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diff --git a/57401-0.txt b/57401-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e8cf2fe --- /dev/null +++ b/57401-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9616 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 57401 *** + + + + + + + + + + + + +[Frontispiece: "'By God! d'Argenton, we win in the end,' he broke out, +shaking his finger at me."] + + + + + THE + KING'S SCAPEGOAT + + + BY + + HAMILTON DRUMMOND + + AUTHOR OF "THE SEVEN HOUSES," "A MAN'S FEAR," ETC., ETC. + + + + _FRONTISPIECE BY CYRUS CUNEO_ + + + + TORONTO + THE COPP CLARK CO., LIMITED + 1905 + + + + + CONTENTS + + CHAP. + + I My Claim to be heard for Truth's Sake + II The Bruisings of a Friend + III Fire and Sack + IV Babette + V Paris in "Eighty-Three" + VI The Muse in Draggled Skirts + VII The Shrewdest Brain in France + VIII The Doors of the Louvre only open Inwards + IX How I met Mademoiselle the Second Time + X Plessis-les-Tours + XI The Plot of the Four Nations + XII Monseigneur's Counterplot + XIII His Most Christian Majesty + XIV Monsieur de Commines Explains + XX A Lesson in Diplomacy + XXI A Mission of Peace + XXII South from Plessis + XVIII Count Gaston de Foix + XIX Mademoiselle Suzanne, _Gouvernante_ + XX What Happened at the Grey Leap + XXI "I Trust You, Come what May" + XXII The Message of a Foot of String + XXIII A Rose of Promise + XXIV Jean Volran, Tapster, and Translator of Latin + XXV In What Way the King Sought the Peace of Navarre + XXVI The Justice Hall in Morsigny + XXVII "God Keep You, Now and Always" + XXVIII A Lie for a Life + XXIX How Martin won his Heart's Desire + XXX Mademoiselle Speaks + XXXI There is Hope--Till Dawn on Sunday + XXXII The Mercy of Louis the Eleventh + XXXIII "It is the Finger of God!" + XXXIV A Race for a Life + + + + +CHAPTER I + +MY CLAIM TO BE HEARD FOR TRUTH'S SAKE + +Of the many ways, worthy or vile, honourable or ignoble, whereby men, +as my excellent friend the Prince de Talmont has shown in his history, +may rise to court favour, few, I think, are more curious than that by +which fate led me. Led me? The word is too soft, too gracious, too +solicitous: fate kicked me, rather; for it was a vicious cuff of +misfortune's contempt which made me a King's envoy; and a gentle stroke +of the mercy of God which flung me back again to the humble obscurity +of a simple gentleman. + +But not without reward. And it is of that misfortune, that mercy, and +that reward this story treats. God be thanked! the last was greater +than the first, for love is a salve that heals all wounds the world +over. + +If the embassage committed to me by his late majesty finds no place in +the admirable memoirs of the Prince de Talmont, better known it may be, +as Monsieur Philip de Commines, Lord of Argenton, it is because at my +earnest solicitation he expunged the narrative from his records. +These, in his earnest desire for accuracy, he had submitted to me for +revision. But, deeply conscious of my own unskilfulness in such +matters, I humbly pointed out, first, that the story did not redound to +the credit or honour of the late King, his master. Second, that the +disclosure could not possibly gratify the son who so worthily fills his +august father's throne; and, third, that Monsieur de Commines, having +already known the cold shadows of banishment from regal favour, there +was a danger--but doubtless the third reason moved him not at all. +Historians must be superior to considerations of private advantage. + +But if these three reasons were insufficient to warrant the fearless +historian to consent to such a suppression, I had yet more to urge. +The inclusion of the details served no worthy purpose. No political +result followed my mission, which was abortive for reasons I hope to +make clear. France and Navarre were neither of them a penny the better +or the worse for it. Why, then, stir up old ashes? Many a +conflagration has sprung from a fool's raking over of half dead embers, +which, left to themselves, would have cooled to safety. Stories that +are to no man's credit are best let sleep. + +That brings me to the final reason that I urged. Perhaps it was the +most instant of them all, and the one on which I laid the most stress, +since a thorn in our own finger-tip troubles us more than a sword's +thrust in our neighbour's ribs: it would give my enemies grounds for +speaking ill of me. Little or great, we all have gnats to bite us, and +evil tongues are so many that if they burnt like fire the poor would +have charcoal for nothing the winter through. + +"There goes the man who stooped to such and such an infamy," they would +say, wilfully ignoring--but that is the story. + +Why, then, do I give that to the world which I have successfully +influenced Monsieur de Commines to suppress? Just because of these +same evil tongues. Let no man dream that any act of his ever dies: +good or bad, it is co-existent with his life, if not with the sun +itself. What I had hoped was buried in the dust of the past, ghouls, +infamous devourers of men's reputations, have disinterred, and for the +sake of those who are to come after me the whole truth must be told. +My children's love and reverence are more to me than all I possess, +whether in Flanders or Navarre. Partly I tell the tale myself, and +partly it is told by another outside of myself, but whether it be +Gaspard de Helville in person or that other who speaks, this I solemnly +assert, both are alike true. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +THE BRUISINGS OF A FRIEND + +It has been said that the first third of a man's life is the sowing, +the second the growing, and the last the mowing, but with seedtime this +story has nothing to do. The first more than twenty years of life may +be brushed aside. It is enough that in them I lost first, my father; +then, fifteen years later, my mother; and for three years had been my +own master; if a man could call himself his own who was the slave and +worship of his mother's nurse and his father's squire. The story then +begins on a late spring day in 1483. + +It was curious, though at the time the coincidence passed unnoticed, +but so sure as I pressed Roland hard, rasping the poor willing brute's +ribs cruelly with both spurs, just so surely did Martin meet with a +trifling accident that delayed him. Once, as we galloped down from La +Crêle to the river, he broke a stirrup leather. Once, too, he dropped +his ash stick and had to go back for it; and once, as we rode round the +pinewood at Berseghem, Ninus picked up a stone. At least, Martin said +he did, and in face of his anxious concern as he bent over the upturned +hoof how could I be angry? Ninus was his faithful servant even as +Martin was mine, and that a horse should pick up a stone is no one's +blame. The most I could do was to hasten him as urgently as my +diffidence dared. + +"Even as it is we may be too late," I added. + +From the hoof in his palm he looked sourly up. + +"That is the girl's fault. What business has a Hellewyl of Solignac +philandering after a cow-herd's daughter? Which of you two had the +redder face I don't know, hers from honest sun and weather, yours from +you know what best yourself. Come now, is it an honest thing to play +at courting under the trees with such a girl? What's more, she +despised you for it. I saw that in her face when I said 'Solignac's +a-fire' 'A-fire!' she cried; 'who fired it?' and her black eyes grew +hard as she looked at you. 'Jan Meert,' I told her, and what was her +answer? 'God be good to us! but that's great news.' Yes, it's her +fault. All you own in the world flaring to ashes, and you philandering +miles away." Then, letting Ninus slip his foot down, which he did with +no sign of tenderness, Martin said a strange thing. "God bless her for +it. We can ride on now, Monsieur Gaspard," and he gathered his reins +into his left hand. + +Until he had mounted I made no reply. Training had made me a patient +man, and Martin, my one follower, was my best friend. I knew his dour, +loyal nature too well to be angry at his frankness. For fifty +years--that is all his life--he had served Solignac, and I, half his +age, was to him no more than a child to be humoured when I could not +safely be driven. Besides, if ever men had need for haste, we had, and +I was not such a fool as to please my temper at the cost of a solid +advantage. That he hated the girl Brigitta I had long known, but that, +again, was loyalty to the house that fed him. Martin was still too +much of the peasant not to despise his own class. + +But once he was in the saddle I went back on my question, in different +or more direct words, perhaps, but the sense was the same. + +"Are we too late? Jan Meert works quickly, and these mishaps of yours +have cost us half an hour." + +"Jan Meert works quickly," he echoed; then, though he never looked at +me, but straight before him, his face wrinkled, and he broke into a +relishing chuckle for which his words gave no warrant till he added, +"He'll have gone by this time, curse him, for a thieving Hollander, and +these mishaps of mine, as you call them, have saved more than they +cost." + +Then I understood. He had been playing some of his old campaigner's +tricks upon me, and I, like the innocent he knew me for, had never +found him out. Thank God! it has always been my way to believe men +honest until they show themselves rogues. That was not the King's way; +yet of this I am sure, in my humble life I won to myself more love than +he did, and more faithful service. Even now love and service were at +the root of Martin's trickery, and knowing it was so, I did not turn +and strike him. For that control, and remembering what happened so +shortly after at Poictiers, I gratefully give God thanks. + +"You make a coward of me," was all my reproach. + +But when I pressed Roland to a gallop, he leaned forward and caught my +rein. + +"No, Monsieur Gaspard, no, no," he said, almost crying; "what sense is +there in that? Better a burnt Solignac than a dead Hellewyl." + +"We may save it. Leave go my rein, Martin, or--or--I'll draw my dagger +on you." + +"Not you--or I'll risk it, though a man's life is worth more any day +than a dry roof. Hear reason. Save Solignac? Save it from Jan Meert +and his twenty devils? We two? Curse away if it pleases you, the +leather's round my wrist and I won't leave go. Listen now," he went on +coaxingly, "what good can you do? What's Solignac but a shell and you +the kernel? Why fling away the kernel after the shell? And how could +we two face Jan Meert and his twenty brutes, sons of the devil every +one of them? Are we to splash water from the Heyst with our palms, or +carry it in our bonnets, to drown that roaring furnace? Listen now, +listen; this was the way of it. Up he rode at a soft trot, in no haste +at all, so safe and sure was he, and when I saw him coming I slammed-to +the bolt of the great door, ran out old Babette to the woods behind, +she in one hand and Ninus, here, in the other, tied up Ninus out of +sight, hid Babette in the oak copse behind the trout pool--not that the +wizened old fool had anything to fear but--well--she was part of +Solignac, and if once she let loose her tongue upon Jan Meert as she +does upon me, he might--Be quiet now, Monsieur Gaspard, don't I tell +you she's safe enough? Then I stole back, I, Martin the liar and the +maker of cowards--like makes like, Monsieur Gaspard, and a coward makes +cowards--I stole back. Hard words are a fine wage to give a man who +risks his life--one amongst twenty, and such a twenty as follow Jan +Meert! They had the door down of course--all right, Monsieur Gaspard, +if it hurts you I'll say no more. D'you think each ripped panel and +split jamb wasn't as bad to me as a cracked rib, a cowardly maker of +cowards and liar though I am? It was then--for I love the house that +bore me as well as you can, but I had sense enough to see that if +broken ribs followed stove panels, there was an end to something better +than Solignac; there was an end to Hellewyl, there was an end to love, +an end to hate, an end to the throttling of Jan Meert. What? Are +these not something to live for? Something better than two fools dead +before a burnt door? There's your rein loose, Monsieur Gaspard, for +it's a loose rein we must have, you and I; a loose rein to ride away +from Solignac till we are strong enough to ride back again, and when +that day comes we'll shake a looser rein yet, see if we don't. When +the time is ripe may God have mercy on Jan Meert's soul. Honestly, +now, and man to man--though I am only a servant who would die to +pleasure you, only dirt under your feet when it pleases your feet to +trample on me, that and no better. I humbly ask your pardon for daring +to so much as touch your bridle, Monsieur Gaspard, but I love you as a +son, and when all's said it's natural I should have more sense than +half my age. As man to man, now, am I liar and cur and all the rest of +it? And did I not serve Solignac as well as if I had been kissing +and--and--clucking a beggar girl under the beech-trees, a round-faced, +bold-eyed herdsman's wench who--be angry if you will, be angry if you +will, but the truth's the truth--a wench who might well cook my dinner +but never share eating it, and yet I am no Hellewyl of Solignac!" + +That he was talking as much against time as to ease his mind I knew, +but there was so much sense in what he said that when he dropped my +rein and sat back in the saddle I did not ride on. Of all the many +leeches who sucked our Flanders' blood, none was bolder, greedier, more +ruthless and more reckless than Jan Meert. Even into our remote life, +stories drifted at which men cursed, but cursed softly, lest Jan Meert +should catch and resent the echo; stories that for shame's sake we +dared not tell our women, so wanton were they in cruelty, so brutal in +destructiveness, and with such a wading in wickedness for very love of +the thing. + +A Christian country? A fraction of the Empire? Bah! The Emperor was +busy elsewhere, and there was neither law nor justice in the land, +nothing but the naked arm of the strong. Those who had the conscience +and the power to rob robbed, none making them afraid for this world or +the next; in the war of factions the great were striving to grow yet +greater, or, if might be, were hard put to it to hold their own, and +had no leisure to hold Jan Meert and his like in check. He burned, he +plundered, he ravaged, but always with circumspection, preying on the +weaker, and who was I that I might hope to outface him even in defence +of the house of my fathers? + +But, if to Jan Meert I was but a pigeon for a hawk's harrying, to +Martin I was Hellewyl of Solignac, and his last words called for a +rebuke. + +"You presume. Keep your scurrilous tongue quiet, or if you must talk, +show all respect when you speak of the lady who----" + +"Lady! Has it come to that? Lady! God save us all! Slattern, +black-eyed 'Gitta' a Lady? She'll never be that in God's world, it's +not in her. Listen again, Monsieur Gaspard. A while back you +stared--I saw you--when I thanked God for the woman. And I still thank +Him, she kept you out of Solignac when you were best away. I suppose +it was to that end the Lord made her--to save a Hellewyl of Solignac, +and so even she has her uses. But now I say thank God for something +worse than a----a----but we'll let that pass; why fret a green wound! +You won't understand me now, still less will you understand me an hour +hence, but the day'll come when you will know why I say God be thanked +for Jan Meert, God be thanked for a burnt Solignac. From my heart I +pray the scoundrel may have done his work well." + +There was a solemnity about his earnestness that gave his words weight, +mad though they were, and, waiting his explanation, I made no answer. +It came promptly. + +"See now, here were you day by day sinking lower in the scale, day by +day growing liker to the peasant that is so little better than a brute. +I should know what he is for I was of the breed till your father, and +yet more your mother, drew me from the mud to what I am. Don't think I +boast, for I don't. Bad's my best, but it's chalk or charcoal compared +with a woman fly-trap! Well then; your land was gone--not your doing, +but bread of a father's baking is of ten sour in the children's mouth. +For three generations Hellewyls of Solignac have played the fool, +always riding the wrong wave till bit by bit they were dashed to +pieces. One followed Austria, and France getting the upper hand +wrenched a lordship from him as the price of pardon. The next followed +France, and Burgundy seized and held what France let go as a makeweight +in the next treaty. The last followed Burgundy, and Austria said 'oh +ho! Solignac was a fief of mine in the good old days,' and Burgundy in +part bought peace with Solignac as a counter in the deal. Now what is +left? Ten acres of bad grass, a belt of woods, and a forlorn house; a +house fit for a Seigneurie and dripping dank with wet and mould for +lack of service, and the last Hellewyl of Solignac philandering after a +goatherd's daughter--pray God she's his daughter, her mother had just +such another coarse, pretty face of her own--philandering, I say, after +a goatherd's daughter by way of mending his fortunes. But Jan Meert +has changed all that. Brigitta can sell her red cheeks, her plump +white flesh and big black eyes to better advantage elsewhere, and so I +say may God show mercy to Jan Meert the day I show him none." + +"I don't understand." + +"Not understand? And yet it is all so simple. D'you really think that +your Brigitta of the bold face would bury herself in a burned house +with singed owls and scorched rats for company, all for the sake of a +man with a ragged coat? And where are you to live Monsieur Gaspard? +With the pigs in the swineherd's mud hut? You! Hellewyl of Solignac! +No, no; don't you see that whether you like it or not you're flung out +into the world? Or is it by mouldering in the burnt shell of Solignac +that you would seek strength to yourself to take Jan Meert by the +throat? Shame, Monsieur Gaspard, shame! Five and twenty, sound in +limb and head--yes, and in heart too, in spite of the swineherd in +petticoats; you, God's own image of a man, and yet content to live like +a snipe, sucking mud from a bog!" + +"Why did you wait till to-day to throw my _laisser-aller_ in my teeth? +and why to-day of all unfortunate days? Is that like a friend?" + +"Because," and Martin's withered face softened, "I suppose I loved +Solignac as well as you did. I was born there as you were, and we poor +devils of servants have hearts to suffer and souls to be saved as well +as our masters. To-day, too, you say you would put Brigitta the +swineherd into my lady's place! With great respect, Monsieur Gaspard, +till to-day I had not thought you such a fool; but God be thanked for +Jan Meert, and be merciful to him." Then, as if by an afterthought, he +added, "God be merciful to me, too, and give me five minutes of Jan +Meert's throat though I die for it. Ah! look, Monsieur Gaspard; what +did I tell you?" + +Above the trees that lay between us and Solignac a pall of smoke +hovered, its edges feathered by the wind. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +FIRE AND SACK + +My first dismayed instinct was to pull Roland back upon his haunches, +my second to urge him through the wood by the shortest path he could +find. But Martin called me back. + +"Not that way, Monsieur Gaspard. Never look rogues in the face if you +can see their backs, and perhaps old Babette has news." + +Caution was wisest, and I followed him upstream. Five minutes' delay +could matter little to Solignac, and Babette's curiosity might be +trusted to have kept her informed of Jan Meert's doings. But we drew +the copse blank, though we hunted through it, crying her name +cautiously, there was no answer. To me silence was assurance. Jan +Meert and his fellow-rogues had left the chateau, having done their +worst, and the way was clear. No doubt we would find her waiting +helplessly before the ruin wrought by the Hollander, for she, too, +loved Solignac. The wonder was we had not already heard her outcry. + +"Come," said I, driving Roland through the bushes. + +"Better leave the horses behind," advised Martin. + +But I would not. + +"No," I answered curtly. "If Jan Meert is yonder we shall need their +legs; if not, why leave them?" + +The time, be it remembered, was the verge of summer, almost summer +itself, with the foliage full and green, so it was not until the trees +thinned that I got my first sight of Solignac, a grey bulk of +weather-beaten stone between the columns of the oaks and pines. But it +was only when we had fairly cleared the wood that it dawned upon me +what and how much I owed the Hollander. + +Through Martin's message, delivered at a time when no man likes to be +interrupted--for I talked with Brigitta in the shade, Roland's bridle +hooked over my arm--there had been a covert satisfaction that blunted +its edge. My recollection of what passed there differed from Martin's. + +"Come, Monsieur Gaspard," said he, his sour look turned not on me, but +on the girl, "Solignac's a-fire, and there's a man's work to do." + +"Solignac a-fire?" Not only I, but Brigitta echoed the words. As she +said them she laid her hands on my shoulders with a little high-pitched +laugh that set my heart beating even more than did the touch. The +peasant girl could feel as keenly as any fine lady, though of fine +ladies I knew nothing. My own thought was that Martin coined some +clumsy excuse to draw me home, anywhere away from Brigitta, whom he +hated malignantly, as only a narrow peasant can hate. So I added, +joining in the laugh, "Let who lit the fire put it out, and go thou and +help him." + +"That's not Jan Meert's way," answered Martin, his voice rougher than I +had heard it since I had grown a man. "Come Monsieur Gaspard, come for +God's sake. You can find a face of brass any hour, but there's only +one Solignac." + +"Is it serious?" + +"Is Jan Meert serious? Is the devil serious? Solignac is hell, I tell +you, hell to-day, and Jan Meert its devil." + +Even then, being, thank God, a man of no imagination, I did not +understand, and though we rode fast enough--too fast to please +Martin--it was the gallop that warmed my blood and not rage against Jan +Meert. Understand! How could I understand? How could any man +understand who has not seen the like? But now, as we broke the last +cover, I cried I do not know what curse, and spurred Roland forward at +a pace that cared never a jot whether or no the devil Jan Meert had +quitted that smoking hell of his own making. What three hundred grim +adventurous years had failed to do three hours had done, and the house +of my fathers was a hollow wreck. The walls still stood sheer, even +Jan Meert's malignancy had not strength to thrust stone from stone, but +the hewn mullions that divided the Norman windows were cracked with +fire, and from every blackened casement smoke blew out in little +vicious puffs as the great heat within poured up and out where once the +roof had been. There was neither flash nor glow of flame, no cataract +of fire, no roar of life swelling in destruction, nothing but the +sullen, steady flooding upwards of the reek. Solignac was already +dead, stripped and stretched on its funeral pyre, and the smoke of its +ashes cried to God for vengeance. + +Martin, riding at my elbow, was speechless, but I could hear him +whimpering and whinging under his breath, as if a rough finger on a new +wound fretted him. To me, almost a peasant, as he had said, the sight +was a new one; but Martin had been my father's squire in wars south, +east, and west, and had seen both sack and siege. Then it was a matter +of course that the pride of ten generations should dissolve in one +hour's smoke and men and women go homeless, a thing to be borne +philosophically being the loss of others; but this was Solignac, this +was the birth-house of us both, and the cradle of his master's race, +and though he spoke no words, I knew well that every choked fret in the +throat was a curse that language could not match for expression or +better for force. + +Round the north-west of the smoking house we dashed, our horses' mouths +frothing even in that short furlong; round to the grey façade where +stood the great door flush with the huge stone pillars from which it +hung. + +"Babette!" I called out as we pulled up, "Babette! Babette! Where are +you, Babette?" + +"Jan Meert!" cried Martin. "Lord God! Give me Jan Meert! What +matters Babette? There are a thousand Babettes, a thousand, but only +one Solignac, and--heavens of grace! See there!" + +I saw, but because I saw, I answered nothing. Babette? At the sight +of Jan Meert's work I had forgotten Babette even while her name was on +my lips. I would not give a fig for the patriotism of the man who does +not hold his father's house dearer even than his country. In it every +stick and stone is sacred, hallowed not alone by many a tradition, but +by a thousand personal memories. Since the Lord God had taken my +mother to Himself Solignac had been the one dearest thing in life, and +behind the door that hung fretting on wrenched hinges Solignac lay in +profanation, its great square hall a heaped mass of reeking filth. Not +much was visible, but through the reeling uprights there showed a +suggestion of charred beams, rent furnishings, and half-burnt tapestry +strewn and scattered through with rubble from the upper walls; no! not +much, but enough! How ruthless would be the destruction, how +irreparable the ruin, when a casual clouded glance through sluggish +smoke could tell so vile a tale! + +Dismounting, we knotted our reins together and turned the horses loose. +Blown as they were, they might be trusted not to stray, nor, so +soundless was Solignac, its silence broken only by the crackle of fire +or the rasp of wood on wood as the wreckage settled down, was there +need to provide a way of escape. Jan Meert was no longer to be feared. +He had done his worst, and moved on to other mischief. + +At the threshold we paused, striving to measure that worst and failing +miserably. It was like death, and who, in the first numbness of his +sorrow, can weigh death in a balance to appraise the loss, or reckon up +the sum of its significance? The method of devastation we could +understand, but not the measure of its effects, and the thoroughness, +the grim malignancy of the method appalled me. + +It was Martin who first made the process clear. As I have said, he had +seen war, and much of what was hidden from my ignorance was plain to +his experience. + +"See, Monsieur Gaspard," said he, as we stood beneath the lintel, and +the sullen heat, acrid with the smell of smouldering wood, puffed and +eddied into our faces. He was frankly weeping now, but, as I believe, +unconsciously, his tears half grief, half rage at his helplessness. +"See with what a system and to what an end these devils went to work. +Not to burn Solignac, but to gut it beyond use was their object. Good +and well if it burned, but to destroy was the chief thought. What have +you done to Jan Meert that he should do this thing to Solignac? If +there was a debt it's paid and the reckoning is due on our side now. +They must have fired the house at a score of places; a score? two, +three score, but not to burn. Look how it is always the same; the ends +of the beams have gone, and then, pouf! down came the floor, down came +the middle walls, down came the roof, beam upon beam, rafter on rafter, +tearing the plaster and the copings with them till the very weight of +all choked the fire to a smoulder and a smoke. But what mattered that! +There is nothing left of Solignac but sheer walls, with here and there +a splintered spear of wood thrust out for the bats to swing from, and +that's what they worked for." + +"In three hours?" said I helplessly; "three hours or four; how could +that be?" + +"What Jan Meert does not know at such work no man knows. A smear of +fiery stuff here, a smear there, a touch under this beam, a touch under +that; the furnishings piled to the middle of the floor for weight, the +wood dry with the the dryness of three hundred years--but what does it +matter how he did it; there it is." + +Yes, there it was, and neither guesswork nor cry of the heart could +make the disaster less complete, or lighten the weight of the blow. +Three hundred years of tradition, three hundred years of life and +death, man's honour and woman's pureness, mother's love and child's +reverence, all ended, as it were, in a breath, ended by a brutal +rogue's undeserved, unnatural, and unprofitable violence. Such an end +to such a place was as horrible as a wolf's rending out the life of an +innocent babe. + +The heat was less than would have been supposed from such a pyramid of +smoking stuff, and, Martin leading by a foot or two, we crossed the +threshold. God! What a sight it was! Solignac was no mean house, and +there upon the flags lay not alone the roof, but the ruin of two floors +heaped in a pile whose ragged crests almost overtopped the jutting +points of the nearer joists. Beams, rafters, marble panelling, roof +tiles, rubble, rough-hewn masonry that had not seen the light for ten +generations, all flung together in an inextricable confusion that +beggars words. But whenever I hear it said that the glory of this +world perisheth, and my mind gropes for a picture of the last and awful +day of the Lord when the elements shall melt in fervent heat, back +there comes a vision of that sheer and naked shaft crammed high with +formless ruin, its blackened walls hung here or there with tattered +curtain-ends, the shredded gauds and remnants of our pride, and over +all a heavy pall of smoke whose acrid vapours stank smarting in the +nostrils. Over all? No, not quite. At times the drifted reek eddied +aside, and through the rift God's clear blue shone down. + +Martin had entered a foot or two in advance, and that position he still +held, one arm thrust out and behind in the unconscious attitude of +protection. Suddenly I felt his hand shake with a jump, and his +fingers, still unconsciously, closed on my breast, pressing me back. + +"We have seen enough, Monsieur Gaspard," said he, looking vaguely +round, "this thing hurts; why--why--stay any longer?" + +Why indeed, seeing that I was beginning to understand, and every sharp +rasp of the disordered timbers as they settled down was the galling of +a wound, every smouldering glow of the grudging fire an eye of +derision? Only because his very touch was a warning, and that day was +Gaspard Hellewyl's second day of birth. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +BABETTE + +To every man they come, sooner or later, these second days of birth in +which at last he knows himself to be truly alive and with a purpose in +the world. In some the ushering into a life of the knowledge of good +and evil comes by way of a woman's kiss, in others the pangs are as +keen as those that forerun the first gasped filling of the babe's +lungs; but whether by way of sweetness or by way of pain, by the glory +of love or by the enfibering dignity of grief, by gain or by loss it +comes to all. Nor is it a slow process. In an hour that which was not +is, and so, being at last a man, the touch of Martin's hand, the +trembling of its grip where no grip should have been, was a sinister +alert to watchfulness, and I would not go back. + +Putting his arm aside I drew level with him, and through the general +chaos searched out a something to justify his presumption, a something +that overshadowed with its terror the common exalted level of disaster. +But I missed it; search as I might, I missed it, not knowing what to +look for, and turned at last to Martin, who stood watching me. There +was a new look on his face that puzzled me, so softened was it. What +could there be left in Solignac that made for gentleness? + +"Well?" + +"It was a good end, Monsieur Gaspard, the finest end in the world; I +could ask no better myself." + +Out of the blackening ruins of my home a puff of foul vapour blew +smarting into my face. + +"A good end? That! Are you mad?" + +"Hers," he answered, "Babette's; she died for Solignac." + +"Babette? Dead? Where--?" + +I broke off, following the direction of his eyes, but without +comprehension. I had forgotten Babette, and remembered her now with a +rush of shame. From a triangular patch of gloom where a transverse +fallen beam, propped against the wall, buttressed up a mass of +wreckage, a sleeve of homespun woollen stuff was thrust. Motes of wood +ash and dust of rubble were strewn so thickly over it that I had passed +it by as only another wisp of Solignac's torn hangings. Even now it +was not until Martin shook these off and Babette's dead hand hung +limply down that I understood. + +"Poor Babette!" I whispered, "Poor faithful Babette!" + +I spoke to myself rather than to Martin, and yet he heard me above the +crackle of the pyre settling inch by inch. + +"Why would she not be faithful?" he said as roughly as if he grudged +her the remorse of my regret; "you make too much of it, Monsieur +Gaspard. This is but a little thing to have done, and for what else +was she born? We must lift her out somehow; though, but for one thing, +I would say leave her where she is." + +"Leave her here? Leave Babette in this hell of a place?" + +"Where better, with Solignac for a tomb, and the dust of the house she +loved to cover her? But we must have her out." + +Going down on his knees, he crawled across her into the hollow where +the body lay, while I stooped by her, her hand fast in mine as if she +were alive and I comforting her. From within came the sound of ripped +cloth, and Martin returned, coughing and choking with the dusty smoke. + +"A joist pinned her," he explained. "Stand aside now, Monsieur +Gaspard, and I'll carry her out." + +God be thanked for fresh air! The three greatest blessings in the +world are fresh air, pure water, and a clean life. Not even the ruin +behind us nor the dead at my feet could make stale the sweetness of the +breath that filled my lungs. A dozen steps from the door, Martin had +laid her on the grass, and for a moment we stood one on either side of +her, motionless. Then Martin went down on one knee and deliberately +began fumbling at the loose ends of the bow that knotted-in the kirtle +at the throat. Everywhere in the dress there were marks of Solignac's +disaster, powdered ash, jagged dents with frayed edges, blotches of +charcoal, smouldered holes even, but the stern hard face with the set +teeth and wide-open angry eyes was unbruised. It was only when he had +the two upper couple of tags unfastened that I guessed at his purpose +and it revolted me. + +"Leave her alone!" I cried, leaning across her to push him back. "What +does it matter how she died?" + +"It matters much," he answered. "D'you think it was for pure love and +pity that I grovelled in the heat yonder? Wait and see." + +To his unaccustomed fingers--Martin knew as little of women or women's +gear as I did, and that was nothing--the knots were hard to unravel; +but at length he had enough undone to satisfy him, and he looked up. + +"That," and he laid his hand upon a brown stain that stretched above +the ribs to the left, "is why I do it. You must see all Jan Meert's +work, Monsieur Gaspard, or how can you hope to pay all?" Loosening the +kirtle slightly, but no more than showed the withered muscles and cordy +sinews of the neck, he pushed his hand slowly, reverently beneath it. +"Aye! I thought so!" and again he looked up at me, sucking in his +breath with a gasp as we all do when we are hurt. "Not even her grey +head could save her. See here, Monsieur Gaspard!" + +Drawing the edge of the stuff aside an inch or two he showed what I +have seen many times since, but never before, the smooth straight lips +of a sword wound. In the dry heat the skin had shrunk aside, and the +red flesh looked broadly out of the cut. + +"Murdered! Babette murdered?" + +"Jan Meert's way," answered Martin, and drew back the kirtle. "It was +like this," he went on slowly. His hand still rested on the brown +stain, and his face, like my own, was bent over that of the dead woman +between us. "Even in the copse she heard the noise of the devil's work +going on, and it drew her home, for love of Solignac it drew her home. +She came back, that was her duty, being alone." He stopped, and his +hand slipped up to the face. He had never loved Babette; chiefly, I +think, because of her love for me: but now, with a strange tenderness +he smoothed the wrinkles of her withered face, and I knew it was his +repentant amends for many a hard word and harder thought. She had +loved Solignac, she had died for love of Solignac, and if there had +been strife between them it was forgiven for the sake of that love and +death. "I could not," he went on, half to himself and half, it seemed, +in humble, apologetic explanation to her. "I was not alone, and so I +could not come back. Monsieur Gaspard came first. Thou understandest, +dost thou not, thou quiet one, that Monsieur Gaspard is always first? +She came back," he resumed, looking again up at me and speaking +briskly, "came back raging! My faith! don't I know the mood well! She +found Jan Meert and his crew busy and she let loose her tongue. +Solignac has failed in wit now and then, but it never bred cowards even +in its women. Rats fight when cornered, and Babette was no rat. She +fought with what weapon she had, and it cannot hurt her now to say she +was bitter-tongued beyond all reason. Another man would have let her +rail, but not Jan Meert. That was never Jan Meert's way; he answered +her back, and there's his answer!" + +"It was a foolish thing, that coming back," said I, my brain in such a +whirl from the conflict within; rage, grief, resentment, hate, warring +to so confused a tumult that I hardly knew what I said. + +"Is love foolish? Is duty foolish?" + +"What could one, and that one a woman, what could she do?" I answered +sourly. It was not that I did not love old Babette, it was not that I +did not mourn for her, but realization was as yet far from me. + +Martin made no reply, but the reproach in his eyes smote me. Down I +went on my knees, my palms on either side the withered face. + +"Old friend, old friend, how can I pay thee? How? How?" + +"Look in her face for the answer and then look here," he said harshly, +"Pay Jan Meert. Love takes no payment for love. Pay Jan Meert." + +From the hard passionless face of the dead I looked up to the hard +passionate face of the living, and laid my hand on the wound Jan Meert +had made. + +"By God! I will!" + +As if there was no more to be said Martin rose briskly to his feet. +Babette had done Hellewyl of Solignac a last service and one, in his +opinion, worth dying for. + +"That settles it, and hey! for Ghent," he cried gaily, as if there were +no such thing as ruin or sack or death in the world, and stooping, +lifted her once more in his arms. + +It was an ugly gruesome sight, and it made me shudder, that leathern, +wrinkled, smiling face of his looking satisfaction at me over that +frowning mask of death, blind-eyed, and still staring defiance. But +Martin was as unconscious of indecorum as he was of offence. Nor was +there even cause for mourning. Why should there be? The woman having +done her duty, had fallen on sleep, and there was no more to be said. + +Still briskly he retraced his steps the way we three had come, but it +was only as he paused before the forced door that I divined his purpose. + +"Not there!" I cried; "for God's sake not there, Martin; the thought is +horrible." + +But he only stumbled on up the step. Martin was losing his youth, and +the burden in his arms weighed heavier than he would own. + +"There's neither pick nor spade; would you leave her to the wolves? +Horrible!" and again he paused, panting; "never a Hellewyl of them all, +Seigneurs though they were, had so fine a burial. Look at the smoke, +Monsieur Gaspard, and listen to the wind in the tree-tops." + +The pall had lifted, and a steady flow of grey vapour flecked with +sparks was already streaming east towards Courtray. With such a wind +abroad the charred ends still smouldering in the heart of the pyre +would yet set flying such a flag as would tell Jan Meert, even were he +ten leagues away, that his work was well done. Martin was right. +Better that than the wolves. The God who is Himself a consuming fire +might be trusted to see to His own, and that which the cold earth gives +up, flame will surely not hold back. + +With all reverence we cleared a space as near the heart of Solignac as +the heat and smoke and danger would permit. There we laid her, piling +in--still with all reverence--the torn silks and tapestries that were +the brightness of our house, the shattered spoils of raids by more than +one generation of Hellewyls, intermixed with rafters and rough timber; +beauty, glory, strength, all that was left of Solignac to round off the +red grave of almost its last servant. + +There we left her, and as we ended, there came the sudden roaring as of +a furnace springing into furious heat from a dozen centres. Flame, +fanned to sudden birth, spurted, strengthened, leaped from splintered +joist to shattered armoire, caught beams and flooring, sucked strength +from their three hundred years of dryness, licked up in an instant the +gaudy fripperies that hung like rent flags amidst the wreck, soared up, +soared outwards, and streamed in smoke-tipped spirals flapping down the +wind. Truly Martin was right; never had a Hellewyl of Solignac so +grand a funeral as we gave to old Babette. + +"It's hey for Ghent!" said Martin again, as we stood on the grass +watching the sparks fly, but with hearts less heavy than might have +been supposed. The very greatness of a catastrophe can be its own +alleviation. The spirit of a man rises within him to watch the crisis +and face it down. "Hey for Ghent! or maybe, Cologne? And the sooner +we are on the road the better. Which shall it be, Monsieur Gaspard, +burgher or Emperor?" + +"Neither," I answered; "the King and Paris." + +"Paris?" and he looked his incredulity. It was a new thing for +Monsieur Gaspard to have a will of his own. "Why to Paris?" + +"How can we two face Jan Meert and his twenty brutes?" I quoted. "We +need backing, and we'll get it from Louis of France." + +"From that old fox? From Louis the treaty-breaker? A cunning, +coldhearted, cruel--for the Lord's sake, Monsieur Gaspard, let us keep +out of his claws. When did Louis of France ever back anything but +Louis?" + +"Never, and that is why he'll back us. Listen, and see if I am as much +a fool as you think. The Dauphin marries our Margaret of Flanders. +The Dauphin's father, that cunning old fox, will desire excuses to +meddle in the affairs of Flanders; we give him one, and to gain his own +end, he helps us to gain ours." + +"What right has he to meddle with Flanders?" + +"The right of every just man to put down lawlessness, the right of The +Most Christian King to right the wrong, the right of Louis of France to +please himself--when he is strong enough! and the right of the third is +greater than the other two." + +"But he shuts himself up like a rat in a hole; no man goes near him." + +"Monsieur de Commines is the King's good friend, Monsieur de Commines +was my father's good friend, and is my cousin thrice removed. Monsieur +de Commines will open the rat hole and let me in. The one thing that +troubles me is how we are to reach Paris, scarecrows as we are and +penniless." + +"Scarecrows," answered Martin, looking ruefully at the stains and +tatters that either from fire, smoke, or the ragged edges of splintered +timber so disguised us that whether we were clad in silk or stuff, +browns or crimsons, no man could have told. That morning, even though +the tryst was only with a peasant girl, I had put on my finest +splendour, and now it was a thing of derision; "scarecrows, but not +quite penniless; wait for me, Monsieur Gaspard." + +Chuckling, he half ran, half shuffled off into the wood in the opposite +direction to that in which he had hidden Babette, and in five minutes +was back, breathless, but his face still puckered with satisfaction. + +"What came from Hellewyl goes back to Hellewyl, and where better could +it go?" said he, holding out his hands. They were open, hollowed to a +bowl, and in the hollow lay a little heap of coins to which patches of +moist earth still clung. They were mostly silver, crowns and +three-crown pieces, with here and there the red glint of a ducat. For +thirty years Martin had served Solignac, heart, head and hand, and now, +as the shadows of age darkened round him, the gains of his service +failed to cover his two palms. + +The thought of how we had taken so much and given so little smote me, +and the tears that filled my eyes were in part shame. + +"What are these, old friend?" and I put my hands behind my back. + +"Bread and meat for the road to Paris." + +"A Hellewyl of Solignac travels at his own charges." + +"'Tis the right of the King--" he began. + +"But I am no King," I cut in, "nothing but a homeless, ruined man." + +"My King," he answered. "Take them, Monsieur Gaspard; would you shame +an old friend? Your pardon, but the word is your own. Take them, of +what use are they to me? If I had died last night, they'd have lain in +the earth till some lout ploughed them up a hundred years hence." + +But we compromised. They were my debt, but he should keep them, paying +our way as we rode to Paris as friend and friend. + +Thus it was that I turned my back for the first time on Solignac, +travelling at the charges of my own servant and with no more gear in +the world than the ragged, smoke-stained suit upon my back. Brigitta? +To be frank, I had forgotten Brigitta, and Martin was too cunning a +diplomatist to remind me of her. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +PARIS IN "EIGHTY-THREE" + +Of all the virtues that adorn mankind, none is so common as the virtue +of necessity--or so little sought after. By reason of that virtue, and +because a slender purse is a great persuader to modesty, we kept by the +villages, avoiding Bethune, Arras, Montdidier and their like, though +omitting the last of these, at least, was little mortification of the +flesh, for the town had never fully recovered from its harrying in '75 +when the King took it from the Burgundians. + +For the most part, these villages were mere warty outcroppings of filth +upon the face of a fair country, some not even with a wine shop so poor +were they. But if we lay hardly, ate coarsely, and at times carried +out in the morning more than we had brought in at night, we paid +little; so that our bloodletting was where we could most spare it. +Boorish roughness we met in plenty, but no discourtesy. The poor folk +were more accustomed to being robbed than paid, and where the company +was more villainous than common we slipped our bed across the door, and +so rested in peace. + +"Wait till we reach Paris," was Martin's nightly cry, as we stayed our +hunger on sour bread and sourer wine. "Five nights more--four +nights--three nights--and the Star of Dauphiny pays for all. Such an +inn, Monsieur Gaspard! My late master, your father, gave it all his +custom. It was neither too grand nor too common, too dear nor too +cheap. My Lord Duke found amusement to tickle his greatness, and a +poor gentleman could be at his ease and no questions asked. May the +devil choke these scoundrels, but I think they've drawn the wine from +the vinegar butt by mistake." + +It was late in the afternoon when we entered Paris by the St. Denis +gate, and made our way to the Rue du Temple, off which, the first turn +to the right as one faces the river, and immediately fronting the huge +crenellated outer wall of the Temple precinct, opened the street in +which was situated Martin's famous inn. Of its gay surroundings, its +cheery brightness, its constant bubble of laughter, he had spoken so +often and so joyously that the sordid frowsiness of the Rue Neuve Saint +Martin, a crooked, ghastly byeway of blistered walls, was a dismal +surprise. So narrow was it, so filthy, so full of evil smells, that +any question as to the reception of such a pair of out-at-elbows as +ourselves vanished. The inn that could thrive upon such squalor could +not afford to be nice as to its guests. + +In my ignorance of life the natural deduction from that premise never +struck me; that the guests would be such as could not afford to be nice +as to their inn. But as we wound into an ever-increasing gloom, an +ever-growing sinister suggestiveness, a doubt arose that Martin's whole +story was a legend of his imagination. + +"Are you sure," I began, waving a hand before my face in the vain hope +of drawing a sweeter breath, "sure that my father--?" + +"I give you my word," he protested. "The Sieur Hellewyl, Monsieur de +Commines, Monsieur de Vesc--" the name attracted him, for he was +Dauphiny born--"Monsieur--Monsieur--oh! a score of them. But Paris has +changed since then, or I have." + +"Monsieur de Commines?" I repeated, "are you really sure?" + +"Certainly; Monsieur de Commines, did I not say so before? He was +little more than a boy at the time, but a bold one. I say, friend," he +shouted, stooping to peer into the black vacancy of an open door out of +which there came a burr of voices. It was significant that in the Rue +Neuve Saint Martin there were no windows on the ground floor. +"Whereabouts is the Star of Dauphiny?" + +Un the instant the rumble of talk ceased, but it was not until Martin +had repeated his question that a man came to the door, a whitefaced, +underfed fellow, whose sinewy arms were naked to the shoulders. +Without replying he leaned against the door, half within the house and +half without, eyeing us and our horses critically. + +"Does your master lodge there to-night?" he asked at last, lounging +forward to the middle of the street that he might examine us the better. + +Before Martin could answer, saying, perhaps more than was wise, I cut +in with a curt, "Yes." But his curiosity was still unsatisfied. + +"And are there many more of you?" + +"My friend, we asked a question." + +"And I another." + +"You are impertinent." + +"And you a dolt! What hedgerow bred you? Don't you see the place +might not have room for you all? Are there more of you?" + +"No." + +"Then your master has the fewer clods. How far have you ridden to-day?" + +"Come, come," I said impatiently, "that, at least, has nothing to do +with how many beds there are at an inn. Where is the Star of Dauphiny?" + +"There's no such place," he answered coolly. + +"No such place?" + +"No. Ah ha! Now you're civil, my stout clod-thumper. No such place. +Fifteen years ago it became the Star of Provence, and since then it has +been the host of heaven, but with none of the angels. Now, with the +Dauphin's marriage to his three years' baby of a wife, it is the turn +of the Flemings, and you'll find the Star of Flanders on the right hand +round the second curve of the street." + +"Then good day to you, and a civiller tongue in your head," cried +Martin, spurring Ninus forward to drive over the fellow. + +But he was too quick, and hopped for his doorway, dealing the poor +innocent brute a cruel blow on the muzzle as he passed. + +"Good day, clod," he answered. "Chut! You cannot even plough +straight. You'll need more wit to your skull than that in Paris." + +"I owe you one for that," cried Martin, as Ninus plunged, squealing. + +"Owe away! To owe and never pay is Paris fashion," he replied +laughing, and barred the door behind him, shutting himself into +darkness. + +To have hammered against that stout barrier, belted with iron as broad +as our palms, would have skinned our knuckles for nothing, so we rode +on, Martin swearing as he had not sworn since he cursed Jan Meert. Nor +did a sight of the Star of Flanders, though it was the end of the first +stage of our journey, bring sweetness to his temper, nor, indeed, to +mine either. Instead of the cheeriness, the gaiety, the flash and +sparkle of court life, there was a dingy arch in the flat of a dingy +wall and six or eight dusty, small paned windows, so veiled by heavy +gratings as to suggest groans of the prison-house rather than bubbling +laughter. But it was too late to seek other quarters, so we rode on +into the courtyard. + +Supper? Certainly. Beds? A bed, one, perhaps; were we princes of the +blood in disguise that we wanted beds apiece? Supper and a bed, yes, +but pay before you stir the horses in the morning; that's the rule of +the house. The insolence was galling, but poverty must pocket +affronts, nor, let there be ever so many, is the pouch so filled that +there is no room for another. We might have blustered, but to trim +ragged clothes with airs and graces as if they were so much gold lace +is to crown misfortune with folly, so we bore the scorn of the +groundling in silence. + +One effect it had, it put an end to Martin's insistence on obsequious +service; that rags should serve rags could only make rags ridiculous. +But even our humility refused to sup in the common room. There any +prowler of the gutters who had five sous in his pocket could drink, +game, and swear as it pleased him, which for the first two was as deep +as these same five sous, and for the last at his foul throat's loudest. + +At first the host would have hectored us. But judiciously used, a +little money can make a great noise in the world, and Martin rattled +his coins. + +"Who pays chooses," said he, withdrawing his head from the room. "Lay +for us elsewhere, landlord. When we wish to sup with mongrels in a +dog-kennel we'll tell thee." + +With a grunt the fellow turned back across the open court, round which +the inn was built, and led us to a decent, quiet, long-shaped room that +bounded the further side. It was dingy, narrow, and low-ceiled, but +empty. Two tables, end to end with a break between, and benches at +either side, filled its centre. + +"Lay here," said Martin pointing to the upper end of that nearest the +door. + +But I demurred. "No; on the second table and at the further end. It +is more private." + +"But, Monsieur Gaspard, to be near the door--" + +"Is to be near draughts. We have no one to fear in Paris." + +"In a city where they strike dumb beasts there are always rogues." + +"But not to be feared." + +"Feared? No, but to be guarded against." + +"Even so, the further from the door, the less the surprise. And what, +in all the world, have we to guard? Lay there, landlord." + +Midway through our meal of one dish came the first incursion on our +solitude. Two men, one slouched and cloaked like a brigand, entered, +and at sight of us, would have withdrawn again. But the landlord +intervened. + +"In ten minutes they are done, Monsieur," said he, a new servility +struggling with his old surliness. "We have no other room except +sleeping rooms." + +"Which would not do. Bring wine and take away that candle," he went +on, seating himself at the further end of the room in such a position +that he faced the door. His companion, obedient to a gesture, also +seated himself, but with a yard or two of space between. "Give it to +these--ah--gentlemen yonder; they are almost in darkness." + +"They've light enough to see to their mouths," he answered insolently, +"and so I'll leave it." + +"And I too much to see your face in," was the pat and no less insolent +reply, "therefore you'll take it away." + +It was the right method to deal with the fellow, for he at once bowed +with a cringe. + +"I'll fetch the wine, Monsieur; good, I suppose?" + +"If you've got it!" and he went, taking the candle with him. + +At the arbitrary limitation put upon us, Martin would have flared out +had I not restrained him, and though he laughed at the stranger's +bitter retort over the disputed light, he whispered, "It is not the +landlord's face he loves the darkness for, but his own; see how he +hides it." + +"Let him," I answered; "a thing may be honest enough, and yet better +hidden; look at our rags." + +"For them we have to thank Jan Meert." + +"And he God Almighty for his face." + +Though both were plainly dressed, I could soon tell they were not on a +par. Only one spoke, and when the wine came, though he poured some +into his glass, he drank none, but pushed the bottle impatiently on to +his neighbour as if deeper things to think of gave him a contempt for +such toys. As to the man nearest us, he took both the wine and the +touch of arrogance as a matter of course, and swallowed each with a +relish as men do both gifts and slights of the great. + +Thus we sat till the ten minutes were up and we had finished our meal +but not our wine. Then, as the host came bustling up to rout us out I +bade Martin softly leave him to me. + +"Now that you've eaten," said he, "perhaps the other room will be nice +enough for your lordships' nobility." + +"This is nice enough for want of better," I answered; "but it is dull; +bring us the dice." + +"Dice elsewhere; this room is bespoke." + +"Aye, by us." + +"But these gentlemen--" + +"Came last." + +The man in the cloak settled the dispute. + +"Let them stay," he cried out. "Messieurs, an end of the room for you, +and an end for us. Will that content you?" + +"If the other room were not a doghole----" I began. + +But he interrupted me with an outbreak of the same supercilious +arrogance, saying curtly: + +"Have I not said it was settled? If I am content, surely you may be," +and fell again silent. + +"What did I say?" whispered Martin, rubbing his hands that he had at +last found confirmation for his tales, "a duke or a simple gentleman, +the Sieur Hellewyl, Monsieur de Commines, Monsieur de Vesc; eh, +Monsieur Gaspard?" + +It was while we were still playing at playing with the dice that the +second interruption came. With much politeness but yet more curiosity +three further guests were ushered in, and again two of them were hooded +like conspirators, but this time with a difference--they were women. +Their age or figures no man could guess, so hidden were they, but one +was tall, and bore herself with a carriage that suggested lissom +activity. The third of their party was as frankly revealed as they +were frankly disguised; a sinewy broad-shouldered man, with Soldier +written largely on him from head to heel in characters that spoke +louder than the weapons at hip and thigh. + +The three stood in silence together until--some trivial order having +been given and obeyed--the door shut out the landlord's inquisition. +Then, as if by common consent, the smaller woman with their guard--for +in that capacity he attended them there could be no doubt--moved round +the head of the table to where was an open fireplace set in a deep +alcove midway down the wall opposite the door. The humbler of the two +first comers joined them there, but stood apart, leaving his leader and +the taller of the women in comparative isolation at the further end of +the room. + +At her entrance he had risen, bowing with the careless courtesy of a +stranger and receiving in return as negligent an acknowledgment; but +though my curiosity had been stirred like that of the landlord, it was +her first word that fairly aroused it. + +"Narbonne," said he. + +"Argenton," was the answer. