diff options
Diffstat (limited to 'old/69819-0.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | old/69819-0.txt | 11131 |
1 files changed, 0 insertions, 11131 deletions
diff --git a/old/69819-0.txt b/old/69819-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index fb0ec2c..0000000 --- a/old/69819-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,11131 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of “No. 101”, by Wymond Carey - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: “No. 101” - -Author: Wymond Carey - -Illustrator: Walter Paget - -Release Date: January 17, 2023 [eBook #69819] - -Language: English - -Produced by: D A Alexander, David E. Brown, and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was - produced from images generously made available by The - Internet Archive) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK “NO. 101” *** - - - - - -_By_ Wymond Carey - - - MONSIEUR MARTIN - - A ROMANCE OF THE GREAT SWEDISH WAR - - Crown octavo. (By mail, $1.35.) _Net_, $1.20 - - - “NO. 101” - - Illustrated. Crown octavo. $1.50. - - [Illustration] - - - G. P. Putnam’s Sons - _New York_ _London_ - - - - -[Illustration: “The Vicomte henceforth cannot without harming himself -visit publicly a _bourgeoise_ grisette.” - -(_See page 158._)] - - - - - “No. 101” - - BY - Wymond Carey - Author of “Monsieur Martin,” “For the White Rose,” etc. - - G. P. Putnam’s Sons - New York and London - The Knickerbocker Press - 1905 - - - - - COPYRIGHT, 1905 - BY - G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS - - The Knickerbocker Press, New York - - - - - TO - MY MOTHER - - “But still, Beloved, the best of all my bringings - Belongs to you.” - - - - -NOTE - - -THERE was a real “No. 101.” Unpublished MS. despatches now in the -Record Office of the British Museum reveal the interesting fact that -on more than one occasion the British Government obtained important -French state secrets through an agent known to the British ministers -as “No. 101.” Who this mysterious agent was, whether it was a man -or a woman, why and how he or she so successfully played the part -of a traitor, have not, so far as is known to the present writer, -been discovered by historians or archivists. The references in the -confidential correspondences supply no answer to such questions. If the -British ministers knew all the truth, they kept it to themselves, and -it perished with them. Doubtless there were good reasons for strict -secrecy. But it is more than possible that they themselves did not -know, that throughout they simply dealt with a cipher whose secret -they never penetrated. It is, however, clear that “No. 101” was in a -position to discover some of the most intricate designs in the policy -of the French Court, and that the British Government, through its -agents, was satisfied of the genuineness of the secrets for which it -paid handsomely. - -On the undoubted existence of this mysterious cipher, and the riddles -that that existence suggests, the writer has based his historical -romance. - - - - -CONTENTS - - - CHAPTER PAGE - - I. “NO. 101” 1 - - II. ONE-FOURTH OF A SECRET AND THREE-FOURTHS OF A MYSTERY 12 - - III. A FAIR HUNTRESS AND THE GIRL WITH THE SPOTTED COW 26 - - IV. A LOVER’S TRICK 39 - - V. THE PRESUMPTION OF A BEARDLESS CHEVALIER 53 - - VI. THE WISE WOMAN OF “THE COCK WITH THE SPURS OF GOLD” 66 - - VII. THE KING’S HANDKERCHIEF 78 - - VIII. THE VIVANDIÈRE OF FONTENOY 95 - - IX. AT THE CHARCOAL-BURNER’S CABIN IN THE WOODS 109 - - X. FONTENOY 121 - - XI. IN THE SALON DE LA PAIX AT VERSAILLES 137 - - XII. A ROYAL GRISETTE 149 - - XIII. WHAT THE VICOMTE DE NÉRAC SAW IN THE SECRET PASSAGE 160 - - XIV. TWO PAGES IN THE BOOK OF LIFE 171 - - XV. ANDRÉ IS THRICE SURPRISED 182 - - XVI. THE FOUNTAIN OF NEPTUNE 196 - - XVII. DENISE’S ANSWER 207 - - XVIII. THE HEART OF THE POMPADOUR 220 - - XIX. THE FLOWER GIRL OF “THE GALLOWS AND THE THREE CROWS” 231 - - XX. AT HOME WITH A CIPHER 244 - - XXI. THE KING’S COMMISSION 253 - - XXII. ON SECRET SERVICE 264 - - XXIII. THE KING FAINTS 274 - - XXIV. A WISHED-FOR MIRACLE 285 - - XXV. THE FALL OF THE DICE 297 - - XXVI. THE THIEF OF THE SECRET DESPATCH 308 - - XXVII. THE CHEVALIER MAKES HIS LAST APPEARANCE 319 - - XXVIII. THE CARREFOUR DE ST. ANTOINE NO. 3 330 - - XXIX. ANDRÉ FAILS TO DECIDE 339 - - XXX. DENISE HAS TO DECIDE FOR THE LAST TIME 354 - - XXXI. FORTUNE’S BANTER 366 - - - - -ILLUSTRATIONS - - PAGE - - “THE VICOMTE HENCEFORTH CANNOT WITHOUT HARMING HIMSELF VISIT - PUBLICLY A _BOURGEOISE_ GRISETTE” _Frontispiece_ - - STATHAM SAT PONDERING, HIS EYES RIVETED ON THE CROSSED DAGGERS 6 - - “IS THAT LETTER TO THE COMTESSE DES FORGES, ONE OF MY - FRIENDS--MY FRIENDS, _MON DIEU!_--YOURS, OR IS IT NOT?” 48 - - “FAIR ARCHERESS,” HE SAID, “SURELY THE SHAFTS YOU LOOSE ARE - MORTAL” 88 - - YES, THAT IS MONSEIGNEUR LE MARÉCHAL DE SAXE, CARRIED IN A - WICKER LITTER, FOR HE CANNOT SIT HIS HORSE 124 - - MADAME DE POMPADOUR 188 - - THE CURTAIN WAS SHARPLY FLUNG ASIDE, AND HE SAW DENISE 204 - - YVONNE VERY MODESTLY DISENGAGED THE ARM WHICH FOR THE FIRST - TIME HE HAD SLIPPED ABOUT HER SUPPLE WAIST 234 - - YVONNE WITH A FINGER TO HER LIPS, HOLDING HER PETTICOATS OFF - THE FLOOR, STOLE IN, AND BEHIND HER A STRANGER 268 - - THE CANDLE FELL FROM HER HAND. “GONE!” SHE MUTTERED FEEBLY, - “GONE!” 320 - - “YVONNE, OF COURSE; YVONNE OF THE SPOTLESS ANKLES,” SHE - LIFTED HER DRESS A FEW INCHES 350 - - - - -NO. 101. - - - - -NO. 101 - - - - -CHAPTER I - -“NO. 101” - - -ONE evening in the January of 1745, the critical year of Fontenoy and -of the great Jacobite rising, a middle-aged gentleman, the private -secretary of a Secretary of State, was working as usual in the room of -a house in Cleveland Row. The table at which he sat was littered with -papers, but at this precise moment he had leaned back in his chair with -a puzzled expression and his left hand in perplexity pushed his wig -awry. - -“Extraordinary,” he muttered, “most extraordinary.” The remark was -apparently caused by an official letter in his other hand--a letter -marked “Most Private,” which came from The Hague, and the passage which -he had just read ran: - - “_I have the honour to submit to you the following important - communication in cipher, received, through our agent at Paris, from - ‘No. 101,’_” etc. - -On the table lay the cipher communication together with a decoded -version which the secretary now studied for the third time. In explicit -language the despatch supplied detailed information as to certain -recent highly confidential negotiations between the Jacobite party in -Paris and the French King, Louis XV., a revelation in short of the most -weighty state secrets of the French Government. - -“‘No. 101,’” the secretary murmured, scratching his head, “always ‘No. -101.’ It is marvellous, incredible. How the devil can it be done?” - -But there was no answer to this question, save the fact which provoked -it--that closely ciphered paper with its disquieting information so -curiously and mysteriously obtained. - -“Ah.” He jumped up and hurriedly straightened his wig. “Good-evening to -you.” - -The new-comer was a man of about five-and-thirty, tall, finely built, -and of a muscular physique, with a face of considerable power. Most -noticeable, perhaps, in his appearance was his air of disciplined -reserve, emphasised in his strong mouth and chin, but almost belied by -the glow in his large, dark eyes, which looked you through and through -with a strangely watchful innocence. - -“There is work to be done, sir?” he asked as he took the chair offered. - -“Exactly. To-day we have received most gratifying and surprising -information from our friend ‘No. 101’--and we have the promise of -more.” - -“Yes.” The brief monosyllable was spoken almost softly, but the dark -eyes gleamed, as they roamed over the room. - -“The communications from ‘No. 101’ have begun again,” the secretary -pursued; “that in itself is interesting. The Secretary of State -therefore desired me to send at once for you, the most trustworthy -secret agent we have. In a very few minutes Captain Statham of the -First Foot Guards will be here--” - -“Sent, I think, from the Low Countries at the request of our agents at -The Hague?” - -“Ah, I see you are as well informed as usual. You are quite right. Are -you,” he laughed, “ever wrong?” - -The spy paused. “The communications then from ‘No. 101’ concern the -military operations?” was all he said. - -“Not yet. But,” he almost laughed, “we have a promise they will. You -know the situation. This will be a critical year in Flanders. Great -Britain and her allies propose to make a great, an unprecedented -effort; his Royal Highness the Duke of Cumberland will have the supreme -command. Unhappily the French under the Maréchal de Saxe apparently -propose to make even greater efforts. With such a general as the -Maréchal against us we cannot afford to neglect any means, fair or -foul, by which his Royal Highness can defeat the enemy.” - -“Then you wish me to assist ‘No. 101’ in betraying the French plans to -our army under the Duke of Cumberland?” - -“Not quite,” the other replied; “we cannot spare you as yet. But you -have had dealings with this mysterious cipher, and we ask you to place -all your experience at the disposal of Captain Statham.” - -“I agree most willingly,” was the prompt answer. - -“This curious ‘No. 101,’” continued the secretary slowly, “you do not -know personally, I believe?” - -The other was looking at him carefully but with a puzzled air. - -“I ask because--because I am deeply curious.” - -“I am as curious as yourself, sir. ‘No. 101’ is to me simply a cipher -number,--nothing more, nothing less.” - -“I feared so,” said the secretary. “But is it not incredible? The -information sent always proves to be accurate, but there is never a -trace of how, why, or by whom it is obtained.” - -“That is so. Secrecy is the condition on which alone we get it. We pay -handsomely--we obtain the truth--and we are left in the dark.” - -“Shall we ever discover the secret, think you?” - -“I am sure not.” The tone was conviction itself. - -At this moment Captain Statham was ushered in, a typical English -gentleman and officer, ruddy of countenance, blue-eyed, frankness and -courage in every line of his handsome face and of his athletic figure. - -“Captain Statham--Mr. George Onslow of the Secret Service--” the -secretary began promptly, adding with a laugh as the two shook hands: -“Ah, I see you have met before. I am not surprised. Mr. Onslow knows -everybody and everything worth knowing.” He gathered up a bundle of -papers. “That is the communication from ‘No. 101’ and the covering -letter. And now, gentlemen, I will leave you to your business.” He -bowed and left the room. - -Onslow took the chair he had vacated and for a quarter of an hour -Captain Statham and he chatted earnestly on the position of affairs -in the Low Countries, and the war then raging from the Mediterranean -to the North Sea, on the vast efforts being made by the French for a -great campaign in the coming spring, the military genius of the famous -Maréchal de Saxe, the Austrian and Dutch allies of Great Britain, and -the new English royal commander-in-chief who was shortly to leave to -take over the work of saving Flanders from the arms of Louis XV. Onslow -then briefly explained what the Secret Service agents of the Duke of -Cumberland were to expect and why. - -“Communications,” he wound up, “from this mysterious spy and traitor, -‘No. 101,’ invariably come like bolts from the blue. They are, of -course, always in cipher and they will reach you by the most innocent -hands--a peasant, a lackey, a tavern wench--sometimes you will simply -find them, say, under your pillow, or in your boots. No one can tell -how they get there. But never neglect them, however strange or unusual -their contents may be, for they are never wrong--never! The genuine -ones you will recognise by this mark--” he took up the ciphered paper -and put his fingers on a sign--“two crossed daggers and the figures 101 -written in blood--you see--so”: - -[Illustration] - -Captain Statham stared at the sign, entranced. - -“A soldier,” Onslow remarked with his slow smile, “can always -distinguish blood from red ink--is it not so?” Statham nodded. -“Remember, then, those crossed daggers with the figures in blood -are the only genuine mark. All others are forgeries--reject them -unhesitatingly. Let me show it you again.” He produced from his -pocket-book a paper with the design in the corner, which, when compared -with the one on the table, corresponded exactly. - -“I warn you,” Onslow added, “because the existence of this ‘No. 101’ -is becoming known to the French--they suspect treachery--their Secret -Service is clever and they may attempt to deceive you. As they do not -know the countersign, though they may have guessed at the treachery of -‘No. 101’ they cannot really hoodwink you. Cipher papers which come in -the name of ‘101’ without that remarkable signature are simply a _nom -de guerre_, of politics, of love, of anything you like, but they are -either a forgery or a trap; so put them in the fire.” - -[Illustration: Statham sat pondering, his eyes riveted on the crossed -daggers.] - -Statham sat pondering, his eyes riveted on the crossed daggers. -“You, sir,” he began, “have had dealings with this mysterious person. -Is it a man or a woman?” - -“Ah!” Onslow laughed gently. “Every one asks that, every man at least. -I cannot answer; no one, indeed, can. My opinion? Well, I change it -every month. But these are the facts: It is absolutely certain that -the traitor insists on high, very high pay; absolutely certain that he -or she has access to the very best society in Paris and at the Court, -and is at home in the most confidential circles of the King and his -ministers. We have even had documents from the private cabinet of Louis -XV. Furthermore, the traitor can convey the information in such a way -as to baffle detection. If it is a woman she is a very remarkable one; -if it be a man he is one who controls important women. Perhaps it is -both. Such knowledge, so peculiar, so accurate, so extensive, such -skill and such ingenuity scarcely seem to be within the powers of any -individual man or woman.” - -“Every word you say sharpens my surprise and my curiosity.” - -“Yes, and every transaction you will have with the cipher will sharpen -it more and more. I have been fifteen years in the Secret Service, -but this business is to-day as much a puzzle as it ever was, for ‘No. -101’ has taught me a very important secret, one unknown even to the -French King’s ministers, which, so jealously guarded as it is, may -never be discovered in the King’s lifetime or at all. Can you really -believe that Louis, while professing to act through his ministers, has -stealthily built up a little secret service of his own whose work is to -spy on those ministers, on his ambassadors, generals, and their agents, -to receive privately instructions wholly different from what the King -has officially sanctioned, and frequently directly to thwart, check, -annul, and defeat by intrigue and diplomacy the official policy of -their sovereign?” - -“Is it possible?” - -“It is a fact,” Onslow said, emphatically. “But the King, ‘No. 101,’ -you and I and one or two others alone know it. Let me give you a -proof. To-day officially Louis through his ministers has disavowed the -Jacobites. The ministers believe their master is sincere; many of them -regret it, but their instructions are explicit. In truth, through those -private agents I spoke of, the King is encouraging the Jacobites in -every way and is actually thwarting the steps and the policy which he -has officially and publicly commanded.” - -“And the ministers are ignorant of this?” - -“Absolutely. But mark you, unless the King is very careful, some day -there will come an awkward crisis. His Majesty will be threatened with -the disclosure of this secret policy which has his royal authority, -but which gives the lie to his public policy, equally authentic. And -unless he can suppress the first he must be shown to be doubly a royal -liar--not to dwell on the consequences to France.” - -“What a curious king!” Statham ejaculated. - -“Curious!” Onslow laughed softly; “more than curious, because no one -knows the real Louis. The world says he is an ignorant, superstitious, -indolent, extravagant, heartless dullard in a crown who has only -two passions--hunting and women. It is true; he is the prince of -hunters and the emperor of rakes. But he is also a worker, cunning, -impenetrable, obstinate, remorseless.” - -“But why does he play such a dangerous game?” - -“God knows. The real Louis no man has discovered, or woman either; -he is known only to the Almighty or the devil. But you observe what -chances this double life gives to our friend ‘No. 101.’” - -Statham began to pace up and down. “What are the traitor’s motives?” he -demanded, abruptly. - -“Ah, there you beat me.” Onslow rose and confronted him. “My dear sir, -a traitor’s motives may be gold, or madness, ambition, love, jealousy, -revenge, singly or together, but above all love and revenge.” - -Statham made an impatient gesture. “I would give my commission,” he -exclaimed, “to know the meaning of this mystery.” - -A sympathetic gleam lingered in Onslow’s eyes as he calmly scrutinised -the young officer. “Ah,” he said, almost pityingly, “you begin to feel -the spell of this mystery wrapped in a number, the spell of ‘No. 101,’ -the fatal spell.” - -“Fatal?” Statham took him up sharply. - -“Yes. I must warn you. Every single person who, in his dealings with -this cipher, has got near to the heart of the truth has so far met -with a violent end. It is not pleasant, but it is a fact. And the -explanation is easy. Those who might betray the truth are removed -by accident or design, some by this method, some by that. They pass -into the silence of the grave, perhaps just when they could have -revealed what they had discovered.” He paused, for Statham was visibly -impressed. “Really there is no danger,” he added; “but I say as -earnestly as I can, because you are young, and life is sweet for the -young, for God’s sake stifle your curiosity, resist the spell--that -fatal spell. Take the information as it comes, and ask no questions, -push no inquiries, however tempting and easy the path to success seems, -or, as sure as I stand here, His Majesty King George the Second will -lose a promising and gallant officer.” - -Statham walked away and resumed his seat. “And you, Mr. Onslow?” he -demanded, looking up with the profoundest interest. - -“Do I practise what I preach? Well, I am a spy by profession: to some -men such a life is everything--it is, at least, to me. But I do not -conceal from myself that if my curiosity overpowers me my hour for -silence, too, will come--the silence of the unknown grave in an unknown -land.” - -“Then is no one ever to know?” Statham muttered with childish -petulance. - -“Probably not. A hundred years hence the secret that baffles you and me -will baffle our successors.” - -Statham’s heels tapped on the floor. “Perhaps,” he pronounced, slowly, -“perhaps the truth is well worth the price that is paid for it--death -and the silence of the grave.” - -Onslow stared at him. His eyes gleamed curiously as if they were -fixed on visions known only to the inner mind. “Perhaps,” he repeated -gravely. “But really,” he added, with a sudden lightness, “there is -no one to persuade us it is so. Come, Captain Statham, you have not -forgotten supper, I hope, and that I propose to introduce you to-night -to the most seductive enchantress in London?” - -“No, indeed. All day I have been hungering for that supper. In the Low -Countries we do not get suppers presided over by ladies such as you -have described to me.” - -“In the French army they have both the ladies and the suppers,” Onslow -replied, laughing. “And, my dear Captain, to the victors of the -spring will fall the spoils. To-night shall be a foretaste, and if -my enchantress does not make you forget ‘No. 101,’ I despair of the -gallantry of British officers.” - -He locked up the papers, chatting all the time, and then the two -gentlemen went out together. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -ONE-FOURTH OF A SECRET AND THREE-FOURTHS OF A MYSTERY - - -FOR some minutes the pair walked in silence, as if each was still -brooding on the mysterious cipher whose treachery to France had brought -them together. But presently Statham touched Onslow on the arm. “Tell -me,” he said, “something of this enchantress. I am equally curious -about her.” - -“And I know very little,” Onslow replied. “Her mother, if you believe -scandal, was a famous Paris flower girl, who was mistress in turn to -half the young rakes of the _noblesse_; her father is supposed to have -been an English gentleman. Your eyes will tell you she is gifted with -a singular beauty, which is her only dowry. Gossip says that she makes -that dowry go a long way, for she has two passions, flowers and jewels.” - -“And she resides in London?” - -“She resides nowhere,” Onslow answered with his slow smile; “she is -here to-day and away to-morrow. I have met her in Paris, in Brussels, -Vienna, Rome. She talks French as easily as she talks English, and -wherever she is her apartments are always haunted by the men of -pleasure, and by the _grand monde_. Women you never meet there, for she -is not a favourite with her own sex, which is not surprising.” - -“Pardon,” Statham asked, “but is she--is she, too, in the Secret -Service?” - -“God bless my soul! No; we don’t employ ladies with a passion for -jewels. It would expose them and us to too many temptations. And, -besides, politics are the one thing this goddess abhors. Eating, -drinking, the pleasures of the body, poetry, philosophy, romance, the -arts, and the pleasures of the mind she adores; luxury and jewels -she covets, but politics, no! They are a forbidden topic. For me -her friendship is convenient, for the politicians are always in her -company. When will statesmen learn,” he added, “that making love to -a lady such as she is is more powerful in unlocking the heart and -unsealing the lips than wine?” “And her name?” - -“She has not got one. ‘Princess’ we call her and she deserves it, for -she is fit to adorn the Palace of Versailles.” - -“Perhaps,” said Statham, “she will some day.” - -“Not a doubt of it--if Louis will only pay enough.” - -They had reached the house. Statham noticed that Onslow neither gave -his own nor asked for his hostess’s name. He showed the footman a card, -which was returned, and immediately they were ushered into two handsome -apartments with doors leading the one into the other, and in the inner -of the two they found some half-dozen gentlemen talking. Three of them -wore stars and ribbons, but all unmistakably belonged to that _grand -monde_ of which Onslow had spoken. From behind the group the lady -quietly walked forward and curtsied deferentially to Statham, who felt -her eyes resting on his with no small interest as his companion kissed -her hand. The secret agent had not exaggerated. This woman was indeed -strikingly impressive. About the middle height, with a slight but -exquisitely shaped figure, at first sight she seemed to flash on you -a vision composed of dark masses of black hair, large and liquid blue -eyes, and a dazzling skin, cream-tinted. Dressed in a flowing robe of -dark red, she wore in her hair blood-red roses, while blood-red roses -twined along her corsage, which was cut, not without justification, -daringly open. Her bare arms, her theatrical manner, and the profusion -of jewels which glittered in the candle-light suggested a curious -vulgarity, which was emphasised by her speech, for her English, spoken -with the ease of a native, betrayed in its accent rather than its words -evidence of low birth. Yet all this was forgotten in the mysterious -charm which clung about her like a subtle and intoxicating perfume, and -as Statham in turn kissed her jewelled hand, a fleeting something in -her eyes, at once pathetic and vindictive, shot with a thrill through -him. - -“An English officer and a friend of Mr. Onslow,” she remarked, “is -always amongst my most welcome guests,” and then she turned to the -elderly fop in the star and ribbon and resumed her conversation. - -Statham studied her carefully. Superb health, a superb body, and a -reckless disregard of convention she certainly had, but the more he -observed her the more certain he felt that that wonderful skin as well -as those lustrous blue eyes and alluring eyebrows owed more to art than -to nature. In fact every pose of her head, every line in her figure, -the scandalous freedom of her attire were obviously intended to puzzle -as much as to attract--and they succeeded. She was the incarnation of a -fascination and of a puzzle. - -Two more gentlemen had arrived, and Statham was an interested spectator -of what followed. - -“Princess,” the new-comer said, “I present to you my very good friend -the Vicomte de Nérac.” - -The lady turned sharply. Was it the visitor’s name or face which for -the moment disturbed her equanimity?