to sleep. I pray Heaven you may -do so, after this night of horror." - -"Horror indeed!" Buscarlet said, sinking into the old leather-covered -_fauteuil_ that for years he had sat in so calmly and happily, though -solitary. "Horror undreamed of!" Then, a moment later, he went on: "I -thought--nay, I knew--that they would rise at last and throw off the -hideous yoke under which they bowed. Yet I deemed it would but be to -release those of our religion who suffered, to prevent others from -suffering too; to demand terms, even though only such terms as would -permit us to seek peace in far-away lands; but never dreamed of such -deeds as we have witnessed to-night. Where will it end? And how?" - -"There were those who muttered in that crowd," Martin replied, his -face still of a deathly pallor, "that it might not end until they -stood outside Louis' gates--were within them. And there were some who -seemed to know of what they spoke. Some who have been long leagues -away from this lonely valley shut in by these mountains--men who know -that on all sides and on all her frontiers France is sore beset. -Crippled by her fresh war with Spain, the attacks made on her on the -Italian border, also by the Dutch on the Rhine. Fighting as well my -own countrymen in Bavaria and the whole length of the Danube, even to -the borders of Austria." - -The mention of his own countrymen by Martin Ashurst seemed to bring -fresh trouble to the unhappy old man, to cause fresh terrors to spring -into his mind; for at those words he started in his chair and regarded -the younger one steadily, though with still upon his face the look of -misery that the events of the last few hours had brought forth. - -"Your own countrymen!" he repeated, half-dazed. "Your own countrymen! -Ay, ay, _les Anglais!_ Thank God, it is not known, and never will be -known, that you are either English or Protestant. Baville would not -spare you." - -"Baville need not perhaps know that I am an Englishman," Martin -replied calmly. "But one thing he will most assuredly know ere -long, when he begins to make inquiry into the doings of this past -night--namely, that I am a Protestant." - -"Know it!" Buscarlet exclaimed, trembling even more than before, -clasping his hands frenziedly as though overcome by a fresh fear. "How -should he know it?" - -"I shall announce it. For a certainty, shall not disguise it." - -"Martin, Martin," the old man moaned, "are you mad? Do you value your -life so little, desire so much the horrors of the wheel, the flames, -to have your head upon this bridge as others' heads have been, that -you will acknowledge this? Martin, for the love of God, pause. Think -of what such an acknowledgment would mean to you." - -"I have thought all through the night, even while I watched that man's -house burned beneath him as he hid on the roof; while I saw him done -to death. And, thus thinking, became resolved. Henceforth no power on -earth, no horror of awful death, of mutilation after death, can make -me disguise, keep back the acknowledgment of the form of faith I -belong to----" - -"Alas, alas! it _will_ bring death." - -"It may do so. If it does it must be borne. Yet, at the worst, I will -not think it can come to that. I am a Protestant; here, in your own -land, a Huguenot. Yet I am not one of those who slew the abbé. Shall -never imbrue my hands in blood. Ask only to be left in peace." - -"Alas," Buscarlet exclaimed again, "that is all that we have -asked--all! Yet you see the end. The woman who dominates Louis allows -no free thought, no religion other than her own; has dragooned -Huguenots into Roman Catholicism since the day the Revocation was -pronounced, has hung and burned and broken those who refuse to change. -How, then, can you hope to escape--you who were among the crowd that -performed last night's work?" - -"I took no part in his murder. Would have saved him if I could----" - -"That will not save you. Martin, you must flee from here at once. -Escape out of France. Be gone while there is yet time." - -"And de Rochebazon! His children's heritage! What of that?" - -Even as he uttered the words his determination to remain here at all -costs and in deadly peril seemed to act upon the old man's mind, to -clear his brain so clouded with the awful events of the past night, to -bring back to him the power of speaking and reasoning clearly, for -slowly yet weightily he answered: - -"As that heritage has done before, so it must do now. Must wait, -remain in abeyance. This is no time to prosecute your search. No sense -of justice on your part toward a distant kinsman can demand that you -should sacrifice your own life, at the least your liberty. Moreover, -remember, he or his descendants may not be here in Languedoc; may be -leagues away, in remote lands, for aught you know; even in your own -country, the home of the oppressed since James fell." - -"They said at Geneva it was beyond all doubt that he who was rightly -the de Rochebazon came here." - -"Grant that," the old man replied, calm now in face of the argument he -had to use, must use and drive home. "Grant that--that he came here. -Well, it is nigh half a century ago. Where may he not have gone to in -all that long passage of years? The Huguenots are everywhere--in -England, Germany, Scotland, the Americas, Switzerland, some even on -the far-off shores of the Cape of Good Hope. Why stay here seeking for -what is no better than a shadow, and at the risk of your own life?" - -For a moment it seemed as if his argument was about to prevail. -Into Martin Ashurst's face there came a look telling of deep -reflection--reflection that brought with it an acknowledgment of the -force of the other's words. And, observing, Buscarlet pressed his -argument home. - -"If alive, de Rochebazon never intends to claim what is his. If dead, -he has died and kept his secret well. While if living he knows not, -possibly, that those who were deemed the Prince and Princess de -Rochebazon have passed away, yet also he knew that for years they -usurped, although unwillingly, the place that was his, the vast -wealth. If you found him at last, even here, could you force him to -take back the heritage he renounced so long ago?" - -Still the other answered not. What could he say? On his face was still -the look of perplexity that had been there since first the pastor -spoke. And again the latter went on: - -"Moreover, granting even that--that--for his children's sake he would -return to the possession of his own, would emerge from the humble -position he has so long occupied--in France all Huguenots are humble -now, here in these mountains they are doubly so; few gentlemen of -France acknowledge themselves as such; all fear the court too much; if -you found him, if he consented, would he be allowed to return to what -is his proper place and position? You know the Romish Church which now -holds all in its hands that once was the de Rochebazon's. Will _that_ -ever disgorge? Would De Maintenon allow it to do so? You have seen -her? Answer." - -Even as Buscarlet mentioned that woman's name, Martin started. Yes, he -had seen her, and seeing, knew to what adamant he was opposed. Also he -recalled her words: "You may seek yet you will never find, or, finding -whom you seek, will never prevail." Remembered, too, the look of -confidence that had come into the livid face of the woman before him -and, as he remembered, wavered. - -Was it imperative on him to do more than he had already done in -voluntarily renouncing all the wealth his aunt had put aside for him -during years of saving? Was he now to throw his life away in seeking -for a shadow, a chimera? For it was not beyond possibility, it was -indeed most probable, that to such a pass he might come. - -At present he had committed no act which even the ruthless Baville, of -whom all in this portion of France spoke with bated breath--the -Intendant of the Province--could seize upon as a pretext for -hostilities to him. He had taken no part in the murder (or was it the -execution?) of the Abbé du Chaila; on the contrary, he had longed to -render help to the unfortunate wretch, though it had been beyond his -power to do so. But--but--if he should remain in the Cévennes, still -seeking for a man who, in sober truth, might for years have lain in -his grave or might be, if still alive, at the other end of the world, -was it certain that he would not perform some act which would place -him in Baville's grasp? And as a Protestant, even though it was never -known that he was an Englishman, and standing, consequently, in -hideous peril in France, what chance would there be of his salvation? - -Almost, as he reflected thus, he began to think that, if only for a -time and until these troubles had blown over, he must abandon his -search for the last of the de Rochebazons. This tempest which had -arisen could not last long, he thought; Louis could soon quell these -turbulent mountaineers; then again he could take up his task. - -"Come," he said to Buscarlet, sitting before him watching his eyes and -face to see what effect his words had on him, "come. At least I will -do nothing without due thought. Will not be foolhardy. Now eat, drink -something; it will restore you. Then after that some rest." Whereupon -he pointed to the table on which were still the remains of the last -night's little feast over which the poor old man had tried to make so -merry. "Here is some of your famous trout left," he said, struggling -to speak cheerfully, "and another bottle of the Crépi. Come, let us -refresh ourselves." - -"I feel as though I shall never eat again," Buscarlet whispered. -"Never after the doings of the night--never! Oh, the horror of it, the -horror of it!" - -"Still cheer up," the other said, uttering words of hope which he knew -could have but little likelihood of being verified, yet striving -thereby to soften the old man's mental agony. "This may be the end, as -it has been the beginning, on our--on the Protestant--side. When -Baville, the persecutor, hears that the harryings and the burnings and -the murders--for that was a murder we witnessed last night--are not to -be on his part alone, he may pause. Nay, even Louis, beset in every -way, at every frontier, his treasury drained, may himself give orders -to stop these persecutions." - -But Buscarlet only shook his head significantly, doubtingly. - -"With that woman at his side, by his elbow, never!" he exclaimed. -"Nay, nay, my son, he will not stop them. He is the Scourge of God; -sweeps before him all who love God. He will never stop them. If he -desired to do so, she would not let him." - -By now it was full daylight. Over the pastor's little garden with its -quaint, old-time flowers, among them many a sweet Provence rose -opening to the morning sun, that sun's rays streamed down. Also they -knew that the villagers were awake, if they had slept at all. Already -they were calling to each other, while some of them gathered in small -groups and discussed the events of the past night. Also all asked what -would be the end of it. - -"I can not sleep," Buscarlet said; "it is impossible. Let me go forth. -They are my people. I must be among them. Give them counsel. Oh, God -be thanked, there was not one of us in this hamlet who assisted in the -work." - -And he went out feebly through the window, Martin making no attempt to -prevent him, since he knew any such attempt must be futile. Instead, -therefore, he walked by his side. - -"Whence," he asked, "since none in the village took part in -the attack, did those men come? By their garb they are of the -mountains--goatherds, shepherds. Is it there the persecutions have -been most felt?" - -"It is there," the other answered, "that those who have been most -persecuted have fled. We may not quit our unhappy country. Every port -is barred, every frontier road guarded. Where, therefore, should those -whose homes are desolate flee to, whose loved ones have been -slaughtered, where but to the mountains? There none can follow them -or, following, can not find. Those mountains are full of caverns made -by Nature, God-given as a last resort of the outcast and wretched." - -They reached the open _place_ by the bridge as he finished speaking; -they stood outside the still burning remains of what had been Du -Chaila's house--the house seized by him from the man he had caused to -be hanged on the bridge, in front of the window from which the widow -and orphans looked daily until they too fled into the hills. Behind -the hedge over which grew the honeysuckle and convolvuli in such rich -profusion, the hedge on to which the doomed man had fallen, and on one -of the stakes of which his leg had been broken by the fall, they saw -his body lying. Near it also they observed other bodies which had been -dragged from the smouldering ruins, one being that of his valet, -another that of his man cook, a third that of an ecclesiastic named -Roux who had acted as his secretary. Also they learned that two -friends of the dead man, themselves missionaries back from Siam, had -been allowed to depart after being found hidden under a cartload of -straw. - -"Are all of those others gone?" Buscarlet asked, turning his eyes away -from the sight behind the lodge. - -"All are gone, _mon père_," a man answered from the crowd. "_Pardie!_ -it is best we all go too. By to-night the dragoons who have escaped -will be back from Alais. It is but ten leagues, and he (Baville) is -there. Be sure more soldiers will come with them; we shall be put to -fire and sword. And for those who are not slain--that!" And the man -pointed to the post on the apex of the bridge on which the night lamp -hung still alight, since none had remembered this morning to put it -out; on which, too, other things of a more fearful nature had hung in -all their recollections. - -"You hear?" Buscarlet whispered to Martin. "You hear?" - -"Yes, I hear," the other replied, calmly as usual. Then asked, "Do you -flee with them?" - -"Nay," the old man replied. "My place is here, by my church which I am -no longer permitted to enter--the church whose keys have been taken -from me after forty years. Yet I can not leave it." - -"Nor I you. I stay too." - -"God help us all!" the pastor said again, as he had said before, and -once more he wrung his hands. That his flock were going it was -impossible to doubt. They knew that henceforth Montvert was no abiding -place for them; that if they would not be ridden down or burned in -their beds, or hung as carrion on the bridge where when boys they had -played, or taken to the jails of Alais and Nîmes and Uzès, they must -go, and go at once. Later, perhaps, they might return, if it ever -pleased God to soften the hearts of their persecutors. But now, after -the doings of the night, this was no longer a home for them. - -History repeats itself; also events in one part of the world resemble -those occurring in the other. Even as in the old times before them, -the people of God had fled into the deserts of the East to escape the -tyranny of Pharaoh and of Ahab, even as the Covenanters had fled into -the Pentland Hills, so now the Protestants of the Cévennes fled into -their mountains to escape the persecutions of him whom they called the -Scourge of God. - -Peaceful, law-abiding men and women, asking only to be allowed to -worship their Maker in their own way, or, failing that, to depart for -other lands where they might do so unmolested, the refusal had turned -them at last into rebels, if not against the king, at least against -his local representatives--rebels who, having suffered long under the -cruelties of their persecutors, had now become cruel themselves. - -For the torch of rebellion was lighted at last in all Languedoc, and -ere long it flamed fiercely. The "Holy War" had begun. - - - - -CHAPTER IX. - -"BAVILLE! UN MAGISTRAT DONT LES EPOUVANTABLES RIGUEURS DOIVENT ÊTRE -SIGNALÉES À L'HORREUR DE LA POSTÉRITÉ."--SISMONDI. - - -Night was near at hand again and all were gone--all except Martin -Ashurst and the pastor, both of whom sat now upon the bridge of -Montvert, their eyes fixed always on the crest of the hill which rose -between the little town and the larger one of Alais. For it was from -that situation that they expected to see at last the flash of sabres -carried by the dragoons of de Broglie and the foot soldiers of de -Peyre, Lieutenant General of the Province, to observe the rays of the -setting sun flicker on their embrowned musketoon and fusil barrels, -and to hear the ring of bridle chain and stirrup iron. That they would -come on the instant that the intelligence reached Baville of what had -been done in Montvert over night it was impossible to doubt. And -then--well, then, possibly, since there were no human beings left to -be destroyed except these two men waiting there, the village would -itself be demolished, burned to the ground. Such vengeance had been -taken only a week ago on a similarly deserted bourg from which the -inhabitants had fled, though silently and without revolt. It might be -expected that the same would happen here. - -All were gone, the men, the women and children; the old, the feeble, -and the babes being carried by the stronger ones, or conveyed on the -backs of mules and asses. Also the cattle were removed--they would be -priceless in the mountain fastnesses; even the dogs had followed at -their masters' heels; upon those masters' shoulders and upon the backs -of the animals the household gods, the little gifts that had come to -them on marriage days and feast days, on christenings and -anniversaries, had been transported. - -The place was deserted except for those two men who sat there -wondering what would be their lot. - -That vengeance would be taken on them neither deemed likely; but that -both would be haled before Baville they both felt sure. Buscarlet was -known to be one of the Protestant pastors who, from the day when the -Revocation of Nantes was promulgated seventeen years before, had -fought strongly against his congregation attending the Romish masses -as the Government had ordered them to do. He was a man in evil odour, -though against him until the present time no overt act could be -charged. But now--now after the events of the past night, with those -dead Things lying there behind the hedge, what might he not be accused -of? - -"Yet," said Martin, as he leaned over the parapet of the bridge, -glancing sometimes up at the ridge which rose between Montvert and -Alais, expecting every moment to see the soldiers approaching, and -sometimes watching the long weeds in the river as they bent beneath -its swift flow, "yet of what can you be accused? You interceded for -him," and he directed his eyes in the direction of the dead abbé, -where he lay covered by a cloth, "besought them to show mercy, to -return evil for good. Also those men, those _attroupés_, were not of -this village nor of your flock. As well call you to account for the -invasion of a hostile army or foreign levy." - -But again Buscarlet only shook his head, then answered: - -"No, not of this village, nor of my congregation, but of the same -faith--Protestants! Therefore accursed in Baville's and his master's -eyes. That is enough." - -As he spoke, from far up in the heights toward Alais they heard the -blare of a trumpet ring loudly and clearly on the soft evening air; a -moment later and, on the white road that ran like a thread through the -green slopes, they saw the scarlet coats of the horsemen gleaming; -saw, too, a _guidon_ blown out as its rider came forward against the -wind; caught the muffled sound of innumerable horses' hoofs. Then, -next, heard orders shouted, and a moment later saw a large body of -dragoons winding down the hillside slowly, while behind them on foot -came the _milices_ of the province. - -"You see?" Martin said as he watched them. "Be calm. They can do you -no harm." - -And he leaned over the bridge again and continued to observe the -oncomers. - -Ahead of the main body, consisting of some hundred of cavalry and an -even larger number of Languedoc _milice_ or train bands, there rode -three men abreast. In the middle was one clad in a sober riding dress -of dark gray; the others on either side of him were rich in scarlet -coats much guarded with galloon, the evening sun flickering on the -lace and causing it to sparkle like burnished gold, and with large -laced three-cornered hats in which also their gold cockades shone, -while he on the left wore the rich _justaucorps à brevet_, a sure sign -not of a soldier of France alone, but of a soldier of high social rank -and standing. - -"He in the middle," said Buscarlet, "is Baville, the Scourge of the -Scourge. Be sure that when he comes with the soldiery the worst is to -be dreaded. That he deems his presence is necessary to insure fitting -vengeance being taken." - -"Fear not," said Martin. "They can not execute us here to-night; -afterward, inquiry will show that we have done nothing to deserve -their vengeance. Be calm." - -Amid clouds of dust from the road on which no rain had fallen for many -days the cavalcade came onward, reaching at last the farther end of -the bridge from where these two men stood side by side; then the -officer on the right gave the orders for all following to halt, and -slowly he with the other two rode on to the bridge itself and up the -slope to where Buscarlet and Martin stood. - -"It is the Lieutenant General, de Peyre," Buscarlet whispered. "The -other is the Marquis du Chaila, the dead man's nephew. O God! what a -sight for him to see!" - -"What has been done here?" said Baville, looking down at the two men -on foot who stood close by where they had halted their horses, though -not until he and his companions had turned their eyes to the burned -house, from which little spiral wreaths of smoke rose vertically in -the calm evening air. "What? And who, messieurs, are you?" - -The quiet tones of his full rich voice, the absence of all harshness -in it, almost startled Martin Ashurst. Was this the man, he -wondered--or could the pastor have been mistaken?--of whose cruelty to -the Protestants as well as his fierce and overbearing nature not only -all the province rang, but also other parts of the land far remote -from here? The man whose name was known and mentioned with loathing by -the refugees in Holland and Switzerland, in Canterbury and -Spitalfields? - -"Who are you, messieurs?" he repeated quietly, "though I think I -should know you, at least," and he directed his glance to the pastor. -"Monsieur André Buscarlet, _prédicateur_ of the--the--so-called -Reformed Religion, if I am not mistaken." - -"André Buscarlet," the old man replied, looking up at him; and now, -Martin observed, he trembled no more, but answered fearlessly, -"Protestant minister of Montvert and----" - -"Where," exclaimed the young Marquis du Chaila, "my uncle has been -barbarously murdered by you and your brood. Oh, fear not, you shall -pay dearly for it. Where, vagabond, is his body?" - -"Sir," said Martin, speaking for the first time, "your grief carries -you into violent extremes. This gentleman whom you term 'vagabond' has -had no part nor share in your uncle's murder. Neither has his flock. -The deed was done by the refugees from the mountains. Monsieur -Buscarlet attempted in vain to prevent it." - -"Bah!" exclaimed the marquis. "You are another Protestant, I should -suppose. Valuable testimony! Who are you?" - -"One who at least is not answerable to you. Suffice it that no person -in this village had any hand in the abbé's murder, that it was done by -the men of whom the pastor speaks." - -"To me, monsieur, at least all persons are answerable," Baville -interposed. "I am the king's Intendant. I must demand your name and -standing." - -"My name is----" he began, yet ere he could tell it a shout from the -foremost dragoons who had dismounted startled all on the bridge. Some -of these men had been engaged in tethering their horses close by the -hedge, several of the animals indeed had already begun to crop the -dusty grass that grew beneath it, and they had found the bodies. - -"My God, my God!" the marquis almost shrieked as he bent over the -abbé's form, the soldiers having led him to where it lay after he had -hastily quitted the saddle. "Oh, my God! my father's brother -slaughtered thus. Devils!" he exclaimed, turning round and glancing up -the long street, imagining probably that the inhabitants were all -within their houses. "Devils! was not his death enough, that you must -glut your rage with such butchery as this? See, Baville--see, de -Peyre, the wounds in his body. Enough to kill twenty men." - -Looking down from their saddles at the murdered man's form, which they -could observe very plainly over the hedge from the elevation at which -they were, the Intendant and the leader of the troops shuddered, the -former turning white beneath the clear olive of his complexion. Yet, -even as Martin observed him blench, he wondered why he should do so. -Countless men and feeble women and children had gone to the gibbet, -the fire, the wheel, and the rack, as well as to the galleys and the -lash, at this man's orders, unless all Languedoc and every Huguenot -tongue lied. Why should he pale now, except it was because this -retaliation, this shifting of murder from the one side to the other, -told of a day of reckoning that had begun, of a Nemesis that had been -awakened? - -"Baville," the young man cried again, "Baville! Vengeance! Vengeance! -He has died slaughtered at his post, as he knew he would die. But last -week, at our house in Montpelier, he spoke of how he was doomed -because he served God. Baville!--de Peyre! give the orders to fall on, -to destroy all. Otherwise I make my way to the king of the north and -cry on my knees for vengeance on these accursed heretics, these -bloodthirsty _Protestants_, as they term themselves. Burn down their -hovels, I say; slaughter them, exterminate." - -"Alas, unhappy man!" exclaimed Buscarlet, still firm in his speech -now, and undaunted before the distracted marquis, who had already torn -his sword from its scabbard and stood before them gesticulating like a -madman in his grief and rage. "What use to destroy empty houses, -barren walls? Besides ourselves there is no living soul left in all -Montvert." - -"What!" the two other men exclaimed together in their surprise. "What! -All gone? None left?" - -And now on the Intendant's face there came another look, also the -return of his dark colour, as he said: - -"Gone, yet you proclaim their innocence. Tell us in one breath that -they are guiltless, in another that they have fled. Do the innocent -flee?" - -"They feared your cruelty. They knew that your Church spares not the -innocent; that it punishes them alike with the guilty." - -"Blasphemer!" Baville exclaimed, though still his voice was low and -calm, belying the terrible accusation which lay beneath this word. -Terrible anywhere in France--now pious by law!--but doubly so in the -Cévennes. - -"I blaspheme not," Buscarlet said, waxing even bolder. "Pause. Look -back. Twenty-seven Protestants have been done to death by you in the -past month----" - -"Silence!" the other ordered, still in his unruffled voice, yet -uttering words enough to affright the boldest, "or I will have you -gagged; if that suffices not, strung up there," and he pointed to the -lamp. - -Then turning to the marquis, he said: - -"Be sure your uncle shall be avenged. Let them flee to the mountains, -yet we will have them. Extirpate them like rats in a granary. Julien, -the field marshal, has left Paris to assist in the holy work. -Meanwhile, de Peyre, send your men into every house in the place; see -if this abandonment is true. If not, if you find any, bring them -before me. As for you, and you," directing a glance at the pastor and -Martin, "you will sleep to-night in Alais. To-morrow a court will be -held." Then he added, under his breath, as though talking to himself: - -"You must be bold men. Otherwise you would have decamped too." - -"Or innocent ones," Martin replied, hearing his words, low as they -were. "You yourself have said it. Asked but now, 'Do the innocent -flee?'" - -The Intendant bit his lips; the _riposte_ had gone fairly home. Then, -while de Peyre gave his orders and told off some of the dragoons to -enter and search every house in the village, and the marquis, who was -in command of the _milices_, bade them take up the bodies carefully -and cover them decently with their capes, Baville glanced down at -Martin, saying: - -"Monsieur, I do not know you. You are not, I think, of this locality. -Yet I observe you are of the better classes. Where is your property?" - -"In La Somme, department of the Ile de France. I am a proprietor; the -property of Duplan La Rose is mine, such as it is." - -Had he not in truth been the owner of this property he would have -scorned to shelter himself beneath a falsehood. Had he been asked his -faith it was his fixed resolve to declare it, as, had it been possible -for Baville to recognise that he was an Englishman--which, after his -earliest years being spent in France, was not so--he had determined to -avow his nationality, no matter what the consequences might be. But so -far the truth alone was necessary. - -When his father waited long and eagerly for the time to come for the -Stuart Restoration--as no follower of the Stuarts ever doubted it -would come, sooner or later--he, hating Paris and all its garish -dissipations under the then young and immoral king (the king now so -old and self-righteous!), purchased this property from the Baron -Duplan La Rose, a man himself broken and ruined by his participation -in the outbreaks of the Fronde. Purchased it because all the Ile de -France and the Pas de Calais were full of English refugees waiting -like himself for happier days to come; also because, when the time did -come, it would be near to England. And he dying, it became Martin's -property. - -Baville touched his hat as an acknowledgment of Martin's explanation, -perhaps also as an acknowledgment of his position, since he was a -great believer in _les propriétaires_ as men who were almost always -opposed to the murmurings and discontents of the _canaille_ and _les -ordres bas_, such as the wretches belonged to who had massacred the -abbé and the others. And as he did so he said: - -"Monsieur is therefore a visitor here only--to--perhaps"--and his eyes -rested piercingly on Martin--"Monsieur Buscarlet?" - -"Monsieur is," Martin replied, "a visitor here seeking for a lost -person. A connection by marriage. A man who has been wronged, has -partly wronged himself. Monsieur has lodged with Monsieur Buscarlet -before." - -"May I demand the name of the lost man?" - -"Alas, monsieur, I do not know it. He discarded his own over forty -years ago. That which he has adopted I can not tell you. Also he may -be dead and my quest in vain." - -"Would he be," and again his eyes stared fixedly into the eyes of the -other man, "would he be, do you think, of--of--well--of Monsieur -Buscarlet's religious faith?" - -"He would." - -"I hope you will find him, sir. If you do so, use your utmost -endeavours to persuade him to abjure that faith. Otherwise the -province of Languedoc will be no pleasant refuge for him henceforth, -even though he has been here for the forty years you speak of. Now, -sir," and he left this subject to speak of that which had brought him -to Montvert, "I must beg you will accompany us to Alais. As a visitor -to the neighbourhood and, as I suppose, a person not interested in our -unhappy local troubles, you can give us much information as to how -last night's murder was perpetrated. You are, I presume, willing to do -so?" - -"I am willing to speak as truthfully as I can on the matter. To speak -as I do now, when I tell you that neither Monsieur Buscarlet nor any -of the inhabitants of this place had any hand whatever in last night's -doings." - -"I shall--the Court will be--glad to be assured of that," Baville -replied. - - - - -CHAPTER X. - -THE LIGHTED TORCH. - - -The night had come, and, with the exception of one troop of dragoons -and one company of the _milices_, also with the exception of the -Marquis du Chaila, who had remained behind with the intention of -having his uncle's body properly interred, all were on their way to -Alais. - -And behind Baville and de Peyre rode Martin and Buscarlet, the former -on his own horse, the pastor on one which had belonged to the dead -man. - -It was a night such as those who dwell in the south--in Languedoc, or -Provence, or Dauphiné--in the height of its summer know well. A night -when, up from the Mediterranean, but a few leagues away, there come -the cool breezes that sunset invariably brings, and when, from the -caps of the purple mountains, the soft evening air descends, passing -over cornfields and meadows and woods after it has left the sterile -and basaltic summits until, when it reaches the valleys, its breath is -perfumed and odorous. Summer nights so calm and soft that here the -nightingale remains later than is its wont in other spots and sings -sometimes far into August and September, the throats of hundreds of -birds making the whole valley musical. - -Now, however, their trills were drowned by the clank of sabres against -the flanks of the horses bestridden by the dragoons, by the rattle of -chain and bridle, the occasional neigh of the animals, and by various -orders given as all went forward. Also by the hum of conversation as -the men talked to one another. - -Suddenly upon the night air, however, there came now another sound, -silencing and deadening all else--a sound that subdued and deadened -even the clatter of harness and accoutrements, the voices of the men, -the songs of the birds of night. The sound of the deep booming of a -bell not far off which swelled and rose in the summer calm, as -sometimes it rang violently and sometimes slowly and intermittently, -sometimes ceased, too, and then began again, with sharp, hurried -clangs, as though rung by some frightened, terror-stricken hand. - -"It is the tocsin," one hoarse-throated dragoon called out, who rode -in the troop behind the leaders, "the tocsin from some village church. -Is more murder being done? Are more abbés being slaughtered?" - -"The fellow speaks truly," de Peyre said, then roared himself at the -top of his voice: "Who among you knows the locality? What village is -near?" - -From twenty mouths the answer came at once: "It is Frugéres. The place -is close at hand. The steeple is the highest for miles around." - -Even as these men spoke, their voices were in their turn silenced or -drowned by still more numerous shouts from others in the cavalcade. - -"See, see!" those other voices yelled. "There is a fire--a church that -burns. Behold!" - -"My God!" Martin heard Baville whisper to himself, though not so low -but that the words were distinguishable. "The fanatics have attacked -another priest, another church. This is no riot, but a rebellion." - -Then he turned at once to de Peyre and said hurriedly but -authoritatively: - -"Order all forward. They are there. We may be in time to save some. -Also to trap these mountain wolves. Forward, I say! Give the word of -command." - -From de Peyre that word went forth, harsh and raucous as bellowed from -the lips of the rough soldier who had fought at Senef and Ensisheim -and had himself taken orders from Turenne and Condé. A moment later -every man who was mounted was spurring toward the thin streak of flame -that rose in the night air half a mile ahead, while the _milice_ -followed on foot as fast as they were able. - -"Pray God, no more horrors are being perpetrated," Buscarlet muttered -as he rode by Martin's side down the dusty road. Then murmured: "God -forgive them. God forgive them. They are mad." - -"_He_ may forgive them," said Baville, who had caught his words, and -paraphrasing unconsciously as he spoke the words of one by whose side -he would have been accounted obscure and humble. "He may. I never -will. Oh, that Julien arrives ere long! Then--then--then--they shall -know what it is to outrage Languedoc thus." - -The flames grew more furious as all neared the tower whence they -issued. It was the tower of the church at Frugéres; behind those -flames rose the thick white smoke from the burning material below. -Also great pieces of the copings were falling from the summit, and -sometimes a pinnacle or gargoyle fell too. And once as they drew near -there came a smothered clang, followed a moment later by a deep -sonorous clash, and those approaching rapidly knew that the great bell -had fallen from its beam, probably by now burned through, and had been -hurled far down below. - -Upon the air as this happened there rose a psalm, a hymn of praise, -telling how the false priests of Baal had been consumed by the flames -of God's wrath in ages long since past, also the shouts and cries of -many voices. Yet none of those shouts were derisive, none scornful or -contemptuous. Instead, the shouts and cries of avengers who testified -to justice being done on sinners; who approved of the justice, yet saw -no reason for adding rejoicing to that approval. - -"See," cried Baville, "they are there. Behold! They move below the -tower. We have them. De Peyre, give the order to charge. At them, -among them, spare none." - -The belief in witchcraft was not yet dead in the world. People still -believed in sorcery and enchantment. What wonder, then, that the -dragoons thought there was some necromancy in the fact that, as they -tore down the dusty road, their blades gleaming in the light cast by -the flames, all against whom they rode vanished suddenly? Were there -one moment, gone the next. It seemed incredible. Half a hundred men -had been before them when they were five minutes' distance off; now -that they had reached the burning church, not a living soul was to be -seen. Truly it savoured of the miraculous. Yet, ere many months had -passed--indeed, but a few weeks--these soldiers, and others too who -were soon to join them, learned that no foe against whom they had ever -been opposed possessed so thoroughly the art of sudden disappearance -as did these fanatics, known later as the Camisards. For, trained in -their mountain homes to every physical feat--to leaping great chasms, -climbing dizzy heights unaided by aught but their strong and agile -feet and hands, descending giddy precipices as easily as their own -goats--they could disappear, disperse, as quickly and as thoroughly as -the snow wreath under the spring sun. Could lure on bodies of their -enemies to sports fraught with danger to all but themselves, into -quagmires and morasses, lonely mountain passes and fatal hilltops, -then themselves vanish and be no more seen. - -It was so now upon this second night of their uprising. - -As the dragoons charged down upon the paved, open _place_ outside the -church of Frugéres they charged upon empty space alone, encountered -nothing that offered resistance either to their onrush or their -gleaming blades. Nothing but the dead body of a man, a priest, lying -on those stones beneath the tower, the head broken in, the limbs -twisted and contorted. - -"_Grand Dieu!_ what are we dealing with?" exclaimed the Lieutenant -General, wiping the sweat from his face as his men pulled up around -him, while some rushed into the church on foot, their long swords in -their hands, ready to be thrust through any breast that they -encountered, and others to the presbytery, thinking the _attroupés_ -might be hiding there. "With human beings or devils?" - -"Nay," said Baville, "with the children of the desert and the -mountains. Yet also the children of the devil. They escape but for a -time, however. Even these jugglers can not disappear when they are -surrounded. And," he added, striking one white-gloved hand into the -palm of another, "they shall be surrounded by such a fast-closing -circle that ere long not one shall escape. I swear it here before this -murdered man." - -Easy to swear such an oath. More difficult to keep it. As, at last, -Baville found. - -"Who is he?" Martin asked. Then added in a whisper to Buscarlet: "This -is murder, not justice. Cruelty, not retribution. See, he is an old -man." - -"You are right, sir," Baville replied, whose ears nothing ever -escaped. "Yet be sure their time will come." Then, looking down at the -dead priest, he also asked, "Who is he?" - -"It is the reverend curé," one of the dragoons said, regarding the old -man and wiping from his face at the same time the beads of -perspiration, even as his leader had done a moment before. "I know him -well; am of the next parish. He has thrown himself from the tower. As -well have staid for the flames as perished thus, broken all to -pieces." - -All gazed down also as the man uttered these words, and as they did -so, none speaking, they recognised that they were face to face with an -awakened fury, with a vengeance that had slumbered but which now awoke -even as the baited lion awakes and turns at last to rend its foes. - -For more than sixteen years the _affectés_, the New Religionists, the -Heretics, had bowed their heads beneath the yoke of him whom they -called the Scourge of God, as well as of the priests and the De -Maintenon, the woman whom Louvois and La Chaise had once used as an -instrument to work on her lover's intolerance, but who, since she had -become that lover's wife, had herself carried on the system. Born a -Protestant, she had seen that the king's mind became more sunken in -superstition as he grew near his end, and that, to keep that mind -under her subjection, the surest way was to persecute those whom she -had deserted and whom she hated. Therefore she revelled in their -suppression, therefore she boasted to her sister bigot, the Princesse -des Ursins, that in twenty years, if Louis' life was spared, there -would be no more Huguenots in France. - -Meanwhile her orders were carried out strenuously wherever Protestants -harboured, especially so in the Midi. "_Saccagez ces chiens des -Huguenots, saccagez les, c'est la volonté du roi_," her minister, -Louvois, wrote. "Drive out _ce monstre de l'hérésie, ces chaires de -pestilence, ces synagogues de Satan_," exclaimed the priest. And it -was done. - -Swiftly to all the jails in the warm south, to the galleys waiting at -Marseilles for their victims, to the lamp-posts on the town and -village bridges, to the fuel in the market places, to the axe, the -wheel and the rope, the Protestants were hurried. - -Also the dragonnades began. The dragoons, _les cravats_, were -quartered in houses, sometimes in Protestant churches. Wives and -daughters were so treated that, to hide the bitterness of their shame -and to escape the horror of ever meeting their father's or brother's -glances again, they took their own lives. They need not have feared -those glances, for, the jails being soon full to overflowing, hundreds -of male Protestants were huddled off in crazy brigs and tartans and -snows to the Mississippi and New France generally, where, if they were -not drowned on the way, they mostly perished from the effects of the -climate or by the hands of the Natchez. - -For sixteen years it had gone on. By the end of that time the -Protestant churches were all closed and the Protestant ministers -forbidden to perform their services under pain of death; scores, -indeed, had been executed for doing to, while still scores more, at -the risk of death, performed those services and held Divine worship in -the mountains and woods. Also none were allowed to quit the land who -could be prevented from doing so, though a hundred thousand did manage -to escape to other countries, high-born women and girls being -disguised in most cases as muleteer's boys; high-born men of the -oldest blood in France--such men as Ruvigny and Duquesne--driving pigs -and asses toward the frontier, or disguised as pilgrim monks, or -pushing handcarts full of fruit and vegetables or Nîmes serges, which -they pretended they were desirous of selling. But these were people of -wealth, people who left behind them in their flight the châteaux in -which countless generations of their race had been born, left also -their rich furniture and equipages and costly plate and silks and -satins, and the woods and forests and vineyards to which they had been -born the heirs and to the enjoyment of which they had looked forward -for the rest of their lives. Or they were skilled mechanics and -artisans who could gain a livelihood wherever they found themselves. -But for the poorer sort there was no flight possible; if they left -France they must die of hunger in other lands. They had no money, -could speak no tongue but their own, often knew no trade by which they -could earn their bread; understood nothing beyond the breeding of -cattle and the arts of husbandry. Yet they, too, fled from -persecution, though in a different manner. High up in the gloomy and, -to strangers, inaccessible plateaux of the Cévennes--a region of -sterile mountains on which for six months in the year the snow -sometimes falls unceasingly, while for the other six the heat is -almost the heat of the tropics--they sought a refuge. Here in this -mountainous region, which covers an extent of one hundred and twenty -miles, they found a home, here worshipped God in their own fashion and -unmolested, which was all they asked, yet saw with horror, when -disguised they ventured down into the plains, the misery that was -still overwhelming those of their own faith. Also they knew that plans -were being formed for their extermination; that from Paris was coming -an army under Julien, a bloodthirsty soldier who had once been a -Protestant like themselves, but who was now a convert possessing all -the tigerish fury of the convert against those whom he had deserted; -knew that Du Chaila was the most brutal of all priests as Baville was -the most cruel of all rulers. No wonder that they groaned over the -ferocities inflicted on any of their number who were caught below in -the plains. The capture of the girl Fleurette and of the guide Masip -ignited the flame of revenge which had long been smouldering. But even -then, when they descended to Montvert, it was more with the desire of -rescuing the victims than aught else. In their hearts there had been -at first no intention of murdering either the abbé or the curé of -Frugéres. Moreover, it was not against Louis that they rebelled but -against his Church and the priests of that Church. - -But Du Chaila had caused the dragoons to fire on them, and the first -shot from the soldiers' musketoons had roused their passion; also it -brought about a conflict of horrible cruelty and bloodshed which the -passage of years alone extinguished. For now that war of retaliation -had commenced which two of Louis' field marshals were successively -unable to quench, and which a third only succeeded in doing, more by -diplomacy and tolerance than by steel or ball. - - - * * * * * * * - - -"What has he on his breast?" asked Baville, leaning over the dead -priest and pointing to something white that gleamed in the light cast -by the flames from the burning church. - -"A scrap of paper, Monsieur l'Intendant," the dragoon who had taken -the most prominent part among his fellows replied, "with writing upon -it. It is pinned to his vest." - -"Give it to me." - -Then he read aloud, not heeding, apparently, whether either Buscarlet -or Martin heard the words: - -"This paper replaces another containing the names of a score of men to -be denounced to the monster, Baville. The man has gone before his God. -Baville will follow." - -"Will he?" the Intendant said to himself in a low, clear voice, -which all heard. "Will he? Doubtless some day, but not now. For a -surety not before these wolves have been tracked to their caves and -exterminated--as they shall be--as they shall be." - -And all watching him in the lurid light cast from the burning tower, -saw that the white-gloved hands were opened and clenched again twice, -as though he had the throats of those wolves he spoke of within them. - - - - -CHAPTER XI. - -"CONSORTING WITH HERETICS." - - -It was midnight when all rode into Alais, and the iron shoes of the -horses clattering on the cobble-stones of the street woke from their -beds the few who were asleep. - -There were, indeed, not many who slept that night at this hour, since -all knew that the fanatics, as they were invariably termed by those of -the vicinity who were not of the Protestant religion, had descended -from the mountains upon Montvert and had slain the abbé. Also all knew -that, two hours before sunset, the dreaded Baville had gone forth -escorted by de Peyre and his cavalry as well as by the _milice_ of the -province--gone forth to inflict a terrible vengeance on the murderers. -Had they done so? they asked each other feverishly now as the dragoons -rode in, the rattle of hoofs and scabbards and bridle chains deadening -the whispers they addressed to each other. Had they done so? - -Perhaps it was not strange that here, in this little town nestling in -its rich valleys, the slopes of whose hills were covered with -cornfields and vineyards and chestnut woods, the beauty of which was -so extreme that in the language of the Cévenoles it was termed the -_Hort Dieu_, or, in purer French, _Le Jardin de Dieu_, all should have -whispered their imaginings, since it was in Alais particularly that -religious opinion was much divided, the Reformed faith numbering -nearly as many adherents as the Romish. Whispered their imaginings -because each feared the hostile ears to which their uttered thoughts -and ideas might penetrate, none knowing as yet which side was to -prevail in the great struggle. For if Baville had destroyed the -Camisards, retribution would be swift and strong on all who were -Huguenots; if, on the contrary, he had failed, those of the older -faith might expect to find themselves victims of an awful retaliation -before another night had come. - -At first none could discover aught. The dragoons with their leaders -and the two men--one old, the other young, who seemed like -prisoners--swept onward to the Hôtel de Ville. Soon the streets became -quiet again and all within the houses sought their beds, though, -perhaps, with not much hope of obtaining any rest. - -If, however, they did so hope, they were doomed to disappointment. - -For scarce had the clatter of the men led by de Peyre died on their -ears, scarce had the horses' hoofs ceased to ring down the streets, -than another hubbub arose. More trampling of cavalry and the ringing -of iron shoes upon the cobble-paved road was heard, more jangling of -accoutrements and more shouts and calls; also the blare of trumpets -and the deep, heavy roll of artillery over the stony streets. Whereon -many who had but just laid down upon their beds sprang up again and, -huddling on their garments, ran to their windows and doors, the -Protestants asking if this were some fresh force arriving to add to -their persecutions, the Catholics wondering if the fanatics had -descended from the mountains again and were besieging the town? Yet -soon the latter were assured that such could not be the case, while, -to counterbalance the other's feeling of safety, the Protestants -trembled more and more, not knowing what fresh horrors were preparing -for them, for all saw at a glance these were no mountaineers clad in -their white sheepskins, nor Camisards, but, instead, regular troops -well equipped and armed and uniformed. Also all knew that the -_attroupés_ had no artillery or horses. With different feelings, each -watched, therefore, this new arrival of soldiers and saw go by the -fierce dragoons of Joyeuse, the fusileers of Montluçon, the regiments -of Saultz and Bearne, and one of light-horse from the far north--the -chevaux-légers of Bapaume; saw, too, the artillery organized by -St.