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +THE MUSE IN DRAGGLED SKIRTS + +Argenton! That was strange, so strange that I started on my stool at +the end of the table, and half rose. Of course they were passwords, +but why Argenton? Argenton was the lordship of Monsieur de Commines, +to whom I looked for protection; why Argenton? + +Bowing again, but with a warmer courtesy, he motioned her to take his +place at the inner side of the table while he, drawing the end of stool +a foot or two back towards the corner, sat, half-concealed by her +shrouded bulk. + +"Mademoiselle will excuse me uncovering?" he said, touching his +slouched hat, "and will also remember we are not alone." + +Turning, she glanced down at us as we sat in the light of our one +guttering candle. It was my first glimpse of her face, but so deep was +her hood I saw no more than an oval of pallor in the darkness of its +cavity. + +"I think," said she contemptuously, with a glance at the scattered +group in the alcove, "we could soon be alone if Monseigneur thought it +desirable." + +Of the hint and the contempt I alike took no notice, of the latter +because of the former; the threat that underlay it fixed me to my seat. +To have moved then, was to move upon compulsion. But as we continued +our play with the dice as if the words had never been said, her +companion interposed hastily. + +"No, no. I confess I thought of that before you came. But brawling +would serve neither you nor me, no, nor those who--who--trust us." + +"That there is trust between us, Monseigneur, I am glad to know," she +answered, "for as yet, I have not seen much of it--on one side." + +So far they had spoken with no pretence at concealment, their object, I +surmised, being to disabuse us of all suspicion of deep matters. But +now their voices fell to a murmur, over which the click of the dice on +the wood of the table sounded to my tense nerves like a clash of +swords. Let it be remembered that I was but a country lad. All this +was new to me, and the pricking threat of danger, the secrecy, the very +air of Paris itself, fired my blood. + +And so the minutes passed; the girl--I was sure she was a girl, so +sweet was her voice, so gentle, and with a stirring music in it that +was strange to me in women's voices. Since then I have heard a like +music throbbing from a bird's song in the pure blue of a summer's noon, +and been thrilled by it as I was then; yes, I was sure it was a girl. + +The girl it was who spoke most, spoke with a varying mood that charmed +and angered me; even when mechanically flinging the dice I feigned not +to see the eagerness, the insistence, the passion, the pleading whose +murmured words fell like tears. What right had that stolid clod--clod +was what Paris had called us in her streets, and the name stuck--what +right had he to be so coldly unmoved, so silent, that he only answered +her by a word or a gesture of denial? But she would take no denial, +and with the brave spirit of a good woman returned to her pleading, +pushing the petition home urgently, even strengthening her arguments by +two outstretched arms, and a hand upon his shoulder. How did I know +all that? Ah! every clod on which the sun strikes has a soul within +it, and so I knew. + +Yet what did he answer? + +"All must be as the King wills," said he, his words roughening with +distinctness as if he were not altogether sorry to be overheard. "All +as the King wills, remember that, Mademoiselle. He is the potter, I +the clay; he is everything, I nothing--nothing." + +"Nothing!" she echoed, her voice rising level with his own, "why! all +France knows that you are the King in everything but name. What you +say to-day, Louis says to-morrow; why deny it? Let us come to the bare +truth. We desire peace, desire it with all our heart, and you say you +will do nothing. Is that to be your answer, Monseigneur?" + +"Not that I will do nothing, but that I am nothing. If all France +thinks it knows better, then all France is a fool. I sleep in his +chamber, I tend him, I wait upon him, I valet him--I think no shame of +that; he is the greatest King and wisest man in Christendom--I do these +things, but--I am nothing. Or," he went on, after a pause, "if I am +something--anything, it is because I am careful to be nothing. By a +breath he undoes me, and I would not have it different. France grows +great by the greatness of its Kings, and if France falls, it will be +because the King has let the shadow of the people fall upon the throne." + +"Then--is it ruin?" I do not think she meant the words to be heard, +but she was shaken out of herself, and spoke louder than she knew. +"Must a great house fail that greatness may grow yet a little greater? +And so little greater, so very little! Much to us, Monseigneur, ah! +you can never guess how much, but so little to France. Is that your +answer, ruin, ruin, ruin?" + +A silence fell, and I will not deny that though I still fingered the +dice my breath was held to catch the reply. It came slowly, gravely, +spoken as a man speaks who knows his own weight, and the weight his +words cannot help but carry. + +"I, too, desire peace, but all is as the King wills." + +Whether she would have urged him afresh I do not know, but opportunity +was wanting. All through supper, and afterward, sounds of carousals +had come across the courtyard from the common room, hoarse bursts of +song, hoarser laughter, roared out oaths, and the occasional scuffle of +feet stamping on the sanded floor. Then came a time of quiet, and had +I but known my Paris better I would have guessed that then was the time +of danger. While Paris is noisy, Paris, by a paradox, is safe and +tranquil; when Paris thinks, and speaks under its breath, then Paris is +dangerous. + +But of the many wild beasts that couch in France, Paris was the one of +which I knew the least, and when I thought the night drew to peace, +Paris was already on the spring. A door opened more quietly than a +door is commonly opened with a half-drunk reveller's hand upon the +latch; from the courtyard a voice or two spoke out, spoke shortly and +without clamour. Then, unheralded by warning, came the third +interruption of the night. Both wings of the door were flung open, and +in the space a figure showed itself, which, apart from its sudden +appearance, must still have drawn our eyes. + +It was a man so beragged, and so variously bepatched as to be +ridiculous, were it not that aged poverty is always pathetic. Every +stuff of the looms had gone to his clothing, every shade of the dyer, +faded and weatherstained, peeped and twinkled in the mendings of his +tatters. But the eye soon shifted from these frank advertisements of +starved penury, and wandering to his face, stayed there, fixed by a +fascination that defies analysis. Let a soul but look out of window, +and whether it be naked Priapus plastered to the crown with filth, or +Saint Francis of the birds--are there not many gods in the Olympus of +the mind?--they who see it must needs look back, and never heed what +are the drapings of flesh through which it peers. + +From under a dirty linen cap, from which, in a derision of gaiety, +drooped a draggled red feather, three or four grey locks strayed across +a noble forehead till they met and thickened a line of delicate brows. +The nose was thin, hooked, and cruel, pinched in at the nostrils to a +fixed sneer; the cheeks lean and smooth, but covered with a network of +fine wrinkles branching from below the eyes. Over a loose, full-lipped +mouth, red, sensuous, and smiling, fell an almost white moustache, +caught up into an audacious curve at the ends; the chin was bearded by +a straggle of thin silver hair drawn to a point. + +But, more than all the rest, the eyes marked him for a man of brains, +so full were they, so lustrous, and yet so piercing; age might whiten +him, shrivel him; an evil life, hard lived, might shake his nerve, but +the eyes and the brain and the soul of the man bated no jot of their +strength. Behind him--strangely like, and yet strangely +unakin--tiptoeing or stooping low to see the better, was such a +gathering of rabble as a casting of nets will draw from the denser, +fouler slums of any great city. + +Laying a long-fingered, delicate, much-soiled hand upon his breast, he +bowed satirically. + +"Mesdames and Messieurs, and you, the disguised princes of the blood in +the dark yonder, you sweepings of the hedgerows who cannot eat in the +presence of men more like Almighty God in intelligence than yourselves, +you are welcome every one of you. We looked for tribute from two of +earth's scum," he went on, posing himself negligently, one foot +advanced, a fist doubled on a hip, the fingers of the other playing +with his straggled beard point, "and lo! there are seven great and +small; therefore, as seven is to two, and the product to the emptiness +of our pockets, so is our welcome." + +By this time all, whether within the room, or without, were on their +feet, but the seven of which he spoke so gibingly were still in three +groups. But he who called himself Narbonne was naturally the spokesman +of us all and he it was who answered. + +"Take your jest elsewhere, and your filthy crew with it," he said +coldly. "Piff! your very smell is an offence." + +But the other never stirred, nor did the smile leave his face; only his +eyes narrowed, and his full mouth grew hard, the lips tightening till +the stumps showed in the gums. + +"'Tis the oil of the student," he answered suavely; "the literary +flavour as we in Paris know it, or maybe, your nostrils are +unaccustomed to the sweet-smelling flowers of Parnassus? To some poor +souls the perfume of poesy is as strange as the odour of sanctity. +They have my pity!" + +"Again, I tell you, take your jest elsewhere." + +"Jest! My friend, you cannot have lived in courts. Now, I know court +life as I know my barren pouch. Jest? Does our brother Louis jest +when he knocks at the door of high and low and says, Pay me my taxes? +His is a door of wood, mine that yet harder, more tightly fitting door, +the human heart! You do not understand? Listen then! Francis the +First, King of Divine Song, Prince of all Poets, Elder Brother to the +Nine Muses and Father of the Lord knows what, levies tribute, and by +God! Messieurs and Mesdames, he'll see it paid! These," and he +pointed, thumb across shoulder, to the tattered slum bullies, thieves, +cut-throats, and night-walkers, who had pushed him forward almost to +the edge of the table, "these are our honourable tax-collectors, lambs +almost as gentle as our brother Louis' own. Do you pay, Messieurs, or +must the law take its course?" + +From his place in the alcove, he who had been the women's attendant +stepped forward. + +"Let me deal with the rabble, Monseigneur." + +"Silence, sir, know your place--and mine," he added significantly. +Then, turning to the fellow across the table he went on sternly, "and +you, leave the King's name out of your mummery, or your fool's wit may +not save your neck." + +"I have looked through a halter ere now, and come away neither sadder +nor wiser than you see me. God forbid I should ever be one or other. +I have even given my Testament to the world, a thing few men do and +live. Alas! How the world changes. But that is past and the bird +sings no longer. + + _Ou sont les gratieux gallards + Que je suy voye au temps jadis, + Si bien chantans, si bien parlans, + Si plaisans en faicts et en dicts?_ + +Hung, I sadly fear, hung, every mother's son of them! But the bird +still sits upon the bough, and if in age it sings less, still needs +must that it fills its craw, so, come, sir, pay up! Like my brother +Louis, I try smooth means first, but, also like my brother Louis, I do +not stop there; and, again like my brother Louis, when I squeeze I +squeeze hard. + + _Necessité fait gars mesprendre, + Et faim saillir le loup des boys,_ + + +"François, the one and only King of Song, has spoken!" + +"François? What? Art thou that François Villon?" + +The fellow laughed as he bowed with a flourish. + +"Monsieur has said it!" + +"François Villon? And not hanged yet?" + +Again he laughed, but this time without merriment; the gibe and the +contempt were alike bitter. + +"Again Monsieur has said it! Twice, no, when I come to think of it, +thrice Montfauçon has sighed for me, and yet I live. By my faith! I +begin to think I shall die in my bed if I do not first starve in the +streets!" + +"François Villon----" + +"I have said it, I have said it; King François Villon, François the +first, François the last, François Villon, the lover of all the Muses +and every pretty woman in the world! And now that you know me, +Monsieur, your purse, that François Villon the man and his tax +collectors may drink and bless you. What? You will not? Ah, be +persuaded, be gently persuaded, what is a purse or two, a handful of +beggarly coins, compared with--Mademoiselle is with you, is she not? +Then God forbid that I should finish the comparison. As a poet I hate +ugly realities, as a man I love pretty women, and François Villon the +man--Alas! we all have our passions, our frailties, you understand; eh? +Look at us, we can be rough at times, just as our brother Louis can, +and not having seen Mademoiselle's face I do not know if it is worth +our while to quarrel. One peep, Mademoiselle, one little glimpse for +the poet; the man, whose delights are not altogether pleasures of the +mind, can come later if it is worth his while; one look, just one," and +leaning across the narrow table he stretched out a long arm as if to +twitch her hood aside. + +"_Mon Dieu_! Monseigneur," she cried, not shrinking back, but holding +herself erect just out of reach of the foul and twitching fingertips. +"Is there no one to kill this infamous wretch?" + +In a flash her neighbour's sword was out, and with its point at +Villon's throat he cried; + +"Another inch, and she shall see it done!" + +To do him justice, Villon never flinched, but stood there silent, rigid +as a statue, his loose lips parted in an evil smile, his eyes searching +the shaded faces of the two fronting him. But if he held his peace, +those about him did not. Look on us! he had said, and said wisely. It +was a frank warning, a cynical invitation to repulsion and disgust. +From noisome cellars and crazy garrets, down rotting stairways, by +crooked sunless lanes, from thieves' dens and nameless stews of vice +where neither law, honour, or sweetness of life ever went, they had +come, these garbage rats of the sewers of Paris, of which he said, Look +on us! And the brand of their lives was red on them, as if stamped by +the hangman's iron. Weasel face, rat face, wolf face; look on us! +human brutes every one. And like brutes they bore themselves, +growling, snarling, spitting; their teeth bared to bite. + +Little by little they had pressed in after Villon, little by little +they had spread themselves through the room, but mostly at the upper +end, guessing that the sweetest pickings lay there, and in a herd, as +if they drew a natural brute courage from the feel and jostle of +numbers. Never for an instant were they still, but shifted restlessly +like wolves in a cage; never for an instant were they silent, and when +the chief brute of them all, he of the God-given brain, laid upon the +altar of service to the devil, said, Look on us! a guttural chorus rose +that gave point and barb to the menace. They knew the power of evil +and gloried in it. Arms were shaken in the air, arms in sleeves, arms +in tatters, arms bare, women's arms, men's arms, and in every fist was +a weapon, a knife, a cleaver, a bludgeon, anything that could maim or +bruise, even cobble stones torn from the streets were flourished above +shock heads, the slime of the kennel still wet upon them. + +With the blade at Villon's throat the chorus swelled to a roar, and I +was passing up behind Martin's back, my own sword half drawn, when he +stopped me. + +"No, no, Monsieur Gaspard," he whispered, clinging to my sleeve as he +had clung to Roland's bridle the day Solignac was burned. "Let them +settle it among themselves; our way is by the window opposite. What +have we to do with other men's brawls. Once in the courtyard and----" +He stopped short and swung round on his heel. "_Dame_! there is the +fellow who struck Ninus across the muzzle! With you, Monseigneur, with +you! A Hellewyl! a Hellewyl! Only for heaven's sake, let the women +stand back." And before I could follow his change of mood he had flung +our candle into a corner and was leaning across the table side by side +with him I have called Monsieur Narbonne. "We pay no debts in Paris, +do we not?" he cried, jerking a knee on to the table with his left hand +while he lunged with the right, "My faith! but we do, we of Flanders!" +and his blade went home. + +It was first blood for us. From behind Villon was drawn back out of +reach of the point at his throat, over went the table between +us--Martin saving himself by a backward leap--and what happened +thereafter I cannot tell. Twice I was hurt; once by a stone on the +shoulder, and once by a stab instinctively parried in the dark by my +left arm. But the putting out of the light saved us. Through the +windows a straggle of moonbeams fell on the yelling, rascally mob, but +left us in gloom. If they were outlines we were shadows, so like the +fuller darkness as to be hardly visible, and the shadows had the +advantage. Of two things the room seemed full; noise, the din of +cursing voices, shuffling feet, groans, obscenities, and a faint play +of light like the flight of dull fireflies as the moon caught the +twisting flats of steel. + +Then the end came, but from without, not from within; a knocking at the +inn door that grew louder and louder, and as it grew the babel within +sobered. The kennel crew knew its meaning better than we. By ones and +twos, and then in a swarm, the mob fled. François the First and Last, +King of Song, and High Priest of all the rest of his blatancy, heard +Montfauçon call for the fourth time, and had no heart to dance upon +nothing to the music of that sinister voice. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +THE SHREWDEST BRAIN IN FRANCE + +By the provost's lantern we were able to count losses. Martin had a +cut upon the forehead which, dribbling down by the corner of his mouth, +gave him a pitiful appearance, but meant little. The thickness of his +skull, he said, saved him. Monsieur Narbonne's companion had his own +wounds to lament, and Mademoiselle's guard was cursing softly in a +language I did not understand over a palm slashed in warding off a +two-edged dagger. If it was French he spoke, it was no French that I +had ever heard. Monseigneur was unhurt, and my own bruises were no +worse than three or four days would see cured. + +Beyond the table the damage was not much greater. Of the three on the +floor, and the two afterwards found in the court, only he who had +received Martin's first thrust had forestalled the hangman. For the +rest, _Toute beste garde sa pel_, had been Villon's motto, and his +fellow rabble had echoed it. + +At first it seemed as if we would join the other four upon the gallows, +and so settle our quarrel with equal honours. But drawing the provost +aside, Monseigneur showed him some token which turned the midnight of +his face to a smiling noon, and if we had but expressed the wish, he +would have dangled his four prisoners from the newly-painted sign there +and then. "In any case it is but three days' delay," said he +cheerfully, "and if the first loiters but a little, all five can travel +home together." + +Next he was anxious to see Monseigneur safe to his lodgings, but was +met by a firm refusal. + +"I know my Paris. In the open street so large a party is safe. +These," and he paused, looking doubtfully at us, nor, in the faint +yellow light of the smoky lantern was our appearance prepossessing, +"these--um--gentlemen had better join my friends." + +"So, so!" And in his zeal that the extreme justice of the law might +not be cheated three days later, even by such pitiful wretches as we, +the provost caught Martin by the arm. "Monseigneur does not know +these--um--gentlemen?" + +Before either Monseigneur or I could answer, Martin cut in, the ominous +grip of the sleeve quickening his tongue, and the seeming trivial +interference bore its fruit later on. + +"We are Gaspard Hellewyl of Solignac in Flanders, and his servant," +said he, shaking off the persuasive hand. + +The thiefcatcher promptly replaced it. + +"That is for Monseigneur to say, not you--Do you know these men, my +lord?" + +The answer and the action that foreran it startled me. Taking the +lantern from the provost's hand, Monseigneur, still keeping himself +completely in shadow, threw the light brightly on to Martin's face. + +"Yes," he said slowly, "I know Hellewyl of Solignac in Flanders, but--" +he stopped. + +"I am--" began Martin, only to be checked by a wave of Monseigneur's +unoccupied hand. + +"That will keep," he said curtly. "For the present it is enough that I +know and vouch for Hellewyl of Solignac. You have horses? Get them, +then; I give you ten minutes. Mademoiselle," and he turned to the +hooded woman who, with her companion, had remained in the shelter of +the alcove throughout the _melée_. How she had borne herself I could +only guess, for her face was still hidden, but she had neither uttered +cry nor hampered us in any way, "this is a lesson, a book without +words, and a child may read the pictures. I desire peace, and war is +forced upon me." + +What she answered I do not know. He had such a curt, masterful way +with him that when he said, I give you ten minutes, self-interest +advised, Take eight or less. There was not even time to ask ourselves, +Who is this that knows Hellewyl of Solignac here in Paris? That it was +Monsieur de Commines himself we never guessed. I, for I had never met +him, nor had Martin seen him for nineteen years, while he was still a +lad in the service of Charles the Bold, and then not often. + +Nor was it so strange that we should meet as we did. Martin had only +told the truth when he said the Star of Dauphiny had been a rendezvous +in the old days, and now, when Monsieur de Commines had need of a +trysting place where all might go without remark, the memory of his +youthful experience had come back to him. Of the changes for the worse +twenty years had in the inn worked he knew as little as Martin. + +It was a procession of two and two, headed by Monseigneur's companion, +that presently turned westward down the Rue Neuve Saint Martin. +Mademoiselle's guard and woman attendant went next, then Monsieur de +Commines and Mademoiselle, Martin and I bringing up the rear, the only +mounted members of the party. We men had our swords drawn, and all +kept the middle of the streets. These were mostly dark and empty, +ill-lit by a cloudy half-moon. When a band of night-prowlers met us, +our numbers were passport enough, and they slunk away into the gloom of +a side lane. If up these we heard the noise of a scuffle, a cry, a +clash, a blasphemy, even an appeal for help, we marched on as if we had +not heard; murder and theft were the common events of the night, and +the weak must pay the penalty of their weakness. With women to guard +we did not divide our party, and to have penetrated into the unlit ways +was to court destruction. In the midst of most open spaces bonfires +blazed, round which the watch gathered, and across certain streets +chains were drawn to break the rush of the mob in times of disaffection. + +During their long tramp, those immediately in front of us spoke little. +To avoid the offal flung on the streets and the holes half filled with +slime strained all their attention in the dim light. But as we paused +where the Rue des Poulies joins the Rue Saint Honoré, I heard Monsieur +de Commines say: + +"Is it wise, so near the Louvre?" + +"The nearer the church, the further from grace, Monseigneur," she +answered bitterly, "and I suppose I may adapt the saying to The nearer +the foe, the farther from danger. Besides, who knows we are in Paris?" + +"Few things pass in Paris that my master does not know; he has eyes at +the end of the earth," was the reply as we turned down to the left. + +But only a little way. Opposite a darkened house, a few steps down the +Rue des Poulies, we again halted, and as Monseigneur bent over +Mademoiselle's hand in farewell, she held him fast. + +"Is it ruin, truly ruin?" she said, the tears trembling in her voice. +"Oh, Monseigneur, Monseigneur, can you not give us some hope? So much +to us, so little to France; give us some hope to live upon, +Monseigneur, for the love of God!" + +Monsieur de Commines made no attempt to withdraw his hand, nor, in his +place, would I. But his voice had a cheery ring through its gravity as +he answered-- + +"Take comfort, Mademoiselle, take comfort. Though all must be as the +King wills, two things fight for you; I desire peace, and time is on +your side." + +"Ah!" she replied, still bitterly, "that is cold comfort, cold +as--as--the love of Louis." Then her voice sharpened as if she had +caught a meaning in his tone which the bare words failed to suggest; or +it may be a pressure of the hand had passed in the darkness; had I been +in his place, I think it would, "unless, indeed, Monseigneur, you have +some plan in your head, you, who are so shrewd, so far of sight, the +cleverest, clearest brain in France, ah, then--then there would be +hope." + +This time he dropped her hand as if its touch scorched him. + +"A plan? Who am I to have plans, Mademoiselle? No, no, not a plan, +hardly that, hardly that. Farewell, Mademoiselle, farewell, Madame; my +last word is this, forget Paris and the Star of Flanders. Come, +gentlemen, our way lies forward," and he walked briskly on towards the +river just showing its silver between the darkness of the walls on +either hand, leaving us to follow. + +But a few steps further on, the door having closed behind the women, he +turned and called sharply, + +"Monsieur Hellewyl, here, if you please. No, no," he went on, as I +drew up to his side, "not you, but that weasel-faced fellow who calls +himself Gaspard Hellewyl of Solignac in Flanders. It is he I want." + +"But I am Gaspard Hellewyl of Solignac." + +"Thou? Then how came he to call himself Hellewyl?" + +"That was your misapprehension, Monseigneur. He is my--what shall I +say?" and I laughed a little bitterly, a little forlornly, "my squire, +my servant, my retinue, the last friend left to the last Hellewyl +unless Monsieur de Commines can help me. You cut him short in his +explanation." + +"A misapprehension?" he repeated. "My word for it, young gentleman, +but you rubbed shoulders with the gibbet for that misapprehension. If +I had not been a trifle in your debt I would have left you to the +provost's mercies for what I took to be an impudent lie. I knew +Hellewyl of Solignac of old, but you, who are you?" + +"Gaspard Hellewyl, son to Philip Hellewyl who was in Paris nineteen +years ago, and died in 'sixty five.'" + +"Turn your face to the light. In these unsettled times we must run no +risks. Yes, the age fits, and you have a look of Philip. I took you +for a pair of night-hawks, and that such sorry clothing bestrode such +well-bred beasts strengthened the thought." Long before this we had +walked slowly onward, still in the direction of the river, I by his +side, with Roland's bridle in one hand. "But the story of the +incongruity can wait," he went on; "Monsieur de Commines? What claim +have you on him?" + +"He was my father's friend----" + +"Nineteen years ago!" he interrupted cynically. "In an age of short +memories have you no claim more modern?" + +"He is a far-off cousin." + +"A relationship Monsieur de Commines has apparently never remembered or +recognised; anything more plausible than a German cousinship?" + +I shook my head. + +"Yes," and he laid a hand on my shoulder, pressing it warmly, "I know +better. You have five claims, one dead, and four with three days' life +in them. I am Philip de Commines." + +"Monsieur de Commines? The Prince de Talmont?" + +"The same, and in all sincerity let me add, at your service. But we +can talk of that later. Do you know your whereabouts? No, how could +you! This is the Louvre, and our lodging for to-night." + +Monsieur de Commines! The Louvre! I could only stare. As we talked +we had walked on, to the right by the Rue du Petit Bourbon, to the left +down the Rue d'Hosterische, bordered on the one side by a wide fosse +beyond which rose a palace of disenchantment. The Louvre! When one +spoke of the Louvre I had imagined I know not what, but a vague glory +fired the fancy. The Louvre! These frowning walls of dirty grey were +a prison house, these little pierced windows the shot-holes of a +threatened fortress, that rounded donjon in the centre the King's +clenched fist menacing Paris, those pointed towers at the corners--But +Monseigneur cut the catalogue short; we were already at the moat. + +Late though it was, the drawbridge was lowered, a guard of three +standing at the hither end. To these Monsieur de Commines gave the +password, and we crossed to a small postern that pierced the walls to +the right of the sunk gateway. Through this he led us. + +"You will come with me, Monsieur Hellewyl. Morlaix will see after--is +it Martin you call him? Only, remember this, all three. You heard my +farewell to Mademoiselle? Take it to yourselves, and forget the Star +of Flanders. To-night I have been on the King's business, and Louis +has but one cure for loose tongues. I ask no promises, your risk is my +best assurance." + +Some men would have said "your honour," but not Monsieur de Commines; +he had lived long at courts and preferred to rest his claim on the +surest foundation. + +It was not until my wounds were dressed, and garments of I know not +whose ownership provided in place of my mired rags, that Monsieur de +Commines--we being in the privacy of his own suite of rooms--asked for +my story. Nor did he interrupt me in its telling, but sat like a +statue, his face turned up to the painted ceiling. The failure of our +fortunes, the burning of Solignac, the murder of old Babette, moved him +no more than if a stranger had bidden him good day. But as I ended he +lowered his eyes, looking at me keenly but not unkindly. + +"And why do you come to Paris?" + +My answer was as curt as the question. + +"To move Monsieur de Commines to move the King to give me justice on +Jan Meert." + +"I might as well hope to move the Louvre to carry you to Plessis les +Tours--unless the King willed to be moved. And on Jan Meert!" a little +grim smile dashed with a tolerant contempt, broke over his lips; "a +Hollander, eh?" + +"You know him, Monseigneur, you know him!" I cried impetuously, moved +less by the words than by the look on his face, "Oh, then, it will be +easy." + +"I know many things," he answered, the smile deepening. "I know this, +my friend; you are very innocent. Did it never strike you that the +King of France has many agents--no, agents is too strong a word, it +implies a kind of intimacy, a private confidence,--call them tools?" + +"Agents? Tools? Monseigneur, Monseigneur, what commerce can a King of +France have with a Jan Meert?" + +"Commerce? Pish! this time it is you who use too strong a word. +Monsieur Hellewyl, do you know how kingdoms are built? how varied, how +complex, yes, and at times how opposite, the elements of construction? +Loyalty at home, treason abroad, a bribe to avarice, a threat to +cowardice, flattery to pride, men's blood, tears of women, babes made +fatherless, the wisdom of a Louis, the rashness of a Charles, the I +would but I dare not of a Maximilian, the brutishness of a Jan Meert." + +"The Most Christian King and Jan Meert! Oh! Monseigneur, the +conjunction is impossible, the thought is too contemptible." + +Commines' face darkened as he leaned towards me, his arms resting on +his knees. + +"Learn to guard your tongue, Monsieur, when you speak of the greatest +monarch now upon earth. How can you, a green and weedy sapling out of +a Flanders hedge, judge the oak of the forest? Is a gardener unclean +because he raises a flower of nobility and strength from the +outscourings of a stable?" + +But the wound to my hopes galled me, and I was obstinate. + +"I do not see the King's gain in such an honourable partnership." + +"I will tell you. But first, why should the King do justice for you on +Jan Meert?" + +"It might give him a hold on Flanders." + +"You must have a great mind, friend Gaspard, for you and the King +thought alike, only he before the event, and you after. Anarchy in +Flanders creates a need for the strong hand of a better government, and +so--Jan Meert!" + +"Then Monseigneur," said I helplessly, "my quest is ended before it is +well begun." + +But Monsieur de Commines shook his head. The sudden sternness that had +flashed into his voice had passed away, and he was once more the friend +and patron. + +"You go too fast. Never try to take all your ditches at one stride. +Some tools are only used once and then flung aside, others of their +kind being never far to seek. There are many Jan Meerts in the world. +As I said before I say again, All is as the King wills. What is your +plan? Except Monsieur de Beaujeu, the officers of state, and myself, +the King sees no gentlemen. That is his humour. Are you very proud, +Monsieur Hellewyl?" + +"Not too proud to serve--" + +"The King?" + +"Myself, Monseigneur," I retorted, for I had caught his meaning. He +laughed and nodded. + +"Good, I see you have learned your lesson. There are times when a man +must stoop that he may rise. That will suit the King's humour. I will +be frank with you. He spends his time raising men up and casting them +down again, that France may understand her master's life is still +strong in him. He loves new faces, but soon tires or grows doubtful. +There lies your opportunity. To have a gentleman of ten generations +serve him as a servant will please him. Before he tires, or grows +doubtful of your fidelity, your chance may come." + +"To move him to justice?" + +"No, no; I said you were very innocent. To earn your wages: Jan +Meert's life in your hand, a new Solignac on the ashes of the old, your +lost lands restored." + +"Large wages, Monseigneur," said I, drawing in a breath, and catching +something of the spirit of hope throbbing high in his words, "almost +too large to dream of receiving, except in a dream." + +"Pish! Now you are modest! When the King gives, he gives royally, +only, remember this, large wages mean great service. If the pay is to +be earned, the task will match the pay. Are you afraid?" + +"God helping me, Monseigneur, no!" + +"Just so," answered he, drily, "God helping you. It is a help most men +need who wade in King's waters," and sat looking at me in deep thought. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +THE DOORS OF THE LOUVRE ONLY OPEN INWARDS + +I have always been uncertain whether or not the task, as he phrased it, +which ultimately became mine, was already taking form in Monsieur de +Commines' mind. His attitude of incisive contemplation gave colour to +the supposition. But, on the other hand, it was never quite clear with +whom the idea truly originated: not, I am convinced with Monseigneur in +its final shape. When questioned, Monsieur de Commines always took +shelter behind his favourite formula, All was as the King willed. In a +sense, that, no doubt, was the case, especially in my last +instructions, but from much that happened when my stewardship was +accounted for I have always believed that Monseigneur admitted a +liability to his conscience. If that were so, then, let me say, he +discharged that liability to its last shadow of a claim, discharged it +generously, fully, without reserve, and at a time when he had much need +to give his whole thought to his own danger. + +But, interesting as a man's affairs are to himself--and there is +nothing he loves better to talk about than What I have done, What I am +doing, and What I shall do to-morrow--there was a curtness in his last +words that warned me off to other subjects. + +"Shall we see Mademoiselle again?" + +"Mademoiselle?" Into Monsieur de Commines eyes there crept a look a +uncomprehending but tolerant amusement. "Alas! I have reached the age +when Mademoiselles cease to interest. But with youth it is different, +and youth, as usual, is always right. If she has a fortune she may put +a roof on Solignac sooner than the King will, and at a less risk. I +have known many a broken house patched-up by a woman's hand, slender +and white though it is. Has she a fortune, my friend, and--who is +Mademoiselle?" + +"Oh! Monseigneur, I have been indiscreet." + +"Young and yet indiscreet, oh! no, no! Besides, indiscretion is the +venial offence of lovers. If it were not so long since I had kissed a +maid I would almost say it is their privilege. But you see, I am ten +years married, and have forgotten. If Mademoiselle is satisfied, why +should I complain? Indeed, I would almost doubt that a man were a true +lover, and had veins aglow with the dear fires of Venus, if he were not +discreetly indiscreet at times. It has the sanction of great +antiquity, for it dates from the garden of Eden. Adam, I am sure, was +indiscreet--he spoke to the lady without an introduction. Or perhaps +the Devil acted as Master of Ceremonies? What do you think? That also +would be a precedent, and one followed many a million time since then. +The Lord God threw Adam into a sleep, and the Devil waked him, eh? To +this day, sleep is the greatest gift of God,--blessed be sleep!--and +waking, at times, is the very devil; have you not found it so yourself?" + +"Oh Monseigneur," I cried again, deeply hurt by his jeering banter with +its pretended misapprehension. "I repeat, I have been indiscreet. I +am in the wrong." + +"And being there, Monsieur Hellewyl, you are where no gentleman should +ever put himself." + +I shrugged my shoulders. For a man who knew the world so well Monsieur +de Commines was going the wrong way about gaining his end. + +"To put myself right, then, I had best answer my own question; I shall +see Mademoiselle--to-morrow." + +He only bowed, waited a second or two, then, saying carelessly that the +hour was late, called a lackey to show me my quarters for the night, +and we parted with constraint. Yes, Monsieur de Commines' lesson had +gone too far. I do not say it was not deserved, but youth loves to +think itself above laughter, and few things bite deeper through its +sensitive skin than does a barbed jest. That I was not only a fool, +but an ungrateful fool, I am now the first to admit. But a wound to +self-esteem has this quality, it blinds as well as galls and I could +see no farther than my temper. + +As I leaned out of the narrow window that overlooked the river, my +indignation was too hot to be cooled by the night air, my irritation +too raw to be soothed by the beauty or strangeness of the scene. And +yet, to a man fresh from the outskirts of a Flanders wood, how much +there was of beauty and strangeness. + +Underneath me, beyond the fosse, lay the garden, bordered on either +side by the thin stream of the water that fed the moat; beyond that +swept the river, broad and full and a-swirl with strength. Here it +gloomed to blackness, there it flashed bright and smooth as steel where +the moon caught the soundless slope of the currents as they met below +Ile Notre Dame. To the left the Tour de Nesle rose on the further +bank, black and sinister with its tradition of murder, the water +lapping almost to its buttresses. Still farther to the left was the +huge bulk of the Chateau Galliard; farther yet, and Notre Dame melted +into the vapours of the night, lost against the background of the Ile +des Vaches and Ile de Javiaux. Out of the vapours rose spires, towers, +and sloping roofs innumerable, shining with dew or edged to a white +effulgence as the full lustre of the moon glorified them. + +But if the river slept, writhing and turning in its sleep as though ill +dreams of drowned men plagued its rest, Paris was awake. But Paris +never sleeps. It is a body possessed of many souls, many +spirits--devils, some would say--and when slumber nurses one to quiet +another rouses to carry on the fevered actions of its life. It is a +forest of many beasts; those of the day couch to their rest at sunset, +and in the same hour the prowlers of the night creep from their lairs, +foul beasts of prey that love the darkness and thrive on deeds from +which men hide their faces. The _pad_, _pad_, _pad_, of their stealthy +feet may be heard in the byeways, the growling of their hunger, the +crash of their spring. To and fro they wander, never satisfied, and +seek their dens before the coming of dawn when the creatures of +innocent labour awake to the burden of a new day. No! Paris never +sleeps! + +The wakefulness was least to the east side where, beyond the Rue +d'Hosterische, the Hotel de Bourbon sulked silent in its great square +courtyard. There men both waked and slept, but waked watchful and on +guard lest the prowling beast, desperate from famine, should spring at +higher game than common. From the south, over the river, came a murmur +as of bees, a murmur that hoarsened with the livelier play of the wind, +as when one taps the hive, or fell away to a thin drone with the dying +of the breeze. Westward, life was sharper, more individual, and with +swift surprises, of which one came as I watched; the loud patter of +running feet in the Rue Froid Mantel just beyond the fosse, a woman's +scream, the roaring out of a rough oath, and dwindling sobs cut through +and over-borne by a far-off drunken roysterer's mirthless song. + +But the obscure tragedy never moved me; a midge in a man's own eye is +more hurt to him than a live coal in his neighbour's. Morning might +have brought counsel, but that another small fret flecked the raw of my +irritation, and kept the sore open--my borrowed finery had disappeared, +and in its place lay the sorry garb, yet sorrier through travel, in +which I had quitted Solignac. Clearly that was Monsieur de Commines' +cynic response to my challenge of the night before, and was in itself a +challenge. + +Seek Mademoiselle, will you! he said in his heart, grimly jesting, then +seek her beggar-fashion, and if your tongue asks no hire for your +sword's service your rags will hint an importunity. In the glimmering +light of the Star of Flanders she may have taken you for a gentleman; +go, if you will go, in the broad light of day, and let these rags speak +for you! + +But if he thought shame would turn me from my purpose, court life must, +for once, have blunted his perception. I hold that a sweet kernel has +no need to think shame of a rough shell, and from a quality in her +voice, an impulse in her act, I guessed that Mademoiselle was not one +to judge a man wholly by the outside. A true and noble womanliness had +at all times rung through her pleading, and if that were not enough +there was this, she had flung no scorn even on such a feeder on garbage +as this François Villon, until the man's foul mind hinted a license. +Then, indeed, her soul flashed out. "Will no man rid us of this +wretch!" It was the foul mind she scorned, and not the poverty peeping +through his tatters. No! Monsieur de Commines' jest, so far from +turning me from my purpose, confirmed me in it; I would have been +ashamed to feel shamed that I dared not seek her face even in rags. + +It was at the gate by which we had entered on the previous night I +first learned that to lodge in a royal palace had its obligations as +well as its honours, and that Monsieur de Commines had other arrows in +this quiver besides that levelled at my self-conceit. One of the three +or four on guard stopped me when I would have passed out. + +"Your permit, Monsieur, if you please," said he, civilly enough. + +"Permit? I have none," I answered. "I am lodging with Monsieur de +Commines." + +"Ah, I remember now. Monsieur has that droll of a Martin to follow +him, and came in with Monsieur le Prince last night? As a form, +Monsieur, I will send for my officer; will Monsieur wait?" + +What could Monsieur do but wait, fretting and fuming, for twenty +minutes. Then a smooth-faced boy came, smiling, cordial, and full of +words. Had Monsieur Hellewyl rested well? Were his lodgings to his +mind? Was it his first visit to Paris? Had he seen--Pish! it was +Monsieur Hellewyl this, Monsieur Hellewyl that, and I answering yes or +no, like a country blockhead with a vocabulary of one syllable. But +when at last I got my plea in he shrugged his shoulders with a grimace. + +"Would you have Tristan hang me? How can I give passes from the +Louvre? Let us go to the lieutenant." + +So from the east gate we went to the south, and as we crossed the angle +of the court, the sun being above the walls, I felt like a half-plucked +daw beside a parrot, so gaily plumed was he in silks and laces such as +women love, and not a thread out of place. He said nothing, but the +corner of his eye burned holes in my rags, and for the twitch of his +mouth I could have shaken the life half out of him with exultant +satisfaction. + +The lieutenant of the southern gate was Monsieur de Commines' companion +of the night before, limping slightly from a wound in the thigh, and +again my greeting was most cordial. There is no introduction like a +common danger. But the whole Louvre seemed in league to make me +welcome, nor could even my impatience resent such friendliness to one +who was a stranger. My wound and his had to be enquired for, and for +the first time I learned that we had received them in a scuffle in the +streets. Such brawls, it seemed, were of nightly occurrence, and I had +to listen to a long complaint of how badly Paris was governed. + +Then came the whole catechism over again; Had I slept? Was I rested? +Did my wound still burn? Had that fire-eating weasel of mine been well +cared for? And so on for a score of questions, all so kindly, so +genial, so courteous, that I would have been a Flemish clod indeed to +have cut them short. + +But at last he asked: + +"Now, what can I do for you?" + +"Give me leave to pass the gates." + +"What! You want fresh adventures?" he answered gaily, "then we must go +to the captain." + +He, it seemed, was on guard at the west gate, and there the comedy +played itself for another half-hour. If his cordiality was colder, it +was because age, in grizzling his beard, had chilled his exuberance, +but it seemed none the less sincere. I must breakfast with him. What? +I had breakfasted? Then I must try the King's wine, and for ten +minutes we talked vintages, the thing, next to women and their own +doings, on which men love best to gossip. Then, at last, came the +belated request. + +"So, so, Monsieur Hellewyl? But for that we we must go to the +Governor." + +"_Dame_," said I pettishly. "It seems as hard for a man to get out of +the Louvre as for most to get in." + +"You are wrong," he answered, looking me straight in the eyes; "a +simple word does it, Monsieur; one word, a simple promise." + +It was then, so drily significant was the tone, that I began to +understand the dance I was being led. Monsieur de Commines had no +intention that I should leave the Louvre. No doubt the Governor would +have to appeal to the Chancellor, the Chancellor to the King, and the +King was at Plessis les Tours. Or it might be they would refer the +momentous question to Monseigneur himself! Was he not the King's +Commissioner? To play the comedy further would be to play the fool. + +"A single word?" said I and pausing turned back, "I think I have it, +Monsieur! It is Commines, is it not?" + +Promptly he also turned. + +"You have a shrewd wit when you choose to use it," he answered, laying +his hand on my shoulder. "Take an old soldier's advice and follow +where it leads you." + +That meant, Make your peace with Monseigneur; a thing not hard to do, +for he met me as if I had just risen from my bed instead of having +spent the better part of two good hours trying to out-manoeuvre him. + +"You are come in good time, for we dine early," he cried, holding out +both hands; "sit down, now, and let us make haste, for we leave Paris +at noon:" nor through the meal, or at any time, did he hint +displeasure. Only, when the servant, who at the close brought us water +to wash our fingers, had left the room, he said suddenly: + +"Do you know why I did it? For this reason, to teach you that a man +who is on the King's service has neither love nor hate, pride nor +pique, no, nor even eyes or ears except for that service. It is a +teaching you may have to follow before long." + +Now it was my turn to hold out my hands, but with a different impulse. + +"Forgive me, Monseigneur----" + +"I forgave you even while I taught you," he answered, not letting me +finish. "What? Am I so old that I cannot remember I was once young? +And now I shall answer you the question you asked me last night; will +you see Mademoiselle again? I think so--if the King wills." + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +HOW I MET MADEMOISELLE THE SECOND TIME + +Though Monsieur de Commines travelled, as he said, on the King's +service--a service which, I have since concluded, had it been known, +might have cost him his head--he travelled without ostentation. And +yet our train of twelve mounted guards, six led packhorses and as many +body servants was a royal progress compared with our entrance to Paris. + +We crossed the river by the ferry that plied from the Louvre gardens, +landing near the end of the Rue de Seine, a hundred paces below the +Tour de Nesle. Thence we followed the same street till we reached the +Rue du Bussy, where we turned to the right, keeping straight on till we +reached the pillory which stands, as a terror to evil-doers, at the +junction of the Rue du Four and the Rue des Boucheries. There, in the +triangular open space used as an occasional market, we were joined by +Monsieur de Rochfort, the Chancellor, and Monsieur de Commines, who, so +far, had ridden by my side pointing out this or that of interest as we +passed, drew apart. + +"It is for your sake," said he, with a kindly nod. "The Chancellor and +I are both too near the King to wish well to the other's friends." + +Once or twice thereafter through the day he reined back alongside +Roland, just as he did with each of the three or four gentlemen in his +train. But, unless we were out of earshot of the Chancellor's friends, +there was an indifferent coldness in his manner which, more than any +words could have done, warned me how warily men must walk whose paths +lie near a throne. So plain was this coldness to himself that he +half-excused it. + +"There are three parties at court," said he waving his hand aside as if +indicating some point in the landscape. "I call them the party of the +present, of the early future, and for all time; or, to put it more +clearly, of the King, of the Dauphin, and of France. I am of the last, +and so most truly for the King, though all do not see as I do. When +the King is well, Monsieur de Rochfort is of the first; when the King +is sick, he is of the second; and never, to my thinking, of the third. +Now, such a man rarely,--oh ho! here comes one of his friends slipping +back to catch what I am saying. Good-morning, Monsieur de Bueil, there +is an urgent matter on which I wish to consult you, but without +advertisement. Do you think the Chancellor would consider it wise----" +and lowering his voice he drew aside, plunging into I know not what +story, having in a single sentence flattered not only the Chancellor's +wisdom and influence at court, but also Monsieur de Bueil's intimacy +with his master. + +That night we lay at Anneau where, because of the inn's cramped space, +I slept on hay, and was glad of its softness for my wound still stung +me. Next night our quarters were at Vendôme, and so Tours was reached +before dinner on the third day. There Martin and I dropped off; +Plessis, which lay a mile or so to the south-west, was not for us as +yet. + +"Put up at the Cross of Saint Martin," was Monsieur de Commines' last +advice. "It is not the best inn in the city, but the other is in the +Rue des Trois Pucelles, and so too near Confrère Tristan's for comfort, +unless you have a strong stomach," a hint which, in my innocence, I +failed to understand. "Give me a week," he added at parting, "but +remember, I promise nothing except that I am at all times the friend of +your father's son," and so rode on. + +Later I was grateful for his choice of our lodgings. As we gaped about +the streets, Martin a discreet half-pace behind me, but talking across +my shoulder without a break, touched me. + +"Monsieur Tristan's," he said, nodding at the other side. "That a man +should make a gallows of the house where he eats and sleeps, and, it +maybe, loves his wife and children." + +"A gallows? where?" + +"For God's sake walk on, Monsieur Gaspard, and don't stare. These +nails, and that fag end of a cut rope blowing in the wind make my flesh +creep." + +That is always the way! The kennel is swimming in mud and a pretty +woman crosses the road with her skirts a-tilt; or an unhappy gallant in +silks is chasing his bonnet through the self-same mud, and you are +bidden to look and not stare! Not stare? That's not in nature; the +very warning is a challenge. Of course I stood and stared, though at +first there was little to look at, a house, like a hundred others in +Tours with a dozen of the kind in the same street. Then, as I looked +again, there came a sense of the sinister. It was as when a face, +which at the first glance seems one of a score, shows something of a +peculiar and personal devil, and with it a fascination that fastens the +attention, as all things evil or ugly fasten it. + +It was a tall narrow house of four storeys, tapering as if by steps and +stairs to a point at the ridge. The wall of the floor on the street +level was pierced by two unequal windows, heavily barred. The larger +was to the left, and in its position it balanced the stout door raised +two steps above the pavement. Above these were three windows, the +largest again to the left, and all with similar significant heavy +defences; whoso lived there was careful of his safety. The two upper +storeys were in the contraction of the roof. Each had but one outlook, +and in the case of the lower it was again to the left, leaving a wide +expanse of blank wall, and when I understood the tale it told, my gorge +rose. Here was the sinister threat, the foul vice writ on an honest +seeming; François Villon in stone and mortar stared across the road. + +The whole wide expanse, and it was a very wide one, for the windows +were small, was studded over by stout nails driven between the joints +of the masonry. From these fluttered rope-ends, some short, some long, +some weather-frayed to rags, others--horrible to think of--newly cut, +and there men and women had choked to death while the King's Provost +Marshal ate, drank, or took his pleasure within to the music of the +dying wretches clattering their boot heels against the wall! + +Shuddering and half-sick with disgust I swallowed down my loathing as +best I could. And yet it was nothing more than the sordid commentary +to the comedy of the Louvre and a plain warning. Everywhere I turned +the law of the King's will was a handwriting on the wall, inexorable, +inevitable, callous. + +Perhaps because of this newly reawakened sense of the dangers that lay +behind the walls of Plessis, or perhaps--and I trust it was so--because +to the heart of every man who thinks at all there comes the desire to +give God thanks for mercies undeserved and unlooked for, and to seek +His strength and guidance in the uncertainties of life, I shook off +Martin about vespers, and made my way alone to the great church of +Saint Gatien. Behind the grated screens of its dim aisles there rarely +fails a priest to ease a burdened spirit of that which grows too heavy +to be borne. + +But before a man can thus cleanse his soul it is fitting he should +pray, and so I knelt, but not before the great altar. No! its hard +brilliance and gorgeous extravagance of this world's passing splendours +repelled me. What had a poor crushed soul in common with such proud +display? The God who loved these flaring lights, silver lamps that +swung by silver chains, gilt candlesticks of many branches all ablaze, +who took complacent pleasure in such ostentation of gold vessels, +broidered draperies, fretted carvings, gems that flashed and gems that +glowed, how could He stoop to a worm of the earth? True, the pure, +pale Face of the suffering Christ looked out from it all, but looked +out as if to ask, What have I, the Man of Sorrows acquainted with +grief, Who had not where to lay His head, what have I to do with all +this arrogance of flaunted wealth? Either I am the Son of God in My +heaven of heavens, and what to Me are your tinsel glories! or I am the +Son of Man working out salvation in anguish and alone, sweating, as it +were, great drops of blood, no man ministering to Me, and what have I +to do with all this splendour! The God of the high altar is either the +God of the very great or the very poor; of the man who says in his +pride, I, too, am a god, a god to myself, a god upon earth for the +people's worship, and so we are a-kin, thou and I! Or else it is for +those ignorants who find the incense of heaven in the smell of the +unsnuffed guttering candles; for myself, I could not pray there. I +found instead a small remote chapel, where a single rushlight trembled +before a darkened shrine, faint and small like a soul facing the +unknowable; shrinking, and yet persistent because of the Love unseen +that watched and waited, yearning to be gracious. Nor was I alone. A +woman knelt upon the altar step, her head bowed forward till it rested +on the wooden rail. + +Seeing her rapt worship I kept back, and in the quiet of the little +sanctuary lost myself. The world, with its drone of life, its careless +callous tread, was behind my back, and I forgot everything but that +Solignac was in ashes, Babette murdered, and that God had prospered me +on my way to retribution. What He begins He finishes, and not a +thousand Jan Meerts, no, nor Louis of France, could turn back the hand +of His justice. + +But how diverse are His attributes, how infinite, how inscrutable, is +the greatness of His powers. As I, through His justice cried for +vengeance, another kneeling at the same footstool sought peace through +mercy. + +"Not the King's will, but Thine, O Lord!" + +It was the voice of Mademoiselle, and as I heard it, my heart leaped! +Our paths had come together through no seeking of mine, and there was +now no question of disloyalty to Monsieur de Commines. Nor, I +remembered with satisfaction, being a frail man, was I any longer in +rags. + +It may be asked, What was Mademoiselle to me, who had never so much as +seen her face clearly, never spoken three words to her, never touched +her hand? I answer, Nothing! And yet my heart leaped; perhaps because +Monsieur de Commines' interference piqued me, perhaps--but at +twenty-five one does not stop to analyse a perhaps that makes the heart +leap! It is still the age of impulse and half-blind instinct, and +these ask no questions. Rising, I slipped out into the growing dusk +and waited without a thought as to whether or no there was a priest +behind his grille ready to give comfort to the sinner. + +Presently she came. + +"Mademoiselle!" and I bared my head. + +With a little twitch of her skirts she stood aside, straightening +herself. + +"What?" she said. "Even on the very church step? Oh, for shame, +Monsieur, for shame!" + +"No, no," I protested, "you mistake." + +"Prove it, Monsieur," she retorted; "prove it by going your way while I +go mine." + +But as she had moved so had I, and the waning light fell sufficiently +strongly on the gay greens and yellows of my bruised forehead for her +to see them. + +"Ah!" she cried, drawing in her breath, "you come +from--from--Monseigneur? You were with us in the Paris inn and are the +servant of that Monsieur Hellewyl he said he knew? What is your +message? Has he seen the King?" + +"I have no message, Mademoiselle, and it is I who am Gaspard Hellewyl." + +"You? But it was the other----" + +"That was a mistake and----" + +"No message? Then whoever you may be, Monsieur, what have I to do with +you, or you with me?" + +"Nothing, Mademoiselle, except----" and I stopped, not knowing how to +answer her. + +The pain of her disappointment was written on her face, and I, in my +blundering want of thought, had brought it there. The optimism of her +youth had jumped to the comfort of the hope that Monsieur de Commines +had already good news for her, and that I had brought it. Now the +reaction galled her like a blow; I could have cursed myself for my +tactless want of foresight. But her gentle womanhoods found an excuse +even for that stupidity. + +"Except--?" and her face softened. + +Have I described her face? I think not, no, I cannot have since till +then I had not seen it, and God forbid that I should describe it now. +No two faces are alike in the world, and that in almost every one some +other finds a sweetness others fail to see is the recurrent miracle of +life. I could tell you much of the face that looked up to mine in the +twilight, but I could never tell its sweetness, and failing that, the +rest is little better than dead flesh. What do so many inches matter +except in a man who may have to use their strength? It is not the +inches a wise man loves, nor yet the eyes or lips or cheeks, but the +Spirit that uses all these, and more than these, as God uses the cold +dead things of stone and wood, the perishing things of the world, to +point a promise of eternal life. And yet, understand me; I did not, at +that time, love Mademoiselle, nor had I totally forgotten Brigitta, as +will be seen. But I had begun to compare the two, and when a man +begins comparing a new interest with an old love a change is not far +off. + +"Except," she said, her face softening, and, I think, a little moisture +shining in her eyes, "except that we owe you a life--perhaps even more +than a life." + +"No, no," and I drew back, wounded that she should think I traded on +her gratitude, and yet with the wound salved by her wakened warmth of +kindliness; "it was not that, it was that in Tours--in a strange +city--at this hour--Mademoiselle might have trouble----" + +"And that Monsieur might have the pleasure of killing some one else? +Bah?" and she searched me gravely with her eyes a second or two. "I +can guard myself. What does Tours care for a serving maid! Had it +been my mistress, there might have been a need for your gallantry." + +"Oh! Mademoiselle, but Monseigneur said----" + +"Nothing to you, of that I am sure; and besides Monseigneur knows there +are more cloaks in the world than go on the shoulders." + +A serving maid? Her mistress? Of course it should have been an +evident folly; but remember I was no more than a Flemish clod. I +suppose it was that same cloddishness in me, for even while I staggered +at what she said I kept my hat in my hand. + +"But," I persisted, "Tours is still Tours, and you are still you. With +your leave, I will see you safe home." + +Turning, she looked over her shoulder with the first glimpse of +coquetry I had seen. We had, of course, quitted the Place Saint +Gatien, I following her a foot or two behind, as Martin earlier in the +day had followed me. But now she slackened her pace, and without +increasing mine I drew along side. + +"Madame will laugh when I tell her how Monsieur Hellewyl--you said you +were Monsieur Hellewyl, did you not, and not that other? I think I +prefer the exchange, but it is hard to be sure on so short an +acquaintance--how Monsieur Hellewyl, Monseigneur's friend, squired a +serving maid through the streets of Tours!" + +"Let her laugh!" answered I bravely, "better she should laugh than that +a woman left alone in Tours should have bitter cause to weep." + +"One woman!" she cried with a sudden pained sharpness, "oh! what does +one woman matter? If your King has his way it will not be one woman +who will weep but thousands; yes, thousands, thousands." + +"Not my King," I answered, and again I will say, answered bravely. +More bravely than I knew. To say such words on the streets of Tours +risked more than the being laughed at for a woman's sake; Tristan's +House of the Great Nails was grim warrant for the danger. "Not my +King, I am of Flanders, and so--not my King." + +"The better fortune yours!" she answered curtly. "I would rather trust +the grossest bully in Tours than Louis of France." + +"Then," said I, giving tongue to the thought that had troubled me these +ten minutes, "why come to Tours at all, with Louis only a mile away?" + +"Because it was safest so. Do you think he would look for me under the +shadow of Tristan's gallows? And because, too, I am a woman, Monsieur +Hellewyl, and hoped--hoped I might bring back a message of peace to +my--my--mistress." + +With the words in her mouth, words caught by a half-breath of tears, +she turned into a little covered archway opening off the street, and +dropped a curtsey. + +"I lodge here, Monsieur, and my mistress and I both thank you for your +care--though this time there was no man to kill!" + +"To-morrow----" I began. + +"To-morrow?" echoed she, looking back at me with her foot on the +doorstep, "I hope there is no To-morrow for me in Tours, for if there +is, it will be passed dangling from one of Tristan's flesh hooks!" and +with a little gesture of farewell, she was gone. + +Nor had Tours a To-morrow for me either; by midday I was behind the +triple walls of Plessis. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +PLESSIS-LES-TOURS + +That, of course, was Monsieur de Commines' doing. He had said, Give me +seven days; but he took no more than one, and added to the favour of +haste the grace of coming himself to tell me of his success. + +I had just returned from a fruitless enquiry at Mademoiselle's lodgings +when the landlord met me at the door. To see his change of countenance +was a vision of the contemptible in human nature. + +"Monsieur is a friend of Monseigneur the Prince de Talmont and I did +not know it!" he said plaintively, his hands lightly crossed upon the +servile hinge below his chest. "His Excellency is within asking for +your Lordship. Ah! Monsieur, had I but known! What a supper I could +have served, what a room I could have prepared----" + +"And what a bill would have followed! Be easy, a man can only sleep on +one bed at a time. Where is Monsieur de Commines?" + +"Monsieur le Prince does me the honour to wait in the garden. He has +already given orders----" + +But Martin, who had heard my voice, pushed him aside. + +"Monsieur Gaspard," he cried ruefully, "tell him you cannot have it so. +He says the permit is for you only and that I must bide here. I told +him, No! Where you went, I went. But he laughed at me, and said every +babe must leave its nurse and walk alone some day, and that your time +had come." + +As he talked we had walked on into the garden that lay to the side and +back of the inn, a pleasant place of prune trees well set with young +fruit; pinks and roses grew underneath the boughs, and after rain the +air was heavy with the sweets of lavender. To these thyme and early +gillyflowers added their scent, making the morning air a king's luxury +with perfume. Here Monsieur de Commines was waiting for me, a great +bunch of newly-gathered flowers in his hands. + +Catching Martin's last words he looked up. + +"Fie!" said he frowning, though a twinkle in his eyes belied the +gravity of the rebuke; "a soldier and preaching cowardice?" + +"No coward for myself, Monseigneur, and I'll prove it to you," answered +Martin sturdily. "If that fox in Plessis must gnaw his bone, then let +him gnaw me, not Monsieur Gaspard." + +The spasm of fear that swept across Monsieur de Commines' face startled +me, so sudden was it, so abject, so unlike the man who had within four +days faced a howling mob unflinchingly, with no more than a table's +breadth between. His cheeks had gone white even in the sunlight, and +the flowers fell from his hands as if the fingers had no longer +strength to hold them. + +"Christ's life! man! hold your fool's tongue!" he screamed in a harsh +high-pitched voice more like a shrewish woman's than a man's; "who are +you to take the King's majesty into your mouth and mangle it? Would +you ruin your master? Would you ruin me? Would you hang yourself and +that gaping idiot behind you there on Tristan's gallows? By the +splendour of God! but I've a mind to swing the two of you! You that +dared speak, and him that he dared listen and not cry out upon you! +Eh, master host, eh?" + +"But Monseigneur," cried the poor shaking wretch, "I heard nothing, +I--I--I swear I heard nothing." + +"Nothing at all? You are sure, eh? You are sure?" + +"Sure, Monseigneur," he repeated in an agony; "do you think I would +hear our gracious King miscalled a--a--sneaking beast, and not resent +it? But how could I hear when there was nothing said?" + +"Then go bid them saddle the horses; but remember this, if I hear you +repeat what that fool never said, then----" + +"Never, Monseigneur, never; have no fear." + +"Fear? I? Use civiller language, rascal; what have I to do with fear? +Do as thou'rt bid, and thou of the loose tongue, finish thy master's +packing, and make haste." + +Too cowed to do more than look piteously at me, Martin turned away to +obey, and as the pair went about their business, Monsieur de Commines +drew the deep breath of a man who for one terrible minute has hung by a +single handsgrip above a gulf of death. + +"I think I played my part," said he, forcing a smile. "Martin has +learned his lesson, and the other--yes, for his own sake the other will +be silent. But one thing is sure, even had the permit been for two, +only one would have used it." + +Played a part! My heart was still beating double tides from the sick +fear I had seen in his face, and he called it playing a part! No +warning, whether of direct words or tongueless flesh hooks with +fragments of freshly-used dangling rope could urge discretion in the +affairs of His Most Christian Majesty with half the emphasis of that +agony of terror. If the King's friend, who tended him by day, and +slept at his feet by night, had such cause for circumspection, how +warily must he walk who came to urge the King to fling aside a soiled +tool still keen for the royal service? + +Naturally I accepted Monsieur de Commines' half apologetic explanation +without comment, but when I would have asked about the progress of my +own affairs he motioned me to silence. + +"When we are on our road," he said curtly. But when Martin brought out +Ninus saddled, as well as Roland and the pack-horse, his angry mood +again burst constraint. "What fresh foolery is this? Did I not tell +you the permit was for one only?" + +"Yes, Monseigneur," answered Martin humbly, "but with your leave it is +my duty to see Monsieur Gaspard as far as--as--as maybe." + +De Commines' face cleared. + +"Right, my friend! Love and duty are the pillars of the world; happy +is the man who holds by them. Thou shalt see thy Master Gaspard as far +as--as maybe. Ride thou behind with Benoit and my fellows and tell +them to keep their distance; they know what that means. We will travel +at a foot's pace," he added to me; "for there is much to be said, and +the way is short." + +"The first thing," he went on, as, side by side, we wound our way +through the narrow streets, "is that you must change your name. +Hellewyl smacks of Flanders, and the King hates--Good-day, my lord; we +are all jealous of you at court. This marriage of the Dauphin will put +you gentlemen of Flanders in such high favour that we poor ancient +servants of the King will be forgotten in the cold--God grant he thinks +so! As I was saying, we must drop the Hellewyl and henceforth be +Monsieur Gaspard de Helville. In the King's present health and peevish +mood--Yes, Monsieur le Conseiller, I rejoice to say His Majesty is in +excellent health and spirits, excellent, excellent, but I do not think +he receives to-day--with the King in his present mood it would be +unwise to cross his prejudice. After all, a name is but a little +thing, and the permit is for Monsieur de Helville. Next grasp this; +the King is never ailing, except under the breath, you understand? To +you I will tell the truth. When he sleeps we do not know that he will +wake again, and when he wakes we do not know but that his next sleep +will be eternal. He eats--as I have just said to Monsieur Chasse, +excellent! You should have seen him break his fast this morning! I am +a fair trencherman, but His Majesty surpasses me in that as in all +things--eats nothing, only sucks the juice of an orange or two, so that +we can almost see his bones sharpen daily. No man dares cross him--ah, +my lord! you ride our way? To Plessis no doubt? Then a friendly word +in your ear; the King was asking for you this morning, and you know his +impatience is not always--H'm! I thought that would put spurs to his +horse and so rid us of his company. It is true, too, that His Majesty +did ask for 'that fool, de Baux,' but it was to forbid him the gate! +It was no business of mine to tell him unpalatable news. Through life +I have made it my rule to serve not only my friends but my enemies. +Courtesy is a seed that bears fruit in all soils, even the roughest and +least kindly. But there are so many interruptions I had better wait +till we are beyond the walls." + +To which I cordially agreed, so bewildering were the diplomatic +contradictions which a plain man would have called blunt lies. + +So, for the remainder of our ride through the city he bowed, smiled, +saluted, talked; and was grave, gay, suave, stern, cordial, cold, as +the person and the occasion demanded. There is nothing like being a +courtier with a reputation for favour to win a man acquaintances, +friends I dare not call them, for one half are ready to turn upon him +for envy, and the other half are thinking their hardest how they can +climb upon his back to their own advantage. + +But once clear of the gate the throng slackened, and he took up his +parable as if there had been no break in the thread. + +"No! no man dares cross him. That does not mean there is need to cross +him, by the Spirit of God! no! The King may be frail in body, but his +brain burns as with fire, and when his thought blazes out in offence +upon a man it consumes him. I tell you that, Monsieur de Helville, +lest it should flash out at you and shrivel you and your petty +vengeance out of the world. In your twenty-four hours in Tours rumour +must have whispered many things in your ears; whispered, I say, since +to speak outright is to court an outside lodgings at the Chateau +Tristan, for all these rumours buzz round and round the King. The King +is half dead; the King was never more alive; the King is crazed; the +King's policy is keener witted than ever; the Dauphin goes in terror of +his father; the King goes in terror of the Dauphin; these, and many +more, and all of them true by turns, for he is compounded of +contradictions. For instance, so coward is he that no man dares say +Death! or The Grave! in his presence, and yet, when a few months back +Death jogged his elbow and sent him staggering to the Grave's mouth, +the King never winced, but thrust out his chin, and stared the Terror +in the face, unafraid." + +"But, Monseigneur, how can I, a stranger, and no courtier, walk safely +through these pitfalls?" + +"For seven days you will share my quarters; make the most of your +chances. The King will then put you to service, God knows what, for he +has strange whims at times, and again I say, make the most of what he +offers. Your time in Plessis will be short. It is his wisdom to +change his servants often lest they should learn too much and be +dangerous. As I have told you, he spends half his days making and +breaking men's fortunes; only what the King finally sends you to do, +do: or else tear up the permit now and ride back, not to Tours, but to +your charnel house of Solignac, lest he reach after you. There stands +Plessis!" he added abruptly. + +Drawing rein, we sat in silence and as we waited Martin slowly drew up +with us. It was our first view of the--what shall I call it? Chateau? +Palace? Prison? Fortress? It was all four in one, or something of +all four. But perhaps Martin's summing up fitted the case best. + +"God have mercy upon us!" he said under his breath; "it's a rat trap!" + +"There is no cat in Europe with claws strong enough to scratch it +open," answered Monsieur de Commines; this time we were alone, and he +had no rebuke for Martin's freedom of speech. "No, nor wolf either! +Look at its strength. First there is the iron paling set on the near +bank of the fosse; next, the fosse is twenty feet deep and is no mere +ditch, but a lake for breadth; then comes the outermost wall, +bristling, as you see, with four-pointed hooks that would rip a man's +flesh to the bone and hang him up by joints like a sheep in a butcher's +shop. These two towers flank the gateway. It faces the river, and can +only be approached by that zig-zag path which is set on every side by +springes, traps and gins cunningly hidden. May the world to come show +mercy to the man they grip, for in this life there is no longer hope +for him! Within that outer wall there is a second which dominates the +first and is also bounded by a moat; within that again there is a third +yet higher and again girded by water. You see them there, terraced, +one, two, three; and if the first gate were forced--a thing hard to +believe--the second stands not opposite but aside, and the third yet +further aside, so that to reach the core, where the King lies, there +must be a transverse straggle along the bank under fire both back and +front, then the fosse to cross and another gate to force. That grim +black shaft rising from the centre is the donjon; strength within +strength, defence defending defence, and these four iron-sheeted towers +crown and govern all. Monsieur de Helville, your late master, saw war, +and you with him, Master Martin, did either of you ever see such a +King's house before, or was there ever such seen since the world began?" + +"A rat trap," repeated Martin, "and God have mercy on----" + +"Monsieur Gaspard!" said Monsieur de Commines, and rode on laughing. +But not for long. While we were still more than a bowshot from the +outer walls he turned to Martin. "Now, friend, get back to the Cross +of Saint Martin, and wait there in patience. Do not go far from the +inn door; your master may need you any hour by day or by night. God +knows when! It is all as the King wills, and remember this, curiosity +is a fatal vice at Plessis. If you approach too near the Castle those +fellows you see on the walls will shoot you like a mad dog first, and +enquire why afterwards, and so the saints keep you!" + +Dropping the reins on Ninus' neck, Martin jumped to the ground, and +went on his knee in the dust. + +"The Lord, He knows, Monsieur Gaspard, that the leaving you is none of +my doing," he said between the mumbles of his mouth upon my hand. "If +I'd ha' thought it would come to this then the Lord again He knows I'd +ha' sooner faced Jan Meert and his twenty devils and so never have been +here to taste the bitterness. There were but three of us, Monsieur +Gaspard; Babette is gone, now you will go, and I only shall be left, a +poor, miserable, dried skin of a man that--that--would give his life to +go first," and he broke down, weeping. + +Laughing, but in no laughing mood, I leaned aside, and tried to pull +him to his feet. But he would not move, and when at last I drew my +hand away--for Monseigneur was waiting for me--its back was wet with +his tears. Nor, so long as we were in sight, did he rise from his knee. + +"Ah!" said Monseigneur, as we rode on, "Master Martin has a heart in +him for all his years, and is not ashamed to show it. I fear he would +never make a courtier, he has not learned to forget love, and be +ungrateful." + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +THE PLOT OF THE FOUR NATIONS + +When, out of his experience, the devil formed schools to teach apt +humanity, he set them in the extremes of life, the noisome dens of +packed cities and the courts of kings. Misery forgets God, that by +theft and murder it may live out yet one more unhappy day, and +greatness climbs upon its own shame to yet more dishonoured honour. + +Never was there such a place as Plessis for intrigue. From Monsieur de +Beaujeu, the King's son-in-law, down to the kitchen scullions, there +was not a man but mined or countermined to gain some private advantage; +nor, in all the palace, was there a finger-nail--mine among the +rest--but itched to scratch the King's favour. That much I learned in +my seven days of waiting. + +Through Monsieur de Commines' influence almost every door was open to +me, and by his instructions I used my liberty freely. + +"Who knows to what service you may be put," he added; "Plessis is not +to be turned inside out in a week, but a week may teach you not to show +yourself a fool." + +So day by day I went my rounds by the outer, middle and inner walls; +the courtyards, the galleries, the anterooms, the sparrows' nests, the +towers, the donjon, even to the bear-pit and the sheds where were +housed that varied collection of strange beasts His Majesty had +gathered from the four corners of the earth to distract his thoughts, +and show the world how active was his mind. The quarters of the +Scottish archers I avoided as far as possible. Though Monsieur de +Commines did not love these interloping Northmen, nor they him, they +were civil enough to me for his sake, or, rather, for the sake of his +influence. But I could not understand half their guttural jargon. + +The King I also avoided, and only saw from a distance until the day he +sent for me; once, far off, his scarlet satin cloak and heavy furs +showing like a giant poppy with the brown capsule half pushed off; once +sunning himself in a narrow court, his elbows on his knees, his chin in +his hands, his shoulders hunched to his ears, decrepit, shrunken, every +muscle in collapse; and once, not an hour later, on the parapet of the +outer wall, bowing a gracious acknowledgment to a group of the good +folk of Tours who saluted him from a discreet and safe distance; the +half-dead man was then very much alive, and so rumour was justified of +her children! + +Tied though he was to the King's girdle, it was Monsieur de Commines' +custom to steal an hour nightly, and listen to my rehearsal of the +day's lessons. + +"What strikes me most," said I, as my week drew to an end, "is the +confusion of tongues within the walls. There is the liquid music of +Provence, the iron rasp of Normandy, the clipped French of Paris, the +uncouth burr of Gascony; I even heard a Flanders oath or two to-day." + +"Eh?" said Monseigneur, looking up at me; "Flanders? Did you say +Flanders?" + +"Yes, Jehan Flemalle the bearward. The brute clawed at him as he fed +it, and he drew back swearing; I know a Flanders curse when I hear it, +and so, I think, should you," I added, laughing. + +But, so far from breaking up, the gravity on his face deepened, and for +a full minute he sat with pursed mouth and narrowed eyes, staring into +vacancy out of window. When I would have spoken he shook his head and +snarled an incoherence, warning me into silence with a little impatient +twist of his hand. But suddenly his face lit up, and he turned upon +me, his eyes shining. + +"Jehan Flemalle--Jan Flemael! By the splendour of God, I begin to +understand!" then he checked himself, and sat watching me, as he had +sat that night in the Louvre, when I knew to my discomfort that the +keenest brain in France was reckoning up not my strength, but my +weakness. "Do you know," he went on at last, his voice suave and +smooth, with all trace of excitement gone from it, "I distrust this +Jehan Flemalle. What if he starves the King's beasts to his own +profit? He is an Angevin, and--Yes, here is your chance to do the King +a service. From time to time these wild creatures have cost immense +sums. I hate them myself, but the King loves them, and visits them +almost daily. Watch this Jehan Flemalle; watch him when alone with the +beasts, note whom he consorts with, and if they meet in secret try and +catch them in talk." + +"What, Monseigneur? Play spy upon a butcher?" + +"Ay! on a butcher," he said harshly; "the word is a good one, and you +could not better it in a year. As to playing spy, I'd have you +understand, Monsieur, that if I bid you lay your ear to the crack of a +maid's door for the King's service, you must do it, or quit Plessis. +There are two types of useful men in the world; those who think and are +obeyed without question, and those who obey without question, but do +not think. For the present, be content to be the second, that one day +you may perhaps be the first. What! Monsieur Hellewyl, do you, who as +yet are not a little finger in Plessis, presume to call yourself a +brain?" Rising he strode to the door, and turning, shook a monitory if +not a menacing forefinger at me. "Remember," he went on, "in this +thing I am the King and you have your orders. If your dignity is not +supple enough to stoop to a little thing, how can it rise to a great? +And who are you to dare to question whys and wherefores in the King's +business?" + +Without waiting for an answer he was gone. And what answer was +possible? Ever since Solignac was burned the whole force of my +schooling had been, None dare cross the King's will! It was written in +the ashes of my father's house, it was taught by the mouth of the +King's friend, it met me at the four gates of the Louvre, the +dangling-rope-ends on Tristan's house called it aloud, and even at the +altar of God Himself, Mademoiselle caught the echo and bowed in an +agony of prayer before its force. Or this order of Monsieur de +Commines might be a test, a trap of the King's own devising. It was +notorious that Louis loved crooked methods. Stoop that you may rise! +Monseigneur's words had hinted as much. Perhaps--but excuses are never +hard to find, even for a meanness, when that meanness serves a personal +gain very near to the heart. + +Though I have said little of him, Jan Meert was never long out of my +thoughts. Dead Babette called to me across the smoke, and with both +blood and fire to avenge my weakness of poverty could afford no luxury +of qualms. It must lean where it could, even upon a foul staff. In a +word, what Monsieur de Commines bade me do, I did, nor was the +execution difficult. + +A menagerie was as much part of a royal palace as were the kitchens. +Why, I cannot say. Perhaps it tickled a King's pride to know that even +the wild beasts were under his heel. That of Plessis at this time lay +to the south-east; cages, stalls, dens, pits, as were required. These +the King was continually adding to or enlarging, and behind the planks +laid for their repair, slanting against the wall, there was perfect +concealment. + +Was I ashamed of the situation into which Monsieur de Commines had +forced me? Frankly yes; but, also frankly, still more ashamed of the +risk of being found out. + +The stalls and cages were side by side, bordering both walls of an +angle facing me not ten paces distant; nowhere in Plessis was there +space to spare, and the poor, free-born beasts suffered from the +congestion with their betters. In these were the King's true +favourites. Monsieur de Commines might sleep at his feet, Monsieur de +Beaujeu minister his affairs, the Chancellor, Rochfort, have his ear +and his confidence, but their tenure was no stronger than a loose whim. +These others held his love and his interest, and to such an extent +that, ailing or well, he visited them almost daily; Barbary lions no +larger than great cats, elk-deer, reindeer, a strange medley. + +But oftenest of all he would stand opposite the cage that prisoned four +great wolves from Auvergne. These he would bait till the savage +brutes, bigger than month-old calves, flung themselves howling against +the bars, raging but helpless, their fangs bared, their chaps dribbling +foam and slaver. He had even names for them. + +"Burgundy," he would say, pointing from one to the other, "Spain, The +Empire, Rome!" Then, tapping his breast, add significantly, "France! +Snarl, my friends, froth, howl, eat your hearts out in hate, France is +unafraid," and they, as if they understood his jeer, would fling +themselves afresh against the side of the cage, tearing and biting the +bars to get at him. So, in jest, this cage came to be known as the +cage of The Four Nations. + +Presently, as I waited behind my pile of timber, Jehan Flemalle came. +In Plessis there were no idlers. Even the four hundred archers of the +guard had their duties, and discipline was iron. Jehan Flemalle, +therefore, came alone and with no loiterers at his heels to watch the +feeding of the animals. In either hand was a great basket of kitchen +offal, and at the smell of him a howl arose whose echo rumbled in the +confined space like a winter's thunder. + +From cage to cage he went, dealing out the day's rations, here a half +loaf such as few in France set teeth in from January to December, there +a bone such as still fewer in France saw even once a month in their +pots, and little by little the howls died down to a grumbling purr of +brute contentment. If other days were as this, then Monsieur de +Commines need be under no doubt; the King's beasts were not starved, +let happen what might to the King's subjects. Then a curious thing +struck me, spurring my jaded watchfulness; Jehan Flemalle in his +feeding had passed by the cage of the Four Nations, leaving Burgundy +and the rest to howl their hungry lamentations unheeded. He even +goaded them to louder complaint and stronger protest, for, setting down +their dinner in full sight, he gibed them as the King had done. + +"Howl, Burgundy, snap your jaws, Spain! Tear at the bars, Rome, tear! +tear! Perhaps one day the way will open, and then--eh, my sons? then +we shall see, shall we not? That is the one thing needed, an open +door, and, Christus! but it is creaking on its hinges if the world but +knew it!" It was good Flemish, and not the mumbling jumble of a +half-baked Angevin clod! "Here's to make it creak louder," he went on. +"Here's to help it open with a crash that will shake all France from +the Nivernais to the three seas." + +From under his leathern jerkin he drew an armourer's file such as is +used for cutting rivets, long, flat, and coarse, and through the howls +of the frantic brutes came the steady rasp, rasp, rasp, while the sweat +grew cold upon me at the cunning devilishness of the villian's purpose. + +"Your dinner to-day, Burgundy," said he, plying the tool steadily under +cover of the howling din. "Your dinner to-morrow, but the third day +you must go a-hunting. One spring and you're through, my children; +Rome, Burgundy, and the Empire all on France at a leap, and Spain +crawling in behind to claim her share of the spoils. Good!" as one of +the famished brutes, crouching, thundered against the bars, "that is +the trick to play when a man jeers your empty belly. Spring! and +you're through! but not to-day nor to-morrow. When the third day +comes, then, God with us! poof! You're through! you're through!" and +again the rasp, rasp, rasp arose, harsh and strident, his body swinging +in rhythm to the grind of the tool. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +MONSEIGNEUR'S COUNTERPLOT + +If ever there had been a doubt of the scoundrel's treacherous purpose +there was none now and, the beasts being at last fed, and he gone, it +was with a humbled heart I slipped from my hiding-place. My God! What +a secret to hold! Truly those who net in King's waters sometimes land +strange fish. For a moment my purpose staggered. Jan Meert was the +King's tool. Let me but hold my peace for two days, and the hand and +brain which set that tool working would pass to judgment by as red a +road as had dead Babette. I owed the King no loyalty, no gratitude, no +love. Love! Who in all France or out of it owed Louis love? +Mademoiselle? No, hate rather; for in some way which I did not +understand, Louis stood to her for ruin and the wreck of all she held +most dear. + +Again my purpose staggered. Once already I have said I was not in love +with Mademoiselle, but she had stirred my sympathy, and except Martin, +and perhaps, no, not perhaps, certainly--Brigitta and the dead Babette, +no one had touched me so nearly as that since my mother died. + +But that mood passed. I have always believed that the finger of God is +closer to the lives of men than some think. You are blind and do not +see it, hardened and do not feel it, self-guided and so misunderstand +its directings, but whose fault is it that we fail to read the signs, +or are unconscious of the pressure of spirit on spirit? By silence I +could secure my private vengeance, but at what a cost? + +If Louis died, died murdered in such a fashion, war would surely +follow. A picture of The Four Nations let loose on France: of Burgundy +and Spain, Rome and The Empire, dividing her mangled body, not in type, +but in truth, with all the crowded horrors of siege and sack rose +before me; cities laid waste, a helpless peasantry ravaged, innocence +flung to feed the passions of human wolves; these were mine to permit +or prevent; who knew but that God Almighty had brought me to Plessis +for this very thing? + +"Who are you, to question whys and wherefores in the King's business?" +Monsieur de Commines had said, and I had allowed the justice of the +demand. Here was the hand of the King of Kings Himself, and who was I +to question His whys and wherefores? or to His command. Do this for +me! answer, I will not! No! Monsieur de Commines must hear and must +act. + +He listened without comment, almost without emotion, till I had ended. +Then-- + +"You know our Flanders proverb? Flood, and a high wind, do not go a +journey for nothing! No! nor does an Angevin swear Flemish in Plessis +at his neck's risk for nothing either!" + +"Then I was only a catspaw? When you bade me seek, you knew what I +would find?" + +"I guessed, but the affair was too small for me to touch. Besides, you +have now your claim upon the King, though I think we shall finish the +affair ourselves before informing His Majesty. Trifles at all times +vex great natures; think how a grit of sand in the eye galls you." + +"Trifles? A grit of sand?" I repeated, nettled that he should make so +little of my discovery. "Do you call a plot to kill the King a trifle? +Do you call The Four Nations trifles? No man who saw these slavering +brutes pounding themselves frantic against the half-filed bars could +call them trifles!" + +"That is just it; you have seen, but I have not, and so, perhaps, I +make too little of it. To-morrow Monsieur Jehan feeds them as usual? +Good! I shall be there. I think I see my way to do substantial +justice, and yet not give Monsieur Jehan the undeserved dignity of a +state trial. There again it would be making too much of trifles; +or"--he added, shaking a finger in the air--"some one may be behind +Monsieur Jehan whom it would not be convenient to unmask." + +Though my belief is that next day Jehan Flemalle anticipated his usual +time, it seemed to me he lagged in the coming. Even to me, a patient, +almost a phlegmatic man, as you must have discovered, the waiting in +the half-gloom set my nerves all a-creep. I say half-gloom, because by +an alteration in the position of the boards Monsieur de Commines +blocked up the space which gave access to our hiding-place. + +"It would never do," he whispered, "for Monsieur de Rochfort to catch +the Prince de Talmont slinking to cover like a thief behind arras. His +laughter would kill as surely as--as--the jaws of The Four Nations." + +But even with this safeguard against observation he seemed ill at ease, +muttering to himself and shifting restlessly from place to place, so +that to us both it was a relief when a louder howl rose from the cage +facing us. The wolves scented blood and cried for it. + +But their hunger had to wait Jehan Flemalle's pleasure, and as the +procedure of the previous day was repeated, here a loaf and there a +bone with the cage of The Four Nations passed ostentatiously by, I +touched Monseigneur on the shoulder. It was the vindication of the +truth of my story, which it seemed to me, he had more than +half-doubted. But he shook me off with an inconsiderate petulance. + +"_Dame!_" he muttered impatiently, "have I not eyes of my own?" + +My faith! but he had, and used them well. With his face pressed +against the boards he stared through a crack like a truant child at a +peepshow, his teeth clenched and bared, his eyes narrowed, his breath +coming in little short gasps. A faint grin was on his face, a spasm of +excited emotion rather than of merriment. I have since seen the same +look on gamesters' faces when a fortune hung on the fall of the dice +and to lose was ruin. But at that time it was new to me, and I stood +back a little, watching him curiously. + +Here a loaf, there a bone, and back to the cage of The Four Nations +came Jehan Flemalle. Nothing remained except the wolves' meat, and +straddling his legs a yard or two from the den, he jeered their hunger. + +"Hey! Burgundy! Hey! Spain!" he cried, snapping his fat fingers on +either side his head while the starving brutes raced howling up and +down the cage, pressing their lean flanks against the bars. "Yap and +yowl, my sons, yap and yowl! Dine to-day like fed lords, and to-morrow +go a-hunting for yourselves, my little ones! An open door, and France +in your jaws. France, do you hear?" and he clicked his tongue "France! +France! May you find him sweet!" + +("_You hear for yourself_," said I, touching Monseigneur a second time, +"_are you satisfied, now?_" "_Peace, fool_," answered Monseigneur, +"_how can I hear if you chatter like a daw?_") + +"All France by the throat to tear and nuzzle; God! I would I were a +wolf and one of you, if only for an hour! But yapping and yowling are +not enough, my children, you must jump for your dinner, jump at the +throat of the man who gibes your hunger, and pin him with your fangs. +Up he'll come, dragging his lame foot in the dust, dragging it thus, +thus, thus, up he'll come, smirking and jeering, ay, jeering, and the +Devil waiting for him behind the jowl of The Four Nations. Ah ha! +he'll say, fret and fume, curs! You'd tear France, would you? Bah! +France is not afraid! and he'll snap his fingers as I do. And you, my +sons, what will you do? So! So! that is your answer is it? You'll +jump for his throat, will you? Good, Burgundy, Good! down on your +belly, boy; flatter, flatter, and get the grip of your claws home for +the spring; now, _one, two, three_----Christus!" + +In the half-gloom Monseigneur's hand caught mine, and drew me forward +imperiously. Above 7the grumbling mumble of the feeding brutes had +risen the howling of the wolves, sinking at last to a sharp, _yap, yap, +yap_, broken by a dog-like, complaining whine. Then, as Jehan Flemalle +marked time at the last there was an instant's silence, and a rasping +crash followed by a deep-chested, hoarse baying like that of hounds on +a trail. + +"My God!" I cried, "they are loose!" + +"I hope so," answered Monseigneur huskily; "they ought to be, for I +filed the bars myself last night." + +"But there will be murder done?" + +"Justice, not murder. Am I a man to do things by halves? Be quiet, +and let me look, for this is very curious, much more curious than if +Tristan had hanged him. Hanging is common, but I never saw a man die +in this way before." + +No, nor can many have seen the like, for which God be thanked; it was +an awful end. Jan Flemael lay on his back, his limp arms flung out in +a cross. Burgundy had rolled aside with the force of the leap, and was +picking himself up, cowed by the fall and silent. Behind him Spain had +crept, had caught Jan Flemael by the throat, had given one whimpering +worrying wrench, had--but that is enough, it was an awful end. Rome +and The Empire sniffed and growled uneasily inside the cage, but made +no effort to escape. + +In three minutes all was over and Monseigneur shook himself with a +sigh. His face had gone grey and haggard, and in ten breaths he had +aged as many years, so drawn was his mouth, so webbed the corners of +his eyes. + +"A great sight," he said, shaking himself again, "and one with a moral +for more than us in Plessis. Death on the threshold, knocking, +knocking, knocking, and a man within call who has no ears to hear." + +"With these brutes loose," answered I, as the worrying growl rose +afresh, "there will be knocking at many doors, and an answer to be +given whether we like or not." + +But Monseigneur had already recovered his _sang froid_. + +"I say again, am I a fool to do thing by halves? See!" and he pushed +aside the boards blocking the entrance. + +Little by little a line of men were pushing forward strong nets hung +from poles and braced beneath; little by little The Four Nations would +be again trapped. Truly, as he said, Monsieur de Commines did nothing +by halves. + +"My men," he added laconically. + +"But this was to be kept from the King's ears, and now--" + +"I tell you they are my men," he answered testily, "and what if they do +talk? Bars are already prepared to fit the sockets. The old bars will +be destroyed, and if men do whisper, Filed! there are so many lies +believed in Plessis that a little truth may well be discredited. If +necessary we shall say he tampered with the door and a lamentable +accident resulted! Faugh! look at the carrion! Jump for your dinners! +said he; Saints! how they have jumped, and how they have dined! He +told more truth than he knew!'" + +Beyond that I never heard that Jehan Flemalle had any epitaph. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +HIS MOST CHRISTIAN MAJESTY + +It was Monsieur de Commines himself who came for me as I went my rounds +of self-instruction three days after The Four Nations had gone +a-hunting. + +"The King calls you," he said, out of breath with haste; "I think your +chance has come, for he has some scheme in his head." + +"The King? What! This instant?" and I looked downward at my dress, +plain, clean, and serviceable enough, but hardly fit for a court +presentation. + +"Bah! Catch fortune as she flies. Besides, silks and satins would not +become the man who files a wolf's bars to save the King's life, and +then hunts the brutes back to their cage at the risk of his own." + +"But, Monseigneur, I did none of these things." + +"No, but the King thinks you did, and that is the same thing. I told +you the counter-plot was too trivial for me to lend my name to it. It +would not hoist a man at the top of the ladder an inch higher; but you, +who are at the bottom, it may raise a rung, or even two, if you are +politic. Come, the King waits; he has his dogs to play with, but he +may tire of them at any moment, and your chance be lost. One last +word," he went on, as, hurrying at a trot whose pace was very +significant in a man of Monseigneur's age and dignity, we drew near the +mouth of the Cour au Soleil, where Louis warmed his cold blood in the +sun. "Remember, you climb over my back. It is I who have brought you +into Plessis, and there are many who would be glad to see you muddy my +shoulders; therefore be watchful. Here in a sentence is the way to win +and hold court favour. Catch the King's meaning, and jump with his +humour, whatever it may be. Hush! not a word till he speaks, he is +often like that." + +The court was triangular in shape, and faced south. Across the apex of +the angle a couch was drawn, and there, stretched upon its cushions, +was Louis. One leg was drawn up under him, the other lay straight out, +and where it showed below the edge of his mantle the calf was of a +bigness no greater than my wrist. A sleeved cloak or coat of scarlet +satin, lined and trimmed with ermine, wrapped him to the knees. A +tight-fitting cap of the same colour as the cloak covered not alone the +scalp, but coming round the back of the head as far as the nape, caught +in his ears, leaving only the face exposed, and, my God! what a face it +was! Meagre as a death's head, the smooth-shaven skin a yellow +parchment, the nose long and thin as a vulture's beak, the full lips +withered and shrivelled to a crumpling of livid skin tightened across +broken teeth, the eyes--was he awake or asleep? living or dead? for +though these eyes were open they had rolled back in their sockets and +showed only a narrow splash of muddy grey shot with blood at the +corners. One arm hung over the couch-edge almost to the ground, and +the whole attitude was the pitiable collapse of a sick old age and +utter weariness. + +Three or four dogs stood or sprawled beside him, good courtiers all! +for they seemed to know his mood, and lay quiet, waiting for the +change. One, a coarse-jowled brindled beast that panted for fatness, +cowered on its haunches a foot or two away from the couch-head. No +member of the court was present, but knots of the King's archers, +half-armoured, but with sword and dagger, and carrying their bows, were +on guard at every point that commanded the court. + +As minute after minute passed, and the King still lay as one dead, +there was ample time for the picture to fix itself in my memory. Then, +suddenly, the sightless eyes rolled in their sockets, and he awoke. + +"Sire," said Monseigneur, as, hat in hand, I went down on one knee, +"here is Monsieur de Helville." + +"The compatriot of Monsieur Jehan Flemalle?" + +"Your majesty's faithful servant." + +"Faithful as England, and for the same cause," answered Louis, +beckoning with his fingers to the big-jowled dog crouching near him. + +The brute saw and understood, for, though the lips twitched till the +fangs showed, it flattened itself on its belly and inched nearer to the +thin hand it feared. But though the King called the dog, his eyes +never left my face, and as I said of the face a moment back so now I +say, My God! what eyes they were! Ice and fire, cold, inscrutable, +implacable; dead as grey ash, but with the smouldering heat of the +ember not far below the film; remorseless eyes that groped the secrets +of a man's thoughts as the delicate fingers of the blind grope a face. + +"I call him England, after my dear brother Edward," went on Louis, +"because though he shows his teeth and would fly at me if he dared, a +sop will always bribe him, and, like the King whose premature decease +we all so bitterly lament, he will die at last of over-eating. God and +Saint Claude forgive me if I seem to speak evil of the dead! Are you +as faithful as this my dog, Monsieur de Helville?" + +For a moment I was silent, partly because the shrewd, malevolent, fixed +gaze fascinated me as men say a serpent fascinates a bird, partly +because he had cleft the truth to the very core. I had told +Mademoiselle that I owed the King no loyalty, I had even been in two +minds as to letting Jan Flemael's plot run a triumphant course; to gain +my own ends, and my own ends alone, had brought me to Plessis. As the +King had said, my fidelity was no greater than that of the cowed +bull-dog, and thereby came a lesson. + +The poor brute had crept reluctantly within reach of the beckoning +hand, and the thin fingers that looked so frail, but had so much iron +of will in them, had gripped the loose skin of the plethoric neck, +twisting it till the dog wheezed in an agony of breathlessness. Let +the grip close in another half-inch, and it would choke. + +"Faithful as England and for the same reason," said the King, reading +the truth. "What is the sop that wins your love, Monsieur de Helville?" + +"I desire service, Sire." + +He grinned contemptuously, grinned till the thin lips twitched up, +showing the teeth as England had shown his. + +"Pish, man! Leave useless flattery to your betters! You desire Jan +Meert's life. Monsieur d'Argenton has told me. Who knows! perhaps you +may have it." + +The words stung me, or rather, their contempt. It was as if he gave me +the lie, and impelled by the smart, I answered more boldly than I had +dreamed I would have dared-- + +"Why not, Sire? A man's house is his house, and if yours were burned +would you not lop the hand----" + +He stopped me with a laugh; no thin sarcastic smile at such a childish +outburst, but full-throated merriment. + +"The torch, you mean, Monsieur Hellewyl, not the hand itself; the hand +that held the torch was--elsewhere!" + +Groping upward, he patted a little leaden image of the Virgin that hung +from a loop in his cap, patted it without reverence but rather as one +who would say, God is on my side. + +"Mary have mercy upon you if you so much as touch that hand except to +kiss it; what it gropes it grasps, and what it grasps it crushes. You +mean the torch, eh, Monsieur Hellewyl?" + +"The torch, then, Sire," said I, shivering a little, so significant was +the threat, and so significant too, when taken in conjunction with that +threat, the laugh that foreran it; "would you not set your foot on the +torch that burned your father's house? Would you not trample it, +quench it----?" + +"I? I am France, while you are----" He flung aside the half-choked +brute with more strength than one would have supposed possible in such +a shrunken frame. "Monsieur d'Argenton, take away the dogs, but do not +hasten poor England lest he die before his next sop gorges him; and +you, Monsieur Hellewyl, wait." + +Back he sank upon the cushions, upwards rolled the eyes to +sightlessness, and again he lay as one dead, but breathing heavily from +the exertion. + +Without so much as a grimace of repugnance at his task, Monsieur de +Commines caught up a little shaggy Spanish dog, a present from King +Ferdinand the Catholic, and nursing it in his arms turned away, +whistling softly to the rest. The signal was well known and quickly +obeyed, for all at once followed him, England capering clumsily in the +joy of dismissal. + +I admit my envy went with the wheezing beast. Had I dared, I, too, +would have danced lightheartedly out of the sunshine of the King's +presence into any shadow in Plessis. But such joyful release was not +for me. Wait, said he, and I waited, motionless, still on one knee. +Wait for what? To be gripped, so to speak, by the throat, gibed at, +and then flung aside like a dog? And yet that was the very fate I +craved for Jan Meert, whose only offence was that he had done what he +was bid. + +How far the King played a part, and how far his weariness was real no +man could tell, but it's my belief that through all his lassitude +nothing escaped him. No sooner had Monsieur de Commines and the drove +of dogs turned the angle of the court than he sat up. + +"On your feet, on your feet!" he said sharply, all the weak huskiness +gone from his voice. "You asked for service, priests serve with their +knees--God be thanked for prayer--but a man with his hands and feet. +What service? Jehan Flemalle's place is vacant, will that suit you?" +Pausing, he again read my thoughts, read them as a man reads a book, +and put them into such blunt words as after his late rebuke I would not +have dared to use. "You are a gentleman, and fit for something better +than to feed offal to brutes? Perhaps; and then again, perhaps not! +What do I know of your fitness? Will you take Jehan Flemalle's place, +Monsieur de Helville?" + +"If the King bids me," answered I, crestfallen. + +"And if the King bids you do him some other service?" + +"If my honour, Sire----" + +"Honour! God's name sir, I am your honour." The sudden storm that +possessed him frightened me, so fierce was it, so malevolent. His dull +lacklustre eyes blazed up like powder sparks, and he shook his clenched +fist at me as if he desired nothing better than to strike me down. "We +have no room for if's in Plessis, no, nor out of it, on the King's +service. If?--If?--do you serve me, or do you not?" + +"With the blessing of God, yes, Sire," I answered. + +"Ah!" and the lean hands went together, the fingers pointing upwards, +following the direction of his eyes. "If the blessing of God be not +with us we are indeed undone. His mercy forbid we should ever seek +aught contrary to His will. But I have often found that what I willed, +He was graciously pleased to will also, and this service, Monsieur de +Helville, is one peculiarly pleasing to God Almighty. Tell me, why did +you file the bars of The Four Nations?" + +The question caught me unawares, and for two reasons I had no answer +ready; one, that I am unready in a lie and had not filed the bars at +all; the other, that my first impulse had been to let Jan Flemael do +his own filing, follow what might. Louis was quick to catch my +embarrassment, and shrewd to understand it, at least in part. + +"So, so!" he said. "You, too, are of Flanders, Monsieur Hellewyl? But +let that pass. I judge a man by his acts, and whatever your first +thought was in the end you filed the bars. But why? Why? You, too, +being of Flanders." + +By this time I had my wits at command, and could have lied with a +courtier-like straight face, protesting against the imputation, but +that I knew he would have scoffed at the pretence. Jump with his mood, +said Monsieur de Commines, and as his mood seemed to desire the truth, +I told it. + +"For the sake of peace, Sire. The wolves would have torn France. +Better one man die than----" + +"A whole nation perish! My own thought, Monsieur de Helville, of a +verity my own thought, as God's my witness." Crossing his breast +hastily, he put a hand under him, pushing himself to his feet, and +stood facing me, his back arched, his limbs trembling in weakness, but +with the virile fire of the eyes unquenched, indomitable in their +masterful purpose. "I, too, desire peace, and shall one life stand +between to say No! to me? Peace to France, peace--oh yes, yes, +yes"--and he laughed a little cackling laugh, nodding his trembling +head in time to the merriment--"peace, too, to Navarre; poor distracted +Navarre that needs peace even more than does France! It is a Christian +act to bring peace, a Christian act. Monsieur de Helville, does the +service suit you?" + +"A life, you said, Sire: whose life?" + +For a moment or two the King stood silent, one lean transparent hand +laid across his narrow chest as if for warmth, the other covered his +mouth so that the chin rested on the palm while the teeth gnawed at the +finger nails. + +"There is a child," he began at last, "a miserable, useless, puling +child----" + +"My God, Sire!" I cried, shaken out of all control, even out of all +trepidation, "is it murder?" + +Out flew both hands, open, shaking in a passion of menace, and he +staggered forward a step as if to claw me in the face, but drew back, +panting. + +"I cannot! God! I cannot, I cannot!" he muttered, and gulping for +breath, stood staring at me with blinking eyes. "Murder? Shame, +Monsieur de Helville, shame, shame to think such a thought of a +Christian king, such a thought of me--_of me_!" groping upward, he +again patted the image on his cap. "See! I swear it, by the Virgin, +by the Virgin; God strike me--strike me--eh? You understand? I seek +peace, Monsieur, only peace and the good of France, and--yes, yes,--the +pleasing of God, that of course, always, the pleasing of God. Again I +ask, do you say No! to such a service? Dare any man say No? Dare +any--any----" + +His voice fell, quavering, his jaw dropped, and a look of abject terror +broke across his face. Swaying on his feet he pawed blindly at the +air, then collapsed backwards in a heap upon the cushions. + +"Coctier! Coctier! Coctier!" he screamed. "For the love of Christ, +come to me. Coctier! Coctier! Ah! dear God! not this time, give me a +little longer, just a little, little longer!" + +Whimpering, he tore at his throat with powerless fingers, and thinking +he wanted his cloak loosened at the collar I ran forward to help him. +But he dug at me with his nails, spitting like a frightened cat. + +"Not you, not you; no man but Coctier. Mon Dieu! will no man send me +Coctier!" again his voice rose to a scream. "The King is dying, +Coctier, Coctier! dying! dying!" + +Turning to seek help, I ran full tilt into the arms of Monsieur de +Commines, who, with Maitre Jacques Coctier, the King's physician, was +hastening in answer to the cry. + +"Monseigneur----" + +"Dolt! You have crossed him and I bid you not. He is never like this +except when crossed. If the King dies, by God! you may count Jan +Flamael's end a happy one," and striking at me, he ran on. + +Down on one knee went Coctier, his fingers busy with the throat of the +King's cloak, and as I drew back I heard Louis' voice as if in answer +to a question. + +"A priest? No, no, not this time, not this time. Priests are for the +sick, for the dying--and I must live that there may be peace." + +Peace! It was curious how I stumbled on the word. First Mademoiselle, +then Monsieur de Commines, and now the King; all desired peace, but it +seemed to me that to all peace did not mean the same thing. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +MONSIEUR DE COMMINES EXPLAINS + +At what length, and in what terms, Monsieur de Commines berated me I +need say little. Those who know his command of vigorous language may +judge, but had his tongue been a birch rod, and I a little thievish +boy, caught red-handed, I could not have been more sorely lashed. +Epithets flew as thick as snow-flakes in winter, but were neither as +cold nor as soft. I was a blundering dolt, a thick-headed fool, a +self-seeking, ungrateful pick-thank. + +But there I stopped him. + +"No, Monseigneur, never ungrateful." + +"Ungrateful," he persisted. "Here do I bring you to Plessis, vouch for +you, sow a thought in the King's mind for you, and when it buds you +trample it under foot, never caring that you may trample me down with +it. Is that gratitude?" + +"A man has his honour, Monseigneur; yes, and something greater than his +honour; for when it comes to steeping his soul in a child's blood----" + +"A child's blood? What do you mean, de Helville?" + +"What thought you sowed I do not know," I answered bluntly and perhaps +without much respect, for at the moment my blood was hot, "but the crop +was murder, and I was bid go reap it." + +The heavy wrinkles on his forehead, wrinkles in which you might have +sunk a bow-string out of sight, deepened yet further, and he stood +gnawing his lip in silence. + +"Yes, I remember now," he said at last. "There is a child, but his +name never passed between us, the King and myself, I mean. Mon Dieu! +Monsieur de Helville, you surely cannot think His Majesty meant any +harm to the boy?" + +"You told me, Monseigneur, that my time to think had not yet come, and +so, if it pleases you, I shall think nothing," I answered. "I am a +plain man, a stranger to Plessis and new to its admirable court ways. +It may be when the King says this is black, he means it is white or red +or blue, and that to kill a child is to stuff it with sweetmeats. What +passed was this," and I told him everything in as few words as I could. + +By the time I had ended, he was reasonable. That is where a man +frequently differs from a woman; he can see two sides to a question, +she only that which reflects her mood of the moment. + +"Thank God he seeks peace," said he when I had finished. "Gaspard, my +friend, my tongue was too rough just now, and yet I think you were +wrong. You should have played him, and so learned his true mind. What +he said was to try you, or, at worst, a jest." + +"A grim jest, Monseigneur, so grim that the King nearly died of its +failure." + +Monsieur de Commines shook an open palm in the air as if to push a +thought from him. + +"You see how we stand, always on the brink of the grave. Some day, +to-morrow, next month, next year, the grave-edge will crumble under our +feet and yet we dare not say, Sire! take care! All we can do is to +hold him back at all costs and in spite of himself. For when that +grave shuts----" + +Though my knowledge of Plessis could be measured by days, my ears had +been open as well as my eyes, and so the snap of the fingers that +rounded off the sentence was more informatory than words. It meant, as +far as Monseigneur was concerned, a friend's deep sorrow, a crown +minister's despair, a courtier's ruin; bereavement instant and +irremediable to heart, brain, and ambition; it meant that the present +fortunes and future prospects of the living Commines would certainly be +buried with the dead King, and perhaps also the glory and greatness of +France. Nor do I think the certainty of the one fretted him as sorely +as the perhaps of the others. For eleven years Philip de Commines had +been the greatest man in the kingdom, serving Louis, France, and +himself, and loving all three. Let the grave close over his master, +and at the groan of the sepulchral stone rasping to its socket Love and +Service perished. But I think that with him, as with every truly great +man, his life's work was dearer than himself, and his heart, as he +leaned against the little diamond window panes looking out into the +narrow court, was bitter for the loss to France rather than at the +crumbling of his own fortunes. + +"At any cost," he said, repeating the words over and over, "at any +cost, at any--any cost." + +"Even of a child's murder?" + +"What?" he answered looking back across his shoulder, "are you still +harping on that blunder? Oh! you Flemish calves! with but one idea in +your head!" + +"And is Commines not also in Flanders?" + +He laughed, and quitting the window came towards me. + +"True, friend Gaspard, and a fair hit; but there are great ideas as +well as small ones, and it would be a mercy if you and that Martin of +yours could think of more than one thing at a time." + +"Martin?" said I, in despair at this fresh blow. "My own folly you +have made clear, but what has Martin done?" + +Monsieur de Commines shook his head gravely, but it was a relief to see +a twinkle of humour shining through the gravity in his eyes. + +"Martin has broken that high law of courts which says, Thou shalt run +no risks to thyself for the sake of another! Love and faithfulness are +dead in Plessis, and who is Martin to dare pretend they are alive? +Twice every day he has come out from Tours to glower at the walls that +hold his Master Gaspard, and it is not safe for a man to do that for a +week at a stretch. Tristan has a keen nose and scented treason, love +and faithfulness being perfumes strange to his nostrils, and had I not +said No! haling Martin into Plessis almost by the neck, the misguided +fool would have tapped his heels against that wall in the Rue Trois +Pucelles before this." + +"What, Monseigneur! You had this thought for us even when you were +scolding me? How can I thank you?" + +"Chut, chut," he answered, taking my hand in his, and holding it fast. +"You gave the reason yourself a minute back; is not Commines also in +Flanders?" + +That was Philip de Commines all over. Policy and the mean cunning of +court life might crust him round, but underneath were the tender heart, +the broad deep mind, the generous sentiment ever ready to break a way +to the surface. But when I would have pressed to see Martin at once he +refused me. + +"Not yet; the King has a claim before even a brother of Flanders, and +the King is waiting for you." + +"Now?" + +"Yes, by this time he should be ready. Rochfort is with him but will +be turned out that Monsieur Gaspard de Helville may be received in +private audience. How important we are! But for both our sakes do not +fall into the same trap a second time. Once was pardonable, but twice +savours of suspicion, or what is worse in a man seeking the King's +service, a witless foolishness. The one is natural at Plessis, and to +be forgiven, but never the other! Take this from me; the man who +cannot quickly understand a jest and laugh at it, even when it is +against himself, is not fit for nice negotiations." + +Leaving Monsieur de Commines' lodgings we turned to the left to the +block set apart for the King's use. It lay east and west, with its +windows, none of the widest, facing south, for the sun was the only +living force on earth that Louis was willing should enter freely. +Round the door were archers of the Scottish guard, on every landing of +the stone stairway they lounged in threes and fours, and half a company +were quartered in the outer room we first entered. + +By all three we were challenged in turn, and for every group there was +a different password. But even that security could not satisfy the +King's jealous suspicion. Beyond the great chamber was an anteroom, +where three of the officers of the archers were always in attendance, +and well as the Prince de Talmont was known at court the captain of +these would have turned him back, had it not been for the famous signet +which had already saved our necks in Paris. + +But even then the Scot had a scruple of what no doubt he called his +conscience. + +"It franks you, Monsieur," he said, pushing his scabbard in front of me +when, Monsieur de Commines having entered, I would have followed, "but +our orders are strict. 'Understand, Lesellè,' His Majesty said to me +only to-day, 'you are to admit no one who does not carry the King's +token.'" + +For a foreigner, he spoke good French, but there was a harsh guttural +in the voice that grated in my ears. As to his name, I do not know how +it was spelt, but I give it as I caught the pronunciation. + +For a moment Monseigneur looked perplexed as he stood with the curtain +drawn back and one foot already across the threshold. To argue with +the wooden-witted northerner was impossible, and he dared not risk the +sound of an altercation at the King's door. Louis might have scented +treason and called out to Lesellè to strike, not knowing nor caring who +was struck. Nor would Lesellè have been slow to obey. I think I have +said there was not much love between Monsieur de Commines and these +mercenaries of the guard. But the embarrassment was only for an +instant; Monseigneur was not the Prince de Talmont for nothing. + +"The King is well served," he said courteously. Slipping the ring from +his finger he dropped it into my palm across the outstretched steel and +at the same moment withdrew himself into the King's chamber. "Show +your token, Monsieur de Helville, and lose no time; already His Majesty +has been made to wait." + +"The King's signet, Monsieur," said I, catching my cue and shaking the +collet within an inch or two of Lesellè's surprised eyes. "Will you +withdraw your sword, or must I push it aside?" + +It seemed at first as if he would have protested against the trick +played upon him; then a saving sense of humour came to his rescue, and +with a laugh he lowered his sword. Only, as I let the curtain fall +behind me, I heard him say: + +"Next time your hand comes so close to my face, Monsieur +Whoever-you-are, I hope it will have no King's ring on its finger." + +There was no time to reply. Taking me by the arm, Monsieur drew me on, +and again I found myself in the King's presence. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +A LESSON IN DIPLOMACY + +Before ever I had set foot in Plessis I had been warned that Louis was +a man of many moods, many contradictions. Some of these sides of +character I had already seen, but now a new, and at times a nobler +vein, was brought to the surface; I was to see the King who governed. +France had had kings who prayed, kings who fought, kings who reigned, +but rarely a king who governed. + +The apartment at the end of which we stood was long, narrow, and lofty, +with windows only to the south. These were wider than the average in +Plessis but were so fast barred that the power of the sun was greatly +broken even though there were no hangings to shut out the heat. The +floor was cumbered by but little furniture. A narrow table stood near +the farther end with a few carved chairs surrounding it; a sacred +picture or two, with a crucifix between, broke the dull flat of the +walls; beyond these there was nothing of ornament. A prosperous +merchant in any of the larger cities would be better housed than was +Louis of France in his private cabinet. + +Beyond the table the eastern end of the room terminated in an apse +partly cut off by curtains, a kind of oratory dimly visible by the aid +of a single hanging lamp. Facing the table and with his back to the +oratory sat the King, a litter of papers spread out before him. He was +again dressed in scarlet satin heavily fringed with fur, and there was +such a tinge of colour on his hollow cheeks that at first I thought he +was in better health than at the time of his seizure. But presently it +was clear that this wholesomeness came not from within but from +without, and was nothing more than the reflection of his clothing. It +was a trivial thing, and yet its very triviality was significant of the +King's thoroughness. Louis was as careful of his complexion as any +faded coquette, but the deception was one of policy, not vanity. It +was not well for France that men should know how ill was the King of +France. + +At his elbow stood Rochfort the Chancellor, nor, though there was a +swift upward glance of the King's eyes, did our entrance turn aside the +flow of words. + +"I repeat," he was saying, rustling his hand among the papers, "Spain +will not trouble us. Her toy, the Kingdom of Naples, fills her mind +for the present. What says the Scripture?"--and he crossed himself, +bowing with a duck of the head towards the table, and patting at a +venture one of the leaden images hung about his person. In his opinion +all the saints were on his side, and it did not matter very much which +he invoked--"a fool's eyes are on the ends of the earth! Let Spain +divide herself in Italy; Rome may be trusted to see she does not grow +too strong; there are such things as Estates of the Church! Eh, +Rochfort, eh? Well, what next?" again he glanced at us, still standing +where we had entered. "England? I think not, I think not. Now that +Edward has eaten himself to death--dear Edward--there is no need even +to fling a sop to England. Peace in the south, peace in the north, +there remains then our beloved--son! Our beloved fool!" he snarled +suddenly, both his hands shivering amongst the papers like a wind in +dry leaves, while he rocked to and fro on his seat, his head sunk +between his shoulders like some painted image of malevolent death. "Oh +that such a father should have such a son! Rochfort! It makes me--it +makes me--well, well, well, even he has his uses; he reminds me of +Flanders. Flanders!" he was gnawing his finger-tips now, his glaring +eyes fixed on us, but vacantly, as though he saw us not. + +Monsieur de Commines touched my elbow. + +"There is a stroke coming, be on your guard," he said, without seeming +to speak, "I know the symptoms!" + +"Flanders!" went on the curiously roughened shrill voice that vibrated +through me like the jarring of a tense chord, "there lies our business +to-day. Let Spain grow weak in Italy, let England prey upon herself +till only the picked bones are left, the policy of France is to widen +her borders near home. Rochfort, we must have Flanders. The Dauphin, +our beloved--fool! is contracted to that milk-mouthed Flemish princess +of three and a half. That marriage will never come to pass, and we +must make good our claim now." + +As in the games with these playing-cards which His Majesty had +introduced into court use there are certain well-defined rules, so also +are there in the greater game of politics. When the King paused, with +a challenge in his voice and attitude, Monsieur de Rochfort promptly +responded to his lead, asking the question he was meant to ask. + +"Flanders? Yes, Sire, but how make good our claim now? Nay, if I +might hint a doubt, have we a claim?" + +"Yes, yes, yes," answered Louis, his voice rising clear above its +common level of sharp huskiness. The Chancellor's astute second +question went farther than the King had intended, but not too far, for +a smile twitched his lips. "The claim of every just man to right the +wrong, to free the oppressed, and bring intolerable disorder to an end. +Flanders is in flames and I must quench the fire for my dear son's +sake. It has been reported to me----" + +Again his finger-tips were drawn in between the yellow teeth, and again +Monseigneur nudged me. "Again I say, be on your guard," he whispered +almost soundlessly. + +"----reported on high authority that a certain Jan Meert holds the +country in terror, burning, ravaging, murdering, plundering where he +pleases, and with none to check him. The peasantry he grinds, the +lesser lords he crushes one by one. The subjects of the princess who +is to be my beloved son's dear wife go in fear of their lives because +of this Jan Meert, and I have a mind to make a sharp end of Jan Meert. +Eh, Chancellor?" + +"It would be bare justice, Sire," began Rochfort cautiously. This time +the lead was not so clear, and Louis did not easily pardon blunders. +"Indeed, a righteous act, but--but--" + +"We are in Plessis and Flanders is far off? Splendour of God! +Rochfort, are my fingers so weak or my arm so short that for the honour +of God and the upholding of the law I cannot reach and crush a +miserable plundering rogue? By Saint Claude! I'll do it, I'll do +it--_if it be worth my while_. Eh, Monsieur le Prince, whom have you +there with you? Is it some private business? Perhaps some petition to +present? Some news to tell? Chancellor, we will excuse you; de +Talmont has something to say, and you know I am always greedy of +secrets. Kings govern by hiding their knowledge. _Qui nescit +dissimulare nescit regnare_. And your companion? Ah ha! ah ha! it +is--Yes, yes, it is Monsieur Hellewyl. Well, Monsieur, do you still +desire to serve France?" + +As we moved forward, Rochfort retired by a door at the side of the +oratory, leaving us alone with the King. But though the question asked +was a direct one, I could only answer it by a bow. My mouth had +suddenly gone dry, so that I dared not attempt words. But for Monsieur +de Commines' hint I might have assumed that our overhearing of the +King's reference to Jan Meert was coincidence, but Monseigneur's +significance forbade that mistake. Louis was dangling his bribe, but a +bribe to what end? It was de Commines who replied for me. + +"I can say Yes to that, Sire." + +"So, so, but of all men, d'Argenton, you should know we can only employ +servants who are faithful." + +"I guarantee Monsieur de Helville's fidelity, Sire." + +"You guarantee? you! Of what use is that to me? Am I to hang you if +this de Helville of yours breaks faith? And yet it is guarantees I +want. Have you a father or a mother, Monsieur?" + +"Neither, Sire," I replied, wetting my lips, "both are dead." + +"That is unfortunate," he said, the sour sardonic smile twitching his +mouth afresh, "for I have noticed that a man is sometimes faithful when +I can hold and crush his mother, as I hold and crush this," and his +fingers shut viciously over a sheet of the paper spread in front of +him, rasping it into a crumpled mass, which he flung briskly aside. +"But not all men, no! some are superior to such weakness and they +mostly rise high--when they are not hung first! Sisters, then? +brothers? None? Well, they would not be sufficient, especially if the +brother were an elder one. What then? Solignac is burned, there are +no lands to forfeit; with you it is all to gain and nought to lose, and +yet the fear of loss is a surer guarantee than the hope of gain. +Suggest something, d'Argenton." + +"There are other women in the world besides mothers, Sire." + +Louis nodded and his cold eyes travelled over me thoughtfully. As once +before he had searched my thoughts, he was now appraising my person as +one would the points of a horse. + +"Twenty-five, broad enough, tall enough, comely enough, and not +altogether a fool. Who is the woman, Monsieur de Helville?" + +Had I been more of a courtier I could have lied, warned by the King's +cruel cynicism. But at the sudden question the blood rose to my face, +and I stammered: + +"There is none, your Majesty, at least there is none worthy----" + +"Oh ho! he is modest, this sucking envoy of yours, d'Argenton. Well, +all the better. Come, Monsieur, her name and degree? The King speaks." + +From mockery he passed into incisive demand, and though what I had +already said was true enough in the sense he meant, I was constrained +to answer. In five minutes he had dragged from me all there was to +know concerning Brigitta and, in his cunning, inferred much more than +the truth. With his elbows on the table, and one hand half-covering +his mouth, he stared up at me until I ended, the sallow parchment of +his face withered into wrinkles. + +"A peasant! And he would marry her! What do you say to that, +d'Argenton?" + +"Only that Monsieur de Helville is a man of contradictory tastes, Sire; +but, for my part, I prefer second thoughts." + +"Pish! you talk riddles, and I do not like what I do not understand," +said Louis. Though he spoke to Commines, his gaze never left my face, +and I was conscious that he played with me as a tolerant cat plays with +a mouse. "So you would marry her, though she is only a peasant? Some +would say, have you no _droits de Seigneur_ in your parts! and cry Fie! +on you for your honesty. But not I. Her limbs may be as white as any +satin lady's, her cheeks as pink, her lips as red to kiss, her breath +as sweet, and what more can five and twenty ask! eh?" + +He paused, as if for an answer, but I, conscious of Monseigneur's +veiled reference to Mademoiselle, and that I was practising at least +half a lie, could do no more than stammer an inane something to the +effect that he was very good, which was in itself a lie, and at which +banality the grin broke out afresh. + +"For my part," he went on, "I am well enough pleased. After all, you +are a gentleman; the breed will be one degree nearer to the sod and all +the better for the mixture. It is from the people that salvation must +come to the nation, not from the nobles. Besides she is a hostage, and +being a peasant, will be the easier handled. For her sake, be +faithful, Monsieur, or by God!" and leaning aside, he shook his finger +backwards and forwards at the dim shrine behind him, "by God! I say, +those white limbs shall suffer, and those red lips scream, nor will all +the love in the world keep a curse of Gaspard de Helville off them. +The marriage bed with Solignac as your roof-tree, or the naked rack, +Monsieur, and at your own choice." + +"I have already promised, Sire----" + +"No, Monsieur, no," he interrupted, "you have promised nothing. +D'Argenton has promised for you, which is quite another thing. +Promises? Bah! what are promises? I have known even kings break +them! Give me an oath." Fumbling at his throat he loosed a collar of +reliquaries which hung round his neck and spread it on the table before +him with more real reverence than I had ever yet seen him display, even +when taking the name of Christ in his mouth. "Now, Monsieur, lay your +hand there. No, no, down on your knees, on your knees. What! you +kneel to me, and yet dare stand upright in the presence of God +Almighty, before Whom you swear? Down on your knees, I say! when you +call Christ and His saints to witness. Now, repeat: I Gaspard de +Helville, otherwise, Hellewyl, swear by my honour in this life, and by +my salvation in that to come, that I shall perform the King's service +faithfully to the end, or, failing such performance, will return +forthwith to Plessis to confess the failure and its cause, so help me +God and His Saints." + +Speaking from my knees, and with both hands spread over the little heap +of holy things, I repeated the oath clause by clause. As I ended, and +while still kneeling, Louis snatched the necklet from under my palms, +and touching a spring in one of the reliquaries, pressed the little +grey morsel it contained to my lips. + +"_Consummatum est!_" he cried triumphantly, "Now indeed we have you, +have you body and soul, bound fast for this world and that which is to +come. 'Tis the Cross of Saint Lo, Monsieur de Helville, whereon who +forswears himself dies within the year and perishes eternally. The +guarantees are complete. What a man will not do for a woman's sake he +will for his life--if not for his soul. His soul!" he groaned +complainingly, the unctuousness slipping out from his voice as suddenly +as it had slipped in. "We spend so much time saving our souls that +France suffers. Cannot the Saints save us and have done with it! But +there's a thought there; d'Argenton, your arm." + +Pushing back his chair, the King rose painfully to his feet, a meagre +skeleton of a man, bent by more than the weight of years. + +"On this occasion when we seek the peace of the world it would be a +Christian duty to ask the blessing of Saint Eutropius." + +Leaning on Monseigneur, Louis limped towards the oratory, dragging one +foot rasping on the floor as he walked. + +"It can do no harm," I heard him mutter. "It is always well to keep +heaven on our side, eh, d'Argenton?" + +"Yes, Sire, but is it wise that the priest should over-hear----?" + +"Tut, tut; he never leaves Plessis. Besides, a priest has a neck +between his frock and his shaven crown as well as another man." + +"But, Sire, his office?" + +Louis paused, looking round, so that I saw the profile of his wrinkled +forehead and thin nose white against the gloom of the shrine. + +"I am faithful to the Church, d'Argenton, no man more so, but, by God! +the Church had better be faithful to me, for there's no benefit of +clergy to traitors! We desire your prayers, dear father," he went on +loudly, "to the end that an enterprise of peace may have the blessing +of Saint Eutropius upon it. Only, no Latin, pray in honest French so +that I, as well as the good Saint, may understand what you say." Down +on his knees he went by the rail, Monseigneur on a faltstool behind +him, while I, apparently forgotten, knelt in turn on the bare floor. +"To the point, and not too long," said Louis. "Like myself, he is busy +in good works, and we must not waste his time." + +Out from the deeper shadow at the side of the altar a black-frocked +figure stole into view. + +"Then you do not desire a special office, Sire?" said a soft voice. + +Louis raised his head. + +"Anything, man, so that you are quick, and to the point. If I could +have spoken for myself, we would have done by this." + +There was a brief silence, to allow, no doubt, for a collecting of +thoughts. Where a man is accustomed to have prayers put into his mouth +it is not always easy to draw them fresh from the heart upon an +emergency. But at last the soft voice broke into a murmur. + +"Forasmuch, oh holy Saint Eutropius, as it has pleased thee to put into +the heart of thy faithful servant purposes of blessed peace, grant, we +humbly beseech thee, that the consummation he seeks may richly abound +to--to--" + +"The greatness of France," interrupted Louis in a loud voice; "make +haste to the end." + +"The greatness of France," went on the soft voice submissively, "and +the furtherance of the Lord's eternal Kingdom. Grant, also, we pray +thee, that upon the King, thy servant, may descend with great power +refreshment and strength to body and soul----" + +"There, there," said Louis, rising heavily to his feet, "cut it short +at the body and leave the soul for another time. It is not well to +importune the blessed saint by too many requests at once. The body +will do for to-day." And once more taking Monseigneur's arm, he +shuffled back to his seat. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +A MISSION OF PEACE + +"Now that we have the blessing of God we may go on," said Louis, biting +his fingernails so closely that the beginnings of what he had next to +say were mumbled through a hand upon his mouth. As words they were +smooth enough, but when I remembered the King's reply to Monseigneur +upon the very altar step the threat behind the flattery could not be +ignored. "I am going to trust you, Monsieur de Helville, even as I +trust the worthy priest who serves me and the Church at the altar +behind us. It is enough for common men that they look no farther than +to-morrow or next year, but nations live by generations, and we who +think for France must think in tens of years. We have prayed for +peace, but through a little seven years' child in Navarre there is a +menace." He paused, slipping a level hand up to shroud his eyes, and +watched me keenly. But this time Monsieur de Commines' lesson had been +better learned and I made no reply. My wisdom was to let the King's +meaning unfold itself beyond doubt. Apparently I stood the test to his +satisfaction, for he went on, suavely-- + +"Your outburst of the other day, Monsieur de Helville was very natural, +very much to your credit, and though the shame of your most unworthy +suspicion nearly cost me my life, you are pardoned. Listen now. Spain +is tangled in Italy, and with all her will to trouble France she has +not the power; the princes of Italy, Sforza, Visconti, Medici, Este, +and a dozen other pigmies, are my friends; James of Scotland and John +of Portugal are my close allies; England," and he snapped his fingers +contemptuously, "England is a muzzled dog; Austria stands upon its +mercenaries, and my pay is better than Maximilian's. Only little +Navarre is left, and through my niece, Queen Catherine, half Navarre is +already mine. Have you ever had a cinder in your eye, Monsieur de +Helville? a speck almost too petty to be seen, and yet it frets, and +frets, and frets? That miserable half of little Navarre is the petty +speck in the eye of France, and Gaston de Foix, the seven years' son of +the Count of Narbonne, is the edge that frets and frets and frets." + +Again he paused, and this time I was fool enough to speak. + +"I do not understand, Sire, how so young a child----" + +"God's name, man, who bid you understand? I said, Listen! And will +not the child grow? and is he not in collateral line for the crown? +The father is past middle age and spent, but the child will become the +man, and through that miserable half of Navarre there will be a way +open for Spain to strike France twenty years hence. Who knows what +feeble brain may govern France when that day comes? I--I--I can hardly +hope--D'Argenton! my cordial; quick--quick--um--um--um--there! that is +past." + +He sat back in his chair, very white and breathing heavily, while from +a wide-mouthed crystal he sucked loudly and with evident satisfaction, +long sips of a yellowish fluid. + +"Let the rest wait till to-morrow, Sire," said Commines, who bent over +him. + +But if Louis did not spare his servants neither did he spare himself. + +"Will to-morrow be less full than to-day? Besides, I am in a fever +until this question of Navarre is settled. We must have the child, +Monsieur de Helville." + +"How, Sire?" + +"Do you hear him, d'Argenton? What kind of a tool is this you have put +into my hand, with his hows and whys and buts? How? Do I care how! +That is your business. There are a dozen ways, all safe, all sure. +Oh, it is the curse of life to have a brain to think and yet be forced +to leave the execution to--to--blundering hands. How? Steal him if +you like! Next you will ask--you who are so nice and have such +charitable thoughts of your King--you will ask, Why? Well, I shall +tell you, Monsieur, I shall tell you. Even your scruples will admit +the scheme is a worthy one. If France educates the child, France +educates him for a friend, France shows him that his interests are +French, not Spanish, and so we hold Navarre on both frontiers and may +be at peace. The mind of a child of seven is wax, is wax; and to win a +child's love is not difficult. This time I ask you, Do you understand?" + +"I understand, Sire, that by fair means or--or----" + +"Yes, say it, or by foul! How he chokes over it, d'Argenton. Do you +truly think him fit for the work?" + +"I warrant Monsieur de Helville to be brave, your Majesty, to be +prompt, to be devoted, and to be no fool." + +"Devoted?" Louis fastened on the word like a starved rat on a bone. +"Yes, but to himself or to me? To his own interests or to mine?" + +"To you, Sire, to you." + +"Ay! he had better. I have his oath, and I'll have the girl; yes, and +I would have him too, if he played me false, have him though I bribed +every court in Europe to find him." + +"Sire, Sire, you mistake your man," cried Monseigneur, his voice full +of a generous indignation. "Threats----" + +"But there are promises, too, d'Argenton, promises and rewards. First, +let come what may, you shall face Jan Meert; that I set my word to. +Were I a man of your inches, Monsieur de Helville, and of that courage +for which your patron vouches, I would ask nothing better than that in +my own private quarrel. Next, fulfil to the letter the instructions I +shall give you and I will not only build you a new Solignac, greater +than the first, but for the lands of Hellewyl you shall have double, no +matter whether Burgundy, France, or The Empire holds them; to that also +I set my word. Talmont, am I a niggard to those who serve me? You +know I am not. You came to me with empty hands and now, if every +finger were a palm, they would be overflowing. Well, Monsieur, are you +satisfied? At one stroke you bring peace to a nation, vengeance to +yourself, wealth to your race. Does your oath hold?" + +The extraordinary winning powers of the man, the sudden sweetness of +tone, the softened kindliness, the generous manner, the vibration of +pleading in the voice, swept me from my feet rather than the +prodigality of the promises. Nor was it a new thing that a prince +should be brought up at a foreign court as a pledge of peace. The +novelty was in the method of securing the prince's person, and that, +weighed against the advantages, did not trouble me much. + +"I'll do it, Sire, I'll do it, though there should be twenty Counts of +Narbonne to say No! Nor will there be time lost on the road. Once I +have the boy I shall make straight for Plessis----? + +"Tse! Tse!" hissed Louis between his teeth, while he wagged a finger +hastily at me. "No, no, you go too fast. Who bade you make straight +for Plessis? The hand of France must not appear in this affair at all." + +"But, Sire, my credentials?" + +"Credentials? What? Parchments with a King's seal and countersign to +certify you have the authority of France to go a-thieving? Why not ask +for the oriflamme at once! By the splendour of God! d'Argenton, but +the fellow thinks himself an ambassador plenipotentiary at the very +least! Credentials! Authority under my hand to abduct Gaston de Foix! +Do you take me for a fool, Monsieur?" + +"Then, Sire," said I bluntly, "if I am caught, I hang." + +"Ah!" answered Louis unctuously, and patting a saint's figure haphazard +as he spoke, "All is as God wills, and surely it is as honourable to +die for peace as to die in war?" + +"Then, Sire, having secured the boy?" + +"Having, with the blessing of God, secured the boy, Monsieur de +Helville, you will then--where is the letter I bade Rochfort seal with +your signet, d'Argenton? It should be amongst the papers on the table." + +"With my signet?" answered Monseigneur uneasily, "I have no +knowledge--the Chancellor did not convey to me--that is, I had not +heard----" + +"No, no; there was no need you should. Ah! here it is," and Louis, +pushing aside some parchments which I do not doubt he had placed where +they lay that they might conceal the folded paper he now drew towards +him with the tips of his claws, lifted an oblong letter sealed broadly +upon the back, and tied with silk, "Rochfort prepared it for me. Write +your name across the corner, my friend, if you please. Since Monsieur +desires credentials, this will serve him. So! your hand shakes, de +Talmont, why is that? Now, Monsieur de Helville, attend; once, by +God's grace you have secured the boy, open this and do what it bids +you. That is all; d'Argenton, take him away and give him what he will +need. Credentials! there are your credentials, money, money, and again +money! What man of the world asks for finer credentials? Tell him the +route too, as he travels it he will learn now far the arm of France can +stretch whether to succour or to strike." + +Pushing himself to his feet, stiffly and with evident pain, Louis +turned towards the altar behind him and bowed humbly, crossing his +breast repeatedly, then faced again towards me. + +"The God of peace go with you, Monsieur de Helville, and at all times +and in all acts remember Him you serve. Ay, ay," he went on, his voice +hardening, "and remember, too, your Brigitta of the white limbs and red +mouth, for, by the same God, I'll not forget her or you." + +The last I saw of him was a bowed, half-crouched figure, a grey-pale +face looking out from between bent shoulders, and a lean hand shaken +shrewishly in the air. + +I was to remember whom I served! Did he mean God or himself? For all +his assumption of servile religiosity, I doubted if Louis set even the +seat of the Almighty higher than the throne of France. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +SOUTH FROM PLESSIS + +Monseigneur made no comment until we were in the freshness of the open +air; then he drew a long breath as if a strain had been relaxed. + +"It might have been worse. Come, now, that I may fill your purse; you +and Martin must leave Plessis to-night." + +"But, Monseigneur," I protested, "this is not at all what I desired." + +"What you desired! Who comes to Plessis to do what he desires? And +remember this, my friend, there is no turning back from the King's +plough. But to tell you the truth, it is not what I desired for you, +not exactly what I had in my mind for you, and yet I was a true +prophet. All is as the King wills. Keep that truth in your head, walk +at all times by its light, and your ten days in the rat-trap will not +have been wasted." + +I made no reply, and we turned the angle of the royal block in silence. +In silence, too, we crossed the court to his lodgings; but with his +hand upon the latch, Monsieur de Commines, with a gayer note in his +voice, repeated my complaint. + +"Not all you desired? Perhaps it is; perhaps it is even more than your +imagination groped after. The petulance of ignorant youth starts like +a shying horse at the first obstacle, and cries: I do not like the +road. It is the method that troubles me, not the end. The end!" and +the last of the cloud upon his face dissolved in merriment. "I think I +would play the end of the game myself if I were five-and-twenty." + +"But to be a thief, an abductor of children----" + +"Does that choke you? Then why did you not say No! to the King?" + +"There was a glamour about him," I began. + +"Did I not tell you he had many moods? He can make any man love +him--for the moment--when that is his pleasure or his profit. Besides, +you over-state the case; there is only one child, and he a very little +one." + +"It is theft, all the same." + +"Pooh! We are all thieves in court when a theft profits. A +reputation, an office, a title, a province, it is all a question of +degree. What? If I am His Majesty's ambassador at Cologne or +Rome--with credentials, mind you!--is it not that I may steal an +advantage? The greater the theft, the greater the honour--if only the +theft be successful! There you have the world's diplomacy in a +sentence. We lie and thieve abroad for the good of our country. Who +are you, friend Gaspard, that you should be more scrupulous than I?" + +"But what kind of a household shall I find at--at----?" + +"Where you are going? Charming, charming; especially if, as I imagine, +it is the frank abandonment of country life without etiquette or +punctilio." + +His harangue upon the honourable methods of court life was, of course, +half jest, but there was also so much of truth in his irony that +complacency and self-respect once more lifted their head, swaggering as +if there was no such thing as a lie in the world. After all, what was +my task but to do in units what for years Monsieur de Commines had +schemed to do by thousands, in the transferring of whole principalities +from one ruler to another? + +As I pushed open the door of Monseigneur's private apartment and stood +aside to allow him to precede me, Martin, standing within, caught sight +of me. What a cry he gave! "Monsieur Gaspard! Oh, thank God! thank +God!" It warmed my heart to hear him. Without ceremony he pushed past +Monsieur de Commines and caught me by both hands; nor would Monseigneur +listen to my apologies. + +"Love is no respecter of persons," said he, clapping him on the +shoulder. "I told you Master Martin had a heart in his breast, and so +would make a bad courtier. All the same, I wish I had fifty such +insolents about me. I would be safer than Louis in Plessis for all its +walls and moats. That you will have Martin with you on your journey +makes me easier in my mind." + +Dropping my hands, Martin bowed humbly, angry with himself that his +unceremonious impetuosity had, perhaps, lowered the dignity of his +Monsieur Gaspard. + +"Your pardon, Monseigneur, and yours, Monsieur Gaspard; I forgot +myself. But when one has gone hungry for ten days----" + +"That's a fine phrase of yours, my friend; say no more lest you spoil +it." + +"Then, Monseigneur, if I am permitted? You spoke of a journey--is it +soon?" + +"To-night." + +"But not to Tours, Monseigneur, not to the Street----?" + +"The Street of the House of the Great Nails! No, my friend, to the +south." + +"To the south to-night! God be praised for all His mercies! I'll go +for the horses, Monsieur Gaspard." + +"Yes," said de Commines, laughing at his haste, but a little bitterly, +"go, go, for there is no time to be lost. It's a strange world, de +Helville," he went on as the door closed. "Here we have the greatest +names in the land, and every ambitious schemer in France intriguing to +set foot in Plessis, and this honest heart thanking God unfeignedly +that he rides away into the darkness,--he does not even ask where! But +now to arrange for your journey. For the King's peace and your own, +leave Plessis to-night, late as it is. You will just have time before +the gates close, when none can pass. Halt at Ouzay for the night--it +is the first of the King's posts, and put up at the sign of the +Laughing Man. Say to the host as you enter, 'Is the good-man of Tours +in the neighbourhood?' and having received his answer, say no more. +Sup on the best and sleep softly, there will be no reckoning to pay. +But in the morning a man, wearing a bunch of trefoil in his hat, will +give you your next instructions. Follow these, but ask no questions. +As you find it at Ouzay, so will it be straight through to Navarre. +Everywhere you rest you will be expected, or, rather, not you, but the +King's messenger, and everywhere you pass shot free." + +"Then what is this for?" asked I, for while he was speaking he had +filled a wallet with more gold coin than Solignac had ever seen in all +my five-and-twenty years. + +"For diplomacy," he answered laughing. "Where you cannot steal you +must bribe. But there, I hear the horses in the courtyard, and since +needs must when the King bids, the sooner you go south the sooner +Solignac will give you a roof to your head. And who knows but the +journey may find you a mistress for it! Brigitta? H'm, perhaps +Brigitta, though I am no lover of swineherd wenches. Let me see the +King's letter a moment." + +I took it from the inner pocket where, half mechanically, I had placed +it for safety, and handed it to Monsieur de Commines--an oblong +envelope of crisp paper, a palm and a half in length by a palm wide, +stout, substantial, close-fastened. He took it, and turned at once to +the seal. + +"My cypher and quarterings exactly, even to the flaw on the upper right +hand corner of the collet; my shade of wax too, even to the perfume I +commonly use. Men call me avaricious. It's a lie, de Helville; money +is a good servant but the worst of masters. Yet I would give five +hundred, yes a thousand livres to know what is written within, or even +to see the writing. Who knows but it may seem my very own? If I do +nothing by halves, neither does the King my master, though how he +procured the signet I cannot imagine." With a sigh and a shake of the +head he raised his eyes from the seal. "No; truly things have not +turned out as I desired." + +In the courtyard he bade Martin follow with Roland and the pack-horse, +and walked with me to the outer gate, his arm linked in mine. Neither +spoke, for he was wrapped in deep thought, his face as dismal as if we +followed a funeral. But as we passed along the outer fosse I saw his +eyes lighten. + +"Credentials! sneered the King," and he tapped the paper with his +finger. "Perhaps he was more right than he supposed! That letter, +without superscription though it is, may open a smooth way for you of +which His Majesty never dreamed; though God forbid that I should judge +how clear and deep are His Majesty's dreams. Keep it, friend Gaspard, +and if you find a difficulty in making good your footing at--at--the +end of your journey, Philip de Commines' forged signet, with his name +across the corner of he knows not what, may clear away the opposition +as no King's credentials would do." + +By this time we were beyond the final drawbridge, with Martin, who had +passed ahead, waiting for us, the bridles across his arm, and Roland's +stirrup in his palm. Royal palace and all, Monsieur Gaspard must +receive the humble service due to him, and so impress the loafers at +the gate with his exalted rank! + +"How can I thank you, Monseigneur!" I began. "Here was I, forlorn, +helpless, a beggar, with neither hope nor prospect, not even a second +suit to my back, and now, through you, I am an envoy on the King's +service." + +"For God's sake," he cried, "say nothing of the prospect till it is +proved. Only remember this: first for your father's sake, and now for +the sake of your father's son, Philip de Commines is your friend +without reserve. That is a thing I say to few. If you tumble into a +pitfall on this path of my choosing--what a fool I was to meddle with +the King's affairs!--I'll pull you out, cost what it may; and oh, lad! +lad! there's a huge cost to be paid by someone, of that I'm certain. +And now, good-bye, and God keep you. Take care of him, Martin." + +"To the death, Monseigneur; trust me. For what else was I born?" + +"Farewell, Monseigneur, and again my thanks. How long do you give me +to return?" + +With a groan and an upward gesture of both hands, de Commines turned +back towards the gate, now about to be shut. + +"How can I tell? A month! Eternity! What I said at the first I say +at the last--All is as the King wills"; and with that, which was at +best a boding God-speed, we rode on our way. + +So long as Plessis gates remained in sight Martin kept his distance, +nor, though I reined Roland back to a walk, would he decrease the space +between us by a yard. But once a turn of the path, following the +river's curve, hid the towers, he drew up beside me. + +"Oh, Monsieur Gaspard, Monsieur Gaspard, but this is good!" + +"What is good?" answered I, holding out a hand to him, which he caught +and gripped. I knew his meaning very well, but I knew, too, that it +would please him to speak his thought. + +"That we two should be out in the sweet air together, free from the +rat-trap, free from the fox with the wolf's claws, free +from--from--that accursed house in the Rue Trois Pucelles, and +riding--God knows where! What does it matter!" + +"Why, what was that house to you?" I asked, remembering a hint +Monseigneur had let fall. + +"It was very near being my last rise in the world, and having seen two +poor souls travel by that upward road I had no heart to follow them. +One was a common thief, a foul-mouthed gutter bully, and I daresay +deserved his hanging. But the other was a miserable, white-faced wench +who stole a loaf out of sheer hunger, and that she might keep her +wretched soul one day longer in its starved body. They hung them +together--for company, I suppose; and it made me sick to see a coarse, +burly scoundrel climb out of that upper window and slide down the rope +to the girl's shoulders and crouch there, tailor-fashion, laughing at +some vile jest of his own making, while she--quite right, Monsieur +Gaspard, I'll say no more about it. It's a filthy way by which to send +even a sinner to God." + +The picture Martin conjured up was a horrible one, and remembering +Mademoiselle's grim suggestion as to what her fate would be if found in +Tours, I had made an involuntary gesture of loathing. If it had +sickened Martin to see an outcast of the streets--a nameless wretch +haled from God knows what cellar of vice--suffer such foul indignity, +how would the spirit not revolt to think of that pure, sweet face---- + +But even as I clenched my teeth and cursed at large, a new thought +broadened upon me. What a spirit she must have had, what a courage, +what a boldness, what an abnegation of self, to deliberately, and with +open eyes, face so horrible an end in cold blood! It is curious how +the little side winds of life fan the flame of love. Martin's chance +words, and the shocking scene they forced upon the imagination, had +turned my thoughts afresh in Mademoiselle's direction, warming my +admiration to glowing point. But of that he knew nothing. + +"And you?" I asked. "How did Tristan's brutal work touch you?" + +"It was this way, Monsieur Gaspard. What had I to do with myself all +alone in Tours? Nothing! So each day, yes, and twice a day, to keep +Ninus in condition, I rode out as far as Plessis and walked him up and +down where I could see the gates. You were inside, and they were +always something to look at. For a time nothing happened. Then a +fellow followed me out--a huge, pock-marked rascal on a raw-boned +sorrel. Not a word did he speak, but as I sentried up and down he drew +aside and sat watching me. Then he followed me back to the Cross of +Saint Martin, and later on I saw him earwigging the landlord. What he +learned I don't know. Possibly that robber of guests thought it his +interest to remember what he told Monseigneur he had never heard, for +next day and the next I was again followed. Then three more joined +him, and before I caught their intention they had me on my back. 'I +denounce him for a spy,' cried pock-pit. 'Lord! Lord! what a neck he +has! He's so light it will take my weight to stretch it as I did the +girl's last week. Three minutes on her shoulders, and--click! all was +over!' But Monsieur de Commines met us on the road to Tours, +and--and--here we are riding together in the cool of God's free air, +riding to---- Where do we ride, Monsieur Gaspard?" + +Stretching out my hand again, I caught his, squeezing it hard. + +"I owe Monseigneur a good turn for that, and perhaps you and I may be +able to pay him shortly." My idea was that the prompt success of de +Commines' _protégé_ would redound to de Commines' credit with the King, +which was another reason against a too delicate squeamishness as to +methods. "To-night we ride to Ouzay." + +"And then?" + +"God knows! Wherever a Jack-in-a-box of a fellow bids us." + +"But surely, Monsieur Gaspard, you know the end of it all?" + +"Navarre, I think." + +"That's beyond my tether," said Martin, shaking his head doubtfully. +"But there, the good God didn't open the rat-trap for us for nothing, +that I'm sure." + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +COUNT GASTON DE FOIX + +The name of the inn at Ozauy must have been given in bitter irony, for +house and host were alike unprepossessing. Custom seemed the last +thing desired. + +"Full," said he, opening the door an inch or two in reply to my third +knock, though the blankness of the dark upper windows gave him the lie. +"Go elsewhere, my fine fellow, and make less noise." And would have +shut-to the door again, had I not thrust the end of my riding-whip +through the crack. + +"Tell me," I whispered, as he struggled to push it back, "is the +good-man of Tours in the neighbourhood?" + +On the instant the struggling ceased, and I heard a little whimper +behind the door like the cry of a child too frightened of the dark to +scream. + +"Saints have mercy on a fool!" he said, flinging the door wide. "Come +in, Monseigneur, come in! How was I to guess it was your Excellency at +so late an hour? There are half a dozen louts drinking in the kitchen, +some of them not too sober--we must live as we may these times. Shall +I turn them out?" + +"No, but prepare supper while we see to the horses, then make our rooms +ready. But the good-man of Tours, what of him?" + +"Certainly, your Excellency, in the morning; I shall see to that. +To-night he is----" + +But I remembered Commines' advice, and cut him short; besides, it was +long past our usual hour for the meal, and we were half-starved. + +"Is that your business? Bring supper." + +"Again, certainly, Monseigneur, and a good one, though all Ouzay be +scoured for it." Nor, when it came, had we any cause to complain. + +What profession, beyond that of spy and jackal to the sick Lion of +Plessis, the good-man of Tours followed I do not know, but at least he +was diligent in his master's service. Before seven in the morning +there was a knocking at our door, and when Martin slipped the bolt a +fellow in peasant's dress entered, closing the door carefully behind +him. + +"Monsieur de Helville?" he said, looking from one to the other, but +speaking not at all in a peasant's voice. + +"I am de Helville." + +"And I the good-man of Tours--or his shadow. Here are your orders. Go +to the Red Cock in Poictiers, and ask the landlord the same question +you asked last night, saying neither more nor less." + +He had kept his hand on the latch while he spoke, and as he ended he +opened the door and was gone before we could put in a word. Martin was +for running after him, but I forbade it. + +"To what purpose? We know as much as the King wants us to know. That +masquerading peasant could tell us nothing more. It's my belief that, +except Louis himself, not a man in France, not even either Monsieur de +Commines or the Chancellor, knows the route we are to follow or the +business we travel on." + +"But, Monsieur Gaspard, why such caution?" + +"For this reason, my friend; if we bungle our commission, the King can +say, 'I never knew you,' and so leave us to our fate as wandering +vagabonds." + +As it was at Ouzay, so it was at Poictiers and for the rest of our +journey. Poictiers sent us to Ruffec, Ruffec to Marthon, Marthon to +Saint Gatien, Saint Gatien to Le Catelet, Le Catelet to Gabarnet, +Gabarnet to Orthez, Orthez to La Voulle. Everywhere there was the same +question, everywhere the same obsequious, frightened deference, with +none seeing further into the King's purpose than the next post. Once +our instructions came by way of a woman, and once through the +inn-keeper himself. + +This last was at The Good Queen in La Voulle, and there, for the first +time, our orders varied. + +"I am to tell you this," said he. "What you seek is at Morsigny. When +you have found it, ride back here with all speed, and then, but not +till then, open the sealed letter." + +At the time I answered nothing, but next morning as we sat at +breakfast, our host serving us, I asked, as if for gossip's sake, if he +knew of such a place as Morsigny? + +"The château, I suppose you mean, Monsieur?" he replied, playing up to +my lead while he busied himself doing nothing with apparent zeal. "It +is about three leagues to the south, and so not far from the hills. +But you will not find the Count at home." + +"Oh, the Count is not at home," I repeated vaguely, my information +being of the weakest. I had not even remembered there was a Count. + +"No, Excellency; he is with the court at Pamplona, though not +altogether for love." + +"Who, then, is at Morsigny?" + +"Only the little Count and a small household. The life they live is of +the quietest; few pass their way, and if you have news from Paris, or +even from Bordeaux, Monsieur, you will be sure of a welcome." + +"What?" said I doubtfully. The possible solution of an evident +difficulty did not seem a good one. "A stranger? Hardly welcome, I +think." + +"That's just it, Monsieur, because you are a stranger, or no more than +two. Were you fifty you would find the door shut so fast that fifty +would not open it. Nor would you get a welcome if you came from Tours. +We of the Little Kingdom do not love Louis. Jean Volran says it." + +"Bold words," said Martin grimly. "But, my friend, here's advice to +you: if you meet a certain Messire Tristan, keep your dislikes to +yourself, for assuredly Jean Volran would never say it a second time." + +"Bah!" replied he, shrugging his shoulders as he turned away. "I'm not +afraid of your precious Messire Tristan." + +No more passed, but as we rode on the way I had leisure to admire the +skill with which His Majesty chose even the humblest of his tools. In +three sentences Jean Volran had informed us of the position at +Morsigny, had shown us a possible cause of welcome, and hinted a +warning we would be fools to disregard. + +It was curious, but it was not the seizing of the child that troubled +my conscience, but the stealing through a friendly door under cover of +a lie. But as I cast about how I might shift a downright lie to a +seeming truth, and so cheat the devil in the dark, Martin could stand +his uncertainty no longer, and so, for the tenth time since we had left +Plessis, spurred Ninus up alongside of Roland that he might ease his +curiosity. + +"Are we at our journey's end, Monsieur Gaspard?" + +"Nearly," answered I, finding safety in brevity. + +"And what do we do next?" + +"The King's business." + +"Then it's turn about," said he, "for the King nearly did mine in +Tours. But what is the King's business to us?" + +"The restoration of the Hellewyl lands, the building of Solignac, and +Jan Meert's life. Will that content you?" + +But to my surprise, so far from showing the lively satisfaction I +looked for, or even astonishment, his face grew grave. + +"Is it as dangerous as all that? The old fox of Plessis never gives +coin or life except at ten-fold usury. Who pays it, Monsieur Gaspard?" + +"Are you a coward? Think of the gain, man." + +"Ay! Coward! Think of the cost!" he answered dourly. "I say again, +Who pays it? Pray God we don't!" + +"That we may not," I answered, speaking more sharply than was just, for +I had always encouraged Martin to be frank. "See well to Roland and +Ninus, for when we ride from Morsigny we shall ride as if the devil or +Tristan himself were after us. The pack-horse we shall leave behind." + +"Morsigny!" said Martin. "I'd rather have Solignac, charred and +roofless, than twenty Morsignys. God send us safe away!" + +"God send us safe there," I retorted; "and that He may, do thou wait +here till I ask our road. I hear voices across the break of whins +yonder." + +It is my belief that the sun, the rain, and the wind are at the bottom +of half the workings of a man's spirit, nor, if nature be in a +mothering mood, is it possible for wholesome five-and-twenty to +withstand for long her comfortings. Never had Flanders shown me so +blue a sky, rarely had such a kindly sun so warmed me. The very vigour +of the trees, their depth of green, their splendid strength, their +lavishment of southern foliage, was a beguiling and a delight. Long +before I turned Roland out of the track my sourness had vanished, and +in its place was the glorious exuberance and sweetness of youth, that +thinks neither care nor evil. Care? To the back of to-morrow with +care! All around me the world was sown with gold, the yellow of broom, +the yellow of whin, the yellow of kingcups; and as the honey-sweet of +the warm air smote my nostrils, my heart danced in time to the thud of +Roland's hoofs. Over this bush we leaped, over that, zigzagging +towards the sound of life. + + "_Ah dieu! me donc le joye d'amour!