--yet apparently neither the -Vicomte nor she had met before. - -“Welcome, Vicomte,” she said, so swiftly recovering herself that -Statham alone noticed her surprise, if it was surprise. “And may I -ask how a Capitaine-Lieutenant of the Chevau-légers de la Garde de la -Maison du Roi happens to be in England when his country is at war?” - -“You know me, Madame!” the Vicomte stammered, looking at her in a -confusion he could not conceal. - -The lady laughed. “Every one who has been in Paris,” she retorted, -“knows the Chevau-légers de la Garde, and the most famous of their -officers is Monsieur the Vicomte de Nérac, famous, I would have these -gentlemen be aware, for his swordsmanship, for his gallantries--and for -his military exploits which won him the Croix de St. Louis.” - -“You do me too much honour, Madame,” the Vicomte replied. - -“As a woman I fear you, as a lover of gallant deeds and as a fencer -myself I adore you, as do all the ladies whether at Versailles or in -Les Halles,” she laughed again. “But you have not answered my question. -Why are you in England, Monsieur le Vicomte?” - -“Nine months ago I had the misfortune to be taken prisoner, Madame, but -in three weeks I return to my duty as a soldier and a noble of France.” -He bowed to the company with that incomparable air of self-confidence -tempered by the dulcet courtesy which was the pride of Versailles and -the despair of the rest of the world. - -“And here,” the lady answered, “is another gentleman who also shortly -returns to his duty. Captain Statham of the First Foot Guards, Monsieur -le Vicomte de Nérac of the Chevau-légers de la Garde. Perhaps before -long you will meet again, and this time not in a woman’s salon.” - -“When Captain Statham is taken prisoner,” the Vicomte remarked, -smiling, “I can assure him Paris is not less pleasant than London, but -till then he and I must agree to cross swords in a friendly manner for -the favours of yourself, Princess.” - -“And you think you will win, Vicomte?” - -“It is impossible we can lose,” the Vicomte replied. “Not even the -gallantry of the First Foot Guards can save the allies from the genius -of Monseigneur the Maréchal de Saxe.” - -“We will see,” Statham responded gruffly. - -“Without a doubt, sir.” The Vicomte bowed. - -Statham stared at him stolidly. He could hardly have guessed that -this exquisitely dressed gentleman with the slight figure and the -innocently grand air was really a soldier, and above all an officer in -perhaps the most famous cavalry regiment of all Europe, every trooper -in which, like the Vicomte himself, was a noble of at least a hundred -years’ standing, but he was reluctantly compelled to confess that the -stranger was undeniably handsome, and his manner spoke of an ease and a -distinction beyond criticism. His smile, too, was singularly seductive -in its sweetness and strength, and his brown eyes could glitter with -marvellous and unspeakable thoughts. From that minute he seemed to -imagine that his hostess belonged to him: he placed himself next her -at supper, he absorbed her conversation, and, still more annoying, -she willingly consented. Statham in high dudgeon had to listen to the -polite small talk of his English neighbour, conscious all the while -that at his elbow the Vicomte was chattering away to “the princess” -in the gayest French. And after supper he along with the others was -driven off to play cards while the pair sat in the other room alone and -babbled ceaselessly in that infernal foreign tongue. - -“The Vicomte,” Onslow said coolly, “has made another conquest.” - -“It is true, then, that he is a fine swordsman as well as a rake?” - -“Quite true. His victims amongst the ladies are as numerous as his -victims of the sword. It is almost as great an honour for a man to be -run through by André de Nérac as it is for a woman to succumb to his -wooing. Do not forget he is a Chevau-léger de la Garde and a Croix de -St. Louis.” - -Statham grunted. - -“It is not fair,” Onslow pursued, throwing down the dice-box. “You -are not enjoying yourself,” and he rose and went into the other room. -“Gentlemen,” he said, on his return, “I have persuaded our princess -to add to our pleasure by dancing. In ten minutes she will be at your -service.” - -The cards were instantly abandoned and while they waited the Vicomte -strolled in and walked up to Onslow. - -“That is a strange lady,” he remarked, “a very strange lady. She knows -Paris and all my friends as well as I do; yet I have never so much as -seen her there.” - -“Yes,” Onslow answered, looking him all over, “she is very strange.” - -“And the English of Madame is, I think, not the English of the -quality?” Onslow nodded. “That, too, is curious, for her French is -our French, the French of the _noblesse_. She says her father was an -English gentleman, and her mother a Paris flower girl, which is still -more curious, for the flower girls of Paris do not talk as we talk -on the staircase Des Ambassadeurs at Versailles, or as my mother and -the women of my race talk. Mon Dieu!” he broke off suddenly, for the -princess had tripped into the room, turning it by the magic of her -saucy costume into a flower booth in the market of Paris, and without -ado she began to sing a gay _chansonnette_, waving gently to and fro -her basket of flowers: - - “Quand on a su toucher - Le cœur d’une bergère - On peut bien s’assurer - Du plaisir de lui faire. - Et zon, zon, zon, - Lisette, ma Lisette; - Et zon, zon, zon, - Lisette, ma Lisou.” - -And the dance into which without a word of warning she broke was -something to stir the blood of both English and French by its -invincible mixture of coquetry, lithe grace, and audacious abandon, its -swift transitions from a mocking stateliness and a tempting reserve -to its intoxicating, almost devilish revelation of uncontrolled -passion; and all the while that heartless, airy song twined itself into -every pirouette, every pose, and was translated into the wickedest -provocation by the twinkling flutter of her short skirt and the -flashes of the jewelled buckles in her saucy shoes. To Statham as to -André de Nérac the princess had vanished, and all that remained was a -witch in woman’s form, a witch with black hair crowned with crimson -roses and a cream-tinted skin gleaming white against those roses at her -breast. - -“To the victor,” she cried, picking a nosegay from her basket, and -kissing it, “to the victor of the spring!” and André and Statham found -themselves hit in the face by the flowers. The salon rang with “Bravos” -and “Huzzas” until every one woke to the discovery that the dancer had -disappeared. - -When she returned she was once more in her splendid robes and frigidly -cynical as before. - -“I am tired, gentlemen,” she said; “I must beg you to say good-night.” -She held out her hand to the Vicomte. “_Au revoir!_” she said, -permitting her eyes to study his olive-tinted cheeks and the homage of -his gaze. - -“Your prisoner, Madame,” he said, “your prisoner for always!” - -“Or I yours?” she flashed back, swiftly. - -And now she was speaking to Statham. “We shall meet again,” she said. -“Yes, we shall meet again, Captain.” - -“Not in London, Madame,” he answered. - -“Oh, no! But I trust our meeting will be as pleasant for you as -to-night has been for me.” - -“It cannot fail to be.” - -“Ah, you never know. Women are ever fickle and cruel,” she answered, -and once again as he kissed the jewelled fingers Statham was conscious -of that pathetic, pantherish light in her great eyes, which made him at -once joyous, sad, and fearful. - -When they had all gone the woman stood gazing at her bare shoulders in -the long mirror. “_Fi, donc!_” she muttered with a shrug of disgust, -and she tore in two one of the cards with which the gamblers had been -playing, allowing the fragments to trickle carelessly down as though -the gust of passion which had moved her was already spent. Then she -drew the curtains across the door between the two rooms, and remained -staring into space. “André Pierre Auguste Marie, Vicomte de Nérac,” she -murmured, “Seigneur des Fleurs de Lys, Vicomte de--” she smelled one of -her roses, the fingers of her other hand tapping contemplatively on her -breast. A faint sigh crept into the stillness of the empty, glittering -room. - -Then she flung herself on the low divan, put her arms behind her head, -and lay gazing in front of her. The door was opening gently, but she -did not stir. A man walked in noiselessly, halted on the threshold, and -looked at her for fully two minutes. She never moved. It was George -Onslow. He walked forward and stood beside her. She let her eyes rest -on him with absolute indifference. - -“There is your pass,” he said, in a low voice in which emotion -vibrated. - -“I thank you.” She made no effort to take it, but simply turned her -head as if to see him the better. - -“Is that all my reward?” he demanded. “It was not easy to get that -pass.” - -“No?” She pulled a rose from her breast and sniffed it. “I believe you. -I can only thank you again.” - -He dropped the paper into her lap, where she let it lie. - -“By God!” he broke out, “I wish I knew whether you are more adorable as -you are now on that sofa, or as you were dancing in that flower girl’s -costume.” - -“Most men in London prefer the short petticoats,” she remarked, moving -the diamond buckle on her shoe into the light, “but in Paris they -have better taste, for only a real woman can make herself adorable in -this”--she gave a little kick to indicate the long, full robe. “Think -about it, _mon ami_, and let me know to-morrow which you really like -the better.” - -“And to-night?” - -She stooped forward to adjust her slipper. “To-night,” she repeated, “I -must decide whether I dislike you more as the lover of this afternoon, -the man of pleasure of this evening, or the spy of to-morrow.” - -He put a strong hand on her shoulder. In an instant she had sprung to -her feet. - -“No!” she cried, imperiously, “I have had enough for one day of men who -would storm a citadel by insolence. Leave me!” - -“You are expecting some one?” - -“And if I am?” - -“Don’t torture me. Tell me who it is.” - -“Perhaps you will have to wait till dawn or longer before you see him.” - -“I will kill him, that is all,--kill him when he leaves this house.” - -“I have no objection to that,” was the smiling answer. “One rake less -in the world is a blessing for all women, honest or--” she fingered her -rose caressingly. - -“Is it one of those who were here to-night!” he demanded. “Perhaps that -infernal libertine of a Vicomte de----” - -“Pray, what have my secrets to do with you?” She faced him scornfully. - -“This.” He came close to her. “You flatter yourself, _ma mignonne_, -that you guard your secrets very well. So you do from all men but me. -But I take leave to tell you that three-fourths of those secrets are -already mine.” She sniffed at the rose in the most provoking way. “Yes, -I have discovered three-fourths, and----” - -“The one-fourth that remains you will never discover until I choose.” - -“Do not be too sure.” - -“And then----?” - -“You, _ma mignonne_, you the guest of many men, will be in my power, -and you will be glad to do what I wish. Oh, I will not be your cur, -your lackey, then, but you will----” - -She dropped him a curtsey, and walked away to an escritoire, from a -drawer in which she took out a piece of paper. - -“The one-fourth that remains,” she said, holding it up, and offering it -to him, “I give it to you, my cur and lackey.” - -She watched him take it, unfold it, read it. His hand shook, the paper -dropped from his fingers, and while he passed his handkerchief over his -forehead she put the fragment in the fire. - -They faced each other in dead silence. She was perfectly calm, but his -mouth twitched and his eyes gleamed with an unhallowed fire and with -fear. - -“Are you mad?” he asked at last, “that you confess such a thing to -me--_me?_” - -“Better to you,” she retorted, “than to that infernal libertine, the -Vicomte de Nérac, or that infernal simpleton, Captain Statham, eh? No, -_mon ami_, my reason is this: Now, you, George Onslow, who profess to -love me, who would make me your slave, are in my power, and the proof -is that I order you to leave this room at once.” - -“I shall return.” - -“Then you certainly will be mad.” - -“Ah!” He sprang forward. “Can you not believe that I love you more than -ever? I----” - -“Pshaw!” - -The door had slammed. Onslow was alone. - -For a minute he stood, clenching his hands, frustrated passion glowing -in his eyes. “Ah!” he exclaimed in a cry of pent-up anguish, and then -the door slammed again as he strode out. - - - - -CHAPTER III - -A FAIR HUNTRESS AND THE GIRL WITH THE SPOTTED COW - - -TWO months later André, Vicomte de Nérac, was riding in the woods -around Versailles, and, poverty-stricken, debt-loaded noble as he -might be, his heart was gay, for was he not a Capitaine-Lieutenant in -the Chevau-légers de la Garde, and a Croix de St. Louis; was he not -presently about to fight again for honour and France, and was he not -once more a free man and in his native land with Paris at his back? -The leafless trees were just beginning to bud, though winter was still -here, but the breath of spring was in the air and the gladness of -summer shone in the March sun. Yes, the world bid fair to be kind and -good, and André’s heart beat responsive to its call. Love and honour -and France were his, and what more could a noble wish? - -He let the reins drop and breathed with contentment the bracing breeze, -while his eyes roamed to and fro. Clearly he was waiting for some one -who, his anxious gaze up the road showed, might be expected to come -from that quarter--the quarter of the Palace of Versailles. - -Along the path walked a peasant girl driving a splendid spotted cow. -The bell at its fat throat tinkled merrily, the sun gleamed on its -glossy spotted hide. The girl dropped a curtsey to the noble gentleman -sitting there on his fine horse and himself so handsome a cavalier, and -André nodded a smiling reply. She was not pretty, this peasant wench, -with her shock of tumbled flaxen hair tossed over her smutty face, and -her bodice and short skirt were soiled and tattered, but André, to whom -all young women were interesting, in the sheer gaiety of his heart -tossed her a coin and smiled again his captivating smile. - -“May Monseigneur le Duc be happy in his love!” the wench said, as she -bit the coin before she placed it in her bodice, and André remarked -with approval the whiteness of her teeth. If her face was not pretty -her body was both trim and sturdy, and she walked with the easy swing -of perfect health. He could have kissed her smutty face then just -because the world was so fair and he was free. - -“You have a magnificent cow, my dear,” he remarked. - -“But certainly,” she answered and her white teeth sparkled through her -happy laugh, “better a fat cow for a wench than a lean husband. She -carries me, does my spotted cow, which no husband would do,” and she -scrambled on to the glossy back and laughed again, throwing back her -shock of flaxen hair. André observed, heedful by long experience of -such trifles, that not even her clumsy sabots could spoil the dainty -neatness of her feet. - -“And what may your name be?” he demanded. - -“Yvonne, Monsieur le Duc; they call me Yvonne of the Spotted Cow, and -some,” she dimpled into a chuckle, “Yvonne of the Spotless Ankles. I am -not pretty, _moi_, but that matters not. My fat cow or my ankles will -get me a husband some day, and till then, like Monseigneur, I keep a -gay heart.” - -Whereupon she drove her heels into the cow’s flanks and the two slowly -passed out of sight, though the merry tinkling of the bell continued to -jingle through the leafless trees long after she had disappeared. - -André waited patiently. An hour went by, still he waited. Twice he -trotted up the road and peered this way and that, but there was not -a soul to be seen, and with a muttered exclamation of disgust he was -about to spur away when the notes of a hunting horn caused him to -gather up the reins sharply. And now eager expectation was written on -every line of his face. - -A young lady in a beautiful riding dress of hunting green, and attended -by a single lackey on horseback, came galloping down the forest track. -At sight of him by the roadside she pulled up her horse in great -astonishment. - -“André--you--you are back?” she said, and the colour flooded into her -cheeks. - -“Thank God, yes.” - -“And well?” - -“Perfectly. My wounds are healed. I am a prisoner no longer, and in a -fortnight I return to the Low Countries to seek revenge from my enemies -and yours, Denise, the English.” - -Her grey eyes flashed, then dropped modestly. “You will find revenge, -little doubt,” she said, “the Maison du Roi are soldiers worthy of the -_noblesse_ and of France. But do you not come to Versailles first?” - -“No. My company is not on duty this month at the Palace and in April we -shall all be with His Majesty in Flanders.” - -“Yes,” she answered, “I forgot.” - -She began to stroke her horse’s neck in some embarrassment. André gazed -at her with the hungry eyes of a starved lover, and indeed this girl -was worthy of a soldier’s homage. Neither a brunette nor a blonde, -for her eyes were grey and their lashes almost black, though her hair -was fair and the tint of her cheeks in the morning air delicate as -the tint of a tender rose. Beautiful, yes! but something much more -than beautiful. A great noble this lady surely, one who saw in kings -and queens no more than an equal, and in palaces the only fit home of -beauty nobly born, one to whom centuries of command had bequeathed a -tone and quality which men and women can inherit but not acquire. - -“And when I return,” André said at last, “shall I find at Versailles -what I desire more than revenge?” - -“What is that?” she asked innocently. - -“Can you not guess? Have you forgotten? Ah, Denise, twelve months ago -you promised----” - -“No, no,” she broke in, eagerly, “I said I would reflect.” - -“There is only one thing that a poor Vicomte and a soldier of France -can desire--your heart, Denise; your love, Denise; the heart and the -love of the most beautiful and loyal woman in France, the heart of the -Marquise de Beau Séjour. And André de Nérac loves the Marquise as he -loves France. Can he say more?” - -“I think not,” she said, averting her eyes, “and the Marquise de Beau -Séjour thanks the Vicomte de Nérac for his words and his homage--to -France.” - -“I do not desire thanks--I----” - -“Then go and do your duty as a noble and a soldier, and when peace and -victory are ours perhaps I----” - -“I cannot wait till then. Have pity, Denise, have pity on the man who -was your playmate, who loved you then and who loves you now. Remember, -remember, I beg you, that over there in England the one thought that -consoled my prisoner’s lot was the hope that when I returned to -you--you would----” - -“But, André, I cannot give you an answer, here, now----” - -“Give it me then before I return to the war, that I may know whether I -am to live in hope, or to die sword in hand and in despair.” - -“There is more than one marquise in the world,” she said, quietly. - -“Not for me.” - -Denise looked at him, and he dropped his eyes, for he understood the -calm reproach. - -“Very well,” she said, with decision. “I go to my home to-morrow. You -shall have my answer in four days at the Château de Beau Séjour if you -care enough to come and hear it.” - -“If--” he broke off. “Ah, Denise--!” he stretched out a passionate hand. - -“Hush! There is some one coming.” - -A young man was galloping towards them, a boy he seemed, saucy, -insolent, handsome, fair, with great blue eyes sparkling with the -gayest, wickedest, most careless joy of living. Removing his plumed -hat with an airy sweep he kissed the lady’s fingers, bowed low in the -saddle, and looked into her face: - -“Marquise,” were his words, “the company and His Majesty await -you.” His dare-devil eyes roved on to André’s face with a studied -insouciance, but André gave him back the look, and more. - -Denise made haste to present the young man. “Monsieur le Chevalier de -St. Amant, secretary of the King’s Cabinet,” she said and her eyes -pleaded for politeness from both. - -“Monsieur le Vicomte goes to the war?” the Chevalier asked, carelessly. - -“As all true subjects of His Majesty ought to do,” André retorted. - -“Except,” said the Chevalier, bowing to Denise, “those who find more -pleasant pastime here at home.” - -“It is curious,” André remarked, as if he had not heard, “that I who -have known Versailles for ten years learn to-day for the first time of -St. Amant. Where is St. Amant?” - -“Ah,” answered the Chevalier, laughing, “in this life, Vicomte, we -are always learning what is disagreeable. The dull philosophers of -whom we hear so much in Paris at present say soldiers learn more than -others--or ought to? Perhaps you differ from them?” - -“_Ma foi!