-Hilaire, now dead. - -"God help us!" the Protestants said, trembling behind their blinds, -"God help us! was this needed too?" while one old man, crouching -behind the fountain in the market place, whispered to another, "Those -great guns! those great guns! See! Are they to blow our houses down -above our heads?" - -"Tush!" exclaimed a tall man standing by their side, a fellow bronzed -and black from the winds of many wintry storms as well as from the -scorching rays of the southern sun. "Tush! they are for the children -of God, up there," and he turned a dark gleaming eye toward the dusky -summits above the little town, over which by now there was stealing a -cold gray that told of the coming of the summer morning. "Fear not for -yourself, or them up there. Baville's roads are not yet made and never -will be. Let us see that artillery mount into the Cévennes," and he -laughed scornfully, some might have deemed cruelly. - -Shrinking away from his great form, half in fear, half with dawning -intelligence, the old man said: "You speak thus, as though you were of -the persecuted--yet--yet--you wear the garments of--of--the valleys, -the clothes of townsmen." - -But the swarthy stranger only muttered: - -"Peace, old man, and be silent. Has not the quarry worn the garb of -the hunter before now?" Then he moved away and was lost in the crowd -which had gathered afresh. - -Ahead of all--of artillery, dragoons, chevaux-légers--there rode one -who, but for the richness of his apparel his scarlet coat glistening -with stars and traversed by a great ribbon, his hat laced and cockaded -with galloon until none of the felt was visible, his gold-hilted and -long quilloned sword, might, judging from his fierce looks, himself -have been a refugee of the mountain plateaux and deserts above. A man -with a great face in which were set fierce rolling eyes, a man from -whose heavily moustached mouth there issued oaths whenever he opened -it. - -This was Julien, one of Louis' field marshals, who, because of his -having left the Protestant faith to embrace that of the king, was -spoken of in all the lands where the Protestants sheltered themselves -as "Julien the Apostate." Also he was spoken of by them with hatred -and loathing since once no better soldier of Protestantism had ever -existed or, under William of Orange, had done better service. But -William, the great champion of Protestantism, was dead now, and -Julien, whose love for wealth was unquenchable, had learned that Roman -Catholicism was the most paying game. Thus it was that he came this -night into his own part of the country, since he was of old family in -the town of Orange itself, to lay waste and to slaughter all who held -the faith which he himself had once held. He was a true pervert! - -With an oath he turned to the aide-de-camp who rode behind him and -asked where this accursed Baville was, bidding him ride forward at -once and see what preparations had been made for the reception of his -forces. Bade him also ask if every Protestant house had been put under -orders to accommodate them. - -"For," he said to himself, "they must pay for their contumacy _fasse -Dieu!_ We should have good feeding here. The vagabonds are rich in all -good things in this town. We must have our share." - - - * * * * * * * - - -The next day dawned bright and fair with still no speck in the blue -sky toward which the great mountains lifted their heads, and with the -bright sun over all--over vineyards full of their ripening grapes, -over meadows in which the cattle stood under the shadows of the -chestnut trees that dotted them at intervals--lighting up, too, the -cool dark woods that clothed the slopes. Also it peered into old and -dusty houses, shining in on the ancient furniture and vessels that -generation after generation had prized and polished regularly and been -proud of. - -It shone, too, into another spot--the principal chamber of the Hôtel -de Ville, where on this bright July morning were assembled all the -representatives of law and order in the province, Baville at their -head. - -He was seated now in the presidential chair of this apartment, which -served as the debating room for all things connected with the -municipal affairs of the town; on either side of him sat his -colleagues, the field marshal being on his left hand, the bishop of -the diocese, which was a newly created one, on his right. Also the -mayor was there and de Peyre, several Catholic priests, and half a -dozen monks of various orders who had followed in Julien's train, they -being sent down by the De Maintenon because of their gifts of -preaching. For, true to her colours, the unproclaimed queen pretended -on all occasions that the cruelties which were practised in the south -were repugnant to her, and that it was by listening to the word of God -alone, as expounded by eminent churchmen chosen by herself, that she -trusted to witness the conversion of the heretics. Yet, if all written -records on the subject are true, it was she who had first spurred on -Louvois to give the order to "_saccagez les hérétiques_," and had, -after his death, persuaded Chamillart, Bossuet, and Le Dieudonné -himself to continue the Holy Crusade in the same manner. - -Whether it was because Baville meant upon this occasion that there -should be no doubt in Julien's mind as to who was the absolute chief -here and representative of the king, the field marshal having already -on their meeting overnight uttered some very decided opinions upon -what steps should at once be taken in Languedoc for the stamping out -of heresy, or whether it was from his determination to make an -altogether splendid figure among the ecclesiastics and handsomely -apparelled officers, he himself presented a dazzling appearance on the -occasion. His costume was now entirely of white satin, the gold lilies -being stamped upon it at various intervals and in squares; his hat, -which he wore upon his head as the king's Intendant, was also white -and fringed with gold; his sword was gold-handled and sheathed. Also -his satin gloves were tasselled with gold thread, while, above all, he -wore the _justaucorps à brevet_, or nobles' close coat. Upon his -face--a handsome one, showing no traces of the fierce determination of -his character--there sat this morning an easy look such as he might -have worn had he been assisting at the _fiançailles_ of some grand -siegneur of Languedoc, instead of at a council of war, bloodshed, and -extermination. He had long since learned that not only the face, but -also the whole deportment of a diplomatist should be a mask and not a -glass in which men could read. - -"Here," he said, taking up a paper as he spoke, and glancing his eye -around upon all who sat near him, "is a report of what has been done -of late by these _attroupés_ from the hills, dating from their first -murmurings. It is best I recite them. You," and he looked at Julien, -"will then know against what you have to contend." - -"_Splendeur de Dieu!_" the great swashbuckler exclaimed, using one of -his most magnificent oaths, "let me but get at them and will make them -sing something else than their accursed Calvinistic canticles, I -warrant you. Read, your Excellency, read." - -The fringed glove of his Excellency flattened out the paper, the -gloved finger was placed upon a line, and Baville began. - -"Three months ago Adolphe Canivet was hung upon the bridge at Florac. -His crime was, that he, a heretic, has blasphemed the king, also -Madame De Maintenon." Baville raised his hat as he mentioned these -august personages. Then, having replaced it, he continued: "Four -nights afterward, Canivet's body was removed from the lamp; the next -morning in its place was found the body of a dog, hung by the neck. -Around that dog's neck was a label, and on it written, 'Thus will the -dog Baville hang.' You laugh, monseigneur," the Intendant said, -glancing at Julien and looking, for him, a little ruffled. "You -forget, perhaps, that the 'dog Baville' represents the king here." - -"I forget nothing," said Julien, "neither do I laugh. Go on. Later, I -promise you, I will even remember the dog." - -"From that time the so-called Protestants braved us in every way," -Baville continued. "In spite of all our care, they have left the -country in great numbers, some getting across to Savoy, some escaping -by the sea, many fleeing into the mountains. Also they refuse to enter -the churches to hear Mass, preferring to hold meetings in the -mountains and woods." - -At this the bishop groaned, but Baville, pretending not to hear him, -went on: - -"Many have descended from the mountains at night and demanded alms and -ammunition, having none themselves, from those who possessed them. The -prior of St. Gervais had his house broken into and several musketoons -taken, they having been left in his charge by some of De Broglie's -soldiers." - -"_Malédiction!_" exclaimed Julien, "why left they their arms with a -priest?" - -"They were scaling the mountains to find the outcasts," Baville -answered. "Being good soldiers," and he looked severely at the other -as he spoke, "they depended on their swords and pistols." - -"Humph!" muttered the marshal, "a soldier who parts with his weapons -is a fool. He who leaves them with a priest is a double fool." - -"Treachery, too, is rife," the Intendant continued, still with his -finger on the paper. "Some of these heretics who have refused -conversion, yet were willing to swear fidelity to the king, were put -on guard on the town walls here in Alais. Also at Nîmes and Anduse. In -the morning their muskets were empty. They had not been fired, -consequently the charges had been drawn. Needless to suggest where -those charges went." - -"Also," put in the bishop, "many murders have been committed. Du -Chaila and the curé of Frugéres within the last two days. What next? -What next?" - -"Du Chaila," exclaimed Baville, "was my right hand. He feared naught, -punished with justice, though with severity; would have assisted me to -stamp out these rebels, I do believe, had he lived. Now he has been -brutally murdered. Both he and the curé must be avenged." After which -he proceeded to tell the whole story of the abbé's murder; from the -beginning as it had been told to him; at the end, as he himself knew -it. And he told them, too, how he had brought back with him to Alais -the only person left in the village of Montvert when he reached it -with de Peyre and the marquis. - -"At present," he went on, "I know not what to do with them. One is -Buscarlet, who was the Protestant curé, but who has been suspended -from his heretical worship for some years and has lived upon some -small means he has, supplemented by gifts from those of his crew who -are well to do. He is of the best among them, at least openly. -Preaches submission openly to law and the Government; what he may do -in secret I know not. But, unlike so many of his brethren, he has -never fled. The other is a stranger to these parts and a gentleman. A -proprietor in the north. Speaks too, I think, truthfully. If it -pleases you they can be examined." - -"It would be best," the bishop said. - -Baville made a sign to the _greffier_ of the court who advanced toward -him; then, after giving the man his instructions, he turned to the -bishop and said: "Monsiegneur, they have been sent for. In a moment -they will be before you. They are close at hand." - -They were so close at hand that they entered the court almost at once, -escorted by the _greffier_, the pastor walking by the side of Martin -and both returning the salutation of Baville, who, true to the outward -bearing to which he had trained himself, bowed with civility. In his -heart he had long since determined that Buscarlet was one of the most -dangerous of the Protestant ministers with whom he would have to deal, -for the simple reason that it was impossible to find any flaw in his -conduct which would justify him in transporting him to the galleys or -New France; and therefore, until that flaw was discovered, until the -opening was given him, he did not betray his determination by outward -rudeness. - -As for the stranger who was before him, he scarcely knew what his -course of action should be. The story he told of himself might be -true, in which case he had no possible authority for molesting him, -while, even though it were false, he would have great difficulty in -proving it to be so. - -Also, as happens frequently to those of the most astute minds, he had -forgotten to put one leading question to this stranger: To ask him if -he--who had been the lodger of this pestilential heretic, and who, by -a strange chain of circumstances, was the only other witness of the -abbé's murder who had remained behind in Montvert--was himself a -heretic. - -Had forgotten it; though now it seemed to Martin, as he stood there -looking round the room filled with men all bitterly hostile to the -Protestant faith, that the question could no longer remain unasked. -Would that bishop, sitting there calm and impassive, also omit to ask -it? That field marshal omit it too, whose apostasy and fierce -vindictive hatred of those he had deserted was known and talked of -wherever half a dozen of the Reformed faith gathered together to -discuss their persecutions and their persecutors? Also those priests -and those six hooded monks who had followed in the soldiers' train? -Scarcely could he deem it possible! - -Well, he was prepared with his answer. No denial would issue from his -lips, no lie be told. Therefore he took the place to which the -Intendant motioned him, and, sitting, down by Buscarlet's side, -prepared calmly to await whatever might happen. - -Had he been able to see behind him he would have observed that which, -even though it had carried him no consternation, must have astonished -him; for on the face of one of those cowled monks, the man even -throwing back the hood from off his forehead to stare more intently at -him as he endeavoured to catch a second glance of Martin's features, -he would have noticed a look of profound astonishment--the look of one -who sees another in the last place of all where he would have expected -so to see him, and who, while thus seeing, can scarcely force himself -to believe his own eyes. - -"Monsieur Buscarlet," said Baville, quietly and with no accent either -of impoliteness or reproof in his tones, "what happened at Montvert -the other night amid some who were once your flock must be clearly -told to all assembled here. From you I must demand an account, as I -have the right to do. Later I shall ask this gentleman, Monsieur -Martin, if he agrees with that account." - -As he said the words "Monsieur Martin" the _cordelier_ started. Then -over his shaven face--a face unrelieved by either eyebrows or -eyelashes, so that those who looked at him might doubt if indeed his -cheeks were ever touched by razor and if their lack of hair was not -due to a defect in Nature--there came that look of new-born -recognition which all have seen spring into the countenances of -others. - -"Martin!" he uttered, "Martin! Ay, that was the name. The name he was -called by. It is he. What does he here? He of the house of de -Rochebazon, and consorting with heretics!" - - - - -CHAPTER XII. - -"I AM A PROTESTANT." - - -An hour later the meeting in the Hôtel de Ville had broken up, yet not -before Buscarlet had said words such as he had better have bitten out -his tongue than have uttered; for, after he had told his tale -truthfully (as nothing would have prevented him from telling it) and -had described all that had taken place from the moment when, singing -their psalms, the men of the mountains had passed down the village -street, bidding all the inhabitants keep within doors--narrating, too, -how he had besought them to spare the abbé and return good for -evil--the Intendant had remarked almost angrily to him: - -"Yet, in spite of all you say, the rebellion against the king's -authority, the murder, and all other violence has happened, as it -always happens, in a place of strong heretical leanings. Oh, you -Protestants, as you term yourselves; oh, you of the Reformed faith, as -you blasphemously name yourselves--ever are you at the root of all -rebellion, of all eruption, all attacks upon those who are God's -anointed. Yet you can never triumph. Never--here in France." - -As he spoke he revealed to those around him what were his true -feelings in regard to all that had taken place, though indeed some of -them knew or suspected those feelings; revealed that it was the -resistance to the king's power, the constituted authority, which he -was determined to crush more than the resistance to the ancient and, -in this place at least, cruel faith of the land. These were indeed his -feelings, this his guiding motive. He was above all things a courtier, -a king's man; and though for thirty-three years he never quitted -Languedoc for a single day, he becoming its Intendant in 1685 and -retiring from it in 1718, Versailles with its powerful master was the -star on which his eyes were ever fixed. Nay, he himself had said that -_Le roi était son Dieu_, and that to do him service was all he lived -for. As for the outraged Romish faith, let Rome repay that outrage. -His duty was to crush rebellion, and he did it well. When he finally -left the province, he had caused twelve thousand Protestants to suffer -either death, imprisonment, or transportation to the galleys. - -But now from Buscarlet there came a denial of Baville's charges -against his creed. Rising from his seat by Martin's side he spoke, -while all in the room gazed in astonishment at the old man, never -expecting to hear the words he uttered. - -"Your Excellency," he said, "have you weighed well your words ere you -uttered them? Scarcely, I think. All rebellion comes from us, the -Protestants, you have said, all attack upon those who are God's -anointed. Is this so? Pause, sir, and reflect. Who was it who first -uttered the maxim that bad kings should be deposed? Who were those -whom Henri of Valois saw force their way into his palace of the -Louvre, carry off his furniture, reverse his arms, destroy his -portrait, break his great seal, style him _Lâche_, _Hérétique_, -_Tyran?_ Was it not the Sorbonne who declared the people absolved from -their vow to him, erased his name from the prayers of the Romish -Church? Who slew him at St. Cloud? Jacques Clement, the monk--was he a -Protestant?" - -"Henri de Valois was himself a murderer," the bishop made answer. -"Himself slew the Guises at Blois." - -"How many Protestants have been murdered by orders of our present -king? Yet there is not one in France who would raise his hand against -him," the pastor continued. Then, as though carried away by one of -those ecstasies which caused men, especially men among the refugees of -the mountains, to seem almost inspired, he continued: - -"Your Excellency has said we attack those who are God's anointed. Do -we so? Who formed the rebel league to exclude Henry of Navarre from -the succession? Who was it struck that great king to the heart in the -Rue de la Ferronnerie? Ravillac! Was he of the Reformed faith? Who -would have turned Louis off the throne he now sits securely on, have -set up the Prince of Condé in his place? Who? Who? Not Protestants for -sure! Name one who has slain a king or attempted to slay one in all -our land." - -"Monsieur Buscarlet," Baville replied, still containing himself, -"there is no accusation against those of your faith as to their -desiring to slay King Louis. But they have revolted against all -constituted authority, against all who here rule for the king, against -his priests. Your statement as to what misguided men of our own faith -have done helps you not. Two wrongs do not make one right. And because -it is by the Protestants that the sacred soil of France is threatened, -the Protestants must go. Nay, more: those who rebel must pay the -penalty." - - - * * * * * * * - - -"Monsieur," said Baville, coming in two hours later to another room in -which Martin sat, he and Buscarlet having been requested to leave the -apartment in which the council were, after they had both testified to -all that had happened at Montvert on the night when the abbé was -slain, "Monsieur, I have heard strange news of you. I wonder you did -not see fit to tell me with whom I had the honour of conversing." - -"With whom you had the honour of conversing!" Martin replied, looking -at him in astonishment. "I think, sir, you forget. I told you my name, -also where my property is--in France." - -"Pardon me, you did so tell me." And, even as he spoke, Martin -observed, to his still further astonishment, that the Intendant's -manner had become one of almost deference, certainly of increased -courtesy, though he had never been in any way impolite to him since -they had met at Montvert. "You did tell me that. What you omitted to -inform me of, quite within your perfect right, doubtless, was that you -were of the de Rochebazon family. Sir, permit me to congratulate you. -There is no nobler house in all France, in Europe." - -"Your Excellency, I have not the honour to be of the house of de -Rochebazon----" - -"Not?" - -"But, instead, a relative of the late Princesse de Rochebazon." - -And as he spoke he did not doubt, nay, he felt sure, that he had given -himself into this man's power. If he knew so much of the de -Rochebazons as he seemed to do, he must know that the late princess -had been an Englishwoman. Baville would also be aware, therefore, what -his nationality was. Yet, still strong in the honour which lay deep -within his heart; strong, too, in his determination to profit by no -evasion of the truth when the telling of it was absolutely necessary, -he announced his kinsmanship with her, looking straight into the -Intendant's eyes as he did so. - -In an instant he recognised that he stood in no peril at present. -Whatever Baville might know of the family of de Rochebazon, it was -evident he did not know that the princess was not a Frenchwoman. - -"Monsieur," Baville replied, "it is the same thing. And, sir, I -welcome you to Languedoc, you, a member of a great family which has -stood ever by the throne, the Church. I hope you will make my -house--it is at Montpellier--your resting place while you remain in -the Midi. You will be very welcome." - -"I thank your Excellency, but it is impossible I should accept. You -will remember I told you I have a mission here--one that I can not put -aside even amid the troublous times which have now arisen in the -neighbourhood. I must prosecute my mission to the end." - -"To find the lost man you spoke of?" - -"To find him." - -"Is he a de Rochebazon? If so, he should be very near to a great -inheritance--an inheritance which, the Franciscan tells me (the monk -who recognised you as the gentleman who attended the last moments of -Madame la Princesse), the Church has fallen heir to." - -"The monk! What monk? Yet--I remember. There were two at her bedside: -one who watched continuously, another who came at the last moment. -Which is he?" - -"I can not say. Yet I will bring you into intercourse with him if you -desire it. He is here to assist in stamping out this accursed -Protestantism, in helping to convert them to the true faith." - -"Your Excellency hates bitterly these Protestants." - -"I hate the king's enemies. And all Protestants are such." - -As the Intendant uttered these words Martin told himself the time had -come. He must speak now or be henceforth a coward in his own esteem. -It was for nothing that his father had cast off forever his allegiance -to James, had openly acknowledged that henceforth he abjured the -religion to which James belonged. Not for nothing, since by so doing -he had stood his trial before Sir Francis Wytham and Sir Creswell -Levinz, narrowly escaping Jeffreys himself. Not for nothing, since he -had been fined and imprisoned, he who had followed the Stuarts into -exile, almost ruined. - -Yet all would be for nothing--his father's tribulations, his own -repudiation of the wealth his aunt had amassed for him--all would be -worth nothing if now he stood here before this man and, hearing the -cause reviled for which both father and son had sacrificed so much, -held his peace like a coward. - -The time had come. - -"Your Excellency," he said quietly, "stigmatizes Protestants as -accursed; also as the king's enemies. Well, as to being accursed I -know not; it may be even as you say. But I do know that I am no enemy -of King Louis. Yet--I am a Protestant." - -"You!" Baville exclaimed, taking a step back in sheer astonishment. -"You! Yet a kinsman by marriage of the de Rochebazons. It is -impossible." - -"Nevertheless it is true." - -Baville shrugged his shoulders, then suddenly turning round on him, he -said: - -"Your sympathies, then, are with these rebels here. You approve, -perhaps, of what you saw on the bridge at Montvert two nights ago. Are -here, it may be, to foment further troubles." - -"You mistake. I utterly disapprove of what I saw. Would indeed have -saved the priest had it been in my power. It is not by cruelty that -wrongs are righted." - -"In Heaven's name, then, if these are your sentiments what makes you a -Protestant?" - -"Conviction. As conviction made that de Rochebazon a Protestant whom I -am here to find some traces of, alive or dead." - -They had remained standing face to face with one another since the -Intendant had come into the room; they were face to face still as -Martin told how the missing heir to the de Rochebazon name and wealth -had himself changed his religion, and, being face to face, he saw a -strange look, a shade of startled perplexity, come into the -countenance of Baville. Also he noticed that he paled perceptibly. -Then the latter said: - -"De Rochebazon, _the_ de Rochebazon, turned a Protestant! turned -Protestant!--_c'est incroyable!_--and came here to Languedoc. -When--how long ago?" - -"I do not know. Possibly forty years ago. Your Excellency," and now -the clear blue eyes of the young man looked into the equally clear -dark eyes of the ruler of the province, "do you know aught of him? Can -you put me in the way of finding him?" - -"I--no. Why do you ask? I came not here till '85. And--and--alas! that -it should be so. It is their own doing. The Protestants and I have -been at enmity ever since. They have made my rule a bitter one. It is -their own doing, I repeat. Their own fault." - -"They have not risen until now. Done no overt act!" Martin exclaimed. - -"Unfortunately, they have done many. You do not know. And they have -resisted the king's ordinances." Then changing the subject swiftly, he -said: - -"Monsieur Martin, you tell me you are here to seek this missing man; -that you have no intention of aiding these rebels. I am glad to hear -it. Yet, remember, if you remain here you do so at dire peril to -yourself. If you take part in any act of rebellion, if you join in any -way in their uprisings, proclaim yourself in the least as an opponent -of the law and order which must be re-established at all costs here, -then you too must be responsible for whatever may befall you. Do you -think you can stay here and also remain neutral?" - -"Are there not others in France who, being of my faith, are doing so? -Are there not still De Colignys, De Rohans, De la Trémoilles, De -Sullys in France, surrounding the king's person? Yet they are loyal to -him and he molests them not; accept their service; lets them worship -God in their own way." - -"They are not in Languedoc," Baville said briefly yet very -pertinently. "And the day will come when they will all return to their -own faith. Otherwise France is not for them.[1] Nor will it be for you -or yours." - -Martin shrugged his shoulders at the latter part of this speech, since -no answer was possible. France was not for him under any circumstances -when he had once carried out his dead kinswoman's request, had found -and done justice to Cyprien de Beauvilliers or his children, if he had -left any, or, failing to find them, had at last discontinued his -search. - -"Meanwhile," continued Baville, "I would counsel you to reside at -Montpellier. There, for the present at least, your co-religionists are -not troublesome, and up to now I have not had to exercise the strong -hand. Also," and now he bowed with the easy grace which had never -forsaken him though he had been absent from Versailles for seventeen -years, "if you will permit me, if you will accept of any courtesy at -my hands--at the hands of Baville, the hated Intendant--I shall be -pleased to be of service to you. As a connection of the house of de -Rochebazon I may do that, while as a private gentleman, who does not -obtrude his religious belief upon me, I shall be happy to assist you -in your quest. Though I warn you I do not think you will succeed." - -"You think the man I seek for never came here, or, coming, is dead?" - -For a moment the other paused ere answering, his handsome face -indicating that he was lost in thought, his clear eyes gazing -searchingly into the eyes of the other. "I do not know. I can not say. -It is most probable that if he ever came he is dead." - -"Leaving no children?" - -"How can I say? At least--if--if he is dead he must have died and left -no trace or sign. Died without divulging who he was." - -Then Baville turned to the door as though to go; yet ere he did so he -spoke again, repeating his words: - -"I should counsel you to make Montpellier your resting place. If aught -is to be learned I may help you to learn it there." - -"I thank you. Doubtless it would be best. Yet there is one request I -must make to you; it is to--to deal gently with Buscarlet. On my word -of honour as a gentleman, he has had no hand in these recent troubles. -He besought those mountaineers who descended on Montvert to spare the -abbé." - -"There is nothing against Monsieur Buscarlet at present which calls -for severity. Yet if he does not change his faith I know not what may -be the end. If these Cévenoles do not desist, or are not stamped out, -the retribution will be terrible." - -"On all?" - -"I fear on all. The Church never forgives. The Church will cry for -vengeance against the Huguenots, and I, the ruler, must hear that -cry." - -"And answer it?" - -"And answer it; for their resistance is rebellion, and rebellion must -be crushed. Warn him, therefore, to be on his guard. To preach, above -all, obedience to the king. Otherwise there is no hope. The prisons -are already full of his brethren. Bid him beware, I say. They term -Louis the 'Scourge of God,' and they speak truly. He will scourge the -land of all who oppose him. And if not he--then his wife." - - - - -CHAPTER XIII. - -URBAINE. - - -From the Mediterranean the warm, luscious breezes of the south sweep -up to where Montpellier stands ere they pass the city and waft to the -summits of the Cévennes the perfume of the flowers and the odours of -the rich fruits which grow upon the shores of the beauteous sea. And -from Montpellier itself, from the old _Place de Peyrou_, may be -obtained a view that is unsurpassed both in its beauty and in its -power of recalling to the memory the loathsome cruelties which, -perpetrated in the days of Louis the Great King, have smirched forever -that beauty. Far away, too, where rise the tips of the mountains of -Ventoux on the confines of fair Provence, the Alps begin to -show--those Alps over which the weary feet of escaping Protestants had -been dragged as their owners sought the sanctuary of a more free land. -Below lies a beautiful valley watered on one side by the Loire and on -another by the Rhône, watered once also by the blood and the tears of -the heartbroken dwellers therein. A valley teeming once again with the -fruits of the earth, and with now all signs erased of the devastation -which he, whose statue stands in that _Place de Peyrou_, caused to be -spread around; erased from human sight, but not from human -recollection. - -Upon the other side lies Cette, of scant importance in these times as -seacoast towns and harbours are reckoned, and dead and done with--lies -there basking and smiling beneath the warm sun that shines alike in -winter as in summer. Cette, the place which, in the minds of the -forefathers of those who now dwell there, bore the blackest, most -hated name of all the villages bordering the blue sea. For here the -galleys harboured, here fathers and husbands, brothers and sons, were -flung to horrors and miseries and the life of an earthly hell--a hell -whose pangs knew no assuagement till death, most welcome, brought -release. - -From where Baville sat in his open window Cette could be seen; the -harbour in which half a dozen of those galleys lay waiting for their -victims. On a table before him were papers for the sending of other -victims to the prisons of the surrounding towns; also the sentences of -death allotted to many rebels, death in hideous forms. Some to be hung -upon the bridges of their own town, some to be broken on the wheel, -some to be burned in market places, some to have their forefingers -struck off (a form of punishment peculiar to the neighbourhood and to -those who had been captured in the present uprisings), and afterward -to be hanged. - -Also on tables at either side of him were orders to the colonels of -local regiments to place themselves under direction of Julien; orders -to others to provide forage and stabling for so many horses and -accommodation for so many men; orders, too, for provisions and forage -to be sent in to Montpellier and Nîmes for the victualling of the -forces quartered there. And to all and every one of these he had -already affixed his signature, "Baville"--a signature which here -carried as much authority as if, instead, it had been "Louis." - -Yet it was not about these papers that Nicholas de Lamoignon de -Baville, Comte de Launai-Courson, Seigneur de Bris, Vaugrigneuse, -Chavagne, Lamothe-Chaudemier, Beuxes and other places, as well as -Conseiller d'Etat, Intendant de Justice, polices et finances--to give -him his full names and titles--was thinking on this bright morning, -nor on them that his eyes rested. Instead, upon a far smaller thing--a -thing on which one would scarcely have thought he would have wasted a -moment's attention--a little plain cornelian seal which he was turning -over and over in his hands and regarding carefully through a small -magnifying glass. - -"Strange," he muttered to himself, "strange if, after all, after years -of meditation and inquiry, I should thus have lit upon the clew! -Strange, strange!" - -He struck, as thus he mused, upon a little bronze gong that stood by -his side and ready to his hand, and a moment later the door was opened -and a man of about his own age came into the room in answer to the -summons; a man whose plain garb, made of the local Nîmes serge, and -wig _à trois marteaux_, proclaimed almost with certainty that he was a -clerk or secretary. - -"Casalis," the Intendant said, he having put the seal beneath some -papers ere the other entered, "there is in the library a book -entitled, _Devises et blasons de la Noblesse Française_, is there -not?" - -"There is, your Excellency. Prepared a year ago by Monsieur le -Comte----" - -"Precisely. Fetch it, if you please." - -The man retired, and, after being absent some few moments, came back, -bearing in his hand a large, handsome volume bound in pale brown -morocco, the back and sides covered with fine gold tooling and with -Baville's crest stamped also on each side--a splendid book, if its -contents corresponded with its exterior. - -"Shall I find any particular entry for your Excellency?" the man -asked, pausing with the volume in his hand. - -"No, leave it. I may desire to look into it presently." - -Left alone, however, Baville looked into it at once, pausing at the -names under "B" to regard with some complacency his own crest and arms -beautifully reproduced in colours on vellum. - -Then he turned over a vast number of leaves in a mass, arriving at the -letter "T," and re-turning back to "R," finding thereby the page which -was headed "De Rochebazon." And emblazoned in the middle of the vellum -in red, gold, and blue was the coat of arms of that great family; -above it was the crest of the house, on a rock proper a hawk with -wings elevated--the motto "Gare." - -"So," said Baville to himself, "he was of noble family, was a de -Rochebazon. Had I looked at this book when the Comte de Paysac sent it -to me, compared it with the seal, I should have known such was the -case a year ago. Yet what use even if I had done so? What use? One can -not recall--undo the past." - -And Baville--even Baville, the "tiger of Languedoc," as he had been -termed--sighed. - -He took next the seal from the papers where he had pushed it and -compared it with the Comte de Paysac's book, though even as he did so -he knew there was no need for such comparison; the crest upon it was -as familiar to him as his own. Then he muttered: - -"It is pity Monsieur le Comte did not make his work even more -complete. Some information would be useful. As to whom he married, to -wit, as to whom this young man may be, who is related to the late -princess. Also as to the family of the princess--I should know that. I -would the count were still alive." - -As thus he mused a shadow fell across the path that wound before his -open window. From behind the orange tubs which formed a grove in front -of that window there stepped out a girl who, seeing him there, smiled -and said, "_Bon jour, mon père_." Then came on to the window and, -leaning against the open frame, asked if she might come in, might -bring him some flowers she had plucked to decorate his cabinet. - -"Always, Urbaine," he said, "always," and he put out his hand as -though to draw her to him. "Come in, come in." - -Had this been a darkened room, a sombre cabinet into which no ray of -sunlight ever stole, instead of being, in truth, a bright, gay -apartment, the presence of the girl whom he addressed as Urbaine would -have made it cheerful, have seemed to bring the needed sunlight to it; -for, as she stood there, her long white dress giving fresh radiance to -the room, her fair hair irradiated by the beams of light that glinted -in through the dark-green leaves of the orange trees, she seemed to -cast even more lustre around, making even the grave, serious face of -the Intendant look less severe. In her hands she carried a mass of -roses and ferns on which the dew sparkled, also some large white -lilies. - -"Come, Urbaine," he said to her, "come, sit on your accustomed seat. -When you are at Versailles you will have no father's knee to sit -upon," and, caressingly, he drew her toward him, while she, sitting -there, arranged the flowers into bunches. - -As he mentioned Versailles she sighed and turned her eyes on him, then -said: - -"Why send me away, father? I do not wish to go. I desire to stay here -by your side. By my mother's, too. Let me remain," and she bent -forward and kissed his forehead. - -"Nay," he answered, "nay, Montpellier is no place for you now. You are -best away from it. At present all is not well. Urbaine, these rebels -are stronger than we thought. Julien has been here a month, and what -has he done? Nothing, except sustain defeat. Now we must have more -troops from Paris. Montrevel, they say, will come; yet ere he does so -much may happen. Nîmes, even Montpellier, may fall into their hands. -Urbaine, I will not have you here to--to--fall into their hands also." - -"Surely they will not hurt women. They say they attack none but -soldiers--and--and priests; that, rough and fierce as they are, no -woman has ever suffered at their hands. We of our side," and she -sighed, "can scarcely say as much." - -"Who has told you this, child? Perhaps your new friend, Monsieur -Martin. Nay, I see by your blush it is so. Urbaine, you must not -believe all he says. Remember, he is a Huguenot too." - -"He has never spoken to me on such themes, or, speaking, has said -nothing you could disapprove of. He says this uprising is wicked, -unlawful; is not the way to gain their ends. Also he has told me that -the murder of the Abbé Du Chaila was revolting to him; that he would -have saved him had he not been powerless." - -"Where is he now?" Baville asked, without making any remark on what -she told him as to Martin Ashurst's sentiments. "I have not seen him -for some days." - -"I do not know," the girl said; "neither have I seen him. Yet he spoke -of going to Alais to see his friend the pastor." - -"Urbaine," Baville said, "you must speak to him before you set out for -Paris. He may listen to words from you which he will not hear from me. -You must warn him to leave Languedoc, to return to the north." - -"To leave Languedoc! Return to the north!" she repeated. And it seemed -to the sharp eyes of the Intendant as though her colour changed again. - -"Ay, child, he is in deadly peril here. Can you not understand?" - -"No," Urbaine replied, "no. What has he done?" - -"Actively, he has done nothing. Yet he is a doomed man, because of his -religion. My dear one, ere long the king will be roused to awful fury -by this rebellion; there will not be a _réformé_ left in France. And -those who are passive will suffer the same as those who take up -arms--in the Midi--here--at least. Even I shall not be able to shield -him. Nay, more, how can I shield one and destroy all the rest?" - -"Can there be no peace?" - -"None! Peace! How can there be peace when none will make it? These -Protestant rebels are the aggressors this time. Ask for no peace. It -is war, a war which means extermination. A month ago I should have -said extermination of them alone; now God knows who, which side, is to -be exterminated. Louis is weakened by these attacks from without, from -every side; all over Europe there is a coalition against France. And -half her enemies are of the Reformed faith, as they term it. It is -said that the old religion is to be destroyed, abolished. Yet Louis, -France, will not fail without one effort; dying, we shall drag to -destruction numberless foes. Urbaine, if we do not suppress these -Camisards we have an internal foe to deal with as well. Do you think -one Protestant will be spared?" - -"I may not see him again ere I set out for Versailles," the girl -whispered, terrified at his words. - -"Then he must take his chance. At best he is but a quixotic fool." - -"Let me remain here; if there is danger let me share it." - -"Never!" Baville said. "The nobility are threatened, the 'Intendant' -above all. Your place must be in safety. Oh, that your mother would go -too! Yet," he added reflectively, "her place is by my side." - -"And mine is not? Do you say that?" And she touched his face -caressingly with her hand. - -"Your place is where I can best shield you from the least threat of -danger, my loved one; where danger can never come near you." And -beneath his breath he added the word "again." - -Speaking thus to the girl upon his knee, a girl scarce better than a -child, seeing she was now but seventeen years old, Baville--of whom -the greatest of French diarists has said that _il en étoit la terreur -er l'horreur de Languedoc_--was at his best. For if he loved any -creature more than another on this earth--more than Madame -l'Intendante, more even than his own son--that creature was Urbaine. - -She was not in truth his daughter, was of no blood relationship to -him, yet he cared for her dearly and fondly and the love was returned. -As the history of this girl was known to many in the province, so it -shall be told here. - -Early in his Intendancy, when Baville (already known as an _esprit -fort_ by the ministers round Louis) had been appointed to this distant -Government, with, to console him, an absolute authority, he had -returned one winter night from a raid that he had been making on a -village in the Cévennes which, to use his own words, "reeked of -Calvinism" and was full of persons who refused to comply with the new -orders that were brought into force by the Revocation of the Edict of -Nantes. He was then but newly married to a sister of Gourville, the -colonel of a local regiment of dragoons, and his wife's welcome to him -was somewhat cooled by the announcement which he made to her that an -intimate friend of his had perished in the raid, leaving behind a -motherless child of whom he proposed to constitute himself the -guardian. - -Apprised of the fact that Ducaire was the name of the intimate friend, -Madame l'Intendante shrugged her shoulders and contented herself with -saying that it was the first time she had ever heard of him. - -Later, after reflection, she laughed a little, quoted some words of M. -de Voiture as to _les secrets de la comédie_ which were no secrets -either to actors or audience, and, in the course of the next two or -three days, uttered pointed remarks to the effect that if politics -failed at any future time, doubtless M. l'Intendant might earn a -pleasant livelihood as a weaver of romances and of plots for plays. - -"_En vérité_" she said, with her little laugh, "Jean de la Fontaine is -old, also _Racine; profitez vous de l'occasion, mon ami. Profitez -vous_." - -Then, because they were alone in Madame's boudoir, Baville rose and -stood before his wife and, speaking seriously, bade her cease her -badinage forever. - -And after the conversation which ensued, after, also, the story which -Baville told her, Madame did cease her flippancy, and henceforth had -no further qualms of jealousy. - -In truth, as the child grew up, she too came to love it, to pet it as -much as her husband did, to--because she was an honest, tender-hearted -woman who, beneath all her pride for Baville's great position, had -still many feminine qualities in her breast--weep over it. - -"_Pauvrette!