_" + +sang I, and landed Roland almost flat on the top of a fluttering skirt. +With a jerk I pulled him to his haunches, and, bonnet in hand, sprang +to the ground. + +"Pardon, Madame," I began, but stopped short, my heart leaping again, +but this time to the tune of my song. It was no Madame at all, but +Mademoiselle herself--Mademoiselle of the Star of Flanders and Tours +Cathedral, and straddling in front of her was a little six or +seven-year lad, his fists squared up at me. + +It is another of my beliefs that, in the disadvantage of surprise, a +woman's wits work more keenly than a man's. Certainly Mademoiselle +found her tongue first, though that, perhaps, was yet more truly +feminine. + +"Welcome to Navarre, Monsieur Gaspard Hellewyl!" said she, sweeping me +a curtsey so low that the exertion fired her cheeks ruddily. "Or is it +Monsieur Martin? The changes are so confusing and the names so hard to +remember." + +"Gaspard Hellewyl, Mademoiselle," answered I; "Gaspard Hellewyl, and +always at your service." + +"Oh!" she exclaimed, curtseying a second time, "always at my service! +That is very prettily said, Monsieur. And have you come all the way +from Tours to kill a man to prove it? That was your way in Paris, and +that was what you would have done in Tours, but here in Navarre I pray +you prove it in some gentler fashion. We have so few men in Navarre, +and"--the laughter died from her eyes as she paused an instant--"we may +need them all to fight France." + +"If all Navarre can double its fists as sturdily as your playfellow, +Mademoiselle," answered I, giving her badinage for badinage, "then +France had better call Spain to her help, or else cry quarter." + +As we spoke she had folded her arms round the little lad in loving +protection, but now she loosed him, and we stood for a moment in +silence. Presently she shook her head, her mouth twitching, as if her +gaiety was struggling back again. + +"My playfellow! Ah, no, Monsieur Hellewyl, and I humbly pray you will +pardon the freedom of my presumption in addressing you. I am Monsieur +le Comte's _gouvernante_ and nurse, but, to be frank, very much his +nurse and very little his gouvernante, for I fear I teach him nothing +but to love me. This, Monsieur, is Count Gaston de Foix, only son and +heir to Monseigneur the Count de Narbonne. Monsieur Gaston, have I +permission to present to you Monsieur Hellewyl?" + +The child nodded gravely, acknowledging my bow with a quaint +seriousness that moved my pity. It seemed a sorrowful thing that at +six years old the ceremonies of court usage should already have been so +deeply ingrained; but in an age when babes were betrothed in their very +cradles, the prince knew even less of the joys of life than the +peasant. Gaston de Foix! The lad to secure whom I was to turn +child-stealer! Gaston! The troubler of France, and the bearer of +peace to two nations if I could but succeed in my mission. Already I +was drawn towards him, already I pitied him, for if court ways so +cramped his life here in the freedom of the fields of Navarre, what +would it be behind the walls of Plessis, or wherever the King might +elect to quarter him? + +"If Monsieur Hellewyl is your friend, Suzanne, then I am glad to see +him," replied he, with all the sedateness of a councillor of state. + +Suzanne! So that was her name! Somehow it pleased me that I should +hear it for the first time from the lips of a child, and have my own +conjoined with it as a friend. And yet, such is the discontent of +mankind, I would have been yet better pleased if the child had put it +that Mademoiselle Suzanne was friend to Gaspard Hellewyl. + +With a gravity the equal of his own I returned the queer stiff little +bow he gave me. + +"Her friend always, that I can promise you, Monsieur le Comte, if she +will but permit me the honour. And she has greater friends than I; +Monseigneur the Prince de Talmont----" + +With a sweep of her arm that should have been a revelation to me but +was not, so intent was I watching her eyes, Mademoiselle +unceremoniously put the boy aside. + +"Commines!" she cried sharply, her face suddenly losing the freshness +of its youth. "Monsieur de Commines has sent you! God's name, +Monsieur Hellewyl, why did you not say so at once?" + +"Because, Mademoiselle Suzanne, it is not quite as you put it." + +"Oh, Monsieur, Monsieur, leave your precise niceness of orders aside, +and come to the broad truth. It was Monsieur de Commines who told you +where to find me, however cunningly he may have packed his meaning in +doubtful words. I know his shifty ways. I mean him no offence. More +than once he has shown himself my friend; but he is one of those who +love to skirt the shadow of a hedge rather than cross a field in God's +sunlight. He has ten several ways of saying Good-morning! and each has +a different significance. Your message, Monsieur? Is it peace? What +a fool I was to think--but no matter what I thought; is it peace? is it +peace?" + +For the second time I had unwittingly misled her. But though on this +occasion the fault was certainly not mine, I was embarrassed how to +answer. It was not simply that to tell how, in blunt truth, I had +stumbled on her by accident would have cost me the playful mischievous +interest I had first awakened, but it must also have provoked enquiry. +The woman who had cried of Villon, Is there no one to kill this +infamous wretch? who had had the cool hardihood to ride under the very +shadow of Tristan's gallows-house, because the greater safety lay in +the greater danger, would promptly ask, If Gaspard Hellewyl does not +come from Philip de Commines, what, then, is he doing in Navarre at all +in these times of stress? It was the little Count who gave me +sufficient breathing time to avoid the crime of a blundering lie. +Naturally, he could not follow Mademoiselle's change of mood, and her +pleading cry as she stood with outstretched arms seemed to him the cry +of fear. + +"What is it, Suzanne?" said he, running between us. "What has he done +to you? If he hurts you, I'll kill him when I grow big--I will, I +will! Go away, Monsieur Hellewyl, you are not a friend." + +"No, my heart, no," answered she, again putting him aside, but +gropingly, for her eyes were fixed on mine. "Monsieur Hellewyl, is +truly our friend, or I hope he is, and am waiting to hear him prove it." + +"Heart, head, and hand," replied I, not venturing to touch the white +fingers, near though they were to mine. The brief interval had given +my slow wit time to move, and I thought I saw my way clear. "As to +Monsieur de Commines, his position is even more difficult than you +credit. At times the path by the hedge is quicker than the straight +road in the open sun. But this will prove that at least I am here with +his full knowledge." Out of its inner pocket, and with a blessing on +him for his crooked ways, I whipped the King's letter, turning first +the false seal, and then the extorted endorsement towards her. "Do you +recognise them?" + +"I recognise them," she replied curtly, advancing her hand yet nearer. +"Give it me, Monsieur; pray God you bring good news." + +"From my heart I believe I bring peace, and yet I cannot give you the +letter--cannot give it to-day," I added after a pause. "You see it has +no address, and--oh! wait Mademoiselle, wait! Trust me, the best fruit +ripens slowly." + +"Wait!" she repeated, her arm sinking to her side; "that is always what +men say to a woman! Wait! wait! as if to wait were not hardest of all; +to wait, not knowing whether to hope or fear, or whether the new day +brings a blessing or a curse. Wait! Ah, Monsieur, you cannot love +your Flanders as we of the Little Kingdom love Navarre, or you would +not say Wait! so easily." + +Once more the little Count stood my friend. + +"Come and play, Suzanne," he said impatiently. "Monsieur can find his +way to Morsigny by himself." + +"To Morsigny!" she cried, stooping to catch him in her arms so that I +failed to see her face. "Yes, that is best. Why, what a clever boy +you are, Gaston! Monsieur Hellewyl, the Count de Foix invites you to +Morsigny. But oh! I fear that you will find it dull, for at Morsigny +there are no men to be killed." + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +MADEMOISELLE SUZANNE, _GOUVERNANTE_ + +Now it will be understood why, for the sake of those who are to come +after me, it is necessary to write this vindication. Men, not knowing +the whole truth, have called me coward and traitor, because, said they, +having a felon purpose in my mind, I crept into Morsigny behind a +trusting woman's skirts. + +That is not my view, and three times I have fought to maintain my +opinion. You who have read so far, judge would I wilfully hurt +Mademoiselle by so much as a finger prick? Judge, too, if Gaspard +Hellewyl was the man to root his fortunes in his own dishonour? +Nowhere have I laid claim to be more than a simple-hearted gentleman, +and the King's scheme, as laid before me, seems to me now, as it seemed +to me then, a not unreasonable solution of a grave, threatening +political difficulty. That the wrench of the forced separation must +give Mademoiselle pain I knew and lamented, but I judged her to be of +too noble a mind to weigh selfishly the present brief sorrow, however +sharp, against the peace, safety, and prosperity of a whole generation. +At the court of France Gaston de Foix would certainly receive as +honourable a care as in the wilds of Navarre, together with a more +splendid education, and so be the better fitted to carry the +responsibility of his station. True, that education would give his +mind a particular bias, but what of that? We all more or less reflect +that which lies nearest, and to a child that is neither a difficulty +nor a hardship. Therefore from every point of view--from that of +France, from that of Navarre, from that of Mademoiselle, even from that +of the boy himself, I held, and hold to this day, that my action was +justified. But slander holds otherwise, and it is easier to kill a +plain-speaking and perhaps honest gentleman or two than choke a lie. +But if at that time what men might say did not trouble me, Morsigny had +its own perplexities. + +By nature the South not simply suspects, but hates the North, and so +the men of Morsigny gave us no welcome. Nor do I blame them. In race, +language, and sympathies we were at variance, and Pamplona--the true +Pamplona, not that which reflected Queen Catherine's Gallic +sympathies--distrusted Paris even as the fox distrusts the wolf, or the +pigeon the kite. At Morsigny there was courtesy, but it was the +courtesy of silence and suspicion, so that in his twelve hours of the +Louvre, Martin had learned more of the gossip of the kitchen than he +did in as many days of Morsigny. + +For one thing, we could not understand their tongue, nor they ours. +Our northern guttural was to them a barbarism fit for fleering +laughter, while their blend of Spanish, bastard French, and Basque +sounded to us an unmeaning lisping prattle, pretty enough in a child's +mouth, but a thing of derision for grown men. + +Partly this isolation pleased me, for it threw me much with +Mademoiselle Suzanne and the young Count, but only to find myself again +fumbling with a doubt. The puzzle was Mademoiselle herself. In Paris +she had stood for Narbonne and Navarre, pleading in the nation's stead +as the very equal of Philip de Commines, while here, amongst her own +folk, she was no more than body-servant to a child of six, his nurse, +his playfellow, and at his wilful beck every hour of the day and night. +It was true that Morsigny treated her with all respect, but her +humility to the child Gaston was greater than the humility of Morsigny +to Mademoiselle Suzanne D'Orfeuil. + +To solve a puzzle the best course is to examine it closely and with +persistent diligence. That is one obvious statement. Here is another: +it is a pleasant thing when duty and desire run in pairs. So it was +now with me, or so I persuaded myself. To solve the puzzle was my +desire, to secure the person of the little Count was my duty, and the +way to achieve both was to keep a close attendance on Mademoiselle--or +so, and with great ease, again I persuaded myself. + +Day by day, then, that I might the better fulfil my mission, we rode, +we hawked, we hunted, we strolled, Count Gaston always one of three, +and, what was much less satisfactory, a full-armed guard always where I +did not desire them to be. + +If we cooled ourselves in the woods, Anton and Pierre were prowling +somewhere in the coverts; if we sunned ourselves in the garden, and +played at the humanising passion of flower-culture, 'Tuco or Hugues +glowered at me from unexpected corners. Was Mademoiselle doubtful of +my loyalty? At the time I did not think so, but Navarre was unsleeping +in its suspicions of France, and to Morsigny we stood for all that was +hated in King Louis. It rather seemed to me as if their watchfulness +drove us closer together, as if she would make up to the stranger for +their surly want of confidence. For day by day she grew more frank, +though never forgetting what was due from the nurse of Count Gaston to +the friend of Philip de Commines. + +That galled me, galled to shame everything that was best in me; for I +knew well, however half-menial her place and service might be, that in +pure devotion of spirit and singleness of heart she was as much above +me as any saint in glory. Nor do I altogether mean a saint. Saints +are too aloof from the mire of our world to give a true comparison; she +was as much above as every true-souled, pure-thoughted, loving woman is +above the man who splashes on along the bye-ways of life, not too +careful where he sets his foot so that he be but one stride nearer to +his goal. By that I think you will see that I was beginning to love +Mademoiselle a little; and so, if you have some grasp of the +complexities of the human mind, you can understand the half-conscious +conflict that was in struggle between grieving the angel of my +adoration and the shame lest, by omitting to cause that grief, certain +white limbs should crack on the rack and certain lips I had kissed +scream curses on the treachery of Gaspard Hellewyl. However soon a man +may find other and sweeter lips to kiss, he can never, unless the beast +of the field be the nobler brute, quite forget the touch of the mouth +that has helped him to the dearer knowledge. + +You see, then, the various cleft sticks that pinched me? And, if you +are one of those having that grasp of which I have written, you will +understand that Morsigny's cup of satisfaction was heavily drenched +with bitters. + +In the end I again persuaded myself to satisfy my inclination; that is, +to save the lips I had ceased to love by so prolonging my stay at +Morsigny that when the time came to ride north at a gallop Mademoiselle +would say in her heart: I can trust and not be afraid. So would the +lips I had learned to love not grow white for the loss of the child who +lay so near her heart of hearts. + +So, as I have said, day by day our intimacy grew franker, until, as we +rode amongst the whins, I thought the hour had struck to loosen the +knot of at least one perplexity. Little Gaston was on his pony, +coursing in and out of the brakes like a rabbit at play, and we two +pacing soberly alone. She had asked her daily question: Must I still +wait, or has the time at last come to open Monsieur de Commines letter? +and I had replied as usual: No, not yet, Mademoiselle; trust me, I +beg--still trust me. + +"Oh, Monsieur!" she answered, not petulantly, but as if out of a very +sore and weary heart, "why must the faith be always on one side? Is +there to be no trust in me?" + +"No trust?" I echoed. "Why, all Navarre has trusted you, and to me it +is a strange thing that a girl who is too humble to mount her horse at +the Château gate should yet be chosen to speak for Navarre in Paris." +For a moment she looked aside in silence, then drily, as if I presumed +upon her, she replied: "In my station I am what God made me, Monsieur." + +"For which God be thanked, Mademoiselle!" I answered, in a voice as +sober as her own. "My mother taught me that what He does is well done, +but none the less it was strange, and a very great trust. Is Navarre +so poor that it must choose a frail girl and a--a--how am I to put it +without offence?--must choose you, in a word, you who--who----" + +"Am what I am! Do not be afraid to speak your mind, Monsieur. Honest +service is no woman's shame. But I will answer your question with +another: Is Hellewyl so great a name in France, or even in Flanders, +that Louis--you come from Plessis, you know, and whoever comes from +Plessis comes from the King--that Louis should choose Gaspard Hellewyl +of all men to carry his message of peace to Navarre? Oh, Monsieur, +Monsieur! because I speak plainly you are angry. Who is this child's +nurse to scoff at a Hellewyl of Solignac! Can you give a thrust and +not take one? A thrust? No, a whin scratch!" + +"But a scratch that hurts, Mademoiselle." + +"Yes, Monsieur, and hurts more than you; not even Gaston's nurse is +pleased to be told she is insignificant. Have you the only thin skin +in the world? But I forgive you, Monsieur. It is right that a man +should have pride of race, and if it will heal your wound I will avow +that you are the greatest name in Flanders, as"--she added softly--"you +have shown yourself more than once to be the truest gentleman. But I +will be even kinder; I will answer you your half-asked question: my +insignificance was my safety. If Monsieur de Narbonne, Monsieur de +Gourdon, Monsieur D'Arros, or any one of fifty who make the poverty of +Navarre rich, had suddenly disappeared, your King's spies--do you know +that he has spies, even in La Voulle? Would to God we could hang +them!--would have traced him within a day, and all France have hummed +like a tapped hive. But who would miss such an insignificance as +Suzanne D'Orfeuil? Who would fear a couple of women travelling with a +single servant? And yet, Monsieur Hellewyl, your Louis may find that a +woman is not always altogether a fool. Oh, you men, you men! with your +smug, complacent pride in your own proper wit, and your wisdom, and +your courage! I tell you, Monsieur, a woman's heart is as big as +yours, her soul as great, and the courage that dares fight for its life +is not the greatest courage in the world! Oh, _Dieu-Merci_! Monsieur, +I forget myself; but you see I love Navarre and Morsigny as dearly as +you love Flanders and Solignac; and when a woman loves, she forgets +everything, even herself, and remembers only that she loves." + +"But she also forgives, Mademoiselle?" + +"When a woman loves! You miss the context, Monsieur Hellewyl," she +answered tartly. + +"And am I not forgiven?" + +"Oh, la, Monsieur! would you have me get down and curtsey? Who am I to +forgive the friend of the Prince de Talmont and envoy of Louis of +France! Surely you forget yourself, as you did a minute back, only now +it is your dignity, while then it was--what it was! What would your +King say to such an abasement in his representative?" + +"No King of mine, Mademoiselle, as I have told you once before." + +"He is our King whom we serve as King, Monsieur and I would to God it +were any one on earth but Louis the Cunning; whosoever touches him +touches shame," and with a vicious little cut of her riding switch she +rode on. + +That was ever the way with her--deep-hearted, shallow-hearted, +bitter-tongued, and womanly sweet, gentle, wrathful, mischievous all by +turns--till, for all our daily rides and nearness, I felt that she kept +me as much at arm's-length as did any surly, suspicious, +ill-conditioned Navarrois dog of them all. But a day came, though not +till weeks had passed, when the little Count himself broke down the +barrier. + +From the first we two had drawn together. For myself, I have always +loved children; their faults are mostly ours, their sweetness God's and +their own. Their faith has no reserve, their love no limitation; and +when Divine wisdom sought a standard by which men might measure +themselves, He set a little child in their midst. + +But apart from my general love for children, it was necessary, for the +success of the King's scheme, that I should win the boy's confidence. +Not simply that success or failure might hinge upon his willingness to +travel with me, but that Mademoiselle, seeing how my heart had opened +to the lad, would suffer less. So, playing to win him, I won him out +and out, and soon Monsieur Gaspard rivalled even his beloved Suzanne as +a playfellow. + +But it was no play that broke down Mademoiselle's reserve. + +As Jean Volran had said, Morsigny lay not far from the hills. First +there was the green and gold of gorse and grass, then slopes of +pinewood through which streams bickered and flashed in the sun, or +angled through the groom like snow-wreaths blown by the wind. Beyond +these were ruder hills, rock-strewn and sheer of face as they lifted +shoulder by shoulder to the peaks in the blue distance. We have no +such scene in Flanders, and for the novelty of its beauty I grew to +love it almost as dearly as did Mademoiselle for old friendship's sake, +or the boy Gaston, because there the healthy animal in him found full +scope for play. + +Did I say that in this companionship of ours little Gaston made one of +three? That is a mistake. Except when within the precincts of the +Château garden he made one of four. That I have hitherto forgotten +Brother Paulus has but one reasonable excuse. Mademoiselle had pushed +him from my thoughts. And is it a reasonable excuse? Brother Paulus +would be the first to admit it--Brother Paulus of the grey withered +face and shining eyes, the man's deep heart, the woman's tenderness, +the child's direct simplicity and ignorance of the world. What wrongs, +what sorrows, his youth had suffered, God and his own spirit alone +knew. With him, as with the grapes of his own Provence, the crushing +had but set free sweetness and strength, mellowed by age to a cordial +whereby the weak grew strong, and they who fainted by the way took +heart of grace to pack afresh their burdens on their backs and go +cheerily forward. + +So, at least, Mademoiselle Suzanne has said. I only know that a man's +brave heart beat under the monk's black frock, and that in a time of +trial Gaspard Hellewyl's perplexity of soul found frail Brother Paulus +an unshaken rock of strength. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +WHAT HAPPENED AT THE GREY LEAP + +There were four of us, then, who rode through the whin brakes, under +the pines and out upon the rocks beyond. Indeed, there were six, for +Hugues and the big Spanish fellow they called 'Tuco followed us, but +that we did not know at the time. + +Brother Paulus led the way with Gaston; Mademoiselle followed, and I, +because the path was in places too narrow for two abreast, brought up +the rear. Of us all, I think Brother Paul was the merriest; though, +such is the alchemy of the hills, in us all the cares of life were +transmuted into gaiety. Brother Paul forgot the weariness of age, +Gaston the penalty of being born great, I that I was sworn to add to +his penalties for his own good, Mademoiselle, the sorrows and dangers +of Navarre. She went further, she even forgot that she was nothing +more than Suzanne D'Orfeuil, nurse and _gouvernante_ to the Count de +Foix, forgot everything but that the skies were blue, the sun warm, the +air thin and sweet. Care was behind us at Morsigny, and for that day +the troubled woman entered afresh into her too early lost heritage of +girlhood. + +Woman! Man! We were neither one nor other. The horses had been left +behind in charge of a goat-herd under the shadow of the last pines, and +we were four children scrambling up the rocks with Gaston the oldest, +because the most gravely serious, of the four. In a child, the joy and +wonder of living are at times too great to find expression in laughter. + +Up and up and up we climbed, a riot of life in our veins--up and up and +up, not so fast as to lose breath for merry-making, nor so slow as to +grow cold at the game--up and up and up, now by a goat-track, now by a +dead watercourse, now by a tumbled scree of stones, the young Count as +active as a kid, and Brother Paul, his black frock kilted to his knees, +always near him in front. Up and up and up, and then from behind a +jutted rock there came a cry, one only, but so fierce, so harsh, so +edged with agony and despair, that Mademoiselle turning, caught my +sleeve, gasping, "Jesu! What is that?" and we stood listening, but +there was a great silence. + +"Paul's voice," said I at last. + +"Paul's voice," she answered; "yes, Paul's voice, but--God in heaven! +what of Gaston?" + +Loosening her hold she hastened on, I at her side, but below her lest +she should fall, for her limbs were shaking. The nerves that were not +afraid of Tristan for herself trembled at she knew not what for her +charge. + +"Paul has fallen," said I, steadying her with my hand. + +"Then Gaston would have come back or cried to us. No, no; it is my +boy, it is my boy." + +The wail in her voice cut me to the heart. That she loved the lad I +knew, but that she loved him with the yearning tenderness of a woman +was new to me. Hitherto I had thought it was Navarre she loved in the +person of the little Count, loved him because, as Louis had made clear, +he stood for the peace and hope of her nation. That was greatness in +her--a greatness, a loftiness of mind, a patriotism that led her to +such heights of sacrifice as moved my admiration and worship. This was +less great, but at once more human and more divine. For the common +food of life we do not ask that our women shall be patriots, it is +enough that their love flows out full and sweet and strong to husband, +child, and kindred, and as this love of Suzanne's burst its bounds in +that bitter wail, I knew that it had gulfed me. It was not that I +loved her a little, I loved her as I had never dreamed it was possible +to love, and at the suddenness of the revelation the blood roared in my +ears with the roar of a winter's torrent thundering white into its +basin. Under the hand that lay upon my shoulder as we plunged along +the rocky slope I winced and trembled as if the fingers were a white +heat. + +Amongst I do not know how many others, two thoughts were clear cut in +my mind; one, that not for my soul's salvation would I at that time +have dared to touch that hand, the other an execration, a bitter +loathing of myself that in a pretence of love I had ever kissed a +woman's lips. Later--but let the later speak for itself. I pray God +the divine measure of a man is what he is at his best, his highest; the +sorrowful thing is that for every such hilltop of reverence, +self-sacrifice, self-control, there is a valley, and the valleys burrow +through the darkness further and fuller than the mountains stretch +their pinnacles to the light. + +Beyond the out-thrust of the cliff there was a shelving flat that +seemed to fall away sheer to the air, and as we turned the angle, +Mademoiselle ran forward with a cry. On the flat, breast down, lay +Brother Paulus, his hands, on either side his chest, gripping the lip +of the rock down which he peered. Stooping, Mademoiselle caught him by +the shoulder, shaking him roughly. + +"Gaston? Where is Gaston?" + +Without shifting his hold the monk looked up, his grey face +ashen-white, the mouth trembling like a frightened child. + +"Oh!" he said, drawing a shivering sigh, "would to God it were I." + +"Gaston?" repeated Mademoiselle, emphasizing her words with her nervous +hands; "where is Gaston? Not there, oh God! not there!" and kneeling, +she too peered down the cliff. + +For answer, Brother Paulus stretched out a shaking hand. + +"We were at play," he said hoarsely. "All day we were at play, and I +forgot that this was the Grey Leap. There was a loose stone, and he +slipped upon it. I think--I think--he is still alive." + +What the fingers pointed at was plainly in sight, a little wisp of +white caught upon a point of rock behind the shelter of which grew a +stunted pine, but I readily comprehended how she had missed seeing him. +A moment back, under the revelation of her cry and the touch of her +hand, I, too, had gone blind as the sound as of many waters roared in +my ears. And now, as love staggered her, she could not see the little +bundle of white linen which might, as Brother Paul said, be alive, but +which showed no life. + +"Gaston!" she cried, her voice shrill and harsh by turns. "Gaston! +Gaston!" + +"I think he is alive," said Brother Paulus again, though what he +founded his thought on God knows, unless it was on pure faith, for +there was neither sound nor motion. + +"Gaston! Gaston! Gaston!" she cried again, and then, rising, to my +terror she set herself to find a way down the face of the rock. + +Rising also, but only to his knees, Brother Paulus caught her by the +skirt. He, too, had divined her intention, and saw its hopeless folly; +no cliff amongst the many in the hills had so evil a repute as the Grey +Leap. + +"No, Suzanne, no," said he, "it is death; there is no way, I have +searched, and there is none, none." + +"You have searched, you, who let him fall! Stay on your knees and +pray; that is your business; mine is to find a way down to my boy, or +if there is none, to make a way." + +"Let him fall?" said he, with a gasp, and wincing as if she had struck +him with a whip. "How did I let him fall? Could I have helped it?" + +"God knows," answered she; "but he was with you, and he fell." + +I suppose love is cruel at heart, cruelly hard against whatever comes +between it and the thing it loves. That the priest was nowise to blame +Mademoiselle knew as well as I, but she could not give him the comfort +of saying so. That is why, I think, love is always feigned to be a +child, for in its ignorant singleness of purpose there is nothing so +ruthless. It was that same singleness of purpose that frightened me +now. Matched against the lad, Gaspard Hellewyl counted for nothing, +and never could count, and I dreaded lest, in seeking to hold her back, +I should drive her by the nearest and most desperate path. To try a +forced authority seemed the safest course; that, and a suggestion that +she could help me from above, might keep her out of danger. + +"You!" said I, with a rough contempt that must have hurt her had her +heart not been in the bundle of linen twenty feet down the cliff. +"What can you do, cumbered by your skirts as you are? Nothing but add +to our trouble. Unless--yes! you may save us both by this, watch here +and direct me how to climb." + +"You!" The contempt was yet rougher than my own, so rough that the +hurt she had escaped galled me bitterly. "We have trusted you so far, +trusted you in part and because we could not help ourselves, but do you +think we shall trust you there?" and with a sudden fierceness she +pointed down the ledge. "Day by day you have said to me, Wait! Has +your time come now, Monsieur the messenger of Louis of France? Has +your time come now, Monsieur, it may be, his catspaw? Was it for this +we have waited all these weeks? A touch of the foot by accident--by +accident, you understand, one little slip for which no man could openly +blame you--and the hope of Navarre would be where your master would +have it be. Stand back, Monsieur! Stand back! If you dare to hinder +me by so much as a finger, the monk and I, priest and woman though we +are, will fling you after the boy." + +So swift, so unexpected, so bitter was the attack that I had no answer +ready, no exculpation, no assurance, no plea, and how the dead-lock +would have ended I do not know had Hugues and the big Spaniard 'Tuco +not come round the track at a panting trot. The group of but three +where four should have been, Brother Paulus on his knees as if in +prayer for a passing soul, Mademoiselle's white face blazing with +accusation, her arms thrust out in defence or threat, none could say +which, my own half-shrinking from the venom of her thought, not only +told the truth, but with the truth linked so plausible a lie that I +have never blamed them for their thought. I was of France, they of +Navarre; and if Mademoiselle, into whose life I had grown daily these +weeks past, could think so vilely of me, there was little wonder that +their suspicion and ignorant hate out-leaped reality. + +Their wits worked together. Waiting for neither explanation nor +command they turned upon me, and I, taken unawares, was as a child in +their hands, hardly even grasping their intent. But Mademoiselle +understood, and it was not so much her shriek of No! No! No! as the +grasp of her hands upon my shoulders as we overhung the very lip of +descent that held us there, staggering. From the shoulders her hands +slipped forwards, inwards, till her fingers knit themselves under my +chin, drawing me back against her bosom; and there upon the edge we +hung a moment, too breathless and shaken for words. + +"Not his fault," she said at last, very hoarsely; "not his fault; tell +them, Father Paul, for I cannot speak. Oh, Monsieur, Monsieur, forgive +them, pray forgive them!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +"I TRUST YOU, COME WHAT MAY" + +What the priest said I do not know, for he spoke in patois, but the +grip on my wrists and arms relaxed--reluctantly, I thought, as if it +was a pity to lose so excellent an opportunity of paying off old +grudges. Very slowly all four drew back, breathing heavily, as men do +who struggle to overmaster their breathlessness. So we stood for half +a minute, then I moved aside to the upward face of the rock. + +"Good!" said I, answering Mademoiselle's bitter mistrust, rather than +her broken appeal upon the men's behalf. Against them I had no +rancour; the fault was none of theirs, if their zeal lacked +information. "Good! He is the Count de Foix! Let Foix and Navarre +save him, only let them remember that there is fifty feet of a tumble +below that bundle of linen there, and a bed of saw-toothed rocks to +fall upon." + +It is my belief that for these thirty seconds, and the minute or two of +stress which preceded them, Mademoiselle had utterly forgotten the +boy's danger. Instantly she turned, and, pointing downward, broke into +passionate command. Her speech was that quaint mixture of slurred +French, Spanish and Basque which passed for a language in Morsigny, and +so was strange to me. But the clamour of the boy's need made her +meaning clear, even had she spoken no word. Nudely, ruthlessly clear, +and a grim gladness warmed me to see that Hugues and the Spaniard grew +cold as she waxed more and more passionate, her brief authority lost at +the last in a pleading almost choked by tears. + +A word or two of the slurred French I understood, such as peace, +Navarre, their duty, then Navarre again, and yet again Navarre. But to +more than fifty feet of a fall left them cold. Peace? The peace of a +loosened grip was too profound a peace for their taste! Duty? Surely +the soul's first duty is to its own body! Navarre? They looked at one +another; Navarre would have battles to fight, and dead men, even dead +in duty, make no war. So they argued, speaking no word; and so, with +my back against the cliff, I read their reasoning and laughed aloud. + +But the laughter died in my mouth. + +If it failed to shame them, being coarse-grained peasants, it moved +Mademoiselle to an unendurable despair. With a last indignant word, +some acid, biting phrase of scorn, she knelt to renew her folly of +descent. But to do Hugues and the other justice, if they were careful +of themselves they were careful also of her, for even before I could +reach her they held her back. + +"Leave me go, you cowards, leave me go!" she cried, struggling, her +face wet with unconscious tears of rage and shame. "My God! is there +not one man amongst you!" + +"It is for Navarre," said I, giving my bitter mood rein, now she was +safe. "It is for Foix and Navarre; let me beg you both to fall down +fifty feet for the glory of Foix and Navarre. The thought will comfort +you--till you hit the stones at the bottom." + +It was not a very manly gibe, but in the best of us, and I do not claim +to be that, there is a beast who only needs rousing, and at that moment +the man in me was not uppermost. From the hilltop I had sunk to the +valley. My new found and newer trampled love was too raw in its wounds +to be just. Had not Mademoiselle, in her very last words, called me a +coward with the rest? And yet it was she whose scorn and contumely +forbade me to climb. + +"Oh, that I were a man!" she said, swallowing her sobs till they choked +her; "then would I sooner lie dead with the child." + +While she was speaking, Brother Paulus had risen and stripped himself +of his clinging frock. Now, flinging it aside, he turned to me. + +"So would I; she is right, Monsieur Hellewyl; the shame of it is not to +be borne." + +"A man," said I, answering Mademoiselle, but laying the flat of my hand +on the priest's breast, that he might do nothing useless. The spirit +within him was strong to dare, but the flesh was weak. Had there been +ten Father Pauls, they must have followed one another to the bottom of +the cliff. "A man--that is, a true man--one trusts. Do you trust me, +Mademoiselle?" + +"Oh, you are cruel!" she cried, but the sobs were softer. "Would you +let the child die because of a girl's----?" she paused, searching for +an adjective, but finding none that fitted her thought went on--"Must I +ask your pardon, Monsieur? Must I humble myself to you? I'll do it, +I'll do it gladly." + +"I would have you say: I trust you. Come what may, I trust you, now +and always." + +As a child repeats its lesson she answered me, her face all drawn by +pain, the tears still shining in her eyes. "I trust you, Monsieur, now +and always, come what may." + +Of what followed I have no desire to say much. Of neither the manner +nor the motive of the exploit have I any reason to be proud. For the +one, I am a man of the flats, and with no skill for such a piece of +work. To every crevice, every cranny, every boss of rock I clung as a +drowning cat clings to a crumbling bank when a swishing current tears +at her flanks; and if I did not howl in my terror like the same cat, it +was because I grit my teeth and whimpered inwardly, for there is no +denying I was horribly afraid. Fifty feet of air hung from my ancles, +dragging me down like so many pounds of lead. As to the motive, it was +compounded of as many diversities as go to the mixing of an +apothecary's potion. There was a little pity, a little pride, a little +love, some contempt, some braggadocio, Jan Meert's throat, and a new +roof to Solignac all blent through it. But most of these I left on the +ledge or dropped into the void at the first touch of despair, and +thenceforward pride and a dogged love of dear life were motive enough. + +Blunderer as I was, and hampered by Brother Paul's frock knotted +loosely across my shoulders, I must inevitably have followed the bulk +of my influencing ingredients, had not Mademoiselle directed every move. + +"There is a knob of rock to the right; no, more to the right--more +yet--yes, that is it; but, oh, Monsieur, try it first before you trust +your weight upon it, lest it crumble. It holds? Thank God for that! +Now a foot below there is a crevice, and then to the left an open seam +for your fingers. You have it? That is splendid, splendid! Remember, +always to the right, little by little, the--the--boy lies there, +and--oh, God! he is stirring. Gaston! Gaston! do not move! Jesu! +Jesu! that he may not move! Lie still, Gaston, lie still, _mon gars_; +the brave Monsieur Gaspard is going down to you, and there is nothing +to fear, nothing--do you hear me?--nothing at all." + +For which sore straining of the truth may she be forgiven! Nothing to +fear? If there was nothing to fear, why was the sweat pouring down my +back, or that sob rattling in my throat? And why was the brave +Monsieur Gaspard realising fully for the first time how good a thing is +life? + +How long the boy had recovered consciousness I do not know, but the +bewilderment of the shock had passed away, and now the courage that had +squared his fists in the whin brake saved him. From the silence which +followed Mademoiselle's passionate adjuration, a thin voice piped out: +"I'm not afraid, Suzanne. I hear you, and I will be quiet." + +"_Mon brave_! Thou art not afraid, no, not thou; but do not stir, my +heart, no, not a finger. Monsieur Hellewyl, are you rested? There is +a ledge below you sloping to the right. It must be four inches +broad--good! that is it. Only a moment now Gaston, and the rest is +easy." For which second straining of the truth, I say again, may she +be forgiven! Later, long after, I learned that this time the lie was +on my account. In the brief pause I had glanced up, and from the agony +of soul stamped on my white face, Mademoiselle for the first time truly +recognised the risk I ran. The Paris rabble had taught her it was no +common danger that made Gaspard Hellewyl go in frank terror for his +life--I use her own words--and with a quick wit she set herself to put +heart in me, and at a time when there was least heart in her own hope. +But I believed her, and the lie steadied my nerve. Believing the rest +to be easier made it easier, for there is no courage like the courage +of faith; that of manhood or despair alike pales before its forces. + +Nor was the upward journey so difficult, even with the child upon my +back in the monk's frock, knapsack fashion. Every foot climbed was a +year or more of life gained, and Mademoiselle's face, still white, but +with the tears dried from the eyes, turned down to mine, drew me. Not +a word was spoken, hardly a breath except my own seemed to stir; but +God, He knows what prayers went up through the silence. Then came the +end. Down from the top 'Tuco stretched his long arms, grasping my +wrists. With a heave, Hugues helping, I was breast high; another, and +we rolled forward on the ledge, four pairs of hands holding us, with +Mademoiselle sobbing and crying as she had neither sobbed nor cried +while the fear of death was cold upon her. + +"Let come what may, Mademoiselle?" said I, when I could command my +breath. + +"Let come what may," she answered, and this time it was not the tears +that shone in the eyes, but the eyes behind the tears. + +Thenceforward, not even 'Tuco the Spaniard held us in doubt, and as we +rode into Morsigny I knew that my bleeding finger-tips had drawn nearer +three such differing rewards as Mademoiselle's friendship, Jan Meert's +throat, and the building again of Solignac. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +THE MESSAGE OF A FOOT OF STRING + +Yes, the barriers were broken down, or were breaking. + +That very night, when Mademoiselle came to announce that the child +Gaston was more shaken than hurt, she turned at the door with one of +those humble curtseys that were to me so like a blow on the face. + +"When one tells a lie and is sorry, Monsieur Gaspard, should she go to +her priest or--or--to the one she has lied to?" + +The question was grave and the voice was grave, but there was a tender +demure look on her face, and had her eyes been raised, I am sure there +would have been that spirit of laughter in them which I had come to +know so well. + +"A lie, Mademoiselle?" + +"A lie, Monsieur, a lie that hurts me to remember, for truly I am not +accustomed to lie. There, on the Grey Leap, I was desperate, and--it +was not quite the truth." + +"That you trusted me?" + +"Yes, Monsieur." + +"And yet you told me once that I had shown myself true?" + +"Ah, Monsieur! do you not know there is a faith of head and a faith of +heart? In my heart I trusted you, even from the first, but my head +said, 'Nothing good can come out of Plessis'; and so, because there was +no other way, I--I--Monsieur, those cowards of a Hugues and a 'Tuco +drove me to it." + +"And now?" + +Letting slip the latch she came forward a little. + +"Now? The head followed the heart even at the Grey Leap. But lest you +should think that was the lie emotional instead of the lie desperate, I +repeat it again. It was like this. Once you looked up--oh! it was +horrible to see you hanging there on an inch of rock with all that +swimming void below. Your face--Monsieur, what am I to say? A man can +be brave and yet love life, and the grandest courage of all is the +courage that knows and resents the desperate risk, but still goes +forward. You might have come back, and yet, knowing all, and clinging +hungrily to life, you went forward. Since then, Monsieur, it was no +lie; since then--though what a foolish girl thinks can matter nothing +to a spirit like yours--since then I--I--do you think you understand, +Monsieur Hellewyl?" Her eyes were shining, but there were tears +between the lashes, and the fingers of the hands clasped upon the +breast twisted round and round each other in and out. "We who love and +serve Navarre, who serve even as humbly as I serve, pray, God bless +you, Monsieur Hellewyl." + +It was my opportunity perhaps, to have passed beyond the broken barrier +a little nearer to her heart, but I dared not use it. That day I had +found myself to be something of a coward, but I was not coward enough +to trade upon a grateful woman's generous emotion, and under cover of a +newly stirred gratitude try to steal more than her sober sense would be +ready to give. So, instead of reaching forward and taking those +shaking hands, I folded my own behind my back and forced myself to a +cold answer. + +"Then at last you trust me, Mademoiselle, and will trust, come what +may?" + +"Oh, yes, Monsieur! I and all Morsigny. And to prove it, I shall +never again ask you, 'Has Monsieur de Commines' time come yet?'" + +"In that, too, you may trust me; so soon as I may, I shall speak." + +"I know it well, Monsieur," and with a little grave curtsey, she left +me. + +I am not so stockish a man but that what followed was all very +sweet--Mademoiselle's new gaiety, a gaiety of both heart and head, the +boy Gaston's childish adoration, Brother Paul's thanksgiving +overflowing in affection. Of Brother Paul's part in the final scene on +the Grey Leap I have said nothing, and only now say this lest that +kindly, gentle-hearted servant of love and mercy should be thought cold +or callous. There on the ledge he had patted and fondled me with his +withered hands, his heart too full to say more than, "Ah, my son, my +son! God be thanked for His mercy, God be thanked! God be thanked!" +And since then he had petted me like one who was a son indeed, a son +long lost and newly found. + +Sweet? It was blessedly, perilously sweet to a lonely man at hourly +odds with his conscience, so perilously sweet that the days slipped on, +and though ten times the child was mine for the taking, I persuaded +myself that to wait yet a little longer was wisest. Solignac, Jan +Meert, Babette, old hate and old love, were alike forgotten, and I +lived on through the glorious days of early August as if there was no +such shadow across the sunshine as the power and vengeance of Louis of +France. + +But as once on a day of feasting there came a hand upon the wall and +wrote, so now, when my heart was a nest of song-birds, that sang of +peace and love till my little world was full of the harmony, there came +a warning which crashed the music to a discord with a curt, Thou fool! +It is hate, and there is no peace. + +It was always Martin's custom to meet me at the gate on the return from +our daily rides, partly that all Morsigny might see I was well served, +but partly, and as I love to believe, chiefly that he might the sooner +see his beloved Master Gaspard. On the day of which I write he was +there as usual--Brother Paul was in Pan, and Mademoiselle would neither +mount nor dismount at the Château gate--but he was there with a +difference. His bow was deeper, his swagger had a larger pride, and +instead of himself leading Roland to the stables, he handed him over to +a groom's care with an unwonted air of authority. Then with a "This +way, Monsieur, it you please," he led the way to my sleeping-room, and +shot the bolt behind me. + +"These with haste," said he, drawing a letter from an inner pocket; +"and, my faith! but they must truly be in a hurry to send all the way +to Morsigny after us. _To Monsieur Gaspard de Helaville, at Morsigny, +in Navarre. These in haste._" + +At the sight of it my heart went sick as sick as when I had hung upon +the sheer face of the Grey Leap. And well it might. The solid earth, +and that which is so much sweeter, and, at times, so much more real, +the world of my own imagining, had crumbled suddenly under my feet, and +the abyss below was as deep as all eternity. + +"These with haste," repeated Martin, rolling the words in his mouth +with a relish. "All Morsigny knows of it; I took care of that. The +seal is Monseigneur the Prince's quarterings, and that, too, I took +care to tell them. These louts will better understand now what is due +to a Hellewyl of Solignac, who has letters sent him a week's journey. +These with haste!" + +Commines' quarterings; yes, I had seen that from the first. Even the +flaw in the collet was there; but what did that prove? Commines' +quarterings, Commines' colour of wax, Commines' handwriting in the +address, even a faint lingering of the perfume Commines most affected, +and yet all, so far as Commines was concerned, might be as gross a lie +as that which frayed its edges upon my heart. + +"These with haste," said Martin again, but this time testily, for his +curiosity was at bursting point. "What is the use of a man foundering +a horse, as I'll wager he who brought this foundered his, if you don't +open it, and see what's inside?" + +"Brought it?" said I. "Who brought it, and where is he?" + +"God knows," and Martin's face fell, the pride dying out of him like +the wind from a ripped bladder. "It was pushed in at the porter's +window, and yet the guard at the gate swear that no one but a goatherd +or two passed Morsigny all day. But," he added, brightening up, "there +it is, all the same; there it is, 'These with haste,' and with +Monseigneur's seal to back it." + +"And all Morsigny knows of it? A messenger comes in secret to your +master, comes like a thief, and all Morsigny knows of it? You fool! +oh, you fool! Remember, if harm comes of this, it is your doing." + +"Oh! Monsieur Gaspard, Monsieur Gaspard! I never thought----" + +"There, the mischief's done," said I, softening as I saw the rueful +sorrow on his face. After all, it was the zeal of his love that had +been indiscreet. He had thought to glorify his Monsieur Gaspard in the +eyes of Morsigny, never looking to the consequences. "We shall see +what Monseigneur has to say," and tearing off the silk that, running +through the wax, bound the packet, I ripped open the outer cover. + +The enclosure was both thick and crisp, as if of several folds, and +across the face of the paper this was written, the writing being +undoubtedly that of Monseigneur. + +_I am bid send you what is within. What it is I know not, but, dear +lad, for God's sake see to yourself. To say so much does the King no +wrong._ + +The folded paper was again fast sealed, as was that within it, but in +each of these latter cases with a plain device. Inside the third +wrapping was a foot of thin cord, and at the end of the cord a noose. +Across the paper was written, _So saith Tristan_. + +Taking out the cord by its end I thrust a finger-tip through the noose, +and dangled it in Martin's face. + +"These with haste, so saith Tristan," said I, and laughed in a grim +contempt of my own helplessness. + +"Tristan of the House of Nails?" + +"Tristan of the House of Nails," I answered, and laughed again. +Through the laughter there came a knocking at the door. "See who is +there." + +Screwing his neck as a man does who swallows his spittle to moisten a +dry throat, Martin shot back the bolt, opening the door an inch or two, +and peering through the crack as if behind whoever knocked he looked to +find Tristan himself, with a dangle of ropes in his hand. + +"It is Mademoiselle Suzanne." + +Mademoiselle Suzanne! Already she had heard of the letter, already she +knew that it came from Commines, and that knowledge forced a crisis. +In these few seconds thought travelled fast. Should I trust her? +Should I say: Here, in the yielding of the boy, is the peace of +Navarre, here is France turned friend; Louis, Gaston's protector. Give +him to me, and there is a final end to your fear. But swift on the +heels of the question came the reply: That is to throw your +responsibility on to her. She is accountable to Jean de Narbonne. +Before she dared say yes, she must send to Pamplona. That meant +negotiations, _pour-parlers_, and above all, publicity, and what +publicity stood for; a warning to the adverse party in Navarre, a +threat to Spain, even a confession of France's weakness. And would +Louis wait? Unconsciously I tightened the noose upon my finger, and in +the pain of the pinch found an answer--Louis would neither wait nor +forgive. What then? Our only safety, the boy's, my own, +Mademoiselle's even, lay in instant action, and crumpling the letter +out of sight, I motioned to Martin to fling open the door. + +As the light broke upon her, Mademoiselle shrunk still further from it +across the passage. + +"Monsieur, they said--Oh! I know I promised, and indeed, I trust +you--but they said there was a letter, and that Monsieur de Commines +had written. Have you--that is, is it good news, Monsieur?" + +"Have no fear; good news, Mademoiselle," lied I, with the string +swinging from my finger. "I was just about to search for you, and--oh, +yes, good news, good news indeed, only all is not yet quite clear." + +"Must we still wait, Monsieur?" + +At the disappointment in her tone I winced, but there was nothing for +it but to brazen out my part as best I could. + +"That is just it, we must wait. But this time, not for long, and to +shorten the waiting I think that to-morrow I shall ride into La Voulle, +perhaps with Gaston?" + +"To La Voulle with Gaston? That is a long ride for the child." + +"Long? Surely not. He rides as far every day, but he rides as a dog +runs, up and down, here and there, so that we lose count of distance. +I thought it would please Brother Paul to meet him in La Voulle. You +know he returns to-morrow from Pau." + +"But,"--and in the shadow I saw a touch of colour flush her cheeks--"I +do not think I can go to La Voulle, at least not to-morrow. Once all +is clear between us, and Brother Paul is home, it will be different." + +"Is not all clear now, Mademoiselle?" + +"Oh, Monsieur!" she replied, dropping me the curtsey I so hated; "I +mean between France and Navarre." + +How I cursed Martin in my heart for a tactless, blundering booby. Here +was my chance to say: And must it be always and only France and +Navarre? May it never be Suzanne D'Orfeuil and Gaspard Hellewyl? +Always Kingdom and Kingdom, and never man and maid as lover and lover? +The peace of one's country is very well, very splendid and much to be +desired; but we are men and women as well as patriots, and the heart +has a peace of its own that is sweeter and dearer and yet more to be +desired than that of France and Navarre. But with that leathern-faced +idiot standing at my elbow, staring open-mouthed, how could I say all +that, or any part of it? Ten chances to one, if I had, he would have +reminded me of Brigitta under the beech tree, and poured his contempt +upon Mademoiselle Suzanne as he had upon her. + +"For a Hellewyl of Solignac, you have a strange taste," he would have +said. "First it was a swineherd's daughter you chose for your +philandering, and now it is----" and he would have blown out his cheeks +with an exploding puff that left the suggestion worse than plain words. + +And how would Mademoiselle have looked at such a tale? I did not dare +consider that point, so answered soberly: + +"To-morrow will make all clear, Mademoiselle; I can promise you that." + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +A ROSE OF PROMISE + +Next morning it was easy to find an excuse for taking Martin with us: +Ninus needed exercise; it might be necessary to send a messenger to +Monsieur de Commines--any tale was sufficient. Of the little Count's +willingness to ride so far there never was a question. Had I said to +him: Monsieur Gaston, let us ride to Plessis; he would have answered: +At what time shall I order the horses, Monsieur Gaspard? + +To avoid the great heat of the day, and that at the first we might +spare our horses, we left Morsigny early. How far or how fast we might +have to travel beyond La Voulle I could not tell. It was there the +King's letter was to be opened, and where it bade us ride, however +great the distance, there ride we must. + +Naturally of this second reason