_ no. For when it is necessary the soldiers teach what they -have learned to the young men and the schoolboys, which is very good -for the schoolboys. But perhaps you, sir, do not like lessons?” - -“No, oh, no! my only regret at present is that I cannot stay now and -have one at once. But Mademoiselle la Marquise will take your place and -I can learn, as we ride together, something that she alone can teach. -Monsieur le Vicomte, I have the honour to wish you good-morning and -good-bye.” He raised his plumed hat and galloped away with Denise. - -The flush in André’s cheek did not die out for some minutes. “Upstart! -Puppy!” he continued to mutter while his eyes glittered and his fingers -twitched involuntarily on the handle of his sword. But his wrath and -his scowls were suddenly dispelled in the most unexpected and agreeable -way. A crisp tinkle of bells, the crack of a whip, and down the road -came driving an ethereal phaeton, azure blue in colour, and in it sat -an enchantress most bewitchingly clad in rose pink. - -She too appeared to be waiting for somebody or something, for she -pulled up ten yards off and gazed in the direction of the hunting horns -which could be heard distinctly in the depths of the wood. To André -she was most annoyingly indifferent, but the more he looked at her and -marked her exquisite dress, her wonderful complexion, her seductive -figure, and her entrancing equipage, the keener was his chagrin. Who -was this airy sylph of the royal forest, this divinity floating in the -rose of the queen of flowers through a leafless world as Venus might -have floated on the sun-kissed foam at dawn? Gods! What a taste in -dress, what a bust, and what amorous, saucy charm in her eye! - -André fell back behind the trees and watched; nor did he have to wait -long. In five minutes the royal hunting train swept by. The rose-pink -lady curtsied to her sovereign. A cry of distress! Her hat caught by a -sudden gust--surely it was very loosely set on that dainty head--flew -off and fell almost under the hoofs of the horse of the King of France. -Majesty looked up, coldly, caught her appealing eye, looked down at the -hat, and galloped on as if he had seen neither the hat nor its owner. -The royal party behaved exactly as did their master, and the rose-pink -goddess was left with disgust and indignation in her face and a tear -trickling down her cheek. - -André moved his horse forward, whereupon she threw a glance over her -shoulder almost comic in its pathos and its amusement, as if she -did not know whether to laugh or to cry; a glance which convinced -his susceptible heart that she had been perfectly well aware of his -presence all the while and now invited him to take what she had always -intended he should have. In a second he was off his horse and was -handing her the hat. Her bow and her smile were more than a reward, -for if the rose-pink divinity was alluring seen from behind, she -was positively bewitching at a distance of four feet in front. What -wonderful eyes! They spoke at once of everything that could stir a -soldier’s soul, and her blush was the blush of Aurora. - -With the prettiest hesitation she inquired his name, which he only gave -on condition that she should also tell hers. But this she laughingly -refused. “My name is nothing,” she remarked, “for I am nobody. If -you knew it you would despise yourself for having been polite to a -_bourgeoise_.” - -“Impossible!” André cried. - -“But it is so,” she persisted, gravely, a challenge stealing from under -her demure eyelashes. - -“I shall find out,” André said, “I shall not rest till I find out.” - -“Then inquire,” she retorted gaily, “Rue Croix des Petits -Champs--perhaps you will succeed,” and without more ado she flashed him -a look of defiant modesty, whipped up her ponies, and the azure phaeton -vanished as rapidly as it had appeared. - -André stroked his chin meditatively. What did it mean? Who was -the unknown and why did she come to the woods in that enchanting -guise? A _bourgeoise_! Pah! it would be well if all the women of the -_bourgeoisie_ and some of the _noblesse_ possessed but one of the -secrets of her irresistible womanhood. But find out he must, and André, -hot on this new quest, began to trot away. He was in a rare humour now, -for he had noticed with unbounded satisfaction that, while Denise had -been of the royal party, that boyish Chevalier had not. - -But he had not ridden far when he was amazed to discover by the -roadside Yvonne of the Spotless Ankles weeping as if her heart would -break. - -“What is the matter?” he demanded. - -“Monseigneur--ah! it is the good Monseigneur--” she fell to crying -again. “They have stolen my spotted cow,” she sobbed, “robbers have -stolen my spotted cow.” - -“Robbers?” - -“But yes, three great robbers, and they have beaten me and taken -Monseigneur’s piece too. My cow, my spotted cow!” - -“See, Yvonne,” he said soothingly, “I am no monseigneur, I am only a -poor vicomte, but you shall have another cow, a spotted cow, too.” - -But she would not believe it, whereupon he took all the money in his -purse, four gold pieces and three silver ones, and thrust them into her -hand. - -She stared at the money incredulously. - -“There, girl,” he urged, for a woman’s distress, even though she were -only a peasant, hurt him, “be happy and buy a fat and spotted cow.” - -She kneeled to kiss his hand. “Monseigneur,” she sobbed, “is kind to a -poor wench. Surely the good God has sent him to me,” and she poured her -hot tears of gratitude on the ruffles of his sleeve. - -“I am happy again,” she murmured. “Yes, I will buy a cow and be happy,” -and she began to sing, flinging the coarse matted hair out of her eyes. - -André watched her contentedly; it was pleasant to see her joy. - -“Monseigneur is not happy,” she surprised him by saying shyly. - -“Can the poor be happy?” he asked, absently, for he was thinking of the -goddess in pink. - -“No,” she muttered, “not while there are robbers in the land, and the -poor are taxed till they starve. Monseigneur is in love. Did I not see -him talk with the great lady in green?” she added suddenly. “Ah, if -Monseigneur would listen to a poor girl he too could be happy.” - -“Peace!” he commanded, but he was much amused. - -“I too was in love,” she answered, “and women stole my lover from me -as the robbers stole my cow, and I was sick. I wasted away, but the -good God who sent me Monseigneur put it into my heart to go to the wise -woman who lives at ‘The Cock with the Spurs of Gold’----” - -“The Cock----?” - -“’Tis a new tavern in the woods by the village yonder,” she replied -earnestly, “and a wise woman lives there. For one piece of silver she -brought me back my lover. They say she is a witch, but she is no witch, -for with the help of the good God she cured my sickness and changed my -lover’s heart so that once again he was as he had been.” - -“Tush!” André interrupted, impatiently. - -“But it is true,” she persisted. “And if Monseigneur is in distress, -he, too, should go to the wise woman, and she will make him happy. It -is so, it is so.” - -“Adieu, my child, adieu!” - -“Monseigneur will not forget. ‘The Cock with the Spurs of Gold,’ in the -woods----” - -He gave her matted head a pat. It was a pity she was not pretty, this -wench, for she had a buxom figure. “A soldier,” he said lightly, “does -not love wise women, Yvonne, he loves only the young and the fair and -he wins them not by sorcery, but by his sword.” - -“Monseigneur is a soldier?” she asked with grave interest. - -“Yes, a soldier of France.” - -“My lover too is a soldier, but not as Monseigneur. Ah!” she whispered, -“if all the nobles of France were as Monseigneur there would be no -unhappy women, no robbers, and no poor.” - -André left her there. His heart was gay again though his purse was -empty, for he had made a woman happy. And as he rode through the woods -he could hear her singing as she had sung when he had seen her first on -the sleek back of her spotted cow. And all the way to Paris that song -of a peasant wench softly caressed his spirit, for it clinked gaily -to the echoes of the soul as might have clinked the golden spurs of -the cock in the woods of Versailles, and it was fresh with the eternal -freshness of spring and the immortal dreams of youth. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -A LOVER’S TRICK - - -THE March sun was setting on the hamlet of La Rivière, in the pleasant -land of Touraine--Touraine the fit home of so many noble châteaux, the -cradle of so many of the proudest traditions and the most inspiring -memories of the romance of love and chivalry in the history of France. - -André was standing in the churchyard of the hamlet, but it was not at -the landscape that he knew so well that he was looking, nor even up the -slope beyond, where the great Château de Beau Séjour shot its towers -and pointed turrets through its encircling domain of wood. Ten leagues -away in the dim distance lay Nérac, the poverty-stricken home from -which he took his title, and whose meagre patrimony encumbered with the -debts of his ancestors and his own barely sufficed to provide a living -for the widowed mother to whom that morning he had said good-bye and -whom the English in the Low Countries might decide he should never see -again. - -Yet it was not of his mother that he was thinking, still less of -the enchantress of the forest whose identity he had discovered--one -Mademoiselle d’Étiolles she had proved to be, “La Petite d’Étiolles,” -as that gay Lothario the Duc de Richelieu called her, the daughter of -a Farmer-General, a _bourgeoisie_ notorious for her beauty, her wit, -and her friendship with the wits. Indeed he had forgotten the rose-pink -divinity in the azure phaeton entirely. No, he was striving to pluck up -courage to face Denise and receive her answer. For if that answer was -not what he desired it would be better to ride straight down into the -Loire and let the last male of the House of Nérac put an end to it for -ever. - -Twinkling lights began to shine in the great château; its towers and -gables insolent in the majesty of their beauty, strong in the might of -their antiquity, challenged and defied him in the dusk. That was the -château of his Denise, the Marquise de Beau Séjour whom he, gallant -fool, rich only in his noble pedigree, dared to love and hoped to win, -Denise the richest heiress in France. Yet it had not been hers so long; -its broad seignories were a thing of yesterday for her. Fifteen years -ago she, as he, had been only the child of a vicomte as poor if as -noble as himself. And Beau Séjour lay not here, but ten leagues away, -a mile from Nérac, where that church spire hung its cross above the -horizon. - -The soft gloom of the growing dusk imaged for André at that moment -the sombre pall of tragedy which twelve years ago had fallen on the -great château. An ancient house, a venerated name had been its owner’s; -were not their achievements written in the chronicles of France? was -not their origin lost in the twilight of dim ages far, so far away? -Capets and Valois and Bourbons that house had seen coming and going -on the throne, honour and fame and wealth and high endeavour had been -theirs, and then shame and doom, swift, unexpected, irreversible. The -story of their downfall had been his first lesson learned in budding -manhood of the harshness of the world and the mystery of fate. Such a -simple story, too. The wife of the Marquis had run away with a lover, -a baseborn stranger gossip called him. The lover had deserted her, -why and where no one knew, and disowned by her husband she had died -miserably. Her husband, a soldier and ambassador of the great Louis -Quatorze, had in despair or madness plunged into treason, and had paid -the traitor’s penalty on the scaffold. His only son and heir, from -remorse or consciousness of guilt, had perished by his own hand in -Poland, whither he had gone to fight in the war. And here to-day at his -feet a rough and stained tombstone marked the neglected grave of the -only daughter who had remained. Had she lived she would to-night have -been just two years older than Denise; had there been no treason, she -and not Denise would have been mistress of that château now called De -Beau Séjour. - -Denise’s father for service to the state had been awarded the lands -of the traitor; the old name for centuries noted in this soil had -been annulled in infamy; its blood was corrupted by the decree of the -law, and by the King’s will the new Marquis had carried to his new -possessions the title of his old, that Beau Séjour yonder so near -to his own Nérac. The law and the King so far as in them lay had -determined that the very name and memory of the ancient house should be -blotted out for ever. But blot out the château they could not. There -it stood haughty as of old, to tell to all what had once been, and the -curious could still read here and there in its storied walls the arms -and emblems, the scutcheons and shields of a family which had given -nine Marshals to France, and in whose veins royal blood had flowed. -What did that matter now? To-day it belonged to Denise, once poor as he -was, and destined to be his bride before this sudden swoop upward on -the ruins of another to the high places of France. - -As André paced to and fro in the dusk the ghostly memories thickened. -Twenty years ago as a boy he had ridden with his father to that -château. He remembered but two things, but he remembered them as -vividly as yesterday. Over the chief gateway a splendid coat of arms -had caught his boyish fancy and he had asked what the motto “_Dieu Le -Vengeur_” might mean. “Why, father, there it is again,” he had cried, -for in the noble hall, above the famous sculptured chimney-piece, the -first thing that caught the boy’s eye was the scroll with those three -words “_Dieu Le Vengeur_.” And the second memory was of a little girl -playing with a huge wolf-hound in the dancing firelight under that -motto, a little girl with blue eyes and fair hair, innocent of the -evil to come, playing in her hall which had seen kings and queens for -guests. “_Dieu Le Vengeur_” she had repeated--“God will protect me,” -and they had all laughed. But had God protected her? Here was her grave -at his feet. André now recalled his dying father’s remark five years -later, when he had heard how his neighbour the Comte de Beau Séjour had -been rewarded with the treason-tainted marquisate. “That would have -been yours, André, my son,” he had said. And no one had understood, and -he had died before he could explain, if explain he could. That, too, -had been another bitter lesson in the cruelty of fate, in the bleak, -bitter tragedy of baffled and unfulfilled ambitions. - -Smitten with a sudden pity, a sharp anguish, André kneeled in the damp, -tangled grass and peered at the tombstone which marked the humble -resting-place of the dead, worse than dead, dishonoured and infamous. -“Marie Angélique Jeanne Gabrielle ...” the rest was eaten away. But in -the church close by lay the coffins of her ancestors, the crusaders and -nobles, and Marshals of France. The names had been obliterated. But -not even a wronged king had dared to remove the tombs with which that -church was eloquent of the glories that had once been theirs. Yes, they -lay there of right, but she, little Marie, cradled in splendour, who -had prattled of “_Dieu Le Vengeur_,” she, the daughter of a wanton and -a traitor, lay here in the rain, and the sheep and the goats browsed -over her, and the sabots of those once her serfs and tenants made an -insulting path over her grave. And up there another reigned in her -place. - -A traitor! Yes, his daughter deserved her fate. There should be no -mercy for traitors. - -“What seek you, Monsieur le Vicomte?” - -He started at the question. It was the Chevalier de St. Amant, boyish, -insolent, though his tone was strangely soft. - -“I was finding a lesson,” André replied quietly. - -“In a tombstone?” - -André explained. The Chevalier seemed impressed, for he went down on -his knees and peered for some minutes at the weather-beaten stone. - -“Poor child!” he muttered. “Poor child!” - -André was thinking the Chevalier was better than he had supposed, -but his next action jarred harshly. Standing carelessly on the stone -he gathered his cloak about him. “Ah, well,” he remarked, with his -dare-devil lightness, “it is perhaps more fortunate for you or me that -little Marie is where she is.” - -“For you or me?” André questioned, peering into his young face. - -“The Marquise awaits you, Vicomte,” he twitched his thumb towards the -château, “perhaps you will understand better when you have seen her,” -and with a careless tip of his saucy hat he strode away. - -For one minute André burned to seize that cloak and speak to him very -straightly. “Pah!” he muttered, “it will do later. Perhaps it will not -be necessary at all.” - -But it was with increased misgiving that he rode up to the château. - -Denise received him in the great hall, unconsciously reproducing the -picture which was burnt into André’s memory, for she stood with a -certain sweet stateliness by the sculptured chimney-piece and a huge -hound lay at her feet. Above her head the emblazoned scutcheon of the -old house still adorned the noble carving--indeed you could not have -destroyed the one without destroying the other--and the glad firelight -which threw such subtly entrancing shadows on the dress and girlish -figure of the young Marquise seemed to point with tongues of flame to -that sublime motto, “_Dieu Le Vengeur!_” above her head. - -André bowed and halted. Ambition, passion, and hope conspired to choke -him for the moment. How fair and noble she was! yes, surpassingly fair -and noble. - -Denise said nothing. She stared at the buckle of her slipper. - -“I have come for my answer,” he said, in a low voice. - -She met his pleading eyes fearlessly. “The answer is, ‘No,’” she -replied, and her voice, too, was low, as if she could not trust it. - -“No?” he repeated, half stunned. - -She simply bowed her head. - -“You mean it? Oh, Denise, you cannot mean it?” - -“I have reflected and I mean it.” - -“For always?” - -“Yes.” - -André stepped nearer. “I do not remind you, Denise,” he said, speaking -with a composure won by a mighty mastery of himself, “that I love you, -that I have loved you since I could love any woman. If you would not -believe it before I was taken prisoner, when I spoke in the woods of -Versailles, you would not believe it now. Nor do I remind you that -twelve months ago you spoke very differently. A lover and a gentleman -does not speak of these things when the answer has been ‘No.’ But I do -ask you, before you say ‘No,’ always to remember that it was the wish -of your dead father and of mine that the answer should be ‘Yes.’” - -“My father died five years ago, yours even longer,” she answered. - -“Do the years alter their wish?” he asked, with a touch of passion, “do -they make a promise, good faith, honour, less a promise, less----” - -“There was no promise,” she interrupted. - -He bowed calmly. The gesture was better than speech. - -“And your reason, Denise?” - -“I said I would give you an answer, I did not undertake to give -reasons.” - -“Certainly. May I plead, however, that perhaps, remembering the past, -what you and I have been to each other since childhood, I have some -right to ask?” - -She placed her fan on the shelf of the chimney with sharp decision. -The firelight flashed in her grey eyes. “I refuse,” she said, very -distinctly, “to marry a man who does not love me.” - -“Then you do not believe my words?” he questioned quickly. - -“You are a noble, André,” she answered; “the courtesy of a noble and -a gentleman requires that when he demands a woman’s hand in marriage -he should profess to love her. For the honour you have done me I thank -you, but a woman finds the proof not in words but in deeds. You are a -brave soldier, but you do not love me. That is enough.” - -“No, it is not enough for me,” he answered. - -“Very well.” She took a step forward. “I had no desire to discuss -things not fit for a girl to speak of to a man who has done her the -honour to ask her hand in marriage, and I would have spared both myself -and you unnecessary pain. Plainly then and briefly, when I take a -husband I do not choose to share what he professes is his love with any -other woman. That is my reason and my answer in one.” - -A flush darkened his sallow cheek. “It is not true,” he protested -passionately, “it is not true.” - -“You would deny it?” she cried, passion too leaping into her voice. “Is -that letter to the Comtesse des Forges, one of my friends--my friends, -_mon Dieu!_--yours, or is it not?” She handed it to him with hot scorn. - -“It was written twelve months ago,” he said, somewhat lamely. - -“And the duel which it caused is twelve months ago, too, I suppose? -The right arm of her husband the Comte des Forges is healed, but the -wound--my God! the wound in his heart and mine, that you can never -heal. And she is not alone. Does not Paris ring with the gallantries of -the Vicomte de Nérac? For aught I know there may be a dozen husbands in -England who have lost their sword arm because André de Nérac professed -to love their wives.” She checked herself and was calm again. “I -thank you for the honour you have done me, but--” she offered him the -stateliest, coldest curtsey, “Vicomte, I am your servant.” - -She would have escaped by the door behind her, but André intercepted -her. “No,” he said, “you do not leave me yet. I, too, have something to -say and you, Marquise, will be pleased to hear it.” - -Their eyes met and then Denise walked back to her place by the -fireplace. She was trembling now, and she no longer looked him in the -face. - -[Illustration: “Is that letter to the Comtesse des Forges, one of my -friends--my friends, _Mon Dieu!_--yours, or is it not?”] - -“As to the past,” he said in a low voice, “I say nothing, for I deserve -your reproaches. I have been foolish, wicked, unworthy of you. But -there is no noble to-day at Versailles of whom the same could not be -said. Men are men, and I have never concealed from you what I have -been. But such things do not destroy love. They cannot and they never -will, and every woman knows it. My past, I assert, is not your reason.” - -“What then is?” she asked proudly. - -“I am poor, you are rich, but that is not the reason, either. Do not -think I would dishonour you by supposing that I believed that, though -some whom you call your friends say it is. No, the reason is that while -I have been away, a prisoner, defenceless, silent, some one--” he -paused, “some one has been poisoning your mind, some one who hopes to -take the place----” - -“Take care----” she interrupted. - -“You speak of the gossip of Paris. I will not tell you what the gossip -of Paris and Versailles says, for you will hear it and more fitly from -other lips than mine. But I say, that poisoner will answer to me.” - -She was about to speak, but checked herself. - -“And I will tell you why. First because I love you and I love no one -else. You do not believe it. You ask for deeds, not words. In the -future you shall have them. And second, because you, Denise, love me, -yes, love me.” - -“Have done, have done with this mockery!” she cried. - -“Tell me,” was his answer, “on your word of honour, that it is not so, -tell me that you do not love me and never will, tell me that you love -another and on my word as a gentleman I will never speak of love to you -again.” - -Dead silence. André waited quietly. - -“I refuse,” she said, slowly, picking the words, “to be questioned in -this manner. But as you insist, I repeat--I do not love you.” - -André bowed. “One word more, Denise, if you please,” he said, “one word -and I leave your presence for ever.” - -She drew herself up. “Yes,” she said, “leave me for ever.” But for all -that she, as he, seemed spellbound to the spot. - -André deliberately drew from his pocket the letter that she had thrown -in his teeth and faced her. “Thank you,” he said, very calmly. “Now -that I know you mean what you said, I, too, know what I must do.” He -walked away. - -“Give me that letter,” she said with a swift flash of command. “It -belongs to me.” - -“Pardon,” he answered, quietly, “yesterday the Comte des Forges was -killed by a friend of his whose honour he had betrayed. The letter -belongs to the lady to whom it was written, the lady who will be the -Vicomtesse de Nérac.” - -A faint cry escaped from Denise’s lips. For the moment she leaned faint -against the chimney-piece, white and sick. - -André looked at her, but he made no effort to offer her either sympathy -or help. Then he walked back, Denise watching him, and flung the letter -into the fire. Denise started, but she said nothing, though her great -grey eyes were eloquent with half a dozen questions. - -“The letter has served its purpose,” André said. “Adieu, Marquise!” - -“What does this--this trickery mean?” she demanded, hotly. - -“You must forgive one who loves you,” was the calm reply, “for love -laughs at tricks. The Comte des Forges is alive and well: he has a -wound in his shoulder which is only a scratch, for the poor Comte is -always believing that some one is betraying his honour and Madame the -Comtesse has a fickle heart. Yesterday I was his second, so I know.” - -“Then--then--” she cried and stopped. - -André bowed most courteously. “You refused to believe me, Mademoiselle: -I returned the compliment and refused to believe you--and I proved it -by a lover’s trick, if you choose to call it such. That is all, but it -is enough.” - -“Ah!” She crumpled up the fan in speechless indignation. - -“No, Denise,” he said softly. “I shall not trouble you now or soon, -but--” he had caught her hand--“you shall yet be mine, I swear it. You -think you do not love me, but you shall be convinced--you shall.” - -He kissed her fingers with a tender reverence. “Adieu, Marquise! I go -to my duty and revenge,” he said, and he left her there under the spell -of his mastery, with her boar-hound at her feet, and the flames of fire -pointing to the motto “_Dieu Le Vengeur!