_" she would sometimes whisper to little Urbaine, long ere -the child had come to understanding, "_pauvre petite_. Neither mother -nor father either. Ah, well! Ah, well! they shall never be wanting -while we live--say, Baville, shall they?" - -And the Intendant, the man of "horror and terror" to all around, -looking down upon the babe as she slept in her little bed, would -answer before God that they should never be wanting. - -Both kept their word. Urbaine Ducaire grew up, petted, caressed, -beloved, the light of the Intendant's home, the flower, as he told her -sometimes, of his life; a thing far, far more precious to him than the -son, who, instead of being any comfort to them, was revelling in the -impurities of Paris. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV. - -THE ATTACK. - - -Between where the mountains of the Cévennes rise in tumultuous -confusion, with, towering above them all, the gigantic Lozère and La -Manzerre whence springs the beauteous Loire; between this vast -mountainous region, which gives to the mind of him who beholds it the -idea of a world falling to ruin and perishing of its own worn-out -antiquity, and the Rhône, the road to the north winds through a -fertile valley--a valley where the meadows and the orchards and the -vineyards run down to the river on which the rafts and boats float -along until the stream empties itself into the Mediterranean at last; -boats from which are wafted the perfume of the new-mown hay, or the -fruits which they are conveying. A valley this in which are little -houses set in among the pear trees and the chestnuts, and covered with -bird-swarming ivy wherein the southern oriole builds its nest and -rears its young; houses in front of which the fair roses of Provence -grow in great clusters as they have grown there for centuries, and -over which the pigeons whirl in their flight. - -Once, not twenty years before the period of this narrative, and before -a reformed wanton had urged a superstitious king (already then growing -old and shuddering at the phantoms that arose from his evil and -unclean past, as well as from the fear of what his enemies--the whole -world!--might wreak upon him in the shape of human vengeance) to wage -what he termed a holy war, this valley had been one of a thousand in -France where peace and contentment had reigned. Peace and contentment -coupled, it is true, with, in most cases, a simple humble life, yet -still a life free from care. An existence scarce disturbed by aught -more serious than some trifling ailments of the children who ran about -barefooted in the long lush grass, or plunged into the cool stream -that watered the land, or by the sound of the passing bell telling at -solemn intervals how one who had lived there all his days was going to -his rest. A life spent in the open air all through the summer time, or -by the blazing chestnut logs when the snows of winter kept all shut up -in their cottages, carding, weaving, combing, earning their living -thus as in the golden prime of July they earned it by gathering fruit, -or cutting the corn and sheaving it, or rearing the cattle. - -Now all was changed, all but the beauty of the land. The red-roofed -houses on whose tiles the topmost boughs of the pear trees rested, -borne down with fruit, were closed; the wicker basket in which the -thrushes and blackbirds had sung so joyously, not deeming their lives -captivity, were empty; so, too, were the stalls where once the kine -had lowed and the horses trampled as daybreak stole over the mountain -tops. All were gone now. The old grandam who had looked after the -children; the children themselves; the stalwart fathers; the -dark-eyed, brown-bosomed women whose black tresses hung down their -backs and served as ropes for their babes to tug at. - -Gone--but where? - -Half of the men to the galleys, to toil until their hearts burst and -they died, worn to skeletons by belabourings and thrashings, -starvation and ill usage; the other half to the mountains, there to -meditate upon, and afterward to take, a hideous, black revenge on -those who had driven them from their homes. The old women gone also, -some to fester in the prison cellars of Nîmes, Uzès, Alais, Niort, and -Montpellier. The black-haired mothers to do the same, to groan in the -dungeons for water, even though it were but one drop to cool their -tongues; to shriek to God to take their lives, even though they were -sacrificed in the flames of the market place; to pray to their Creator -to let them die and join their slaughtered babes once more; see again -the husbands from whom the gibbet and the wheel had torn them forever -in this world. - -Because they were Protestants, Reformés, Huguenots! That was their -crime! The crime that had roused the woman in Paris--_la femme célèbre -et fatale_--to urge on her husband the devastation of the Garden of -France. - -Down this road now, which wound between the base of the Cévennes -and the banks of the rapid Rhône, upon a sunny afternoon in -September--when all the uncut corn (there being no one to gather it) -was bending on its stalks upon which, later, it would rot, past a -burned and ruined church, past, too, a wheel on which a dried, -half-mummified body was bound and left to shrivel--there came a -cortége. A cortége consisting first of a troop of dragoons of the -regiment of Hérault, their sabres drawn and flashing in the sun, their -musketoons slung ready at their backs, their glances wary and eager. -Ahead of them rode their captain, a man tall and muscular, burned -black almost from constant exposure to the sun and by taking part in -many campaigns from his youth, commencing in Germany and Austria. This -was Poul, a Carcassonnais, who, since the outbreak of the Cévennes -rising, had been distinguished as one of the most determined opponents -of the _attroupés_. Also he was a marked man, doomed to death by them, -and he knew it. But over his midnight draughts of Hermitage he had -sworn often that, ere his fate overtook him, many of the _canaille_ -should also meet theirs. - -Behind his troop of dragoons, numbering thirty-five men, there came a -travelling carriage, large, roomy, and much ornamented, and drawn by -four horses. In it there sat Urbaine Ducaire on her way to Langogne, -the first stage on the road to Paris. By her side was seated a -middle-aged _gouvernante_ or companion, whom Baville had told off to -accompany her until she reached Avignon, where she would be safe -outside the troubles of Languedoc and where she was to continue her -journey under the protection of the Duchess d'Uzès. Above the carriage -was piled up her valises and portmanteaux; also upon it were three -footmen armed with fusils, all of which were ready to their hands; -also a waiting maid who was always in attendance upon Urbaine. To -complete her guard, behind the great carriage marched a company of the -fusileers of Barre and Pompidon, headed by a mounted officer. - -Passing the broken and mutilated corpse upon the wheel, Poul pointed -to it with his glove and laughed; then, reining back his horse until -the dragoons had gone by, he looked in at the great window and -remarked to Urbaine: - -"Mademoiselle perceives the _canaille_ are not always triumphant. As -it is with that crushed rat there, so it will be with all. Time! Time! -Our vengeance will come." - -But the girl, after casting one horrified glance at the thing which -was shrivelling in the broiling September sun, had shrunk back -affrighted into the depths of the great travelling carriage and thrown -up her hands before her eyes while the _gouvernante_, addressing Poul, -said: - -"Monsieur le Capitaine, why call our attention to that? It is no -pleasing sight even to a devout Catholic, moreover a bitter one when -we remember the fearful retaliation that has been exacted. Have you -forgotten the Abbé du Chaila, the curé of Frugéres?" - -"Forgotten!" exclaimed the rough Carcassonnais, "forgotten! _Ventre -bleu!_ I have forgotten nothing. Else why am I here? Beautiful as is -the freight of this carriage," and he made a rough bow "it needs no -Capitaine Poul to command the dragoons who escort it in safety. Any -_porte drapeau_, or unfledged lieutenant, could do that. Nay, it is in -hopes that we may meet some of these singing, snivel-nosed Calvinists -that I ride with you to-day. Oh, for the chance!" - -"Send him away," whispered Urbaine; "he terrifies me. Would that my -father had chosen some other officer." - -Ere, however, her companion could do as she requested, Poul had turned -his wrist and ridden again to the head of his troops, a fierce look of -eagerness on his face, a gleam in his coal-black eyes. For from ahead -of where the cavalcade had now arrived--a shady part of the road, on -one side of which there rose precipitously some rocks crowned with -bushes, while on the other was a meadow--he heard a sound which told -him his wish was very likely to be granted. - -A sound of singing, of many voices in unison. Voices uttering words -which reached the ears of all, causing the dragoons and fusileers to -look to their arms and the women and footmen to turn white with -apprehension. - -A sound of singing that rose and fell upon the soft afternoon air as -though somewhere a conventicle was being held. And these the words -they sung: - - - Dieu! que Juda connait: Dieu! qu' Israel adore - Salem est ta demeure et Sion ton autel! - Ton bras de nos tyrans a rompu Tare sonore, - La glaive qui dévore - Et le combat mortel. - - -"Ha!" called out Poul, his dark face now more suffused with rage than -before, "they are near at hand. Swords out, _mes dragons, avancez--en -double ligne de Colonne_; here is more garbage for the wheel. _En -avance les fusiliers_--the carriage behind. _Tambours battants. En -avant!_" - -And while the women screamed, Urbaine burying her fair head for a -moment on the _gouvernante's_ shoulder, the dragoons fell into double -line, and the fusileers of Barre and Pompidon, passing swiftly on on -either side of the great carriage formed up behind them, their drums -beating scornfully. - -At first they saw no enemy, scarce expected to see any, since all knew -by now that these mountaineers fought on the system of those dreaded -Indians whom some of this force had already encountered on the shores -of the St. Lawrence and the Mississippi--namely, by sheltering -themselves behind every available tree or rock, or even shrub, from -which they fired on their foes with deadly effect. But they heard -them. Heard again the solemn hymn they sang in the hour of battle, of -death, and of vengeance: - - - Aux éclairs de ta foudre, à sa fumante trombe - Le c[oe]ur manque an vaillant, le bras échappé au fort - Le char d'airain se brise, et le coursier succombe, - Et le guerrier qui tombe - S'assoupit dans la mort! - - -Then a moment later they saw their foes, or some of them. - -Upon the summit of the rock sixty feet above their heads, amid the -stunted trees and bushes that grew thereon, they saw appear a strange -crowd. Men, tall and swarthy, some old, some almost boys, while there -was one of the latter whose fantastic attire--a vest of bleached -Holland garnished with silver buttons, _culottes_ of chamois leather, -gold-gallooned, ivory-hilted sword, scarlet mantle and black felt hat, -with long white ostrich feather--would better have become one of -Luxembourg's dandy cavaliers than an _attroupé_ of the mountains. Also -three men, venerable-looking, yet fierce and stern, two having beards -that flowed over their chests, all of whom joined in the hymn that was -being sung by a larger body that was ahead of the place where the -Royalist troops were--ahead, yet advancing toward those who had been -caught in the snare, advancing singing and firing. And by the side of -these three, who were Prophets--_Inspirés_--there stood a girl, black -and swarthy, too, a bracelet on her arm and in her hands a musketoon, -which she raised and, aiming at the carriage below, fired. - -With a shriek the _gouvernante_ fell back on to the cushions dead; -with another, Urbaine flung her arms about her, moaning, while now, -from all around, the sound of firing was heard, and, pealing high, -above all else, the voice of Poul, howling orders, yelling curses, -laughing defiantly. Yet why he laughed none knew, for already the -saddles of the dragoons were being emptied rapidly; the ground was -strewn, too, with the bodies of the fusileers of Barre and Pompidon, -those who still lived being driven back. - -Fear paralyzes sometimes; sometimes also inspires with a terrible and -desperate courage. It was thus with Urbaine Ducaire at this moment. -She screamed and moaned no more, let the poor dead woman's body lie -back in the carriage, put out her hand to the door that was farthest -away from the rock on which the visible portion of the enemy was, and -endeavoured to turn the handle. - -Yet, ere she did so, she saw a sight that might well have unnerved -her, have struck her dead with horror. - -Upon the rock-side of the vehicle she saw Poul fighting like a demon -possessed, or, better, like a doomed brave man. She saw his sabre dart -through one fanatic's throat, then through another's breast; she heard -his hoarse, triumphant shouts and terrible oaths, also his words of -bitter scorn and hatred of the _canaille_ as he thrust at them, then -nearly fainted at what she saw next: A lad standing by the side of the -girl armed with the musketoon, while still she fired as fast as she -could load it--a lad who adjusted a huge stone in a sling, and then, -watching his opportunity and whirling the latter round his head, -discharged the missile, which crashed with fatal effect full on Poul's -forehead. And as the brave, rough soldier, with a cry of hideous, -awful agony, fell to the earth, the youth, shouting in his rough -_patois_ that the soul of David had descended through countless ages -to enter his body, leaped down the crags of the rock, fell upon the -unhappy man, and, seizing his sword, began to hack his head off. - -"I can bear no more," Urbaine murmured, "no more! Pray God the next -bullet fired enters my heart! Otherwise I must die of horror." And she -sank to the bottom of the carriage, her head on the dead woman's -knees, sank back and lay there in a stupor. - -Whereby she knew not that, even as she did so, across the meadow a man -had ridden on a rawboned horse as fast as he could urge it, had gained -the road, and, swiftly dismounting amid the rain of bullets and stones -from above, had wrenched open the carriage door and lifted her out in -his arms. Knew not that in his strength he had tossed her on to the -neck of the horse and quickly remounted, having but one hand to use in -doing so, and that, amid a storm of more bullets, he had carried her -off from where the carnage still raged, while in his ears he heard -more than once the cry-- - -"_Voilà ton Poul!_ He is well trussed. Eat him!" - - - - -CHAPTER XV. - -SHELTER AND REFUGE. - - -That night as darkness fell upon the earth, and while, high up in the -heavens, the bonfires burned which the _attroupés_ lit regularly on -the tops of the Cévennes in the hopes of thereby luring their enemies -into their strongholds and fastnesses, Martin spoke to Urbaine, -saying: - -"Mademoiselle, I know not what is to be done. Had the unfortunate -horse not been slain by that last bullet we might have got back to -safety. To Montpellier or, failing that, to Lunel at least. Now it -seems hopeless. You can go no farther and--and I can not leave you -alone while I seek assistance, which, even if I did, I should not -obtain. There is no assistance for--for those who are not on their -side." - -"I can not understand you, monsieur," Urbaine said quietly. "You are -yourself a Protestant, my father told me--nay, did you not so inform -me that morning in our garden at Montpellier--yet you trouble to save -me from your fr----, those of your faith. I am deeply grateful to you, -only I do not comprehend." - -For a moment his clear eyes rested on her. In the dusk that was now -almost night she saw them plainly. Then he answered very quietly: - -"Is it not enough, mademoiselle, that you are a woman? Must I, because -I am a Protestant, have no right to the attributes of a man?" - -"I--I ask your pardon; forgive me. I would not wound you--you who have -saved me. And I thank you. Only, here, in Languedoc, we have learned -in the last few weeks to expect no mercy from the Protestants." - -"Like all who have turned against injustice and cruelty, they are now -themselves unjust and cruel. One may respect their turning, even their -uprising, yet not their methods." - -Then for some moments there was silence between them. - -They were seated, on this warm September night--for six weeks had -passed since the murder of the abbé--upon a bank outside a deserted -cottage a league or so from where the ambuscade and slaughter of Poul -and the soldiers under him had taken place. Above them, all around -them, in the little garden, there grew the sweet flowering acacias -which are at their best in the valleys that lie between the Loire and -the Rhône; the air was thick with their perfume. Also the gourds lay -golden on the ground, uncut and ripening to decay. The scarlet beans -trailed in rich profusion of colour on their sticks, illuminated, too, -by the fireflies that danced around. And from the distance of a -pistol-shot off there came the murmur of the arrowy river as it dashed -down between its banks to reach the sea. - -Yet all was desolation here, and death. Death typified by the poor -merle that lay forgotten and starved in its wicker cage, left behind -when those who once dwelt here had fled a fortnight ago to the -mountains at the report that De Broglie's _chevaux-légers_ were -devastating the land. They fled leaving behind them, too, the -three-months-old calf, and the fowls, and all the simple household -creatures, having no time to do aught but shift for themselves and -bear away to safety those other harmless living things, the children. - -"What is to be done I know not," Martin went on. "At any moment they -may come this way; they know we have escaped so far. Then--then--it -may mean instant death; at best, captivity in the mountains." - -"For me," she answered, speaking low, "for me? I am Baville's adopted -child--the child of his dear friend. But for you--you are of -their----" - -Then she paused, leaving the last word unsaid as she saw again his -calm, sad eyes fixed on her. Once more she pleaded for pardon. - -"Forgive, forgive me," she said. "I am vile, ungenerous to speak thus. -Yet we must part at last. They have no charge against you." - -"We part," he replied, "when you--when both--are safe." - -They knew not why at such a time as this, when action should have been -everything and no moment wasted, in spite of the girl's fatigue and -prostration, silence should fall upon them; why they should sit there -as though courting a fate that might come at any moment, for at any -moment, above the hum of the near river, there might be heard the -voices of the revolted Cévenoles. Beneath the branches of the acacias -that o'erhung the dusty white road would perhaps be seen the unbrowned -barrels of their guns or the scythes with which, since many of them -had as yet no weapons, they were armed. - -A silence between these two broken only by the twitter of birds in the -branches, or by a sigh that rose unchecked from the girl's breast as, -in the starlit dark, she turned her eyes on the features of the man by -her side. - -"Come," he said at last, rousing himself, "come. It is madness to -remain here. We must move on even though we encounter death by doing -so. It is not likely that all have returned to the mountains after -their victory; they may pass by here at any moment. Can you proceed at -all, mademoiselle?" - -"I can at least try. Yet to where? To where?" - -"I do not know the land very well," he answered, speaking in the slow, -calm voice which had impressed her so much a month ago when the -Intendant had, with strange indifference (as it seemed to both of -them), presented Martin to Urbaine and left them to pass some hours in -the orange garden of the Intendancy, he contenting himself with -telling the girl that her new acquaintance was from the north and was -not of their faith. "I do not know the land very well. Yet is there -not a garrison near here? I think so. Called the--the château of--the -fortress of--Servas." - -"Ah, yes!" Urbaine cried, clasping her hands, "the Château de Servas. -Between Alais and Uzès; not far from here. If we could reach that we -should be safe. The commandant is known to my father--to De Broglie. -He would protect us." - -"We must attempt it," Martin replied. "It is our chance, -mademoiselle," he exclaimed, breaking off as he heard a gasp from her -lips, "What is it? What! What new terror?" - -"I forgot," she whispered, her voice unsteady, "I forgot. In -this instance the case is reversed. They are all of my -faith--you--you--would be sacrificed. They are infuriated with these -rebels. Alas!" she almost wailed, "they would not spare you. It is not -to be dreamed on. Anywhere but there." - -"Nay," he said, "nay. It must in truth be there. And for me fear not. -I have saved the daughter of his Excellency for them. Even though they -know I am this accursed thing in their eyes, a Protestant, they would -scarcely repay me cruelly for that." - -"They must never know it. By silence you are safe. Oh, let us attempt -to reach it. It is but two or, at most, three leagues. I have been -there with my father. He will bless you, worship you for saving me." - -"Three leagues! three leagues!" he repeated, "three leagues! For me, -nothing. Yet for you, a delicate woman!" - -"The very thought, the hope of safety, inspires me. I am strong again. -Come, monsieur, come, I beseech you, for both our sakes. For yours, -for you who have saved me, above all." - -"Not so," he said. "I am a man who has ventured into the tiger's jaws -and must take my chance. I am of poor account." - -And now they prepared to set forth to reach this place of refuge, yet -both knew what dangers might well be expected ere they got there, if -ever. For during the time which had elapsed since the Camisards, as at -this time they began to be called, had risen and commenced their -resistance by the slaughter of the Abbé Du Chaila, all Languedoc had -been overrun with them and was in a state of terror. Also the flight -of the inhabitants had become entirely reversed. It was the Catholics -and the Catholic priests who were rushing out of the province as fast -as they could go, while from their mountain homes the revolted -Protestants who had taken up arms were pouring down in hundreds. -Already, too, the cities were in a state of siege and the inhabitants -fortifying themselves within the walls. That very night, although -neither Martin nor Urbaine knew of it, the ancient city of Nîmes, the -Rome of France, expected to be besieged, put to sword ere dawn; for by -the time that they were hoping to accomplish their night journey to -the Château de Servas the few dragoons who had escaped the slaughter -which had fallen on Poul's detachment, as well as the fusileers and -another band of cavalry and infantry who had been routed close by -while under the command of De Broglie, had ridden pell-mell into -Nîmes, their weapons broken or lost, their heads covered with blood, -themselves and their horses wounded. Rode in the bearers of awful -tidings as to how the fanatics were led by two persons, one a lad of -sixteen named Cavalier, the other a man a few years older named -Roland; rode in and told how women fought on their side as the Amazons -of old had fought; how men preached and encouraged them and sang -canticles as they did so; of how they spared none; had beheaded Poul; -had captured Baville's daughter and slain her, if not worse. Described -also, with white quivering lips, how the tocsins were ringing from -half a hundred churches in flames; told of priests flung across their -own altars and done to death, of soldiers mutilated ere slain--all by -bands of men who seemed to vanish into the air the moment after their -deeds were accomplished. - -Meantime Baville's daughter and her rescuer were threading their -course through the meadows and pastures that fringed the wayside, -because thus her feet were more eased by the long, cool grass on -which now the dews of night had fallen, or slowly finding a path -through chestnut woods. Sometimes, too--leaving the river behind them -and knowing they were going aright since its distant hum became -fainter and fainter, and since, ever before them, yet afar off, the -summits of _La Lozère_ and _Bouquet_ stood out more clear against the -heavens--they passed vineyards on which the black grapes hung in -clusters, when, pausing, they moistened their lips with the soft, -luscious fruit. Yet went on and on, resting at intervals, and then -forward again, the girl leaning on the arm of her companion--the arm -of the man whose faith she had been taught to despise and execrate. - -But once they had to stop for another reason than her fatigue, to -pause in a great chestnut wood where the grass which grew at the feet -of the trees was as soft and silky as thistle-down, and where the deer -stared at them with wide-open, startled eyes; to pause because they -heard a hundred yards away the voices of a band of men which passed -along the wide road. - -"It is they," she whispered, trembling. "It is they. Whom do they -seek?" - -"Fear not," he replied, soothing her, while at the same time he drew -her within the decayed trunk of an enormous chestnut tree over whose -head more than one century must have rolled. "They proceed too rapidly -along the road, too swiftly on their way, to be in search of us. More -like they go to midnight murder, the destruction of some harmless -village, the pillage of some helpless town." - -"Murder! Destruction! you deem it that? You!" she whispered, her soft, -pure eyes glancing up at his. - -"I deem it that," he replied gravely, "retaliation though it be." - -The band went on, their voices coming back to them on the still night -air, the refrain of one of their hymns borne back also--a hymn still -breathing of revenge blessed by God, of vengeance ordained by him. - -"If you are rested again," he whispered, "we may proceed." - -Still helping her, assisting her as gently as though he had been her -brother, he led her on until at last they left the shelter of the -woods and stood upon a little knoll of ground, a spot from which they -looked across a plain bordered on the farther side by slopes and hills -that, rising one behind the other, lifted themselves finally to -mountains whose ridges and summits stood out sharply against the -starry sky. Yet saw, too, that now the stars grew whiter and began to -pale, that all the heavens were turning to a soft primrose hue, while, -far away to the east, was the warm suffusing of scarlet which told of -the coming day. Afar off, also, observed other crimson streaks over -which there hung dun-coloured palls of smoke that proceeded from -burning towns and hamlets. - -Shuddering, Urbaine directed her glance to the latter, then said, -looking toward the north: - -"There ahead of us is the Château de Servas. You see?" and as she -spoke she pointed to where, above a low purple-crested hill, a white -building hung. - -"I see," he answered. "Pray God we reach it. You can still go on?" - -"I must go on," she replied. "Once there we are safe. The château is -well garrisoned." - -Even through this plain, vineyards ran along the side of the road -which led to where the fortress stood; therefore they were not so open -to observation as if it had been a flat, uncultivated expanse; and -across this they passed, sheltered by the vines on either side. And -now there arose a chance unhoped for--one which, had it happened -earlier in their journey, might have brought them to the harbour of -refuge they sought before the night had gone. Grazing at the side of -the road was an old mule, a creature rough-coated and long neglected -and uncared for, its hide thick and coarse. Perhaps its being so poor -a thing was the reason why it had not been carried off into the -mountains either by those who owned it or by those who would have -appropriated it if owned by their foes. Yet it served now to ease -Urbaine from further toil, since Martin, catching it and placing his -coat across its back as a saddle-cloth, lifted the girl on to it at -once. Then instantly they set off again, he walking by the patient -creature's side and directing it. - -An hour later, when now the light had come and when the mountain tops -were all gilded with the rays of the sun, while below on the plain the -coolness of dawn was already receding before the genial warmth of a -new day, they had reached their journey's end and were mounting the -slope beneath the castle. And seeing the two cannon that stood on -their cumbersome old carriages upon the walls, and the men-at-arms who -were already regarding them curiously from those walls, Martin knew -that he had saved the girl for a second time. - -Also she knew it well, yet such was her emotion, such her agitation at -recognising that she had escaped an awful fate, that she was powerless -to express herself in words; but not too powerless to testify her -gratitude by her looks and by the touch which she laid upon his hand. -A touch which he understood and answered also by a glance, and by the -muttered words, "Thank God!" - -A moment later the wicket in the great iron-barred and studded gate -opened, and a soldier came out and stood regarding them; then called -down the slope: - -"Who are you and what do you seek?" - -"Shelter and refuge," Martin answered back, his voice clear and -distinct in the morning air. "This lady is his Excellency's daughter." - -"His Excellency's daughter!" the man repeated, his whole tone one of -astonishment. "His Excellency's daughter, and travelling thus on such -a sorry beast!" - -"And travelling thus. Fortunate, indeed, to be travelling at all," -while, as he spoke, he extended his hands and caught Urbaine as she -swerved on the mule's back and fell fainting into his arms. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI. - -SUCCOUR. - - -Once more the day was drawing to a close. Already across the plain the -sun's rays were slanting horizontally. Soon the sun itself would have -dipped behind the mountains and be gone. Another night was at hand, -and Martin, gazing on the country around from the castle walls on -which he stood, thanked God that it would bring no terrors to the girl -whom he had saved, such as the past one had brought. - -Since they had been received into the castle in the morning by the -commandant, a man who had once fought in countless campaigns but who -now passed his latter years as governor of this place, he had seen -nothing of Urbaine. She had been escorted to a room in the west wing -immediately on their admission, where, after having been given -restoratives in the shape of wine and food, and after being attended -to by two or three of the few women in the place--soldiers' wives--she -had begged that she might be allowed to be alone and thus obtain some -rest. In was sorely needed, Martin said, speaking to the old -chatelaine, sorely needed. - -"And can be procured," the other replied, twisting up his great -moustachios. "_Bon Dieu!_ we have a room here fit for the reception of -a duchess. Madame de Servas--a pretty thing---_une femme de la vieille -souche_ also--loves a soft nest; yet not one perched in an eyrie -around which such storms blow as those that are now devastating -Languedoc, the pest seize them and those who brew them!" - -"Is the lady here?" Martin asked, thinking that, if so, she would be a -comfort to the girl until she could escape back to Montpellier under -his care. - -"_Pouf! pouf! pouf!_" the old soldier said, "not she indeed. I tell -you the tempest is too rough for her; she fears too much the vagabonds -up there," whereupon he nodded toward where by now all the mountain -tops of the Cévennes were gleaming in the morning sun. "Thereupon she -is fled to Paris, the paradise of women; to Versailles--Marly. Well, -she is safe there from these men," and again he nodded toward the -mountains. "From other men, ho! ho!--of the court, _figurez -vous_--danger may come, drawn by her bright eyes. However, there is -the nest for mademoiselle. _Tant mieux!_" - -But by now, as the evening drew on, those mountains were suffused by -the soft _couleur de rose_ that, in a near and less troubled land, was -known as the Alpine glow. And Martin, himself refreshed after some -hours' sleep during the day, was leaning over the castle wall looking -down into the valley and the plain all flushed with the burning sunset -of the golden autumn, with, far off and running through the latter, -the silver thread that was the river Gardon hurrying on to join the -Rhône. He was thinking now of many things, even as his eyes took in -the beauties of all the fair department that lay around him--the -distant woods whose leaves were scarce yet browned by the touch of -autumn's fingers; the mill house on the Gardon's bank whose wheel was -now still, since its owner had fled, perhaps forever; the gray convent -that lay farther off and had been half destroyed by fire two nights -ago; the crumbled ivy-clad tower a mile away, in which the king's -father, Louis "The Just," had caused a score of Protestants to be -burned alive--was thinking of many things as he regarded the fair -scene. Whether he would ever see his own land once more, ever escape -out of France, ever meet again in future years the pure fair girl -whose life he had saved but a few hours ago--the girl whose faith and -convictions were so bitterly hostile to his own, as every word she -spoke, every thought she allowed utterance to, testified. Also he -was wondering if the search he had undertaken for the lost de -Rochebazon--the search he now deemed a foolish, Quixotic one--could -result in aught but failure here in such a tempest-tossed spot as -this. - -"Never," he muttered to himself, "never shall I find him. France's -empty coffers must swallow up all the wealth that is his, the Church -he renounced must profit by my own renunciation. Find him! How? Where? -Hanging to some gibbet if he has lived till these days, or learn that -years ago he perished on the wheel or at the stake; that his ashes -were cast to the winds. I shall never find him." Then he turned, -hearing a step upon the leads behind him, and observed the commandant -approaching the spot where he stood. - -Already, when the old soldier had been by his side a few moments -before, he had been made acquainted with all that had happened on the -previous day, and of how it was only by God's mercy that Martin had -arrived at the fortunate moment he did. - -"I was," he said, "on my way to Valence, to which some affairs led me, -where I heard the sound of firing and the shouts of men engaged in -fierce conflict. And I should have stood outside the fray, have taken -no part in it, but that I saw the travelling coach and observed a -serving woman screaming on the top of it; saw a face at the coach -window--that of mademoiselle. I could not refrain from attempting her -rescue. She was a helpless, defenceless girl. It was no place for her -among those men fighting like tigers. Also we had met before at her -father's residency." - -"_Ponz! ponz!_" said the commandant, "you did well. _Nonc d'un chien_, -you did well for yourself and her. Baville will not forget. She is the -apple of his eye, although no blood relation, yet the child of a loved -friend, confided to him in death. Also his own child is a trouble to -him. The Intendant spends all his heart on this girl. They say he -worships her tenderly, fondly, because of her father. Ask Baville for -aught you desire when you return to Montpellier and you will get it. -He will repay you as fully as if--well!--as if, had you injured her, -he would have cut you into twenty thousand atoms." - -"I shall ask him for nothing. One does not save a woman's life for a -reward." - -"That I know," the commandant replied, a little ruffled by the rebuke. -"Yet, having saved her life, as well let Baville show his gratitude. -He is all-powerful here in the province; his interest, too, is great -at Versailles." Then, changing the subject, the old man said: - -"If we had but enough men you and she should be sent to Montpellier -to-morrow. Yet 'tis impossible. We have but sufficient here to -garrison the place and to rush out and hurry any of those _scélérats_ -whom we can catch in small bodies. I can not spare any men to form a -guard. Meanwhile the Intendant probably deems her dead by this time. -God help all who fall into his hands after this!" - -"How is it with her to-night?" Martin asked now, thinking that since -the sun was set she must surely by this time have slept off much of -her fatigue. - -"She is refreshed and rested, the woman tells me who has been placed -in attendance on her. Yet, too, she is very sad. She thinks much on -her father's and mother's grief if they knew, as they must, what has -befallen her, which they doubtless deem death. Oh, that I could -communicate with Baville! Yet 'tis impossible. I can not spare a man." - -"You can spare me," Martin answered gravely and with a seriousness -that told he meant what he said. "Give me a horse better than the poor -thing on which mademoiselle finished her journey here, and I will go; -will undertake to reach Montpellier." - -"You?" the commandant exclaimed, his eyes lighting up at the -suggestion. "You? So! 'tis well. Who better than he who saved her to -carry the good news to her father? Yet, yet," he said in his next -breath, his face falling, "'tis impossible. You would never reach the -city. They are everywhere, _on dit_ two thousand strong already. And -they spare none; above all, they will not spare the man who saved the -Intendant's loved one." - -"I may avoid them. Even if I do not there may still be a chance of my -escape," Martin added, remembering that he was of the same faith as -these rash unhappy rebels, although not in sympathy with them. -Certainly not in sympathy with their cruelties. - -"Escape? Yes, you may, even as by God's grace you escaped so far as to -reach here. But such chances come not more than once together--who -throws the ace twice! Moreover, if they know 'twas she who has slid -out of their claws they will be over all the land, 'neath every bush, -behind every stone, like painted snakes. There is no chance. You must -remain here till some of Julien's or De Broglie's troops come to -assist. Yet if you could have done it, have repeated your last night's -valour, Baville would have worshipped you. Still, still you have done -well. _Bon Dieu!_"--and the old man slapped the young one on the -shoulder--"_vous êtes un homme fort_." - -Looking away toward where now the purple shadows of the September -evening were resting over all the plain, glancing over to where the -white dusty road that followed the course of the Gardon stood out -plain and distinct in the clear pure air, Martin saw that which told -him that no further opportunity for a repetition of last night's -valour, as the commandant had termed it, was like to come to him. - -Already it seemed as if assistance was at hand. - -"See," he said, "see! Even now the succour you pray for is near. -Behold some of the troops of those whom you name--De Broglie's or -Julien's! Look! the last rays sparkle on gorget and fusil-barrel. -Thank God! She will be restored to her father. Perhaps to-night. -To-morrow at latest." - -It was as he said. Along that white dusty road which twined beside the -river there came a body of cavalry, plain enough to be seen even by -the age-worn eyes of the elder man. A troop numbering about thirty -soldiers, on whose rich galloon, sword hilts, and bridle chains the -last beams of the fast-sinking sun sparkled, it lighting up, too, the -rich _bleu du roi_ worn by some and the gallant scarlet of the others. - -"_Pardie!_" exclaimed the commandant, "the slaughter could not have -been as great as you imagined, my friend. Those men have at least -escaped. Observe, the blue are the dragoons of De Broglie, the red are -those of Hérault. Surely they were in the attack of yesterday," and he -turned his eyes on Martin almost questioningly, as though wondering -whether, for his own self-glorification, he had exaggerated his -service to Urbaine. - -"'Tis strange," the other answered, "strange. None escaped, I do -believe, who were escorting mademoiselle's carriage. There must have -been another party of the king's troops who were set upon, and these -have belonged to them." - -"May be," the commandant said, willing enough not to believe that this -man (who had at least placed the existence of one of the most precious -women in the province beyond danger) was a braggart. "May be, yet they -have done more than escape, too. See, they bring prisoners. Fanatics. -In chains, observe." - -Looking again, Martin did observe that he spoke truly. Ahead of the -cloud of dust which the horses raised on the chalk-white road he saw a -band of men on foot; could count six of them, all shackled together by -the wrists and shambling along, one or another falling now and again -and causing the cavalry thereby to halt until they were once more on -their feet. No doubt Camisard prisoners. - -"Ha!" exclaimed the old man, leaning on the buttress by his side, his -knotty hands placed above his eyes to shield them from the sun's last -rays, and perhaps, also, to focus the advancing cavalcade, "they turn -by the mill. Therefore they approach to succour us. Good! To-morrow -mademoiselle will rejoin her father." - -Then they bade the sentry on the walls fire a salute from the old -saker which had stood them since Ru de Servas had held the castle for -Henry of Navarre. - -It was answered by a blast from a trumpet far down in the valley, -after which the two men standing there, watching the oncoming relief, -traced its progress until at last the band were on the slopes beneath -the castle gateway. - -"You are welcome," the commandant called out to one who rode ahead of -all the others, richly apparelled in the _bleu du roi_ coat, and -wearing a well-powdered, deep wig _à la brigadier_ which hid all of -his head except his features beneath the great felt hat that he wore -above the peruke; "welcome in the name of the king for whom I stand -here. Are you sent, monsieur, to increase our garrison or to escort -mademoiselle, his Excellency's daughter, to safety?" - -"Mademoiselle, his Excellency's daughter, to safety!" the young -officer exclaimed, repeating the other's words in evident -astonishment--an astonishment equally testified by all at his back. -"His Excellency's daughter! Is she here?" - -"She is here. Did you not know it?" - -"Not I! or be very sure we would have been here before. Her safety is -indeed precious." Then at once he commenced an explanation of their -appearance at the château. - -"Monsieur," he said, "I am the nephew of M. de Broglie, and with these -others have escaped the fate which has fallen on his followers. Also, -by good chance, we have taken these six villainous _attroupés_ -prisoners. Yet, since they delay our progress to Alais, we have come -here to ask your permission to imprison them in your château. They -will be safe with you." - -"Ha!" laughed the old commandant, "_mort de ma vie_ they will. Safe! -Yes, till they stand with their backs against the wall of the -courtyard and with a platoon of musketeers _en face_. Oh, yes, very -safe! Bring them in, monsieur, the gates shall be open; also to -yourselves. You must not proceed to-night ere you have supped and -slept----" - -"It is impossible," the nephew of M. de Broglie answered. "It is -impossible; we must journey on to Alais." - -"And I say it is impossible you can do so. What! refuse a bite and a -sup, a bed with a comrade, also the acquaintance of Monsieur -l'Intendant's daughter? Fie! Nay, more, you must turn back at dawn and -escort the lady to Montpellier. Ho! 'twill not be long ere you find -yourself brigadier after that service." - -Again the young officer protested, again said it was impossible. They -must proceed even though they missed a sight of _les beaux yeux de -mademoiselle_. Yet, even as he so protested, the commandant saw signs -of his yielding and urged his plea still more. - -At last, however, he won upon the other. After still more refusals, M. -de Broglie's nephew, having consulted with a second officer of the -troop, yielded by degrees, saying finally that they would remain until -daybreak; would so far forego their duty as to sup and sleep in the -castle. - -And now the great gate of the château opened and all the dragoons of -De Broglie and Hérault came in, the horses being tethered in the -courtyard, while the wretched prisoners were told roughly by the -second in command that they could throw themselves down there. Soon, -he said, they would sleep well enough. Need neither pillow nor -bolster! - -"Yet give us bread," one whispered, "bread and to drink, though only -water. Kill us not before our time." - -"You shall have both," the commandant replied. "We do not starve those -to death who are reserved for other things." - -They all turned away after this, leaving the prisoners amid the -troopers and the horses, the commandant inviting the two officers to -accompany him and Martin to the platform of the castle, there to await -the supper and the pleasure of being presented to his Excellency's -daughter, while, as they went, Martin, who had been regarding M. de -Broglie's nephew from the first moment when the troop had appeared -under the castle, could not resist saying to him: - -"Monsieur, I can not but think we have met before. Your face is -familiar to me." - -"Possibly, monsieur," the other replied with a courteous bow, though -one that, Martin thought, scarcely savoured of that ease and grace -which a member of the De Broglie family should possess, a great house -whose scions were almost always of a certainty trained to all the -courtlinesses of Versailles and St. Germain. "Possibly, monsieur. I am -much about in various places. Can monsieur, _par hazard_, recall where -we may have met?" - -"Nay, nay," Martin said, "nay. And 'tis but a light fancy. Doubtless I -am mistaken." - - - - -CHAPTER XVII. - -THE RUSE. - - -Nevertheless he was convinced that he was not mistaken. Yet -where--where had he seen this nephew of De Broglie before? - -As one racks his brain to call up some circumstance or surrounding in -connection with a face that puzzles him, to recollect some action -associated with that face which shall assist the struggle of memory to -assert itself, he racked his brain now. Yet all was of no avail, even -though he brought before his mind every scene he could recollect since -first he had returned to France. - -Of no avail! - -The full deep wig _à la brigadier_, the laced blue coat, the -ivory-hilted sword of the young aristocrat, helped him not in the -least; refused rather to assimilate themselves in his memory with the -features which teased his recollection so. Yet, even as he meditated -thus, while these four men--himself, the commandant, the man who -perplexed him, and the officer under him--sat at supper in the old -banqueting room used by generations of the De Servas, he found himself -repeating those very words which had risen to his mind, "the young -aristocrat." - -Young aristocrat! Well, if so, a strange one, and surely not -possessing the marks of breeding which a De Broglie should be the -owner of! He ate roughly, coarsely, almost it seemed greedily; also he -drank as a peasant drinks, in great copious draughts; laughed noisily -and loudly. Moreover, from out of the ruffles of Valenciennes there -protruded hands that scarcely proclaimed him a member of a well-born -family. Hands broad and with ill-shapen fingers, the nails of which -were flat and broken and none too clean; not the hands of one in whose -veins ran the blood of countless well-born men and women! - -"Pity 'tis," this scion of _la vieille roche_ muttered to the -commandant, "that mademoiselle does not honour us to-night. Tired, you -say, after the fatigue of her escape from those base fanatics? Ha, -_sans doute!_ May she always escape as easily! 