Mademoiselle knew nothing as she set us +on our way. At first she walked beside Gaston's pony, the fingers of +one hand twisted in its mane. The sleeve of her linen bodice had +slipped back to the elbow, leaving the arm bare and whiter than marble +against the dark hide of the shaggy beast. Riding behind, I saw that +though the boy in his eager excitement was full of childish words, she +answered nothing to his many questions, and at the last her farewell +was brief. + +"Kiss me, my heart," she said, looking up suddenly. + +Without checking his pony, Gaston stooped aside, and as their lips met, +she clipped him in her arms. + +"Ah, Suzanne! you will have me down!" he cried petulantly, and +loosening her clasp, she loitered back to where I followed. + +"Monsieur," she began, laying her hand on my bridle hand, but with so +much unconsciousness in the act that I could no more have covered it +with my right than I could have covered a man's, "you will remember how +anxious I am, and how hard it is to wait? It is always worse for us +women than for you. You act, you men; you work, you forget yourselves +in danger, lose yourselves in the thing to be done; while we can but +wait at home and hope and--yes, thank God, we can always pray. Ah, +Monsieur, how I shall pray until you return!" + +"Was Paris waiting?" + +"That was once in a lifetime, and was easier than this. You will +remember?" + +"Oh! be sure I shall remember; my fear is lest you forget." + +"I, Monsieur? Forget what?" + +"Gaspard Hellewyl; when there is no more need for him, and Gaspard +Hellewyl is--elsewhere. Will you remember then, Mademoiselle Suzanne?" + +For the first time that morning a little pucker of a smile caught up +the corners of her mouth, and her eyes lightened; nor, I remembered +afterwards, did she lift her hand from where it rested, though her +fingers shook; neither, let me say, was there any pressure; no, not the +faintest. + +"Oh, Monsieur! be sure I shall remember Paris." + +"Mademoiselle, what do I care for Paris?" + +"Tours, then, and how eager you were to kill a man--only there was none +to kill." + +"No, nor Tours either." + +"The Grey Leap? Ah, Monsieur! surely you do not think I can ever +forget the Grey Leap?" + +"Not even the Grey Leap; I said Gaspard Hellewyl." + +The smile deepened a little. With downcast eyes and hands now clasped +demurely before her, she dropped back a pace. + +"Now, Monsieur, it is you who forget. You forget you are a great +gentleman of Flanders, the friend of the Prince de Talmont, the envoy +of the King of France; you forget you are Monsieur Gaspard de Helville! +the bearer of a great name--did we not agree that it was a great name? +While I---- You will bring Gaston safe home to his nurse, will you +not, Monsieur de Helville?" + +She spoke so softly, with such a hesitating depreciation, that I could +not tell if it was in raillery or in earnest, but it seemed to me that +the glance flashed into my eyes at the last was not all mischief, "You +are--Mademoiselle Suzanne. I dare not trust myself to say what more +you are, but God be thanked for you. My prayer is that some day I may +speak plainer, to-day I must not. As I sit here I am a poor gentleman +of Flanders, so poor that I have not even a roof to offer the woman I +would dare to love as wife. But it is my hope this peace to Navarre +may change all that, may roof over Solignac and give me enough of my +father's lands to make that wife, not a great lady of Flanders, but the +happiest, the most reverenced, the best beloved. It is in that hope I +ride to-day to--to--La Voulle, to end that which is begun; and but for +that hope, I swear to you I would never call Louis King even by +service. Ah, Mademoiselle Suzanne, Mademoiselle Suzanne! trust me, I +pray; not a little, but trust me much until I dare to ask to be trusted +all in all. God keep you, Mademoiselle." + +"God keep you, Monsieur," she answered softly, again raising her +drooped eyes, and this time there was no mockery in them, not even +mischief--a wistfulness rather, a pathos almost the beginning of tears. +"Believe me, I truly trust you. Once already I have said I have ever +found you the truest gentleman, and, Monsieur, I do not see any reason +to change, nor, I am sure, will you give me reason." + +"Then, adieu, Mademoiselle!" + +"No, no; adieu is a long word! But, lest you should forget me in La +Voulle, keep that to remind you of--Morsigny!" + +Reaching up, she dropped a half-blown rose on the saddle before me, +gave Roland two or three little dainty pats on the neck, then, before I +could take her hand, she stepped aside between the whins, now no longer +in their glory of gold, and so left me. + +Perhaps it was best so. The witchery of that last upward glance had so +moved me, tingling every nerve to the finger-tips, that had I once +touched her hand as man to maid, I must have blurted out more than was +wise or even honourable in one who had work to do for Louis of France. +But if that sweet folly was denied me, the rose at my lips and her last +clear look, so grave, so shy, so almost tender, set my heart dancing; +and slow as was our ride to La Voulle, the little Count had no cause to +complain of my gaiety. + +Had I dared, I would have avoided not only The Good Queen inn, but La +Voulle itself. But balanced against the risk of interference from the +townsfolk was that of disobedience to the King's orders, and of the two +I feared the wrath of Louis more than all La Voulle howling beyond the +door. If he said, Return to the inn, he had his reasons, and the man +who dared question them was a fool to his own hurt. + +Riding up to the door, with its swinging, half-effaced sign of I do not +know what Queen of Navarre's portrait, I enquired boldly for Brother +Paulus. Boldness was our safety, and for that day, unknown to himself, +Brother Paulus was to guarantee our good faith. If the person of the +little Count was well known in La Voulle, so was that of the chaplain +to Morsigny, and my plan was to ride out with the priest in company as +if we returned home by the shortest way. It was all so simple, so +natural, who would raise a question? Once clear of the town I would +give Paul a letter to Mademoiselle, and, with or without his consent, +seize Gaston and gallop for the King's tryst. Let that be where it +might, Louis could be trusted to have smoothed the road for us. + +"Brother Paulus?" + +"Certainly, Monsieur. He arrived from Pau late last night, and being +tired, keeps his room." + +"Good! Monsieur le Comte and I will go to him. Do you see to the +horses, Martin, and come up for instructions in an hour, for I think we +shall leave early. Tell me," I went on, to the servant who led the +way, "is Volran in the house? Yes? Then let him know that the Count +de Foix and Monsieur de Helville dine here to-day." + +So far Martin had not been taken into my confidence, but I calculated +that in the time named I should have read the King's letter and so be +in a position to arrange our plans. In the carrying out of these +Martin's cunning and experience would help me. Volran too, who might +have later orders for us, would be warned by our presence. + +As I spoke, a door facing the stair-head opened, and Brother Paul in +his black frock appeared on the landing. + +"Ah! my two sons, is it you? Whose kind thought was it that you should +come so far to meet so poor and lonely an old man? Mademoiselle +Suzanne's?" + +"No, it was my Monsieur Gaspard's," shouted little Gaston, rushing +forward, and flinging his arms round the monk's knees. "Isn't Monsieur +Gaspard good to me, _mon père_?" + +"But better still to me, _petit fils_. We please ourselves in pleasing +the young, but few give a thought to please the old, and yet there are +times when the old sadly need comforting." Reaching out above the +little lad's head he caught my hand in his and held it. "In a good day +for us he came to Navarre; we must try and keep our Monsieur Gaspard, +we two." + +"He shall marry Suzanne, _mon père_, and when I am Count de Narbonne I +shall give him an estate." + +"Not Suzanne, I think," answered Brother Paul, looking me smilingly in +the face as one who would say, Be tolerant to his ignorance. "I do not +think that would do, but we shall find some one else." + +"And while you are looking for her," said I laughing, "I shall go and +see that there is dinner enough, lest I starve while I wait." + +Not Suzanne! said Brother Paulus, and how well I understood the +significance of his indulgent smile. Gentle as a Saint John, tolerant +as a Saint Francis, he was aristocrat to his finger-tips. A Hellewyl +of Solignac marry Gaston de Foix's nurse! No wonder he smiled and +said, Not Suzanne! It was all of a piece with the generous little +lad's foolish talk of granting estates. A Hellewyl of Solignac would +naturally be courteous to one in Suzanne's position, but more than +courteous, no! and it was with a sudden flush of discomfort that I +remembered Brigitta, and what Martin had called the philandering under +the beech trees. Thank God there had been no thought of philandering +with Suzanne D'Orfeuil. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +JEAN VOLRAN, TAPSTER, AND TRANSLATOR OF LATIN + +My intention was to ask Jean Volran for an empty room in which to +examine the King's letter, and at the foot of the stair I found him +waiting. But it was not the Jean Volran I had known for a night and +morning. The obsequious smile, the almost servile cringing, were no +longer there; there was no deferential welcome for the great, no +fawning upon the happy man who bore the King's letter and was the +King's will in the flesh. + +Then, had I said, Set La Voulle ablaze and thrust your hand into the +fire, _Le Roy le veult_, he would have done it and made no protest. +Now his back was as straight as my own, his mien as distant, his eye as +supercilious. He eyen outstared me, as if he were Gaspard Hellewyl and +I Jean Volran. + +"You have kept me waiting, Monsieur," said he, pushing a door open and +leading the way into just such a room as I desired. + +"I? I have kept you waiting? What insolence is this?" + +"Tut, tut!" he retorted, turning his back on me while he closed the +door carefully. "Did you really think that for such a post as this his +Majesty had chosen a man with no better brains than to fill wine pots +for fools to empty? You have not only kept me waiting, but, what is +worse, you have wasted your time with your dilly-dallying, and made the +King to wait also. I would have had what was wanted here inside of a +week. Why the King chose to employ you at all is a mystery, unless it +was that if his plan miscarried it would please him better to see a +Flanders man hang for it. The King did not send you to Morsigny to +gather roses," he went on with a sneer and a nod at the flower I +carried buckled to my bonnet, "but I guessed the message I brought you +yesterday would put another thought than girls and girls' love tokens +into your head." + +"You? None but goatherds passed Morsigny yesterday." + +"And I was one of them, as I have been many things in his Majesty's +service. Now, Monsieur, the King's letter, if you please." + +But there I had him at a disadvantage, and was in no mood to abate a +jot of it. + +"Be what you like, goatherd, scullion, tapster," I answered, with as +brusque an incivility as his own, "that is between you and the King, +and no odds to me, but the letter is my affair." + +"Why, man," he cried, too astounded at my opposition to take offence, +"don't you know you are but a catspaw, and I am here to finish the +affair? Come, come, you have cackled your little crow over me, and we +are quits--the letter, and waste no time." + +"Even allowing for the goatherd and scullion," I answered, "I take you +for a kind of a gentleman, and so do not say you lie, only, I heard +nothing of this at Plessis. On the contrary, His Majesty was quite +clear, that which I began I was to finish. Show me your warrant, but I +warn you, nothing less than the King's signet and sign manual will move +me." + +For a moment he stood clenching and unclenching his hands before him, +too full of passion to find words. Had he not been in his innkeeper's +dress, and so without a sword, he would have tried force, so mad with +rage was he. Then he turned aside to the window, and stared between +the bars into the court where Martin was rubbing down Roland. + +"You play your game with a high hand, Monsieur," he said at last; "but +if you think I have sweated here in the grime all these weeks while you +were feasting at Morsigny, just to see you pocket the profits, you +don't know your man." + +But when, with another turn of his heel, he would have stridden past +me, I stepped between him and the door. + +"Monsieur, who shall pay you your wages I do not know, but you are not +coming back to stab me unawares and rob me of what the King has +committed to my trust. Since you have brought me here to this room, in +this room you shall stay until I have read his Majesty's letter. Nor +do I see why we should quarrel. If the end of this affair has indeed +been committed to you, show me some token? God knows I have no love +for the work. You have no token? No warrant? Nothing but your bare +word? Then, since you profess to know so much, tell me at least what +steps I am next to take, something, anything to prove you are in the +King's confidence, and that your bare word is not a bare lie? You +cannot? Then tell me this: if you were Gaspard Hellewyl, and I you, +how far would you trust the man who came with nothing but a blustering +wheedle of words in his mouth? Not a foot! Not an inch! Nor will I. +It is my life, Monsieur Tapster-goatherd, it is my honour, and by God! +I'll give neither the one nor the other to your keeping. Stand there +by the window, Monsieur, and if the King bids me give you the letter, +or--or anything else I control except these two, then, on the faith of +a gentleman, you shall have it, but not unless." + +Three times while I spoke I saw No! in his face, though he answered +nothing; but as I ended, he half laughed, shrugged his shoulders, and +did as he was bidden with a swagger that matched his clothing badly. +Who he was, or what his rank, I never knew, but clothes so much make +the man that not even the Prince de Talmont himself would in like +circumstances have looked anything else than that very ridiculous +object--a country inn-keeper in a rage. + +Partly to gain time for thought, but partly, I confess, that his +helplessness might gall him deeper, I played with the King's letter, +examining silk, seal, and superscription as if all were strange, +instead of as familiar as the bottom of my own pocket. The situation +was growing clearer to me with every passing minute, and it will have +been noticed that I do not think rapidly. + +No doubt the fellow glowering at me from the window shutter was not +alone in La Voulle; no doubt, too, his ten-crowns-a-month-cut-throats +would be this, that, or the other about the inn--groom, drawer, even +cook. Three or four of these there might be, but not more. Where +there is a secret, there is no safety in numbers. Against these I had +only Martin, unless, indeed, I played the bold game of raising La +Voulle to defend its young Count, and as a climax carried him off +myself! My scheme would have to be recast, which was a pity; its very +simplicity had guaranteed success. But the nature and extent of the +change must depend on the King's wishes, so with a smiling nod of +encouragement in patience to my host at the window, I broke the seal. + +Either the crackle of the paper or the polite impertinence roused him. +Setting his foot against the angle of the wall, he stiffened himself +for a spring. Once he had me on my back, circumstances would lead him. +If his own fellows came in just then, there was an end to Gaspard +Hellewyl; if La Voulle heard the scuffle, he would cry Treachery! and +trust for justification to the King's letter found in my hands. But I +saw the move, and hitched the handle of my sword forward a foot. It +was a parry to his thrust, and back he lounged again against the +shutters. + +Tearing the outer wrappings to small pieces, I scattered them on the +floor. The next sheet was a blank, nor, though I held it up to the +light, could I trace a mark of any kind. Not so the third sheet, for +eight or ten words were sprawled across it in short sentences. But at +the first line the exultation of triumph over my enemy by the window +fell cold and flat; the letter was in Latin, and never a word of Latin +had I learned in my five-and-twenty years of life. + +Latin! Why the plague Latin? No doubt it was part of the old Plessis +fox's scheme for hiding his identity. Neither Jacob's voice nor Esau's +hand must show the truth, though the supplanter and the Ishmaelite, he +whose hand was against every man's, joined in him their cunning. +Suppose the letter was seized upon me, what then? Outside the seal was +Commines', the writing Commines'. Inside was a tag of monkish Latin +scrawled as if an earwig had scratched its tail across the paper; who +could connect either with Louis in Plessis if Louis chose to say No! +with a sneer, and let Navarre's vengeance on the man who carried the +letter pass unrequited? No one; and let it so pass he would, if, +indeed, his virtuous indignation did not itself call aloud for +vengeance. Louis had no mercy on failures. + +But Latin! Why the plague Latin? Then I began to see. The cover once +destroyed, Latin might come from Spain, from the Empire, from +England--anywhere! And behind it France lay hidden in safety. More +than that, and at the thought I ground my teeth, it was perhaps a +tongue that brute grinning from the window at my perplexity could +translate. If so, it was his turn to smile, and as I met his eye there +was little of politeness in his ridicule. No doubt dismay was stamped +across my face easier to be read than the words on the paper, and my +need was his opportunity. + +Not to give him the satisfaction of sarcastically offering his +services, I spoke first. + +"Do you read Latin, Monsieur?" + +"Latin?" he returned, a scowl wrinkling his face. "What new nonsense +is this?" Then an inspiration broke upon him, and he came briskly +forward, his hand outstretched. "Ah! now I understand. You wish me to +translate the King's letter? Certainly, Monsieur, certainly." + +But tapping my sword hilt, I motioned him off. "Keep your distance, my +good fellow. The writing is large enough to be read from where you +are." + +Reversing the paper, so that the light fell full upon it, I watched his +face, and if ever a man was blankly puzzled it was my friend the +goatherd-tapster. That he was as innocent of Latin as myself I +guessed, but with the King's tools as with himself it was not wise to +assume overmuch. What he had hoped was that I would put the letter +into his hands, and once there he would have risked his skin to keep it. + +"Well?" + +"It is difficult," said he, playing to gain time. "I wonder why his +Maj----ah! ah! ah! I begin to see. A man grows rusty in his learning; +you find it so, do you not? But now I have it; yes, yes, just what I +expected. You know no Latin, Monsieur de Helville?" + +"Not a word. French and Flemish, nothing more." + +From the paper he glanced up at me cunningly, his eyes narrowed, but +with a malicious smile peeping through the lids, then back to the +paper. Out went a forefinger, and nodding his head he passed from +letter to letter, picking out the words as a child might spell his way +through a hornbook. This he did twice, till, thinking he wanted to +commit them to memory, I snatched the paper away. + +"If you can translate, translate and have done with it." + +"But I wish to have it exact," he protested. "Well, then, here it is," +and again there was the cunning upward glance. "'_That which you have +brought give to him who waits; return then whence you came until the +King writes a third time._' It is as plain as day, now that I have +mastered the translation. I am he who waits; so now, Monsieur, give it +to me and let me go." + +Before he spoke I knew he was playing with me, and had no more Latinity +in him than I had. For whatever quality the King had chosen him, it +was not for that of a good liar. But the splendid audacity of the lie +filled me with admiration, and that I might draw him to a greater fall +I led him on a little. + +"But what are your orders, or have you, too, a letter?" + +"That," he answered, with just such a little smiling nod as I had given +him, "is my affair, and between me and the King. Your own words! +Come, Monsieur, give it to me, and let me go." + +"It!" said I banteringly, for I was fool enough to play him further. +"Is your Latin not rusty? And if it is rusty, may it not be wrong? +Should your 'it' not be 'him'?" + +"Him?" he repeated. "Him? What do you mean? By God! I have it! +It's the boy upstairs--it's the little Count himself! Monsieur, +Monsieur, you fly at high game, and I offer you my apologies; in some +things you are not such a fool as I took you to be. To lead him like a +pet lamb with a ribbon, and into his own town, too! No violence, no +noise, nothing indiscreet! Monsieur, I could not have done as well +myself. Can a man say more?" + +"But the Latin?" said I. "What of the It, Master Scholar?" + +"Who said It? Not I. _That which you have brought_, was what I said; +_That, That_, not It, and _That_ is the Count de Foix!" + +"And I am to return whence I came?" + +"So it seems, Monsieur, and I wish you joy when they find the boy does +not return with you. I fear they'll hang you, faith of a gentleman! I +fear they will." + +"Stop a minute, I'm not there yet. I was to wait the King's third +letter, was I not?" + +"Yes, yes," he said impatiently. "You have had two already, and so the +next must be the third--any fool can see that!" + +"Just so, dear Monsieur Volran; and it was a fool who saw it. Since +when was his Majesty among the prophets? Yesterday the second letter +came, came because the King was kept waiting, and yet this, written two +months ago, foresaw it, and so the next will be the third. How, two +months ago, could the King know, there would be need for a second and +so promise a third? My compliments on your imagination, but you do not +lie well." + +"Lie, Monsieur, lie?" + +"Bah! Never bluster with your sheath empty; bare hands cannot bully +hard steel. God forgive us! but we all lie at times. I did awhile +back when I said I knew no Latin. I know one tag--a worthy monk taught +it to me a month ago, when, out hawking, the kite missed its stoop. +How is this it ran? _Laqueo_--let me see; _laqueo Venantium_--ah! I +forget. Like you, I am rusty. But I remember its meaning. Shall I +translate, Monsieur scholar-tapster? It has something to do with an +escape from the snare of the fowler." + +"Oh," he cried, stamping, "you shall pay for this!" + +With my hand upon the door I turned upon him. + +"Dare so much as lift a finger, dare so much as breathe a threat, and +King's man though you are, bound up in the same bundle as me though you +are, you'll find the Morsigny gallows waiting for you here at La +Voulle; nor will Louis say more than, Curse him for a blundering ass! +It is I who hold the King's orders, not you; cross me in my obedience +at your peril!" and passing out, I struck the door noisily with the +letter. + +The crackle of the paper was a louder voiced threat than my own, and as +such the man I left swearing behind me understood it. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +IN WHAT WAY THE KING SOUGHT THE PEACE OF NAVARRE + +Of the many thoughts that danced across the darkness of my mind, +thoughts as impotent of light as fireflies flashing through a summer's +gloom, one alone brought any satisfaction--Brother Paulus could make +clear the King's instructions. Nor was I afraid that through seeking +his aid would come any premature disclosure of our scheme for securing +the peace of Navarre. The choice of Latin was now finally clear to me. +It was not simply that it concealed the writer's identity, but it +readily lent itself to translation. Thanks be to God! the +ministrations of the Church are always to be found in this Christian +country of ours, and where the Church is, there is learning. Louis +could be trusted not to betray his purposes. Through fear of death he +was the Church's humble son and servant in all things spiritual, but +woe to the priest who, presuming on his office, meddled in things +temporal to the detriment of France. At the door Brother Paul met me, +his finger on his lip. + +"He is asleep," he whispered, beckoning me to be quiet. "The early +rising and the ride have tired him. A noble-hearted boy, +Monsieur--loving, brave, unselfish. I think he will grow to be a good +man, a hard thing for one born great. Some day Navarre will bless +Gaston de Foix. Speak softly, though indeed a thunderclap would hardly +waken him now, he sleeps so sound." + +"So much the better, he has still far to ride. All the better, too, +for now we can talk more freely. Father Paul, what does this say?" + +It was wonderful how his eyes lightened. At Morsigny he had made no +parade of learning, but, hiding it out of sight, had lowered his talk +to the level of our ignorance. But the scrawl of Latin was to him as +the face of his mistress to a devout lover, and it was with a kind of +quaint reverence that he took the crumpled paper, smoothing out the +creases tenderly. + +"This, my son? Where did this come from?" + +"I found it a while back. It is Basque, is it not?" + +"Basque! No, no, Latin, and, I think, better in the letter than in the +spirit." + +"Latin! and that I should have taken it for Basque! I shall have to go +to school again. What does it say, Father? Curiosity always has an +itch for the unknown." + +"That, too, is the gift of God, or how would learning grow? But +this--this is foolish, or worse. _Numquid vivet_? _Non vivet_. +_Morte morietur, sed statim interficies_. Oh, my son, that is not +good! Either it is part of some horoscope, a sinful wresting of their +secrets from the stars, or else an unhappy soul has sold himself to +Satan for a necromantic prophesy, and such a prophesy!" + +"But, Father," I cried, almost forgetting both love and reverence in +impatience, "what, is it?--what is it?" + +"Hush!" he whispered, shaking a warning finger at me. "Remember the +child; we must not disturb his sleep. This is the meaning: '_Shall he +live? He shall not live! Let him die the death, thou shalt surely +kill him._' Either a foolish jest," he went on, stooping over the +paper, "or a spark from Hell, and at times the one is not far from +being the other. The Latin is sound enough as Latin goes in these +degenerate days; that is what I meant by saying the letter was better +than the spirit. It is the reverse of the text. The letter killeth, +but the Spirit giveth life. Here it is the letter that is sound and +wholesome, but the spirit killeth. Note the terseness of it. Either +the necromantic or the devil, his master, was--oh! my son, my son, what +is the matter? Art thou ill? Faint? The sun this morning? Jesu! +What is it?" + +How could I answer? How could I do more than stand aghast? What a +plot it was! What a damnable, cunning plot! What a playing on the +passions--love, greed, vengeance, and what passed with the King for +piety! What an interweaving of life and death and the powers of Hell! +Oh, what cunning, what damnable cunning! If a bribe will buy this +houseless, ragged wretch, this friendless outcast from his class, then +there is Solignac and the old lands of his house waiting for him in +Flanders. If love will hold him obedient, here is his mistress hostage +to my mercy, the mercy of Louis of France! the mercy of the rack in +Plessis and Tristan's House of the Great Nails, that all may know this +is the King's vengeance for a duty unfulfilled! Or perhaps hate will +move him! Then take Jan Meert, take my own ancient tool, who has never +known a scruple to trip him in my service--take him, and do as you list +by him. Or if these fail, if Navarre outbribes me, if a new love +quenches the old, if revenge grows cold, there still remains the Cross +of Saint Lo whereon who swears falsely perishes both in this world and +the next. Remember the child! said Brother Paul, his finger on his +lips. Remember him? Would God I could forget him! + +Something of this was in my face, but not to be read aright by the +gentle heart beside me, for Brother Paul took me in his arms, fearing I +would fall, and how could a priest of God knowingly so hold one sworn +to shed innocent blood? But I put him aside. + +"The paper, quick!" and snatching it from his hand, I tore it into +fragments too small to be pieced together again. I do not pretend I +had any clear plan in my head; a blind instinct often moves us, and it +is only later we understand why we did thus and thus. + +But what Brother Paul failed to read in my face he gathered from the +sudden violence of the act, though dimly. What mind as innocent as his +could, on the instant, plumb to such an infamy? Again, being his +Master's servant, he took me in his arms, laying his hands upon my +shoulders, his grey face all lined with sorrow. + +"You, Son Gaspard? Ah! I see, I see! Satan hath desired to sift thee +as wheat, but I have prayed to the Father for thee. There, on the Grey +Leap, I prayed; He has ventured his life to repair my fault, give me +his life, O Father, spare him and give me his Greater Life. And so it +shall be. I know it by faith, and if we could not know by faith, how +could we live at all? Tell me your trouble, my son. Am I not Father +Paul, God's Priest, and your friend? Confess yourself, and remember +you speak not to me, but in the secret ear of God." + +And I spoke. Kneeling between his knees as he sat upon a settle, I +told him all from the beginning. What passed between us at the first +is for no man's curiosity. Then, that being done with, and we back in +the world again, the world in which men must use their lame wits and +feeble understandings as best they can, I, tramping up and down the +room, cried, + +"But what next? I cannot see what next; it is all dark." + +"No, no," said Paul, "not all dark, never all dark. No, my son, no; +the Lord God never leaves a soul in the All Dark. Somewhere, +somewhere, there is a gleam, and that gleam is an inspiration. Is it +love? Follow it, my son, follow it. Duty? Then follow duty. A clean +conscience? In God's name, follow it wherever it leads. Who am I to +say more? The gleam is the one divine thing in us, therefore follow +the gleam, follow it, follow it." + +"It is easy for you, sitting there, to say so," and pausing in my walk, +I stood over him; "but the arm of that cunning devil in Plessis can +reach, as he told me, from Arragon to England, and from the verge of +the Empire to the sea in the west. Gleam? There is no gleam." + +"There is your oath, my son." + +"My oath? An oath taken in blindness is no oath." + +But Brother Paul shook his head. + +"A Christian man's oath is the honour of his soul. When you swore your +oath at Plessis there was always an alternative you could follow." + +"To return?" + +"To return," he repeated. + +"But--that is death?" + +"I said it was the honour of the soul. The ancient tongue has a motto, +_Prius mori quam fidem fallere_. Sooner die than break faith--faith +with God and all that is best in ourselves, faith with that unhappy +woman who for no fault of hers, for no cause but that she loved you, +stands to-day in your place. Were you Paulus and I Son Gaspard, I +would go back to Plessis--and die. Not that I dare to judge for you." + +"I cannot see it," I cried, the love of life and the love of Suzanne +both strong within me. Was her rose not buckled to my bonnet? +"Father! Father! Is there a God at all that we men are put to such +straits?" + +Priest though he was, he did not so much as utter a rebuke, but, +rising, he laid his hands upon my shoulders as he had done almost at +the first. + +"I am not afraid of your doubt, for listen to this, my son: the man who +has never greatly doubted will never greatly believe, never greatly +love, never, even, greatly live. Every doubt a man puts under him is a +step nearer to perfect faith, perfect love, and perfect life. Again I +say, I cannot judge for you. But because doubt is a devil who must be +fought alone and in the desert of solitude, I will go outside the +door--outside the door, but never outside your life. The Lord bless +thee, and keep thee! the Lord----" and then he slipped off into his +beloved Latin, ending in _det tibi pacem_. + +Softly lifting the latch and softly closing it, he was gone. + +_Pacem_! That was peace. But where was I to find peace? Unless such +a peace as lay so coldly at the foot of the Grey Leap that it had +chilled 'Tuco's courage. From Arragon to England, from the Empire to +the sea, Louis would find me out. Return to Plessis? I knew what that +meant. Peace! It was easy for a priest to say Peace, peace! easy for +the man who ran no risks to say Follow the gleam! but for me not so +easy. + +Just then Gaston turned on the bed, drawing a deep sigh of placid rest +and contentment; Gaston, the child of whom Louis had written, Thou +shalt surely kill him! Gaston, helpless and asleep. He shall die and +not live, said Louis of France; his life for yours! Yet Paul had left +him in my charge without a plea, without a pledge, without even the +tremor of a troubled doubt. That moved me to my very depths. + +To be thought capable of a great action, of a great sacrifice, makes +both possible. I do not mean the sparing of the child. Thank God, +that was never in doubt! But the fulness of Brother Paul's faith meant +this to me: I trust you to do that which is highest, let come what may. +That meant, return to Morsigny, put the child in safety, and humble +yourself in the eyes of the woman you love; ride then to Plessis, and +say: Here am I, let the woman I have ceased to love--no! the woman I +have never loved--let her go her way. That meant--God knows what next, +but nothing that a man could think upon without a shiver. If the woman +who had done no wrong would writhe and scream and curse for what the +King would call my treachery, what might not the traitor expect? And +yet, that way shone the gleam, and another's faith in me gave me faith +in myself. + +But it was a relief to have the excuses of voices outside the door to +put thought aside and find refuge in activity. It was Martin, come for +orders as I had bidden him. Back to Morsigny, and with as little delay +as possible, seemed the best plan. Once the boy was again safe behind +its walls my responsibility ended. Yes, Morsigny first, and for that +day it was my wisdom to look no further, lest I should see too much and +be afraid. + +But while I debated how best to avoid an altercation with the man who +called himself Jean Volran, Volran's voice came from the stairhead with +Martin answering loudly, roughly, as if in altercation; then followed a +scuffle, the sound of a fall, and again Martin's voice: + +"Monsieur Gaspard! Monsieur Gaspard! Quick! quick!" + +He was standing at the stairhead, his back to me, his shoulders +crouched, his knees bent, the right foot advanced, and both elbows +hugging his ribs. I could not see it, but from his attitude I knew his +sword was out, hidden by the bulk of his body. Back against the wall, +where the well of the stairs made an angle, was Brother Paul, his arms +raised in astonished protest; above the line of the topmost step jean +Volran was rising to his knees where Martin had flung him. + +"There is some roguery, Monsieur Gaspard," said Martin, but though he +heard the latch click he was too wary of fence to turn his head. "This +fellow, who an hour ago was a thieving inn-keeper, has now a sword at +his hip----" + +"You blundering fool!" said Volran, rising and shaking himself. "You +took me unawares, but you shall pay me as fully as if you did it +aforethought. Monsieur de Helville, there are only two of you, but I +have four, and we seven can laugh at La Voulle." + +"This fellow," went on Martin, as if Volran had never spoken, "this +fellow came up here three at a stride, and was told by Father Paul you +were busy. He would not take No for an answer, but tried to bustle us, +so I tipped him downstairs to teach him patience." + +"Monsieur de Helville, it is the King's business, and there is no time +to waste," cut in Volran. "Bid this chattering idiot of yours be +silent. You two can never hold the boy, and you know it. But we will +help you. Come, sir, finish what brought you to La Voulle." + +Putting Martin aside, I took his place on the top step. + +"Have no fear, Jean Volran, or whoever you are, we two can hold the boy +safe as far as Morsigny." + +"Morsigny?" + +"I said Morsigny." + +"Morsigny? Then for what have I wasted three months in this rat-hole +of a La Voulle? That you might march the Count de Foix into the town, +and then march him home again? Was it for that the King sent you to +Navarre?" + +"That is between myself and the King, as I told you once already +to-day, but the Count de Foix goes back to Morsigny." + +"Mad!" said he. "Stark mad!" In his eagerness he came up a step or +two, one hand stretched out before him as if to grip my attention and +hold it. "Do you know who it is you deride? Whose face you slap? It +is Louis'--Louis'. Why, man, he will crush you as I would a fly." + +"Keep your distance," answered I; "you are five and we are two, but we +have the vantage, and in narrow stairs two are as good as twenty. Come +up but one step more, and Father Paul will shout A Rescue! from the +window behind, and then you will be the flies." + +"Better do it without waiting," said Martin. "Rouse the town, Father, +or they may attack us on the road." + +But I held the priest back. + +"Not yet; I have a use for Monsieur Volran's life, and, liar though he +is, I will trust his word. In spite of the trade he follows, there is +enough of the gentleman in him for that. You see how it is, Monsieur +Jean Volran? Let Father Paul put his head out o' window and shout, and +there's an end to you and your four; with the townsfolk below and us +above, it's a choice of rope or steel. Swear that neither you nor any +of your four will molest us on the road, and, for aught I care, you may +all go to the devil." + +"Or to Plessis," said Martin. + +"I mean to Plessis; that is my use for him. Do you swear, Monsieur +Volran?" + +For a moment he hesitated, glancing down the lower flight of stairs to +the hall below. That his four transformed scullions were waiting him +there, I knew, for they could not keep their clumsy feet quiet on the +flagging, and he was calculating chances. + +"Be ready, Father," said I softly. "If he stirs even an inch upward, +shout Murder! Navarre to the rescue! Navarre! Navarre!" + +But there was no need. With a snarl and a stamp of the foot he stepped +back to the landing. + +"Do you think this ends it?" he cried, shaking both fists up at us, his +face all twisted with passion. "By God! No!" + +"Do you swear, Monsieur Volran?" + +"Swear?" he frothed. "What can I do but swear? Yes; Louis can pay +to-day's debt better than I can, and so I swear. Oh, what a payment +that will be! What a payment! What a payment! God send me there to +hear you curse the bribe that has bought to-day's treachery." + +"No bribe," answered I a little huskily, for the venom of his +exultation shook my nerve more than any threat could have done. "But +tell the King this: Gaspard Hellewyl has failed to fulfil his mission, +and according to his oath returns to Plessis by the road of his +Majesty's choosing." + +"To Plessis!" answered Volran incredulously. "Bah! Why add a lie to +treason? To Plessis!" and in his contempt he laughed. + +But from behind, Brother Paul laid his hands upon my shoulders, drawing +me back into his embrace until I felt the throb of his heart. + +"It is the gleam, my son; God be praised, who never leaves us in the +dark." + +"It is my oath, Father; and you, Monsieur, do you carry your message to +the King." + +For a moment Jean Volran stood watching me curiously; then he drew +himself up and raised his sword to the salute. + +"Till we meet in Plessis, Monsieur." + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + +THE JUSTICE HALL IN MORSIGNY + +But let it not be supposed that we trusted entirely to Jean Volran's +oath; those who served Louis' court of honour too easily found +absolution for vows broken in the King's interest. From the +watch-tower in the steeple of Saint Suzanna the band of five were seen +to ride northward, and when, having dined, we left La Voulle, it was +with an armed company of the townfolk, to do honour, as Brother Paul +said, to Monseigneur the Count de Foix. + +These we dismissed as soon as Morsigny was in sight; nor did we lose +time on our way. It was little Gaston's first forced march, and hugely +he enjoyed it. But we elders were silent; when the heart is troubled, +the tongue commonly takes holiday. Once only did Brother Paul speak. + +"From the bottom of my heart I pity him," he said, turning to me +suddenly. + +"Pity whom? Jean Volran?" + +"That most unhappy man, Louis of France. I sometimes think--though it +is heresy, from which God deliver us all!--I sometimes think we make +our own hell, people it with devils of our own creating, and by +dwelling with them become like them." + +"If by hell you mean our own follies," I began bitterly, but Brother +Paul stopped me, and his voice was infinitely gentle. + +"No, my son, no--not that; such pains truly are stripes of healing. +But Louis! What a mind he must have to think that every man is such +another as himself, and--oh, for poor human nature!--how often he must +have found it true. To every man his price! But it is a lie, a lie, +and to-day proves it a lie. I am glad, though, that you go back with +us first to Morsigny. Mademoiselle de Narbonne has a shrewder head +than I, though I am thrice her age. She may help us in our straits. I +have great faith in Mademoiselle de Narbonne." + +"Mademoiselle de Narbonne?" + +"Yes, Suzanne." + +"But I thought she was Mademoiselle D'Orfeuil?" + +Brother Paul smiled and shook his head. + +"That was some jest, some whim of hers, and yet, perhaps, with a +purpose behind it. Suzanne is no light-of-mind to jest just for +jesting's sake. Perhaps she thought you would be more at ease at +Morsigny. Nor was it an untruth. She is Suzanne D'Orfeuil de +Narbonne, Monseigneur's cousin. Because of your ignorance of our +tongue she had only Gaston and me to reckon with. To Gaston she was +always Suzanne, and I humoured her, as why should I not? She can +always make me do as she wills." + +"But now?" said I blankly, and feeling as if again the bottom of my +world were dropping out. + +"The time for such toys is past," answered Brother Paul gravely. "It +does not become my office to countenance the prolonging of a jest in +the face of such issues as lie before us." + +I made no reply; and he, perhaps in contemplation of these same issues, +he too fell silent. + +Mademoiselle D'Orfeuil de Narbonne! What a fool I had been in my +condescension. How she must have laughed as she played her part from +day to day; laughed at my simplicity in swallowing her mock humility, +laughed at my clownish setting her at her ease, she who miscalled +herself, lest Gaspard Hellewyl, the broken-fortuned country lout of +Flanders, should be overawed by her greatness! Who is there has not +been wise after the event when he might have been wise before? And who +is there has not cursed the puppy-blindness in him that could not see +what was plain before his face? Not a day had passed but the gilding +of the Narbonne had shone through the homespun of the Orfeuil, and yet +the glint taught me nothing. + +But it might have been worse. I might have spoken more boldly, more +openly, and so have given myself more frankly to her laughter. I owed +her some thanks that I had not, for even my bitter heart set this to +her credit, that she had never beckoned me to a fall. Her jest had not +been that cruellest of jests that spoils a life for a pastime. Yes, it +might have been worse, though that is cold comfort when might have been +worse is elbow-neighbour to as bad as can be, and there was a kind of +grim satisfaction in the knowledge that Louis would soon give me other +things to think of. + +Never, by day or night, was Morsigny left unsentinelled, and +Mademoiselle, being warned of our coming, met us at the gate. + +"Welcome home, _mon coeur_!" she said, having dropped, and for the last +time, her little curtsey. "Hast thou had a good day? How red thy +cheeks are! Monsieur Gaspard must have--oh! Monsieur, Monsieur, is +the news bad? Is there to be no peace for Navarre that you are so +grave? What has happened, Monsieur? Tell me, tell me!" + +"Much, Mademoiselle de Narbonne, but not what you think." + +"Thank God for that! And Narbonne! Ah," and frank laughter chased +away the sudden seriousness. "But you are not angry at my poor little +pretence? You should not be, for it was you who taught it to me. +Remember how I took you for Martin." + +"Mademoiselle, if I have deceived myself, I have deceived you also." + +"What?" and she looked me imperiously in the eyes, "are you, after all, +Martin the servant, and is the other the Gaspard Hellewyl Monsieur de +Commines called friend? If that is your meaning----" + +"No, no; worse than that, much worse. I am, most unhappily, that +Gaspard Hellewyl, and so it is much worse than that." + +As may be supposed, the grooms had led away the horses, and we four +were alone, the little Count being clasped in her arms. Before she +could reply, Brother Paulus intervened. + +"Run to thy Marie, Gaston, _mon gars_; she will give thee thy bread and +milk for to-night." + +"Yes," said Mademoiselle, kissing him, and letting him slip to the +ground. "Run away, _p'tit_, I shall come to thee presently." + +"I think you are angry with my Monsieur Gaspard," said he; "but you +must not be angry, Suzanne; he took such care of me all day. From the +time you gave him the rose he has in his bonnet until now he has never +let me out of reach of his arm. Kiss me, Monsieur Gaspard," and, +forgetting he was a prince, with a rush he hugged me round the knees. + +As I stooped over him, I thought a touch of colour rose to +Mademoiselle's face, and I know it was a relief to hide my own; it is +not easy at all times to keep the heart from showing through the eyes. + +"Sleep sound, _p'tit ami_," said I, kissing him on the forehead. + +When, with a bend of the knee to Brother Paul, he had gone, +Mademoiselle turned to the priest. + +"It is serious, then?" + +"It might have been," he answered. "With anyone else than Monsieur de +Helville it might have been serious beyond words, but he has saved us." + +"Saved you?" I echoed. "Do you call that saving? Mademoiselle de +Narbonne, I have a story to tell, and afterwards, if you will give me a +night to rest the horses, Martin and I will go." + +"Go? Go where?" she asked blankly. + +"Whence we came." + +"Yes," said Brother Paul, "to God's keeping." + +"So I think," said I significantly, "to God's keeping." + +Without a further question Mademoiselle led the way to the main door of +Morsigny, through the great hall, and into a broad, timber-roofed +chamber. It was the Justice Hall of the Count of Narbonne, and, facing +the east, was already gloomy, though the sun still shone yellow on the +grass. + +Seating herself on the carved chair that faced the top of the table, +Mademoiselle pointed to a bench beyond its angle and looked round her. +From the almost black walls of dull oak glimmered in steel the wordless +history of her race. Lance and sword, shield and casque, glaive and +morion, told their story in dint and notch how the House of Narbonne +had risen, fighting; had thriven, fighting; and fighting, held its own. +Many a Gaston, many a Phoebus, many an Antony, had gone to its +building, laying himself down as a foundation stone on which the +fortunes of his race might rise. And never had it risen higher than at +that day. No wonder Paulus had smiled at little Gaston's promise that +I should marry his Suzanne. A D'Orfeuil of Narbonne, comparatively +remote though she was from the direct line, was not for a homeless +Hellewyl, and I, like the blind fool for which I still cursed myself, +had inverted the pyramid of his thought. + +Was it for that, I wondered, was it to point this difference between +our fortunes that she had brought us to this room of all rooms in +Morsigny? Or, more significant still, was it to say, It is here that +Narbonne judges and condemns? + +Mademoiselle must have understood something of what was passing in my +mind, for her first words brushed aside the alternative. + +"Here we can be undisturbed," she said to Paul; "and here, you know, we +take counsel together. Monsieur Hellewyl, you said you had a story to +tell; but before you begin, I wish to say this: I do not retract a +single word spoken on the Grey Leap." + +"That was your ignorance, Mademoiselle," said I; "wait, and hear me +out." + +"I am not afraid," she answered, "and--will you believe me?--though I +am a woman, I am not curious. Tell me no more than you wish to tell." + +"And that is everything." + +Already she knew the story in part--how that a landless, penniless +gentleman had been driven from his home like a smoked rat, how he had +found a friend in Philip de Commines, and how he had come to Navarre on +secret service. But I went back to the beginning and told it all over +afresh, hoping vaguely that my forlorn helplessness might plead an +extenuation for me. + +From Plessis the story differed from what I had allowed her to believe, +and stooping upon her crossed arms, she leaned towards me over the +table, losing no word. Slowly, simply, I told it all, palliating +nothing, and hiding one thing only; it did not seem necessary to +mention Brigitta. She belonged to Solignac, and had no interest for +Morsigny; but all the rest I laid bare. Once she interrupted me. It +was as I told of the King's commission, the sealed letter, and how +that, through little Gaston was to come that peace to Navarre for which +she had so fervently prayed in the chapel in Saint Gatien. + +"And you really believed him?" + +"Yes, the scheme was plausible." + +"Plausible!" she echoed, with a laugh that was the nearest to a sneer I +ever heard from her mouth. "Truly, Monsieur Hellewyl, Plessis must be +very remote from Solignac." + +"I believe," said Paul. "I remember the Grey Leap, and I believe." + +"I, too, believe, but now Monsieur Hellewyl will understand why at the +Grey Leap I doubted. Go on, Monsieur." + +Thenceforward the story, being chiefly what had happened at Morsigny, +was shortened. The error Mademoiselle had fallen into because of +Commines' writing; the second letter, which I passed over as simply a +warning to make haste; the inn at La Voulle--none of these called for +any detail; nor did she again speak until I ended--"And so, no harm +being done, I pray God, but good rather, since you are warned and on +your guard, we shall go to-morrow if you give us leave to rest the +horses until then." + +"We shall think of that presently," she answered, but speaking as if +her thoughts were elsewhere. "Monsieur, a while ago I said that though +a woman I was not curious. That was a mistake. Have you told me +everything?" + +"A full confession, Mademoiselle." + +"Confession? But at times there are other things besides confession. +What was the warning Monsieur de Commines sent you?" + +Thoughtlessly, or rather with the thought that she was suspicious of my +entire good faith, I handed her Monseigneur's letter, which, holding it +slanting to the light, she read through twice before handing it on to +Paul. + +"What was within it?" + +"Within it, Mademoiselle?" + +"Yes; he says, I am bid send you what is within." + +Then I saw what a fool I had been. The story of the King's full-handed +bribes, his promise of a new Solignac, of restored lands, and of a +blood for blood vengeance on Jan Meert I had told her in full detail, +but of the blunt threat sprawled across the other side of the account I +had said nothing. + +"Well, Monsieur, what was within it?" Then, as I still hesitated, "A +full confession, Monsieur Hellewyl." + +"This," and upon the table between us I laid the piece of cord, the +noose still looped at the end. "This, and the message, So saith +Tristan!" + +She leaned, as I have said, across the table, resting on her folded +arms; now she drew back, shrinking into the capacious hollow of her +rounded chair as if the foot of innocent string had been a death-adder +at the least. Of its symbolism there could be no mistake. + +"That? You had that in your pocket to-day at La Voulle? You had that +while Gaston lay asleep, and you faced Jean Volran on the stairway? +Jean Volran? Not him alone; Jean Volran had four others, with him. +Five against two are great odds?" + +"No, Mademoiselle, not really great odds. We held the upper stairs, +and Father Paul would have raised La Voulle behind them." + +"Five against two are great odds," she persisted, "odds that no man +need be ashamed to find too great--compellingly great--when he carries +that in his pocket. Nor need Father Paul have raised La Voulle; that +thought was yours? You had your chance there to save your honour, +Monsieur Hellewyl--and your life," she added, tapping the table an inch +away from the noosed cord. + +"Should I have taken the chance?" said I; "or do you think that only +frail, gentle-nurtured girls should ride into the shadow of the House +of Nails?" + +"It was for my nation, Monsieur?" + +"It was for my honour, Mademoiselle; for though the world might say I +had saved it, my own heart would give the world the lie daily, until I +died. Besides, you make too much of it. The King is in Plessis, and +I----" + +"You are safe in Morsigny, and Morsigny can hold you safe; yes, thank +God for that!" + +But I shook my head, unwillingly enough, though I trust the +unwillingness to be hanged did not show too plainly in my face. + +"No, Mademoiselle de Narbonne, that cannot be. Why! the King would +rake Navarre as with a wool-carder's comb until he found me. Martin +and I go hence to-morrow." + +"Where?" + +"Does that matter? Anywhere." + +"I can tell you where," said Paul, breaking in for the first time. "He +rides straight to Plessis. I heard him tell Jean Volran; to Plessis by +the road of the King's choosing." + +"To Plessis!" cried Mademoiselle, bringing down her clenched hand upon +the noose. "To Plessis, with that before you? Never!" + +"My oath, Mademoiselle, my oath by the Cross of Saint Lo, whereon who +swears falsely dies here and hereafter." + +"For the dying in this world I can answer," said she; "Louis will see +to that. As to the hereafter, Christ who died upon the Cross is above +the cross. The keeping of such an oath is the sacrilege, not the +breaking. Promise me, Monsieur; not to Plessis? Think what we owe +you--Navarre, Narbonne, Morsigny, I myself. Oh, Monsieur, Monsieur! do +not put your blood upon our heads for such a blind oath as that. +Promise me, promise me." + +But again I shook my head. This was the bitterest moment of all that +bitter humiliation, and yet, knowing that it was not altogether my oath +that drew me, I could not leave her to sorrow over a seeming useless +sacrifice. + +"There is another reason, Mademoiselle; the King holds a hostage for my +return." + +"Oh!" said she blankly, the fire dying from her eyes; "a hostage? Who +is he?" + +"It is a woman, Mademoiselle." + +"Oh!" said she again, but this time with a subtle sharpening of the +emphasis; "a woman? As I said at the first, tell me no more than you +wish to tell." + +"Then you trust me, Mademoiselle?" I asked, but doubtfully, for if her +mouth said, Tell nothing, her eyes said, I, too, am a woman; tell all. + +"Why not?" she answered, her voice prim and hard, until her eyes, which +had been looking proudly into mine, fell, I don't know why, and rested +on the cord, then it grew gentle again. "Say nothing, or--everything." + +"Everything, then. She is a peasant of Flanders, a herdsman's +daughter. The story is common enough----" + +"Too common, Monsieur," she broke in, her eyes blazing, her hands +clenched in her lap as again she shrank back as far as the hollows of +the chair would let her. "Oh, you honourable gentlemen! Do you think +that because I am Suzanne de Narbonne and she a peasant I care nothing +for her womanhood? Shame, Monsieur Hellewyl, shame; she is my sister." + +"I thought you trusted me, Mademoiselle?" I retorted, not sorry she had +put herself in the wrong. + +"I said so, Monsieur, but this common story of yours----" + +"Is it not common that a man should think himself in love with the one +pretty face he has ever seen in his life? that he should dress her +coarse mind with the graces he knew later had never touched her, no, +not for an hour? that he should hold her sacred for her very womanhood, +and worship as God's fine gold what, when his knowledge wakened, he +knew to be at its best but honest potters' clay? Is it----" + +"Yes, Monsieur," she interrupted softly, and stretching her open hand +across the angle of the table, "that last at least is so uncommon from +a Seigneur of where you will to a peasant born in his woods, that I may +be forgiven if for a minute I doubted. Am I forgiven, Monsieur +Gaspard?" + +It was a return of the old Suzanne D'Orfeuil, and resting her hand on +mine, I kissed it as I might have kissed a Queen's, or no, not quite: +if the kiss was reverent and carefully passionless, the touch of the +lips lingered a moment or two beyond the nice allotment of ceremony. + +"No woods of mine, for I owned not one rood of the land nor stick of +the timber." + +"Never mind that," she answered, withdrawing her hand; "you understand +my meaning, and I think I need hear no more of the woods of Flanders. +What of the hostage in Plessis?" + +The rest was easy; not even when the King put the construction he did +on the mention of Brigitta's name did the softness wither from her +face. Only at the grim picture of how other limbs would writhe in my +default, and a tortured woman scream her curse of Gaspard Hellewyl, she +drew in her breath with a shudder, covering her eyes with her hand as +if to shut out the sight. Nor, when I had ended, did she say more +than--"Yes, you are right, and Father Paul was right; there is nothing +for it but Plessis and the King's mercy." + +The King's mercy! I had it in my heart to copy her bitter phrase: +Morsigny must indeed be remote from Plessis when you talk of the King's +mercy! But her white face restrained me. And why recall the only +reproach she ever uttered? + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + +"GOD KEEP YOU, NOW AND ALWAYS" + +But the next day Mademoiselle de Narbonne would not let us go. + +"There is no need for haste," said she. "Consider for yourself; truly +there is no haste. Jean Volran, once his blood is cool, will kill no +horses riding to tell his master your plot has failed. This time bad +news will bait by the way. Even then that woman is in no danger. The +King is not wanton in his wickedness. With him evil has a purpose, and +he is ruthless rather than cruel. The woman will be safe for at least +a week." + +She was right, and in the reaction which followed the high-strung +tension of the conflict at La Voulle, judge if I did not catch greedily +at the procrastination. But not for a week; the risk every way was too +great; two days perhaps. + +"Two days?" she repeated, glancing at Paul. "What do you say to that, +_mon père_?" + +"Sufficient, I think," he answered thoughtfully. "Yes, more than +sufficient, for we had last night." + +"Good! On Tuesday, then," said she, and the two left me. + +More than sufficient! That was a hard saying, and not like Father +Paul. Yet even to me the hard saying was a true one. These two days +were more than sufficient to weary me of Morsigny, for in them I was +left to isolation, except for a half hour thrice a day when we came +together to break our fast. Now that her nurse's masquerade was over, +Mademoiselle de Narbonne appeared to be burdened with affairs, and it +may be that there were letters to write, for couriers were sent away +thrice, once to Pau, and twice to Pamplona. + +I suppose Paul guided her in these, for not even he was visible, until +at last, having haunted Morsigny all that Sunday for a glimpse of his +kindly sorrowful face, I shut myself up in my own chamber at sunset, an +ill-used, ill-tempered man. Of what use was it to say, Wait two days, +if in them I was shut up to my own thoughts for company? Not even +Mademoiselle's rose, nodding towards me across a rim of glass, was any +comfort. + +I do not think there ever yet was a man who never repented of making a +great sacrifice. In his soul he knows he was right, but the baser part +of him repents, and there never was a man yet whose baser part did not +get the upper hand at times, while with most of us it sits astride on +top. + +I was five-and-twenty, and loved life with the natural, wholesome, +riotous love of any healthy animal. Of death or the judgment to follow +I had no conscious fear, but the life I lived was sweet and good and +satisfying. It suited the flesh of my manhood's robust strength as no +other life could, suited it exactly as the Lord God meant it should; +and so, as I stared, chin on palm, above the blown rose at the blue of +the far-off hills, I asked myself if I had not been a fool? + +My oath? Oaths comfort no dead men, and Mademoiselle had herself torn +the figment of my oath to tatters. Brigitta? Again I called +Mademoiselle to witness; had she not said the King had a method in his +wickedness? His cruelty was not the lust to kill for killing's sake. +With a fright, a whipping perhaps, he would let her go. Her healthy +flesh would heal, her peasant's mind would take no shame. In six +months' time she would be none the worse except for a scar or two on +the back, none the worse body or soul, while I----? Clenching my fist +I struck it against the table. Instantly a small soft voice answered +me, a voice without words. Mademoiselle's rose had fallen, and the +heavy petals whispered as they toppled on the polished wood; one, two, +a dozen; those left, trembling at the shock of loss, nodding a farewell +before they, too, lost their hold on life. + +"See, old friend of yesterday," they said, "see what comes to all of +us. We do our little work in the world, and then--we go. We give a +little of sweetness, a little of perfume to the dry, dull air of the +world, we breathe a little of love, a little of promise, our best and +all we have, and then, having done our work in the world--we go!" + +Ay! we go! But we do not go utterly. Even my rose had left something +of its sweetness behind. From the petals gathered in my palm the +breath of yesterday flowed upwards, perfumed and delicious. My rose +was gone, yes, but it was not utterly gone. Its memory lived, fragrant +and undying. Surely, surely, I could at least leave as sweet a name +behind me as a rose of yesterday! + +"We go, old friend," said I, nodding back at the shaking petals. "Yes, +we go; but if truly we have done our work in the world, and if our +memory lives in fragrance after us, what does it greatly matter?" +And--will it be believed?