_” - - - - -CHAPTER V - -THE PRESUMPTION OF A BEARDLESS CHEVALIER - - -ANDRÉ rode at a walking pace down the slope to the village, for he -wanted to think. He had always prided himself on his knowledge of -women; he had imagined he knew Denise as well as himself. She was of -his class, lovely, high-spirited, proud, patriotic, and best of all a -true woman. Hence it was a sore and surprising blow to his pride to -discover that she should reject his love because he had lived the life -of his and her class. He had gone to the château to confess everything, -to swear that from this day onwards no other woman, be she beautiful -as the dawn, as enchanting as Circe, could ever occupy five minutes -of his thoughts. And he meant it. Those others, the shattered idols -of a vanished past, had simply satisfied vanity, ambition, a physical -craving. But Denise he really loved. She inspired a devotion, a passion -which gripped and satisfied body, soul, and spirit; she was that -without which life seemed unmeaning, empty, poor, despicable. But why -could not she see this--the difference between a fleeting desire and -the sincere homage of manhood to an ideal, between the gallant and -the lover? What more had a wife a right to expect than the love of a -husband, brave, loyal, faithful? It was unreasonable, for men were men -and women were women. Yet here was a woman who did. - -But he would--must--win her. That was the adamantine resolution in his -breast, all the stronger because she had scorned and defied him. Yet he -would win her in his way, not hers. Yes, he would conquer her against -herself. For him life now meant simply Denise--the heart and the soul -and the spirit of Denise--the conquest of a woman’s will. The hot -pulses of health and strength, of manhood, his noble blood and ambition -throbbed responsive to the resolution. He thanked God that he was young -and a soldier, that there was war and a prize to be won. Yet he also -felt that this love meant something new, that it had transformed him -into something that he had never dreamed of as possible. And victory -would complete the change. So as he rode the fierce thoughts tumbled -over each other in a foam of passion, in the sublime intoxication of -a vision of a new heaven and a new earth--from which he was rudely -awakened. - -He had halted for the moment at the door of the village inn. In the -dingy parlour sat the Chevalier, one leg thrown over the table, a -beaker in his hand resting on his thigh, while his other hand was -stroking the chin of the waiting wench, a strapping, tawdry slut. - -André kicked the door open. “Am I disturbing you?” he said, pitching -his hat off as if the parlour were his own. - -“Not in the least,” the Chevalier replied without stirring, though the -girl began to giggle with an affectation of alarmed modesty. “My wine -is just done”; he drained off the glass. “I will leave Toinette to -you, Vicomte, for,” he put on his hat, “it is time I returned to the -château.” - -This studied insolence was exactly what André required. “I thank you,” -he said, freezingly, “but before I take your place, you and I, Monsieur -le Chevalier, will have a word first.” - -“As you please, my dear Vicomte,” said the young man, swinging -comfortably on to the table and peering at him from under his saucy -plumes. “You will have much to say, I doubt not, for you must have said -so little at the château. Run away, my child,” he added to the wench, -who was now staring at them both with genuine alarm in her coarse eyes, -“run away.” - -André closed the door. “You will not return to the château,” he said -quietly. - -“My dear Vicomte, you suffer from the strangest hallucinations, stupid -phantoms of the mind, if you----” - -“Perhaps,” was the cold reply, “but the point of a sword is a reality -which exorcises any and every phantom.” - -The Chevalier laughed softly. - -“Yes,” André continued, “I say it with infinite regret, because you -are young, you will not return to the château, for I am going to kill -you, unless----” - -“Unless?” The Chevalier slowly swung off the table. - -“Unless you will give me your word of honour now that you will leave -France to-morrow and never return.” - -The young man reflectively put back one of his dainty love curls. “Ah, -my dear Vicomte,” he answered, “I say it too with infinite regret, but -that I cannot promise. So you must kill me I fear. Alas!” he added with -dilatory derision, “alas! what have I done?” - -“Very good”--André fastened his cloak--“in three days we will meet in -Paris.” - -“In Paris? Why not kill me here?” - -“Here?” André stared at him in astonishment. - -“Here and at once.” He walked to the door. “Two torches,” he called, -“two torches.” - -When he had lit them the Chevalier marched out. “This way,” he said -politely; “permit me to show you, with infinite regret, where you can -kill me.” - -Half expecting a trick or foul play André followed him cautiously until -he stopped in a deserted stable yard, paved and clean, and completely -shut in by high walls. The young man gravely placed one torch in a ring -on the north wall and the other on the wall opposite. - -“That,” he said, in the pleasantest manner possible, “will make the -lights fair. You”--he pointed to the west--“will stand there, or here, -if you prefer, to the east. You will agree, doubtless, that to a man -who is to be killed it is a trifle where he stands.” - -The torches flared smokily in the April dusk. He was mad, this boyish -fool, stark, raving mad. But how prettily and elegantly he played the -part. - -“See,” the Chevalier said lightly, “there is no one to interrupt--the -murder. Toinette knows neither my name nor yours; she will hold her -tongue for money and in half an hour you will be gone--and I”--he -shrugged his shoulders--“well, it is clean lying here, cleaner, anyway, -than under the grass in that dirty churchyard.” - -“You mean it?” André asked slowly. - -The Chevalier took off his saucy hat and fine coat, hung them upon one -of the rusty rings in the wall, and turned back his lace ruffles. A -flash--his sword had cut a rainbow through the dusk across the yellow -flare of the torches. “I am at your service, Vicomte,” he said with a -low bow. “And I shall return to the château when and how I please, and -I shall be welcome, eh?” - -“By God!” André ripped out. “By God! I will kill you.” - -He too had flung off his coat and cloak and took the position by the -east wall. A strange duel this, assuredly not the first in which the -Vicomte de Nérac had fought for a woman’s sake, but the strangest, -maddest that man’s wit or a boy’s folly could have devised. André -was as cold as ice now, and he calmly surveyed his opponent as he -tried the steel of his blade. How young and supple and insolently gay -the beardless popinjay was; but he had the fencer’s figure, and the -handling of his weapon revealed to the trained eye that this would be -no affair of six passes and a _coup de maître_. Yet never did André -feel so calmly confident of his own famed skill and rich experience. -No, he would not kill him, but he would teach him a lesson that he -would not forget. - -For a brief minute both scanned the ground carefully, testing it with -their feet, and marking the falling of the lights from those smoking -torches, the flickering of the shadows in the raw chill of eve. All -around was deathly still. Not so much as the cluck of a hen to break -the misty silence. - -“On guard!” - -The Chevalier was about eight paces off. He now came slowly forward, -eagerly watching for the right moment to engage. A swift movement as of -a strong spring unbound--a flash--and steel clashed on steel. Yes, the -young man could fence. The true swordsman’s wrist could be felt in his -blade, the swordsman’s eye in his point, and his passes came with the -ease of that mastery of style, swiftness, and precision that the fencer -can feel but not describe. For a couple of minutes both played with the -greatest caution, for they were both in the deadliest earnest. True, -this was idle flummery at present; each had still to know the ground, -to learn the secrets of those cruelly baffling lights, to get the -measure of the other’s powers. A false step, a misjudged lunge, a gust -of wind, a foolish contempt might mean death. And for one, at least, -the issue was Denise. - -So André, who had always relied on his fire and quickness to -disconcert, flurry, and tempt, kept himself sternly in hand, offering -no openings and disregarding all. The moment would come presently, the -divine moment, and then! - -They were both shifting ground slowly, and in their caution they -gradually edged and wheeled until the Chevalier almost stood where -André had started. - -“Bah!” the young man cried, “this is tedious,” and he suddenly changed -his tactics. He was now attacking with a fiery swiftness which made -André’s blood warm, and stirred his admiration, but he noted with joy -how reckless his opponent was growing. Twice the lad only saved himself -by the most dexterous reversing of his lunges. - -“Fool!” André muttered to himself, “that is not the game to play with -me; in three minutes he will be mine,” and he, too, began to press his -attack. Ah!--ah!--only by the swiftest convolutions of that supple -body had the Chevalier saved himself. André began to nerve himself for -a final assault. Should he give him the point in his sword arm--his -shoulder, or his lungs? And then the torch light flared right into his -face. - -In a second he saw what it all meant. By those superb reversed lunges -he had been lured on till he had been manœuvred into a place where both -torches fell in his eyes and that young devil had the lights behind -him. He--he, André de Nérac, had been outplayed by this beardless -youth! And now he was in a corner of this damned court-yard with the -cursed flicker from the walls making lightning on the crossed steel. -“_Diable!_” he growled, “you would!” and he flung himself on his -opponent in the madness of despair and wrath. It was now almost a -_mêlée corps à corps_, but the Chevalier would not give way. He had -penned André to the place he desired and he meant to keep him there. - -“_Holà! Je touche!_” he cried. - -How had it happened? One of the torches had gone out in a puff of air, -André’s sword was on the stones and the Chevalier had his foot on it. -By an infernal Italian trick he had dropped on one knee, the lunge that -should have gone through his heart had passed over his head and by some -superhuman secret he had twisted the weapon from his opponent’s grasp. -Yes, André had lost Denise and death was upon him. - -With a quick gesture the Chevalier pitched the sword over the wall and -stood sword in hand facing the defenceless André. The breeze stirred -his dainty love locks. - -“Monsieur le Vicomte,” he said cheerfully, “will perhaps permit me now -to return to the château. I have had my lesson.” André clenched his -fists sullenly. “Toinette,” the young man called, dropping his point, -“Toinette, bring another torch, and assist Monsieur le Vicomte with his -coat. You are a good wench, Toinette, and a discreet, is it not so?” - -“Curse your Italian tricks,” André growled, “curse you and your Italian -tricks.” - -“Yes, it was a trick, learned in Italy from a great master in the art. -But all is fair in war--and in love! I did not wish to be killed and -you are too good a swordsman for any one to beat in half an hour, and -that is all I had. Come, Vicomte, we have had our little encounter. Can -we not be friends?” He offered his hand. - -André stared sulkily, yet feeling somewhat ashamed. - -“I am not going to the château,” the Chevalier added quietly. “I, too, -am going to the war with my master and yours, the King. If it will -satisfy you, I will promise not to speak to Mademoiselle the Marquise -de Beau Séjour until we both return.” - -“You can do as you please with regard to Mademoiselle la Marquise,” -André said sharply. - -“And will you do me a favour?” the young man pleaded. “I beg you that -for the future you will not speak of our meeting here to any one.” - -“Why?” - -“Simply because I regret now that I prevented myself from being killed -by a low trick. Life to the young is sweet--it is my sole excuse to a -better swordsman than myself.” - -“Very well,” André answered, touched to the quick by the faultless -delicacy with which the compliment was paid. - -“I thank you. Perhaps now you will give me your hand?” - -“With the greatest pleasure.” - -The Chevalier had for the moment stormed his heart with the same superb -grace that he had robbed him of his sword. - -“Adieu!” - -And then in the sorest dudgeon André strode out in search of his sword. -To his surprise the wall of the court where they had fought backed on -to the churchyard, and a few minutes’ groping revealed his sword by -the strangest accident lying in the damp, matted grass that sprawled -over the tombstone of the little Marquise Marie. Yes, at that bitter -moment he could have shed tears of shame as he recalled the defeat -and the humiliation inflicted on him by that beardless boy, on him, a -Capitaine-Lieutenant of the Chevau-légers de la Garde, on him who had -never been vanquished yet. And he had sworn to win Denise! Why was he -not lying under the sod, forgotten and dead to the pain of the world, -like little Marie? - -A figure was creeping past him in the dark--a woman! - -“Who is that?” he cried sharply, plucking at her hood. - -“Monseigneur, it is me--me, Monseigneur.” - -“Yvonne!” He let the hood go as if he had been stabbed. - -“But yes, Monseigneur, Yvonne of the Spotted Cow.” She kissed his hand, -humbly. - -“Yvonne,” he gasped. “What do you here?” - -“I was born in this village,” she answered, “my mother, she lives here. -She is old, my mother.” - -“You--born here?” - -“Surely, Monseigneur. It is the truth.” - -André shivered. Half an hour ago how near his mother, who was old too, -had been to praying for the soul of her only son. And she had been -spared that pain by the courtesy of a beardless chevalier. - -“And what do you now in the churchyard?” he asked. - -“I come to say my prayers for the little Marquise Marie. She is in the -bosom of the good God, is our little Marquise, but I say a prayer for -her soul when I am happy.” - -“And why do you pray for the Marquise Marie?” he asked. - -“Because surely she is our Marquise. That other”--she waved a hand at -the twinkling lights of the noble château--“the King gave to us, but -there is only one Marquise for us here, the little lady Marie, who is -dead. _Dieu Le Vengeur! Dieu Le Vengeur!_” she whispered softly below -her breath. - -“Peace, girl, peace,” he said, half sadly, half angrily. - -“Monseigneur,” Yvonne whispered, “Monseigneur loves the Marquise -Denise----” - -“Who told you that?” he demanded so fiercely that Yvonne shrank back. - -“It was the wise woman,” she answered, “the wise woman of ‘The Cock -with the Spurs of Gold,’ who knows everything. Ah! if Monseigneur would -go to the wise woman she would tell him how he might win the Marquise -Denise. Did she not give me back my lover, did she not tell me where to -find again my spotted cow, did she not tell me that Monseigneur would -be here to-day?” - -“She told you that?” he gasped. - -“Yes, Monseigneur.” - -André sat down on the tombstone in the supremest amazement and -confusion. What did it, could it mean? - -“I will pray,” Yvonne went on in her innocent, soft voice, “to our -little Marquise that Monseigneur may marry the Marquise Denise.” - -“Why?” André asked. - -“Because then Monseigneur will be our lord and we will be his serfs.” - -“You would like to be my serf, Yvonne?” he demanded, putting his hand -on her shoulder, and he could feel her tremble. - -“Surely, surely,” she answered. - -“Then you shall--some day you shall, I swear it.” - -A gust of hot passion swept over him. She was not pretty, this peasant -wench, but she had a noble figure, and the comfort of a woman’s caress -in that hour of abasement appealed with an irresistible sweetness to -his wounded spirit. Something, however, checked his arm that was about -to slip round her--as if Yvonne herself by a mysterious power paralysed -his passion. Yet she made no effort to escape, and under his hand on -her plump shoulder he could feel that she, too, was in the grip of -strong emotion. - -His arm dropped to his side. - -“Monseigneur will go to the wise soothsayer,” she said very quietly, -“for she can help him better than any peasant wench.” - -And then André laughed. The gaiety of yesterday had suddenly remastered -him. He forgot the shamed sword, the Chevalier, and that infernal court -with its smoking torches. Denise should yet be his, and this strange -girl his serf. - -“Why, then, I will seek this wise woman,” he answered lightly, “before -I go to the war. I promise, Yvonne.” - -And so he left her to her prayers at the tomb of the child who should -have been her lord. But she did not pray very long. Indeed, had André -cared he might have seen her wrapped in her coarse cloak walking -swiftly towards the twinkling lights of the great château, and she sang -as she had sung on the back of her spotted cow. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -THE WISE WOMAN OF “THE COCK WITH THE SPURS OF GOLD” - - -IT was a strangely superstitious age this age of Louis XV., strangely -superstitious and strangely enlightened. On the one side the -illuminated philosophers of the rising school of Voltaire, on the other -a society ready to be gulled by every charlatan, quack, or sorceress -clever enough to exploit the depths of human credulity. You shall read -in the fascinating memoirs of that century how the male and female -adventurers tricked to their immense profit that polished, gallant, -cynical, and light-hearted _noblesse_ which made the glory of the -Court. And André was a true child of his age. Yvonne’s mystifying -remarks had stirred all the superstition and awe lurking behind his -hollow homage to the established religion, and human curiosity whetted -this stimulus of superstition. He scented, in fact, an agreeable -adventure in a visit to this mysterious witch. - -But first he consulted his friend Henri, Comte de St. Benôit, like -himself a Chevau-léger de la Garde, and like himself notorious for his -skill with the sword and for his countless gallantries. Was it not St. -Benôit who had taken his place in rousing the jealousy of the Comte des -Forges and who had also been obliged to give the hot-headed husband the -quietus of a flesh-wound? - -Henri of course knew all about the wise woman. Was she not the talk of -the _bel monde_? - -“She won’t see you,” he said. “She only prophesies to women, and very -few of them. I tried to bring her to book, but her girl, a devilish -saucy grisette with a roving eye and a skittish pout, shut the door in -my face, by Madame’s orders, if you please.” - -“And you went away?” - -“No, indeed, I put my knee against the door and said that as I couldn’t -pay Madame I must pay her. Not the first time the hussy has been -kissed, and it won’t be the last. You, too, will discover the jade -hasn’t the dislike to men that her mistress has.” - -“What will you wager she will not see me--the mistress?” - -“A kiss from my Diane of the ballet. I’ll bet, too, Madame is not at -home at all, for she comes and goes like a will-o’-the-wisp. But if -you do see her she’ll tell you something cursedly disagreeable. She -frightened the poor Des Forges, your Comtesse and mine, into hysterics, -and,” his voice dropped, “she warned the Duchesse de Châteauroux she -had only three weeks to live--and it was all the poor thing had. Don’t -go to her, my dear André; she’ll see you in her crystal globe, face -upwards in a heap of dead with an English sword in your guts.” - -Needless to say, perhaps, that afternoon saw André at the tavern -called “The Cock with the Spurs of Gold,” which, save for a brand-new -sign-board, had all the appearance of a farmhouse hastily turned into -an inn. Buried in the woods between Paris and Versailles it was exactly -suited for a rendezvous to which all might repair without the world -being any the wiser. André had carefully disguised himself, and as he -rapped on the door his appearance suggested rather the comfortable -_bourgeois_ than the noble Capitaine-Lieutenant des Chevau-légers de la -Garde. To his surprise he won his wager with greater ease than he had -dreamed. - -The saucy grisette, whose demure demeanour could not conceal the shifty -falseness of her roving eyes, took to her mistress the name he gave, -the “Sieur de Coutances,” and then, to his joy, speedily ushered him -with no little ogling into an empty, low-beamed parlour, which was -simply the apartment of a woman who could indulge her love of luxury. -Of the sorceress trade there were no traces unless you counted for such -an enormous black cat with the most ferocious whiskers, who arched -his back on André’s entrance and glared at him with diabolical yellow -eyes--a cat to make the flesh creep and bristle as did his whiskers. - -“Welcome, Vicomte, welcome!” - -André found himself staring in the dim light with intense surprise, -not at a wizened hag, but at a young woman scarcely more than -five-and-twenty, dressed in flowing coal-black draperies which made -her wealth of fair hair, blue eyes, and dazzling skin all the more -startling. Her dress was wide open at the throat and on her breast -flashed an exquisite diamond cross. And what a figure! Those flowing -draperies, that step forward revealed a woman perfectly shaped in -every limb. It was therefore a shame that above her upper lip there -was the suggestion of a dark moustache, though it added in the most -extraordinary way to the weird effect of her appearance. - -“Welcome, Vicomte, welcome!” she repeated, but she offered him no -salute save a wave of her finely shaped hand towards a chair. - -“I am not a vicomte,” André answered doggedly. - -“Then when did the Vicomte de Nérac lose his rank?” she asked quickly, -and laughed at his obvious embarrassment. “Ah, Vicomte, if I were not -able to divine who my visitors were I should not have a trinket like -this--” she patted her diamond cross, stooped and lifted the huge cat -and stroked it gently with her chin. - -“And what can I do for you?” she demanded, coming closer. - -“My faith, but I do not know,” he answered. The faint perfume of her -person was puzzling him sorely. But in truth he was familiar with the -perfume of so many women that it was hopeless to expect an answer to -the question. - -“Nor do I,” the woman answered, still laughing, and her laugh was like -the purr of her cat. “In any case, Monsieur le Vicomte must wait. A -lady is already here to see me. No, it is not necessary to retire. In -spite of that I have said, you doubt my powers; therefore you shall -listen while she and I talk.” - -She pointed to a large screen and André, now burning with curiosity, -gladly seated himself behind it. The woman with the cat still in her -arms promptly flung herself on to a long sofa and rang her hand-bell. - -“Introduce Madame,” she said to the girl, “Madame’s _fille de chambre_ -must wait without.” - -The visitor, André decided, was young. Her trim figure, the coquettish -pose of her head, the graceful dignity of her carriage filled him with -the liveliest regret that he could not see her face, which was thickly -veiled. She came to an abrupt halt in the centre of the room--for -the woman on the sofa never stirred. Clearly she, too, had expected -something very different. - -“Your name, Madame?” asked the sorceress abruptly. - -“Mademoiselle, if it please you,” the visitor corrected, “Mademoiselle -Lucie Marie Villefranche.” - -André was listening now with all his ears. Where before had he heard -that crisp, alluring voice? - -“_Bien_, Madame.” - -“Mademoiselle--” persisted the visitor, nettled. - -“Then why does Mademoiselle wear a wedding-ring?” - -The visitor made an impatient movement, bit her lip, and petulantly -drew off her glove. On the hand she triumphantly held out there was no -sign of a wedding-ring. - -“It is in Madame’s pocket,” the sorceress said calmly. “But it is of as -little importance as is Madame’s husband to her.” - -The visitor checked an indignant reply and simply glared through her -veil. - -Excellent fun, thought André, when you set one woman against -another--and such women! - -“Give me your hand,” the sorceress proceeded, and she inspected it with -the greatest care, the owner watching her with ill-concealed anxiety. -“I see a crown in the palm which I cannot understand,” she said slowly, -“a crown reversed. A beautiful hand,” she murmured, “beautiful and -strong. The hand of a _morceau de roi_.” - -Madame Villefranche uttered a sharp cry, almost of triumph. “_Morceau -de roi_,” she repeated. “_Morceau de roi_. That is strange. You have -heard perhaps that long ago another soothsayer also said the same.” - -“I must consult the orb,” the other replied as if she did not hear, and -she gazed long and silently at the crystal circle which she produced -from its resting-place beside the diamond cross. “Yes, it is quite -clear now.” - -“What do you see?” was the eager question. - -“A great gallery--it is I think the Salon d’Hercule at -Versailles--there are many men and women in it, finely dressed--I see -a lady in a rose-coloured satin in their centre--it is her favourite -colour--they pay court to her----” - -“Ah!” Madame Villefranche had stood up. Her hand went involuntarily to -her heart. - -“One enters with his hat on”--the sorceress jerked out slowly--“he -keeps it on--he advances as they bow--he takes his hat off--it is the -King--he kisses the hand of the woman in rose-coloured satin--she -salutes----” - -“_Mon Dieu!