'Twill be well for -her." - -As he spoke, Martin, removing his eyes from his face, saw a sight that -startled him--a sight that told him something terrible was in the air. - -Far down, at the end of the old room, there was a small door, it not -being the main one; and at that door, which was open about half a -foot, he saw the face of Urbaine Ducaire, with, on it, an awful look -of horror--a horror which had brought to her face a whiteness such as -that which is upon the countenance of a corpse within its shroud; in -her eyes a glare such as is in the eyes of those who have seen a sight -to blast them. A glare, a look of agony, piteous to see. - -At first he knew not what to do, yet even as he hesitated, undecided, -he felt sure he must not draw the attention of those at the table to -her, unless indeed he could attract the attention of the commandant -alone, for it dawned on him, though he could not have explained why, -that she, standing there behind the door, showing only that white face -and those terror-haunted eyes, had been endeavouring to make the old -man see her without being observed by the others. - -What did it mean? What portend? - -The conversation was eager between the remaining three at the table, -the commandant advancing a plan for trapping the Camisards in their -mountain fastnesses which Julien had a week or so before propounded, -the nephew of De Broglie and his companion listening, it seemed -scornfully, certainly deriding such plan. - -"It will never succeed," the first of these two said; "never, never," -and he laughed. "We, we of the king's forces, shall be driven back by -these vile fanatics, or led into a snare, or _guet-apens_ up in the -mountains. And then woe, woe to all! Not one will return to the -valleys, to the towns, to tell the tale." - -Yet as he spoke, uttered such predictions of disaster, it seemed -almost as though he gloated over the picture he drew. - -And still Martin saw ever before him the terrified face of Urbaine -Ducaire peering from behind the far-off door, the eyes glaring into -the room like the eyes of one who knows that behind her comes some -awful thing. With, in them, too, as it seemed to him, a piteous -glance, a glance of agony that she could not attract the gaze of the -man she sought--the commandant. - -He could bear it no longer. Somehow he must reach her, communicate -with her, know what it was that has struck such fear into her soul. - -An excuse for him to leave the table seemed easy. The room had grown -very hot. Already the nephew of De Broglie had protested he must -remove his great wig. The commandant had said they must have air. - -"I will go and open the door," Martin said, rising from his place. To -open the windows would have been impossible since they were set high -up in the walls, as was the case in most châteaux of the day, and -could not be reached without a ladder. "The one at the farther end." -And as he went toward it he prayed Heaven none would follow him. Also -he saw that the girl's face was withdrawn as he rose from his chair, -the door closed-to gently. Then, a moment later, he reached it. - -Setting it open, he glanced into the narrow passage that ran outside, -the farthest wall of this corridor having several low windows in it -which gave on to the courtyard; and, turning his eyes into its -dimness, he perceived Urbaine standing there, her back against the -wall, her arms extended droopingly against it too, as though thereby -to prevent herself from falling. - -"Mademoiselle," he said, in a low voice, advancing toward her, -"mademoiselle, what has distressed, terrified you thus? I fear -that----" - -Was she gone mad, he wondered! As he spoke she put both her hands out -in front of her, removing them from the wall and extending them from -her body as though to ward him off, to defend herself from him. Also -she pressed her body back against that wall as if thereby she might -shrink into it--away from him. - -"Mademoiselle!" he exclaimed, amazed. "Mademoiselle----" but paused -again, for still she drew herself away from him as from some unclean, -loathsome thing. Then her white lips moved; he heard the words that -issued from them. - -"Traitor!" she said. "Perfidious traitor! Come not near me!" and with -her hands she drew her travelling robe close round her as though to -prevent even that from being contaminated by him. - -"Are you distraught, mademoiselle?" he asked. "Are----?" yet stopped -once more in his speech, for now, in the dusk of the night, he saw -those staring eyes, which he had deemed so lovely but a few hours ago, -glancing out through the passage window to the courtyard below; saw -them rivetted upon something beneath in that courtyard; saw, too, that -she shuddered as she gazed. - -Then he too looked forth into it. - -Upon the stones where the six _attroupés_ had been flung down in their -chains he saw those men standing now, free and unbound, in their hands -naked weapons. The light of a newly lit flambeau flickering on one of -their blades showed that it was deeply stained red. Also he saw that -they too were now clad in scarlet and blue, their own rude mountain -clothes discarded, flung in a heap in a corner. - -And more he saw! Some were lying dead, or dying, in that courtyard; -men who had but a few hours ago formed part of the garrison; the men -whose clothes the others had already donned. - -Like the lightning's flash there came to his mind what had happened; -he understood all. The ruse was successful. The Camisards, disguised -in the uniforms and trappings of the defeated soldiers of the day -before, had surprised and captured the château; the trick of -transporting those false prisoners had been a perfect one. Also he -knew now where he had seen M. de Broglie's nephew. The deep powdered -wig, the rich costume, served as disguises no longer. He recalled him! -Recalled him as one who, young as he was, had taken a leading part in -the massacre of the Abbé du Chaila, in the attack on Poul's convoy. - -He understood, too, Urbaine's bitter words now. He was of these men's -faith; she deemed him one of them! Also that he had brought her here -only to betray her later into their hands. Bitter words that had sunk -into his heart perhaps forever, yet she should see. - -He drew his sword, advanced a step nearer to her, then retreated. - -"I ask your pardon," he said, speaking very low, "that I have come -near to you again. That I must address you. Yet, 'traitor' as I am, my -place is still by your side. I interfered to save you yesterday. -I must go on with what I have begun. One moment to warn the -commandant--if--they have not slain him--then--then--mademoiselle--to -save you from these men of my own faith." - -But now she spoke no more, only--her eyes were fixed upon him with a -strange look--he could have sworn that in the almost absolute darkness -of the night which was upon them he saw her bosom heave pitiably. Then -from her lips he heard beyond all doubt a gasp come. - -"Fear not," he said, "they will not murder a woman. Can not, at least, -murder you while I still live. Remain behind the door while I re-enter -the room." - -Whereon, leaving her, he pushed open the door and advanced within, his -sword in his hand. As he did so he saw he had no chance; believed that -he was doomed. - -The room was full of men, of the mock soldiers--the Camisards -disguised in the uniforms of De Broglie and of Hérault; doubtless they -had entered by the main door while he had been in the passage. Also -there were lights in it--two flambeaus placed in old sockets in the -walls, and white-wax candles in a great lustre on the table. - -In front of him was the "nephew of M. de Broglie," his powdered wig -off now and his head showing a mass of long fair hair, while in his -hand he too held his drawn sword. At the table, his face fallen -forward upon it and his arms outstretched, was the old man, the -commandant, done to death. - -"You craven hound!" hissed Martin, and as he spoke his rapier darted -full at the other. "You craven hound, you eat of that old man's dish, -drink of his cup, and murder him! Defend yourself, assassin!" - -And, forgetful of any wrong that this man's (his own) faith might have -suffered at the hands of those of the commandant's creed, remembering -only that he was a gentleman face to face with one whom in his heart -he deemed the _canaille_, remembering, too, that he was a murderer, he -lunged full at him. - -"_Malédiction!_" the Camisard exclaimed, driven back by the skill of -the other (skill acquired in many a _cours d'escrime_ in Paris, and -the fence school of the Guards at Kensington gravel-pits), and knowing -too, himself, but little of sword play except the rough cut-and-thrust -which he had practised in the mountains. "_Malédiction!_ You shall pay -dearly for this! _Au sécours mes frères_." - -He called for succour none too soon. In another moment Martin's blade -would have been through his breast. None too soon! Fortunately for him -it was at hand. Like tigers rushing on their prey, half a dozen of the -disguised Camisards hurled themselves upon Martin; two threw -themselves on him behind, one knocked up his sword arm, two more -secured him. He was disarmed, captured, at their mercy. - -"Shall we knock him on the head or cut his throat, brother Cavalier?" -one asked, while as he did so Martin knew that he stood before one of -the two chiefs of the Cévenoles, a man whose name was a terror by now -to all Languedoc, and, two centuries afterward, is still remembered. - -"No," Jean Cavalier replied, "he is a bold man, of the tyrants' side -though he be. Most of them will be ours now we have risen. We will -spare him, for the present at least." - -Then he turned to Martin, who stood there calm and contemptuous -(remembering that the fellow before him had been a baker's apprentice -a year or two back, as he had heard--the latter almost felt degraded -at having his life spared by such a man as this), and said with an -attempt at ease which he invariably adopted, and with, also, the fury -he had shown gone: - -"Monsieur, it is the fortune of war which puts you in our power. You -must abide by it. What parish do you belong to?" - -"None you ever heard of. One in the north of France. I am a stranger -here." - -"A stranger!" Cavalier repeated incredulously, "a stranger!" And as he -did so Martin saw all the followers of the Camisards' chief gazing -astonishedly at him. "A stranger! If so, what are you doing here? What -have the affairs of this unhappy province to do with you? Also, why in -this château?" - -What answer Martin might have made to his questions, if any, was not -given, since at this moment three of the men who had left the room -returned, bringing with them Urbaine Ducaire. They had found her -outside the door listening tremblingly to all that had happened -within, rooted to the spot, almost insensible. - -Yet now, as she advanced between those men, something had given her -courage, had nerved her to strength. She trembled no more and, -although very white and with still a strange gleam in her eyes, she -walked erect; almost, to Martin observing her, it seemed defiantly. -What, he wondered, had stung her to this courage? Perhaps the contempt -that she too felt for her captors. - -With a bow, Cavalier welcomed her, then asked: - -"Have I the honour to stand face to face with the daughter of his -Excellency the Intendant?" - -"I am the adopted daughter of the Comte de Baville," she answered -calmly. "When do you intend to slay me, as you have slain the others?" -and her eyes stole to where the commandant's body lay stretched over -the table. - -For a moment Cavalier looked at her with a strange glance, surprised, -perhaps, at her calmness; it may be, stung by her absolute -indifference to his power. Then he said: - -"Mademoiselle mistakes those whom she addresses. Doubtless, in these -surroundings, thinks she has fallen into the hands of papists or those -of similar faith. People who slay women burn them on the _grandes -places_, belabour their bare backs. I would not be discourteous, yet -mademoiselle will pardon me if I remind her that we are not of the -same religion as herself, or monsieur by her side." - -Or monsieur by her side! Unanswering her captor, scarcely regarding -him, she stood there, a look impenetrable to Cavalier upon her face, -yet with her mind full of wonderment. - -Or monsieur by her side! They did not know then that he was one of -them, in faith and belief at least--that--that---- - -"God!" she whispered to herself, still gazing beyond--through--the -Camisard chief, yet with no thought of him in her mind. "God! what -awful wrong have I done him again to-night, how misjudged him? To be -by my side as a protection still, to share my fate, he does not avow -himself a Protestant; consents to be deemed their enemy--a Catholic. -And he is not a woman. There is naught to save him." - -Even as she so thought her eyes stole round and rested on him standing -there calmly near her side, avowing, denying nothing. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII. - -LA DIVINÉRESSE. - - -The violets and the primroses grow in the chestnut woods that fringe -the base of La Lozère, yet disappear as the roads wind up to the -summit, giving place to the wild foxglove and heather which, in their -turn, disappear as still the ascent continues. Also, the chestnuts -themselves become more sparse and infrequent, until at last the woods -cease altogether, and the mountaineer trends only on the soft, crisp -brown grass that, lying warm beneath the winter's snows, springs but -into existence to be consumed later by the fierce southern sun that -beats on it. - -Finally, with far beneath his feet the valleys basking in the warm -sun, the wanderer stands upon a dreary upland with, around him, the -mountain tops of the Cévennes huddled in wild confusion, as though -thrown down from the palm of some great giant. A confusion of barren -crags in some places, of, in others, great hills clothed with forests -or upland pasturages, or, in a few cases, plots of cereals--a -confusion over which in summer sweeps, without warning, a torrent of -hail, or amidst which rise fogs that envelope all; that in winter is -buried in snow over which the tempests howl. Here, too, wherever the -eye turns, torrents are seen that, when Spring unlocks their floods -and turns the frozen snow to water, leap down and hurl themselves over -boulders and, in some cases, precipices until at last they reach the -rivers beneath. Here also are bare walls of rock in which are the -caverns that sheltered the Camisards whom Louis and Louvois, -Chamillart and De Maintenon had driven forth into the mountain -deserts. Yet not only Louis, le Dieudonné and his myrmidons, but, -before him, that other Louis, his father, surnamed "The Just," who -had, under the sword of the brutal Marshal de Thémines, also driven -countless Huguenots to take refuge in these wild, stony citadels, and -had forced them to fortify their mountains against their persecutors. -To close their caverns with bronze doors secretly conveyed to them by -Jeanne d'Albret, Protestant Queen of Navarre. - -It was in one of these vast caves, a week after the Château de Servas -had been burnt to the ground by the orders of Jean Cavalier (of how -the garrison was put to death, none being spared, the peasants still -tell nightly to all who care to hear), that there was gathered a vast -company of men and women. A company assembled to sit in judgment on -another man and woman who were in their power, to say whether the hour -had come for the death of those captives or was still to be postponed. -Postponed, not abandoned! For they were Catholics, persecutors. And, -therefore, doomed, sooner or later. But first the prophets and the -prophetesses had to speak. On them depended much; a swift doom that -night or one that might be reserved for another day. - -"You understand, mademoiselle?" the man said to his companion, seated -by his side; "you understand? Our sentence depends on those gathered -together round Cavalier. After they have spoken we shall know whether -'tis now or later." - -"I understand," Urbaine Ducaire answered, the cold tone in which he -spoke causing more grief to her heart than the awful import of his -words. "I understand." Then her eyes sought his, met them, and were -swiftly withdrawn. - -They had been here a week, being treated well, allowed to roam about -the vast caverns unmolested, yet never once allowed to form the most -illusory hopes that there could be but one end to their captivity. The -knowledge had been conveyed to them by now and then a word from one or -from another, by a look from a third, by even a glance from Cavalier -himself or from Roland, that for some of the Protestant men and women -slaughtered by the Papists they were to furnish an expiation--a -retaliation--as many other Catholics had already done who had fallen -into their captors' hands. - -Yet it was not the crowds of fierce Camisards who now surrounded them -in this great cavern, lit by torches at its farthest end, and by the -rays of the October sun which streamed in from where the great antique -bronze doors, placed there a hundred years ago, stood at the hither -end; nor the unpitying, cruel glances cast by the prophetesses at the -girl, which caused the grief she felt. That came from another cause; -from the cold disdain of the man by her side--the man to whom she owed -it that she had not been slain in the attack made upon her escort. -Disdain for the words she had uttered against him that night in the -passage outside the banqueting hall of the Château St. Servas, for the -manner in which she had misjudged him. Misjudged him as she had -recognised well from that night itself, from the moment when, being -himself a Protestant, he had refused to profit by the fact, but, -instead, had remained silent when accused of being one of their -captors' enemies. And his reason for doing so was certain; not to be -doubted. So that he might still be by her side, still near to protect -her, still near, if any chance should arise, to aid her escape. And -now the time was at hand when their doom was to be determined, and yet -he continued to hold his peace, would be ready to share her fate, and, -she told herself, to despise her to the end. - -"You are very noble," she had said to him that morning when they had -been brought into the great cavern from the cells which each had had -assigned to them, "and I, oh, God, how base! I wish the world had -ended on that night, ere I uttered the words I did." - -"It matters not," he said; "is worth no thought. You misjudged me, -that is all." - -She bowed her head before him, meaning thereby to acknowledge how -utterly she had indeed misjudged him. Then she said, her eyes fixed on -his: - -"Yet--yet you will not let them continue in their ignorance of what -you are? If--if they decide to slay, you will announce your fellowship -with them? Is it not so?" - -But to this he would make no answer, turning away his head from her. - -"It needs but one word," she continued, "and you are free--free to go -in peace." - -He knew as well as she that it needed but one word; nay, he knew -more. It needed but another word--the statement that he was an -Englishman--to make him something more than free, to cause him to be -received with acclamation by their captors, welcomed as a friend. For -England was Louis' bitterest foe and the most powerful; a force slowly -crushing the life out of France and her king, as she had been doing -since first she shattered his great fleet at Barfleur and La Hogue. -Also she was the home of every outlawed refugee and Huguenot; her -people supplied them with help and succour; even to this remote spot -money and arms were often secretly sent. And, further, 'twas whispered -among the Protestants that an attack was to be made ere long on -France's Mediterranean coast by one of England's admirals, after which -there would not remain one frontier or border of the land that did not -bristle with Protestant enemies. - -It did indeed need but the words "I am an Englishman" for his safety -to be assured. Yet he had sworn to himself that he would die at his -captors' hands ere he uttered them or made the statement that he was -of their faith, ere he would go forth and leave this girl here, alone -and doomed. - -"I do not desire," he said, "to earn my release by proclaiming myself -a Protestant. I pity them for what they have suffered; yet--yet I am -not in sympathy with their retaliation. I shall not proclaim myself." - -But now the hum of voices from the crowd near them became hushed; from -their midst one of the prophets, or, as they called them, "_Les -Extasés_," was speaking. "Mes Frères," they heard him say, "the God of -Battles fights on our side, even as once he fought upon the side of -Joshua. Also he has inspired me to read the future. I see," he went -on, extending his hands, "the time approaching when over all the land -of France the Huguenots shall worship in peace in the way that most -befits them; when no longer a tyrannous king, his married mistress by -his side, shall send forth armies to crush them. Nay, more, I see the -time at hand, ay, even in that king's lifetime, when he, reaping the -fruits of his errors, shall find us the allies of his bitterest foes. -I see our brother, Cavalier, leading his troops to victory against -France, against France's own children in a distant land. I see a plain -strewed with their bodies, crimson with their blood shed against -France. But not yet, not yet."[2] - -"Ay! not yet. And, my brother, tell us what of the present your holy -visions disclose," Cavalier exclaimed. "I too can forecast the future -when inspired by God. Speak, therefore, my brother; let us see if God -has revealed to both of us alike." - -Whereupon, again, the seer took up his strain. - -"Languedoc shall be free at last," he said. "I see in the far distant -future the altars overturned at which the children of the Devil -worship, the priests of Baal slain, the gibbets empty, the flames -burned out. Yet blood must be shed--the blood of all who bow to false -gods, idols of wood and stone, cruel gods who have spared none of our -faith, as now we will spare none of theirs. 'An eye for an eye, a -tooth for tooth.' It is the Mosaic law; let it be carried out. Spare -none." And even as he spoke his own eyes lighted on the man and woman -sitting there awaiting their doom. Then, lifting up his voice, he -sang, all joining in his song who stood around him, all holding up -their hands to heaven: - - Seigneur, entend ma plainte, écoute ma prière, - Ne detourne pas ta paupière - De ma détresse, Ô Dieu vivant. - Je pleure, je gémis, j'erre dans les ténebras - Comme aux fentes des tours les hulottes funèbres - Et les oiseaux du Désert. - - -And as he spoke, in truth he wept, then flung himself upon his knees -and prayed in silence. Yet looked up at last, and, pointing to Urbaine -and Martin, while down his cheeks the tears rolled, exclaimed: "They -are of Baal. They must die." - -"You hear?" Martin whispered to his companion, "you hear? There is no -hope; be brave." - -"Save yourself," she whispered back. "Save yourself, or," and now her -eyes sought his boldly, "I proclaim you--save you." - -"You dare not, I forbid you: command you to hold your peace. If you -proclaim me one of them, I will deny it. Be silent." - -It seemed as if there would be no time for her to do as she -threatened; their doom was at hand. - -Down the long cavern the Camisards advanced slowly. Ahead of them -strode Cavalier; yet even as he came he turned to those behind him and -said some words as though endeavouring to calm them, to at least -retard the hour of their vengeance; yet also, as it seemed by his -face, with little hope of being able to do so. - -Ahead of all came the women. One, who limped as she walked, Martin -recognised as the girl Fleurette who had been dragged moaning from the -Abbé du Chaila's house; another was the girl whom Urbaine had seen -fire the shot which slew her companion, the _gouvernante_. Also there -were others, some old, some middle-aged, some almost children. And, -perhaps to nerve themselves to what they were about to do, one told of -how her babe had been cast into the flames at Nîmes "by order of -Baville--her father," pointing as she spoke to Urbaine; another of how -her boy had hung upon a lamp post at Anduse "by order of Baville--her -father"; a third of how her old mother, gray and infirm, had also been -consigned to the flames "by order of Baville--her father." - -She, standing there, did not flinch as they approached; stood, indeed, -calmly awaiting whatever they might be about to do to her--she who had -shrieked as the shot was fired at Poul's escort, who had seemed as one -blasted to death by what she had discovered in the Château de Servas. -Neither flinched nor blanched, indeed smiled once into Martin's eyes -as he, close by her side, took her hand gently in his; glanced swiftly -up into his eyes as though asking if, at this supreme moment, he -forgave. - -"We die together," he said. "Remember, be brave." - -"Thus," she whispered, "I fear nothing." Then murmured, even lower, -"My God! how great, how noble you are!" - -Suddenly, while now the Camisards were all around them and while -Cavalier's voice rang out through the vaulted cavern, bidding them -halt until they had decided what form of death should be meted out to -the prisoners, a woman's voice rose high above all the others, -commanding them to harken to her words, listen to the spirit of -prophecy that was upon her. - -"It is the Grande Marie," they said, "La Grande Marie. Hear her, hear -her!" and stood still as they spoke, glancing at her. - -_Grande_ she was in stature, big and gaunt, with wild, misty eyes that -seemed to glare into vacancy; her hair iron-gray and dishevelled, her -voice rich and full as it rang down the cavern, silencing all other -voices. - -"The skies whirl round in starry circles," she said. "The voices of -whispering angels are in my ears, the heavenly host are telling me -strange things. Also the voice of God speaks to me; asks me a -question. Asks me who it is we are about to slay? My brethren, answer -for me." - -"Who?" they shouted, "who?" Cavalier alone standing silent, his eyes -upon the Grande Marie in wonderment. "Who? A stranger, who is of the -persecutors' faith. A woman also of the devil--the child of -Baville--the persecutor--the murderer." - -The misty eyes roamed over all around her as they spoke. Then suddenly -she moved toward them, her hand extended, one finger pointing. And -with that finger she touched Cavalier on the arm, then the Camisard -next to him, then another; then a woman, and another woman. - -"All," she whispered, while a great hush was now upon those in the -cavern, "all are God's children, all servitors of the Cross--all, all, -all." - -Again she went on, passing slowly by those in the cave, her finger -touching each and every one, missing none. Peering, too, into their -faces with those wild clouded eyes, penetrating them with her glances. - -And now the silence was extreme. She had touched, had looked into the -face of every one there except Martin and Urbaine. - -Again she moved and approached him, standing tall, erect and calm, yet -not defiantly, before his captor. - -Her fingers advanced and touched his breast beneath where the lace of -his cravat fell. With every eye upon them, she brought her face close -to his, and for one minute seemed as if through her own eyes she would -see deep into his brain. Then moved a step farther and stood before -Urbaine Ducaire. - -The girl, standing herself motionless, her hand clasped in Martin's, -divined rather than felt that the finger of the prophetess was on her -breast; saw that, as she opened her lids which she had closed when -that wild form drew near her, the eyes of the seer were looking into -hers. Then shuddered as they were removed. - -"Away!" La Grande Marie exclaimed, as now there were no more to touch, -no more to penetrate with those terrible glances, "away to your work -in the valleys and the towns, to devastate, to destroy, when the moon -which is the sun of the outcast is on high. Away, I say, to destroy, -to devastate. Your work is not here. Our God has blinded you, led you -astray. In this, our refuge, there is no child of the devil, no -Papist. You are deceived. Those whom you would slay are of our faith!" - - - - -CHAPTER XIX. - -LEX TALIONIS. - - -Over all Languedoc there was an awful terror at this time--the terror -that is born of successful rebellion, and that rebellion the outcome -of a religious strife. - -An awful terror which filled now the breasts of those who had -erstwhile been the persecutors, even as, not long before, it had -filled the breasts of those whom they had persecuted. - -In truth there were none in all that fair province, none--from those -who dwelt on its southern borders washed by the sapphire-hued waters -of the Mediterranean, to those who, on its northern boundary, gazed -toward the fertile provinces of Linois and Auvergne, or, looking west, -saw the rich rolling lands of golden Guienne stretched out before -them--but felt, and feeling, dreaded, the threatening horror that at -any moment might engulf them. For now no longer were the dungeons of -the cities filled with Protestants moaning for water, food, or air; no -longer did Huguenot women offer their jailers the few miserable coins -they had about them so that their babes might taste a drop of milk; no -longer did men of the Reformed Faith offer their little bags of -secreted livres and tournois to their warders, so that thereby they -might be allowed to sleep one hour--only one little hour!--without -disturbance; without horns being blown at their dungeon doors to -awaken them, or blank charges fired from musketoons and fusils with a -like intent; without their bodies being pricked and stirred up by -point of lance or sword at the moment that a heartbroken slumber fell -upon them. - -A change had come! Some of the jails were emptied now; in the smaller -towns and villages they existed no longer. Some of those towns and -villages were themselves erased from off the face of the earth. Down -from their mountain homes the Camisards had stolen, creeping like -phantoms through the night, like panthers on the trail of those whom -they track to their doom, like adders gliding through the grass. One -by one these men of vengeance mustered outside doomed bourgs or -hamlets till all were assembled in a compact mass, sometimes to lay -violent and open siege to the places, sometimes to be admitted -silently at dead of night, or in early dawn, by those who, disguised, -had already stolen in. Then the massacre took place, the jails gave up -their victims who were not already dead, the hateful gibbets and the -iron-bound wheels helped to light the fires that consumed the -villages, and in the morning there was no sign left either of avenger -or of victim. Of the former, all had stolen back into their -impenetrable fastnesses; of the latter, nothing remained but burning -houses and crumbling walls, a church destroyed, an altar shattered, -and at its base a slaughtered priest. - -Even in the greater cities--in Montpellier and Nîmes, Alais and -Uzès--the haunting fear, the terror, the horror was there, even though -those cities were fortified and garrisoned, full of soldiers and -_milices_. Yet of what use were these? Of what use dragoons who had -fought in close ranks and knee to knee against William of Orange's own -English and Dutch troopers? Of what use infantry who had stood a solid -phalanx of steel under Bouflers and Luxembourg? Of what use a homely -militia, when the enemy was unseen and intangible--an enemy which -crept in man by man through gates and barriers, disguised as peasant -and farmer bringing in produce, or sometimes, in bitter mockery of -their foes, as Catholic priest or Catholic seigneur? It was not -strange that against such a foe as this all Baville's plans were -unavailing, all Julien's military knowledge helpless. And the question -which every man asked his neighbour was, Would Montrevel, the new -field marshal now on his way from Paris with an enormous army, be able -to succeed against such crafty and resolute enemies any better than -his predecessors had done? - -Baville asked himself the same question now, as he sat where he had -sat a month or two before, on that morning when across the room had -fallen the shadow of Urbaine as she came in from the garden, her hands -full of freshly gathered, dew-sprinkled flowers--his loved Urbaine. -Yet he told himself, even as thus he meditated and doubted, that if -force could do it, it should be done. - -Upon his face as he sat alone in his cabinet there was a look which -none could perhaps have interpreted, yet which none could have failed -to observe; a look that had brought an appearance of age to his face -which his fifty years of life should not have placed there; also a -look of deep, fierce determination which, cruel as he had ever been, -had not hitherto been perceptible upon his handsome features. On the -table before him there lay a great chart of the whole Cévennes -district; attached to the chart by a silken string was a paper -referring to it; on the back of that chart was written in a bold, -sprawling hand, the words, "Mon plan pour la grande battue des -attroupés que je projete," and signed "Julien." - -"Bah," Baville exclaimed, after throwing down these papers angrily, -"_sa grande battue! Son plan!_ What will come of it? What? Nothing. -These dogs are as slippery as snakes. No battue will surround, entrap -them. And--and--even though they, though this swashbuckler, who thinks -more of the bouquet of his Celestin or the aroma of his white -Frontignan than of our province's safety, should prevail, it will not -bring her back to me." - -And Baville, on whose soul there lay heavy the slaughter of countless -innocent women--their only fault their faith--buried his face in his -hands and moaned. "Urbaine, Urbaine," he whispered, "_Ma mignonne, ma -petite rose blanche_, to think of you in their hands, you whom we have -nurtured so soft and warm, you who, I swore to your father, should be -my life's charge, the star of my existence! Fool! fool! fool! to ever -let you go thus. Though God he knows," he whispered still, "I did it -for the best; did it, knowing the dangers that threatened, that were -surely coming, that must above all else strike at Baville and his. -Deemed I could save you, send you away to peace and safety." - -And still he sat on there, his head in his hands, while from between -his fingers the tears trickled as he muttered still, "Urbaine, -Urbaine!" - -"She is dead," he said after a pause. "She must be dead. Of all, they -would not spare her--my lamb. That is enough--to belong to me! O God!" -he cried, springing from his chair and clasping his hands above his -head, "nothing can give her back to me. Yet one thing thou canst give -me: Vengeance! vengeance! vengeance! On him, above all, on that -treacherous Huguenot, that viper who, when there was still a chance -left, dragged her from the carriage, gave her up to his accursed -brethren. Give me that! Place him but once in my hands and I ask no -more. Urbaine can never come back, but at least she shall lie in her -grave--where is it?"--and he shuddered--"lie in her grave avenged. Why -did I ever trust him--kinsman of the de Rochebazons as he is--why not -execute him that night at Montvert?" - -After the rout of Poul's escort and of De Broglie's soldiers in an -adjacent place by the Camisards, some half dozen of the dragoons of -Hérault had managed to escape from the former slaughter, as well as -many more from the latter. As has been said, they fled to Nîmes, where -Baville was at the time, bringing with them the full account of what -had happened to both detachments, and in their dismay and confusion -making the disaster none the less in the telling. Now, among those who -had thus escaped was one, a young _porte-guidon_, or cornet, who had -by chance ridden also with De Peyre's detachment to Montvert when in -attendance on Baville and the abbé's nephew. And there this lad had -seen Martin upon the bridge with Buscarlet, had heard something of the -conversation which ensued; knew, too, that he had returned to Alais -with them. Therefore he was acquainted with Martin's appearance so -well that, when the distracted Intendant had demanded from those who -had escaped where his child was, he was very well able to inform him. - -"My God!" Baville exclaimed, sitting in his rooms in the old Roman -city, with the lad before him and surrounded by half the councillors -of the place, sitting there white to the lips, "you saw it, saw him -drag her out of the carriage, ride away with her." - -"I saw it, your Excellency, beyond all doubt. And had it not been -that I dared not take my eyes off these Camisards who were attacking -me--one of the villains was armed with a reaping hook--I would have -made a stroke to save mademoiselle; have hamstrung his horse, run him -through. But, your Excellency sees," and he pointed to his hand, a -mass of rags and bandages, "two fingers are gone; cut off as I wrested -the brutal weapon from the man." - -"Which road did he take?--yet, why ask?" Baville had said. "Which road -would he go but one--that toward their accursed mountain dens? And -he--he was of their faith." - -A moment later he interrogated the young dragoon again. - -"Can you by no chance be mistaken about this man? Think, I beseech -you! Of all, she could have fallen into no worse hands than his." - -"It is impossible, your Excellency. It is the man who sat on the -bridge with the curé when we rode into Montvert--the man who returned -to Alais with us. Also, I have spoken with him in Montpellier when -your Excellency made him welcome at the Intendancy." - -Beneath his lips Baville muttered a bitter imprecation as the young -officer recalled this fact. It was, he saw now, a fatal error to have -committed. Yet--yet he had done it of set purpose, for a reason. No, -he would dwell no more on that. And now weeks had passed since -Urbaine's disappearance. She must be dead, he and his wife had told -each other a thousand times by night and day. - -"Every hope is gone," he said to her more than once, "every hope. She -was mine--known to a hundred mountain refugees from Montpellier to be -ours. They would not spare her. There is nothing left but vengeance, -if he, that kinsman of the de Rochebazons, ever falls into our hands, -as he must, as he must. They can not triumph forever. Can not win in -the end." - -Madame l'Intendante came in to him now as he sat in his room, a -gentle, handsome woman on whose face the grief she felt within was -very plainly apparent; came in, and, touching his forehead softly with -her hand, sat down by his side. - -"Nicole," she said, "a thought has come to me that--that--my God that I -should have to say it!--if Urbaine is still alive, might lead to her -rescue." - -"A thought!" he exclaimed, his face brightening. "A thought! What -thought? Yet what can a thousand thoughts avail? She is Baville's. -That dooms her." - -"_Mon mari_, suppose--only suppose--they have not slain her--nay, deny -me not," as her husband made an impatient movement, "suppose they -have not slain her yet. Remember, she would be a great hostage, -and they, these rebels, boast they seek not warfare, but only -peace--concessions; offer to lay down their arms if--if--all they ask -for their unhappy, mistaken religion is granted." - -"Well," Baville replied, yet looking eagerly at her, "well, what -then?" - -"To bring about a truce, obtain those concessions. They may have -spared her life, if only for a time, if only for a time," she -repeated, sobbing now. - -"Even though they have done so," her husband replied, "concessions are -impossible, though I myself desired them. Julien is maddened at his -total failure; he will grant none. Montrevel comes full of pride at -gaining his long-desired _bâton_. It is not to make peace, grant -concessions, that he is on his way. Rather to cause more slaughter, -extermination. And for _her_--there," and his eyes wandered toward the -direction where, hundreds of leagues away, Paris and the great white -palace of Versailles lay, "will she grant any?" - -Madame l'Intendante knew well enough to whom he referred--to _la femme -funeste et terrible_--and shook her head sadly, while Baville -continued: - -"She bars all, blocks all, Alice," and he lowered his voice -instinctively. "Alice, it is she who has lit this torch of rebellion -through all Languedoc. Chamillart writes me that Louis has known -nothing until now of what has been happening. She has kept him in -ignorance until forced by my demand for a great army and the services -of Montrevel to tell him." - -"My God! What duplicity!" - -"It is true. She holds him in the hollow of her hand, winds him round -her finger as a child winds a silken thread. Will she grant -concessions, do you think?" - -"But, Nicole, listen. If she, Urbaine, lives, there may be still time. -Montrevel is not yet here. His great army moves slowly. Time, still." - -"For what?" - -"Have you forgotten? Her real father--that friend of yours--Monsieur -Ducaire--have you not often told me he was himself of their faith--a -Huguenot?" - -"Mon Dieu!" Baville exclaimed, "it is so. He was. Yet, again, what -then?" - -"If--if she does still live, and it could be communicated to them, -they would perhaps spare her. Surely, among the old of those -refugees--even among those who are now but elderly--there may be some -who would remember her father, could recall this Monsieur Ducaire----" - -She paused, alarmed at the strange effect of her words, for Baville's -face had turned an ashen hue as she spoke. Almost it seemed to his -wife as though his handsome features were convulsed with pain as he, -repeating those words, whispered: - -"Recall Ducaire? Remember her father? Oh! Dieu des Dieux, if they -should do that, if there should be one among those who surround her, -if she still lives, who could do so! If there is but one who should -tell her----" - -"What, Baville?" - -"No, no, no!" he whispered. "No, no! If so--yet it can not be!--but if -it is, if there is any still living to tell her that, then better she -be dead. Better dead than bear it." - -"Husband," Madame l'Intendante said, "I know now, something tells -me--alas! alas! ever have I suspected it, feared it," and she wrung -her hands; "you have deceived me, trifled with me from the first. -Baville, is it you? Are you in solemn truth her father? Is Ducaire -another name, known once in the far-off past, for Baville? Would she -be better dead than alive to learn that? Answer me." - -"No," he said, "no; you do not understand, can not understand; must -not know yet. But I am innocent of that wrong to you. I swear it. And -Alice, my wife," he continued as he bent over her and kissed her brow, -"Alice, my love, if you knew all you would pity me. Alice, I swear it -to you--swear that it is not what you think." - -Then, as again he kissed her, he murmured the old French proverb: - -"Tout savoir c'est tout pardonner," adding, "Oh, believe in me, -counsel me, my wife." - - - - -CHAPTER XX. - -WHAT IS THIS MYSTERY? - - -The swallows were gone--a month earlier in this mountainous region -than in the rest of the golden south of France. Below, the corn had -fallen ungathered from its stalks, since of those who remained in the -valleys, and faithful to the iron rule of Baville, none dared reap it, -for fear that, while doing so, from its midst might spring up a body -of the dreaded Camisards. Already, too, high up in the mountains, the -first flurries of snow had sprinkled the ground; autumn had come. And -still Baville was no nearer to finding Urbaine, or to gathering news -of whether she was alive or dead, than he had been before. Neither did -he know what had become of the man who, he deemed, had betrayed her -into his enemies' hands; who, he believed, had sent her to her death. - -Meanwhile, Montrevel had arrived. Montrevel, the general and newly -created field marshal, second only to Tallard, who next year lost -Blenheim, and to Villars, who was ordained later to bring peace to the -distracted land. Montrevel, of whom it was said that he fought like a -Paladin of old, made love like a Troubadour, and had the air of a hero -of the stage or the leader of a chorus in the newly invented operas. - -With him came a vast army--one which, to any other rebels but the -all-triumphant Protestants, harbouring defiantly in the mountain -deserts on high and in the inaccessible caverns, would have brought -fear and terror. To them, however, this army brought none. "_Nous -sommes les rochers que les vents combattants en vaine_," they cried, -and even as they so taunted their late persecutors they stole down by -night and by unknown paths, sacked a fresh village, provided -themselves with fresh food, more arms and more ammunition, seized on -costly uniforms and laces, and, when possible, horses and cattle, -while once more like phantoms they vanished quietly afterward from -human sight. Vanished as the crawling Indians whom some of their -adversaries had encountered on the Mississippee or the St. Lawrence; -vanished, after devastating lonely settlements and townships; -disappeared as disappears the snowflake which falls on the bosom of -the ocean, is seen a moment, and then is gone forever. - -In that army, sent to destroy the men whose retaliation of half a -century's persecution was now so terrible, came soldiers who had never -yet known defeat. From Italy the Marquis de Firmacon brought back the -men of a regiment of cuirassiers who had fought like victorious tigers -at Cremona and had even driven back the fiery Eugene and his soldiers -before their rush; in that army also were the guards of Tarnaud, De -Saulx, and Royal Comtois; marines who had faced Russel's and Shovel's -squadrons; dragoons of Saint-Sernin who had seen Marlborough ride all -along the line giving orders to the great English force to advance, -and had observed, but a year or two before, the consumptive invalid, -William of England and Holland, stand undismayed beneath a hailstorm -of bullets while superintending the siege of some great fortress in -the Netherlands. Also there came the brigade of Lajonquiére which had -followed Turenne in victory and defeat, and that of Marsilly which had -stood shoulder to shoulder awaiting the orders of Condé to charge. And -still there were others who might have struck more terror to any -mountain rebels than these trained battalions; a regiment of men, -themselves mountaineers, whose fierceness and brutality were a byword -through all the South. - -These were the Miquelets, a body of six hundred Pyrenean soldiers -under the command of a rough one-armed free lance named De -Palmerolles. From sunny Roussillon and Foix these men came, their -faces burned black, their bodies half clad in red shirts and trousers, -resembling sailors' slops in vastness, _espardillos_, or shoes of -twisted cord, upon their feet, in their belts two pistols on one side, -a scimitar dagger on the other, while in their hands they bore the -long-barrelled _gyspe_ peculiar to the Pyrenean. Also, to render -greater Montrevel's chance of defeating those who were termed rebels -to the king, he brought with him twenty large brass cannons, five -thousand bullets, four thousand muskets, and fifty thousand pounds of -powder--enough, in truth, to defeat all the rebels in the Cévennes, if -they could only be got at. - -From far up on the height of La Lozère, sheltered in a small copse of -wind-swept firs, Jean Cavalier, looking down on the road which wound -from Genoillac to Alais, laughed lightly as he turned to the -companions by his side--his comrade, Roland, and his prisoner, Martin -Ashurst. - -"In truth," he said, "'tis a brave array of men. Yet what will they do -against us? They can never get up here in spite of Baville's recently -constructed roads, while as for us we can get down and back again as -we choose." Then, turning to Martin, he said politely, and with that -attempt at gracious ease and condescension which he never forgot to -assume: - -"Monsieur, I know we are safe with you. When you and your charge, -Mademoiselle Ducaire, have left us you will betray no secrets." - -"No more," replied Martin, "than I should betray any of Monsieur -Baville's to you. You know now that, though I am of your religion, I -am no partisan of either side. I pray God the day may come when all of -our faith may be free, happy." - -"We pray so, too," both chiefs answered, while Cavalier continued: - -"'Tis what we seek. Peace--peace above all! And we are no rebels to -the king. Let him but give us leave to worship in our own way and -unmolested, earn our bread undisturbed, pay no taxes that go to -support his own Romish church--the other taxes we will willingly -pay--and he will find he has no more loyal subjects than the -Cévenoles. Nay, have we not offered our services to him against his -enemies, offered to furnish a Protestant regiment to aid him in Spain -against the Austrian claimant, to fight against all his foes except -the English, our brother Protestants? Yet he will not consent that it -shall be so, or, rather, those who dominate him in his old age will -not let him listen to us." - -"Therefore," said Roland, "let him look to himself. See--hearken to -those Miquelets who tread the plains now, shrieking their barbaric -songs. Do you know what their war-cry is? 