--I drew strength and comfort from the +withering petals flattened in my palm. + +There was much need for both. Monday was as the Sunday had been. +Mademoiselle and Brother Paul were busied everywhere but where Gaspard +Hellewyl looked for them, nor did we meet till supper. Then +Mademoiselle was restrained, preoccupied, eating little and talking +less; her only reference to the next day's departure being a cold +enquiry as to when I desired the horses. Had we been going for one of +our rides, as in the blessed days of July, she would have shown more +animation. + +"Eight o'clock," I answered, steeling myself to an equal coldness. "We +must ride to Orthez; the King's post at La Voulle is temporarily +closed. May I suggest, Mademoiselle, that you should keep a watchful +eye on the next tenant?" + +"Orthez!" repeated she thoughtfully. "Yes, eight o'clock should do." + +"Oh, Mademoiselle!" said I, with an elaborate show of courtesy to cover +my bitterness, "if the hour is inconvenient we can always +leave--earlier! But I do not think you need be afraid for Morsigny. +The King knows you are warned. Shut your door upon our backs and you +are safe." + +She looked aside abruptly before replying, and when she turned to face +me again her eyes were brimming, though her mouth was hard set. + +"You think us ungrateful, Monsieur, you think us callous, you think us +cold; but you think wrong in all three. But there is, I pray God, a +life to be saved, if to save it is possible, and there is much to be +thought of, much to be planned. You will excuse me for to-night? To +me the danger is greater than you admit--I cannot bear to speak of it. +I am more truly a woman than you credit, and--and--God keep you, +Monsieur, now and always!" + +Before I could reply she had gone, still half mumbling the words +between her shut teeth, leaving me touched to the heart with +self-reproach. Not that I believed the danger to the boy was serious. +Now that his scheme was laid bare, Louis would resort to no impolitic +violence; but love, given unreservedly as Mademoiselle's love was given +to little Gaston, is never calmly rational, but, over-anxious, measures +danger by its own depth. + +The next morning Brother Paulus and I broke our fast alone, nor did I +see Mademoiselle until the horses stood by the mounting-blocks. That +she had rested badly, sleeping little or none at all, was plain from +the black hollows which underlay her eyes. Even Gaston saw the change. + +"Suzanne is ugly to-day, Monsieur Gaspard," said he, running forward to +feed Roland with a morsel of bread. "I think she has been crying. +That is silly, Suzanne, for if people go away they always come back." + +"Let him think so," said she, trying to smile as she shook a finger at +him. "To me it seems a sin to make a child sorrowful. Come and say +good-bye to Monsieur Gaspard, Gaston." + +It was strange, almost grotesque, certainly pathetic, how the child in +him froze to the dignity of the Count of Foix. + +"Goodbye, Monsieur," said he, coming forward sedately, but with a +back-turned glance of regret at Roland whinnying after him. "My +father, the Count de Narbonne, will be sorry--oh, you have a new kind +of spurs on, Monsieur Gaspard! Suzanne! do you see? Is that because +you have so far to ride." + +"Goodbye, Monsieur Gaston," said I, smiling in spite of my heavy heart +at his struggle to be two such incongruities at the one minute as a +dignified prince and a wholesome-natured child of six. "When next we +ride together we must have just such another famous gallop as we had on +Saturday." + +"Shall we? Shall we?" he cried, gleefully clapping his hands, the +prince all flung to the wind. "Oh, but it was grand, that ride from La +Voulle! Suzanne, you would have thought the King of France was after +us, we rode so fast." + +But Mademoiselle had me by the hand, and was biting her lip, so that I +said my farewells hastily. + +"God bless you, Mademoiselle! Only He knows what you have been to me +in my weakness," and stooping, I kissed her hand as I had kissed it +once before. "It is not so very hard; never believe that it has been +very hard. Father Paul----" + +But Father Paul was fairly crying, and when I saw the tears running +unrestrained down his cheeks, I judged it time to be in the saddle, +lest I should disgrace my manhood. To weep at a friend's grave is no +shame, but a man who rides in his own funeral should keep back his +tears that others may not suffer with him. + +What benediction was in Father Paul's heart I do not know, for his +tongue turned traitor and would not speak, but I have no doubt that He +to Whom it was addressed heard and recorded it. + +Almost in silence I left the great door of Morsigny, but not the outer +gate. There waited Hugues, 'Tuco, Antony, and the rest, all who had so +rightly mistrusted me. They were in two lines, between which we rode +bareheaded as they. At first they were dumb, and stood to arms as +soldiers stand when a fellow soldier goes where a soldier may look to +go in the fulfilment of his duty. But as we passed beneath the teeth +of the portcullis a roar followed us, a cheer, a hoarse shout like the +rumble of thunder, "Vive Hellewyl! Vive Solignac! Vive Flanders!" + +At the shout I turned in the saddle, my heart beating fast, my eyes +wet, and the last I saw of Morsigny was not Mademoiselle's white face, +nor Brother Paul's tears, but a forest of bare steel shaken in the air, +and quivering like fire as the sun caught the flat of the friendly +blades. Truly it was something of a triumph that Navarre should cheer +a man of Flanders who came by way of Plessis-les-Tours! + +But the mockery of it. Vive Hellewyl! Vive Solignac! Long live the +man who dies within two weeks! Long live the man who rides in his own +funeral! Long live Solignac of the burnt roof-tree! Solignac, the +harbour for owls and bats! They might as well cry, Long live Death and +Destruction! And yet at the ring of the hoarse roar my blood warmed, +my eyes lightened, and my heart leaped. Gaspard Hellewyl would pass as +the over-blown rose had passed, but his memory would live, and Morsigny +would hold it fragrant. There was some comfort in that to the man who +so dearly and without hope loved the mistress of Morsigny. + +But such comfort soon passes; the spirit needs stronger meat than a +windy cheer, however well meant, to keep it in health, and as my pulses +calmed I saw facts in their true proportions. So long as I was at +Morsigny, so long as I was in touch with Mademoiselle, she was the +prism at which I looked at life and the hours shone red or blue at her +mood's pleasure. Now that was finally done with, and thenceforward if +there was a light at all it was cold and passionless. In that glamour +of interweaving reds and blues I could play the stoic and say, It is +not so very hard. And at the time it was true. We all have a high +note in us, though all too soon it dies away in a quaver. + +Nor was Martin helpful. Sour and disconsolate he rode behind, +whistling a _Dies irae, Dies illa_ of his own composing, until Morsigny +was no longer in sight. Then, according to custom, he spurred up Ninus +until his muzzle was a foot or two ahead of my girth. + +"I don't understand it at all, Monsieur Gaspard. We come to a place +where we plainly were not wanted, stay there two months playing +ourselves, then ride back where plainly we do not want to go. Why is +all that? Do you remember, we were to roof over Solignac, redeem the +old lands, and catch Jan Meert, and when we rode from Morsigny we were +to ride as if the devil or Tristan were after us. But here we are, +pricking along leisurely, as if----" + +"Tristan was before us, which he is. Cannot you see that we have +failed?" + +"And Solignac?" + +"My poor Martin, there is no more a Solignac." + +"And the lands?" + +"Never again will a Hellewyl have lands in Flanders." + +"Jan Meert?" + +"Perhaps," said I, grimly, "perhaps Jan Meert. The King has promised +we shall meet, and when it suits him to do so he keeps his word." + +"The King?" a spasm had poor Martin by the throat, just as in my room +at Morsigny when the noosed cord was dangled in his face. + +"For me," said I, "but not for you. I go to Plessis, but you--to +Solignac, I think, will be safest." + +His only answer was the reproach in his eyes, and a "God forgive you, +Monsieur Gaspard," as he reined back again. Of course, he meant that +where I went there would he go also: nor, so complete was his faith +that what I did was the one and only thing that could be done, did he +attempt remonstrance or persuasion. + +But ten minutes later I heard the sober trot of the hoofs behind me +quicken to a clatter, and again Martin pricked up alongside, but this +time he was smiling. + +"I have it, Monsieur Gaspard! We have failed"--he never stopped to ask +in what, or to say the failure was none of his, since he did not even +know the scheme--"we failed, but that was because they were too many +for us. And what is more, we did our best, did all that men could do, +for they killed you, and as you lay a-dying, with your last breath you +bade me ride to Plessis and tell the King all that had happened. +Meanwhile, you will go to Solignac by way of Auvergne, Burgundy, and +Lorraine, and I, when--when--the King has rewarded me, as of course, he +will," he went on, whimpering in spite of the gay prospect, the +excessive brightness of which made his eyes water, and his mouth to +tremble with a queer smile, "I'll join you there, and--and--; there, +that's settled, but I think you need not go to Orthez." + +"And tell me, how does King Louis reward failures?" + +For a moment he blinked in silence, but though the shadow on his face +deepened, his voice was brave as he answered--"This was no common +failure." + +"You are right, old friend," said I, grimly twisting his meaning. "It +was, indeed, no common failure, and what is more, news of it is already +on the way, so that the King will have ample time to prepare the +reward. What shall we do with it when we get it, you and I?" + +"Don't laugh at me, Master Gaspard, for I can't bear it," he answered +gruffly. "And why should I not go to Plessis? Why should I not die +for you? What use is a man's love if it can't do a--a--little thing +like that? Why can't I go to Plessis, Monsieur Gaspard?" + +"Because, old friend, there are some debts a man must pay for himself; +because, too, in your heart of hearts, you would not have the last +Hellewyl of Solignac turn coward, even to save his life." + +For a moment he looked me straight in the face, saying nothing; then, +raising his hand to a salute, he turned Ninus back, and thenceforward +we rode apart. Even at Saint Laurent, where, by Mademoiselle's +suggestion, we halted to bait, he kept his distance. His only +explanation was a gruff, "A man who isn't good enough to die for +another isn't good enough to live with him, or eat or drink with him +either, Monsieur Gaspard." + +So, also, was it through the afternoon. He trailed a dozen lengths +behind me, the packhorse dragging uncursed from his hooked elbow, and +it was with a dreary sense of isolation, of being outcast from all love +and sympathy in the world, that I rode into the court of the inn at +Orthez, to see Mademoiselle's face smiling at me from the doorway. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + +A LIE FOR A LIFE + +"Mademoiselle Suzanne!" I cried, and at what she read in my face the +white in her cheeks went to the pink of a shell. "Why! what does this +mean?" + +"That there are more roads than one to Orthez, Monsieur; and that +Father Paulus, who is within, will tell you the rest." + +"But, Mademoiselle----" + +"But, Monsieur, the roads are free to all; only," and turning on the +midway landing of the stairs up which I followed her, leaving Martin +and the landlord to care for the horses, she went on, lowering her +voice, "remember that henceforward there is no longer a Mademoiselle de +Narbonne, only Suzanne D'Orfeuil. Father Paulus is here, Monsieur de +Helville." + +Thenceforward? What thenceforward did she mean? And why, in a chief +city of Navarre, should a Narbonne of Morsigny deny her name? Taking +my two hands in both his at the top of the stairs, Father Paul answered +my second question as directly as if I had spoken aloud. + +"Though it is Orthez, it is also a post of the King of France, and to +travel as Suzanne D'Orfeuil is less risk." + +"To travel? To travel where?" + +"To Plessis, my son." + +"Did you think," broke in Mademoiselle through my dismayed protest, the +door being shut behind us, "did you really think us so cold, so +callous, so ungrateful? If so, then we have not taught you much in our +two months, Monsieur." + +"Not taught me much? Suzanne D'Orfeuil has taught me more than can +ever be told to Mademoiselle de Narbonne. Not taught me much? From a +man I have learned faith; from a woman--ah! Mademoiselle, I dare not +say one half----" + +"Then do not try, Monsieur," she began, with one of her little old-time +curtseys. But her forced gaiety ended in a sigh. "All that is past, +and where we go there is little love and no faith," which showed that, +though she stopped my mouth, she caught my meaning. + +"Plessis? Father Paul, that must never be." + +"Why not, Son Gaspard?" + +"Our Suzanne at Plessis? Our Suzanne in the power of that cold, cruel +devil, Louis of France? It is monstrous; it is infamous! Yes, I will +speak!" for with her hand upon my arm she tried to silence me, not +understanding that her very nearness, the mere touch of her fingers, +was a spur to protest. "Why should I not? You are Suzanne D'Orfeuil, +and Mademoiselle de Narbonne is at home in Morsigny; why should I not +speak? By what right, Brother Paulus, do you risk a life not your own?" + +It was Mademoiselle who answered. + +"Then if you must speak, speak to me if you please, Monsieur, not to +Brother Paul. I love him like a father, I reverence him as my guide +spiritual, but if you think Brother Paul would keep Suzanne D'Orfeuil +from doing that which Suzanne de Narbonne has bidden her, then, I say +again, we have not taught you much in our two months at Morsigny." + +"Then, Mademoiselle, I ask you. By what right do you risk a life not +your own?" + +"Not my own? Then whose is my life, Monsieur, if you please? and when +you answer, take care you do not presume too far. Whose, Monsieur, +whose?" + +"Navarre's." + +"Has a nation no honour, even as a man has?" + +"Its honour is dishonoured if it saves its honour at a woman's cost. +Oh! Mademoiselle, you know not what you do. You have not heard the +King's threats as I have, the rack, the cord, infamy not to be named in +words; no, no, you know not what you do. For God's sake return to +Morsigny, that your blood be not on my head." + +"And would there be none on mine?" she answered vehemently, and with a +passion the equal of my own. "Would I be blood-guiltless if, with a +_Good-day, and merci, Monsieur_! I curtsied a good-bye on the steps at +Morsigny, and gave no second thought why you rode away and where? Or +for whose sake you carried a foot of King Louis' cord in your pocket? +His Most Christian Majesty's new-founded Order of Noble Faith!" + +"Oh! that?" said I lamely, for I remembered that the ease with which +she sent me to my death had hurt me sorely; "that was not a woman's +business." + +"A man's, then? Brother Paul taught you a man's faith, did he? Fie, +fie, Monsieur! Is it a man's faith to pray in safety to the good God +to do for us what we should do for ourselves? And did Brother Paul not +teach you, bad theologian that he is! that faith without works is +little worth? There, Monsieur, the man and the woman are both +accounted for; are you content?" + +Content? Desperate, rather, and in despair I turned upon the priest +who stood by in silence, the lines upon his face those of perplexity +rather than doubt or anxious care. + +"Do you consent to this worse than madness?" + +"Is it madness?" said he, taking Mademoiselle's hand in his to comfort +and hearten her. "Then, my son, and I say it in all reverence, then +was Christ mad. He came----" + +"To die for the sinful and unworthy," I cried in bitterness of heart; +"you need not tell me I am that, I know it already." + +"Because there was no other way; and who knows but Louis will hearken," +said Paul gently, his eyes growing wistful, "though, indeed, Monsieur +Hellewyl, even while my heart said she was right, I gave faith the lie +and urged her all I knew not to go." + +"Louis hearken!" I answered scornfully. "What can she say to move him? +I tell you, Paul, Louis will wring the rights and freedom of Navarre +out of her woman's flesh." + +"No, no, you mistake; Suzanne will not appear at all, Louis will know +nothing of Suzanne. She will move Monsieur de Commines, and Monsieur +de Commines will move the King to mercy. We have thought it all over. +It was settled the night we returned from La Voule." + +"By me it was settled as we sat at the table in the Justice Hall," said +Mademoiselle. "Could you give yourself up to save a peasant woman who +was nothing to you, nothing at all--remember, Monsieur, I understand +she was nothing at all to you--while we, to whom you--you--are so much, +raised no finger to aid you? There and then I settled my plan, and we +have had two days to think it over, Brother Paul and I." + +Oh, the irony of it! the unconscious, sardonic irony! yes, and the +pathos, too. They had thought it all over, these two--the gentle +unworldly priest and the generous, tender-hearted, too grateful woman, +they had thought it all over, and now in their swerveless cleaving to +what they held to be right, they were as inflexible, as inexorable, as +stonily determined as Louis himself. + +But if argument and pleading failed, there at least remained protest. + +"Remember, this is not done with my consent." + +In an instant she was Suzanne D'Orfeuil de Narbonne, and turned to +freeze me with a stare. + +"Consent! Monsieur, consent? You forget yourself surely? When I +desire either your consent or your approval, I shall ask for it; till +then I take leave to decide and act for myself." + +There was no more to be said. With such a bow as a Mademoiselle de +Narbonne had a right to claim from a Gaspard Hellewyl I withdrew. + +Men and women, liars all, have whispered that, having crept like a +traitor into Morsigny under cover of a woman's skirts, I now tried to +purchase my own safety by the sacrifice of Mademoiselle de Narbonne. +The men have not repeated the lie but the women knew they were safe. +It has been openly alleged that, knowing her loftiness of mind, her +generous-hearted impulsiveness, I so played upon her sense of gratitude +that she took the desperate step of substituting herself in my place, +and that I, a traitor to the King and to my salt, accepted the +sacrifice like a coward and a cur. More lies! the only truth being +that the loftiness of spirit is there, and the generous loyal heart is +there. But that is the way of the liar: even the devil himself would +not be believed if he did not mix some truth with his falsehood. But +of every fair mind, of every one who reads this record for the first +time, I ask, in the face of such a withering rebuke as she gave me at +the last, Was there room for further protest? + +But if there was no more to be said, there was more to be done--there +was the saving her from herself in spite of herself. To this end I +sounded Brother Paul when presently he joined me, his mouth full of +excuses for the sharpness of her rebuff. + +"Do not be vexed with her, my son, she is nerve-weary, over-wrought, +and fretted by care. For three nights she has not slept, for two days +she has laboured and planned that no harm may come to Morsigny in our +absence, and all that time she has not eaten as much as would keep a +bird alive. Her spirit alone keeps her up." + +"And yet you send her to Plessis?" + +"Let us not speak of that, but rather how good may come out of evil." + +"Tell me your plan." + +"It is Suzanne's, not mine, and nothing could be simpler. We will ride +together, all four of us, till we come to Poictiers, following the +King's stages day by day. No doubt from each stage he will be warned +that Gaspard de Helville is keeping faith, and so the woman will be +safe. At Poictiers we part. You and Martin remain behind, while +Suzanne and I ride on to gain the ear of Monsieur de Commines. He is +pledged to you and to her, and through him there will be a respite. +That will give us time, and with time----" He stopped short, rubbing +his chin. Even to his guilelessness it was plain there was a strained +link in the chain. "With time," he went on lamely,--"oh! all the world +knows that with time anything can be done." + +"Ay!" I answered, "and much more, I pray God, with Eternity! for once +you reach Plessis there'll be little time left to any one of us. How +is it that so many men who are wise for the next world are fools for +this? Do you think that already Louis has not been warned how a priest +and a woman met Gaspard Hellewyl at Orthez? Do you think that +henceforth that priest and that woman will not be traced step by step, +wherever they go? Do you think that when Mademoiselle knocks on +Plessis gate the first to hear of it will not be Louis himself? What, +then, will follow? She is Suzanne D'Orfeuil, a kind of serving-wench +at Morsigny, and the purpose of this serving-wench is to come between +the King of France and his vengeance. Will the King believe her +account of herself? Not for an instant. Serving-wenches do not mix +themselves up in State affairs. You he will hang, and I do not think +the knowledge will hold you back for an hour. But what of Mademoiselle +de Narbonne?" Leaning forward, I caught him by the shoulder, shaking +him. "Father Paul, have you ever seen a woman racked? The white limbs +stretched naked on the frame, and strained and strained until the +joints crack, until the muscles tear from the ribs and the writhing +mouth screams, frothing?" + +"God forbid!" he said, stammering. "God forbid!" + +"God forbid!" I retorted hotly, "Do your own work in the world, Father +Paul, and do not ask God to do it for you. Is the Lord God a lackey to +do that for a man which he should do himself? God forbid? No! but do +you forbid!" + +"How?" he answered, swaying as I shook him in my passion. "I forbade +it at Morsigny, and she put me aside. How can I forbid it?" + +"By seeming to consent until Poictiers is reached. There we will +reverse the parts. That night I shall ride on, and next morning, when +she asks for Gaspard Hellewyl, do you say, He is at Plessis." + +"She will follow." + +"I think not," I answered slowly, striving hard to marshall my thoughts +in order. With such a nature to deal with as that of Suzanne de +Narbonne, it would not do to leave any emergency unprovided for. + +But just because hers was such a nature--loyal, pure of spirit, +faithful, hard as steel in her sense of honour--I thought I saw my way +clear. It was not a pleasant way, it was a way that bade good-bye for +ever to my dream of a rose-leaf, fragrant memory. But what would the +shattering of even so dear a dream as that matter, if only I saved her +from herself? + +"Did you guess," I went on at length, "that I love Suzanne D'Orfeuil, +and that she knows I love her?" + +"Mademoiselle de Narbonne?" + +"No! Not Mademoiselle de Narbonne, with estates in Bigorre and Bearn, +but Suzanne D'Orfeuil, nurse to Monsieur Gaston de Foix." + +"Suzanne D'Orfeuil? Yes, I understand now what you mean. Oh! my +friend, I am sorry, very, very sorry." + +"You need not be; no man is the worse for loving a good woman. Love is +a fire, and when it does not consume it purifies; so do not be sorry. +But she was not the only one, nor the first. You remember?" + +"Brigitta?" + +"Brigitta. You saw how Mademoiselle blazed out at Morsigny when she +supposed--you know what she supposed well enough?" + +"But she was wrong, you told her she was wrong." + +"Suppose," said I slowly, "suppose I leave a letter at Poictiers +telling her that she was right, and that I had lied? Suppose I tell +her that the woman Brigitta has a claim upon me which none but a wife +should have upon a man, a claim which not even such a scoundrel as I +can deny? I am not all bad, you see; if I were, Mademoiselle would +have found me out; and being not all bad, I admit the claim. Suppose +the letter goes further, and says that all through it is Brigitta I +have loved, but that being at Morsigny I passed my time +pleasantly--would she follow me then?" + +"I understand," he repeated, his brows wrinkled in the effort to follow +not alone the meaning of the words, but the full extent of the lie they +told. "I am not good at--at--tricks of speech, but I think I +understand. No, Suzanne de Narbonne would not follow you then. And +you could say that to the woman you love?" + +"I could say it because I love her!" + +A bitter draught is none the less bitter for being of our own mixing, +and what I drank in that hour is past telling. I suppose my torment of +spirit showed in my face, for he laid his hand on mine holding me fast. + +"Did I not rightly say that those who greatly doubt can greatly love? +And greater love has no man than this, that a man lay down his life for +his friend." + +Some will say, Why not have told your lie to Mademoiselle there in +Orthez? But that would have spoiled all. In her then mood, and coming +so quickly on the heels of my past urging, she would have seen through +the subterfuge, scoffing it for the clumsy falsehood it was. Let a +week pass, let her emotions cool, let her healthy youth regain its +dominance, and the clumsy lie of Orthez would seem a scoundrel truth in +Poictiers. + +So day by day that week passed, and not so very gloomily. Wholesome +youth is not long melancholy. If I had Mademoiselle for company and so +was happy through the warm August hours, she had faith and enthusiasm +to comfort her. That there was life and movement also counted for +much. Blessed be activity! Cabernet succeeded Orthez, Le Gatelet +Cabernet, Saint Gatien, Marthon, Ruffec, night by night with but two +exceptions: once we were barred by a swollen river--the Dordogne was in +flood--and on Sunday we rested. But our days of peace came to their +end, and on the 28th, the last Thursday in the month, we entered +Poictiers. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX + +HOW MARTIN WON HIS HEART'S DESIRE + +And now I come to what has saddened all my life since, and still must +sadden it. + +In Poictiers, it will be remembered, much was to happen. There +Mademoiselle de Narbonne was to leave me behind in hiding while she +rode on to Plessis to gain the King's ear through Philip de Commines. +There, too, I was to forestall her useless sacrifice and, in a triple +sense, disappear into the dark, into the night, into her scorn and +contempt, into the valley of the shadow, from which none ride out at +the hither end. + +And yet none of these things came to pass. We reckoned without the +King's energy of will to strike, and the swiftness of his wrath. + +Once only she referred to the part she proposed that I should play. It +was on the morning of that last Thursday in August, and the great +silence of the deep heart of the wood through which we rode had fallen +upon us. + +"Father Paulus has told you that we part at Poictiers?" she said, +looking straight forward between her horse's twitching ears. + +"Yes; it is all arranged between us." + +Then silence fell again, but she gave her reins a little impatient +shake as if she asked in her heart what manner of man was this who had +no word of gratitude or even of plain thanks to offer her. But it was +better so; the graceless boor would easier seem the lying scoundrel. + +"What will you do, Monsieur, while you are waiting for news?" she went +on at last. + +"Rather let us ask, what will you do? How, for instance, do you +propose to pass the gates of Plessis?" + +"I have thought of that; by the King's signet which you hold." + +"The King's signet?" + +"Yes; when Lesellè refused you admission to the presence the afternoon +you left Plessis, Monsieur de Commines passed you the King's ring, and +in the haste that followed it was overlooked. You have it still?" + +"Mademoiselle," I cried, shaken out of my enforced coldness, "you +astonish me. I had forgotten the King's ring." + +"You had less need to remember than I," she answered, glancing at me +for the first time. "When those we--we--esteem are in danger--but this +is no danger, Monsieur? All will go well, will it not?" + +There was a little catch in her throat as she ended, and my own was not +free from a significant parchedness as I replied, giving the lie as +light an appearance of careless truth as I could--"Surely not; Monsieur +de Commines will protect you." + +"I was not thinking of myself," said she, "but for fear the ring should +be forgotten in to-morrow's haste, as it was when you left Plessis, you +had better give it to me now." + +For a moment I hesitated. Since she was to remain behind in Poictiers +she required no token to open the gates of Plessis. But, on the other +hand, neither did I! No fear but by day or by night the drawbridge +would swing down that the traitor Gaspard Hellewyl might pass over! +Then a new thought decided me, and drawing the signet from the inner +pocket where it had lain forgotten, I handed it to her. In the +doubtful days to come, the days that lay between Poictiers and Navarre +upon her return journey, the King's ring boldly used might hold her +safe. There was comfort in that. + +"See how you make all smooth for me," said she, smiling up at me as she +took the ring; and partly because she was Suzanne de Narbonne and I +nothing better than Gaspard Hellewyl, but partly also because of the +lie she was so shortly to be told, I dared not answer her back, dared +not say, Would God I could make all smooth till the mound of the grave +makes all rough for the one left behind. + +At the Coq Rouge, the inn of the King's choosing, we parted without +formality. Some trivial excuse appeared reason enough, but the truth +was I did not dare trust myself to drift into a farewell that was for +her a Good-night until the morrow, but for me until the great morrow of +the Eternal dawn. I had my letter to write, and how, having the one +moment kissed her hand, could I the next coldly set myself down a liar +and a scoundrel? + +But an hour passed, and the letter was still unwritten. Then, as I +tore up my sixth draft, the door opened without a knock, and Martin +slipped quietly in. + +"Mademoiselle wants you, and I think there is trouble," he said in a +whisper. + +"Mademoiselle de Narbonne?" + +"Mademoiselle Suzanne." + +"It is all one." + +"Maybe, but she bade me say Mademoiselle Suzanne sent me; Mademoiselle +Suzanne, I was to make no mistake about that." + +"Where is she, and why do you think there is trouble?" For the moment +the only trouble I feared was that I would forget myself, and being a +lover, fail to play the man. + +"In Father Paul's room. There is a woman with her, and nine times in +ten when trouble comes, it comes by way of a woman." + +"Tell me what you know, but quickly, for Mademoiselle is waiting." + +"Let her wait," he grumbled; "we waited long enough at Morsigny, and +for no good. That is always the way, let a woman come, and poof! a +man's love of a lifetime is forgotten. All right, Monsieur Gaspard, +I'll go on, but you'll allow it's hard to be put aside for a stranger. +As I was sitting in the court below, one of the house servants came to +me saying there was a woman wanting the lady who travelled with us. +Naturally I came first to tell you, the woman following all smothered +in a hooded cloak, though the air outside is like a furnace. But as I +turned to the left, the fool of a man cried out that Madame's room was +to the right, and what could I do but take her there? Mademoiselle +came at my knock, and I think she must have lain down in her clothes, +for though she was fully dressed, her hair was all tumbled about her +shoulders. But she had not rested much, her face was so black and +white, and her eyes like the eyes of a fever." + +"I know all that, get to the end," I said harshly. It cut me to the +heart, angering me almost beyond bearing, to hear him catalogue her +weariness so bluntly, and know how bitterly I must still make her +suffer. + +"You said, Tell all you know," he answered. "But as to the end, the +end was that, telling me to stand aside, she spoke a minute or two to +the woman, shrinking from her first, then catching her in her arms as +if she was her sister, and a bouncing armful she is--she'd make two of +Mademoiselle. She took her to Father Paul's room, which was empty, and +bade me tell you that Mademoiselle Suzanne wanted you. 'Remember,' +said she, 'remember to say Mademoiselle Suzanne wants him.'" + +"Come, then, but wait outside the door. If Father Paul should return, +tell him what you have told me, but let no one else in." + +The room was long and narrow. In three of the corners there were beds, +and in the fourth a bench; a table carrying a lighted lamp stood in the +centre. At the further end a window overlooked the roof of an outhouse +with a walled lane beyond. The casement was open, and through it came +the clear sound of voices from the lane's-folk taking the air in the +slowly cooling August heat. The two women were by the table, +Mademoiselle de Narbonne at its side and facing the door, her companion +at the end nearest the window, which she fronted. The hood of her +cloak hung back upon her shoulders, and as I closed the door she turned. + +"Brigitta!" + +"Brigitta, M'sieu," and with a giggling laugh she dipped an awkward +curtsey. Then I knew why I had hated to see Mademoiselle so salute me +in the old days of her masquerade at Morsigny; it seemed to lower her +to the level of this Flanders peasant. + +From Brigitta I looked with anxious apprehension to Mademoiselle de +Narbonne, but to my relief she was smiling through a twinkle of tears, +and the look of heavy care which had oppressed her these ten days was +entirely lifted. + +"Brigitta! I thought you were in Plessis?" + +"So I was, Monsieur Gaspard, but four days ago the King gave me to Jan +Meert and sent us here." + +"To Jan Meert?" + +"Oh, not for the first time!" said she, tossing her head, but though it +was to me she spoke her eyes were on Mademoiselle's face as if, being a +woman, she feared the woman's judgment rather than the man's, "and I'm +not ashamed either. What do we dogs of peasants who love one another +need with a priest?" + +"I rated you higher than that," said I. + +"I know you did, Monsieur Gaspard," and the defiance in her eyes +softened. "It was the one thing I loved in you, that, and that you +were a gentleman who could make me mistress of Solignac, but I thought +you a fool all the time. Then Jan Meert came and burnt Solignac for my +sake, and that settled it. I'm no owl to roost on charred sticks, even +to be called Madame." + +"Jan Meert burnt Solignac for your sake?" + +Again she laughed, but this time with a fuller heartiness, as if she +were on surer ground and better pleased with herself. + +"It's not every woman has her man do such a thing for her." + +"He did more than that, he killed Babette?" + +"Babette was a cat with claws in her tongue, many a time they've +scratched me to the bone. Babette's no loss. But I let no harm come +to you, Monsieur Gaspard. Remember how I lured you to me that day and +kept you safe; you owe me thanks for that." + +"Then you knew?" + +"Not for certain, though I better than guessed. But you had always +treated me _en gentilhomme_, and so----" + +"Have we time for all this?" broke in Mademoiselle, speaking for the +first time. "Tell him why Jan Meert is in Plessis." + +"There is no need," answered I, remembering the King's promise that, +fail or succeed, I should meet the man who had made me homeless. It +was truly a genially humoursome way of flinging his old tools to the +rubbish heap. "He is there by the grace of God and Saint Louis of +Plessis! What I do not understand is why she is here." + +"That you may escape! Do you not see?" cried Mademoiselle, half +laughing, half in sobs, "Do you not see that there is no need for me to +go to Plessis at all now she is safe?" + +"Why," said Brigitta, "was it to save me--me, old Pieter the herdsman's +daughter, that you came back? Mademoiselle! did I not say he played +his part _en gentilhomme_? Oh, Monsieur Gaspard, you may not own a +rood of land worth the having, but you are a Grand Seigneur for all +that. To save me! and I burnt Solignac." + +"I did not know that." + +"You would have come all the same, you know you would." + +"I know he would," repeated Mademoiselle, her face all aglow; "but now, +thank God! there is no need for either to go." + +"No," answered I; "after I have met Jan Meert there will be no need to +go on to Plessis. But since she came to warn me, why is she here with +you?" + +"I'll answer that," said Brigitta, and as she spoke, a flush reddened +Mademoiselle's cheeks. "Peasant or Grand Madame, we women are all one +flesh. If Mademoiselle had come a-visiting my man in the dusk I'd ask +the reason why, and ask it sharply, so to make no mischief I came +straight to her." + +"It was well meant," said I, "but----" + +"But it was not needed," said Mademoiselle, her face still rosy. "I +can trust my Grand Seigneur." + +"Oh, Mademoiselle! Hush! hush!" + +"True, Monsieur, it was you who were to speak plainer, was it not? At +least, so you told me one morning at Morsigny." + +"Suzanne! Suzanne! do not try me too far, lest I forget myself, my +poverty, my broken hopes, everything but----" + +"But the one thing I pray God you may never forget," said she, +finishing my sentence for me a second time, but not as I would have +dared. "Do you think I do not know what you are? Whether would you +have a woman love a man or a county in Flanders? There in Paris you +risked your life to save an unknown woman's honour, there in +Tours"--and she laughed a little, not loudly, but the merriest, +happiest laugh I had heard for two weeks--"in Tours you were ready to +kill a man or two for the same woman's sake, though the wrath of the +King was only a mile away in Plessis. Hush! sir, hush! I shall speak. +I cannot, I will not, risk the spoiling of my life by a mock modesty. +These things are the truth, and my justification. The King hoodwinked +you to a folly that was a crime. Oh, Monsieur!" and again she laughed, +"who ever denied your simplicity, and even there, in the being +hoodwinked, there was that living by ideals which women love--at least +in others. Thinking no dishonour you saw none, and so rode to Morsigny +to do the King's work. There in Morsigny the serving girl wore to you +the crown of womanhood----" + +"You are Mademoiselle de Narbonne," said I hoarsely. + +"I was Suzanne D'Orfeuil to you, Monsieur Gaspard de Helville," she +retorted, "and you, the friend of the Prince de Talmont, with the +building of your fortunes, as you believed, made certain, were not +ashamed to stoop. Now I am Suzanne de Narbonne, and you--you are the +man who climbed the Grey Leap for my sake, who carried Tristan's halter +back to Tristan for my sake, who laid his life at the feet of Louis----" + +"For my sake!" cried Brigitta. + +"No!" said Mademoiselle, "but for mine! For mine, because he would not +seem little in my eyes. And now he says, You are Mademoiselle de +Narbonne! all because of certain acres in Bearn and Bigorre, acres that +I love dearly enough, but not so dearly--" + +"Suzanne! Suzanne!" I cried, drawing her to me inch by inch, drawing +her slowly for the bare pleasure of feeling how she hung against my +strength, and yet was not loth to come; slowly, slowly, till she was in +my arms and I bending over her. "Suzanne, is it true? is it true? Oh! +why, why is there a Jan Meert in Poictiers?" + +With a wrench, just as our lips touched, she twisted herself free from +my clasp. + +"Jan Meert? Gaspard, I had forgotten Jan Meert; in my happiness I had +forgotten Jan Meert. He is coming, coming to-night, and I had +forgotten everything but you. Do not go by the door lest you meet him. +By the window, Gaspard, and--yes--there is Father Paul's cloak, take +that and muffle your face. Kiss me once, Gaspard, and go." + +The first half of her commands I obeyed, and not once only, but the +second---- + +"When I am done with Jan Meert, _ma mie_! he owes me a life--Babette's." + +"Babette's?" + +"Yes." + +"And I, am I owed nothing? Oh, my dear! it is not because of Jan Meert +that I am afraid, but because of the King who stands behind him. For +my sake, Gaspard, yes, for love's sake----ah! what is a dead hate +compared to a living love? Think what I was ready to give for you. +And Brigitta, do you owe her nothing? She loves this Jan Meert even +as--as--I love you." + +"And Justice?" + +"God has all eternity for Justice, yes, and all time too. I have only +you and now. Go for to-night." + +"They will call me coward, and how could so brave a heart love a +coward?" + +"A coward? You? They dare not!" she answered, her pride defiant in +her eyes. "It is I who am afraid." + +"Yet you would go to Plessis?" + +"For you, and all the time, coward that I am, I was horribly afraid, as +I am now. Go, Gaspard, go for to-night." + +And I went; what else could a man do but go? But not far; feeling my +way along the outhouse roof I hid myself in the shadows and watched for +what should happen. + +Closing the window behind me, Suzanne returned to the table, and there +the two stood talking, Brigitta, I surmised, explaining much that was +uncertain. It was like a living picture. By the light of the lamp I +saw everything, but from where I crouched no sound reached me through +the shut window. But in the midst of their talk I saw Brigitta touch +Suzanne's arm and hold up a hand for silence. So they waited for a +breath or two, their faces turned from me; then the door opened a foot, +and Martin backed into the room, his drawn sword pointing straight +before him. This way and that the blade flashed, half hidden, half in +sight, as he fenced in the narrow space till the door opened with a +burst and he staggered back. + +Of the five men who followed him, I knew but one, and he, when I had +last seen him, called himself Jean Volran. The corridor where I had +left Martin was dark, and I take it they had only then recognised him, +for I saw Volran's mouth open in a laugh, and shaking a hand in the +air, he waved the others back; there was a certain fall in the inn of +La Voulle to be avenged. + +But that did not please the rest. They had other ends to serve than +that one of their number should satisfy a private quarrel. Motioning +Volran to be quiet, their leader turned to the two women, who had drawn +together at the window end of the table. He was a well-built fellow, +fresh-faced, fair-bearded, his eyes frank and bold, his mouth stern but +not unkindly; Jan Meert, I judged, for I had never yet seen him, and +thus the King kept his word. + +What passed was dumb show, but there was no excitement; the pot that +had boiled so fiercely a minute before was for the moment off the fire, +and simmering. One thing reassured me, Brigitta seemed in no danger +through the warning she had given us. It was she who did most of the +answering, even laughing as if she jested, Suzanne contenting herself +with a shake of the head from time to time. Then Volran pointed to the +window, threatening Martin with his fist, and instantly the pot bubbled. + +Backward to the window sidled Martin, covering himself with his point, +all five pressing him. As they came nearer, the rasp of steel rang +out. Through the play of heads and flash of blades I saw the door open +and Father Paul stand framed in its hollow, but only for a moment. +Seizing the lamp, Suzanne flung it on the floor, and immediately the +room was black dark. + +But the rasp of steel continued, and as my sight cleared I saw Martin's +back, a shadow pressed almost against the tiny diamond panes. Five +against one for my sake, while I crouched without in safety? That was +indeed to be a coward, and creeping back along the roof I flung myself +through the casement, carrying with me the flimsy network of rotten +wood. With a crash I was in the room, but the impulse staggered me, +nullifying the gain of the surprise; worse than that, I slipped, +stumbling on the broken casement. Before I could recover, and while +still upon my knees, a shadow from the hollow of the room sprang +forward, and I saw the dull glimmer of steel as once before I had seen +it in the Star of Flanders. + +"Dead or alive!" cried Jean Volran's voice. "The King's orders, dead +or alive!" + +Making no effort to parry the thrust Martin flung himself before me, +lunging into the dark as he did so. In the same instant both strokes +went home, and with a gasp he fell across me in a last effort at +protection. + +"One--less--Monsieur Gaspard--my Monsieur Gaspard," he whispered, +gritting his teeth that he might not groan as his arms gathered me to +his breast. "I did--the best--I knew--but--it is waste--waste----" + +In upon us crowded those who remained. My sword was wrenched from me +unused, thrice Martin winced as they stabbed him, but his clasp never +loosened. Then they flung him aside as so much lumber, and I was +dragged to my feet, pinioned fast. So we stood, one blood-drunken +minute, panting in the darkness, then lights were brought, and when +they saw I could by no means escape they let me stoop over Martin. + +Martin? No, there was no more a Martin. Martin had followed and found +the gleam, and a flicker of its glory still played in the smile on his +dead face. In the end the Lord God gave him his heart's desire, to die +for his Monsieur Gaspard. "Waste" was his last word, "waste! waste!" +But it was not his own life he mourned for. That he gave without a +grudge. But the gift seemed to him as nothing because it failed in its +purpose. Waste? God who has mercy on our failures forbid the thought! +How can love go waste? + +Kissing him on the forehead, I laid him gently back upon the floor, and +looking round the room, rose to my feet. + +"I am ready, gentlemen." + +Father Paul stood beside the overturned table, Brigitta was on her +knees lamenting over Jan Meert, but Suzanne was nowhere to be seen. + + + + +CHAPTER XXX + +MADEMOISELLE SPEAKS + +To decide where my part of the story begins is the difficulty. A chain +swung across a gulf from a staple fixed into a rock has a strain put +upon it at a certain link; does the strain begin at that link or at the +staple? + +Of the chain of my knowledge of Gaspard Hellewyl, one end is fixed in a +sordid Paris inn, the other--I think the Eternal Himself holds it, for +God is Love. Upon many of the links of that chain a special strain +falls; the link of Tours, of the Grey Leap, of the morning he rode to +La Voulle with my rose in his bonnet, of the day he left Morsigny +between the lines of foes turned friends, of the August night in the +_Coq Rouge_. + +At any one of these my story might begin, and though it paralleled what +he has already written, it would be no twice-told tale, for a woman +does not read motives with the eyes of a man. All through he saw +poverty, shame, failure; while I know there were riches, clear honour, +and achievement; a wealth that to me outweighed Narbonne, a humble +seeking after that which was highest, and a winning of a greater glory +than any gift from a King's hand. + +But because it has been told already I let it pass, and slip out of the +darkened room into the yet darker passage beyond the door. Of Martin's +death I knew nothing. Events, hopes, despairs, fears, yes, and joys +too, had so crowded one upon the other that my brain was in a whirl. +One thing only was clear: Gaspard was so far safe, and would be until +the King's pleasure was known; that much the woman Brigitta had told +me. Instantly upon his arrest an express was to be sent to Plessis. +There the King lay sick, three-parts dead some whispered, and it was +her belief that my dear one's life hung upon Louis' mood of the moment. +So had it been with her. While she looked for nothing less than death +the King had repented, turning her over to Jan Meert and life at a +caprice. That gave me hope for Gaspard. + +In the rumour of his sickness I had no belief. It was Louis' policy to +make all things serve him, even death itself, and twice by a rumour of +death he had sifted his covert enemies to their confusion. But he who +made all ambitions subject to his own was in turn subject to his moods, +and Monsieur de Commines, seizing the softer moment before the blunt +story of the arrest spurred his malice, might move him to mercy. + +If the express was to be instant in its departure, so must I, and +slipping past Father Paul in the darkness, I stole out into the +passage. It was empty. When the fox of Plessis went a-hunting, meaner +beasts--if meaner there could be--kept out of sight. But a hissing +whisper came up the stairs, and that I might pass unnoticed I paused a +moment to recoif my hair. + +In the hall below all was dark, perhaps by Jan Meert's orders, perhaps +by reason of the closeness of the August heat, and gathering up my +skirts, I raced down. The passages were full of excited groups, and +once, passing through these, I was challenged. But with a frightened +whimper and the curtsey I had so long practised at Morsigny, I fled on; +that a serving maid, upstairs upon her duties, should be in terror of +the clash of swords was reasonable enough, and no one gave me a second +thought. + +First I blundered into the empty kitchen, then into a store closet hung +with flitches, smoked hams, and branches of dried potherbs, but once in +the grey of the yard, a rattle of manger-chains guided me. Like the +kitchen, the stable was empty except for the horses in the stalls. In +one corner stood a filthy horn lantern. The _Coq Rouge_ had few +guests, and the Morsigny horses filled a row of stalls apart. By each, +upon a great wooden nail, hung bridle and saddle, and that night I +thanked God and my father that I had not only strength, but knowledge +how to use it. There never was a girl Narbonne but could bit and +saddle a horse for herself. + +Then came the question, a man's saddle or a woman's riding chair? I +could use either; that, too, my father had taught me, but for seven +years I had never backed a horse man-fashion. It was the speedier, but +after all I was a woman with no more than a woman's frail strength; in +seeking more haste my woman's weakness might make the worse speed. My +dress? That would have been no hindrance. It was for Gaspard's life. +If I saved that, a world's jeer or a world's laugh would matter little, +and if I failed they would matter nothing at all. + +Leading Anita out, I mounted her from the square raised stone set +across the kennel, and turned her head the way we had entered. I knew +the road through the city, and when presently Jan Meert's express went +thundering northwards, none would say as he passed the walls, There is +a woman before you! + +At the Angoulême gate I met my first check. That it should be fast +closed and guarded was to be expected, and that the guard should be an +insolent, ribald crew was nothing strange. Those who served Louis +earned their wages more by licence than as lawful pay. There were some +half dozen of them, and I could hear their laughter long before I drew +rein, crying peremptorily, though my teeth were almost chattering-- + +"On the King's business, open, and quickly! On each of the round +towers flanking the gateway there hung a lantern, so smoke-grimed as to +give light nowhere but where it was least wanted, that is, upwards to +the sky. Lifting one of these down a guard flashed the glare into my +face. + +"The King, my pretty?" said he, laying a hand upon my knee and shaking +me. "Won't a simpler man do you?" + +"Learn manners, brute!" said I, slashing him with my riding whip as he +leered up into my face. "Learn manners, and be thankful I have no time +to wait to see you flogged. Fetch your master; this is the King's +business of life and death." + +Half to my surprise he obeyed, and presently returned with the officer +of the night. + +"By the King's command, Monsieur," said I, holding the ring so that the +light fell full upon the collet. + +"It is against orders, and who, Mademoiselle, are you?" + +"The King is above your orders, and I, Monsieur, am the King's +messenger. That is my passport." And I pushed the ring fairly into +his face. "Do you know the King's cypher, or do you refuse to honour +it?" + +"I know it well enough," he answered civilly. "Twice I have served at +Clery when his Majesty was in residence; but this is against all rule." + +"Have it so," said I, gathering up the reins. "I can return the way I +came, and say to those who sent me that Monsieur the King's officer of +the Angoulême gate rates his captain higher than his King. May I +suggest, Monsieur the King's officer, that it will be wise of you not +to be found in Poictiers at daybreak to-morrow! But I give you one +more chance. In the King's name and by the King's authority, I bid you +open the gate." + +With a shrug, and "It can do no harm," he unhooked a bunch of huge keys +from his girdle, and drew aside one leaf of the great gate. + +"It is your wisdom," said I curtly, and spurred through. Nor, so long +as the _pa-lop pa-lop_ of her hoofs could be heard did I ease Anita +from her gallop. Then by such faint light as the stars gave through a +misty sky I fumbled my way round the city towards the north. + +Once only, and then by day and in the reverse direction, had I before +travelled the road. What wonder I blundered and went astray, rousing +up sleepy villagers too stupid to set me right? What wonder I +despaired, and flinging the reins on Anita's neck, left her to pick her +own path? What wonder that, being a woman and weak, I wept myself into +helplessness, and then, being a woman who loved, prayed myself back +into strength and courage again? + +Through shallow fords we splashed, fords mercifully low in the August +drought, else must we have been swept away in the darkness; under +overarching woods of denser, solemn night; past the stubble of +new-reaped cornfields, a golden glimmer even in the mirk, through +villages silent and evil-smelling in the dank heat of the night; now by +a hill, now by a valley, now by a flat wilderness of whin-brakes, until +the east lightened and a coolness rose with a wind before the sun. +Then, when I was no further than Ligueil, the dawn came. + +The dawn, and Plessis ten leagues away. Doggedly, despairingly, I +pushed forward at little better than a walk. How could Anita, poor +beast, go faster? The day before she had made a march of forty miles, +and the nine hours struggle to keep her feet in the darkness had worn +her out. A walk! The impatience of my heart burned like fire roaring +down the wind. Stiff though I was, it was a relief to dismount and +plod through the dust, a relief to feel the stones rough and cutting +under my feet. + +Let those who have sat by the last awful struggle of one they love +judge how bitter were my five hours' agony with the sun upon my back. +I had failed, and the price of failure was a holiday-spectacle in the +market-place of Poictiers. Jan Meert's express was hours ahead of me, +and I was too wise or too weary to hope for the King's mercy. + +As the day broadened life crept out to its labour; peasants in the +fields, women by the village wells, children in the doorways, stood and +stared as I passed. On the roads, especially as I drew near Tours, the +trickle of travel thickened, forcing a march in the cool of the +morning. Merchants with their bales, men-at-arms, a noble and his +train of hired bullies; and though these did more than stare, their +coarse jests failed to penetrate the armour of my despair. The +whiteness of my face, and perhaps the fire in my eyes, saved me from +any insult worse than words; for once, when one who would have called +himself a gentleman seized my rein, I had but to throw back my hair and +look him in the eyes. With a "Curse her, she's mad!" he snatched back +his hand, and I rode on unmolested. + +But even these five hours came to an end. At the gates of Plessis +there was an astonishing disorder. Had I been coifed, court clad, and +dainty as a lady fresh from Tours, I might have passed without notice +in the confusion. But the dust-sown woman on the broken horse, her +riding chair awry, her skirts rent, her hair in straggled wisps below +her shoulders, could not go unchallenged. + +"Monsieur de Commines, take me to Monsieur de Commines; on the King's +service!" and I held out the ring. "Oh, sirs, sirs! for the love of +God, make haste!" + +At first I thought they would refuse me, for they drew aside and talked +in whispers. Then one in authority said, "Better take her; who can +tell what will happen next, or which way the wheel will turn." So they +led me in through the triple gates, Anita with her nose between her +knees for weariness, and the fellow who held the rein cursing her +slowness, while he looked back at the entrance as if his heart lay +there. Midway, down a quadrangle, he pointed to a door. "Commines' +lodgings," he said curtly, and returned, running, the way he came. + +Leaving Anita where she stood, I pushed the door open and called aloud-- + +"Monsieur de Commines! Monsieur de Commines!" + +"He is with the King," answered a voice from the floor above, and +leisurely feet moved towards the stairs. "Who wants Monseigneur?" + +"Gaspard de Helville," said I; "and oh! Monsieur, whoever you are; if +you have any pity, will you make haste!" + +"Gaspard de Helville!" The leisurely tread quickened to a run, and a +well-grown page lad came flying downstairs almost at a leap. "De +Helville? How can that be? De Helville is--Madame--Mademoiselle--" + +"Monsieur de Commines? Bring me to him. Oh, Monsieur! can you not see +the haste and trouble I am in?" + +"But he is with the King." + +"Then he must leave the King." + +"But the King is ill, some say dying----" + +"Other men die as well as kings, and are we all to go a-mourning +because the King is ill? I must--do you hear?