_” Madame Villefranche suddenly kneeled beside her. André, -as excited as she was, crawled forward so as not to lose a word. - -“I see her again”--the woman proceeded after a pause--“she gives orders -to ministers--she makes generals--she tramples on all who oppose -her--the King is her slave--ah! the crystal is disturbed--no--no--there -is much unhappiness--the land is poor--there are jealousies, strifes, -quarrels, wars--starving men and women cry out against the King and -his mistress--but the woman in the rose-coloured satin still wears her -jewels--she does not hear them. What is this?--yes, it is--a hearse -leaving Versailles for Paris--the King looks out of the window above on -to the Place d’Armes--he shrugs his shoulders--I do not see the woman -in the rose-coloured satin any more--I think surely she is dead and no -one cares--ah! the crystal has become dim.” She put it down and closed -her eyes. - -Dead silence, but André could hear the deep-drawn breaths of Madame -Villefranche. Her hands were twisted in supreme emotion. - -“And the face--the face of the woman, did you see that?” she asked with -dry lips. - -The sorceress opened her eyes. “Oh, yes,” she said slowly. “It is the -face of Madame d’Étiolles, born Jeanne Antoinette Poisson--your face, -Madame,” she added as she flung her visitor’s veil swiftly back. The -cat leaped from her arms. Madame Villefranche sprang to her feet; the -two women were confronting each other, each drawn to her full height. - -André too had risen. Ha! At last he understood. The visitor was no -other than the fair huntress of the woods who had driven to see the -King, in an azure phaeton, herself clad in rose-coloured satin. - -“Ah!” exclaimed Madame d’Étiolles, stretching her arms. “Ah!” Then she -turned on the sorceress furiously. “My woman has betrayed me,” she -cried. - -“Oh, no, Madame”--she curtsied as to a queen--“not your woman but the -crystal and yourself.” - -The other threw up her head incredulously. “If you reveal,” she said -harshly, “that I have visited you----” - -“I never reveal who my visitors are,” was the quiet answer, “they -always reveal themselves.” She sat down indolently, but there was -almost insolent provocation in the simple grace of the movement. - -Madame d’Étiolles turned away. “And your pay?” she demanded sharply. - -“As Madame pleases,” came the indifferent answer from the sofa. - -The visitor placed five pieces on the table, replaced her veil, and -walked towards the door. “Adieu!” she said over her shoulder, but André -could see she stepped as one intoxicated by a sublime vision. - -“And will Madame remember the wise woman,” the sorceress pleaded in her -soft voice, “if the crystal be found to speak the truth?” - -“Yes”; she had wheeled sharply, a merciless freezing vengeance -glistened in her eyes and steeled her voice. “I will have you burned -for an insolent witch. I promise not to forget.” - -“My thanks, Madame.” She rang the hand-bell, and Madame was -unceremoniously ushered out. The sorceress sat reflecting and then -placed the crystal in her bosom and took away the screen. - -“It is the turn of Monsieur le Vicomte,” she remarked pleasantly. “It -is a pity I did not ask the lady to stay and hear.” - -“No, I thank you,” André answered. “I am satisfied, and so was she.” - -“Monsieur is not as Madame,” the sorceress said, fixing a penetrating -gaze on him, “he fears his fate.” - -“Oh, no,” was the quick reply. “My fate lies in my sword and my head. I -am ready to face it without fear or reproach when and as it comes. But -I will not know beforehand, not even for a crown reversed.” - -For a brief second her eyes rested on him with approval, and indeed he -looked very handsome and noble at that moment. - -“But Monsieur will permit me,” she said gently, and before he could -refuse she had taken his hand, “I will not speak unless he wishes.” - -While she studied it he studied her. What a subtle pathos seemed to -lie in those blue eyes, those smiling lips, that dainty head almost -touching him, a pathos like her perfume ascending into the brain. -And how enchanting was that diamond cross rising and falling on that -dazzling breast. - -“What is it?” he asked, for she had dropped his hand with a faint sigh, -and sat staring mysteriously at something far away. - -“I am forbidden to speak,” she answered, averting her eyes, and she -picked up her cat, and walked away. - -“You _shall_ tell me,” André said impetuously. - -But she only laughed over the cat’s body, stroking it softly with her -chin till its purr echoed through the room. - -“Confess, confess,” he said, “I _will_ know.” - -“The hand of Monsieur le Vicomte,” she answered, smiling mischievously, -“is full of interesting revelations--dreams which come and go--but -there is one dream that is always there--the dream of love. Women,” -she added, “women, women everywhere in Monsieur’s life; as in the years -that were past, so in the years to come. Let the Vicomte de Nérac be on -his guard against all women--and against one woman in particular----” - -André failed to suppress an exclamation. Had this beautiful witch -divined that secret too? - -“Her name,” she paused to bury her face in the cat’s fur, -“is--Yvonne--Yvonne,” she repeated, “of the Spotless Ankles.” - -“Yvonne!” he laughed heartily. - -“Yes, Yvonne. Sometimes there is more in a peasant girl to tempt and -ruin than in a Comtesse des Forges, or a marquise--” it was her turn to -laugh. “Ah! the Vicomte is a gallant and reckless lover. He thinks as -the _noblesse_ think, that women are necessary to him. But it is not -so. It is he who is necessary to them.” - -“And your fee for the advice, mistress?” - -She flung the five gold pieces of Madame d’Étiolles into a drawer. -“Madame has paid for both,” she said. “But if the Vicomte de Nérac will -offer something of his own, I will accept--a kiss,” and she looked him -daringly in the face. - -The hall of the Château de Beau Séjour swept in a vision before him. -_Dieu Le Vengeur_ seemed to be written in a scroll of fire round the -cat’s ruff. - -“I understand,” she added with a contemptuous shrug of her shoulders, -“though I am not a marquise or a comtesse.” - -“You shall have it,” he blurted out with husky petulance. - -She put her hand to her diamond cross--they looked at each other--the -woman melted into a defiant reverence. - -“The horse of Monsieur le Vicomte,” she commanded quickly to the girl -who had appeared as if by magic. “Good-day, sir. You can pay the fee -to--Yvonne.” - -And here he was alone with the shifty-eyed _fille de chambre_, who -plainly gave him an invitation to mistake her for Yvonne. - -“Confound you, what do you wait for?” André said irritably. “Fetch -the horse at once if you don’t want to taste a rogue’s fare with your -mistress in prison.” - -And as he rode through the woods it was little comfort to remember that -he had won his wager with Henri, Comte de St. Benôit. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -THE KING’S HANDKERCHIEF - - -IN December the Duchesse de Châteauroux, the _maîtresse en titre_ of -the King of France, had died, some said of poison, some of a broken -heart at her treatment at Metz when she had been driven by her enemies -from the sick King’s bedside and from the Court, a few because she -had caught a chill and even _maîtresses en titre_ were mortal. Would -Louis select another lady to take her place? Who would she be? That was -the question. France was at war--that dreary war called in the books -the “War of the Austrian Succession”--and this spring--1745--under -the Maréchal de Saxe, (the son of a king and Aurora von Konigsmarck, -himself the idol of women of quality as he had been the idol of -Adrienne Lecouvreur) great efforts were to be made to drive from the -Low Countries the red-coated English and white-coated Austrians, to -win for the Fleurs-de-Lis the boundaries that, since the days of Henri -IV., God, nature, and French genius had destined to be French. Was not -Louis, _Le Bien Aimé_, himself going to the campaign with the flower -of his nobility and with his son and heir? Yes, surely great things -would be accomplished before the September winds shook the apples off -the trees in the orchards of Normandy or they trod the wine-vats on the -sun-clad slopes of Gascony. Paris was in a fever of excitement; the -Court was still _en fête_ for the marriage of Monsieur le Dauphin to a -Saxon princess. But would there be a successor to the hapless Duchesse -de Châteauroux? That was the only question about which the Paris that -counted really cared. - -André of course went to tell St. Benôit how he had won his bet, and he -found him gossiping in the salon of the Comtesse des Forges. - -“The King has already chosen,” Madame remarked, fanning herself -placidly. “But Monseigneur the Archbishop and the royal confessor are -still able to work on his remorse, so for the present His Majesty -affects to play at being a _dévot_.” - -“I don’t believe it,” St. Benôit retorted. “The King will be a _dévot_ -for one day in the week and a lover for the other six, as all kings of -France and their subjects, too, ought to be. Naturally he does not wish -to shock Madame la Dauphine, but wait till the campaign is over; Mars -will give way to Venus, and then we shall have one of the De Nesles -back again.” - -Whereat Madame lifted her heavy-lidded eyes, of which she was so proud, -and said contemptuously, “Pooh!” - -“I have won the wager,” André interposed, “and I will undertake to win -another. I will bet that it will not be a De Nesles, but a _bourgeoise_ -that the King will select.” - -“Impossible!” both St. Benôit and Madame cried, genuinely shocked. -“A _bourgeoise_ at Versailles! It would be a scandal, unheard of, -monstrous, not to be tolerated.” - -But André only smiled, and press him as they might he refused to say -more. - -“Well,” said the Comtesse, “if you will go to-night, my dear De Nérac, -to the ball at the Hôtel-de-Ville you will learn whether I am not -right.” And after André had taken his leave she turned to St. Benôit, -with genuine concern. “England,” she said, “has demoralised our dear -friend. The English have made him incredibly vulgar. As if the King -of France would so far forget himself or be so impertinent to us as -to introduce into our Versailles a _bourgeoise_. There would be a -revolution.” - -“I can see you, Madame,” he answered, “giving the lady her footstool.” -He kneeled mockingly at her feet. “God bless my soul! you might as -well expect me to kiss the hand of your _fille de chambre_. André was -joking; he knows if the King were to bring her to Court she would not -stay a week.” - -“A week!” Madame threw up her noble head. “Not twenty-four hours.” - -But André, who had heard the crystal’s story, had his good reasons. -Already fertile schemes were fermenting in his brain; his ambition, -too, was daily soaring upwards, and he dimly guessed that in this -strange circling of Fortune’s wheel the opportunity for which he -thirsted would at last come. And so like the rest of the gay world he -went that night to the grand ball given by the municipality of Paris at -the Hôtel-de-Ville in honour of the marriage of the Dauphin; for the -King had promised to be present, and it was to be one of those rare -occasions when the _noblesse_ had consented to rub shoulders with the -middle class in doing honour to the royal bride and bridegroom. Coming -events were in the air. André felt, though why he could not say, that -to-night would somehow prove a decisive turning-point in the history of -himself and of France. - -For the purpose of dancing, the court of the Hôtel-de-Ville had been -converted into a ballroom, superbly festooned and illuminated, and -the crowd that had gathered was immense. Nobles of the realm, great -ladies, peers, peeresses, and the Court here jostled in the wildest -confusion with the gentlemen of the robe, with aldermen, shopkeepers, -and even flower girls and the _danseuses_ of the royal ballet. The -company was supposed to be masked, but many had already discarded the -flimsy covering; and for all who still wore it the disguise was the -merest affectation. Most of the ladies of the middle class had donned -fancy attire, but the _noblesse_ for the most part showed their quality -by refusing to imitate the _canaille_. André of course was content -with his uniform of the Chevau-légers de la Garde, that beautiful and -famous livery of scarlet with white facings, silver buttons, spurs of -gold, and hat with white plumes which in itself conferred an enviable -distinction, and about his neck, more proudly still, he carried that -Croix de St. Louis, whose possession sufficed to make any soldier happy. - -For a few minutes he stood gazing at the brilliant spectacle presented -by the moving throng,--one vast arena of human beings in which the -uniforms, the stars and ribbons, the jewels, the bright eyes, and -the fair shoulders were blended into a magic and inspiring panorama, -over which floated the tender music of harp, violin, and flute. And -as he moved slowly forward kissing noble hands, receiving gentle -congratulations, or looking into eyes to which in past days he had -whispered devotion in the Œil de Bœuf or beneath the balmy fragrance -of a _fête champêtre_ at Rambouillet his ambition soared still higher. -But dance he would not; he had come to watch, to teach, and to learn. -The Chevalier to his joy was not here; he had been despatched, André -discovered with grim satisfaction, on special business of the King. But -yonder was Denise, holding a miniature court. As André edged his way -towards her, her glance fell on the familiar uniform, and it plainly -said: “Here at least let us forget the past--I have forgiven you--come -let us be friends as we were before.” And André replied to her graceful -reverence with his stiffest bow, as he had deliberately come to do, and -then moved slowly off, but not before he had marked with a lover’s joy -the pained surprise in Denise’s eyes, the angry flush that coloured her -cheek. But the lesson must be completed. A partner must be found and at -once. He paused--looked about him--started. - -“You, Madame!” he ejaculated, checking his astonishment, for Denise was -watching him. - -“I, Monsieur le Vicomte,” was the serene reply. “This is more fun than -spelling the truth from a crystal,” and she laughed wickedly. - -Yes, it was indeed the wise woman from “The Cock with the Spurs of -Gold,” wearing her diamond cross and dressed in adorably pale blue -satin, just such a colour as her eyes covered by the pale blue mask. -Strangest of all, André felt at that moment there was not a woman in -all this throng who carried herself with more of the true air of the -_noblesse_ than did this young sorceress, who plied a charlatan’s trade -for hire. - -“The Vicomte looks to-night as the Vicomte de Nérac should,” she -remarked quietly. “But is it my presence here or is it my perfume that -perplexes you?” - -And André started again at her unerring divination. - -“Surely it is very simple,” she proceeded. “Recall, if you please, a -supper party in London--the perfume was there then--now it is here. -That is all.” - -“What?” He stopped in sheer amazement. “You are that--that woman?” - -“Certainly. The same, only a trifle disguised. In London I was dark, in -Paris I am fair, because,” she shrugged her shoulders, “I love change -and I hate being recognised unless I choose. You will not betray my -secret, will you?” - -“No. But why are you in Paris?” - -“Women like myself,” she answered cynically, “are always dying of -_ennui_, and I was born a Parisienne. Can a Parisienne live without -Paris? Well, I cannot. London, _mon Dieu!_ Those suffocating English! -They make love as they eat beef and drink beer. Their women are prudes, -their men heavy as bull-dogs made of lead. London is a _ville de -province_--no wit, no ideas, no life. Here,” she pointed with her fan, -“it is far different. Where will you find the like of that for gaiety -of heart, and sparkle of the soul? It is the city of breeding, of -philosophers, of poets, of chivalry, and of lovers. Why, that grisette -over there can be more _spirituelle_ than an Englishman of genius. And -when even the lovers who make love with ardour and in couplets that -sing of themselves become annoying I go elsewhere.” - -André listened with a puzzled delight. It was not the perfume--it was -the mystery that enveloped her which kept him silent. Something in her -voice, her manner, reminded him in the most tantalising way of somebody -else and for the life of him he could not think who that somebody was. - -“No,” she replied to his invitation, “I will not disgrace you by -dancing--you the Vicomte de Nérac and I--” she smiled. “Besides you -have seen me dance in the only kind of dancing that I care about. But -see,” she added, dropping her voice, “do you not recognise a friend, -perhaps a partner? Is she not charming--conquering and to conquer?” - -“Name of a dog!” he ejaculated. - -Away at the other end of the ballroom was a raised dais on which was -gathered a bevy of the fairest of the _bourgeoisie_. One of them, -escorted by three or four gentlemen, was descending the stairs into the -throng--a woman in the guise of Diana, clad in the airiest, gauziest, -purest white, with a silver bow in her hand and a quiver on her -shoulder and a jewelled half-moon in her powdered hair. It was--yes, it -was--the fair huntress of the woods of Versailles, to-night a matchless -spectacle of majestic beauty which rippled over into the gayest, most -provocative coquetry imaginable--Juno and Venus and Diana in one and -defying you to say which was the more divine. And that cunningly -arranged robe of glittering white, with its artful jewels to suggest -every curve and line, was just what witchery would have chosen to be -the foil to the laughter of her eyes and the subtle sheen of her skin. -What other woman could have worn it? But for the one who dared, it was -the homage of a woman’s art to the triumph of nature’s womanhood. - -André watched her with absorbing interest. Fate had ordained that this -woman’s ambitions should be bound up with his. But how? how? - -“She has a mind,” his companion was saying, “as well as -incomparable beauty. That Abbé at her elbow is Monsieur de Bernis, a -poverty-stricken poet who writes her love-letters for her, whom she -will make great some day, perhaps, and if Monsieur de Voltaire cared as -much for balls as for the muses, he, too, would be snarling his honeyed -venom in her ear. She can act and dance and sing. She will not always -be Madame d’Étiolles.” - -The plans of years were sweeping through André’s brain. What if the -crystal--the thought was cut short by a stately flourish of trumpets -and the loud hum of applause. - -“See,” the sorceress whispered, “the King has arrived.” - -Men and women pressed to the entrance and then fell back--on all sides -the lowliest reverences. The King, the master of France, had entered -and was facing the crowd. And a truly royal figure he made in his -splendid dress, for Louis XV. knew how to present himself as a worthy -grandson of the Sun God who had created Versailles and made monarchy -in Europe sublime: the pose of his handsome head, the dignity of his -carriage, the matchless air of command that conveyed an air of majesty -such as could only belong to one whose wish since boyhood was law, -whose words were orders, whose will was the inspiration of a nation. -And when you marked that faint mysterious smile, those blue eyes -delicately dull, was he not just like his grandfather, indefinable -and impenetrable? What was the real man concealed behind that regal -presence? What were the real thoughts masked by that gaze, slightly -bored yet caressing and sweet? - -“You do not like the King?” André asked quickly, for he had caught -behind the pale blue mask a swift glance which sent a shiver down his -spine. - -“I love him,” she answered, “as all we women do. But I was thinking of -the day when I am to be burnt for a witch.” - -It was not the truth and André knew it. A woman’s jealousy, he -thought--but that, too, he knew it was not. - -“My friend,” she said, “go you and salute Madame d’Étiolles. Perhaps -you will see something later on to amuse you,” and as if to assist him -she glided from him and was lost in the crowd. - -She had divined his mind again. To speak with the fair huntress was -the resolve that had mastered him. And to his satisfaction Madame no -sooner recognised him than she beckoned with her fan, smiling a shy and -intoxicating welcome. - -André kissed her hand, looking into her eyes, imperial eyes in which -slumbered imperial ambitions, such wonderful eyes, now blue, now -grey, now softly dark as the violet, now glittering with the lightest -mockery. “_Un morceau de roi_,” he muttered. “Yes, by God! a _morceau -de roi!_” - -“Conduct me to yonder pillar,” she said presently, “we can talk better -there.” - -But that was not her reason, for to reach the pillar they must pass -near the King. Clearly Madame d’Étiolles was bent on playing to-night -the game of the woods at closer quarters. André as he escorted her now -felt that all eyes, including Denise’s, were on him, but he enjoyed it, -walking slowly on the giddiest tiptoes of bravado. In front of Louis, -he paused to make his reverence. Madame paused too, and as she unslung -her quiver to curtsey with more graceful ease André could feel her -tremble. The King’s roaming gaze rested on them both. André’s salute -he acknowledged with a smile, a word or two of kind greeting, but it -was on the jewels on the breast of the huntress that his bored eyes -lingered. - -“Fair archeress,” he said, “surely the shafts you loose are mortal.” - -Madame d’Étiolles flushed with pleasure, curtsied again, and promptly -passed on, without attempting to reply. - -“_Mon Dieu!