'Tis 'war to the knife.' So -be it; 'tis ours too. And ere we cease to shout it Louis will have -given in to us. While one Protestant remains in these mountains we -shall never yield. The king may conquer Europe, drive back all his -enemies; us he will never conquer." - - - * * * * * * * - - -After La Grande Marie had uttered these words of hers, "Those whom you -would slay are of our faith," there had fallen a great silence on all -within the vast vaulted cavern--a silence begotten of wonderment, yet -a wonderment which had in it no element of disbelief; for of all the -prophetesses, she it was who was most believed in by the Camisards, -her inspiration the one which they had never yet known to be at fault. -She had advised the descent to Montvert, fortelling how, on that -night, the abbé should atone for his crimes at their avenging hands in -spite of their not seeking his death. She also it was who had bidden -them attack the convoy of Urbaine under the hated command of Poul, and -the detachment under the equally hated command of De Broglie. Had -prophesied, too, that in that convoy should be found one whose capture -and death would wring the heartstrings of the tyrant Baville as -nothing else could wring them, would beat him down to misery, might -even force him in his despair to abandon all further cruelties toward -those of his creed. - -And what she had prophesied had all come to pass. Baville's daughter, -as most of them supposed Urbaine to be, was in their hands, her death -assured. Therefore now, also, they believed her prophetic visions and -utterances, though, in believing, a victim thereby escaped them. Even -the women--whose bitterness, born of the horrors practised on their -own helpless babes and their old back-bowed mothers and fathers, as -well as on themselves, was more intense than that of the men who, in -their hearts, felt for the white delicate girl who stood a prisoner -before them--even the women paused, wondering, amazed. - -"Of our faith," they muttered, "of our faith. Yet the wolf's own cub, -the persecutor's own blood. Marie, sister, think again of what you -say. Pause and reflect." - -"I know what I say," La Grande Marie murmured, the misty eyes still -fixed upon the girl before her, her hand half raised. "God has entered -my heart, given me the power of divination. She and he, this man by -her side, are of our faith. Is it not so, little one?" and she leaned -forward to a child near her upon whom also the gift of prophecy was -reported to have fallen. - -"It is so, Marie," the child lisped.[3] - -"What is the mystery?" Cavalier asked, standing before Urbaine, his -voice expressing the surprise he felt at the turn matters had assumed, -expressing also his awe, for he, too, was sometimes visited with the -impulse of prophecy. "In God's name explain, mademoiselle." - -"There is no explanation to offer. Your prophetess is wrong. Since my -father adopted me I have known no faith but the true one." - -"Adopted you!" he repeated, while all round them stood listening -eagerly. "Ah! yes, I have heard; remember you said such was the case -at the Château de Servas, yet had forgotten. Mademoiselle, what is -your name since it can not be Baville?" - -"Urbaine Ducaire." - -"Ducaire?" he repeated, "Ducaire? There is no name such as that in the -lists of our unhappy brethren. Mademoiselle, _was_ your father of our -religion?" - -"I know not," the girl replied, while in her manner, in her eyes, too, -was the haughty indifference to her captor which had surprised -Cavalier from the first. "I know not. Yet, since he was M. de -Baville's friend, it scarce seems possible he should have been." - -"Listen," cried the Camisard chief, addressing all those who stood -around, "listen, my brethren. Among you are many no longer young, many -who can cast their memories back to the years ere this--this -demoiselle--could have been born. Some, too, who come from far and -wide, from where the waters of the sea lap our southern shores; from -where, also, Guienne on one side, Dauphiné on the other, touch our -border. Heard ever any of you of a Huguenot named Ducaire?" and as he -spoke he cast his eyes around all within the cavern. - -But there came no affirmative answer. Only the repetition of that name -and the shaking of heads, and glances from eyes to eyes as each looked -interrogatively at the other. - -"There must be some who, at least, have heard this name if--if La -Grande Marie divines truly--if this lady is in truth of our faith. -Yet--yet--the gift may have failed her now, have misled her." - -"Test that gift, Cavalier," La Grande Marie exclaimed from where she -stood now among the others, and speaking in a clear voice, while her -filmy eyes, which seemed ordinarily to be peering into far-off space, -rested on him. "Test that gift. The woman is not the only one named as -being of our faith. Ask of the man." - -As she spoke the eyes of Urbaine and Martin met, the minds of each -filled with the same thought. The knowledge that whereas hitherto to -have declared himself of their captors' faith would have led to his -being set free and no longer able to share her doom, his doing so now -would almost beyond all doubt prevent that doom from falling on her. - -The acknowledgment that La Grande Marie had divined justly in his case -would cause them to believe that she had also done so in Urbaine's. - -And knowing this--as she too, he felt, must know it--he did not -hesitate. - -"She has pronounced justly," he said. "I am of the Reformed faith. A -Protestant." - -Amid the murmurs that arose from all who surrounded those two -prisoners, amid their cries, in some cases exultant ones, that La -Grande Marie had never yet been mistaken and was not, could not be so -now; amid, too, their strongly expressed opinion that, since she had -been right as regards the man, therefore also she must be so as -regards the woman, Cavalier exclaimed: - -"In heaven's name why not say so before? Also why risk your life as -you have done at the Château de Servas and here?" - -"She was alone and defenceless," Martin exclaimed. "I desired to -protect her." - -"Knowing that she too is a Protestant, by birth at least?" - -"Nay, knowing only that she was a woman." - -"Yet Baville's cherished ward?" - -"Yes, his cherished ward." - -Cavalier shrugged his shoulders and turned away. Perhaps the bitter -sufferings of all of his, of their, faith were too present to his mind -to make that mind, young as it was--he being not twenty--capable of -understanding such magnanimity. Also he did not know that the man -before him belonged to a land where, for now nearly fifteen years, -none had suffered for their religious opinions as over all France they -suffered horribly and were to suffer for still some years to come, and -that, consequently, he could not feel as strongly as they themselves -felt. - -Whatever Cavalier might think, however, of the motives which had -prompted a man who avowed himself a Protestant to protect the -worshipped idol of the Protestant's greatest persecutor in the most -persecuted part of France, one thing was very certain: neither would -be put to death--the one because he was undoubtedly of their faith, -the other because, not being the actual child of Baville, she might in -truth have been born a Huguenot, as La Grande Marie had had revealed -to her. La Grande Marie! in whose auguries and predictions they -believed for the simple reason that, until now, all that she had -foretold, all that she had uttered as prophetic inspiration, had come -to pass. - -They were safe so far! - - - - -CHAPTER XXI. - -"YOU WILL NEVER FIND HIM." - - -"When you and your charge, Mademoiselle Ducaire, have left us you will -betray no secrets," Cavalier had said to Martin, as they stood side by -side watching the army of Montrevel on its way through the province? -Yet some weeks passed, and still they remained in the hands of the -Camisards, well treated, yet still there. - -For their accommodation two large caverns had been prepared as -sleeping rooms; prepared, too, in such a manner as would indeed have -astonished the Camisards' enemies, the dwellers in the valleys below, -had they been able to observe them. To observe that Urbaine's -chamber--if such a name could be given to the vault in which she -slept--was furnished not only with comfort, but indeed luxury, her -bed, which had been constructed expressly for her by one of the -_attroupés_ who was a carpenter, being covered with fine white linen -and made soft with skins and rugs. Also the sides of the vault were -hung with tapestry and brocade; the ewer from which she poured water -was solid silver; the floor on which she trod was covered with carpets -made at Aubusson. Yet the girl shuddered as, nightly, daily, she -glanced round this luxuriously furnished cavern, knowing full well, or -at least being perfectly able to divine, whence all these things came; -for none who had ever knelt, as Urbaine had done since her earliest -recollection, at the altar of any church of the Ancient Faith could -doubt that that silver jug had been torn from some such altar which -had been devastated with the edifice itself; none who had seen the -luxurious fittings and adornments of the _noblesse_ of Languedoc could -doubt that the tapestries and hangings and rich fine linen had once -adorned the château of Catholic noblemen or gentlemen. Everything -which surrounded her, all--even to the choice plate off which they -both ate their meals, and the crystal glass from which they drank the -Ginestoux and Lunel placed before them--told the same story; the story -of robbery and pillage, of an awakened vengeance that spared nothing -and hesitated at nothing. - -Both, too, were free now, free to wander on the mountain slopes, no -parole being demanded, since escape was impossible through those -closely guarded paths and defiles, a little mule being at the girl's -service when she chose to use it, an animal which had been captured -from Julien's forces during a defeat sustained by him and while -bearing on its back two mountain guns. Now those guns guarded, with -other captured cannon, one of the approaches from the valley, and the -mule was given over entirely to her service. Yet she rarely rode it, -preferring, indeed, to sit upon a high promontory whence, at sunset, -she could see the spires of distant cathedrals or churches sparkling -far down in the valley, sometimes with Martin by her side, sometimes -alone. - -"Monsieur," she said to him now one crisp, sunny October afternoon as -together they strolled toward this promontory to watch the sunset, -"monsieur, why do you not go away, return to your own land? You will -have the chance soon to escape out of France forever. You heard what -the chief said last night, that an English agent was at Nîmes -endeavouring to discover what chance the fleet in the Mediterranean -will have of invading us there." - -"You forget, mademoiselle. I am in their power; you forget that----" - -"Nay," she exclaimed, "why speak thus? I know that you are free to go -to-morrow, to-night; that you might have gone long since had you -chosen. That you remain here only because you will not leave me alone -in their power. I know, I understand," and the soft, clear eyes stole -a glance into his. - -"I saved you once, by God's mercy," he said. "I shall not leave you -now. Not until I return you to your father's arms. And take heart! It -will not be long. Whether Montrevel or my countrymen effect a landing -from the sea, you will be soon free. If the former happens, it will be -a rescue; if the latter, you will be detained no longer, since they -deem you beyond all doubt a Protestant." - -"The woman was mistaken," she answered. "It is impossible." - -"Yet Cavalier thinks he has confirmation of the fact. You know that he -has been in the valleys lately, even in Montpellier, disguised. He has -met one, an old woman, who knew Monsieur Ducaire, your real father. -You know that?" - -"She has said so, yet I deem it impossible. Who is this woman?" - -"She will not say. But he seems confident. And--and--even though my -religion is so hateful to you--think, think, I beseech you, of what -advantage to you it is to be deemed here one of our faith. -Mademoiselle, if that strange seer, that prophetess whose knowledge -astounds, mystifies me, had not proclaimed you one of them and a -Protestant, you would have been dead by now," and he shuddered as he -spoke. - -"You wrong me," she said, "when you say that the Protestant--that -your--faith is hateful to me. It is only that I have been taught from -my earliest days to believe so strongly in my own, to regard nothing -as true but that. Also," she continued, "because it is yours, the -religion of you who have saved me, it could never be hateful to me." - -And as she spoke the soft rose-blush came to her cheek and her eyes -fell. To her, and to Cavalier, Martin Ashurst had given a full account -of himself, concealing nothing, and at last not even hesitating to -avow himself an Englishman, a fact which, if known in any other part -of Louis' dominions but this Protestant and rebel stronghold, would -have led to his instant destruction. For England was pressing France -sorely now, trampling her under the iron heel of the vast armies -headed by Marlborough, attacking her on every coast she possessed, -even now sending a fleet under Sir Cloudesley Shovel to attempt a -landing at Cette and Toulon to succour and aid the Huguenots. Also it -was to her principally that France's cruelly-used subjects had been -fleeing for years, by her that they had been warmly welcomed and -humanely treated. What hopes of anything short of a swift and awful -death could an Englishman hope for at this time if caught in France? - -Yet that he was safe in telling Urbaine Ducaire who and what he was he -never doubted, even though she, in her turn, should tell Baville; for, -since he meant himself to restore her to Baville's arms, it was not -too much to suppose that this restoration would cancel the awful -crime, in the eyes of the man who cherished this girl so, of being a -British subject. - -Also he had told both of what had brought him to Languedoc--his quest -for the last of the de Rochebazons--and of how that quest had failed -up to now, must fail entirely, since it was impossible that any -investigations could be carried on in the distracted state of the -province at the present time. Nor did Cavalier, whose mind would have -better become a man of forty than one of twenty, give him any -encouragement to hope that he would ever find the man he sought. - -"For, _figurez vous_," he remarked, "this land, this sweet, fair -Languedoc, has been a prey to dissension, slaughter, upon one side -only up till now" (and he laughed grimly as he spoke, perhaps at the -change which had come about), "to misery and awful wrongs for how -long? Long before this present king--this _Dieudonné_, this _Roi -Soleil_--came to the throne, and when his father _Le Juste_ was -harrying our fathers. _Le Juste!_" he repeated with bitter scorn, "_Le -Juste!_ A man who had a hundred virtues that became a valet--witness -his love for shaving his courtiers, for larding his own fillets of -veal, for combing his _mignon's_ wigs--and not one that became a -master, a king, except dissimulation! My God! he had that royal gift, -at least. You know what he and that devil incarnate, Richelieu, did -here in the south, did at Rochelle?" - -"I know," Martin replied. "Alas! all the world knows. Yet it must have -been after his time that Cyprien de Beauvilliers, as he then was, came -here." - -"If he came," said Cavalier, "he came under another guise, a mask; -under another name. And it is long ago; you will never find him." - -"I fear not." - -"Moreover, even should you do so, of what avail to you, to him? Will -Louis disgorge the de Rochebazon wealth, will the Church of Rome -release one dernier of what she has clutched? Monsieur, you have flung -your fortune away for a shadow, a chimera, since you yourself will -never get it now. Better have taken it, have got back to your own -land, have enjoyed it in peace." - -"It would have been treachery to the dead--to her who believed in me -and died deeming that I was a true child of her own faith. And," he -added, "she was a good woman in spite of that faith." - -Cavalier glanced at him, then shrugged his shoulders. Yet as he turned -away he muttered: - -"I begin to understand why your country is so great, so prosperous. -Understand! if all Englishmen are like you." - -That conversation was not to end thus, however, with a delicate -compliment to Martin's honour, since, ere Cavalier had strode many -paces from him, he came back and, taking a seat by his side in the -great cavern where they then were, began to talk to him about the -future hopes of the Protestant cause, in Languedoc especially. "We -shall win," he said, "we shall win! What we want, which after all is -not much for Louis to grant, we must have: Freedom to worship as we -choose, freedom from paying taxes for a Church we have revolted from, -freedom to come and go out of France as we desire. Let Louis grant -that and I will place at his disposal so fine a regiment that none of -his dragoons or _chevaux-légers_ shall be our superiors. None! He -shall say to me what he said to Jean Bart, the sailor." - -"What did he say to him?" - -"He sent for Jean Bart one day at Versailles, received him among all -his grinning, shoulder-shrugging courtiers, and, looking on Jean and -his rough, simple comrades, said, 'Bart, _mon ami_, you have done more -for me than all my admirals.' And I love Bart for his reply when, -casting his eyes round on all the admirals and captains who stood in -the throng, he answered, '_Mon Dieu! je crois bien_. Without doubt! -That is, if these _petits crevés_ are your admirals and captains.'" - -Martin smiled at the little story, then he said: - -"I would to God your cause, my own faith, could prosper here. We have -gone through much stress ourselves to make it secure and safe in -England. Discarded our king, who was of the family more dearly loved -in England than any that have ever sat on her throne, yet we were -forced to do it. But the Protestants of England can make a stronger -boast than those of your land, Monsieur Cavalier. They alone have -suffered; they never retaliated as you have done." - -"As we were forced to retaliate," he exclaimed, striking the table in -his excitement. "My God! think of what we have suffered. And not our -men alone, but our wives, our sisters, our old mothers. Have you ever -seen a gray-haired woman stripped and beaten in a market place? Have -you ever seen a young innocent girl stretched naked on a wheel, the -shame of her exposure even more frightful than the blows of _la -massue?_ Have you ever stood on board a galley laden with Protestant -slaves or smelled the burning flesh of old men at the stake? We have, -we of these mountain deserts, and--and--my God!" while even as he -spoke he wept, brushing the tears from his eyes fiercely, "I wonder -that that girl, Urbaine Ducaire, is still alive, Protestant though she -be. Wonder she is spared, since she is the loved treasure of that -tiger, Baville." - -"Protestant though she be!" Martin repeated. "You know that? From some -surer source than the divinations, the revelations of La Grande -Marie?" - -"I know it," Cavalier said, facing round suddenly on him, "I know it -now for certain. Ducaire was a Protestant living at Mont Joyre. I have -discovered all. And I curse the discovery! For otherwise we would have -repaid Baville a thousandfold for all his crimes, wrung his -heartstrings as he has wrung ours for years, slaughtered his pet lamb -as he has slaughtered hundreds of ours. But she is a Protestant, -therefore safe." - -"When will you release her, let her return to him?" - -"Ho! _la, la!_" the other replied. "That must be thought upon. Even -now she is a great hostage in our hands, a card that may win the -trick. And--and--you and she are very intimate; yet can I tell you -something without fear of its being repeated to her?" - -"I will respect any confidence you place in me so long as it thrusts -not against her welfare." - -"It will not do that. Yet listen. Ere she leaves us there is something -to be told her as regards Baville's friendship for her father, -Ducaire. And, when she has heard that, it may be she will never wish -to return to him, to set eyes on her beloved Intendant again." - -"My God! What is to become of her then?" - -For reply Cavalier only laughed. Then he said: - -"There is always a home for any Protestant here, and she can not -complain of how we have treated her. I think myself she will elect to -stay with us, unless----" - -"Unless?" - -"Something more tempting offers," and again he laughed. "She might, -monsieur will understand, fall in love. With--say--some hero." - -For a moment Martin wondered if Cavalier alluded to himself; in -another he _knew_ that he did so. There was no mistaking the glance in -the Camisard's eyes. But he gave him no opportunity of saying anything -further on the subject, asking instead if he might be confided in with -regard to the strange story which, when told to Urbaine, was to quench -every spark of love and affection in her heart for Baville, the man -who, with all his faults, had cherished and loved her so fondly. - -"No, monsieur," Cavalier replied. "That can not be--as yet. Later you -will doubtless know all, know the reason why Urbaine Ducaire should -change her love for him to an undying hate. Meanwhile I have to ask a -favour of you." - -"A favour? What is there in my power to do?" - -"This: The power to help us end this war--you, a Protestant, an -Englishman." - -"I can not understand. God knows I desire nothing better." - -"_Soit!_ Then aid us. Thus: The English agent is at Nîmes, disguised. -He passes under the name of Flottard, and has plans for the use of -your admiral, who will bring his fleet to Cette or Toulon when the -time is ripe. Unfortunately, however, this man, this _soi-disant_ -Flottard, has not the French very clearly. As for us--poor weavers, -carders, husbandmen--what should we know of other tongues? We can not -speak a word of your language. Monsieur Martin, you are a Protestant, -an Englishman. Before God I think you English the greatest of all. -Help us, help us to be free without more bloodshed, to worship the -Almighty as we see fit, to bow our necks no more before the Scourge of -God. Help us! Help us!" he repeated, "us of your own faith." - -Stirred to the heart's core by the man's appeal, though he scarce -needed such impulse, every fibre in him, every drop of blood in his -veins, tingling for those of his own faith, of his own loved religion, -he answered quietly, saying again: - -"What I can do I will," and adding, also quietly, "or die in the -attempt." - - - - -CHAPTER XXII. - -I LOVE YOU. - - -Urbaine and Martin sat together on that night which followed the sunny -afternoon when they had been alone together on the promontory, in one -of the smaller caverns that opened out of the large one--a cavern -which, of late, Cavalier had used as that in which they ate their -meals--Roland, who shared with him the position of chief of the -Camisards (and indeed claimed to be the absolute chief), being rarely -in this part of the mountains. To-night, however, Cavalier was absent -too, he having gone on one of those terribly dangerous visits to the -valleys which he periodically made, sometimes to spy into what the -following of Baville were doing, or what the king's troops; or to head -some sanguinary raid upon a place where arms or ammunition, food or -clothes, were likely to be obtained. - -But to-night he had gone forth on a different mission: to precede -Martin on his way to Nîmes, to see if all the mountain passes were -free of their enemies and, should such be the case, to conduct him -into the city, there to have an interview with the English agent. - -Therefore Urbaine and Martin were alone together, save for the -Camisard woman who waited upon them at their meal, and who did not -obtrude herself more than was necessary into the cavern they were in. - -As with the larger one and with those which each of them used as their -sleeping apartment, its furnishing and surroundings would have created -intense astonishment to any of the outside world who should have been -able to observe it. Hung with skins in some places, with rich and -costly tapestry and arras in others, all of which were the results of -successful forays upon châteaux and _manoirs_ which, a few hours after -the raids, were nothing but smoking ruins, the onlooker might well -have believed that, instead of a natural vault originally fashioned by -Nature's own hands, he stood within the hall of some ancient feudal -castle, such as the De Rohans or the Ruvignys had once possessed in -the vicinity. Also he might have thought that the table at which those -two sat was one prepared for the reception of guests at Versailles. - -A table covered with the whitest napery, on which sparkled many pieces -of the prized _vaisselles_ of the _noblesse_ and the _haut-monde_, so -prized, indeed, that laws and edicts had been passed preventing the -sale of such things or their transposition from one family to another; -adorned as well with _verres-fins_, and with silver-handled knives and -silver forks. Also for provisions there were upon this table a -_poularde_ and the remains of a choice ham, a bottle of Ginestoux and -another of Lunel, a silver basketful of delicate, white chipped bread, -and a crystal bowl of mountain fruit. Yet the glass and the silver -bore no two crests alike. The arms that were broidered on the napery -represented still a third family. All was spoil torn from half a dozen -ruined and sacked mansions. - -"I pray God, mademoiselle," Martin said, after having in vain pressed -his companion to eat more than the shred of _poularde_ she had trifled -with, and to drink at least one glass of the Ginestoux, "that this -task on which I go may end all your grief. You know that Cavalier -promises on my return, our object accomplished, to allow me to take -you away from here, to return you in safety to your father's--to M. -Baville's arms." - -"Yes," she answered, looking up at him, "yes, to return me to my -father's arms." - -"You will pray, therefore, for my success? It means all you can most -desire, all that you can hope for till these troubles are past. Once -back in his house, no further harm can come near you; you are safe -with him. Nay, even though he were in danger through any further -success of theirs, you are still safe. They deem you one of -themselves." - -"I will pray," she said, "for your success, your prosperity, now and -forever--for all that you may undertake. Yet--yet--do you know?--I -have almost ceased to pray at all now." - -"Oh, oh, God forbid!" he exclaimed, his heart wrung by her words. - -"To whom am I to pray? What am I, how am I to approach Him? If I am a -Protestant I must pray for his, my father's, downfall; if a Catholic, -for the destruction of what I----" She did not finish her sentence, -but added instead: "Best never utter prayer at all; forget that from -my childhood I have been taught to worship humbly and to never know a -petition unheard. Oh," she said, thrusting her hands through the great -coils of golden hair that adorned her head, "oh, that I had died on -the day you saved my life, that the bullet which pierced my poor -_gouvernante's_ breast had found mine instead!" - -Profoundly touched, moved to the deepest pity and sympathy by -her words--the words of one so young and fair, yet, alas! so -distraught--he moved nearer to her and, unaware even, perhaps, of his -action, took her hand. - -"Why," he said, speaking very low, yet with a voice that seemed as -music in her ears, "why feel thus, suffer thus? In spite of all -the dissensions between our faiths--grant even that you are no -Protestant--we worship the same God though we see him with different -eyes. Urbaine," he whispered, forgetting as he spoke that he had -broken down the barrier of formality which had been between them until -now, "if you can not pray for me to-night, can not pray that my -efforts may meet with success, how can I depart and leave you here? -How go, knowing that your heart is not with me?" - -"Not with you?" she whispered in her turn. "Not with you? Alas----" -and again broke off, saying no more. - -"Urbaine," he continued, emboldened now to repeat softly her name, and -perhaps not understanding her repetition of his words, deeming, it may -be, that the repetition confirmed them, "Urbaine, your heart, your -wishes must go with me, with the cause I undertake. It is the cause of -peace and reconciliation, of strengthening your king's hands by -winning back his subjects to him. For if this fleet can but get a -foothold for its men on shore, Louis must make terms with all who are -now beating him down; not only in this fair Languedoc, but over all -Europe a lasting peace may ensue. A peace," he continued, still gently -yet impressively, "between your land and mine. Yours and mine," he -repeated, dwelling, it seemed to her, pleasantly on the coupling of -their interests together--"yours and mine." - -For answer she only sighed, then she said a moment later: - -"Yet to go on this mission may mean death to you. If Montrevel or -Julien caught you--O God! it sickens me to think of your peril. They -might not know, might not even believe, all that you have done for me. -The end would be awful." - -"Yet remember also that they would not know, can not know, that I am a -Protestant--worse than all else within their eyes, an Englishman. And, -not knowing, nothing would be suspected." - -"Still I fear," she answered. "Am overcome with horror and anxiety. -Oh!" she exclaimed again, "oh! if your reward for your noble chivalry -to me should be nothing but disaster. If--if we should never meet -again." - -"Fear not," he said. "We shall meet again. I know it; it is borne in -upon me. We shall meet again. I shall restore you to your father's -arms." - -Yet, even as he spoke, he remembered the words that Cavalier had -uttered under the seal of confidence, the words: "When she has heard -what is to be told, it may be she will never seek to return to him, to -set eyes on her beloved Intendant again." Remembered them and wondered -what they might portend. - -As he did so there came into the cavern one of the Camisards, a man -who had been deputed to lead him at a given time to where Cavalier was -to await his coming. A guide who said briefly that the horses were -prepared and ready to set forth at monsieur's pleasure, then went -outside to wait for him. - -"Farewell, Urbaine," Martin said. "Adieu. Nay, do not weep. All will, -all must be, well with you, otherwise I would not leave you. And, -remember, once my task is accomplished you are free. It is for that, -as for other things, in other hopes, that I go. Bid me Godspeed." - -It seemed, however, as if she could not let him depart. Weeping, she -clung to his arm, her cheeks bedashed with the tears that ran down -them, her hands clasping his. And then, overmastered by her misery, he -said that to her which he had never meant to say until, at least, -happier days had dawned for both--if, as he sometimes thought, he -should ever dare to say it. - -"Urbaine," he whispered, "Urbaine, be brave; take heart; pray for me. -Listen, hear my last words ere I go. I love you--have loved you since -that night we sat beneath the acacias after I had saved you. I shall -love you ever--till I die." - - - * * * * * * * - - -The moon shone out through deep inky clouds that scurried swiftly -beneath her face as Martin and the guide set forth to descend to the -spot where Cavalier was to await them. Up here there were no -precautions necessary to be taken, since to the higher portions of the -Cévennes it was impossible that any enemy could have penetrated from -below. The paths that led up to the caves which formed the barracks -and dwelling places of the two thousand men who now kept all Languedoc -in dread and two of Louis' armies at check were of so narrow and -impassable a nature that Thermopylæ itself might have acknowledged -them as worthy rivals; and, even had they been less close and -tortuous, were so guarded at intervals by pickets of Camisards that -none could have surmounted them. Also in many places the route had -been made to pass specially over terrible chasms and ravines, since, -by so doing, it enabled the defenders of the passes to construct -drawbridges which could be lowered or raised at their own pleasure, -or, in case of necessity, destroyed altogether. - -Yet one precaution had been taken for their journey--a precaution -never neglected by those dwellers of the mountains, in case they -were forced to take to flight and desired to leave no trace behind -them--their animals were shod _backward_ on their fore feet, a method -which, in conjunction with the usual shoeing of the hind feet, was -almost certain to baffle those who should endeavour to follow their -tracks. - -Beneath that moon which shone fitfully from the deep masses of -rain-charged clouds the two men paced in Indian file down the narrow -passes, seeing as they went that which, for now many weeks, had been -visible to all eyes in the province--namely, the flames of villages on -fire at different points of the compass; hearing, too, as they were -borne on the winds, the distant ringing of alarm bells and tocsins -from many a beleaguered church and monastery. For not only did those -flames spring from edifices wherein the old faith was still -maintained, but also from the villages and hamlets where some -Protestants continued to dwell and worship in their own manner, hoping -ever for better, happier days. Already it was calculated that more -than forty Romish churches had been destroyed, with, in many cases, -the bourgs in which they stood; ere all was over the number was -doubled. And already, also, more than that number of Protestant places -of worship, with the villages around them, had been pillaged, sacked, -and burned by Montrevel and Julien, while, in their case, ere all was -over the number was almost trebled. - -Thinking of his newly declared love for Urbaine, thinking, too, of -how, in whispered words, she had declared her love for him in return, -of how in their last hasty embrace, which had been also their first, -they had sworn deathless fidelity to each other, Martin took but -little heed of those midnight sights telling of happy homes ruined -forever which he had now been forced so often to gaze upon from the -heights where the Camisards dwelt. He had grown accustomed to these -beacons of horror, in spite of the unhappiness they caused him. - -But now he saw a new phase of stern justice and punishment at which he -could not fail to shudder. - -High up upon three gibbets at the wayside by which they -passed--gibbets so placed that, when their ghastly burdens should -rot from the chains which held them now, they would fall down and -down until they reached the bottom of the ravine a thousand feet -below--there hung three corpses; swung waving to the mountain air, -while ever and anon upon their white but blood-stained faces the moon -glinted now and again, making those faces look as though they -perspired in her rays, were clammy with sweat. And two grinned -hideously in those rays, a bullet wound which had shattered the mouth -of one giving to his face the appearance of a man convulsed with -laughter, while the smirk of the other face was, in truth, the last -grimace of the death agony. The features of the third told naught, -since, from a wound in his forehead, there had run out the blood which -was now caked and hardened to a mask, hiding all below. - -"My God!" exclaimed Martin, with a shiver, "who are they? Men caught -here and executed as spys, troopers made prisoners and done to death -by the avengers?" - -"Nay," replied the man, while he made a contemptuous gesture at the -loathsome things that at the moment executed a weird fantastic -movement in unison as a fresh gust of wind swept down from the -mountains above, making them sway and dance to its cold breath, "nay, -vagabonds, _marauds_. Murderers these, not soldiers. Those men are of -our number--were of our number--Protestants--ourselves." - -"What, traitors?" - -"Ay, traitors--to humanity. Listen! They caught one, a good woman, -Madame de Miramand, a Papist, yet a kindly creature who succoured all -alike. Also she was young, not twenty, and beautiful. She was _en -voyage_"--again Martin shuddered, thinking of another woman young and -beautiful who had also been _en voyage_, and almost caught--"had with -her her jewels, also her _vaisselles_. Well they slew her even as she -knelt before them, stabbed her, left her to die, left her thus as she -prayed God to pardon them." - -"Go on," Martin said, seeing that he paused. - -"God may pardon them," the guide said. "One, however, would not. -Cavalier! We caught them, tried them; you see the sentence. It is not -women _we_ war upon." - -As he finished, again the loathsome figures swung to the breeze, again -they danced and pirouetted in their chains, while from behind a rock -Cavalier himself strode forward. - -It was the spot that had been the meeting place appointed with the -guide. - -"It is true," he said. "We war not with women. Let Montrevel or Julien -do that. Or their master--Louis!" - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII. - -"LOVE HER! BEYOND ALL THOUGHT! AND SHE -IS THERE." - -With the rapidity of wildfire the news had run over all Languedoc at -this time--was known, too, and shared by Catholics as well as -Protestants--that the English, who once they drew the sword never -sheathed it until its work was done, meditated an attack on France in -a fresh place, that place being her Mediterranean seaboard, the one -spot still free from their assaults up to now, also a spot more -vulnerable, since there were scarce any troops to defend it, the -armies of Montrevel and Julien being sufficiently occupied in -endeavouring, without success, to prevent the terrible reprisals the -Camisards were at last making. - -And now indeed the desolation of Languedoc was supreme; now, like a -torch that flareth in the night, was visible an awful terror upon all -of the old faith, as well as the adherents of Louis, who dwelt -therein. Men of that old faith barricaded themselves in their houses, -refusing to either quit them or let any of their families do so, or to -receive bread into those houses in any other way than by baskets -raised by cords, either for fear that they should be stabbed to the -heart on their doorsteps or that they should add one more body to the -many that hung upon the branches of the trees by the wayside--bodies -having affixed to their dead breasts the label bearing the words, -"_Tous qui tomberont entre les mains des vengeurs seront traités -ainsi_." Verily, Languedoc was, as its greatest churchman, Fléchier, -said, but one vast gaping wound! - -Yet not only was it the avengers who caused the wound. Maddened by -defeat, by merciless retaliation on their enemies' part, by their -fierce determination to never give or ask for quarter, Baville, -Montrevel, and Julien enacted more awful cruelties than had ever yet -been practised upon those of the Reformed faith. Again the dungeons of -the prisons, the vaults of the cathedrals, which living prisoners -shared with the coffined dead, re-echoed with the groans of the former; -_les places publiques_ were foul with the odour of burning flesh and -of corpses that rotted on wheels; the very roofs were laden with -carrion birds waiting their opportunity to swoop down and plunge -their beaks into the dying; even mothers slew the babes in their arms -sooner than see them perish slowly before their eyes from the pangs -of thirst and hunger. But still the war went on, if such oppression, -such retaliation, could be dignified by the name of war. Went on -because from Paris the word still came that none should worship God in -their own way, or in any other method than the priests of Rome -directed--priests who declared with their lips that the God they -served was one of love and mercy, yet sowed with full hands the seeds -of violence and trouble, of blood and death. - -And now to add to all the terrors that the papists felt at last, to -all the fierce joys that the Protestants had begun to thrill with, it -was rumoured through the country that some great admiral of the -accursed English race, backed up by the Duke of Savoy, was about to -land an army at one of the ports with the full intention of assisting -the Protestants, and of, so those papists said, establishing -Protestantism over all the land. No wonder, therefore, that the -priests fled from their churches, that the archbishop said (forgetting -how he and his had outraged God for years) that "God had deserted -them." - -Clad like muleteers in some cases, in others like travelling weavers, -and in still others like husbandmen and horse-dealers, some scores of -Camisards were making their ways by ones and twos at this period -toward Cette, avoiding Montpellier and leaving it to the east of them, -and threading the low lands that lay between that diocese and the -sister one of D'Agde, for _they_ knew where the landing was to be -attempted; knew likewise when the English assistance was to be -expected. Also--though few were aware of it, and Baville alone, on his -side, suspected that such was the case--from Holland, from Geneva, -from the villages of the Vaud and Valais, from Canterbury and -Spitalfields were coming refugees, some making their way by foot and -some on horses. They had been summoned from the lands they had fled -to, summoned to return and take part in what was now to be done. - -Amid a small band which at this moment drew near to Frontignan there -rode Martin Ashurst, his companions being some of the noblest -Protestant blood of the province. Also by his side there rode the -English agent known as Flottard, a Huguenot whose father had escaped -long since into England and who spoke that language better than his -own, or rather than the _langue d'oc_ which had been his father's. - -"And now, _mes frères_," said one of these companions, Ulson de la -Valette, who as a boy had been forced to stand before the scaffold of -Greonble holding his fainting mother's hand while they witnessed the -decapitation of his elder brother _pour cause d'hérésie_, "we must -separate, to meet again by Heaven's grace as followers of the English -admiral. Monsieur, read the route to our friends," and he turned to a -man clad as a monk. He had in truth been one who had but recently been -unfrocked at Rome on suspicion of heretic principles, and had now -openly avowed Protestantism, while still retaining the gown as a -disguise. - -"This is the route," the monk answered, producing from his breast a -paper which, in the clear light of the dawn, he read from. "You, De la -Valette, and you, Fontanes, will pass straight on to Frontignan. You, -_messieurs les Anglais_," and he glanced at Martin and Flottard, "will -proceed through La Susc; the rest must distribute themselves and -travel through the villages of Sainte Bréze, Collanze, and Le Test. -Yet, remember, Baville has warned every _aguet_, every watchman, every -village consul and river guard. Capture and discovery mean death." - -"The meeting-place," said Ulson de la Valette, "of all of us is the -plain of Frontignan, 'twixt that and the great port. The signal will -be the landing of the first English troops, the entry of the first -ship of war. The password is 'God and his children.' My friends, -farewell; yet, as you ride, forget not to pray for success. If God is -on our side now we are avenged and Louis beaten down under our feet. -We shall triumph." - -A moment later all had parted, dispersing quietly after a hand-shake -round, and each going alone, Martin and Flottard remaining behind for -some little while so as not to follow too hurriedly upon the footsteps -of the others. - -"Yet," said Flottard in English, which he spoke like a native, "we -must part too, Monsieur Martin. I have to enter Bouziques if I can; -'tis full of disguised Savoyards and some of your--our--land. You -will, I should suppose, join Sir Cloudesley Shovel?" - -"As agent," Martin replied, "not combatant. My mission is to lead his -troops if possible to Montpellier and Nîmes, to act as guide." - -"It will not save your neck if you are caught," Flottard said with a -laugh. - -"There is no thought of that," Martin answered, hurt and annoyed that -the man should suppose this was his consideration. "But--but--I have -other things to do. To me are to be confided the arms, ammunition, and -money which the English fleet brings. Also, with the exception of you -and me, there is no one who can speak English." - -"And," repeated Flottard, "there is no one the French will punish as -ferociously as they will punish us--for I am English too now--if we -are caught." - -"They can do no worse by us than by their own," Martin replied -quietly. - -Afterward, when they had parted, Flottard taking his way to Bouzique -while Martin rode on quietly toward Cette, he, musing deeply on all -which might be the outcome of the proposed attack by the English -admiral, told himself that, even were it possible for his punishment -to be made five thousand times worse than anything which had ever -been dealt out to the Protestants, nothing should stop him now but -death. He loved Urbaine Ducaire; had loved her, as he had said, since -first he saved her life, since they had sat together beneath the -sweet-scented blossoms of the acacia trees on that soft summer night -amid the desolation of the land; he should love her till the end. -And--and Cavalier had promised that, if he helped their cause now, on -his return he should lead Urbaine forth a free woman; should return -her safe and unharmed to Baville's arms, even though Baville was the -most hated name the Camisards knew. - -Cavalier would keep his word. That he never doubted. Only there was -the future to be thought upon--the afterward. His love for her and -hers for him. How was that love ever to be brought to a happy -fruition? How? How? How? Would Baville give her to him, a Protestant, -even though it were proved, as Cavalier had said it could now be -proved beyond all doubt, that Urbaine was herself born in that faith? -Give her to him, an Englishman, a native of the land which had wrought -much disaster on France through innumerable centuries, that was even -now closing its grasp of steel upon France and crushing the very -life-blood out of all its pores? Would Baville, the Tiger of -Languedoc, ever consent to such a union as they projected, the -fulfilment of the troth which they had plighted? - -One hope there was, he reflected: a hope that at least the question of -faith might not prove an insurmountable object. For though Baville was -of the old faith, though in the name of that faith and at the -instigation of its chiefs he had wrought innumerable cruelties, had -broken countless hearts and driven thousands to despair, religion had -been but a war cry with him, a banner under which to march. As a -papist he was but an indifferent one. He had said, had owned as much -more than once, that it was duty which led him to be severe, to crush -down rebellion, to exalt the King's authority. He would have acted in -precisely the same manner as he had recently acted had France been -Protestant and had the _attroupés_ been papists. "_Il est plus -royaliste que le Roi!