--I must see Monsieur de +Commines." Then I tried a woman's wile upon him. Smoothing back my +hair, so that he could see my face, the weary whiteness of it, and the +great black hollows circling the eyes, I touched him timidly. "See, +Monsieur, I have ridden all night from Poictiers to save Gaspard de +Helville's life--I, a woman, and alone. I know there is a risk to you +in this thing I ask----" + +"I'll do it," he said curtly, too much of a man not to be moved, and +too much of a boy not to be wounded in his pride; "that is, I'll put a +message through, but I don't believe Monseigneur can come!" + +"Ah, Monsieur!" I cried, "your heart does justice to your kindly face," +which made him redden, for it was his susceptibility that was touched +rather than his heart, and he was still too much of a boy to relish a +compliment. "Fetch pen, ink, and wax, that I may write the message." + +For this very purpose I had brought with me the letter Monsieur de +Commines had written to Navarre months before, and which was the cause +of my journey to Paris. As may be supposed, it was not one to +compromise the writer, no matter into whose hands it fell. Across it I +wrote--_Suzanne de Narbonne_. _The Cross of Flanders_. _Paris_; and, +reversing it so that the letter and address were inside, sealed it with +the King's seal as a warrant for any importunity at the door of the +sick room. + +"Is anything known of Monsieur de Helville?" I asked, tying a strand of +silk through the wax with hands that shook as much from dread of the +answer as with fatigue. + +"Jan Meert, the Fleming, left Plessis on Monday----" + +"I know all that, but since then?" + +"Nothing. Monseigneur has not quitted the King's side all night. When +I heard your voice I thought Monsieur de Helville had changed his +route, and so evaded capture." + +"How could he?" + +"Second thoughts, Mademoiselle." + +"When he had passed his word? I see you do not know Gaspard de +Helville. Do gentlemen in Plessis break their word on second thoughts? +There is the letter, Monsieur, and oh, I pray you, make haste back!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI + +THERE IS HOPE--TILL DAWN ON SUNDAY + +And so he did, and with him came Monseigneur, though not so quickly but +I had time to lessen the disorder of my dress. + +"Go thou upstairs and wait, boy," he said curtly; then, closing the +door, came forward with both hands outstretched, but in appeal rather +than welcome. "Mademoiselle de Narbonne! Mademoiselle de Narbonne! +What does this madness mean? Would you ruin us all?" + +"Monsieur de Helville--what of him? Oh, Monseigneur, what has +happened?" + +"De Helville!" and he drew in his breath with a prolonged hiss like a +man who receives a hurt. "I feared it, from the first I feared it; +poor de Helville! Mademoiselle, it is no fault of mine." + +"Oh, Monseigneur!" I answered bitterly, for this excusing of himself +before he was blamed angered me, "when were you ever at fault; you who +are so clever, so cautious--of yourself! But what of Monsieur de +Helville? who is too honest to be clever at court, too single of heart +to think of himself. Is anything decided?" + +For a moment he stood looking down upon me, his hard, keen eyes +piercing me through and through; never have I met a man with harder, +keener, bolder eyes than Monsieur de Commines. Then a softening pity +broke across his face. + +"Mademoiselle de Narbonne, what is de Helville to you?" said he, but +with a gentleness, a commiseration, that took the offence out of the +blunt question. + +"Everything, for I love him," I replied, trying hard not to sob. "Oh, +Monseigneur! cannot you see how this waiting tears my heart to pieces?" + +"The King is implacable," he answered, "inexorable; there is no hope." + +No hope! I could not speak, I could only put a hand to my throat and +fight for breath. + +"On Monday Jan Meert was sent to Poictiers----" + +"Oh, Monseigneur, I know that; come to to-day." + +"But," he persisted, "at least you cannot know that after nightfall +yesterday Monsieur de Helville was arrested?" + +"I saw it done, God help me, I saw it done." + +"You, Mademoiselle? But it was at Poictiers!" + +"At Poictiers," I echoed. "And all night I rode to catch your ear +first. But I failed, unhappy woman that I am, I failed." + +"All night?" he said, throwing his arms up. "A girl like you? Oh, +poor child, poor child! We must try to save him yet." + +"Is there time? Ah, Monseigneur, believe me, the worst truth is the +truest mercy. Is there possible time?" + +"Till dawn on Sunday," he answered, and for a minute we looked into one +another's face in silence. What his thoughts were I do not know, but I +struggled hard to count the hours that lay before the breaking of that +dawn. But I could not; my brain was dumb of thought, and I could not. +At last I caught at the one word--Sunday! and over and over again I +said it as they say birds repeat a word when taught to speak. Sunday! +Sunday! Sunday! and with as little understanding as they. + +"The King fixed the day. All through he has taken a marvellous +interest in this mission of de Helville's. I trust, Mademoiselle de +Narbonne, that you know I am ignorant of its purposes, entirely +ignorant?" + +"Oh, Monseigneur!" answered I, "what do you or I matter? Or our +ignorance or our knowledge either? Tell me of--of--Gaspard." + +Perhaps I spoke more sharply than was just, for his face hardened, and +his keen eyes grew stormy. But only for an instant, and it is much to +Monsieur de Commines' credit that he bore so temperately with the +captiousness of a petulant girl. + +"I say the King was marvellously interested in de Helville's mission to +Navarre," he went on quietly. "I think he knew it was his last blow +for France, and that it should succeed was very near his heart. As +time passed without news from de Helville he grew impatient, fretful, +hotly passionate. For hours he would sit in the sunshine with not even +his dogs near him, sit staring into vacancy while he mumbled his +finger-tips like a dog a bone. Then in a flash, and for no cause, a +storm of rage would shake him to so violent a mood that not even +Coctier himself dared cross its course. Crooking his fingers he shook +them in the air, cursing whatever crossed his mind, his son Charles, +Rochfort, Navarre, de Helville, the Saints themselves, but chiefly +Navarre and de Helville. At last, three weeks ago, he wrote again. +What he said I do not know, though my seal closed the letter." + +"I know," said I. "It was a truly Kingly warning, and of a noble +dignity. Go on, Monseigneur, if you please." + +"Then--I was absent in Tours that day--there came a post from the +south, and for the first time I saw the depths of the King's rage. +Mademoiselle, I am his servant and his friend, and I cannot speak of +it. But the fierce mood was gone, and in its place there was an +ice-cold, hungry, unemotional hate; an itching, craving lust for de +Helville's death, infinitely more hopeless than the outbursts of his +boisterous anger." + +"And yet he let the woman go free?" + +Monsieur de Commines searched my face anxiously. + +"You have heard of her?" + +"From Monsieur de Helville, at Morsigny. Monsieur de Helville had +nothing to hide. How did your friend and master come to let the woman +go?" + +"That was Francis of Paulo's doing. Louis would have--I do not know +what he would have done. But the friar stood over him, just these two +alone, and the King, falling back into one of his dour, silent moods, +gave way." + +"Then there is hope yet!" I cried. "Surely surely, he will move the +King to mercy----" + +But Monseigneur, holding up his hand, waved away the hope. + +"He has tried already, tried time and again, and failed. He even +threatened to withhold absolution, and the King turned on him like a +beast rather than a man. 'Away with you! away! away!' he cried. 'Your +prayers were to prolong my life, and yet what am I? Is this--miserable +that I am!--is this all your prayer can wring out of the Lord God? If +you cannot save the lesser thing of the body, how can you damn the +greater soul? Curse, if you must curse, but this Hellewyl dies.'" + +"And yet," said I dully, "he moved the King to spare the woman." + +"Louis has his own code of law. By it de Helville's return absolved +the woman, and so in that case the monk prevailed. But no power can +move him for de Helville. I pled with him, knelt to him, almost wept; +prayed that if ever he owed me anything for all my eleven years of +labour to pay it now in this one man's life. His only answer was a +scoff, and that as I had betrayed Burgundy for pay eleven years ago, so +now I would betray France. 'It was you,' he added, 'who put this +milk-souled boor of a Fleming into my head, and by God! I have a mind +to hang you alongside him as a warning to all fools as well as rogues.' +Move him! Not Gabriel, not Michael, not the whole hierarchy of heaven +would move him. He cries it is but Justice--Justice, and de Helville +was arrested in Poictiers last night." + +"I know, I know, but what came next?" + +"At daybreak this morning the express reached Plessis, and by Louis' +orders the news was at once brought to him. I was with him at the +time; all night I have never left him. But when I would have spoken he +shook his finger at me, and laid his hand upon the collar with the +Cross of Saint Lo. 'Dawn on Sunday,' he whispered to Lesellè. He is +so weak, Mademoiselle, pitiably weak in the flesh, but the will and the +spirit are as strong as ever. 'Dawn on Sunday. That day the saints +draw nearer to us, and I would not kill the soul with the body. Hang +him at dawn, Lesellè.'" + +"And this man is himself dying!" I cried. + +"Dying, Mademoiselle?" said Commines. "Who said he was dying? I know +that even in Plessis there are those who waver, and would fly to +Charles if they dared; but--dying? No! no! It would be the ruin of +France." + +"Oh, Monseigneur! what do I care for the ruin of France? Dawn on +Sunday! Gaspard! Gaspard! not two days! Monsieur de Commines, I must +see the King." + +"The King? You?" he answered brusquely. "No, no; how could you see +him?" + +"Your King is not so great but Suzanne de Narbonne might be received." + +"I know, Mademoiselle, I know; but it is precisely because you are +Suzanne de Narbonne. Why destroy yourself? Your very name is fatal." + +"Do you think, Monsieur, that if I were afraid for myself I would have +ridden from Poictiers last night? He need not know my name." + +"But I dare not risk it," and again he shook his head. + +"Risk what, Monseigneur? Risk me, yourself, or the King?" + +"All three," he answered--"all three. You cannot understand." + +"Then what you dare not I will dare. In spite of you, Monsieur de +Commines, I will force my way to the King, and if all three perish, +they perish." + +For a moment he stood and stared angrily at me, then, as once before, +his face softened. + +"Oh, you poor child! There are six separate guards, and you could not +pass the first of them." + +"What! Not with that?" and I held the signet up towards him. + +"That?" He bent forward uncomprehendingly. But a single glance was +enough, and as he understood, I saw him wince. + +"The ring de Helville carried away? I remember now. When the King +asked for it I said I had given it to him that there might be no delay +on his return. He was so eager for news that he held me excused." + +"Then you are beaten, Monseigneur?" + +"Yes and No," he answered. "I will tell you the whole truth, +Mademoiselle. The King is too ill; this time I fear he is dying." + +"And yet I shall see him. Monsieur de Helville is more to me than any +King living or dying." + +"Mademoiselle, you force me to say more than is safe. Alas! it is you +who are beaten. You might as well cry to a log upon the bed. The King +is unconscious. Had that not been so, I could not have left him. The +express from Poictiers sapped his strength." + +"The news of Gaspard's arrest? That is the finger of God, Monseigneur." + +"Perhaps so," he answered moodily. "But remember, Mademoiselle de +Narbonne, in spite of all, he is my King and my friend." + +There was a silence between us while I tried to tear a way out of the +net that bound me, then, in desperation, I cried out-- + +"Monsieur de Commines, you are a subtle, supple courtier-politician, +playing your own game through the hand of the King. Is all this true?" + +"True, God so judge me," he replied solemnly. "But, Mademoiselle, I do +not say there is no hope; I believe the stupor will pass. I promise +you this, so soon as the King's brain is clear you shall see him. I +owe de Helville too much not to make the effort, and even though my +debt was less, your courage and your love would compel me." + +At the time I thought that my holding the King's signet had much to do +with the compulsion, but I curbed my tongue. For the present I was +helpless, and the future was in the hands of his good-will. Therefore +I only said-- + +"I hold your promise, Monseigneur; on the faith of a Christian +gentleman?" + +"You hold it, Mademoiselle," answered he, earnestly; "and now, while I +return to the King, you must eat, drink, and rest. Oh! not for your +own sake," he went on, as I shook my head in protest, "but for Monsieur +de Helville's. If you are to move the King at all, you must have +strength to command your every word and act, no matter under what +provocation." + +The sound sense of that was plain, though I could see that Monseigneur +spoke more out of a perfunctoriness and kindness of heart rather than +any real expectation that I should have cause to put a tax upon my +powers. So, while he was absent, Blaise, his page, served me, and I +made it my steadfast duty to force down bite and sup, resting on a +couch as I ate. And, indeed, I was not only very weary, but in much +pain, though more of spirit than body. Think what the waiting in +inaction was to me, and judge if each minute did not creep through my +thought slowly, slowly, and yet searing as if it was red hot. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII + +THE MERCY OF LOUIS THE ELEVENTH + +At last, late in the afternoon, the lad Blaise came for me in great +haste. + +"Mademoiselle, the King is asking for you." + +"For me? How can that be?" + +"I only know what I am told," he answered, fumbling at his bonnet. + +"Is that all Monsieur de Commines' message?" + +I have studied boys as well as men, and from his confusion I guessed +his mind was burdened by more than he had delivered. At the question, +his face flushed red in the sunlight, and he broke out-- + +"Mademoiselle, I hate the court, and court ways. God made me for a +plain soldier, and not to truckle in mud." + +"Wait," said I; "presently you will find that mud is your surest +stepping-place to fortune. What more had you to say?" + +"Monsieur de Commines beseeches you not to be angry if the King thinks +evil of you; if he even puts a vile construction on your friendship for +Monsieur de Helville." + +"The King can think no more vilely of me than I of him," I answered +hotly. Then my heart leaped into my mouth. Not for myself; for me the +bitterness of fear was long past: but with that illumination which they +say the drowning have at the last, I suddenly realised that Gaspard's +life hung not alone on my powers of pleading, but on my self-control. +All my grown years I had hated, loathed, and despised Louis of Valois, +not only as the merciless enemy of Navarre, but as the vilest, meanest +cunning spirit that ever made flesh contemptible. What if that +loathing and despisal crept into my pleading and pled against me? What +if that hatred, which to me was almost a religion, flashed through my +prayer and blasted the King's mercy? What if they hardened Louis' +softer mood, and so left me all my life guilty of Gaspard's blood? +What if---- + +"Mademoiselle! Mademoiselle!" cried Blaise, half piteously, half in +indignation. "Do not look so horrified, so troubled. It was a lie, we +all know it was a lie." + +"Did Monsieur de Commines say, It is a lie?" + +"For policy's sake, Mademoiselle----" + +"Policy! policy! policy! That is Monsieur de Commines all over. +Truth? There is no truth, there is only policy. A woman's honour? her +reputation? her good name? To his slippery, pliant policy all these +are nothing. There, there, Monsieur Blaise, it is my turn to say, do +not look so horrified! Monsieur de Commines is his master's mirror." + +At the first door a red-haired youth whom Blaise called Dâvidd was +waiting for us, and with him as surety we passed through guard after +guard unchallenged. Up what stairs, along what corridors, through what +anterooms we were led I do not know; nor could I tell whether the +furnishings of Plessis were those of the palace or the prison. If the +hanging, were of silk I did not see them; if there were carvings, +gildings, fretwork, my eyes passed them blindly by. Only there were +men everywhere, men who whispered eagerly together in groups of threes +and fours, and who turned to watch us curiously as we left them behind. + +Before an open door, guarded as every other door had been through which +we had come, Monsieur de Commines was waiting for us. + +"Come!" said he, brusquely, almost dragging me after him, while Blaise +and Dâvidd stood aside, "and remember, no matter what he may say, +remember more than de Helville's life hangs on the turn of a word." + +"I am not afraid," I began. + +"But I am," he interrupted, "horribly, horribly afraid." + +"Hey! Is that de Helville's woman, d'Argenton?" said a weak, +whispering voice from the end of the room. It was the King, pipingly +thin and harshly raucous by turns as weakness of flesh or strength of +spirit got the upper hand. "Get out of the light, and let me look at +her. Heh! heh! heh!" and he laughed a little snickering laugh through +his nose. "What a lover he was, that de Helville! Bloused as a poppy +or peaked and pale, they were all as one to him. What is your name, +girl?" + +From where he stood, a little in advance of me, I saw Monsieur de +Commines start. He even opened his mouth as if to speak, but though he +kept silence, his side-long glance was at once an entreaty and a +repetition of his warning. + +"Ah! Sire," said I, "might I not be spared that?" + +"You can understand, your Majesty," said Monseigneur, his voice hard +and jerky as if in bad control, "that under the circumstances +Mademoiselle would prefer----" + +"Of course," broke in Louis, though how can I give the cutting contempt +of his sneer? "Modest retirement at all times becomes a woman. Meek +virtue that consorts with this Hellewyl from Navarre to Poictiers, and +heaven knows how long before, is shocked at the bare whispering of its +name! Heh! heh! heh! What do they call you, girl?" + +"It is not that, Sire," said Monsieur de Commines hastily, waving a +monitory hand at me behind his back that I should keep silence. It was +a hard thing to ask a woman at such a time and under such an +imputation; but it was Gaspard's life I played for, and so I controlled +myself. "Not that, ah, no! such brazen bashfulness would truly be +absurd--in such a woman as your Majesty describes. But Hellewyl is +unhappily in disgrace----" + +"Disgrace!" cried Louis, his voice strengthening to a screech. "God's +name! man, have you no better word than that? A damned treacherous cur +who has cost France a province, and you sweetly lisp he is unhappily in +disgrace! If to hang like a common thief is disgrace, and no more than +disgrace, then, yes, yes, you are right, your Monsieur de Helville is +in disgrace. But he was always a friend of yours, Monsieur le prince?" +Flinging back the scarlet cape that covered his meagre shoulders, Louis +tore open his cambric vest at the throat and lay back on his high +pillows, gasping. "Coctier! Coctier! Come to me, Coctier!--My +heart--ah! miserable sinner that I am--my heart as Father Francis says, +is deceitful and desperately weak. I cannot trust it, cannot trust it." + +The King's bed faced a range of windows opening to the west. Above the +head a huge canopy projected, the hangings of which had been removed +for sake of air; only at the extreme ends were there curtains +remaining. These were drawn back as flat to the wall as the heavy silk +would pack, but the carved pillars which supported the canopy gave a +heavy, cumbersome appearance to the bed. Between these pillars +cushions had been piled, raising the King almost to a sitting posture, +but with complete and much-needed support. + +Never had I seen such an anatomy of a man, and had he not been Louis of +Valois I could have wept for pity. His eyes, filmed with grey and +colourless from weakness, were sunk deep in a skull to which the skin +clung flat, yellow as ancient parchment, and forcing into relief every +bony curve and prominence. Naked in throat and chest, the tense sinews +played up and down in the lean neck with every articulation, while +across the hollow chest the bones showed like white knuckles through +the strained skin. His loose sleeves had fallen back beyond the elbow, +and the bare arms, stretched downwards on the counterpane, were +shrunken to a skeleton. For four days no razor had touched him, and a +thin frost lay upon the mouth, framing into relief the cruel straight +lines of the sunken lips, through which the gapped and blackened teeth +showed at every sneering laugh or outburst of rage. Had he died, and +had his father the devil, entering in, raised him to life again, he +could not have looked more like a mask of wasted malevolent mortality. + +"Coctier!" he went on, slanting his eyes at us without turning his +head. "They will kill me, Coctier, if they cross me like this." + +From behind the shelter of the twisted pillar of the bedstead a man in +a loose suit of grey stuffs leaned over him, putting a cup to his mouth. + +"You hear, Monsieur d'Argenton? The responsibility is yours." + +"His Majesty sent for--for--this lady," answered Monseigneur doggedly, +"and, Sire, truly you mistake. What this--lady fears, is lest your +righteous anger should strike more than Monsieur de Helville." + +Sucking the liquid from the cup with as much noise and spilling of its +contents as if he had been a half-weaned child, the King pointed a +shaking finger at me. + +"That--that--lady," he said, mocking, "need have no fear. I have +Monsieur--how civil you are, d'Argenton, with your Monsieurs and your +ladys!--I have the rascal Hellewyl safe, and will hurt neither her nor +hers. God forbid!" he went on unctuously, and turning his eyes towards +the side of the bed opposite to where Maître Coctier stood. There, a +guardian over the soul, as Coctier over the body--and which was the +more grievously sick, God knows!--stood a frocked monk, white bearded, +white moustached, and rigid as a statue, his hands folded humbly across +his breast. "God forbid that I should punish the innocent for the +guilty, that would be mortal sin, eh, Father Francis?" + +"Then, Sire," cried Monseigneur, "we have your promise?" + +"My oath, if you like, man! Why! what a mystery you make about +a--a--common----" + +"She is Mademoiselle de Narbonne," said Monsieur de Commines, breaking +in curtly, as Louis paused to pick his vilest epithet. + +Drawing his palms under him at each side, the King pushed himself to +such a sitting posture that for very weakness his chin fell forward on +his breast. + +"Narbonne?" he whispered huskily, his jaw working with sudden +excitement. Whether from Coctier's potion or from some stimulant of +the devil, fire woke in the dull eyes; and a broad spot of red flushed +the skin above the cheek bones. "A Narbonne, you say, d'Argenton--a +Narbonne? And yet this rascal Hellewyl----" + +"Monsieur de Helville's promised wife, Sire," I cried, crushing back my +indignation, and falling on my knees to this loathsome King. "A +miserable, broken-hearted woman who pleads for her lover's life. Oh, +Sire, Sire! be merciful, be gracious. As God has given you +greatness----" + +"Bah!" he snarled in a splutter; "be silent, girl!" Then, with a +sudden shift to a mocking smoothness, he went on in the same breath: +"Oh! we ask your pardon! Give us time to think, Mademoiselle de +Narbonne. Narbonne? ho! ho! Narbonne? Narbonne? Come nearer, +d'Argenton," and sinking back on his pillows with a moan he beckoned to +Monseigneur. "Narbonne? What Narbonne?" + +"Cousin twice or thrice removed to Jean de Foix, Sire, and guardian to +the young Gaston." + +"By God! d'Argenton, we win in the end!" he broke out, shaking his +finger at me. "Cousin to Jean de Foix? That girl stands for Navarre, +and we'll wring--wring our rights out of her!" + +"Oh, Sire!" cried Monseigneur, "your promise, your promise!" + +"Your oath!" said a deeper voice, and Francis of Paulo laid his hands +fearlessly on the meagre shoulder nearest him. "Dare you forswear +yourself--dare you lie in the very ear of God, and the grave open at +the bed's edge?" + +Round upon him turned Louis, striking upward feebly like an angry cat. + +"No oath!" he cried shrilly, his yellow face suffused by excited rage. +"I swore no oath, I only said--only said--said----" His voice died +away in a quaver as his eyes met those of the white-haired monk set in +unshrinking sternness. "I submit, Father, I submit. Heaven is too +strong for me, poor weak wretch that I am. But, pray God, heaven is +worth a province. It is a long price to pay for a man's soul. But +what we must not wring we may win by consent, a consent free from all +pressure of compulsion? For that I must--I must think. Mademoiselle +de Narbonne, your pleading has moved my pity, as you see, moved it +greatly. From my heart I grieve for your sorrow. If--mark, for to-day +I say no more than _if_--if Justice allows mercy--it is France who is +offended, not I--would you wish to be the one to carry Monsieur de +Helville's pardon to Poictiers?" + +"If I might, Sire," I answered, my heart beating so fast that I could +hardly draw breath. + +"And if--not? If France can find no excuse, what then? Would you +still wish to say--farewell?" + +"Farewell? Not that, not that; give me his life, Sire, give me his +life, and in return everything that service, everything that devotion +can do----" + +"Perhaps," he broke in sharply, "perhaps you can find me excuses for +Monsieur de Helville, excuses that will satisfy--France! What will you +give--France for his life?" + +"Oh, Sire!" I answered, half crying, for it seemed to me he played with +my misery, "what can I give France?" + +"Navarre!" Leaning his chin on his palm, he bit furiously at his +finger-nails. "Navarre! a child for a man. No, no, no, do not answer +now, wait till you see Poictiers' market-place clear in your mind as it +will be next Sunday at dawn. Wait and think. Go away for to-day, go +away. I am tired and must rest, is it not so, Coctier? Only, I would +be merciful. Come again to-morrow, and meanwhile, think hard." + +"To-morrow, Sire?" I cried, now fully weeping and too confused to grasp +the meaning of all he said. "Oh, Sire! there is so little time." + +"Tut, tut! no, no, I am not so ill as that; every hour I am stronger, +is it not so, Coctier? Take her away, d'Argenton, take her away, there +is no more to be said." + +"But Monsieur de Helville--Gaspard--oh, Sire, the dawn of Sunday is so +near, so very near." + +He had fallen back on the cushions, his thin chest heaving as he fought +for breath, his eyes closed all but a narrow slit through which the +evil beast in him glared at me. As I took a step towards him, wringing +my hands, he shook his head, a dry, mocking smile, twitching his lips. + +"The greater need to think hard," he whispered. "A child for a +man--to-morrow, when I send for you. In any case you shall see your +lover, in any case I will send word. Take her away, d'Argenton, lest +worse come to her, oath or no oath. A province for a single soul! Ah! +Dear Saint Claude! what a price to pay! Take her away, take her away!" + +Not roughly, but with a force I could not combat, Monsieur de Commines +caught me by the arm, drawing me in the direction of the door, and the +last I knew of Louis of Valois was the skeleton head turned towards me +on the pillows, the yellow sunken face wrinkled into a malevolent, +smirking laugh, and a piping voice that said: + +"Are you there, Father Francis? Mother of Mercy! pray for me, for I am +very weak." + +Not even when we were beyond the door, not till we were midway down the +gallery, and so in comparative privacy between two sets of guards, did +he loosen his hold. At first I thought he was angry, so urgent was he, +so insistent. But no, his eyes were full of pity, and his face, white +and strained, was the face of a man in sore trouble rather than wrath. + +"You have failed, Mademoiselle," said he, with a kind of fatherly +tenderness that sat strangely on one whose hair was still unsilvered. +"That was inevitable from the first. But though you have failed, it +will be a comfort hereafter that you made the trial." + +"But there is still hope, Monseigneur, surely there is still hope?" + +"Yes," he assented with a sudden cheerfulness, "of course you are +right, and for to-day hope is our best medicine." + +"What did the King mean at the last?" I asked as as we walked slowly +onward. "He said I was to think hard. But, Monseigneur, I cannot +think. My brain is dazed, is in a whirl. He spoke of a man for a +child, but my head swims, and I cannot understand." + +"Do not try to understand," he answered very gently. I never thought +so stern a man had so much of a woman's tenderness in him. "Think only +that yea or nay you are to see Monsieur de Helville again. Have you +strength for another ride to Poictiers?" + +"To Poictiers to see Gaspard? Why, yes, Monseigneur. Poictiers to see +Gaspard! That is nothing." + +"Then my advice is, rest. Nurse your strength, Mademoiselle; who knows +when it may be needed, or for what crisis." + +And I did rest, partly because I was worn threadbare, and partly +through a draught Coctier gave me. So Friday drifted into the last day +of the week end, and on the morrow Gaspard was to die at dawn. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII + +"IT IS THE FINGER OF GOD!" + +How the hours of that day passed I cannot tell. They crawled, that was +when I sat listening for the footfall of the King's messenger who never +came; they flew, that was when I thought of Poictiers' market-place, +and what the dawn brought with it. But whether they crept or flew, I +was like one groping a way through a maze and forever being turned back. + +Twice I tried the stables, but the gear, both bit and saddle, had been +hidden away; twice, too, I tried the gates, but was denied passage; +none might cross Plessis threshold, even outwards, without the King's +permission. Time after time I importuned the guards who kept the outer +door of the royal wing--I wept, I pled, I stormed. By turns I was many +things, Mademoiselle de Narbonne, Monsieur de Commines' friend and +guest, a broken-hearted, despairing woman; but tears, prayers, and +threats were alike useless. + +So Saturday passed, and the sun went down on the last day of the week. + +Through all these desperate hours of failure Blaise and his friend +Dâvidd Lesellè went wheresoever I went, and though powerless to help, +their dumb sympathy was a comfort. Now, in this growing dusk, they sat +with me in silence. I had ceased to weep. To me Gaspard was already +dead and I had no more tears. Crouched forward, I watched the western +glow fade through amber and palest green to the soft beginnings of the +night. Had the sun set in crimson or in cloud, I think I must have +shrieked at the omen, so tense and quivering was every nerve. But all +was peace, all was calm and tranquillity; and as the purple deepened, +deepened, deepened till the stars shone out luminously clear, something +of the quiet of nature fell upon my spirit. Then a door clapped +noisily, and up the staircase came a rush of feet. + +"It is Monseigneur," said Blaise, rousing himself. + +On the threshold, Monsieur de Commines stood peering into the darkness +of the room. To a sick heart night brings comfort as it brings counsel +to doubt, and so the lamps sat unlit in their sources. + +"Who is here, and where is Mademoiselle de Narbonne?" he cried. + +I, and I, and I, we answered, while I added: + +"Oh, Monseigneur, is there hope?" + +"God knows!" he said curtly. "Lesellè, dear lad, fetch a light. +Mademoiselle, can you ride boy-fashion?" + +"Yes, yes; Monsieur de Commines, what has happened?" + +"Blaise, you and she are about a size. Fetch her a riding suit, then +saddle Bay Zadok and Mesrour; quick, boy, quick!" + +"But, Monseigneur----" + +"One moment, Mademoiselle, here is Lesellè. Thanks, lad. Listen now. +You know the Poictiers road by Sainte Maure and Chatellerault?" + +"Yes, Monseigneur." + +"Even in the darkness?" + +"Yes, Monseigneur." + +"I have Sir John's leave to borrow you for to-night. It is a race for +life, boy, and there must be no mistakes." + +"I understand, Monseigneur. When do we start?" + +"In ten minutes: Blaise is saddling the horses. You are to convoy +Mademoiselle de Narbonne." + +"Mademoiselle de Narbonne? To Poictiers, Monseigneur?" + +"Yes, wait in the courtyard till she is ready. Have you supped?" + +"No, Monseigneur." + +"Then ride hungry, or eat as you go. Off with you now; ten minutes, +remember." + +But when, catching him by the arm, I would have importuned him, he +motioned me to silence. + +"One moment, Mademoiselle, one moment," he said testily, and as he +spoke Blaise returned, a pile of sober grey stuff on his arm. This +Monsieur de Commines snatched from him. "Now the horses, quickly, but +with no noise," and at last the door was shut. + +"Monseigneur, what does this mean?" + +"It means, Mademoiselle, that the King is dead." + +"Dead? Louis--the King--dead? That hypocrite, that tyrant--dead? God +be thanked for His justice!" + +"He was the greatest man in France," answered Monseigneur, with +something like a sob in his throat. "He was the greatest King France +ever knew. For eleven years he was my master and my friend--and he is +dead." + +"God be thanked!" I repeated, for my heart was very sore and very hard; +how was it possible I could find pity for Louis of Valois? "If he was +the greatest man in France, he was also the worst." + +"What he was is for God's judgment, Mademoiselle, and it is my belief +that Kings do not stand at the same bar as common men." + +"But Gaspard? Monsieur de Commines, what of Gaspard?" + +A shiver shook him as if he was chilly even in the August heat, but the +lines of sorrow softened on his face. + +"Take heart, Mademoiselle. Please God, we shall save him yet, or at +least you shall." + +"I? Oh, Monseigneur! God be thanked! God be thanked! But how? What +must I do?" + +"The King's death forgives the King's debt, Mademoiselle." + +"Ah! Did I not say it was His finger! But who shall tell them in +Poictiers, The King is dead?" + +"You and Lesellè. Blaise is saddling the horses." + +"Eight hours, and thirty leagues to ride?" + +"Nearly nine, and not twenty-five, nor is there any spur like love." + +"I rode for love's sake two days ago, and it cost me fourteen hours." + +"You had but one horse, and lost your way. Young Lesellè knows the +road well, and yesterday I ordered relays to be ready at Sainte Maure +and Chatellerault." + +"Lesellè? Why not Blaise?" + +"Lesellè is one of the King's guard, and his uniform carries authority." + +"Oh, Monseigneur!" and I caught him by the hand, kissing it, "you think +of everything." + +"And what thought have you not taken?" he answered. "Now, +Mademoiselle, go into that inner room and dress; remember that to-night +you ride a race." + +Men twit us with the slow niceness with which we women make ourselves +dainty to their eyes, and if we failed so to make ourselves dainty they +would twit us the more. But that night there was no dallying. I did +not wait so long as to untie my points, but slit them open with my +girdle dagger, and then thanked God that at Morsigny the daily dressing +of little Gaston taught me how to handle boys' clothing. What had +taken an hour with a lover's eyes to be met, was undone and done in +less time than the saddling of two horses. Tall and slim, my hair +coifed out of sight, under the twinkle of the starlight I made as +mannish a boy as Blaise himself. + +Monseigneur was giving Dâvidd Lesellè his final instructions. + +"There is a post to Paris--you can hear their horses stamping now in +the west court, and here, in good time, comes Blaise. Join these as if +you formed part of the escort. Old Sir John has given orders at the +gate, and no questions will be asked. Mount, Mademoiselle, take +Mesrour, his motion is the smoother. No, Blaise, no, you must stay +with me; God knows what will happen in Plessis to-night, and I may need +you for as desperate a crisis as Mademoiselle has to face. Once +outside the gate keep behind the troop, and at the river turn south, +saying nothing. Is your length of stirrup right, Mademoiselle? Then +mount, lad, and I'll talk as we go. Make straight for Sainte Maure; +the fords are low, and there is no depth of water to fear. Ride +through the village till you see an open door with a light set before +it; it burns by order of the King sent yesterday. There horses are +ready waiting, mount and ride on. In Chatellerault, at the _Corne +d'Abondance_ a second relay is waiting, good horses all and do not +spare them. Have you strength, Mademoiselle?" + +"Please God," I answered. + +I saw him nod his head as we rode on in silence, a subdued clatter of +life before us. + +"At Poictiers," he went on slowly, but though he spoke to Lesellè his +eyes were fastened on mine, "I think I would ride straight for the +market-place. It was the King's order that--that--all should be as +public as possible, and the people warned to attend. Yes, the +market-place will be best; waste no time on the citadel, and ride in +haste, ride with authority, assume the very powers of the Crown itself, +and speak, if needs be, in Charles' name. Remember, that point once +reached, delay is life to Monsieur de Helville. Mademoiselle, say what +God and your heart bid you. Trust both, and have no fear. And now +here are the gates, and there the Paris post is waiting. Lesellè, I +think your uncle has held it back for us. He has a kindly heart, and +in three hours I have come to know him better than in the last as many +years. At times it takes the shock of death to bring men near to one +another. Mademoiselle, you are very safe with this lad, young as he +is. He is staunch, has a Scot's prudence, a Scot's long head, and a +Scot's shrewdness, I can say no more. Lesellè lad, you ride a race for +life." + +"I understand, Monseigneur." + +Few words, three only, and yet they gave me greater comfort than if he +had protested devotion for five minutes: the man to have faith in is +the man who says little but understands much. + +"God bless you, Monseigneur!" I cried, stooping towards him as the +gates swung open. + +"And keep you, Mademoiselle," he answered, and caught my hand in both +his. "From the House of Death to the House of Life; surely it is His +mercy and His will, but oh! what a cost to France!" + +With that, as the watchman called nine o'clock from the walls, we rode +out into the night. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV + +A RACE FOR A LIFE + +We rode slowly at first, lagging behind the Paris post, and still +slowly when we turned south. + +"Not too fast till the horses are warmed to their work," said Lesellè, +and I, with a fevered, grudging impatience reined Mesrour back to a +trot. + +But once across the Cher the pace quickened, and on every flat and down +every slope, we tore at a gallop. The road was good, smooth, broad and +hard, Louis and _corvée_ had seen to that. _Pa-lop, pa-lop, pa-lop_! +A race for a man's life, said Monseigneur. _Pa-lop, pa-lop, pa-lop_! +It was all that, and more than that for me--it was a race for a woman's +soul. How could there be a God at all if this monstrous iniquity of +Poictiers came to pass? _Pa-lop, pa-lop, pa-lop_! The intermingling +beat of our horses' hoofs rang their rhythm in my head; _a race--for +the life--of a man; a race--for the life--of a man; a race--for a +wom--an's soul_; over and over again, till I almost screamed at the +iteration. + +A swerve down the hill to the valley of the Indre broke into the beat. +With a splash we plunged into the river, and walked our panting beasts +up the further slope. + +"Do we keep our time, Monsieur Lesellè?" + +"We more than keep it, Mademoiselle. Accidents apart, there is only +one thing to fear." + +"What is that?" + +"Wolves." + +"I am not afraid, Monsieur Lesellè." + +"I know it, Mademoiselle, nor do I mean fear for ourselves," and with a +thrust of the spur we rode on; by reaped cornfields, _a race--for the +life--of a man_; through broad pastures, waste lands and commonage, +_pa-lop, pa-lop, pa-lop! a race--for a wom--an's soul_; under leafy +arches, where the trees, grappling, met overhead and rasped their +boughs in a rising wind. What a race it was, and how the blood drummed +in the ears, how the courage rose as the night-wind blew cool in the +face! _Pa-lop, pa-lop, pa_----Crash! Bay Zadok was down, and Lesellè +lay in the ditch groaning. But before I could jump from the saddle he +was on his feet again, stooping over the horse. A minute or two he +fumbled at it in the dark, muttering to himself. + +"Hurt," he said curtly. "Mesrour must carry double to Sainte Maure. +Mademoiselle, shift your foot from the stirrup an instant--yes, I have +it now." + +In the gloom, I felt rather than saw him grip at Mesrour's gear. With +a swing he was up behind me on the croup, but as he steadied himself he +moaned. + +"Are you also hurt, Monsieur?" + +"It is nothing," he answered, grasping my belt, "nothing at all; ride +on." + +God be thanked, it was not far, and at a trot we entered the straggle +of dim grey huts that called itself Sainte Maure. Rounding a curve, a +mellow glare flared from a doorstep. + +"Monseigneur's posting-house," said Lesellè, and slipped to the ground. +"Within there! Horses, horses! In the King's name!" + +They were alert and waiting. A head, cowled like a priest's, peered +round the jamb. + +"Two minutes, Monsieur, two minutes; there is no more than to tighten +the girths." + +"Better dismount and stretch your legs, Mademoiselle," said Lesellè. +"Two minutes means ten." + +"Are we on time?" + +"Better than that; one third the way, and the hour not much more than +gone eleven." + +"Bay Zadok?" + +"Ah, Mademoiselle! if we could but have put him out of pain!" + +"Poor beast! So bad as that? What of your own hurt? Ungrateful that +I am, I had forgotten it." + +"Nothing, Mademoiselle, nothing at all," and he turned into the shadow +of the thatched house, crying out, "Quick with the horses! the King is +in haste!" + +The King is in haste! A true word. There were two Kings in haste, the +King of Life and Love and the King of Sorrows. In my impatience I +smote my palms together. + +"Will they never bring the horses! Monsieur Lesellè! Monsieur +Lesellè----" + +"Here they come, Mademoiselle." + +Down a lane between the huts, a lane smelling of unutterable vileness, +came the night-capped figure, a bridle on either arm. + +"Do you give Monsieur a hand; ride on, I'll follow," said Lesellè, and +like a bolt I shot into the dark. This time I could brook no cautious +warming into work. + +Behind me Lesellè shouted for God's sake to wait; but I only cried +back, Follow, follow, follow! and spurred on. It was three leagues +before he caught me up, and then only because the Creuse at +Port-de-piles stopped me. Six, eight, ten minutes I waited, chafing. +But the river was brawling, and I dared not face the water alone. +Lesellè's words were a warning. Only wolves or accident can stop us, +and I feared the last more than the first. + +When at length he came through the gloom he was swaying in his saddle. + +"Now I know why you lagged behind!" I cried sharply. "Shame, boy, +shame! Monsieur de Commines said I could trust you. Is this a time to +drink yourself drunk?" + +Steadying himself by an effort he turned to the left, making neither +retort nor protest. + +"The ford is upstream, Mademoiselle," was all he said. + +That he took the rebuke so meekly turned the edge of my anger, +righteous though it was, and I followed him without further comment. +But as we crossed the stream, I riding on his left, midway my horse +stumbled, and I cried out, for the waiting had broken down my +self-control. Promptly he dropped the reins from his right hand, +catching at my bridle. But reaching across his body he missed it, and +I recovered of myself, shaken and out of temper. + +"Try your nearer hand next time." + +"Yes, Mademoiselle," he answered submissively, and splashing on through +the shallow water of the ford led up the road. + +But now galloping was no longer possible because of loose stones and +greasy ruts. So sure as we pushed on beyond our cautious trot our +beasts stumbled, nor did the track improve till we had passed Ingrande. +Twice I broke out on Lesellè, once in tears and once lashing him with +my tongue as if the fault was his. But he either kept silence and rode +on doggedly, or answered, always submissively, that there was no better +path, and that the going was faster beyond Chatellerault. + +But in Chatellerault there was again a check. + +The _Corne d'Abondance_ was asleep from garret to cellar, and ten +precious minutes were wasted before Lesellé, having beaten the door in +vain, at last roused life by flinging a stone through an open window. +Then a man leaned out, cursing. But Lesellè cursed him back in two +languages, and cried out for the horses that were to be ready in the +King's name. But there had either been a blunder or treachery: the +horses were ordered for the night following, and again he cursed us for +thieves. + +"At your peril!" cried Lesellè. "If the King's business miscarries +because of you, by God! you'll hang! You know the King's way." + +"To-morrow night," answered the fellow, "that was the order, and it is +the King's way to be obeyed to the letter." + +In the end it was Lesellè's archer's dress that saved us, and +thereafter there was no delay. But there had been a desperate waste of +time, and as we galloped out of Chatellerault it seemed to me the east +was grey. + +The road was now a steady rise, with the Clain on our left glimmering +in and out of the hosts of trunks that stretched from Mirebeaud to the +river's bank. The wind was growing with the dawn, but so buried were +we in leafage we scarcely heard the rustle. From the right, not far +off, came the short, gasping bark of a fox; that, with the _pa-lop, +pa-lop, pa-lop_, of the hoofs on the hard, sound road, was the only +life. + +So dark was it we dared not touch a bridle, but with a loose rein plied +whip and spur in our race for a man's life. + +"Are we on time?" I cried to Lesellè, who led the way. + +"Please God!" he cried back across his shoulder, and stooping low to +avoid the downward thrust of the branches, rode on. + +Please God! When a man says, Please God! he doubts. Little by little +the strain of the gallop on the rising hill began to tell on the +horses, and their speed slackened. The smooth, easy motion shortened +to a lumpish gait, and at a very sharp rise they stopped, half +stumbling. + +"How far to Poictiers?" + +"Five leagues, Mademoiselle." + +"And the hour?" + +All Lesellè's boyish ardour was gone. He rode like an old man, +slouching in the saddle, his chin sunk on his breast. At my question I +saw him raise his head and look at me, his face white against the +overhung blackness of the night. + +"Mademoiselle, I have done my best." + +"The hour, Monsieur, if you please?" + +"Gone four, I think." + +"Oh!" and with a savage lash I brought down the whip on my beast's +sweating flank. "Dawn in an hour! Lesellè, Lesellè, is there nothing +will drive them on?" + +"They are only blown, Mademoiselle; give them time." + +"Time? Who will give Gaspard de Helville time? God of Love! Is there +nothing--nothing to drive them on?" + +I have never ceased to count it a miracle, and a proof how, out of +evil, the Almighty can bring good. But two things can stop us, Lesellè +had said, wolves or accident. Of the two, I feared the last more than +the first, and even as I spoke there came the howl of a wolf through +the silence, a howl caught up and answered again and again from right +and left till the vast wood seemed full of howls. As he heard the +baying, the beast under me stopped dead still, his skin creeping with +fear till the shudder shook me in the saddle; then with a scream he +bolted forward, and on we dashed as if the hounds of hell were loose +coursing a soul. + +"Lower, stoop lower!" cried Lesellè as the horses swerved, still +holding the road. "Keep a drag on the right rein, Mademoiselle!" + +Instinctively, but without comprehension, I obeyed, and the rasp of a +low-hung bough along my back taught me the lad's wisdom. To the left +was the river, and at all hazards we must keep the road. Let such a +branch catch me across the breast, and my dawn would break more redly +than Gaspard's, and sooner by an hour. Such a thing as that I dreaded, +but not the wolves. The wolves? Their howl was salvation, and with my +face buried in the drifting mane, I thanked God for the wolves. + +Jesu! what a race it was! Men have said, Were you not afraid? But +with that wild rush of wind in the face, with the swelled veins +throbbing under my cheek, with the sobbing catch in the breath growing +hoarser almost every stride, there was no time for conscious fear. If +I thought at all, it was that the pace could not last, that Poictiers +was far away and the dawn near, that the sob was growing hoarser, +hoarser, till the breath in the windpipes roared like the rasping of a +file. Then Lesellè shouted, "Halt, halt, halt!" and straining on the +bit, I pulled the staggering beast to a stand. + +Behind was the howling of the wolves, but down the road ahead came the +clatter of hoofs. + +"Life or death," said the lad, panting in sympathy with his moaning +horse, "but in another furlong or two it would have been----Halt! halt +there! Horses in the King's name; horses for life or death!" + +No need now to tell that it was for life. A north bound train from +Poictiers saved us; but as we rode on the dawn was grey even in the +thick of the wood, and on our left the east flared to a red glare as of +the Last Day. + +Again it was whip and spur, nor, with no more than a scant league to +go, was there need to spare the horses. Spare them? We drove them +along at the dagger's point. But the throbbing exultation born of that +wild burst had died away, and it was a weary, trembling, white-faced +woman who, leading the Scots lad by ten lengths, splashed uuhalting +through the Clain and galloped up the hill to the newly opened gate, +for the sun was fully risen, and down the valley of the Clain the +morning mists were all a-swim with glory. + +Before the gate the guard stretched themselves, yawning, and when I +would have passed, one caught my bridle. But with a wrench I dragged +it from his grasp. + +"A pardon!" I cried, my lips dry and cracked, my woman's voice harsh +and shrill by turns. "The King is dead! Long live the King! I bear a +pardon from King Charles!" + +With that they closed in upon me, clamouring, and Lesellè rode up. + +"Tell them," I gasped, "tell them as we go, but in God's name, let us +ride on. Monsieur de Helville!--a pardon from the King!" + +The name pricked them. + +"De Helville?" cried one, flinging out a level arm to point ahead. +"On--on--to the right--in front of Notre Dame; perhaps there is still +time." + +Oh! that last dash through the still streets in the cool of the +morning! At my right was Lesellè, his face whiter than my own. His +left hand was thrust through his belt, the palm flattened outwards. +Bay Zadok had broken the arm, and all through the night he had ridden +in his pain, making no moan. But I had no thought of pity for him, my +thought was all with the packed crowd before us, a crowd that filled +the square and overflowed into every avenue of approach, choking them. +When Louis said, Do this! it was the people's wisdom to obey; and, even +under Louis, a Seigneur was not hung every day of the week! + +Dropping the reins, Lesellè drew his sword and pushed on ahead. + +"God save King Charles!" he cried, standing in his stirrups and +shouting till the cry roared down even the buzzing clamour of the +crowd. "God save King Charles! A pardon! A pardon!" + +How such a knitted throng could part asunder I do not know; who went +down under whose feet in the surge backwards I do not know; but the +roar, the thundering gallop, and the naked steel cleft them like a +plough cutting a furrow through a sodden field, and we burst into the +square unchecked. + +In the centre was a hollow kept clear of rabble by treble lines of +soldiers, and we, looking above the swaying sea of heads, saw what they +guarded--a gibbet, a wheeled platform drawn by oxen, and on the +platform three men; they were Gaspard, Father Paulus, and another. A +short ladder rose slanting above the wheel. + +"God save King Charles!" we cried, "God save King Charles! A pardon! a +pardon! The King is dead, is dead; God save the King!" + +What a silence fell upon the crowd! what a silence! It was stiller +than death itself. Then a roar broke out, drowning our puny outcry. + +"Long live King Charles! Long live King Charles!" + +But for myself I say this: another King had indeed come to his throne +that day; a greater than Louis who was dead, a greater than Charles who +had come to his own; a greater than any King who ever reigned in +France; for it was the King of Life and Love. + +The Lord God be praised for all His faithful mercies! + + + + +Butler & Tanner, The Selwood Printing Works, Frome, and London. + + + + + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The King's Scapegoat, by Hamilton Drummond + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 57401 *** |