_ what a figure! Who the devil is she?” André heard one of -the gentlemen of the Chamber mutter. - -“You did that to perfection,” his partner whispered by the pillar. “You -are a man who understands women, and they are so rare. And now we will -dance if you please.” - -The sorceress was right. Madame d’Étiolles danced divinely. She had -been taught by the best masters, but it was only art that she owed to -their science. The rest was her own. - -[Illustration: “Fair archeress,” he said, “surely the shafts you loose -are mortal.”] - -“Will you please do what I tell you?” she whispered as the violins -tripped out a stately minuet. “And trust me.” - -“Rely on me, Madame,” he answered. - -Imperceptibly Madame d’Étiolles in her minuet drew nearer and nearer -to the King, who began to observe them closely. A gleam of animation -crept into his face and the courtiers parted a little to permit His -Majesty a better view of this dainty dancer. Covert whispers, knowing -looks, commenced to run through the group. Yes, the King was distinctly -interested. But the fair Diana paid no heed. She had only eyes for the -superb officer in the scarlet and white of the Chevau-légers de la -Garde, who was dancing as he had never danced before. - -“Throw your handkerchief,” came the soft command. - -Completely puzzled André obeyed as in a dream. His partner caught the -handkerchief dexterously on her fan and was rewarded by a ripple of -delighted laughter from the spectators. - -“A forfeit, Vicomte,” she said loud enough for all to hear, “I give you -tit for tat,” and she pressed her own to her lips, and tossed it back -to him. - -But it was not intended to reach him. The huntress had calculated -carefully and the handkerchief lightly hit the King. - -A flush shot into Louis’s face; Madame coloured over neck and -shoulders, she dropped her eyes, after one swift glance at His -Majesty. Silence, save for the dying lullaby of the music. André’s -heart beat fast, but not so fast surely as was beating that ambitious -heart of the huntress prisoned in its jewels and white satin. - -What would the King do? Would he resent or accept the challenge? - -Gentlemen and ladies, nobles and _bourgeois_ alike, drew a deep breath. -Ah! the King had picked up the handkerchief--a second’s pause, the -pause in which a nation’s destiny may be decided--and then the King -smilingly threw the handkerchief back, fair and true, at the audacious -dancer. - -A pent-up cry arose, hands were clapped. “The King has thrown the -handkerchief, the King has thrown the handkerchief,” was the ringing -sentence on the lips of all. - -Madame caught the royal gift and melted into an enchanting reverence. -One alluring side-glance under demure eyelashes, a glance of challenge -and of submission, and she had taken André’s arm and glided swiftly -back to the dais. - -“The King has thrown the handkerchief” still rang round the crowded -room. But where was the dancer? She was gone--yes, actually gone -without waiting to follow up her victory. And of the expectant, excited -throng André alone recognised how unerring was her tact. The huntress -had accomplished her object. Henceforward it would not be she who -must hunt, for defiance to royal hunters can be more triumphant than -obedience. - -André went over to Madame des Forges and St. Benôit. “You have lost -again,” he said, “and you will confess it now.” - -“It is infamous,” replied the Comtesse, with fierce indignation. -“Infamous! But that grisette has not won yet; the road from the -Hôtel-de-Ville to Versailles is long and difficult!” - -“Ah, no,” André answered; “not when you can travel in a royal carriage. -You will see what you will see when the campaign is over. The -_bourgeoise_ before long will have the heel of her slipper on all our -necks.” - -“And you believe,” said the Comtesse, “that we will permit her to be -forced on us. You are as mad as she is.” - -She promptly took St. Benôit’s arm to mark her anger at the part André -had played. But he only shrugged his shoulders in infinite amusement. A -week ago, true enough, he had scorned to lend himself to such tactics, -but to-night he was insensible to the reproach that his noble blood -should have felt. For he, too, was under the spell of fate and of a -witchery far more potent than the drug of any magician. It was not in -mortal man to resist the sorcery of that fair huntress who played on -human and royal passion as a musician on a stringed instrument. But -there was more than mere passion in that dainty wimple of cambric and -lace: “_La Petite d’Étiolles_” was gambling for a great stake. What if -she were to be his ally in his great game? Before André there unrolled -a wonderful vision of the future. He was necessary to these women. -_Bien!_ They should be necessary to him, and bitter as was the contempt -in Denise’s pure eyes it only steeled his determination remorselessly -to tread the path he had planned towards his goal--Denise. - -The King had lost his interest and left the ball. He had entered it a -free man; he left it in thraldom. And all Paris knew now that for good -or evil the reversed crown of the Duchesse de Châteauroux lay in the -lap of another. How long would she be permitted to wear it? - -As André hastened to leave, a touch was laid on his arm. “Do you -believe in the crystal now?” asked a gently derisive voice. - -Ah! the sorceress! he had forgotten her. “You are a true witch,” he -said, “you will certainly be burnt. But I thank you.” - -“I understand,” she replied and she took the arm he offered. They -walked in silence in search of her carriage. - -“Why do you hate politics?” André demanded suddenly. - -“Because,” she answered slowly, “it is the women to whom politics -are a passion who ruin kingdoms.” The vehemence of the reply was as -surprising as its nature. “Women,” she added, “governed the great Louis -Quatorze, they corrupted the Regent, they will bring our sovereign and -his kingdom to be the scorn of the world. Better a hundred witches, a -hundred wantons, than one woman whose passion it is to govern a kingdom -through its King. That is the woman who should be burnt.” - -It was a new idea to André: it would have been a new idea to the salons -of the Faubourg St. Germain, to the galleries of Versailles. - -“Yes,” she continued, “when a woman is not content to be a wife and -a mother she deserves to be treated only as the idol of an hour, the -pastime of a fleeting passion.” - -“O Madame!” - -“O Monsieur!” she retorted. “Believe me, it is pleasanter for the women -in the end and better for the men that such women should be denied -everything except that for which they live--pleasure.” - -They had reached the carriage. - -“Do you remember the pay for which you asked?” he questioned, taking -her hand. - -“Yes, I can never forget it.” - -“Then----” - -She stepped serenely into the carriage. “Then,” she whispered, “I shall -get it, I suppose, when I really want it,” and she swiftly shut the -door in his face. “Drive to the hotel of the Duc de Pontchartrain,” was -her order. - -André swore softly. The Duke was his friend and also perhaps the -greatest libertine in Paris. She should not escape him. In a quarter -of an hour he was supping with the Duke and his merry crew; women there -were in plenty, but this sorceress, the daughter of a Paris flower -girl, had neither been invited nor had so much as exchanged a word -with his grace. And when André, weary of lansquenet, ribald songs, and -copious toasts, slunk to bed with the rising sun he was strangely glad -that she had tricked him. But if she was not what she so cynically -professed to be what did it mean? And why in her presence did he always -have that irritating feeling that somewhere and somehow he had met her -before? - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -THE VIVANDIÈRE OF FONTENOY - - -THE sun of spring had set on May 10, 1745, the eve of a day memorable -in the military annals of the British and French nations. Behind a -camp-fire in the entrenchments of Fontenoy André warmed himself, one -of the many camp-fires which flared into the dusk on that plain which -for two centuries has been the cock-pit of Europe; and as he stared out -absently into the swiftly falling night an answering gleam scarcely -a mile and a half away yonder to the south-east at Maubray told him -that there lay the headquarters of the allied forces of the foe, -English, Dutch, and Austrians, commanded by an English prince of the -blood-royal, the Duke of Cumberland. - -There had been some warm skirmishing to-day. The British and the -Austrians by sheer weight of numbers had tumbled out of the enclosures -and copses the Pandours and Grassins thrown out as irregular out-posts -from the French army; and since then André and St. Benôit with many -others had watched the allied generals and their staff reconnoitring -at a safe distance the masterly position drawn along the slopes of -Fontenoy by Monseigneur le Maréchal de Saxe. A hard nut to crack, -gentlemen, these lines, study them through your spy-glasses as you -will. Nor will you find it easy to detect the place to push through. -Yes; you may attack any time now night or day, for Tournay to our rear -is hard pressed and unless relieved will fall into the hands of our -master, Louis XV. Well and good; what better could a Chevau-léger de -la Garde desire than that the pot-bellied Dutch traders, the Austrian -hounds, and the British dogs should dash themselves to pieces on our -lines. Mark you how the trenches run from the forest of Barry covering -our left away in the north, winding in a gentle semicircle along the -rim of the curving slope two miles and more down to the spot where -the Château of Anthoin guards the passage of the sluggish Scheldt. -And meanwhile we lie here snug and safe behind our redoubts bristling -with guns, with logs cut from the forest piled breast-high to aid the -advantage our general has given us, and with the flower of the French -army crouched and ready to roll you up when you come. See how open the -plain in front is, sloping gradually away from us; we can hammer you -in the most murderous fashion from under cover if you are mad enough -to dream that any troops can drive from its lair a French army that -remembers Dettingen and will have Tournay or perish. Our Maréchal -de Saxe, who knows something of the art of war, has pronounced it -impossible, and God have mercy on your silly, reckless souls if you -try, for the French guards are here and the Maison du Roi, and our -King’s eye is on us to see that we do our duty! - -Yes, His Majesty is here and with him Monsieur le Dauphin, and not a -few ladies greatly daring, and the royal household, chamberlains and -equerries, serving-men and serving-women, the bluest blood of France, -and the wenches of the commissariat, and the actors and actresses -of the Théâtre Français. Was there ever such a medley--soldiers, -courtesans, and sutlers, thieves, marauders, sluts and wantons, and the -gilded coaches and footmen of the beauty and birth that have the right -to throng the Staircase des Ambassadeurs at Versailles and have the -_entrée_ to the Grand Lever of the King of France? - -The camp-fires smoke into the chill dusk; the lights twinkle in the -packed villages where battalions of foot bivouac with squadrons of -horse. In front smoulders and glares the hamlet of Bourgeon fired by -our Grassins when they were driven out this morning. Everywhere the -confused turmoil of a great camp, the sharp blare of fitful trumpets, -the dull throb of drums, a feverish shot from yonder where skirmishing -is still going on, the neighing of horses, the rumble of waggons. -Hard by André here the men are taking their evening meal, chattering, -laughing, singing, dancing. Such women as can live in camps are -drinking too, singing when they cannot thieve. There are wounded to -be cared for, or robbed; throats there are beyond the lines to be cut, -purses and gold lace to be won from the fallen. Make love while you -can. To-morrow’s eve may never come. Have your season of pleasure, -Messieurs; to-morrow the wench whom you kiss to-night will strip you -in the dusk of the victory and leave you to the mercy of the dogs, the -spring frosts, and of God--the God of battles. - -Yes, to-morrow there will surely be a great battle. Have not the actors -promised it? “To-morrow no performance! The day after to-morrow a play -in honour of the victory of Monseigneur le Maréchal de Saxe!” And -before long there will be a _Te Deum_ in the glorious aisles of the -captured cathedral of Tournay. - -André on his straw heap curled in his cloak dreamed of Denise, of the -pleasant Loire, and of the Château de Beau Séjour when it should be -his. Pest on the _canaille_ and their trulls singing that lampoon at -his elbow: - - “Une petite bourgeoise, - Élevée à la grivoise - Mesurant tout à la toise, - Fait de la cour un taudis, dis, dis.” - -They were singing of no less a lady than the fair huntress and the -King, the heroine of the crystal and the King’s handkerchief, “_La -Petite d’Étiolles_,” who was now the heroine and jape of the streets of -Paris. Strange, so strange. And he, too, had played his part in the -drama of royal love: - - “Louis, malgré son scrupule, - Froidement pour elle brûle, - Et son amour ridicule, - A fait rire tout Paris, ris, ris.” - -His friend! And he would find her at Versailles no doubt when the -campaign was over. How long would she stay there, this ambitious -_bourgeoise_? - -“Monsieur le Lieutenant is sad.” Some one had touched his arm. Ah! only -a little _vivandière_ whom he did not recognise. “Monsieur le Vicomte -has left his mistress behind and he is sad,” she protested, kneeling -beside him and peering with bright eyes into his ruffled visage. - -“Run away, my dear,” André replied sleepily. “I am poor, tired, and in -a sad temper.” - -“And I am poor, fresh, and in a charming temper,” she retorted. “If -Monsieur le Vicomte has left his mistress behind there are still many -women in the world. Here is one!” She began to hum the refrain of the -song with the archest drollery: “A fait rire tout Paris, ris, ris.” - -André sat up. An appetising little _vivandière_ this, name of a dog! -Plump and most bravely tricked out in a military coat and short skirt -which revealed what would have made two dancers’ fortunes. - -“If I give you a kiss will you go?” he said good-humouredly. - -“Oh, no. The kisses of Monsieur le Vicomte are no better than those of -most men, I suppose.” - -“Then stay without them.” He closed his eyes and lay down again. - -“My thanks,” she nodded, gaily throwing back her short cloak so as -to reveal that her blue coat was open at the throat and suggested -a chemisette strangely fine for a _vivandière_. Then she bent over -him. “Would you do a service for Mademoiselle the Marquise de Beau -Séjour?” André sat up, sharply. “Would you do the King a service?” she -whispered. “_Mon Dieu!_ how those women bleat! Come this way, Vicomte, -I have something to say to you--a secret.” She blew him a kiss from -saucy finger-tips. - -André, now wide-awake, his blood tingling, followed her till she -stopped in the shadow of an outhouse. “You will do the King a service?” -she asked gravely enough. “Answer in my ear; we must not be heard. Yes?” - -“Tell me,” he said, quickly, “what the service is?” - -“The Vicomte can talk English?” - -“How the dev----?” - -“It matters not how I know it. Do not contradict. Time is precious. -To-night”--she was speaking earnestly into his ear--“the friends of the -King have learned that the secrets of the Maréchal will be betrayed to -the English.” - -“Good God!” He gripped her arm. - -“Hush!” She raised a warning finger. “It is so. To the -charcoal-burner’s hut two miles from here will come at midnight two -English officers. The plans of the camp--this camp, Vicomte--will be -given them; to-night the English will know where to attack to-morrow -and then--” she made a significant gesture. - -“But----” - -“No one can say how those plans have been stolen. But stolen they have -been, and it is too late to alter the entrenchments now. They are -made--you understand--and to-morrow is here in ten hours. Worse, worse, -the traitor is already at the cottage with the paper.” André sweated -hot and cold, for terror rang in her pleading voice. “It is infamous, -terrible. But one hope remains. We must find an officer who can speak -English, who will pretend to be those English officers and get the -plans before they are handed to the enemy. The Vicomte understands?” - -“Yes, yes, I see. I will go.” He buttoned up his cloak with peremptory -decision. - -“Oh!” She sobbed with joy. She could not thank him in words. - -“And who are you?” André asked. - -“Hush! hush! The army must not know of the danger. If you must know, -I am an actress, the friend of Monseigneur le Maréchal. I alone have -discovered this, and I am come to you, for I, too, love France.” - -The blood swirled for a minute in his temples. Ha! when Denise heard -how he, André de Nérac, alone had saved France, the army, and the King, -would she not be proud? Perhaps they would give him the Cordon Bleu. - -“What am I to do?” he asked quietly. “I am ready.” - -She described at length where the charcoal-burner’s hut lay and how -it could be reached. “When you are there, rap twice on the door,” she -proceeded, “and then say in English to whoever comes, ‘I am from “No. -101” to “No. 101.”’” - -“What does that mean?” - -“The Vicomte knows what a cipher is? That is the traitor’s cipher--and -the traitor’s name. It is all we have discovered.” - -“A man, this traitor?” - -“No one knows. I swear it. But it must be a man, so say those words in -English; speak in English, always--always. Remember you are an officer -of the First Foot Guards of the English King; you have come for the -papers because ‘No. 101’ has bidden you. You will get them if you are -clever and God wills. Then fly--fly for your life, and France is saved.” - -“I will not fly till I have killed that traitor.” - -“Yes, kill him if you can. But it is the papers you must have or we are -all ruined. The papers,” she repeated in a dull agony. - -André meditated. Then he took the _vivandière_ by both arms, “Will you -swear by the name of the Holy Virgin that this is no trap?” he asked -solemnly. - -She turned her hooded face up to his and took his Croix de St Louis. -“Before God and on this cross,” she answered very slowly, “it is no -trap. It is the truth.” - -Conviction rang in her low tones and she was trembling with emotion. - -“Very well. I am ready. But my uniform?” he asked sharply. “I shall be -recognised.” - -“I have thought of that,” she said. “See, my room is in the village, a -stone’s throw hence. A cloak, a hat, and boots of the English Guard are -there, stripped from a dead officer. They will cover your uniform. But -you must keep the cloak buttoned, for frock and tunic I have not got, -alas! I have, too, my actress’s box of colours. I will disguise you -perfectly. Come at once, there is no time to waste.” - -And so by two flickering candles her deft fingers transformed him -swiftly into the image of a ruddy, beef-fed English officer of the -English Guard, and when her work was done she accompanied him to the -edge of the lines, where they paused. - -“For God’s sake be careful,” she urged. “The Pandours, the Grassins, -the marauders, are prowling everywhere. Maybe, too, ‘No. 101’ may have -varlets on the look-out. I would not frighten you, but you should -know that the man or woman who has hunted ‘No. 101’--and several have -tried--has so far met with death.” - -But André only smiled grimly. - -“Yes,” she repeated, “all who have seen that traitor face to face have -died. It is horrible, but the truth. Get the papers, that is all we -need. Pry no farther, I beseech you. Ah, sir, a woman, even an actress, -would not have on her soul the blood of a gallant gentleman who at her -bidding risked all for France.” - -“Death can come but once,” he answered, “and in no nobler way than in -the service of France and the King.” - -“That is true, but you must live. For the King will be grateful, and -I--I, too, will not forget.” - -André smilingly put his hand on her shoulder. “And is that all?” he -asked lightly, “all my reward, Mademoiselle?” - -“Come back,” she whispered, “come back and you will see whether it is -all. Meanwhile, adieu and _au revoir_.” - -She had slipped from his grasp and vanished as mysteriously as she had -come. Who was she? Bah! it did not matter now. The night and its work -lay before him. But to-morrow--to-morrow! - -He mounted, gave the password, and rode into the night. - -Behind him lay the sleeping camp ignorant of its peril, in front the -strangest, weirdest, most dangerous task he had ever embarked on; yet -André felt no fear. His only thought as he trotted down the slope -was a vivid reminiscence of the words of the crystal-gazer. Women -everywhere in his life--always women at every turn--the princess in -London--Yvonne--“_La Petite d’Étiolles_”--the crystal-gazer, and now -the charming little _vivandière_--but they were all so many instruments -to help him to win the fairest of them all--Denise. It was clear as -noonday now. His task was to master the strand of the web in which -these women, by design or accident, enwrapped him, and to make them -serve his purpose while he seemed to serve theirs. It was an idea which -grew in power and fascination every day. Women appealed to him by -nature; before the charm of mind and body in women he was defenceless, -but it was his love for Denise that had inspired the conception of -yoking the pleasure of life to the attainment of a glorious ambition. -To-night was a matchless opportunity--and others would follow. - -But his mind while it revolved was fully alert. He believed in himself -and his sword. His faith in his star grew stronger each day. But fate -and God helped those who would best help themselves. To-night he must -not fail on this difficult task because he neglected anything that -caution could suggest. - -From time to time he halted. The night was dark, that was good, and a -raw mist steamed out of the sodden earth. He had taken the precaution -to bind his horse’s hoofs in soft cloth, and she, a powerful English -thoroughbred, his favourite mare, knew her master’s will by instinct. -The road, too, was easy to find. No one crossed his path. And here at -last was the little wood of which he had been told. Half a mile away -gleamed dully a fire, probably an English picket. He dismounted and -listened intently. Not a sound. And now very warily he plunged forward -into the bowels of this grisly little wood, leading his horse, his -pistols cocked and sword ready. Presently he stumbled; only a fallen -log; he stumbled again; another? No. This time it was a dead man. -André dragged him out and let the rays of his masked lantern fall -cautiously on his face. Poor wretch! half-naked too--a common gallows -bird of a marauder, stripped by the thieves and with a knife-thrust in -his throat, a common enough spectacle to those who had played at war -before, mere carrion in the daylight, but causing the flesh to creep -in the raw chills of this infernal hiding-place of treachery. Let him -lie. And now forward again. Pah! another corpse! A woman, and young, -too, that rascal’s companion no doubt, and stripped as he was. He bent -over her. Ha! what was that? One hand gone? There had been a quarrel, -the robbers had killed her and her mate, and to save time had simply -chopped off her fingers to get the booty she had gripped so tightly. -Let her lie beside him there and forward again, for such is war. - -Halt! Here is the charcoal-burner’s cabin. He could just make out its -black outlines in a clearing of the trees. André muffled his mare’s -head and tied her to a branch, and then with naked sword crawled -forward on hand and knees. Round the hut like a sleuth-hound he wormed -his way, learning the ground, making absolutely sure no one lurked in -this damp stillness. Positively not a soul, not a whisper. But the -horror of the dead man and