_" Urbaine had said of him once in speaking to -Martin; "and to him the soil of France and the power of Louis are the -most sacred things he knows, except one other, his duty. The King made -him governor of Languedoc; in his mind Languedoc exists for the King -alone. Forgive him all for his loyalty, his obedience to duty." - -As he reflected on this, trying to pierce the future, endeavouring to -see one glimmering ray of hope amid all the darkness which enveloped -that future, he drew near to where the port of Cette was; in the warm -autumn air with which these southern plains were suffused, it seemed -almost as if he scented the breezes of the great blue sea beyond. Also -it seemed as if already the balm of the myriad flowers which adorn its -shores was surrounding him, as if, with the bright rays of the sun, a -promise was heralded of peace and happiness at last. - -It behooved him to be careful how he progressed, for all the -countryside was in a state of alarm. The English fleet had been seen -out at sea two days before! Also it was known to all the King's -followers that a descent was intended, while a regiment of dragoons -marching swiftly to the coast had given the information that, from the -towers of the cathedral at Montpellier, that fleet had been seen -approaching Maqualone. While even a worse cause for alarm was the -rumour that Cavalier with six hundred Camisards had passed by a -circuitous route toward Cette, and was now waiting on the beach to -welcome the English invaders. - -Yet, furnished with papers which Flottard had caused to be procured -from Paris, not only Martin but most of the refugees who had of late -returned to the south of France managed to reach the coast ere night -fell, to reach the shore, there to await the coming of those who were -to land and succour them--a shore upon which were those Camisards who, -setting out with Cavalier long after Martin had departed, had by a -forced march contrived to reach Cette ere he and his companions were -able to do so, owing to the _détours_ they had made; a sandy, shingly -beach, from which, as now the warm night closed in on them, all gazed -upon what they saw before them. - -Two large ships of war (their names were afterward known to be the -Pembroke and the Tartar) which through that night made signals -frequently that, none understanding, remained unanswered. Signals -arranged by the Earl of Nottingham (who, after many compunctions -against assisting rebels in arms, even though in arms against a king -hostile to England, had consented to Shovel making the attack), the -key to which he had forwarded to Peytaud, a Protestant but recently -returned from Holland. But Peytaud had been caught that morning ere he -could reach Cette; the signals had been found upon him, and, at the -time that the Pembroke and the Tartar were showing their masthead -lights, the unfortunate man's body was lying broken all to pieces on a -wheel in the crossroads outside Aiguësmortes. - -And there were no duplicates! The signals remained unanswered. Later -on Cavalier said that he did not know these were the ships of war, but -in the darkness took them to be fishermen's boats. Had he known, he -averred that he would have swam out to them rather than have missed so -great a chance. - -In the morning when day broke the topsails of these vessels were seen -to fill. Soon they were gone. - -The hoped-for chance was lost, and lost forever. The tide no longer -served; nothing could have been then landed from the English ships, -nor could they have remained where they were. Already the galleys -armed to the teeth had put out in dozens to attack them. On the -horizon there rose the topmasts of a great French fleet coming swiftly -from Toulon. - -And by Martin's side upon the desolate shore stood Cavalier, the -picture of despair. - -"The opportunity is gone," he said; "gone also our last chance for -making peace. It is war now to the end. Yet had your countrymen but -got ashore the struggle would have been over; hampered on all sides, -Louis must have yielded, have made terms. God help us all!" and he -turned away to bid his followers disperse and make their way back by -the routes and by-paths which they knew of to the mountains. - -As he did so there came through the crowd of Camisards one whom Martin -had seen before, a gaunt, haggard man, with an arm missing--an arm -which, it was said, had withered under the cruelties the Abbé du -Chaila had practised on this Cévenole while he had him in his power at -Montvert, so that, when at last the man was freed, it had to be -removed. - -"Cavalier," he said, "Cavalier, friend and leader, bid them also -hasten on their way; lose no time. You have heard the news?" - -"No! What?" - -"Montrevel and Julien have forced the passes, taking advantage of our -absence. Roland, too, is away. The caverns are besieged. All in them -are lost." - -"Lost! Pshaw! They will stand a siege of all Louis' armies." - -"Ay, they will. But it is not for siege that the _battue_ is arranged. -Those in the caverns are caught in a _blocus_; they can make no -_sortie_. Outside, fires have been made. Hurry! or you will find -nothing but smoke-dried corpses when you return." - -As he spoke there fell upon his ears a heartbroken gasp. Turning his -eyes, they lighted upon Martin--Martin who, white to the lips and -palsied with horror, could only mutter, "Urbaine! Urbaine. And she is -there!" - -"Ay!" said Cavalier fiercely, "she is there. The blow falls as heavily -on Baville as on us----" Then paused in his speech. Paused to say in -an altered, gentle tone a moment later to Martin, "I see! See all! You -love her?" - -"Love her! My God," Martin replied, "beyond all thought! And she is -there!" - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV. - -"AN ERRAND OF LIFE OR DEATH." - - -Through the fair, sweet land known as the _Département Hérault_ Martin -rode north, toward where the mountains lay, in the darkness of the -autumn night, like purple shadows hovering over the earth; rode -recklessly, as though caring little whether he or the horse he -bestrode found death at the next step. Recklessly, as it seemed to the -startled shepherds guarding their flocks of Narbonne sheep in their -huts of reeds and clay, and peering out as the horseman dashed by, the -moon illuminating his pale face so that, but for the clatter of the -creature's hoofs, they would scarcely have known whether 'twas a -spectre or a living thing which flew past. Recklessly, too, as it -seemed to peasants sleeping in their cottages, and aroused by that -clatter only to turn on their beds and sleep again. Recklessly, -threateningly, as perhaps it may have seemed to startled fawns and -timorous hares and rabbits, fleeing helter-skelter into vineyards -where grew the luscious Lunel and Genistoux grapes, or into underbush -where lurked the famed and dreaded viper of the south. - -But reckless as that hurried course might seem, wild and furious as -the ride of Gary from London to Edinburgh, to tell James that the -great Queen was dead and he was King of England as well as of -Scotland, it was not so in truth, and, though swift and unhalting, was -neither foolhardy nor rashly impetuous. He was too good a horseman, -also too kindly-hearted a man, to spur a willing beast above its best -endeavours. Yet he knew well enough that beyond breathing spells in -cool copses, where the moon flung down on to the thick grass the -shadowy lacery of leaves which quivered in the night breezes, and -beyond halts at trickling rivulets so that the panting creature might -drink and be refreshed, there must be no delay. None if he would reach -Montrevel or Julien ere the worst had fallen; if he would be in time -to tell them that, amid those whom they sought to murder and burn in -the caves they had surrounded, was the fairest woman in all Languedoc, -the child of Baville's heart, Urbaine Ducaire. - -Also he knew the dangers that lurked in his path; knew how, all along -the road he went, were countless soldiers out seeking for _attroupés_; -men who, not knowing what his mission was and perceiving that he bore -no signs about him of royal scarlet, or lace, or accoutrements, would -send a dozen bullets at his back, any one of which would hurl him from -his saddle to the ground a corpse. Nay, once such had almost been the -case. Refusing to halt at the village of St. Jean le Bon, from a -tavern had come a shower of such missiles, which, by God's mercy, had -only hissed harmlessly past, though by the shock he felt beneath him -he knew that his saddle had been struck. - -The dawn was nigh as at last he neared Lunel. He knew it by the deeper -chill of the air, by the changing lividness of the summits of the -distant mountains, and by the vanishing of the purple darkness from -their caps and spurs and ridges. If the horse he rode could reach that -town he might get a change of animal and so ride on and on, and on -again, until he was within the outlines of Montrevel and Julien. - -"Away!" Cavalier had said to him as, after weary waiting, the evening -fell over Cette and he was free at last to commence his journey. All -day he had fretted and stormed at having to remain until the night -came, though forced to do so, since to have started on that wild ride -by daylight would have been, in the state of the locality, simply to -invite destruction. "Away! God grant you may be in time! If they spare -her they must spare the others, as, if they slay them, they must slay -her. And--and--we shall be close behind you. If Montrevel and Julien -have got into our mountains, may the devil, their master, help them! -They will never get out again; we have them in a trap." - -And he laughed bitterly while repeating aloud the word "Away!" Also he -added, "If you can but induce them to hold their hands for twenty-four -hours we will do the rest." - -Lunel came nearer and nearer now. He thanked God again and again that -still the horse beneath him did not falter, still swept on in an even, -easy stride. Already he could see in the morning air, now clear and -bright, the great wooden spire of its church, which up to now had -escaped destruction. And he remembered how Cavalier had told him to -have no fear in entering it, since neither papists nor Protestants had -made any attack upon it because it was principally inhabited by Jews -from Marseilles, who, from the days of Philip of Valois, had been -permitted to dwell within it, they taking, as was natural, no share in -the troubles with which the province was torn. - -Nearer and nearer, close now, its one peaked, _calotte_-roofed tower, -which faced to the south, standing up like an arrow pointing to the -sky in the cool light of the swift advancing dawn. - -Close now, and hammering on the great gray storm-beaten door of the -ramparts, against which for centuries the _mistral_ and the _bise_ had -howled and flung themselves on winter nights and days; on which all -through the summer the southern sun had glared. Hammering with -pistol-butt and clenched hand, loud enough to arouse the dead, and -calling: - -"Awake! Open! Open! In God's name open!" - -"_Hola!_" a voice shouted answeringly from within. "No more. Cease. I -come! 'In God's name.' Good! You give the password. 'Tis well!" the -utterance being mingled with the grating of a key in a lock and the -rumbling of a bar. And Martin divined that by a chance, a miracle, he -had uttered the royalist sign. - -A moment later the gate was open wide. Before it stood a lean, -gray-haired warder, the very counterpart of Cervante's hero, fastening -the tags of his jacket with one hand as he threw back the door with -the other. - -"Monsieur rides in haste," he said, seeing that he had a gentleman to -do with, though no soldier clad in _bleu royal_ or scarlet, as he had -expected. "What is the news you carry? Have the accursed English -landed, the vile Protestants captured the port?" - -"Nay," answered Martin, "but I ride on an errand of life or death. I -must reach Baville; above all, Montrevel or Julien. They know not what -they do." - -"What they do! What is't? I have heard they barricade themselves in -Uzès and Alais, yet thousands strong! Soldiers! Bah! Tosspots and -_vauriens_, afraid of a beggarly set of goatherds. _Dieu des Dieux!_ -'twas not so when I rode behind Condé." - -"You are mistaken. They are in the mountains, putting all to fire and -sword. Above all, to fire. And among those whom they will slay--they -know her not--is Baville's child. Friend, as you have loved ones of -your own, help me to a fresh horse. This one is spent." - -"It is," the warder said, all action now and regarding the smoking -flanks of the poor beast. "Antoine, _petit_," he called, "out of your -bed, _dindon_. A bucket of water, quick. And for you, monsieur, a -sup," whereon he ran into his lodge and came back carrying a great -_outre_, from out of which he poured a flask of amber-coloured liquor. -"'Tis of the best," he said, and winked as he did so. "Hein! 'tis -Chastelneuf. Three years in vat. Down with it." - -"Another horse, another horse!" Martin exclaimed after he had -swallowed the wine and thanked the man. "In Heaven's name put me in -the way of that. I must on--on." - -"Off!" said the man to a boy who had now come from his lodge, half -dressed, as though he had but just tumbled out of his bed; a boy who -was by now holding a bucket to the horse's thirsty mouth. "Off, -Antoine, to the Jew. He has the cattle. If you have money," he added -to Martin. "Without it you will get naught from any of his tribe." - -"I have enough. Fifty gold pistoles." - -"Show them not to him, or he will want all. Bargain, traffic, -_marchandise_. 'Tis the only way." - -Led by the boy and leading now the steed, with the warder calling -after him that it was strange he had heard naught of what he related, -"for his part, he believed he was misinformed, and that Montrevel and -Julien were doing nothing but eating and drinking up all in the land -like locusts," Martin went down the street, none of the inhabitants -seeming yet awake. It was as silent and empty as a deserted city. - -In front of a cross in a market place--a cross which the fiery Anjou -had caused to be erected there to remind the Jews of their fathers' -sins, as he said--the boy paused and, pointing to a house with large, -capacious stables by its side, observed: - -"'Tis there that Elie lives. Beat him up, monsieur, beat him up," and -Martin, following his advice, seized the great copper knocker and -hammered with it as lustily as, some minutes earlier, he had hammered -to arouse the warder. - -Because strange, fantastic thoughts and memories come to us even in -our most bitter moments, so to Martin there came now the thought that -the face, which a moment later appeared at a window above, might well -have served Nokes, the comedian, whom he had often supped with at -Pontac's, for a model of the apothecary in Mantua. A face lean and -hatchet-nosed, fleshless almost as the face of one dying of -starvation, the eyes deep sunken above the beak-like nose. - -"What is't?" this man asked. "What does monsieur desire at such an -hour?" - -"A horse. A horse at once that will carry me to----" - -"Horses are dear just now. The army needs all." - -"I will pay well. Come down and supply me. Quick, every moment is -precious." - -"So are horses. Yet I will descend. I have a good animal, but it cost -me much." - -A moment later he appeared at his door, a thick cudgel in his hand as -though to guard against any sudden attack that might be made upon him, -and said: - -"The animal I have is worth a hundred gold pistoles." - -"Bah! I have not so much about me." - -"How much have you?" - -"Twenty." - -"Twenty for such an animal! Father of Abraham and Isaac! Twenty gold -pistoles for such a creature!" and he made as though he would re-enter -his house. - -"Let him go, monsieur," whispered the boy with a grin, "he will come -back. _N'ayez pas peur_. Oh! _avec ça_, we know him." - -The lad spoke truly, for even as Martin, cursing himself for -trafficking thus at such a moment, resolved to fling his purse of -fifty pieces down before the man and bid him bring out the horse, the -Jew's vulpine beak and pendulous underlip appeared again from behind -the door. - -"Will you give twenty-five?" - -"Show me the horse." - -A little later, in accordance with some whispered instructions to -another person behind the door, a Jewish maiden was seen leading a -horse from out the stable yard at the side, an animal of an ordinary -type, yet looking sturdy and as though quite capable of carrying -Martin to Alais and the mountains beyond. - -"Twenty-five?" the Jew asked, leering. - -"Yes, twenty-five. Help me"--to the boy--"to change saddle and -bridle," which the lad did willingly enough. But the Hebrew's -instincts were stronger than aught else. As they began to do this he -shrieked: - -"Ah, mother of Moses, the girl is mad. She has brought the wrong -beast. Oh! Oh! Oh! This can not go under fifty pistoles." - -"It is too late to change," Martin said grimly. "The beast is mine," -and he produced his purse and told out twenty-five pistoles. Then, -tossing the boy a crown, he said: "Keep my horse for me until I come -this way again or send for it, and I will reward you well. Treat it -carefully. Farewell. The road to Nîmes and Alais? Where is the gate?" - -The boy indicated it amid the shrieks of the Jew, who now yelled he -was robbed; that he meant twenty-five gold pistoles with the other's -horse thrown in; how else could he part with such an animal for a -beggarly twenty-five? And amid a tussle between the lad on one side -and the Abrahamite and the girl on the other, in which the former -seemed quite able to hold his own and retain his charge, Martin rode -down the street to the Nîmes gate. - -Once more he was upon the road. Nearer to his love, to her who had -dawned a star above his life--the woman in deadly peril for whom, as -he tightened rein and pressed flank, he prayed God's mercy. Prayed -also that he might not be too late, not too late. - -The autumn sun beat down upon his head, fierce as July suns in more -northern lands. The skies were like brass. There was no air to fan his -cheek except that which his own swift passage caused. Yet he never -felt or heeded the former, nor missed the latter; there was but one -thought in his mind--Urbaine! Urbaine! Urbaine! - -Lunel was left behind him, had dwindled to a spot. He cursed the -leagues of _détour_ he had to make to reach Nîmes first, find Baville, -and warn him of the awful danger of the girl if still she lived--oh, -God! if still she lived!--procure his order to those battue-making -butchers to hold their hands, possess himself of it, and hurry on to -the mountains, That, that was all he could do, yet he would accomplish -it or reel from his saddle to the road--dead. - -Through Vergese he went, seeing the cool wooden slopes of Les -Vaquerolles on his left, shouting the password he had by Heaven's -grace learned so opportunely to all who endeavoured to arrest his -flight; on, on to Milbaud and Saint Cesare. And at last Nîmes was -ahead of him. He saw it now. The Temple of Diana rose before his eyes, -solitary and majestic as the Romans had left it two thousand years -before; rose, too, beneath the brassy shimmer, the white marble -columns of Agrippa's sons and the city walls. - -Yet also arose something else toward the heavens which startled, -amazed him. - -Stealing up into the yellow haze, a spiral column twined snakily until -it seemed to be merged in the sky, a column white and fleecy at first, -then black at its base, and, later, black up all its length. Next, -tinged flame-colour--soon flame itself. Flame which leaped up in -countless tongues as though with its great flecks and flickers it -aspired to lick the canopy above, flame in which now were mixed black -specks and daubs borne up upon its fiery breath. - -Nîmes was burning. It was impossible to doubt it. - -Set on fire by whom? Camisards descending from the mountains, or -perchance, though that seemed impossible, by Camisards returning from -Cette. Or by the King's forces. Yet, why that? It was the royalist -stronghold, the royalist base. It could scarce be that. - -Spurring his horse, he urged it to its fullest speed through -the last remaining half-league of road running through fields of -crimson-flowered sainfoin and beneath the yellow-green, sweet-scented -limes. On, while now above the broadleaved trees the smoke rose -thicker and thicker. On, scarce knowing why he rode thus or what he -had to do in Nîmes except to find Baville if he were there; to tell -him no burning city mattered one jot to him in comparison with what -was doing, might be done by now, up in those mountains five leagues -off which lay bathed in the golden haze of the noontide heat. - -He saw the great southern gate open before him, no warders by it. -Doubtless they were in the city trying to save it from the flames; -from the gate itself he saw people issuing, running. Some--among -others two old gray-haired people, man and woman--wringing their -hands; also a great burly _cordelier_, his fat face suffused with an -oily smile. - -"What--what is it?" he cried, reining in his horse. "What fresh horror -now?" - -"Murder! Cruelty unparalleled!" the old gray-haired man said, his look -of terror awful to behold. "Wickedness extreme! Montrevel is there, -Julien is there; they have caught the Protestants in the great mill, -have barred them in, they can not escape. And they are burning it. -All, all must perish." - -"Montrevel--Julien--there! It is impossible. They are in the mountains -burning the Protestants _there!_" Martin exclaimed. - -"Nay, nay, my son," the greasy monk exclaimed, chiming in, "that was -but a heaven-inspired ruse to catch the others in the trap. They are -here. They slaughter the heretics, _par le fer et par le feu_, as -Montrevel says. Here! Here! My son, make your way in. Join the good -work." - - - - -CHAPTER XXV. - -PAR LE FER ET PAR LE FEU. - - -He made his way in. - -Entered by the Porte des Carmes, to find himself in the midst of a -seething mass of people who shouted and gesticulated while pushing -each other to and fro, some doing so in their anxiety to escape from -out the city, others endeavouring to force themselves farther into it -and toward the Canal de la Gau, which was near the gate. A mass of -people who seemed infuriated, beyond the bounds of reason, to frenzy, -who shouted and screamed, "_Au glaive, au glaive avec les héritéques_. -Kill all! Burn all! Now is the time." While others shrieked, "To the -mill, to the mill!" as onward they went in the direction of the canal. - -He had put his horse up in a stall behind the gate, tethering it to a -peg alongside one or two other animals which, by their trappings, -evidently belonged to some dragoons; and now, borne on by the crowd, -Martin went the same way, keeping his feet with difficulty yet still -progressing, progressing toward where he saw the flames ascending, -darting through dense masses of black smoke, roaring as a vast furnace -roars. Toward the mill that, all said, was the place which was on -fire; the mill in which there were three hundred people--women, -children, and old, decrepit, useless men, old, aged Protestants who -could not take to the mountains--being burned to death; the mill in -which they had been worshipping God in their own fashion. - -"Tell me," Martin besought a bystander, big, brawny, and muscular, -whom he found by his side and who, in spite of his splendidly -developed manhood, wept, dashing the tears fiercely away from his eyes -every moment. "Tell me what has happened. Tell me, I beg you." - -"Murder! Butchery! A crime that will ring down the ages. Montrevel is -burning three hundred helpless ones in Mercier's mill." Then he -paused, casting his eyes over Martin's riding dress (stained now with -the dust of his long rides) and upon his lace at breast and throat, -smirched and dirty from continued wear. Paused to say: "What are you? -a _seigneur_, I see. But of which side? The butchers or the -slaughtered?" - -"I am of the Reformed faith." - -"Of Nîmes?" the man asked. "If so, God help you. Your mother or your -babe may be burning there and you powerless to succour them. -Montrevel's wolves surround the mill. He is there too, mad with wine -and lust of blood. If there is any woman or child you love in Nîmes at -this moment, God help you." - -"She whom I love is not here. But, alas! can we do nothing? You wear a -sword as I do? We can strike a blow----" - -"Do! What can we do? There are two hundred dragoons there. What will -our blades avail, though we were the best _ferrailleurs_ in France?" -Then suddenly he cried, "See, there is the slaughter-house!" - -He spoke truly. The burning mill was before them. - -A sight to freeze one's blood, to turn that blood to ice even beneath -the sky of brass, even before the hot flames that darted forth, -licking up, devouring all. - -It stood, an ancient building of stone foundations and wooden -superstructure. They said the former dated back to Cæsar's day, the -latter to that of Charles le Bel, upon the banks of the canal as it -would never stand again, since now it was nothing but a mass of -burning fuel. Also a human hecatomb, there being within it the ashes -of three hundred human beings whose bodies had that morning been -consumed. And Martin blessed God that he had not been there to hear -their piercing shrieks, their cries for mercy and their supplications. - -Around the nearly destroyed mill, except on one side where it adjoined -an inn, "La Rose de Provence," the front of which was all singed and -scarred, he saw the executioners, the men who had been soldiers, -fierce yet valiant, until this morning, but who were now worthy of no -nobler name than that of cowardly murderers. Dragoons, Croatian -Cravates, now Prance's most bloody swashbucklers with one exception, -the Miquelets, those fierce Pyrenean tigers, as well as -_chevaux-légers_ and countless numbers of the _milice_. And near them, -his sword drawn, his face inflamed with drink and fury, his breast a -mass of ribbons and orders, was Montrevel upon his horse, a scandal to -the _bâton_ he had lately gained. - -"Murderer! Assassin! Brave butcher of women and babes," howled many in -the crowd, one half of which was Protestant, "noble papist! you have -done your work well. Yet beware of Cavalier and Roland!" - -And even as they so shouted, from more than one window high up in the -roofs there came little puffs of smoke and spits of flame, showing -that he was aimed at. Only the devil protected him. His time was not -yet come. He was mad now with fury or drink, or thirst for human -blood. Mad, stung to frenzy by resistance and contempt, even in spite -of all that he had done that morning, of having glutted his ire on the -helpless, which should have sufficed, all heard him roar: - -"_Finissons!_ Nîmes is heretic to the core. Make an end of it. -_Avancez, mes soldats_. Burn, destroy, slaughter. Kill all." And he -turned his horse toward where the crowd was thickest and bade the -carnage begin, marshalling his troops into companies the better to -distribute them about the doomed city. - -But now there stepped forth one--Sandricourt, Governor of Nîmes--who -forbade him to do that which he threatened; warned him that if one -more house or street was injured he would himself that night set forth -for Paris, and tell Louis that Montrevel was unworthy of the command -he held in this distracted province. - -"Ha! Sandricourt, 'tis Sandricourt," whispered one in a knot of -Protestants standing near to where Martin and the man he had accosted -were. "He is the best, he and Fléchier, bishop though he is. If all -were like them--if Baville were--then--then we might live in peace, -not see nor know the awful terrors we have seen this day. Oh, the -horror of it! the horror of it!" and he buried his face in his hands -as though to hide some sight that he feared might blast him. - -Baville! The name recalled the man to Martin's memory. Nay, it did -more, far more than that. Recalled his love, Urbaine. Set him -wondering, too, if by any chance this holocaust had taken place at the -Intendant's suggestion; if this was a vengeance on those who had -destroyed her. For he must deem her dead by now; weeks had passed -since she disappeared. Had he set the shambles fresh running with -blood to avenge her loss? - -He must see Baville at once, must tell him she was safe. Thereby, -perhaps, more slaughter might be averted. - -"Where is Baville?" he asked, turning to the group of terrified -Protestants by his side. "Is he in this carnage?" - -"God, he knows," one replied. "Yet he has not appeared. Not since this -commenced. Were you here at the beginning?" - -"Nay, I arrived but now. Is it true, can it be true there are three -hundred destroyed within that?" and he glanced toward the _débris_ of -the mill, the superstructure now nothing but ashes and charred beams, -with, lying above them, the red tiles of what had been a roof ere it -fell in, burying beneath it--what? - -"It is true, it is true," the man wailed. Then, composing himself, he -told of all that had gone before. "They were at prayer," he said, "in -there, in Mercier's mill. I myself and Prosper Roumilli," indicating -one of the men by his side. "Also Antoine La Quoite and Pierre -Delamer," nodding to two others near him, "were hastening to join -them; all grieved that we were too late. Late, _grand Dieu!_ What have -we not escaped?" - -"Death and destruction," whispered La Quoite, trembling. - -"Ay, death and destruction. _Hélas!_ they raised their songs of -thanksgiving too loud. Their _cantiques_ told where they were, reached -the ears of that murderer there who was at his breakfast----" - -"He was," again interrupted La Quoite, "with the woman, Léonie Sabbat. -A fitting companion. She can drink even him beneath the table." - -"Furious he left that table, summoned a battalion, passed swiftly -here, surrounded the mill. Furious, too, because as they passed the -cathedral he heard the organ blow, knew that Fléchier worshipped too, -mad and savage because during such time we should also worship God in -our own way." - -"Yet our day will come," murmured Pierre Delamer, "it will come. I am -old, yet shall I not die until it comes." - -"The soldiers burst open the door," went on the original speaker, -"rushed in among them sabres in hand, slew many. Yet this was too slow -for him----" - -"It was," exclaimed La Quoite. "He said they would be three hundred -minutes slaying three hundred people thus. Too slow! He drew off his -men, closed the doors, set fire to the mill. You see the end," and he -pointed to the ashes of the ruined place, ashes that were also -something else besides the remains of the mill. - -Again the first speaker took up the story, Martin feeling sick unto -death as he stood by and heard. - -"From within there came the shouts of the lost, the piercing cries, -the heartrending shrieks. Midst burst walls, at windows, upon the -roof, we saw the death-doomed appear. Flying spectres, phantoms, upon -them the wounds the soldiers had made, black, singed by the flames. -And then, O God! the sight passed man's endurance." - -"What next?" asked Martin, white to the lips. - -"What next? This: With their new weapons, the accursed _baïonnettes_, -the soldiers thrust back into the flames those whom the could get at; -those whom they could not reach they fired at. We saw them fall back -shrieking. Yet in God's mercy their shrieks ceased soon--there were -none left." - -"But one," exclaimed the man called La Quoite, "a girl, _pauvre petite -fillette!_ She escaped so far as to reach the ground unhurt, to escape -their blades, although they held them up as she jumped from the -window, so that thereby she might be impaled. But they missed her, -and, running toward Montrevel, she shrieked for mercy. Poor child, -poor child! not more than fifteen--than fifteen!" - -"His lackey," struck in Delamer, "had more mercy than the master. He -helped her to escape from out the hands of the soldiers." - -"Thank God there was a man, a human heart, among them," murmured -Martin. - -"Ay, yet it availed little. The brigand ordered her to the hangman's -hands, also the lackey. The gibbet was prepared. Both would have died -but that a Catholic woman, _une s[oe]ur de la miséricorde_, upon her -knees--Heaven's blessings light upon her!--besought him by the God -whom all worship equally to give them their lives." - -"And he yielded?" - -"He yielded. He spared these two, though an hour later the lackey was -thrown outside the gate of Nîmes, his master bidding him go hang or -drown himself, or join his friends, _les Protestants_, whereby once -more he might fall into his hands." - -"There is one good piece of news yet to be told," whispered La Quoite, -who was a man of fiercer mood than the others. "In the _mêlée_ the -soldiers sabred many of the Catholics unwittingly. God be praised!" -and he laughed harshly. - -And now the end of this day's work had come. Montrevel had left the -spot. Behind him went the dragoons and _milices_. The butchery was -over. He should have been well satisfied with his morning. - -Yet it scarcely looked as though he were so. His eyes glared around -him as he rode off, his hand clutched convulsively the sword laid -across his horse's mane. No wonder that they said afterward, when his -recall came and the noble and merciful Villars replaced him, that on -that day he was mad as the long-chained and infuriated panther is mad. -He had met with nothing but defeat and disaster since he had marched -into Languedoc _tambours battants_; nothing but scorn and contempt and -derision from the mountaineers whom he had sworn to crush beneath his -heel; had received nothing but reproof from headquarters. - -"Baville must be somewhere near," Martin said to La Quoite as they -watched him ride forth from the scene of carnage. "Where is he?" - -"I know not; yet, doubtless, not far. And he too is mad for the death -of his loved one. God grant he is not close at hand; that none of us -fall into his clutches. He would spur Montrevel on to fresh attempts." - -Yet La Quoite's prayer found no echo in Martin's heart. He wished to -find Baville, desired to see him, to stand face to face with him and -tell him that Urbaine was safe. For safe she must be even after this -massacre, safe even though in Cavalier's hands. - -Had he not said that he knew for certain she too was a Protestant, as -they were--_une Huguenote!_ - - -Note.--Justice requires it to be said that, of all the Roman Catholic -writers who have described and written upon the slaughter at the mill -in Nîmes, not one has approved of it, or attempted to exonerate -Montrevel. In truth, this awful outrage was the brutality of a rude, -ungovernable soldier and not of a priest; and Fléchier, Bishop of -Nîmes, was loud in its condemnation. It led to Montrevel's recall and -to the arrival of Marshal Villars, who at last restored peace to -Languedoc by the use of clemency and mercy. Such peace was not, -however, to take place for some time. - -Also it should be stated that Baville was quite free from any part in -this matter, and that Louis XIV knew nothing of what had happened, nor -indeed of any of the terrible events which occurred about the same -time, it being the system of Madame de Maintenon and of Chamillart to -keep him in ignorance of what was being enacted so far away from -Versailles. It has been told that when he heard of the massacre at the -mill he was observed to weep for the first and only time in his life. -He might well do so! - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI. - -DOOMED. - - -Remembering that his horse (which he would require ere long to carry -him to the mountains, since although, as he had thanked God again and -again, Urbaine was in no danger, Baville would doubtless desire him to -obtain her release at once) had been left in the stables behind the -Porte des Carmes, Martin made his way there. Went toward the gate, -resolved to fetch it away and place it in some more secure spot than -the one in which several dragoons had tied up theirs ere dismounting. - -Reaching the yard, he found the animal; found also that the dragoons -must have preceded him, since now all their horses were gone excepting -one, which, by its caparisons and trappings, by the great gold sun -upon the bridle, the throat-plume and saddle-flaps, as well as by its -fleecy bear-skin saddle-cloth, was plainly an officer's. - -"A fine beast," he mused as, ere he removed his own horse, he held a -bucket of water to its mouth, "a fine beast. Too good to be employed -in carrying its rider to such work as he and his men have been about -to-day." - -As he thought thus he heard the heavy ring of spurred boots upon the -rough flags of the yard, also the clang of a metal scabbard-tip on -them, and, glancing round, saw coming toward him a young dragoon -officer, his face flushed, perhaps with the heat, perhaps with the -business that he and his troops had been recently employed upon. - -"_Peste!_" the man exclaimed as he came up to his own steed and began -unfastening the bridle from the staple to which it was attached. -"_Peste!_ Hot work, monsieur, this morning, what with the glaring sun -and the flames from the mill. _N'est-ce pas, monsieur?_ Yet, yet I -wish those heretics had not been of the feeble. It is no soldier's -work slaughtering babes and women and _vieillards_. My God!" he broke -off, exclaiming, a moment later, "So it is you, villain!" - -"What!" exclaimed Martin, astonished at this sudden change of speech -and regarding him as though he were a madman. "What! _Villain!_ To -whom does monsieur apply that word?" and the look upon his face should -have warned the young man to be careful of his words. - -"To whom," the other sneered, however, "to whom? To whom should I -apply it but one? Who else is there in the stable-yard but you to whom -it would apply? And if there were fifty more, I should still address -it to you. Also the word murderer." - -"To me! Are you mad that you assault a stranger thus with such -opprobrium? Answer, or, being sane, draw the weapon by your side." - -"Which is that which I intend to do. Yet I know not whether you are -fit to cross blades with. You! You!" - -"You will know it shortly," Martin said quietly, as now he drew his -own sword and stood before him, "unless, that is, you have some very -tangible explanation of your words to offer." - -"Explanation! Explanation! Oh, _avec ça!_ you shall have an -explanation. Are you not the fellow who sat on the bridge when De -Peyre's dragoons rode into Montvert after the murder of the Abbé du -Chaila? Are you not the man who led the attack on the Intendant's -daughter, dragging her from her carriage, carried her off to the -mountains, to your accursed _attroupés_; doubtless assisted in her -murder? Answer that, _maraud_, and tell no lies." - -And even as he spoke he struck at him with the gauntlet he held in his -hand, muttering, "I loved her, I loved her, and I will slay you." Then -said again, "Answer ere I slay you." - -"I will answer you," said Martin quietly still--so quietly, yet -ominously, that, had the man before him not been a soldier, he would -have been well advised to flee from out the yard. "But it must be -later; when I have stretched you at my feet for your insolence. You -shall have the explanation when I have paid you back that blow, when -your soul is hurrying to join your victims of this morning." - -His blood was up now. The abusive words of the soldier; the sting of -the heavy gauntlet still upon his cheek; perhaps, though that he -scarce recognized, the feeling of hate against this swashbuckler for -having dared to dream of loving Urbaine--all combined to make him -resolute to kill the man before him. Also the horror, the disgust, -that every effort he had made, every danger he had run, should be -subjected to such misinterpretation, added to the accusation, if any -addition were needed, that doubtless he had murdered her. For the -first time in the course of this unholy war his weapon was unsheathed, -about to be used. It should not find its scabbard again till it was -wet with this man's life blood. - -"Have I been mistaken?" the soldier said, astonished by his words, -above all by his calm. "Made some strange error?" - -"You have. No greater in your life than that foul blow. Put up your -weapon before you, or I run you through as you stand here. Quick, _en -garde_. I am neither 'woman, babe, nor _vieillard_.'" - -"If it must be, it must----" - -"It must!" - -"_Soit!_ If you will have it so." - -The yard was large enough for any pair of _escrimeurs_ to make fair -play in, yet had it been smaller it would have well sufficed, as the -dragoon found. Found that he had his master here before him, a man in -whose hands he was a child; a fencer who would not let him move from -the spot he was on, except backward slowly to the wall. And that not -by his own desire, but because the iron wrist in front of him rendered -resistance to its owner's will impossible. - -Sword-play such as this he had never known, nor an adversary who -parried every thrust as he made it, yet never lunged himself, -reserving, doubtless, all his strength for that lunge at last. -Strength to thrust through muscle and chest-wall the blade which would -pierce his heart. - -He felt that he was doomed. There rose before him an old _manoir_ with -a window high up in a _tourelle_, a window from which he knew that, -even now, a gray-haired, sad-eyed woman--his mother!--watched as she -had often watched for his coming. Ah, well, he would never appear -again to gladden her. Never, never, through all the years that she -might live. Never! - -There was a click, a tic-tac of steel against steel that told him his -reflections were but too true and just, that the gray-haired woman's -chance of ever seeing him again would be gone in a few seconds now. -Also he experienced that feeling which every swordsman has known more -than once, the feeling that the wrist of the opponent is preparing the -way for the deadly lunge, the feeling that his own guard is being -pressed down with horrible, devilish force, that the lightning thrust -will be through him in a moment. - -For a moment he was saved, his agony prolonged by an interruption. Two -men--warders--had appeared on the roof of the gate, and, seeing what -was going on below, stood there watching the play of the swords. -Joking and jeering, too, about his incompetency in spite of the -scarlet and gold he wore, bidding him take heart; that soon it would -be over; also that the pain was not great after the first bite of the -steel. - -And disturbed, agitated, he but clumsily endeavoured to guard himself -from that awful pressure, knowing that the thrust must come directly. - -Astonished, he found it did not do so. Instead, the pressure relaxed. -A moment later his adversary spoke to him. - -"Those fellows agitate you. Take breath," and the dreaded blade was -still. Soon both weapons were unlocked. - -"You are very noble," the dragoon said. "I--I--no matter. Let us -continue," and muttered to himself, "as well now as three moments -later," preparing for the death he knew was to be his. Or rather -thought was to be his, not dreaming that it would never be dealt to -him by the calm and apparently implacable swordsman before him. For -Martin, his blood cooling as he learned how poor a foeman he was -opposed to, a swordsman unworthy of his steel, had resolved to dismiss -him, strike up his weapon and give him his life, with some -contemptuous words added to the gift. - -Not understanding, however, all that was in the brain of the man who, -as a boy, had been sent across the Alps from Paris to the best -_maestri di scherma_ of Padua and Florence to learn all they could -teach in the use of small arms; not knowing this, the other prepared -himself for his fate, seeing now that the men on the roof jeered and -fleered no longer; instead, stared with a look of apprehension at the -entrance to the yard. - -Started, too, at a voice which Martin heard, as the others heard. - -"Strike up that man's guard," the voice cried. "Secure him. For you, -Montglas, touch him not at your peril. Arrest the English spy." - -The voice of Baville! As Martin knew well enough ere, contemptuously -disarming the dragoon by a _flanconnade_, he turned and faced the -Intendant. The man whose child he had saved, yet who now denounced him -as an English spy; who had learned by some means that he was a subject -of France's bitterest foe. - -Behind him there stood six Croatian Cravates, part of the Intendant's -guards, swarthy fellows whose very name caused tremblings to all in -France, though they themselves had trembled once before Prince -Eugene's soldiers, and were to tremble again as Marlborough hedged -them in with English steel later--men who now advanced to seize the -English spy. - -"Take his sword from him," Baville said. "If he resists, knock him on -the head. Yet spare his life. That is mine to deal with." - -For a moment the glittering blade flashed ominously before the -Croatians; glittered, too, before Baville's eyes. Then the point was -lowered to the ground, and Martin spoke. - -"What," he asked calmly, "do these orders mean?" - -"Mean?" echoed Baville. "Mean! You ask _me_ that? They mean that you -are in my hands. That to-morrow you die." - -"Upon what charge?" - -"Bah! I equivocate not with such as you," and he turned to go. "Nay," -he exclaimed violently, looking round as Martin again addressed him. -"Speak not. I require no answer. If you reply I shall forget that I am -the King's Intendant, shall remember only that you are the murderer of -my child, shall bid these men despatch you here upon this spot." - -"The--murderer--of--your--child!" Martin repeated. "Of--of----" - -"Of Urbaine Ducaire." - -"You believe that?" - -"Believe it? I know it. This man whom but now you attempted to slay, -le Baron de Montglas, saw you drag her from her carriage, carry her -off. Enough. Answer me not. Take him," he said to the Croatians, "to -the citadel." Then, once more addressing Martin, he said, his voice -calm now, his tones gentle: - -"To-morrow you will have your chance to speak, even you, an English -spy, you, the murderer of an innocent woman, will not be condemned -unheard. The Court will sit at the earliest moment possible." - -"What if I tell you that Urbaine Ducaire lives, is well, happy? What -then?" - -As Martin spoke he saw the handsome face of the Intendant flush, the -dark olive complexion become suffused with a warm glow, the dark, full -eyes sparkle beneath their long black lashes. Saw, too, that he took a -step forward toward him, whispering, "Lives--is happy!" Next, turned -away again with a movement of contempt. - -"What then!" he exclaimed, once more addressing Martin. "What then! -What, you ask, should I say or do? Say it is a lie, such as you told -before, only of five thousand times a deeper dye--a lie such as the -lie you uttered when you proclaimed yourself a _propriétaire_ of the -North. Shall do that which no power on earth, not Louis' own, can -prevent. Slay you as I have sworn a thousand times to do if ever by -God's grace I had you in my hands again." - -At the feet of the soldiers there was a clang--the clang of Martin's -sword as he flung it on the paved stable-yard. - -"Bid your bravoes pick it up," he said. "For yourself, do with me what -you choose. It will never be sheathed by me again till you have heard -my story before the Court you speak of. Packed as it may be, packed as -all the courts of Languedoc have been by Monsieur l'Intendant from the -beginning, packed by every one of your creatures whom you can gather -round you, they shall all hear to-morrow morning my story, if I am not -done to death ere I can tell it." - -"Lies, bravado, will avail you nothing. Le Baron Montglas is witness -against you. Come," he said, turning to that person. "Come." - -And he strode from out the stable-yard after bidding the Cravates to -follow with their prisoner. - -Yet when he was alone in the house which he occupied at Nîmes his mind -was ill at ease. Ill at ease because, in the calm bearing of this -prisoner, in the contempt which that prisoner had shown for him and -his authority as he flung his sword at his feet, he saw something -which was neither guilt nor fear. Instead, contempt and scorn. - -Also he had said "Urbaine Ducaire lives, is well, happy," and in -saying it had spoken as one speaks who utters truth. - -Yet how could he believe that such as this could be possible? -Montglas, whose life had been at this man's mercy as he entered the -stable-yard, had seen the other in the _mêlée_, had seen him tear -Urbaine from the coach, lift her on to his horse, ride off with her. -To what, to where? To death, to the mountains where the Protestants -sheltered. And, if further confirmation was needed, had he not caused -to be brought before him one who had escaped from the massacre of the -Château St. Servas, one who plainly told how ere the Camisards -attacked the castle disguised as royalists, this man, the Englishman -as he now knew him to be, had brought Urbaine there, to wait doubtless -for his accomplices? Also that very day he had heard, had been told by -some who had returned from Cette, that among the Cévenoles who had -been on the beach waiting for the landing of the English, this man had -been recognised. His own spies had seen him; there could be no -possibility of doubt. - -"Yet if, after all, they should be wrong," he mused to himself; "if, -after all, Montglas, the escaped one from St. Servas, the spy, should -be deceived! Or, not being deceived, Urbaine should still live! What -then? What if in truth he has in some manner managed to protect her, -to save her! What then?" - -Even as he muttered these words, these surmises, he wiped the heat -drops from his brow. For--and now almost he prayed that this man might -be lying--if all were wrong in what they accused him of, if instead of -leading Urbaine to her death he had saved, protected her, all the same -he was doomed. Doomed beyond hope! - -He had communicated with Paris, with Chamillart, with the woman who -ruled the King, had asked for information about this stranger who -stated that he was a kinsman of the de Rochebazons in search for one -who was the De Rochebazon himself, and not a week since had received -in return his orders from Paris. Orders written by De Maintenon's own -private secretary to arrest the man, to put him on trial as an English -spy found in France during a time of war, orders to have him condemned -and executed without appeal--his nationality, which was undoubted, to -be the justification for that execution. - -And again, as he remembered this, Baville almost prayed that Martin's -words might not be true, prayed that, if they were true and Urbaine -still lived and was safe, _he_ at least might not prove to be her -saviour. - -Her saviour! Yet doomed to lose his life at the hands of the man who -worshipped the girl, the man who, instead of doing that saviour to -death, should, instead, have poured out at his feet all that would -have gone to make his life happy, prosperous, and contented. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII. - -HER FATHER, URBAIN DUCAIRE. - - -It was in a great hall, or chamber, of the Hôtel de Ville that Baville -now sat, splendidly apparelled, as was ever his custom when assisting -at any great public function. Once more he wore his white satin jacket -with, over it, the _justaucorps-à-brevet_, and with, upon his satin -waistcoat, the gold lilies of France emblazoned. Also his hat--which, -since he represented the King, he did not remove--was white and -fringed with gold lace, his ruffles were of the finest point de -Malines, his gloves gold-fringed, his sword ivory-hilted and -gold-quilloned. The rich costume suited well the handsome features of -the terrible Intendant of Languedoc--_le fléau du fléau de Dieu_, as -he had been called. That superb dress, combined with his dark olive -complexion, classic outline, and soft dark eyes, shaded by their long -lashes, caused Baville to look, as indeed he was, the handsomest man -in Nîmes that day. - -Beneath him sat a group of men of the law. Three judges in scarlet and -ermine; the _Procureur du Roi_, also in scarlet, but with ermine only -at his cuffs; _greffiers_ and clerks, as well as two men who were -termed _abréviateurs_ and practised the shorthand of the day, with, -near these, many other persons of importance in Nîmes. Sandricourt, -the governor of the city, was there, as also Montrevel, his fierce -eyes rolling round the Court as they glared from his inflamed face; -Esprit Fléchier, Bishop of Nîmes, a good and righteous man, -reverencing deeply his ancient faith, yet shuddering with horror at -all that had been done in Languedoc, and was still doing, in the name -of that faith; and many more. For it was known to every one in Nîmes, -Protestant and Catholic alike, that to-day a man was to be tried who -was himself a Protestant, an ally of the Camisards in the mountains, -an English spy who had been one of those waiting on the shore of the -Mediterranean to welcome the English invader. Tried! tried! Nay, -rather brought up for condemnation and sentence without any trial to a -doom which meant either the flames in the market place or the wheel by -the cross in the Cathedral _Place_ below the _Beau Dieu_, or perhaps -the lamp whose post was highest. All knew this, Protestant and -Catholic alike; all knew, the former shuddering and the latter -gloating over the knowledge, that this was to be no trial, but a -sentence; no execution, but a murder. - -The Court, or great chamber, began to fill with spectators, also with -those who were to act as guards to all who presided at or took part in -the proceedings. That guard would indeed be necessary, since none -could say, among those who represented what was termed the _Partie -Royaliste_, how soon its services might be required to prevent them -from being attacked and done to death, even as, in Mercier's mill -yesterday, they had attacked and done to death those of the other -side. None could say how, at any instant, sweeping down from their -mountain homes, from their impenetrable fastnesses and caverns, might -come the dreaded _attroupés_ headed by either Cavalier or Roland, with -their tigerish blood on fire to revenge the hideous massacre not yet -twenty-four hours old, or with a fierce determination in their hearts -to save the man who had been their friend and ally. At any moment a -shout might be heard, o'ermastered by the pealing of a solemn canticle -from a thousand throats; at any moment a psalm might break upon the -ears of all, as it rose to Him whom they termed the God of the -Outcasts, even as, to the swell of that hymn, was heard the clash of -steel, the shriek of those who were in the avengers' grasp, the cry of -despair from those who fell before the avengers' glaives. It was well -those guards should be there. - -They came in now, the fierce Cravates whose eyes gleamed like dusky -stars from beneath their heavy brows, whose faces were as the faces of -wild beasts that rend and tear others, not so much because rending and -tearing is necessary to their own preservation as because it is their -sport and delight; men from whom women drew back shuddering as they -passed, and before whom their fellow-men felt their blood tingling -with the desire to measure themselves. Also the Miquelets were there, -the wolves of the Pyrenees who fought with their short, thin-bladed -knives, yet slew as surely as others slew with heavy-handled -swords or by shot of musketoon. Outside were the dragoons and the -Chevaux-Légers, even the humble militia of the province, proud yet -half timorous of the company they were in. - -Scarcely could even Cavalier, the undefeated, have made his way with -his followers into that hall, or, being there, have done aught to -avenge the butchery of yesterday or to save the one who would shortly -be doomed to-day. - -The guard set outside and in, every precaution taken. Those of the -citizens who chose to enter and were able to find standing room were -allowed to do so. They were a strangely assorted company. Some were of -the class known as the _nouveaux convertis_, men whom misery and fear -of poverty had turned from Protestantism to Roman Catholicism, men who -could not endure to face the flames or the gibbets. These were mostly -old--too old to seek the mountains and fight for their lives and their -faith, _vieillards_ who told themselves that the only fire they needed -was that of their own hearths to warm their blood, and who persuaded -themselves, though with many a tear dropped unseen, that one religion -was much the same as another. Yet by their sides came others now who -should have put their weakness to shame: old women brought up in the -same faith as they, yet scorning to change to save their skins; women -who now mouthed and grimaced at Baville as he sat in splendour on the -dais which acted as a substitute for Louis' throne, and seemed by that -mouthing and grimacing to defy the Intendant to injure them that -morning. Also, too, there came in shepherds and goatherds clad in -fleeces of the Narbonne sheep that grazed on the hills around, with -knives in their girdles; men known to be of the new faith, yet men who -were safe to-day, since the butchery of yesterday would not bear -repetition. Even Montrevel knew this, knew that he dared take no -vengeance at present on those mountaineers who scowled at him over the -shoulders of his own scowling soldiers, and nodded to one another and -whispered as they glanced toward where he sat, while they gazed -inquiringly into each other's eyes, as though asking a question. What -question? One, perhaps, as to whether it would not be well to o'erleap -the barriers and cut from ear to ear the throat of the beribboned and -bestarred swashbuckler who sat glaring before them! It may well have -been such a question as that. - -The soft yet piercing eyes of Baville saw all who entered by the great -porte that gave into the chamber--_nouveaux convertis_, mountaineers, -monks and priests, prohibited Protestant _pasteurs_, old women and -men, soldiers off duty, and some members of the _noblesse_ (_grande et -petite_) from the surrounding towns and villages. Those eyes missed -not one face, yet seemed, judging by the calmness that dwelt in his -glance, to observe nothing; a calmness that told no more than a mask -or a marble bust tells, yet only served to cloak a hell which raged -within him. The unhappiest man in Languedoc that day was Baville, the -most heartbroken. - -Ere the dawn had long been come, the Intendant, a prey to his own -thoughts, to his own self-reproaches, not knowing whether he had not -committed an act that was irreparable in handing Martin over to the -judges as an English spy, had left his bed and made his way to the -cell in which Martin had been placed. - -"I must see him," he whispered to himself as he hastily donned a dark -coat and cloak, vastly different from the splendour of the costume he -now wore in open court. "I must see him, for I fear--O God, how I -fear!--that I have sent to his doom the man who has saved Urbaine. His -manner, his words, were the words, the action of truth. What hideous -reparation may I not have made!" - -Thinking thus, musing thus, he had taken his way from the apartment he -occupied in the citadel when at Nîmes to the place where Martin was -detained, a room stone-flagged and built into the wall, and strong -enough to detain the most ferocious and determined prisoner who should -once find himself within it. - -"Unlock the door," he said to the man, one of the local _milice_, who -was appointed to sit outside on guard over the prisoner within. "Open. -You know me, do you not?" - -"Yes, monseigneur, I know you," the soldier said, springing to his -feet and preparing to do as he was bidden. "Yet will monseigneur -venture within? The man is, they say, a dangerous----" - -"Bah! Open." - -And a moment later the Intendant was gazing down upon him whom he had -denounced to the law, the man for whose trial, a few hours later, he -had already issued orders and summoned the judges. - -Upon a low pallet Martin Ashurst lay sleeping as peacefully as though -in his own bed in his far-distant home, nor was he disturbed by the -grating of the key in the lock nor by the entrance of Baville. He had -slept but little for some nights past, and his long rides and -exertions had worn him out at last. - -Gazing down upon him, observing the fair hair and handsome features of -his victim, Baville knew that here was no guilty man capable of -betraying a young and helpless girl to her death. The calm and -peaceful figure beneath him could scarce be that of one who would -descend to such villainies. Murderers of the young and innocent looked -not so innocent themselves! And if any confirmation of his thoughts -were needed, he had it now. Upon Martin's face there came a soft -smile; his lips parted and he murmured the name of Urbaine. - -"Urbaine!" he whispered. "Urbaine! My love!" - -Had an adder stung the Intendant standing there, or the lightning -stroke blasted him, neither could have been more terrible. His love! -His love! His love! Therefore he must have spoken truth when he said -that she was well, was happy. - -"God help me," Baville muttered. "Have pity on me." - -Even as he did so, Martin's eyes opened and he saw his enemy, his -captor, looking down upon him. - -"What," he asked, the softness of his face all gone, his glance one of -contemptuous disdain, "do you desire of me? Is my hour come, and are -you here to show me the way to the scaffold? Is that the reason of -your presence?" and as he spoke he rose from the pallet and stood -before the other. - -"Nay, nay," replied Baville, veiling his handsome face with the end of -his cloak, as though he feared his emotion might be too palpable. -"But--but--I have judged you too hastily. I have learned that but now. -Have indeed misjudged you. All pointed, all evidence pointed, to one -thing: that, by treachery unparalleled, you were the betrayer of -Urbaine--to her death." - -For a moment the clear eyes of Martin, all traces of slumber vanished -from them, looked into the equally clear ones of Baville with a glance -that the latter could scarce fathom. Then Martin said, quietly: "And -you believed that evidence? Believed that I, whom you had made welcome -to your hearth, had made known to your child, should do _that!_" - -"Almost I was forced to believe," Baville answered, his voice thick -and hoarse, his eyes lowered to the ground. "You were in the _mêlée_, -the attack upon the escort. You were at the Château St. Servas, and -she too was there. After that massacre--I--I--was compelled to -believe." - -"Do you still believe?" - -"No," the other answered, his voice still broken, his eyes still on -the ground. - -"What has changed your belief against the evidence you speak of?" - -"You murmured her name but now in your slumbers, spoke of her as your -love. Is she that? Do you love--her?" - -"Yes, I love her. Before all, beyond all else in this world, I love -her." Then he turned his face away from Baville and whispered low: -"Urbaine, oh, Urbaine!" - -The dawn had come now, saffron-hued, bright with the promise of a fair -day; had come stealing in through the _[oe]illet_ high up in the wall. -Through the cross of the _[oe]illet_ the morning sun streamed, also -throwing one ray athwart the features of the two men standing there -face to face. - -"And--and "--whispered Baville now, the voice, usually so rich and -sweet, still blurred with emotion, almost indistinct, "and she -loves--returns--your love?" - -"Yes," Martin answered, "yes." - -"Has told you so?" - -"Ay, with her own sweet lips to mine." Then suddenly, his tone -changed, speaking loudly, clearly, he exclaimed: "Man, you can not rob -me of that! Make one more victim of me in your shambles if you will, -yet, as I die, my last word, my last thought, shall be of Urbaine. My -recompense, her hate and scorn of you." - -"No, no, no!" Baville exclaimed, his hands thrust out before him as -though groping for something he could not touch, or as though to fend -off the denunciation of the other. "No, no, not that. Never that. You -must be saved--for--for her sake. For Urbaine. She is my life, my -soul. Sorrow must never come _anigh_ her again. Already I have done--O -God!--have done her wrong. Enough. Listen. You will be tried to-day, -condemned as an English spy; the De Maintenon has said it----" - -"The De Maintenon!" - -"Ay! You are the heir to the wealth of the de Rochebazons--to much of -it. You are English. It is enough. Tried, I say, condemned! Yet you -shall be saved. Here, in Languedoc, _I_ am Louis. _I_ am France," and -once more Baville was himself, erect, strong, superb. "It shall be -done--it--it--it; there must be no sorrow," he repeated, "for -Urbaine." - -"You forget one thing--the Church." - -"The Church! Bah! Theirs is a sentimental power; mine is effective, -actual. You must be saved. I am Louis, the King, here. Shall be -recalled for what I do; be broken, ruined. Yet, _until recalled_, the -King. Go to your trial, but say nothing. Refuse to plead; that shall -suffice." Then changing the subject, he said eagerly, feverishly -almost, "Where is she? Where have you left her?" - -"In the mountains. Under the charge of Cavalier." - -"Cavalier!" Baville exclaimed recoiling, his face a picture of -suspicion and doubt. "With Cavalier! Under the charge of Cavalier! My -God! They will slaughter her! And you profess to love her!" - -"She is safe; as safe as in your own arms. They will protect her." - -"Protect her! Protect her! They! Protestants, like yourself!" - -"Yes, Protestants, like myself. And, as they believe, nay, as they -know, perhaps as you yourself know, Protestants like--Urbaine -Ducaire!" - -Through the thick moted sunbeams that swept from the _[oe]illet_ -across the dusty room, passing athwart of Baville's face, Martin saw a -terrible change come into that face. Saw the rich olive turn to an -ashen hue, almost a livid hue; saw the deep, soft eyes harden and -become dull. - -"They know," he whispered, "they know that! That Urbaine -is--a--Protestant? How--can--they--know--it?" - -"One of their seers, a woman, divined it, proclaimed her no papist. -And Cavalier has discovered those who knew her father, Urbain -Ducaire." - -"My God!" - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII. - -BAVILLE--SUPERB! - - -There was a hush over the Court. Yet a hush broken and disturbed by -many sounds. By the sobs of more than one woman, by the shuffling of -many feet, by muttered ejaculations from those who strove to force -their way nearer to where the judges sat beneath the Intendant, and -once by a ribald laugh from a painted woman who leered at all around -her and flung nods and smiles toward Montrevel--the woman Léonie -Sabbat. By pushings, too, administered by brawny men who were possibly -mountaineers to the Miquelets and even the Cravates, since if they -were the former they feared not the latter; they had met before. Once -an oath was heard muttered and the ominous sound of a blow, then a -girl's shriek of horror. Yet at last some semblance of order was -obtained, the proceedings were about to commence. - -"Bring in the prisoner," exclaimed the presiding judge, Amédée -Beauplan, a harsh and severe man who had sentenced countless -Protestants to the various forms of death dealt out to those of that -religion; and his words were re-echoed by the _greffiers_. - -A moment later Martin Ashurst stood before all assembled there. And as -he did so many women were heard to weep afresh. Perhaps his handsome -manhood recalled to them some of their own men who had once stood -where he was standing now. Alone among her sex Léonie Sabbat, who was -eating Lunel grapes from a basket, laughed. - -"_Tiens!_" she muttered, addressing herself to an elderly -decorous-looking woman who was close by her, but who shrank away from -the courtesan as though she were some noxious reptile, "_regardez moi -ça_. A fool! One who might have had wealth, vast wealth. Now see him! -Doomed to death, as he will be in an hour. I know his story. _Tout -même, il est beau!_" and she spat the grape seeds out upon the floor -at her feet. - -Baville's eyes, roaming round the Court, yet apparently observing -nothing, he seeming indeed supremely oblivious of all that was taking -place, lighted casually upon two persons hemmed in by many others. A -man well enough clad in a simple suit of russet brown, who looked -somewhat like a notary's clerk, his wig _en pleine échaudé_ covering -the greater part of his cheeks, so that from out of it little could be -seen but his eyes, nose, and mouth. An idle fellow, the Intendant -deemed him, a scrivener who had probably brought his old mother to see -the _spectacle_. For he held in his hand that of an aged woman whose -eyes alone were visible beneath the rough Marseilles shawl with which -her head was enveloped, and with, about her brow, some spare locks -that were iron-gray. - -The pair were not, however, always visible to Baville even from his -raised seat; sometimes the movements of others by whom they were -surrounded--of a fat and gloating monk, or of a weak and shivering -Protestant, or of a crowd of gossips from out the streets--obscured -them from him momentarily. Yet, as the trial went on, they came across -his view now and again, the youth holding always the old woman's hand. -And seeing that woman's hollow eyes fixed on him always, Baville -shuddered. He knew her now, from a far-off yet well-remembered past; -her face rose as a phantom rises. - -That Martin, standing there, calm, almost indifferent, his hands -folded on the rail in front of him, should be the principal object of -attention in that crowded place was natural. For he was, as all knew, -awaiting a sentence that must indubitably be awarded ere long. All -knew also that the trial was but a preliminary farce leading up to the -great _dénoûment_. - -That trial, such as it was, drew near to its close. Witness had been -heard; Montglas, who had seen Martin snatch Urbaine Ducaire from her -coach and ride off with her; also the one man who had escaped from the -massacre at the Château St. Servas; also the three men who had been -present on the beach near Cette and had seen the English spy hand and -glove with the Camisards--all had testified, Montglas alone with -regret and emotion. - -"You swear this is the truth?" Beauplan said to him, looking up from -the papers on his desk before him. "There is no doubt?" - -"It is the truth," the young dragoon had answered. "Yet I would that -other lips had had to speak. He spared my life but yesterday when it -was in his hands." - -"He has led to the death of many others. Also he is an English spy. -_Mes frères_," he went on, turning to each of the other judges and -whispering low, so that none but the silent Intendant sitting above -could hear, "what is our verdict? We need not long deliberate, I -imagine." - -Both those others fixed also their eyes upon him acquiescingly, yet -neither spoke. Words were not wanted. - -Then Beauplan, turning his head over his shoulder toward the man who -represented the King's majesty, and seeing that he sat there calm and -impassable, statue-like, inscrutable, rose from his seat and made -three solemn bows to Baville. - -"We await permission to pronounce sentence," he said. - -"Pronounce--it," and Baville drew a long breath between the two words. -Yet the handsome face changed not. Or only grew more ivory-like--so -ivory-like that those standing in that hall, both enemies and -adherents, cast back their thoughts to their dead whom they had seen -lying in their shrouds ere the coffin lid closed over and hid them -forever. - -"What does he see that blasts him?" whispered Montrevel in Fléchier's -ear, and the bishop, turning his own white face to the inflamed one of -the great bravo, muttered, "God, he knows, he only." - -In the crowd beyond the railed-off place where the principals sat the -effect was the same. Among all who now fixed their eyes on Baville, -the greater number asked: "What does he see?" and glanced over their -shoulders as though expecting themselves to see something terrible. - -"Can the dead rise?" exclaimed one swarthy Cévenole who, in any other -circumstances than the present, would have been arrested for an -_attroupé_ ere he had been an hour in Nîmes; have been borne to the -earth by the Cravates and loaded with chains ere hurried to a dungeon, -so certain did it appear that he was a Camisard. "Can the burned ashes -of our loved ones come together again, the limbs that have rotted on -the gibbets be restored to life? Has one of those come back to -paralyze him?" And he laughed bitterly. - -"_Il est lâche_," whispered Léonie Sabbat through her small white -teeth. "_Mon Dieu! il a peur. Fichtre pour Baville!_" and she pressed -her plump jewelled hand on the shoulder of her unwilling neighbour as -she craned her neck over the balcony to observe the man she jibed at. - -Yet he was no coward. Only his heart sickened within him. With fear, -but not the fear of either phantom risen from the dead or of fierce -Camisard ready to send him to join the dead. Sickened at the sight of -that aged woman who never took her eyes off him, who seemed about to -address all assembled there. For he remembered her. Recognised her -face now beyond all doubt. Remembered one night--how long ago it -seemed!--when all the land lay under the snow, and when, at the foot -of the mountains the _tourbillon_ whirled down from the heights above -great flurries of other snow which froze as it fell, and struck and -cut the faces of those riding through the wintry storm as knives or -whipcord strike and cut. Recalled how he himself riding through the -_tourmente_, followed by a dozen of his guard, had to strike breast -and body to prevent this freezing snow from ensheathing him in its -swift, hardening masses. Yet of what account such memory as that -compared to another which followed swiftly in its train! - -The memory of a humble peasant's cot, a man stricken with years -reading his Bible by the fireside, a child playing at his feet, -rolling about the floor laughing and crowing as it teased a -good-natured hound that endeavoured, unavailingly, to sleep before the -crackling logs. Then a word from the man, another from him--O God! how -fearfully, horribly misunderstood! Next, the room full of smoke and -the smell of powder, the man gasping out his life, gasping, too, one -last muttered sentence, whispering that he, Baville, was forever -smitten by God's frown. And on the rude staircase that led from behind -the deep chimney to the room above a comely woman standing, the little -child clasped in her arms, her face distorted with terror, her voice -shrieking that he was a murderer, an assassin. - -A comely woman then, now an old one and before him, there, in the body -of the Court. - -What if she and Urbaine should meet? What if they had met? - -The doomed man, the man upon whom Amédée Beauplan was about to -pronounce sentence, had said that Cavalier had discovered those who -knew her father, Urbain Ducaire. Was she one of those whom the -Camisard chief had discovered, and had she told all? - -"Is he mad?" some in the Court asked again, while others answered, -"More like stricken with remorse or fear." Yet surely not the latter, -since now he repeated his last words referring to the sentence. - -"Pronounce--it." - -Yet with his eyes never off that woman's face. - -A moment later and it was done; the sentence delivered, even as it had -been delivered again and again in Nîmes and Avignon, Montpellier and -Alais within the last few months by red-robed legal functionaries, -and, in countless bourgs and villages, by rough soldiers acting as -judges. A sentence of death by the flames before the _Beau Dieu_ of -the cathedral, to take place at the time ordered by the King's -representative, Baville. The ashes afterward to be scattered to the -winds. - -Yet, as Amédée Beauplan's voice ceased, others were heard in the -Court, rising above all the noise made by the movement of the -spectators passing out into the street, by the orders shouted from -officers to men to clear that Court, and by the loud murmurings either -of approbation or disapproval which were heard. - -"It will never take place," one clear, high-toned voice was heard -above all others to cry, "never. Ere it does, Nîmes shall be consumed -to ashes." - -And Martin, turning as the warders prepared to take him back to his -cell, saw from whose lips that cry had come. From Cavalier, the man -dressed in russet-brown and with his features hidden by the long black -wig. - -Perhaps, too, Baville suspected who might be the utterer of that -ominous threat, for now he rose from his seat once more, again he -stood erect and commanding; except for his pallor, which still -remained, he was himself as ever. - -"Stop!" he cried, his voice ringing like a clarion above all the other -sounds, the shuffling of feet, the murmurings and mutterings, and the -clank of sabres; "stop and hear my words!" And seeing that all eyes -were turned toward him, he continued, his tones as firm and unshaken -as though the events of the past hour had had no actual existence: - -"In this hall to-day are present--I know it well--many who are rebels -to the King's, to my authority. Men whose lives are forfeit even as -the lives of countless others have been forfeited. Enough! To-day they -are safe. This Court is open, but for to-day only. Let those rebels -therefore take heed. For so sure as there is a God above us, so sure -as I, Baville, Intendant of Languedoc and representative of his -Majesty, stand here, those rebels who are found in this city at -nightfall shall follow the same road their brethren have trod before -them. You have called me the Tiger of Languedoc, and, by the splendour -of Heaven, a tiger you shall still find me. Till rebellion is crushed -forever from out this province, so long as I live, never will I spare -one who takes up arms against the anointed King of France. Now," and -he sank back on to his chair, "begone all of you out of Nîmes. -To-night I cause a house-to-house visitation to be made--ay! a search -from room to room. Those found here die. Begone, therefore, while -there is yet time." - -Then, without waiting to hear what answer might be made to his threats -by any in the crowd, he rose and, passing to the heavily curtained -door which led from out the Court, left them. Yet ere he did so, and -even while the attendants held back that curtain for him to pass -through, he paused once and, facing all there, gazed on them calmly. - -A moment later he was gone; gone without hearing the curses and -objurgations muttered by many lips, the loud "Brava" which Montrevel -gave utterance to, or the little rippling laugh that issued from -Léonie Sabbat's lips as again she struck her unwilling neighbour on -the shoulder with her white hand and exclaimed, "_Avec tout, il est -superbe_." - -Had she seen him, however, the instant after the heavily figured arras -had fallen behind him, she might have deemed he was less strong and -masterful than she had a moment before grudgingly allowed him to be. -For even as he passed down the passage which led to the door at which -his heavily-gilt state-coach awaited him, an exact facsimile of that -in which Le Roi Soleil himself travelled from Versailles to Marly or -from St. Germain to Fontainebleau, he walked unsteadily and his white -brow was moist and damp. - -"If she should have met Urbaine," he muttered as he passed along the -passage, "or if she should meet her, and tell all!" - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX. - -"HER FATHER'S MURDERER." - - -"I have not yet decided," Baville said that night to Beauplan as they -sat together in the new citadel, "when the sentence will be carried -out. Have my doubts as to whether I shall not release him." - -"Release him!" the other echoed. "Release him! Such a thing is unheard -of. He, an Englishman, a consorter with the Camisards, a man under the -ban of Versailles! Surely you would not dare----" - -"Dare!" exclaimed Baville, though very quietly, "dare! Monsieur -Beauplan, you forget yourself. Since I have ruled in Languedoc no man -has _dared_ to use that word to me before." - -"Yet," said the judge, a member of an ancient family in the south, who -had always rebelled against the authority of this stranger to the -customs, as well as the _noblesse_, of Languedoc, "though none here -may question your authority, there are those in the capital who can do -so." - -"There are. But you are not of the number. Monsieur Beauplan, I have -nothing more to say. I wish you a good-night." - -"I understand," Beauplan replied, "understand very well. And your -conduct is natural; also natural that there should be an exchange of -prisoners, that your child's release should depend upon his. Yet -beware, Monsieur l'Intendant! I was at Versailles two months ago, as -you know, and--and--they said----" and he hesitated a moment while a -slight smile came into his face. - -"What did they say?" - -"That not only might a substitute he sent in place of Montrevel, but -of----" - -"Baville! Is that it?" - -"It is that." - -"The substitute to be, perhaps, Amédée Beauplan." - -"Nay, that is impossible, as you are aware. In Languedoc none can rule -as Intendant who are of the province. Yet I warn you, if you set free -this man even in the desire to obtain the freedom of Urbaine Ducaire, -neither Chamillart nor Madame de Maintenon will forgive." - -"You mean well, doubtless," Baville replied, "yet I shall act as I see -best. Beauplan, you have children of your own, also a high post. If -the life of one of your girls were balanced against that post, which -should you prefer to protect?" - -To this the judge made no answer, leaving the Intendant alone a moment -afterward. Yet, as he sought his own great sumptuous coach, he -acknowledged that, much as he detested Baville, what he was -undoubtedly about to do was natural. - -Left alone, the other took from his pocket a paper and glanced at it -as, before the judge had appeared in his room, he had glanced at it a -dozen times--a paper on which were written only a few words. They ran: - -"Urbaine Ducaire will be restored unharmed to none other than the -Englishman sentenced to death to-day. If he dies she dies too. Nothing -can save her, even though she is a Huguenot. Decide, therefore, and -decide quickly." And it was signed "Jean Cavalier." - -"So," he mused, "he was in the Court to-day, or sent this message by -one of his followers, knowing well what the sentence would be. Yet the -decision was made ere this paper was smuggled in here, God knows how! -It needed not this to determine me." - -He struck upon the bell by his side as he thus reflected, and, on the -servant appearing in answer to it, he asked: - -"How came this paper here which I found upon my table?" and he touched -with his finger the letter from Cavalier. - -"It was left, monsieur, by a woman." - -"A woman! Of what description?" - -"Old, monsieur, gray and worn. She said, monsieur, that it was of the -first importance. A matter of life and death." - -Again, as the lackey spoke, there came that feeling to the other's -heart of icy coldness, the feeling of utter despair which had seized -upon him earlier, as he saw her face in Court. For he never doubted -that the bearer of the missive was the same woman who appeared as a -spectre before him at the trial--the woman who could tell Urbaine all. - -"Where have they disposed the man who was tried and sentenced to-day?" -he asked next. - -"In the same room he has occupied since he was brought here, -monsieur." - -"So! Let him be brought to this room. I have to speak with him." - -"Here, monsieur!" the man exclaimed with an air of astonishment which -he could not repress. - -"Here." - -Ten minutes later and Martin was before him, he having been conducted -from the wing of the citadel in which he was confined to the adjacent -one in which Baville's set of apartments were. - -His escort consisted of two warders who were of the _milice_; nor was -there any need that he should have more to guard him, for his hands -were manacled with great steel gyves, the lower ends of which were -attached by ring bolts to his legs above his knees. Yet, since they -could have had no idea that there was any possibility of one so -fettered as he escaping from their custody, the careful manner in -which these men stood by their prisoner could have been but assumed -with a view to finding favour with the ruler of the province. - -As Martin confronted the other, their eyes met in one swift glance; -then Baville's were quickly lowered. Before that man, the man whom -Urbaine loved, the man who had saved her life, who could restore her -once more to his arms--if, knowing what she might know, she would ever -return to them--the all-powerful Intendant felt himself abased. - -"Who," he said, addressing the warders, "has the key of those irons?" - -"I, monsieur," one answered. - -"Remove them." - -"Monsieur!" - -"Do as I bid you." - -With a glance at his comrade (the fellow said afterward that the -Intendant had gone mad) the one thus addressed did as he was ordered. -A moment later and Martin and Baville were alone, the warders -dismissed with a curt word, and hurrying off to tell their mates and -comrades that the rebellion must be over since the trial of the -morning could have been but a farce. - -Then Baville rose and, standing before Martin, said: - -"You see, I keep my promise. You are free." - -"Free! To do what? Rejoin Urbaine?" - -"Ay, to rejoin Urbaine. For that alone, upon one stipulation." - -"What is the stipulation?" - -"That--that--she and I meet again!" - -"Meet again! Why not?" - -Instead of replying to this question Baville asked Martin another. - -"Was," he demanded, speaking swiftly, "Cavalier in Court to-day, -dressed in a russet suit, disguised in a long black wig?" - -"Yes," the other replied, "he was there." - -"And the woman with him, old, gray-haired, is she one of the dwellers -in the mountains, one of his band?" - -"Nay. Her I have never seen." - -"She can not then have met, have come into contact with Urbaine?" - -"How can I say? It is a week since I left Urbaine there, safe with him -in those mountains. Since then many things have happened, among others -the horrors of Mercier's mill." - -"It was not my doing," Baville answered hotly. "Not mine; Montrevel is -alone answerable for that. I was away at the beginning, on my road -back from Valence. None can visit that upon my head. Yet--yet--rather -should fifty such horrors happen, rather that I myself should perish -in such a catastrophe, than that this woman and Urbaine should ever -meet." - -As he spoke there came to Martin's memory the words that Cavalier had -uttered to him. "Ere she leaves us there is something to be told her -as regards Baville's friendship for her father, Ducaire. And when she -has heard that, it may be she will never wish to return to him, to set -eyes on her beloved Intendant again." - -Was this woman of whom Baville spoke the one who could tell her that -which would cause her the great revulsion of feeling which Cavalier -had hinted at? - -"Why should they never meet?" he asked, the question forced from him -by the recollection of the Camisard's words joined to Baville's -present emotion. - -"Because," the other replied, his face once more the colour of death, -the usually rich full voice dull and choked, "because--O God! that I -should have to say it--because I am, though all unwittingly, her -father's murderer. And that woman knows it." - -"You! Her father's murderer!" - -"Yes, I." Then he went on rapidly, his tones once more those of -command, his bearing that of the ruler before whom stood a prisoner in -his power. "But ask me no more. It was all a hideous, an awful -mistake. I loved Urbain Ducaire; would have saved him. And--and--by -that mistake I slew him. Also, I love his child--his!--nay, mine, by -all the years in which I have cherished, nurtured her. Oh, Urbaine, -Urbaine, _ma mie, ma petite!_" he whispered, as though there were none -other present to see him in this, his dark hour. "Urbaine, if you -learn this you will come to hate me as all in Languedoc hate me." - -"Be comforted," Martin exclaimed, touched to the heart by the man's -grief, forgetful, too, of all the horrible instances of severity -linked with his name, "be comforted. She must never meet that woman, -never know. Only," he almost moaned, remembering all that the -knowledge of this awful thing would bring to her, "how to prevent it. -How to prevent it." - -"I have it," Baville said, and he straightened himself, was alert, -strong again, "I have it. I said but now I would, must, see her once -more. But, God help me! I renounce that hope forever. To save her from -that knowledge, to save her heart from breaking, I forego all hopes of -ever looking on her face again, ever hearing her whisper 'Father' in -my ear more. And you, you alone, can save her. You must fly with her, -away, out of France. Then--God, he knows!--she and I will be far -enough apart. Also she will be far enough away from that woman who can -denounce me." - -"But how, how, how? Where can we fly? All Languedoc, all the south, is -blocked with the King's, with your, troops----" - -"Nay, the Camisards can help you. Can creep like snakes across the -frontier to Switzerland, to the Duke of Savoy's dominions. You must -go--at once. You are free, I say," and he stamped his foot in his -excitement. "Go, go, go. I set you free, annul this trial, declare it -void. Only go, for God's sake go, and find her ere it is too late." - -"I need no second bidding," Martin answered, his heart beating high -within him at the very thought of flying to Urbaine, of seeing her -again and of clasping her to his arms, and, once across the frontier, -of never more being parted from her; of his own freedom which would -thereby be assured he thought not one jot, the full joy of possessing -Urbaine forever eclipsing the delight of that newly restored liberty -entirely; "desire naught else. Only, how will you answer for it?" - -"Answer!" Baville exclaimed. "Answer! To whom shall I answer but to -Louis? And though I pay with my head for my treachery, if treachery it -is, she will be safe from the revelation of my fault. That before -all." - -"When shall I depart?" Martin asked briefly. - -"Now, to-night, at once. Lose no moment. A horse shall be prepared for -you. Also a pass that will take you through any of the King's forces -you may encounter on the road to the mountains. Once there, you are -known to the Camisards and--and she will be restored to you." - -"Will they let me pass the gate?" - -"Let you pass the gate! Pass the gate! Ay, since I go with you as far -as that. Let us see who will dare to stop you." - -An hour later Martin was a free man. - -Free, that is, in so far that he had passed the Porte des Carmes and -was once more upon the road toward the mountains, toward where Urbaine -Ducaire was. Yet with all around him the troops of Montrevel, the -field marshal having sallied forth that morning intent upon more -slaughter and bloodshed, and with, still farther off, the Camisards -under Cavalier in one division and under Roland in another, -descending, if all accounts were true, upon Nîmes and Alais with a -full intention of avenging mercilessly the burning of their brethren -in the mill. - -Yet, sweet as was the sense of that freedom, sweet, too, as was the -hope that ere many more hours would be passed he and Urbaine would -have met once more never again to part, he could not but reflect upon -the heartbrokenness of Baville as he bid him Godspeed. - -"Save her, save her," he whispered as they stood at the Great Gate, -"save her from France, above all from the knowledge of what happened -so long ago. Fly with her to Switzerland and thence to your own land; -there you can live happily. And--and--tell me ere you go that from -your lips she shall never know aught. Grant me that prayer at the -last." - -"Out of my love for her, out of the hopes that in all the years which -I pray God to let me spend with her, no sorrow may come near her, I -promise. If it rests with me you shall be always the same in her -memory as you have been in actual life. I promise. And perhaps when -happier days shall dawn, you and your wife and she may all meet -again." - -"Perhaps," Baville replied, "perhaps." Then from the breast of this -man whose name was execrated in every land to which French Protestants -had fled for asylum, this man of whom all said that his heart, if -heart he had, was formed of marble, there issued a deep sob ere he -moaned: "Be good to her. Shield her from harm, I implore you. She was -all we had to love. Almost the only thing on earth that loved me. -Farewell!" - - - - -CHAPTER XXX. - -FREE. - - -The mountains again! And Martin free! Happy, too, because, as the cold -blast swept down from their summits to him as he rode swiftly through -the valley toward the commencement of the ascent, he knew that it came -from where, high up, Urbaine waited for her freedom and for his -return. Knew it beyond all thought and doubt; knew, divined that daily -those clear, pure eyes looked for him to be restored to her, was sure -that nightly, ere she sought her bed, she prayed upon her knees for -him and his safety. Had she not said it, promised it, ere they parted? -Was not that enough? Enough to make him turn in his wrist another inch -upon his horse's rein, press that horse's flanks once more, urge it -onward to where she was? - -Yet though he travelled with Baville's pass in his pocket, though he -went toward where the Camisards were, who would receive him with -shouts of exaltation and welcome, he knew that again he rode with his -life in his hands as, but a night or so before, he had thus ridden -from the seacoast to Nîmes. For there were those abroad now who would -be like enough to tear Baville's pass up and fling it in his face if -he were caught, soldiers who served Montrevel and Montrevel alone, men -whose swords would be through his heart or the bullets from their -musketoons embedded in his brain, if he but fell into their hands. For -on this very night the great bravo had broken with the Intendant ere -he had quit Nîmes to march toward the Cévennes and make one more -attack upon the strongholds of the "rebels"; had sworn that ere -Villars arrived, who was now on the way from Paris to supersede -Julien, he would wipe out those rebels so that, when Louis' principal -soldier should appear on the scene, he would find none to crush. - -Also he had sent forward on the very road which Martin now followed a -captain named Planque (a swashbuckler like himself) and a lieutenant -named Tournaud, in command of three thousand men, all of whom had -declared with many an oath that they took their orders from their -commander and from no governor or intendant who ever ruled. - -At first Martin had not known this, would indeed not have known it at -all, had not his suspicions been aroused by finding that, as he rode -on swiftly toward where the principal ascent to the mountains began, -near Alais, he was following a vast body of men, among whom were -numbers of the hated Pyrenean Miquelets; men who marched singing their -hideous mountain songs and croons, such as in many a fray had -overborne the shrieks of the dead and dying. - -"I must be careful," Martin had muttered to himself, as he drew rein -and moved his horse on to the short crisp grass that bordered the -road, "or I shall be among them. Where do they go to?" - -Yet, careful as he was, he still determined to follow in their train, -to observe what road they took when farther on in their march, for he -knew, from having been much in the neighbourhood a year before, and -ere he had set out for Switzerland on his first quest for Cyprien de -Rochebazon, that ere long they must take one route of two. If that to -the left, which branched off near Anduse, their destination would be -undoubtedly the mountains; if they kept straight on, then Alais was -their destination. And if the latter, they would not hinder him. He -was soon to know, however, where that destination lay. - -High above the chatter of the Miquelets and their repulsive chants--on -one subject alone, that of slaughter, rapine, and plunder -combined--high above also the jangle of the bridles, bridoons, steel -bits, and the hoofs of the dragoons and _chevaux-légers_ ahead, the -orders were borne on the crisp icy air: the orders to wheel to the -left--to the mountains. - -Therefore an attack was intended there, or what, as Julien had himself -termed it, when planning that which was now to be carried out, _une -battue_. - -That it would be successful Martin doubted. Never yet had the -royalists forced their way far up those passes, never yet had they -been able to possess themselves of one square yard of ground above the -level of the valley. And he recalled the treacherous drawbridges -constructed over ravines and gullies, as well as the other traps, -which he had seen and had pointed out to him as he descended from the -Cévennes to meet Cavalier. He doubted if now this enlarged attack -would be any more successful than former and less well-arranged -attacks had been. - -Yet Urbaine was there. That unnerved him, caused him to shudder. For -if at last, if now, at this time, success should come to these troops, -as both Julien and Montrevel had sworn it should come eventually, what -then of her! Those in command might not know, or, knowing, not choose -to believe that she was Baville's cherished idol. And to think of his -beloved one in the power of those fiends, the Miquelets, was enough to -cause his heart to cease beating. - -Or, better still, to beat more fiercely with a firm determination of -seeking her than even he had experienced an hour before; the -determination to get to where she was before these heavily accoutred -soldiers could do so, if they ever got there at all; to join her, save -her, protect her. But how to do it! How! How! - -How to get ahead of this band; how gain the ascent before them, warn -the Camisards. Above all--ay, that was it--above all, how save the -girl he worshipped and adored! That, or one other thing: die in the -attempt. - -He knew a moment later that the turn was made toward the mountains. -From beneath the tree where he had halted he saw, in the rays of the -now risen full moon, the sparkle of the breasts and backs and gorgets -of the dragoons as they wheeled to the left, also the glitter of -aiguillette and steel trappings. Perceived, too, that a deep silence -had fallen on all that moving mass. Even the Miquelets ceased to sing -and chatter. Nothing disturbed the silence of the night but the thud -of countless horses' hoofs, with now and again a neigh and now and -again the rattle of scabbard against charger's flank. They were in, or -near the country of the insidious, unvanquished foe. Doubtless the -order had gone forth for silence. - -He must get ahead of them--reach the pass or mountain road before -them. Otherwise, what of Urbaine if they should win? - -But, again, how to do it! - -To the left of him, and still farther yet to the left of where the -battalions marched after wheeling, there was a stream, a branch of Le -Gardon; in summer a swift-flowing river beneath whose gliding waters -the reeds bent gracefully; now half frozen and seemingly without -current. If he could cross that, there was on the other side a wide -open plain, on which for centuries peasant landlords had been -endeavouring to cultivate grapevines, to redeem from the marshy soil -that was so common in the south some of the thousands of useless acres -which abounded. And across that plain, dotted here and there by -countless poles on which no vine had ever grown in man's memory, and -on which many sheep had browsed upon the short grass salted by the -spray (brought in from the Mediterranean on the wings of the Circius) -until the Cévenoles had descended and raided them, he might make his -way, might cut off by a short _détour_ that advancing force, get -before it to where the ascent began, be the first to reach the -mountains, the home of the outcasts. - -Only he might be seen. And then--then--though the heavily accoutred -dragoons would undoubtedly not be able to leap the stream and chase -him, the balls from their musketoons and fusils would perhaps reach -him; one alone out of the number sent hurtling after him might reach -its mark. And that would be enough. - -Yet all the same it should be done. - -The horse he rode was a strong black, handsome creature, its nostrils -red and fiery, its eyes possessed of that backward glance which tells -the horseman ere he mounts what he is about to bestride, its legs as -thin and agile as a cat's. Well, he would see. Now for the stream, -fifteen feet across if an inch. Then he found the animal knew what was -meant even as his knee pressed beneath the holster, even as his wrist -turned inward to draw tighter the rein and as he sat down firmly in -the saddle. There was a rush upon the short, crisp grass--crisp both -from the salt of the distant sea and from the night frost--a quiver -from the body beneath him, a loosened rein now, a flight as of an -arrow, as smooth, too, and as swift. Then the animal's feet were upon -the other side; the rivulet was skimmed as though by a swallow. Over -and away, the black steed bounding like a ball beneath him. - -"Thank God!" he said, "thank God!" And, ere he settled into the -saddle again, patted the firm, iron-sinewed neck beneath his hand. - -Off through vine poles, over another and a smaller rivulet unseen by -him for the moment, yet clear as day to the keen eyes of the noble -creature that bore him; off now parallel with the dragoons, across the -plain--parallel with the dragoons so dangerously near! And with over -all, both them and him, a cloudless sky and a full bright moon. - -Then, next, a shout from that advancing force, a hoarse clatter that -all know and recognise who have ever heard firelocks wrested quickly -from saddle-rests, white smoke curling on the night air, spits of -flame from twenty different spots near together, puffs of bullets past -his face, puffs such as the droning beetle makes as it flies by us; a -numbing shock against the saddle-flap, yet on, on, on! The horse -uninjured and still going fleet as the deer, or even fleeter still, -because of fear and nervousness. But still on, and followed by a -dropping fire that ceased almost directly. The musketoons were useless -by this time; they were out of range and he was ahead of the others. -Nothing could stop him now, the danger was past. Nothing, unless the -horse reeled in its stride, was wounded. Yet that he knew was not so, -or else that swift, even motion below him would have ceased ere this. -"Heaven be praised! Where is she?" - -The night wind blew more piercingly as he felt the earth rising -beneath the steed. Far up he saw more and more plainly the burning -lights that burned near false bridges and declivities, to fall down -which meant death and destruction. The air was nipping even to those -two whose bodies were heated by their last hour's motion together. The -ascent had begun. The horse breathed more heavily now, threw out great -snorting gasps from mouth and nostrils, yet hardly halted, or only so -far as to change from canter to trot and from trot to walk. But still -went on up, until at last one of the red flambeaux on the hilltops was -winking and flickering close by. - -He was near Urbaine now. Another hour and she would be in his arms. - -At that moment three forms sprang lightly into the mountain road from -behind a piece of fallen rock, the moon showing that each bore in its -hand a firearm--a firearm raised and pointed at the advancing man and -horse. - -"Who goes there?" one cried. "Quick, your answer, or this," and each -weapon's butt was brought to the shoulder. - -"The Englishman," Martin called out in reply. "The man doomed to death -to-day at Nîmes for consorting with you." - -"So! Advance, Englishman. Yet in the name of the Holy One how came you -here?" - -"To seek for her who was my fellow-prisoner with you," he replied as -he got off his horse. "Is she well?" - -"She is well--" - -"Behind. Up there," and he cast his eyes toward the summits. "She -descends with brother Cavalier to-night." - -"With Cavalier to-night! Is he back already?" - -"Ay, he is back, three hours ago. Now, to-night, he descends. Nîmes is -doomed. You would have been rescued by the morning. It was brother -Cavalier's second plan. He warned the tyrant, Baville, to free you at -pain of the girl's death, but _tout de même_, he meant to have you out -himself. Yet," he repeated, "Nîmes is doomed." - -"But why, why, since I am free?" - -"To repay the slaughter at the mill. Ho! Doubt not! That goes not -unrewarded. Nîmes first, then Alais, then Montpellier. 