woman and this awful stillness had mastered -him, and ten yards from the door he lay for some minutes watching, -thinking. The hut showed no signs of life. What if “No. 101” were -not there? What if the English officers had forestalled him and the -papers were already gone? What if an ambuscade were concealed in that -ramshackle cabin? - -Still he lay thinking, shivering, to start swiftly. The shutter in the -cabin wall was being slowly pushed open. There was no glass in the -window; a gleam of red light; some one was stealthily looking out into -the night. André crawled on his stomach across the clearing and lay -flat down with a sharp gasp. - -By the living God, it was a woman! A woman! - -Two drops of icy sweat dripped from his forehead on to the damp ground. -A woman! Yes, he could see the silhouette of her hooded head and bust -etched against the dull red light behind and the inky frame-work of the -window, and she was thinking too, resting her elbow placidly on the -sill. A woman! It was terrible, for she was a traitor and he must kill -her, here in this cursed cabin, in this damned wood. She moved her head -and listened intently. Yes, she was expecting some one. Ha! He was not -too late. - -The shutter was stealthily closed, but crouching beneath it André heard -the faint sigh as of a weary heart. He sprang up, rapped twice on the -door. - -Steps within, the bolts were being drawn back. At last a masked woman -with a lantern in her hand stood in the doorway, and he and she faced -each other in silence. - -“Who is that?” she asked in a clear voice. - -“I am from ‘No. 101’ to ‘No. 101,’” André answered firmly, but inwardly -he trembled and his sword was ready to leap out. - -She raised the lantern quietly and let the light travel from his hat to -his boots. - -“Good,” she said. “Enter, sir.” - -André paused. Could he dare? No--yes--no? For two slow minutes the -thoughts battled within him as he strove to penetrate the secret of -that mask and the hood covering her head. She was young--quite young. -That faint sigh as of a weary heart seemed to echo through the misty -silence of the wood. - -Then he stepped inside, and she quietly closed the door. - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -AT THE CHARCOAL-BURNER’S CABIN IN THE WOODS - - -THE woman led the way into the kitchen which opened off the tiny -passage and André followed her. The two faced each other in silence. -Presently she placed the lantern on the rough table in the centre of -the room and once again looked at him thoughtfully through her mask. -The only other light there was came from the dying embers of a fire, -whose murky shadows flickered on the walls and on the low roof. - -André with his fingers on his sword-hilt returned her studied gaze. -He could make out that her hair under her hood was fair; her voice, -her step, were those of a girl, and what he could see of her figure -shrouded in its long cloak bid well to be shapely. Yes, she was young, -this woman, but a pest on that mask! - -“You are not the officer I expected,” she remarked at last. - -“He was wounded; he could not come, so they sent me in his place,” -André answered at once. - -“I understand,” she replied with a quiet nod, “but they said two would -be sent.” - -“My companion is outside guarding the horses.” Whereupon she lifted the -lantern and inspected him closely. André, ready for anything, stood -quite still. “If you doubt my word,” he added carelessly, “I will take -you to him now.” - -“No,” she answered, replacing the lantern on the table, “your word is -enough; the word of an English officer,” and she turned to cross the -kitchen. - -André’s face was calmness itself, but his blood was tingling with -fear, curiosity, revenge. Never in his adventurous life had he been -so thrilled as at this moment in this dim, silent kitchen, alone with -this cold-blooded traitress in a mask. But, mastered as he was by an -overpowering desire to probe her secret to the bottom, he was also -carefully studying every nook and cranny. There was only one way out of -the room--by the door, which was half-open. He carefully moved so that -he might face it, and if a swift rush were necessary not have the table -between him and the road to escape. - -“There are the papers,” she said in her passionless tones. She had -taken them from a cupboard in the wall. - -He betrayed no eagerness, but his fingers trembled and his heart -thumped wildly as he looked them through by the dim light of the -lantern, one eye all the time watching the masked girl, who quietly -kneeled down by the fire with her back to him and began to blow on the -embers with a bellows. - -“They are what you want, are they not?” she remarked over her shoulder. - -“I believe so,” he answered as carelessly. - -Yes, the _vivandière_ was right. The paper was a complete plan of the -French encampment, marking accurately the positions of each battalion -and each battery, and in the corner was drawn in blood a curious -sign--two crossed daggers with 101 inserted in the gaps: - -[Illustration] - -It sent an icy shiver through him, this countermark of the traitor’s -success and good faith. God! they were betrayed indeed to those damned -Austrian hounds and English dogs. But he, André de Nérac, had saved the -King and the army of France! - -“I thank you,” he said, folding the paper up and putting it -deliberately within his cloak. - -“I do not desire your thanks,” she replied as she blew away some ashes. - -André stared in dumb bewilderment at her on her knees there in front -of the fire. Should he run her through at once or strangle her for an -execrable traitress? The woman betrayed neither fear nor interest. She -seemed to have forgotten his presence. - -“Are you ‘No. 101’?” he asked at last. - -“Oh, no.” She was laughing softly. “I am only her--agent.” - -“Then the trait--then she is a woman?” - -“Yes.” She stood up and shook some cinders from her cloak. “Yes, she -is a woman.” And André knew she was lying. The fingers on his sword -relaxed. Kill her he could not--yet. Depart he could not--yet. For -he was in the grip of a weird fascination--of a secret whose mystery -numbed his senses. - -“It is marvellous,” he muttered, “but the English army thanks ‘No. 101’ -and you.” - -“Yes,” she answered indifferently, “it is marvellous, but the English -army is nothing to her nor to me. For myself I detest the English -officers, but like you, sir, I simply do as I am bid. Give me the gold -and I will wish you good-night.” - -The gold; English gold! Pest on it! The _vivandière_ and he had thought -of everything but that. The perspiration swelled on to his forehead. He -grasped his sword and took a step towards the doorway. - -“I was given no gold,” he said brusquely and waited with drawn breath. - -“No?” She shrugged her shoulders and astonished him by kneeling down -and taking up the bellows. “It is like English officers to buy secrets -and not pay for them.” - -“You are unjust to the English,” he protested. Ah! that surely was a -stroke of genius. - -“I know them, the English,” she said without looking round. - -Dead silence broken only by the wheezy puffs of the bellows. Pity, -fear, astonishment, and a burning curiosity wrestled in André’s breast. -Was this masked girl flesh and blood or a devil in human form? - -“Do you want the papers back?” he demanded. - -“They are not mine to ask. I was told to give them to you; keep them.” - -The icy contempt in her voice stung him. If it had not been for France -he would have flung them at her and then strangled her on the spot. - -“Before I wish you good-night,” he said after a pause, “will you do me -the honour to remove your mask?” - -“Why?” She wheeled slowly, still on her knees. - -“Why does even an English officer ask a woman to do such a thing?” - -She rose and came close to him. “I will take off my mask with -pleasure,” she said, “if you, sir, will do me the honour to take off -your cloak and share my supper.” - -André could not check a start. Had she guessed the truth or was this -diabolical coquetry? - -“Permit me,” she said softly, and before he could move a finger she had -wrenched his cloak asunder. “Ah!” she cried, “I thought so. A hero in -the uniform of a Chevau-léger de la Garde with a naked sword and I--a -woman--defenceless, alone. You an English officer--you--you!” - -She had slipped from his side. The table with the smoking lantern was -between them. - -“Monsieur le Vicomte de Nérac,” she whispered, “any woman can make a -fool of you.” - -André slammed the door behind him. “Traitress,” he swore. “Your last -hour has come.” - -She gazed at him calmly. “Listen,” she said, “listen! Monsieur Spy. -To-morrow you will be shot by the English--and the papers”--she -laughed--“will still help towards the ruin of France.” - -André halted sharply. What was that outside? Horse hoofs in the -clearing--two horses! The English officers were here and he was -trapped, trapped, as God lived, by a woman who flouted his uniform and -himself. - -“You will not escape,” he said with set teeth, “and I have the papers.” - -“Pooh!” she flicked her cloak in his face. - -A loud rapping on the outer door. - -“Enter,” she called. “Enter, Captain Statham, the door is not bolted.” - -Captain Statham! They had met again and not in the salon of a woman of -pleasure. André laughed aloud. - -The latch was being lifted. It was now or never. Twisting his cloak -round his left arm as the Spaniard does in a duel with knives, in a -trice André, sword in hand, was over the table with the spring of a -cat. When he had punished this traitress he would deal with Captain -Statham. But the woman was too quick for him. The legs of the table met -him in the stomach and sent him staggering back. Through the sickening -pain he could hear her soft laugh of victorious contempt. A crash. -She had hurled the lamp to the floor and was past him, missing his -sword point by just half an inch. The blade quivered in the woodwork. -Half-mad, he grabbed at her mask--it came off--but she was gone. - -“We shall meet again,” she called, “your business and mine I hope does -not end here.” A spurt of flame shot into his eyes. The oil of the -exploded lamp had set the dry, rotten timbers ablaze and the kitchen -was alight. Quick as thought André hurled himself after the girl. She -had doubled to the right--there was another door as he guessed leading -to the back--she was through it and he after her, snatching at her -figure in the pitchy darkness. For two seconds he held her cloak--she -twisted out of it--and he fell back with a curse against the wall. She -had escaped. - -And now the flame from the kitchen revealed Captain Statham standing in -the front doorway, stupefied, his eyes glaring like a madman’s. With a -cry he flung himself on André. A cold pain in his left arm--André was -stabbed--but this was no moment for vengeance, only for flight, for on -his escape hung the safety and honour of France. He rushed into the -open at the back. To find his horse--to find his horse! - -“I have seen her,” he heard Statham cry as he whipped round the cabin. -It would be a race across the clearing now, for Statham’s companion -must be waiting on the other side, and in the roar of flame it would -be as light as day in this grisly thicket. What if his horse were not -there? Two to one then. Bah! should he turn to meet them as it was? No, -the papers--the papers first--vengeance would follow later. - -For one second André crouched behind the hut. Ah! there was his -horse--there was the other officer twenty paces off. Could he do it? He -must. - -“_Jésu!_” came the words in the voice of George Onslow as André doubled -round the corner, “it is the Vicomte, Statham; we are betrayed. This -way for God’s sake--ha!” - -Crack went Onslow’s pistol. André had leaped across the clearing. He -had missed, but the flash almost singed André’s hair. - -One slash of his sword and his horse was free. - -“Good-night, gentlemen,” he shouted in victorious bravado, “we shall -meet to-morrow. _Mes saluts et au revoir!_” - -In went the spurs and his maddened horse was bursting through the wood. -Another pistol-shot and they were after him, but he had a good start -and he knew that no beast alive could overhaul the beautiful blood mare -he had bought in England. A roar of flame behind him--the crack of -the wood--two pistol bullets singing through the swirling raw air--a -ghastly vision of that half-naked man and woman in the horror of the -clotted grass, his horse’s hoofs stamping out the dead woman’s face -as she lay where he had left her--a ride as of devil-tormented goblins -through the pains of hell--that was André’s recollection of his return -until he dropped fainting within his own lines. - - * * * * * - -Two flickering candles danced in his eyes as he opened them. - -“Bravo!” whispered a caressing voice. “Bravo!” - -He was lying in a long chair and the little _vivandière_ was kneeling -beside him. - -“Bravo!” she repeated, “and now drink--drink!” She forced brandy, -glorious and hot, down his throat. - -“Ah!” He sat up. The horror was slowly fading away, though he could -still see floating between her face and his that black cabin roaring -red, and that outcast woman’s face crushed into pulp beneath the iron -of his horse’s shoe. “The papers--the plans,” he muttered. - -“They are here,” she waved them softly, they were stained with blood. -“Yes, we are saved--France and the army and the King are saved and -you--you have saved us.” - -André smiled, letting his head drop. He was supremely happy. Denise -would hear of this--Denise--ah! - -“Come, my friend,” the _vivandière_ whispered, “look at yourself. It is -too droll.” - -He took the mirror from her and laughed--laughed loud and long. Here -was, indeed, a picture of a ruffian with a uniform torn and singed, -the paint smeared over his cheeks, one sleeve cut away, and his left -arm bandaged! Pah! that was where Statham had stabbed him. He would pay -for it to-morrow--no, to-day--to-day. - -“I found the papers when you fainted,” said the _vivandière_. “I wept -when I found them, for I was sick with fear that you had failed, and -now, _mon ami_, I take them to Monseigneur le Maréchal.” - -“Yes, Mademoiselle, they are yours.” - -Then André told his story while she listened eagerly. But he did not -tell her all, for instinctively he felt some things he had discovered -that night had better be locked as a secret in his own heart until he -knew more. - -“I do not think that was ‘No. 101,’” she remarked thoughtfully. “But -it is a pity you did not see her face. Some day hereafter it might be -useful to be able to recognise that woman.” - -“Perhaps so,” he assented, and he added to himself, “I shall see it -before I die. It is written in the stars.” For the curious thought -haunted his mind that if he had seen that woman’s face he would never -have returned. Yet Captain Statham had seen it; suddenly his cry, his -look in that narrow passage, rose before him. Was it what he had seen -which had shot such awful fear and horror into his eyes? Could it be -that the girl in the mask was--ah! he must wait before the question was -answered. And the answer would certainly come. That too was written in -the stars. - -“And now sleep, Vicomte,” his companion whispered. “In four hours the -dawn will be here. A battle is at hand, and once more you must fight -for the fair eyes of your mistress, for the honour of France and the -King.” - -She half-carried him to the bed. The flame-red pictures of the night -kept shooting through a blackness of pain in his eyes. How tired and -weak he was. From far away a trumpet note rang, a drum throbbed, a -snatch of revelling song bubbled mockingly up: - - “Et son amour ridicule, - A fait rire tout Paris, ris, ris.” - -“I made a promise,” dropped the soothing words in his ear, “but -Monsieur le Vicomte must never betray the secret to Monseigneur and -the King. Yet remember, I beg, there is nothing--nothing--I will not -do for you if I can serve you, for I am grateful--more grateful than -a woman can say.” A cushion was slipped under his neck. Two soft arms -enfolded him for a brief second. “The lips, Vicomte” came the caressing -chant--“the lips that a king has kissed salute you.” His head rested on -her breast. “Adieu!” She had vanished and his numbed senses ebbed away -into an enchanted oblivion. The Loire floated at his feet, the autumn -trees rustled a perfect pleasantness and peace, and Denise standing -beneath the carved mantelpiece with “_Dieu Le Vengeur_” in a scroll of -gold above her had him in her forgiving arms. - -Ha! What was that? Hoarse voices and cries, the rush of feet, of -horses, of waggons, and of guns, the rattle of the drums and the -challenge of trumpets. André leaped up, flung the window wide open. -The dawn was here, and hark, hark! Those are the silver trumpets of -the Chevau-légers de la Garde de la Maison du Roi. The trumpets of the -Guard calling as they called at Steinkirk. To horse! to horse! - -And what is that away yonder through the pearly mist of the morning -out there in the enclosures and coppices dripping in the dew of May? -Answering calls and the feverish thud of drums. They are coming--the -white-coated Austrian hounds and the red-coated English dogs! They are -coming! To horse! to horse! For to-day we must fight for the honour of -France--fight that we may have the play promised to the army by the -actresses of the Théâtre Français when Monseigneur the Maréchal de Saxe -has won yet another victory for His Majesty, Well-Beloved. Ah, they -shall see, those English dogs, what lies in the hearts and swords of -the nobles of the Guard. Fontenoy! Neither they nor we will ever forget -Fontenoy. - - - - -CHAPTER X - -FONTENOY - - -THE dull boom of a gun away on the right greeted André as he flung -himself into the saddle, and the trumpets were echoing all along the -line from the citadel of Anthoin over the slopes on which the brigaded -army lay right up to the forest of Barry which covered the French left. -A plumed officer galloped up to him. It was the Chevalier de St. Amant. - -“The Dutch and the Austrians,” he cried, “are concentrating opposite us -on our right, but the centre of the attack will be”--he waved his sword -northwards of Fontenoy--“the English form the enemy’s right flank.” - -“And the Maison du Roi?” - -“Will make the third line of the cavalry behind the carbineers and the -foot guards yonder. But you are wounded, Vicomte?” - -“A scratch--nothing at all,” André replied brusquely. - -The Chevalier looked at him, smiled, and galloped away. - -It was past seven o’clock. André paused to cast a hasty eye out towards -Maubray and Veyon, whence the foe must come. Around him staff officers -cantered this way and that; hoarse orders were being shouted, regiments -were falling in, deploying, lining the entrenchments, one, two, -three deep. Everywhere the strenuous confusion and fierce excitement -of an army hurriedly preparing for battle. Over the plain hung a -soft grey mist gently rolling up as the day grew, but dimly in the -distance, past the enclosures and the coppices in the midst of which -the wrecked hamlet of Bourgeon still smoked sullenly in the raw air, -troops--cavalry mainly--were collecting. Yes, the enemy really meant -business. It was to be an assault along the whole front and there was -no time to waste. - -With the Chevau-légers de la Garde André found St. Benôit. - -“Where the devil have you been?” his friend demanded. “We looked for -you everywhere last night. Jeannette and Gabrielle supped in my coach.” - -“Two assignations,” André laughed. “Such fun, I can tell you.” - -“And you got that slit between the two, I suppose?” - -“Yes, and a good deal more. Hullo! What’s that?” - -The guns from the citadel and the redoubts on the slopes had begun in -real earnest, answered as yet feebly from the enemy’s left. St. Benôit -and André trotted forward to make the position out. - -“Mark you there!” cried St. Benôit. “Those are English cavalry forming -up and see--see! There come the red-coated blackguards behind ’em. By -God! they’re going to let us give ’em a taste of our quality.” - -“Do you imagine they will dare to march across the plain in the teeth -of our artillery?” André asked. - -“It looks like it,” St. Benôit replied smiling. “And so much the -better.” - -The pair watched eagerly. The rattle of muskets crackled up from the -left--the skirmishers, the Pandours and Grassins are out, and every -minute it is hotter and hotter work; the smoke drifts up, and through -it they can catch glimpses of red-coated infantry falling in, company -on company, battalion upon battalion, in the rear of the covering -squadrons of horse. Ha! our guns up here have chimed in now, and -already there are empty saddles in the dragoons so placidly arrayed -amongst the lanes and enclosures, but those stolid islanders mind it -as little as a fisher does flies on a July day. Down rolls the smoke, -wafting in sullen clouds, shrouding the slope and the enclosures, only -broken by fitful puffs of air or torn by red flashes and the dull -plunge of the round shot. Yet this is a mere prelude up here, though on -our right the engagement has really begun. - -“Monseigneur, poor devil!” whispered St. Benôit, “but what a spirit.” - -Yes, that is Monseigneur le Maréchal de Saxe, carried in a wicker -litter, for he cannot sit his horse. He is dying of dropsy is -Monseigneur, but he will see for himself, and as he is carried along -he sucks a leaden bullet to assuage his raging thirst. The fire of -battle glows in those eyes which Adrienne Lecouvreur and so many women -have adored, and it inspires every man on whom his glance falls, so -full of confidence and calm is he as he issues his orders, serene, -majestic, and watchful. No troops in the world can ever force this -entrenched camp he is thinking, and before death takes him he will -win another great victory for his master, King Louis. Northwards of -Fontenoy is where he mostly prefers to stay, for this is the critical -place where by a miracle the French position may be turned, and here he -holds the Maison du Roi and his reserves in leash. Those English are -such stubborn devils when they are in the stomach for a tussle at hand -grips. We must be ready even for miracles. - -An hour--another passed. The Chevalier emerges from the drifting smoke -with welcome news. - -“The Austrians and Dutch are retiring,” he says. “Can you not hear -their drums beating to re-form? Down there we have handled them so -roughly that they have sought cover, huddled behind Bourgeon. Their -horse is broken and tumbled up, and the plain is littered with their -dead. They won’t trouble us much more.” - -[Illustration: Yes, that is Monseigneur le Maréchal de Saxe, carried in -a wicker litter, for he cannot sit his horse.] - -“It will be the same here, worse luck,” St. Benôit grumbled. “Those -cursed artillerymen are to have all the honours to-day. We shall not -be wanted at all.” - -“Do not be too sure,” André said quietly. And the Chevalier nodded in -agreement before he spurred off to carry a message to the King, who -with Monsieur le Dauphin is watching the fight near the Hermitage of -Notre Dame des Bois. - -Boom! boom! on our front at last. Those are the English field-pieces -beginning to reply to the salute we have been lavishly doling out. They -fire well, those English artillerymen, and their shots come plumping -into the entrenchments and crashing into the forest. The men begin to -drop in the first line. - -“Look at that fool De Grammont,” André muttered, pointing with his -sword. - -An officer on a white charger was galloping to and fro in front of his -regiment of guards, encouraging them in this gallant madcap fashion to -keep steady under the ever-increasing fire. - -“By God! he’s down,” he exclaimed as he saw the white horse stumble -and fall, struck by a six-pounder; and friendly arms are carrying his -shattered rider dying to the rear. - -“Poor De Grammont!” said St. Benôit, wiping away a