'An eye for an -eye, a tooth for a tooth.' It is our holy shibboleth." - -"It can never be----" - -"Never be! Why not?" asked the man who alone had spoken among the -three. "Why not? What shall prevent the Lord's children from -outrooting their persecutors? Why not? You are on our side. Is it not -so?" and he looked menacingly at Martin. - -"You do not know," the latter replied. "Advancing here not two hours -behind me there comes a vast body of royalist soldiers in two -battalions. Among them the Miquelets. And, though they may never scale -your mountain passes, never reach the plateau, yet surely they will -bar your way to Nîmes. Even though your full force descend, they will -outnumber you." - -The man, whom Martin remembered well when he was a prisoner in the -caverns and whom he had heard addressed as Montbonneux, pondered a -moment; then he said suddenly, with a slight laugh: - -"Perhaps they will reach the plateau. Perhaps we shall not bar their -way. One catches the rat by leaving the trap-door open, not by -shutting it," and as he spoke his companions laughed too, while as -they did so Martin again remembered the _oubliettes_ and snares -prepared for any who might wander up into the gloomy refuges of the -_attroupés_. - -Ere he could reply, however, or announce his intention of proceeding -to where Urbaine might be ere setting forth with Cavalier, there rose -a sound close to them. A sound borne on the night wind toward where -they were, a sound that told him and them that down from their -mountain home were coming the Camisards. A chant that, rising above -all else; spoke of revenge decided on, of fierce unsparing -retaliation: - - - "Quand tu te léveras, oh, notre Roi celeste! - Pour délivrer enfin les élus d'ici-bas, - Le vent de ton tonnerre à nos tyrans funeste - En Balaiera le reste - Au gouffres du trépas. - Venge--Venge----" - - -"Tis he, Cavalier," the man Montbonneux exclaimed, "'tis he who -comes." - - - - -CHAPTER XXXI. - -BETRAYED. - - -They had met again. Were together, never more to part unless parted by -one thing, Death! Death that was imminent at any moment, that might -overtake them that very night, or to-morrow, or the next day; for -Cavalier was on his way down to the plains to make those reprisals of -which Montbonneux had spoken. God only knew what might be the end of -all. - -She, riding on the captured little mule and enveloped in costly -furs--as usual, part of a spoil of a successful foray made by the -Camisards on a more or less unprotected _manoir_--had seen him as the -large body of Cavalier's followers had rounded a point in the mountain -pass, and, springing from the animal's back, had thrown herself into -his outstretched arms, unheeding those who came behind her and the -Cévenole chief, thinking of naught at the moment but that he was safe -and with her again, deeming all else insignificant beside that one -supreme mercy vouchsafed by God. For she knew in what awful danger he -had stood not many hours before; knew that, not more for the purpose -of exacting vengeance than for that of rescuing him, was this descent -from the mountains being made. And now he was safe, by her side again. - -He drew her apart from where Cavalier stood with all his followers -behind him; drew her apart and whispered words of love and -thankfulness at seeing her once more. Then suddenly, observing on the -fair young face and in the clear, pure eyes a look that he had never -seen before, he murmured: - -"What--what is it, Urbaine, my sweet?" - -But she would not answer him, only contenting herself with saying, -"Not now, not now," while even as she did so he saw beneath the light -of the full moon that her eyes were full of tears. Felt, too, the warm -hand which he held quiver in his grasp. - -And as he noticed those symptoms of unhappiness he wondered if she had -learned while among these Camisards that secret which one at least of -them knew--that secret which, to prevent her from ever learning, had -caused Baville to bid him fly with her out of France, away, anywhere, -so that she might never know it. Never know that her father's death -lay at his door. - -"Come," said Cavalier, approaching them and speaking very quietly, -after having carried on a hurried conversation for some moments with -Montbonneux and the other two men, "come, we must move forward. Thank -God, you are free, out of the tiger's claws; for your sake and ours as -well, if what my followers report of the news you bring is true. _Is_ -it?" and he looked piercingly at the other in the moonbeam's light. - -"It is true if they have told you that a large force is making its way -toward these mountains. They must have left Nîmes some time before me, -since I followed them a considerable distance before coming up with -their rear, and I have outstripped them by perhaps two hours, though -not longer, I think." - -Then he told Cavalier that Baville had himself released him. - -"Baville released you! Because of my threat?" - -"Because of----" yet since Urbaine was by his side he paused and told -no more, or only with a look which Cavalier understood sufficiently -well, for he also now knew of the Intendant's part in the death of -Urbain Ducaire, understood that his love for Urbaine had grown out of -his remorse. - -"Come," he said shortly, after meditating for a moment with his eyes -fixed on the ground, "come, we must go forward now. Best meet this -force and check it, or part of it. How many strong are they, do you -suppose?" - -"At least a thousand. Perhaps more. Composed of dragoons, -_chevaux-légers_, and Miquelets. Can you cope with those?" - -"If we are united, yes. But Roland is away, ahead, with half our men; -yet, stay. We have to meet at the Tour de Bellot. If we can join them -before these soldiers reach that, then we can win. If not, if they -catch Roland's force alone, then God help Roland!" - -As he spoke, from afar off there came a sound that none in all the -vast band which had descended from the mountains could have mistaken, -unless it were Urbaine alone. A sound deep, muffled, roaring. That of -cannons firing. Heard first down in the valley, then reverberating -high up amid the clouds that capped the summits of the cold mountain -tops. - -"You hear?" he said. "You hear? We must on at once. On, on! What will -you do with the lady? She is yours now. You see, I remembered my -promise. I was bringing her to you, knowing full well that either by -threats or siege we would have you out of the hands of Baville. Yet I -thought not you could have been free to-night, so soon." - -"My place is by her side forever now. Where she is, there am I." - -"Be it so. Will you go back with her? Yet I know not, if they gain the -passes, the caverns will be surrounded and--and--if they succeed we -shall not be there to help or succour. God, he knows what is best!" - -"Can they do that, gain the summits?" - -"Scarce can I say. Yet now at last I fear. The prophets see visions, -speak of rebuffs at last. The _extasées_, the woman seers, the female -children--all foretell disaster. Even I, who have ere now believed -that I could read the future, am shaken, not in my courage, but my -hopes." - -His last words were lost, or almost lost, in the dead muffled roar -that rose once more from far down in the valley, and as the sound was -heard again Cavalier started. - -"We must not tarry, even for her. Decide, therefore, and decide -quickly," while, as he spoke, he gave orders briefly to all who -surrounded them and commanded that they should be transmitted along -the line of Camisards which stretched far behind and up to where the -great plateau was. - -"I have decided," Martin answered. "That firing is some distance off, -some five or six miles at least. At the foot of the mountains there -are many side-paths leading east and west. I can convey her by one of -those to some haven of shelter, out of harm. Let us accompany you to -the valley; then, Cavalier, we part." - -"Do as you will," the other answered. "I gave you my word that all -should be as you desired when you returned from Cette. I keep it to -the last. We part to-night forever. Remember me in years to come as -one who was an honourable man." - -Then, as though he wished no more said, he gave another order for the -band under his command to set forth again upon its descent, and, -quitting Martin, went forward and placed himself at its head. - -And now Martin took his place by the side of her he loved, walking by -the little mule, holding her hand in his beneath the richly-furred -cloak. Also he told her what was decided on as best for her safety. -Once, too, he asked, after he had informed her of the arranged plan: - -"You do not fear? Are content?" - -"Content! To be with you!" - -And the glance that rested on him, and plainly to be seen beneath the -ray of the moon, told more than further words could have done. - -"We shall be together forever and always now," he continued, speaking -clearly though low, so that she might catch his words above the deep -thud of the Camisards' tread as they swept down the mountain road. -Above, too, the roar of the cannon that grew louder as they approached -nearer and nearer to the spot whence it proceeded. "Forever and -always, once we are across the frontier and in the Duke of Savoy's -dominions. Man and wife, _ma mie_, in a week's time if we escape -to-night. Will that suffice?" - -And once more she answered with a glance. - -They were descending fast now toward the plain, yet, as they neared -it, it almost seemed as though the booming of the cannon grew less -continuous, as if the pauses were longer between each roar. What did -it mean? the Camisards asked each other. Was the cannon becoming -silent because Julien and his detachments had been caught in some -trap, or had the royalist troops been driven back again as they had -been so often driven back before? Were the outcasts, the _attroupés_, -again successful, still invincible? Above all else, above that thud of -mountaineers' heavy feet and the clatter of musketoon and fusil -shifted from shoulder to shoulder; above, too, sword scabbards -clanging on the ground, Cavalier's voice arose now. - -"Down to meet them!" he cried. "Down! Down! Faster and faster, to join -Roland and sweep the tyrant's soldier from out our land, or perish -beneath their glaives. On, my brethren, on!" and as he spoke the tramp -of the men was swifter and heavier, the march of the band more -swinging. - -The plain was reached. They poured out upon it, no longer a long, thin -line, but a compact body now which marched not only on the straight, -white road that gleamed a thread beneath the moon's rays, but spread -itself over the sodden marshy lands bordering that road; went on swift -and fast, while as they almost ran they saw to the priming of their -firelocks, and buckled rough goatskin baudriers and bandoleers, -wrenched from many a dying royalist, tighter round them, and loosened -swords and knives in their sheaths. - -Yet, as they went, the firing ceased or rather rolled farther away -from them, sounded now as if coming from where, beneath the moonlit -sky, the cathedral spire of Nîmes lifted its head. Surely, all -thought, the enemy must be driven back. Otherwise the booming of the -cannon would not have ceased altogether; at least would not become -more distant, farther off. - -And now they were near the Tour de Bellot, the rendezvous, the spot -where Roland was to have joined forces with them, if all was well. So -near that the solitary and lofty structure--once the round tower of an -ancient feudal castle that had stood many a siege in days as far off -as those of the Albigensian crusade, but on to which, in later years, -had been built a farmhouse, now a ruin also--could be seen rising -clear and pointed to the heavens; clearer than the more distant spire -of Nîmes itself. - -And Roland was not there, nor any of his force. One glance showed -that, long ere they reached it, the battle which had been going on for -now more than two hours was farther off than they had at first -supposed. - -The place was deserted, except for the shepherd who dwelt within it, a -man holding the creed of the outcasts, one who had also at that time -two sons in their ranks. - -"Where is Roland?" demanded Cavalier of this man as they all streamed -into the place, leaping over the stone walls which surrounded the -pasturage and rushing hastily into grange and granary, there to snatch -some rest, even though but half an hour's, ere they might have to set -forth again. "Where? Where?" - -"Forward toward Nîmes," the fellow answered, speaking stolidly and, as -it seemed to Martin, who stood by, stupidly; "toward Nîmes. He has -driven them back." - -"God be praised!" exclaimed Cavalier and many who stood around. Then -the former asked: "And followed them toward Nîmes? Is that so?" - -"Nay, I know not," the other replied, seeming even more stupid than -before. "I know not. They are not here. The battle was afar. I did but -hear it." - -"We can do nothing as yet," Cavalier said, "nothing. Can but wait and -abide events. Yet 'tis strange, strange that of all his force he could -not send back one messenger to tell me of his doings, his whereabouts. -Our rendezvous was to be ten of the clock; 'tis past that now. -Strange!" he repeated, "strange!" And his eyes followed the shepherd -searchingly as he moved about preparing rough, coarse food for as many -of the band as he could supply. He had been warned that the descent -was to be made that night from the mountains, and also to prepare as -much bread and wine as possible; and now he produced all that he had, -he said, been able to obtain without arousing suspicions. - -At this time Martin was standing beside Urbaine, she having been -placed in a rude armchair possessing neither pillow nor covering, -which had been set in front of the fire for her; and to them Cavalier -now addressed himself, saying: - -"For you to go forward now would be madness; nay, madness even to quit -this house and seek any road either to right or left. For--for--Heaven -forgive me if I am wrong, yet I misdoubt me of this man, one of us as -he is and the father of two others." - -"I have Baville's pass; they would respect that. Would not harm her. -Even though the men in command have never seen her, they would -understand. And--and--it is imperative that I convey her across the -frontier to Savoy without loss of time." Then, drawing the banished -chief away from the close neighbourhood of Urbaine, he said in a lower -tone, "He dreads that she should learn from any here that he caused -her father, Urbain Ducaire's death!" - -With a swift glance the other looked up into Martin's face, far above -his own; looked up with a glance that was almost a mocking one. - -"He dreads that, does he?" Cavalier replied. "_Malheureusement pour -lui!_ he dreads too late. He should have taken steps bef----" - -"What?" - -"She knows it." - -"Great God! 'Tis from that her fresh sorrow springs. How--how did -she----?" - -But ere he could finish his question there came an interruption which -prevented it from ever being answered. - -Across the broken flags of the farmhouse kitchen there came a man, one -of the prophets, known as _Le Léopard_, because of his fierce staring -eyes, a man in whose belt there was a long knife, the hilt of which he -fingered savagely, and on whose back was strapped a long military -carabine, another spoil of the enemy. And, reaching Cavalier's side, -he muttered hoarsely from beneath his ragged, dishevelled mustache: - -"We are betrayed. There has been no battle. Roland is not within -leagues of this spot. The cannon was a snare, a lure. And--and--come -forth into the moonlight and see what is without." - - - - -CHAPTER XXXII. - -THE BITTERNESS OF DEATH. - - -From that old, dismantled farmhouse, built on to the tower, there -sloped down, toward where a small stream ran some four hundred yards -away, a long stretch of bare land, covered sometimes in the summer -heat by short, coarse grass, while in the winter time it was, if any -of it were left uneaten by the sheep, frost-bound or snow-covered. It -was so now on this clear, cold winter night, its surface being dotted -by innumerable folds and pens into which those sheep had once been -driven, but which, since the mountaineers had been forced into -revolution and had raided the place, were empty. They were so on this -night, of sheep. Yet not of other living things, unless the moon -played strange tricks with the eyes of those regarding the pens. -Instead, were being filled rapidly with human forms creeping like -Indians or painted snakes toward them, wriggling their bodies beneath -the hurdles they were composed of, entering by that way into the -ready-found ambush--the forms of the Miquelets, the most hated by the -Camisards of all the troops which had been sent against them; the men -whose extermination was more vowed and determined than the -extermination of either dragoon, _chevau-léger_, or _milice_. - -"You see?" whispered Le Leopard to Cavalier and Montbonneux as they -stood together sheltering themselves from observation behind the great -stone posts of the farmhouse's antique stoop, "you see? They first, -then next the cavalry. Observe, beyond the stream; look through the -trunks of the trees across it. The moon sparkles on breast and back -and the splints of the gorgets. You see?" Then added, "And hear?" - -For from down toward where _Le Léopard_ had directed the other's -attention there rang that which told beyond all doubt that the foe was -lurking there; discovered them to the surrounded, hemmed-in Camisards. -The neigh of a horse, long, loud, and shrill, taken up a moment later -by others in their company and answered. - -After that no need for further disguise or hiding. The presence of the -enemy was made known. An instant later the trumpets rang out the -"Advance!" Across the stretch of bare land the cavalry of Montrevel -were seen riding fast. - -"To arms! To arms!" sounded Cavalier's voice on the night air, it -rivalling almost in distinctness the clear sounds of the royal -trumpeters. "To arms! The tyrants are upon us. To arms! I say," and -ere, with one wild shriek in unison from the throats of the Miquelets, -the latter sprang from their ambush, the Protestants had leaped from -the floors where they had flung themselves and were in the open, face -to face with the Pyrenean wolves. - -Instantly the whole surface of the earth beneath the bright rays of -the moon was changed. Soon no moon was seen. The smoke from countless -firelocks covered, obscured her. Smoke dispelled for an instant now -and again by volleys of flame belched forth from fusil and carabine, -flame that showed Miquelets dashing at huge mountaineers' throats, -their long knives in their hands or 'twixt their teeth as they so -sprang and clutched; that showed, too, these savage creatures forced -to release their grasp, hurled to the earth, their brains clubbed out -by butt and stock. Showed also the dragoons in the midst of all, -sabring, thrusting, cutting down, overriding ally and foeman -indiscriminately, reeling back themselves over their chargers' -haunches as, from the windowless apertures of the tower, came hail -after hail of bullets from Camisards ensconced therein. - -But still the battle raged. Still from the Protestants' throats rang -their war cry, "For God and his children!" from those of the -royalists, "For God and the King!" from those of the Miquelets, in -their hideous shrieking falsetto, "Guerra al Culchielo!" "Guerra al -Morté!" - -"Save yourself and her," cried Cavalier, rushing back for a moment to -the farmhouse kitchen and stumbling over the dead body of the -treacherous peasant, Guignon, who had been poniarded by _Le Léopard_ -the moment he was certain that the man had betrayed them, "save -yourself--and her. There is a backway by the fosse to an ancient -passage 'neath the old castle; save yourselves. We are lost, lost! -Outnumbered! Save yourselves!" - -Then in a moment he saw that neither Martin nor Urbaine were there. -Gone! either to destruction or safety, he knew not which, yet gone. -And he rushed back to his doomed band; rushed back to see that the -tower was in flames, that all of his men who were in it were beyond -earthly salvation. Already it seemed to rock beneath the great -spouting flames that leaped forth from roofless summit and openings -where windows might once have been. Doomed! - -_Le Léopard_ came near him at this moment, an awful -spectacle--bleeding from a dozen wounds, his vast and iron-gray beard -crimson, yet with his eyes glaring as ever. Came near, staggering, -reeling, yet able to gasp: - -"To the fosse, to the fosse! You can save some that way. To the -fosse!" - -"Come you also," muttered Cavalier, "Come----" - -"_I_ come!" _Le Léopard_ exclaimed. "Nay, never more. See!" and he -tore open his rough coat, showing on his breast a hideous gaping -wound. And as he did so he reeled more heavily than before, then fell -across the body of a dragoon lying close by. - -But still, all around, the fight went on; the sabres swung and the -volleys rattled, while from the tower there rose now the death song of -those within it. Above all else that was heard a hymn of praise to the -God of Battles, the God also of the outcasts--a hymn blessing and -magnifying his name. And as it rolled through the fumes and the grime -there came next an awful roar, a vast uprising of a monstrous sheet of -fresh flame, and, with a crash, the tower came to earth, burying -beneath its ruins not only those within it, but also many others -around, Camisards and royalists. - -"They are bringing their culverins," cried one now above all the -tumult, "to play upon the house," and in answer there rang out now -another voice which all knew, the voice of Cavalier, the words he -shouted being: "Disperse, disperse, my brethren! Children of the -mountains and the clouds, disperse as do the clouds themselves. Not -to-night is our triumph, yet it will come. It must come." - -He spoke truly. The triumph was to come ere long now. The Camisards -were to gain their cause at last, but it was not to be to-night, nor -by the sword. Instead, by the gentle mediation and mercy of one whose -name is still spoken gently in the Cévennes--the name of the great and -good Villars. - - -"You can go no farther?" Urbaine said an hour later to Martin Ashurst, -"no farther. Oh, my God, my God, that it should come to this! And for -me, for my sake!" - -"Nay, dear one, what matter? We are together to the last. And you love -me. What more is there to ask?" - -"Alas! Alas! I can not live without you, stay behind alone. My love, -my love, you must not leave me. Shall not go before. If you die, then -must I die too." - -And as she spoke she loosened his vest and sought for the wound in his -shoulder which had brought him to this pass. - -They had found the fosse the Camisards knew of in the old farmhouse. -Even as the attack began, Martin, seeking for a place of refuge for -her, had thrust open a door at the back of the great old kitchen in -which they were, and had led her out of the dangerous room that gave -upon the spot where the conflict had begun. Had led her on through a -passage sloping down into the earth from behind the house, until, by -following it, they found themselves in a place which none could have -supposed would have been there; a place like a crypt, stone-flagged, -the stones themselves roughly hewn, the pillars dwarfed, yet strong -enough to bear a vast fabric above them; a place so old, so long since -built, that it may have been some Roman sepulchre, or hiding-place of -Albigenses in long-forgotten days, or secret chapel of worship beneath -the old feudal castle that had once existed. - -Yet there it was, calm and quiet. Even the sounds of the battle now -waging in all its fury without came gently to their ears, was scarce -heard more strongly than the murmur in a shell or the breaking of the -ocean on a far-off shore. Calm and quiet, with, through a recess in -the farther wall, perhaps once a niche or shrine, a moonbeam streaming -brightly and making the dull flame of the lantern Martin had brought -with him, snatching it off the nail where it hung, burn dull and -rustily. - -And Urbaine, entering with him this haven into which they had -penetrated--surely none of those soldiers knew of it, would find it, -surely God in his mercy would not permit that--flung herself on her -lover's breast sobbing that they were saved again; again were saved by -him whom she so loved with her whole heart and soul. - -Then started back, a look of terror on her face--a look of awful fear -and apprehension--seeing what she did see in her lover's eyes as she -sought them. - -"My God!" she half whispered, half shrieked, shuddering, "what--what -is it? Martin, my love? Oh, what--what has happened?" - -For his lips were cold, there was no answering warmth in them as they -met hers; his face was white as death, his eyes dull and filmy. - -"It--it--is not much. But--I--am struck. As we left the place above, a -bullet--through the window--struck me. I--I--can go no farther. Alas, -I can not stand," while as he spoke he swayed heavily against the -middle pillar of the crypt, then slid, clutching at it, to the earth. - -Even as he did so, even, too, as she a moment later undid his vest to -seek for the wound, there came to her ears, though perhaps not to his -as he lay there faint and almost insensible, the sound of many rushing -feet, a heavy trampling; then, next, men passing swiftly by and -farther on through the fosse--men whose smoke-grimed faces (sometimes, -too, their wounded faces) she recognised as the moonbeams flickered on -them. Camisards fleeing hastily, dispersing as Cavalier had said. The -Camisards in whose power she had once been, in whose company she had -but a few hours ago descended from the mountains. - -"O God!" she moaned, "are they pursued by Montrevel's troops? If so, -and he, my love, is found here by those troops!" - -But he was not all unconscious; he could still hear, and, hearing, -understood that moan. - -"Nay, dearest," he whispered back, "even so it matters not. The -Protestants, these men, are our friends. Baville's pass, the packet he -bade me give you on our wedding morn--alas, our wedding morn!--will -hold us safe from the soldiers. Fear not, _ma mie_." - -Baville! The name stung her like an adder's fang. Baville! The man who -had slain her father, and then endeavoured by a false, pretended love, -to take that father's place! The man she would never see again, had -vowed, as deeply as one so gentle as she could vow, never to see or -know again. - -Baville! And he had written to her, sent her a packet. Her lover had -it about him at this moment. What could such a thing mean? What -import? Yet, yet she upbraided herself for thinking of her own griefs -and sorrows now at such a time as this. Baville! Faugh! Baville! Yet -if he knew to what a pass they had come, knew that this man whose life -might be ebbing slowly from him now, was ebbing slowly, was here? If -he knew that he who had saved her was dying? Baville! The man whom -once she had loved with a daughter's love. - -Again the hurrying feet passed, again the gaunt fugitives went by, yet -she heeded them not. Her whole soul was in what she was endeavouring -to do--to staunch that gaping wound. Then suddenly one, an old, -white-faced, terror-stricken man with long gray hair, stopped, seeing -those forms; stopped, peering through the moonbeam that slanted down -upon their faces; stopped, then advanced toward them. - -"'Tis he," he whispered, bending toward the wounded man. "Martin! -Martin! O Martin, my friend!" - -"You know him? Your friend? You know him?" she whispered back. "Who -are you?" - -"His friend, Buscarlet, the inhibited _pasteur_ of Montvert. Driven to -the mountains at last, forced to abide with these unhappy outcasts, -but, thank God, not yet to draw the sword. No, no, not that! Never, -never! Only to pray upon my knees to them by morn and night to shed no -blood, to bear, to suffer all. To do that, I followed them here. Only -they will not listen. Oh, Baville, Baville, has not your tiger's fury -been glutted yet?" And he gazed down upon the almost senseless form of -Martin lying there, muttering, "If I could save you!" - -Then, a moment later, he spoke again. - -"Who," he said very gently now, "are you? Not his wife or sister, I -know. But what?" - -For a moment she did not answer, looking up at him, instead, with -wide, clear eyes so full of sorrow that her glance struck him to the -heart. - -"I was to have been his, am his, affianced wife. And--and--God help -me!--I am Baville's, that tiger's, adopted child!" - -"You! _His_ adopted child, and Martin's affianced wife!" - -"Even so." And she bent her head and wept. - -For a moment there was silence in that deserted place, deserted now -since all the fugitive mountaineers had passed through the fosse; -silent because no longer was heard the distant sound or hum of shot or -cry of combatants. Then he bent over Martin, looked to his wound, -touching it very gently and afterward replacing the hasty bandages she -had made from some of her own linen, and said: - -"He is exhausted from his loss of blood. But, though he dies, it will -not be yet. The cold is to be feared, however. If that reaches the -wound--I know somewhat of surgery--he can not live. Now I go to seek -succour, help!" - -"Succour! Help! Where can it be obtained? In Heaven's mercy, where? -Nîmes is three leagues off." - -"I will do my best. Pray God I am not too late." - -And so he left her. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIII. - -TOUT SAVOIR, C'EST TOUT PARDOXNER. - - -Coming to himself, Martin, lying there, wondered where he was. He felt -no pain in the wounded shoulder, only, instead, an awful weakness. -Also he felt no cold. Knew too that around him was wrapped some soft -warm garment, yet knew not that it was the great fur cloak in which -the woman whom he had loved had been muffled up as she descended from -the mountains, and in which she had long since enveloped him. Long -since to her, watching, waiting there for succour to come, through -two, three, four hours, and then another, but to him no length of time -whatsoever. And he did not know--he was indeed even still in a -half-unconscious state--how those hours had been spent by her, -heedless of the cold which pierced through and through her, spent in -sitting on the ground by his side, soothing him when he moaned -painfully, holding his hand, kissing his hot brow. Attending also to -his wound, and going even some distance farther along the fosse in the -hope of discovering water, yet without success. - -He knew nothing; had forgotten how he came there, that she had been -with him, that there was such a woman, and that they loved each other -madly. - -Then suddenly a voice broke in upon his unconsciousness--a voice that -seemed to recall him back to the world--the voice of Urbaine, yet, as -she spoke, stifled now and again by sobs. - -"Better," it seemed to him that he heard her say, "better have slain -me with him, upon his desolate hearth, than have spared me to learn -this at last. Of you, you whom I worshipped, whom I so reverenced." - -If he had doubted whether he lived or was already in the shades -leading to another world, or in that world itself, he doubted no -longer, when through that old crypt a second voice sounded, one known -to him as well as Urbaine's was known--a voice deep, solemn, -beautiful. Broken, too, as hers had been, yet sweet as music still. - -"If," that voice said, "you had escaped with your lover to some -far-distant land as I hoped, ay, as even such as I dared to pray that -you might do, you would have learned all. In those papers I sent by -him you love, you would have known all on the morning you became his -wife. Now I must tell you with my own lips. Urbaine, in memory of the -happy years gone by, the years when you grew from childhood to -womanhood by my side, at my knee, hear my justification, let me -speak." - -It was Baville. - -Baville! Her father's murderer there! Face to face with Urbaine once -more! - -For a moment the silence was intense, or broken only by the woman's -sobs. Then from her lips he heard the one word "Speak" uttered. - -"Urbaine, your father died through me, though not by my will, not by -my hands." - -"Ah!" - -"I loved Urbain Ducaire," the rich, full voice went on. "Loved him, -pitied him too, knowing something, though not all, of his past life. -Knew that he, a Huguenot, was doomed if he stayed here in Languedoc, -stranger though he was, for his nature was too noble to conceal aught; -he was a Catholic who had renounced his ancient faith, a _nouveau -converti_, yet of the wrong side for his future tranquility. And he -boasted of it loudly, openly. He was doomed." - -Again there was a pause broken only by the weeping of Urbaine. Then -once more Baville continued: - -"I beseeched him to go, to leave the neighbourhood, to depart in -peace. Provided him with safe conducts, implored him to seek an asylum -in England or Holland where those of his newly adopted creed were -safe. He refused. Your mother, a woman of the province, had died in -giving birth to you. He swore he would not leave the place where her -body lay. He defied me, bade me do my worst." - -"And--and----" Urbaine sobbed. - -"And the orders came from Paris. From Louvois, then alive, and Madame -de Maintenon. '_Saccagez tous!_' they wrote. 'Those who will not -recant must be exterminated.' - -"Then I sent to him by a trusty hand a copy of those orders. I bade -him fly at once, since even I could not save him. Told him that on a -fixed night--great God! it was the night ere Christmas, the night when -the priests bid us have our hearts full of love and mercy for each -other--I _must_ be at his cottage with my Cravates. He was a marked -man; also I was known to favour him. If I did so now, spared him and -imprisoned others, all the south would be in a tumult." - -Again Baville paused. Again went on: - -"I never deemed I should find him; would have sworn he must be gone -ere I reached his house. Yet went there, knowing that I dared not omit -him. Went there, praying, as not often I have prayed, that it would be -empty, forsaken. Alas! Alas! Alas! he had ignored my warning, my -beseechings. He _was_ there, reading his Bible. He defied me. By his -hand he had a pistol. Seeing the Cravates behind me, their musketoons -ready, it seemed as though he was about to use it. Raised it, pointed -it at me, covered my breast." - -The pause was longer now. Martin, hearing, understanding all, his mind -and memory returned to him, thought Baville dreaded to continue. Yet -it was not so. The full clear tones reached his ear again: - -"I could not deem him base enough to do that, to shoot me down like a -dog, since I had drawn no weapon of my own. It was, I have divined -since, the soldiers whom he defied. Yet in my contempt for what I -thought his idle threat, I cried scornfully '_Tirez donc_.' Alas, ah, -God! the fatal error that has forever darkened your life and mine! -Those words were misunderstood. The Cravates misunderstood them, -believed the exclamation an order given to them by me; a moment later -they had fired. O Urbaine! my love, my child--I--I--what more is there -to tell?" - -And as he ceased, hers were not the only sobs Martin heard now. - -Then, as they too ceased somewhat, another voice was heard by the -listener--the voice of Buscarlet. - -"You hear? The wrong, that was in truth no wrong, is atoned. Has never -been. Your way is clear before you. The evil he has wrought has not -come nigh you or yours. Woman, as his heart has ever cherished you, I, -a pastor of your rightful faith, bid you give back your love to him." - -The dawn was coming as the old man spake these words. In the thin -light of that new morning which crept in from where the moon's ray had -shone through the night, Martin, his fur covering tossed from off him -long since, saw Urbaine fall on Baville's breast, heard her whisper, -"My father, oh, my father!" Knew, too, that they were reconciled, the -past forgotten. And thanked God that it was so. - -Yet once again Buscarlet spoke, his white hair gleaming in the light -of the coming day, his old form erect and stately before the other. - -"You are absolved by her," he said; "earn absolution, too, for your -past cruelty by greater mercy to others of her faith. I charge you, I, -a priest of that persecuted faith, that henceforth you persecute no -more. God has given you back your child's love. Be content." - - - * * * * * * * - - -A little later and those three were gathered round the spot where -Martin lay, with, in the background, a fourth figure, that of -Baville's own surgeon. He had been brought by the Intendant after -Buscarlet had told the latter all that he had ridden hastily to Nîmes -to inform him of, and when the pastor had declared that if surgical -aid was not at once forthcoming the wounded man must surely die. And, -seeing him, the surgeon had said that his life still hung in the -balance; that if what Baville desired was to be done, it had best be -done at once. - -"It will make you happy?" Urbaine whispered, her lips close to her -lover's, her arms about him. - -"Passing happy," he murmured, "beyond all hope. Now, now, at once." - -"You can do it?" the Intendant asked, turning to the pastor. - -"I can do it now." - -"So! Let it be done." - -"Stay there by his side," Buscarlet said then to Urbaine, "upon your -knees.--Take you her hand," to Martin. - -And in whispered tones he commenced the marriage ceremony of the -Huguenots as prescribed by their Church. - -"Repeat after me that you take Urbaine Ducaire to be your wedded wife" - -"Nay, nay," said Baville, interposing. "Nay, I had forgotten. Not -that. Not that. The packet would have told what both must have learned -ere they had been married elsewhere. Now I must tell it myself. Her -name is not Urbaine Ducaire." - -"Not Urbaine Ducaire?" all exclaimed, looking up at him. "Not Urbaine -Ducaire?" - -"Nay. Nor her father's Urbain Ducaire. Instead, this," and he produced -hastily his tablets from his pocket and wrote on them for some few -moments, muttering as he did so, "I knew it not till lately, until I -communicated with those in Paris, though I suspected. Also," he -repeated, "the packet would have told all." - -Then, thrusting the tablets into the pastor's hands, while all around -still gazed incredulously at him, he said aloud: "Marry her in those -names and titles. Hers by right which none can dispute, and by the law -of Richelieu passed through the Parliament of Paris in the last year -of his life. The right of sole daughters where no male issue exists." - -"These titles are lawfully hers?" Buscarlet asked, reading in -astonishment that which Baville had written, while Urbaine clung -closer still to her lover, wondering what further mystery surrounded -her birth, and Martin, no light breaking in on him as yet, deeming -Baville demented. "Lawfully hers?" - -"Lawfully, absolutely hers. Proceed." - -And again Buscarlet commenced: - -"Repeat after me that you take Cyprienne, Urbaine Beauvilliers----" - -"My God!" whispered Martin faintly ere he did so. "My God! that my -quest ends here!" Then he repeated the words that Buscarlet read from -Baville's tablets as he had been bidden. - -"Baronne de Beauvilliers," the pastor continued, "Comtesse de -Montrachet, Marquise du Gast d'Ançilly, Princesse de Rochebazon, -daughter of Cyprien, Urbain Beauvilliers, former bearer of those -titles, to be your wedded wife--to----" - - - * * * * * * * - - -It was finished. They were married. The union blessed by a pastor of -their own Church and attested by him who had so persecuted the members -of that Church by order of the man, if indeed it was by his orders, -whom they called "The Scourge of God." - -And Martin, gazing up into the eyes of his wife, murmured: - -"I have not failed, my love, in what I sought. But, ah, that my search -should bring me to such perfect peace, should end with you! Now, if I -die, I die happy." - -But even as she held him close to her, his head upon her shoulder, he -knew, felt sure, that he would not die; that God would restore him to -a new life, to be passed as long as it lasted by her side. - - -Postscript.--The historical incidents in the foregoing story have -necessarily, for obvious purposes in one or two instances, been -altered from their exact sequence. With this exception they are -described precisely as they occurred, each description being taken -from the best authorities, and especially the best local ones. -Exclusive of the names of Ashurst, Ducaire, and all pertaining to that -of De Rochebazon and of De Rochebazon itself, the others are, in -almost every case, authentic. - - - - -FOOTNOTES - -[Footnote 1: Baville judged accurately. Of all who are descended from -those great Protestant houses, there is not one now who is not of the -Roman Catholic faith.] - -[Footnote 2: Doubtless the Prophet's visions foresaw the Battle of -Almanza, whereon many hundreds of Camisards fell fighting for England -and the allies against France. A strange battle this! in which the -French were led by an Englishman, the Duke of Berwick, and the English -by a Frenchman, Ruvigny, afterward the Earl of Galloway.] - -[Footnote 3: Among the inspired prophets of the Cévennes, none were -supposed to be more penetrated with this gift than the youngest -children. In their histories there are recorded instances, or perhaps -I should say beliefs, of babes at their mothers' breasts who had -received it, and were by signs and motions supposed to direct the -actions of their seniors.] - - - -THE END. - - - - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The Scourge of God, by John Bloundelle-Burton - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SCOURGE OF GOD *** - -***** This file should be named 52734-8.txt or 52734-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/2/7/3/52734/ - -Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by -Google Books (Library of the University of Virginia) - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law 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. 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