tear, “never -again will his hot-headed chivalry lead us into a devil’s trap as at -Dettingen.” - -And he was right. De Grammont, who had ruined a French army on the -Maine, had fought his last fight that morning, for a cannon-ball had -smashed his thigh. - -“Drums! English drums!” André cried excitedly. “They are -advancing--can’t you hear ’em? We may be needed--thank God! we may be -needed now.” - -Below and across the roar of the guns, through the dirty smoke blended -with the last wisps of the pearly mist, throbs in a glorious challenge -the solemn tuck of English drums and the marching call of English -trumpets. They are coming on now. Can we not see the flutter of English -colours and the flash of light on epaulet and sword? - -“A noble sight that!” muttered St. Benôit with a catch in his throat. - -“They are fit for gentlemen to cross swords with,” said the generous -André. “I hope they’ll last till we can meet them as they deserve.” - -Through the smoke they could both make out how the cavalry had fallen -to the rear and the infantry was calmly advancing across the plain in -two long lines with the Hanoverians stepping out on their left. Aligned -as on the parade ground, never halting, never hurrying, shoulder to -shoulder, not a falter, not a wrinkle, the great red column in two long -lines comes on to the music of its drums; to-day these English dogs -will achieve the impossible if they can. But can they? Surely not. From -Fontenoy shriek the cannons, from Eu roar our guns, taking them in -flank and in front; there are gaps in the files--they close; a hideous -rent--it is sealed up; like a great scarlet wave they roll on majestic -in irresistible silence. Nothing can stop them, not all the guns in -Europe--marching on, marching on, marching on unreasoning, dogged, -straight into the throats of our artillery and the muzzles of our -muskets, mad--mad--mad, but the madness that intoxicates the heart and -ennobles the soul. Dutch and Austrians have twice faced this hellish -fire and twice recoiled, but these English will come on; they said they -would storm the entrenchments on the left, and get to them they will, -for a promise is a promise, and they have English gentlemen to lead -them. - -For a time they are lost in the smoke and the roar and the gentle folds -of the slope. - -“They are broken,” cried St. Benôit. “Well, they did their best, but -it’s a pity----” - -“Broken! by God!” burst out André, “look there--they’ve done it--done -it--and----” - -A cry has risen from the French ranks, a cry of rage and dismay and -surprise. - -The smoke had suddenly lifted, cut asunder by the flashes of the -guns, and it revealed a superb spectacle. Not a hundred yards from -the entrenchments, right across our left front almost on the top of -the slope, have suddenly emerged into sight the grim faces of those -serried red lines. The English infantry are on us--actually on us! -Hoarse commands, repeated, a quiver, they have halted, the drums still -placidly beating, colours gently flapping, while the officers calmly -re-dress their battalions. - -A frenzied moment, for behind on the slope here it is our footmen’s -first real sight of them, and Swiss Guards, Gardes Françaises, the -regiments of Courtin, Aubeterre, and of the King are hurried, dashed, -into order. What are we waiting for? Keep cool for God’s sake! We have -got to fight for it now. This is going to be a serious affair. - -And then a touch to stir the blood. An English officer has quietly -stepped forward--it is my Lord Charles Hay. Politely he doffs his hat -to the French lines and raises his flask as a man drinks a health at -a banquet. “Gentlemen,” he cries in French, “I hope you will wait -for us to-day and will not swim the Scheldt as you swam the Maine at -Dettingen.” A dozen angry voices go up in bitter protest at the taunt, -and here, in the third line, we Chevau-légers de la Garde grip our -swords in ferocious wrath. My lord turns round. “Men of the King’s -Company,” his voice rings out, “here,” he points with his cane, and -waves his hat, “here are the French Guards. You are going to beat them -to-day,” and at once rolls up in a tumultuous cresendo the thunder of -an English cheer, drowning the orders of the French officers, quelling -the tornado of the guns. Again and again it surges through the columns, -that challenge as of blooded hounds on the quarry at bay. - -“For what we are about to receive,” André heard an English officer call -out, waving towards the French muskets, “may the Lord make us truly -thankful,” and the cheer melts into a gay, grim laugh, cut short by -a hideous volley, for the Swiss Guards have fired straight into the -column at thirty paces distance. Down go red-coats by the dozen, but -they remain unshaken. A minute to draw breath, and the turn of the -English dogs is come at last. No more marching now; it will be bullet -for bullet--and then the bayonet. - -Fire! The command runs along from battalion to battalion. Fire! - -André and St. Benôit in the third line wept with wrath and despair. -The English volleys are devilish, murderous, horrible, and delivered -as calmly, silently, majestically, as they had marched. The red lines -are girt about with a halo of impenetrable flame, pitiless, ceaseless, -triumphant. The Swiss Guards are decimated, the Courtinois are piled in -dying heaps, the French Guards shattered. Hotter and hotter it grows as -the smoke becomes thicker. Step by step the red lines advance. - -André straining forward can see the stony faces, the loading and -reloading as at a battue, the officers walking serenely up and down, -marking each volley, now jesting, now reprimanding, now encouraging, -now smartly tapping the muskets with their canes to force them down -and make the men fire low, and fire low they do. Can nothing be done? -The Royal Brigade, the Soissonois are brought up. Forward now in God’s -name and for the honour of France! Useless, utterly useless. Volley -upon volley shivers the advancing files; they tumble in bloody swathes; -they stop, recoil, reel. Disorder is spreading, shouts and cries and -the pile of dead grow bigger, and yard by yard to those infernal drums -roll on the red lines. They are past the earthworks. On they come--a -volley--on--on--steady, slow, irresistible. Ten minutes more and we are -lost! - -Fierce trumpets through the smoke, the thunder of cavalry charging. -The Maréchal has launched them, and not a moment too soon. The English -halt--wait--fire. Horses and men crumble up--dissolve. No matter. Bring -up the second line and now ride home, ride home. Shame on you that -twelve battalions of infantry backed by artillery can defy the flower -of our French army. The English line shivers into a bristling wall. -Keep quiet there and reserve your fire--muttered whispers and curses, -and then the flame leaps out. That is the way, sirs; stand up to them -and for heaven’s name let the drums keep beating, the drums that beat -at Dettingen and are beating now at Fontenoy. Rank after rank totters, -breaks, parts, scatters. A cheer rolls up, the cheers of the victors, -for dying men and riderless horses are all that remain of our second -line of cavalry. - -The English have won! No, by God and the Virgin, the patron of France, -not yet! We still remain, we the Maison du Roi and we the Chevau-légers -de la Garde. The silver trumpets blare out their warning challenge. One -solemn minute--clear your sword arms and charge! Charge! - -Boot to boot, saddle to saddle, through the smoke we cut our way -with set teeth and sobbing breath. We are no _bourgeoisie_, we; no -_canaille_ or _roturiers_ drawn from the plough; we are nobles all, and -this will be the cold steel of the white arm at close grips. The ground -is thick with dead--our horses nostrils gleam red--God! we are on them -and the blast of the tornado smites us and we--we reel! As hail from a -north-easter smites a standing crop so do their bullets smite us and we -stagger like drunken men, stagger and blench and fail. Red are their -coats, but red and hot as the flames of hell is their fire, and in five -awful minutes we too are left sobbing in the saddle, beaten--beaten! -The chivalry of France has gone down before that pitiless furnace. - -André found himself swept to the rear in the hideous backwash of that -miserable recoil, spattered with blood, choked with smoke. Gasping he -galloped to the Maréchal. - -“The day is lost,” he shouted, “lost!” - -The Maréchal nodded as he calmly sucked his leaden bullet. - -“Go,” he replied, “do you go and warn the King to retire. At least save -His Majesty.” - -And then he turned to summon his last reserves for one final effort to -retrieve the day while André delivered his message. But Louis would not -retire. Impenetrable as ever, inspired by a gleam of kingly pride, he -doggedly refused to obey, and André in despair left him to rally and -lead the infantry and horse that still remained. Better now death than -dishonour, for a prisoner he would not be a second time. Back to the -fray and fall before defeat comes! - -The Chevalier met him as he plunged once more into the smoke, the -thunder of the captains and the shouting. “The tide has turned!” the -young man cried, “the Austrians and the Dutch have retired. It is only -the English now. This way, Vicomte, this way!” - -The Maréchal had grasped the fact. Dutch and Austrians had made a -second effort on their right and centre and it had failed. The English -were alone, and with consummate coolness he played his last card. -Guns, horses, men, are feverishly brought up from Fontenoy, and while -the Irish brigade, six battalions strong, men once British subjects -but now fighting for France, Jacobites, Papists, loyal and disloyal -alike, fugitives, and renegades, gentlemen, thieves, adventurers, -and footpads--men fighting not for honour or victory but for their -necks--are hurled at the red lines, the broken infantry are rallied, -the cavalry re-formed. The gayest libertine in France, the Duc de -Richelieu, gathers the scattered companies. The King and the Dauphin -are rallying the Maison du Roi. - -See! the English are falling back. With sullen reluctance the order has -been given--with sullen reluctance it is obeyed. Retire they must or -die here to the last man. Step by step, yard by yard, reduced to half -its numbers, the red column with drums still beating just when victory -was in its grasp slowly halts--fires--retires. As they had advanced, -so do they retreat, those English dogs, shoulder to shoulder, files -beautifully dressed, in all the cool majesty of the parade ground, -firing those terrible volleys to the end. - -Led by the King to the charge once again does the Maison du Roi spur -furiously to break them; once again as the island rocks hurl back the -invading waves do the English columns rend them asunder. Not all the -cavalry and infantry of France can mar or shake that glorious red -line. And we can do no more. Let them go. Into the smoke and down the -blood-stained slopes they glide and vanish. It is enough--enough! - -The battle is over. We have won--yes, we have won, for the camp and the -entrenchments are once more ours and Tournay will fall. Fontenoy is and -will remain a victory for France, but 6000 English dead and wounded and -10,000 French piled on the crest and on these awful ridges bear witness -to what a victory it has been. And we French noblemen who have lived -through the morning hours of May 11th may well take off our hats to the -English and Hanoverian infantry who unsupported--nay, deserted by their -allies--marched into a French camp across an open plain and all but -wrested victory from twice their numbers. To-morrow the bells of Notre -Dame and a hundred churches will ring for the success of Fontenoy, but -to-night the British drums that beat on these slopes will beat in -our ears and for ever through the centuries their deathless challenge -to the homage of chivalry in the hearts of all who call themselves -soldiers. No; we do not grudge them their triumph, for there are things -finer than victory, and that honour is theirs. - - * * * * * - -André, marvellously untouched, found St. Benôit lying by his dead horse -half under the wheel of a dismounted gun on the top of the slope. This -was where the English Guards had turned to bay for the last time, when -the final furious charge that had failed had been made by the Maison du -Roi. St. Benôit had a bullet through one arm and a bayonet thrust in -his thigh, but thank God he still lived, and André carried him to his -coach with the help of the Chevalier, who with a tender care strange to -his pert _insouciance_ was doing what he could for the fallen. - -“He will live!” said the Chevalier as they returned to the spot to seek -for others, and plenty there were heaped amongst the Swiss Guards and -the Gardes Françaises, nobles, his friends and comrades, in all the gay -bravery of their blood-stained ruffles and haughty uniforms, and mostly -dead. The strippers of the camp were already at work on their ghastly -trade. - -“What is it?” asked the Chevalier suddenly, for André had uttered -a cry of pain. Only an English officer of the 1st Foot Guards, -fresh-coloured, smiling, handsome, lying at his feet amidst a score of -common English rank and file. His sword was not drawn, but in his hand -was a small cane. He had been re-dressing the line of his company as -they had halted to receive and repulse that last charge. - -“It is Captain Statham,” André explained. “I knew him in England, -and--” he checked himself to stoop. “Yes, he is dead. It is strange.” - -“Strange?” questioned the Chevalier. - -But André had nothing more to say. The Chevalier looked very seriously -at him and then at the dead man. A shiver went through him. “Shall we -say a prayer for his soul?” he asked in a hurried, low voice. - -André assented in no little surprise, and together they repeated a -hasty prayer, and then André carried him away. He could not leave -him--this English officer--to the awful mercies of the harpies who -preyed on the gallant dead. - -“I have had enough of this,” were the Chevalier’s words as they parted, -and his gay face was sick. And André had had enough too. - -And that night as he munched his supper there was but one thought in -his mind. Perhaps an English Denise and an English mother were now -on their knees awaiting the news from Fontenoy; but they would never -know that last night the son and lover had gone to the cabin of the -charcoal-burner and had by an accident seen the face of the masked -woman who had striven to betray the French army. To-day Captain -Statham, as so many others, had fallen in the performance of his duty. -Was that fate or the chance of war? Who could say? With a shudder he -recalled the grim words of the little _vivandière_ who had disappeared. -But one thing was certain. Whatever secret Captain Statham had -learned--if it was a secret--his lips would never reveal it now. And -had he, André de Nérac, seen that woman’s face he, too, perhaps, had -been found lying where the dead were thickest. “No. 101!” And had he -done with “No. 101”? Assuredly not, assuredly not. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -IN THE SALON DE LA PAIX AT VERSAILLES - - -“MON DIEU! my dear Abbé,” exclaimed the Comtesse des Forges, dropping -her cards to let her languishing, heavy-lidded eyes linger on the -smiling face of her latest _protégé_, “you make my blood run cold.” - -“_Brélan de rois_” called the plump Duchesse de Pontchartrain, -carefully noting the fact on her tablets before she allowed her -suspicions to master her. “But are you quite sure?” - -The dandy Abbé St. Victor with the air of a connoisseur compared -the Venus on the cover of his snuff-box with the delicately-tinted -shoulders of her grace. - -“As sure,” he said slowly, “as Madame the Dauphine is dead, rest her -poor German soul, and that Monsieur the Dauphin will marry again.” - -It was Sunday evening a good year after Fontenoy. The Court was -just out of mourning, to its great joy, and the Salon de la Paix at -Versailles blazed with lights and with the jewels and silks of a -brilliant throng, a few of whom were dispersed in groups making love -or talking scandal over their chocolate, while the greater part were -playing cards, the ladies at the fashionable _brélan_, the men at the -dice which led to duels and mortgaged estates. - -“It will be the deuce for the peace negotiations,” Philippe Comte de -Mont Rouge remarked, scowling at the Abbé for no other reason than that -he was condemned to sit at this table while Denise, the favourite of -the Queen’s maids of honour, was talking in an alcove behind his back -to the Chevalier de St. Amant. - -“Go you, my dear Abbé,” said the Comtesse, “and bring Des Forges and -St. Benôit here. Your news will excite them more than throwing three -sixes running.” - -“And,” added the Duchess in her pouting staccato, “put your head into -the gallery yonder, dear friend, and see if my husband has finished his -flirtation with that pretty wench of mine.” - -“And if he hasn’t, Duchess?” - -“Give them a plenary absolution and let them begin all over again,” -interposed the Comtesse. - -“To be sure,” the Duchess assented plaintively, “it will keep them both -out of worse mischief. Really I cannot dismiss the girl. She washes my -lace to perfection.” And she resettled the delicate trimming on her -corsage for the benefit of the Comte de Mont Rouge. - -“Well, what is it?” St. Benôit demanded. - -The Abbé took a fresh pinch of snuff. “The messenger,” he said with no -little excitement, “the messenger who was conveying secret instructions -from the King to the army in Flanders was found last night in a ditch -near Vincennes drugged, his arms and feet bound, and----” - -“The despatches gone?” - -“Naturally.” - -The Comte des Forges meditatively licked his signet ring. “I knew -something d-dreadful had hap-happened,” he stammered. “Why ever should -I only be able to t-throw twos to-to-night?” - -“What do you make of that?” asked Mont Rouge. - -St. Benôit appeared to study his uniform of the Chevau-légers de la -Garde in the mirror. His eye rested on Denise and her companion. “The -second time in the last three months,” he muttered. “What does the -courier say?” - -“Say,” repeated the Comtesse des Forges, “say! Not a word, you may -swear. The fool knows nothing till he woke to find a gag in his mouth -and two peasants glaring at him as if he were the devil.” - -“Pontchartrain,” remarked the Duchess, “is sure the man fell in with a -siren at the cabaret where he had his supper. Pontchartrain knows most -of the cabarets and all the sirens.” - -“Wait, wait,” pursued the Abbé. “The courier was carrying not merely -army despatches, but,” his voice dropped, “a private cipher message -from His Majesty to the agent of the Jacobites.” - -St. Benôit so forgot the etiquette of the Salon de la Paix as to -whistle softly. - -“B-by Jove!” stammered Des Forges. - -“They say,” whispered the Abbé to his enthralled audience, “that the -message was an invitation to Prince Charles Edward to ignore the King’s -explicit promise to the English ambassador and to present himself at -Versailles.” - -“Dear Prince!” exclaimed the Duchess. “If only he would come to Court -I believe I could make Pontchartrain jealous and still have my lace -washed by Françoise.” - -“I should kiss him, yes I should kiss him, the royal hero. You agree, -Des Forges?” cried the Comtesse. “The English--pah! I would do anything -to spite the English for their treachery to their lawful Prince.” - -“But your kisses, _ma mie_,” replied her husband, “w-would only keep -the P-prince from g-going again to seek his c-crown.” - -“Pray what does the Comte des Forges know of madame’s kisses?” asked -the Duchess innocently, and they all laughed, no one more heartily than -the Comtesse herself. - -“And this is serious,” said St. Benôit, “even more serious than the -kisses of Madame la Comtesse.” - -“And the King is really angry,” the Comtesse said. “M. d’Argenson came -away from his audience this morning looking as if he had stolen the -despatches himself.” - -“And His Majesty remained on his knees at mass ten minutes after -every one else had risen,” said the Abbé; “he always does when he is -thoroughly angry.” - -“I told you it would play the devil with the peace negotiations,” Mont -Rouge commented. - -“It is curious,” mused St. Benôit, “very curious that this infernal -treason should begin again just when the Chevalier de St. Amant has -returned to his duties.” - -“The Chevalier?” they all questioned eagerly. - -“Do you remember the night before Fontenoy,” St. Benôit continued, -“when our friend André de Nérac saved the army from foul treachery? -Well, I never could get the whole truth from him, but he allowed me to -infer that the Chevalier was playing a very fishy part in the business.” - -“Impossible,” protested the Duchess. “The Chevalier is on our side--the -Queen’s side--the right side.” - -“The Marquise de Beau Séjour, I suppose,” sneered the Comtesse, “is -guarantee for that.” - -“That is not worthy of you, dear lady,” St. Benôit corrected gently, -looking into her great blue eyes as he had looked twelve months ago. -“Mademoiselle de Beau Séjour is Mademoiselle de Beau Séjour. It will -take more than a parvenu Italian chevalier to make her forget she is -of the same quality and sex as the Comtesse des Forges. But I would -wager a diamond bracelet to a sou that either the Chevalier is at the -bottom of this dirty business--or,” he delicately sniffed at his lace -handkerchief as one who feared infection, “or that woman.” - -“Poisson-Pompadour, a fishy grisette,” sniggered Des Forges, playing on -the name, “at the b-bottom of a f-fishy business--eh?” - -“The Abbé can give us news again,” remarked Mont Rouge sweetly. “He -attended the grisette’s toilet this morning.” - -“Impossible!” the Comtesse exclaimed with sincere anger. - -“He blushes, our dear friend,” pursued the remorseless Mont Rouge, -“blushes a rose de Pompadour. Ha! ha!” The hit went home. Rose de -Pompadour was the new colour invented in honour of the King’s favourite -at the world-famed royal manufactory at Sèvres. - -“The Duc de Pontchartrain was there too,” retorted the Abbé sulkily. - -“That,” pouted the Duchess, “is a worse insult to me than if----” - -“Than what, _ma mignonne_?” blandly inquired his Grace, who had stolen -in upon the group. “I would have you know, ladies, that in a white -peignoir, with her hair about her bare shoulders, the Marquise de -Pompadour is the prettiest woman save one at Versailles, or Paris for -that matter.” - -“Every one,” laughed the Abbé, “knows that Monsieur le Duc is a -connoisseur of painting.” - -“And the name of the other divine grisette?” asked the Comtesse -roguishly, for the Duke was studying her as he studied the _coryphées_ -of the opera or his race-horses. - -The Duke kissed the plump fingers of his wife with the most charming -grace imaginable. “The mirror will answer Madame la Duchesse,” quoth he. - -“But my peignoir is blue,” she protested, “and even Françoise could -tell you my shoulders on such occasions never are bare.” - -“The more’s the pity.” St. Benôit bowed to the diamonds on her breast. - -“Amen!” droned the Abbé in the officiating priest’s sing-song, and the -Duchess dimpled with delight. - -“The Abbé has not told you,” said the Duke, “how he sat on the f-fishy -grisette’s bed. He is a bold man our spiritual friend. Listen. There -were we all at madame’s toilet this morning--charming shoulders she has -I repeat--and kept standing on our feet were we, for she is royal now -is the Marquise, and no one may have a chair.” - -“The insolence of the jade,” cried the Comtesse. “That Versailles -should endure it!” - -“And presently strides in the King. No chair for him either. _Parbleu!_ -My legs were breaking and so apparently were the Abbé’s. Presently I -heard a crack, and there had our witty friend plumped himself down -right on Madame’s bed. ‘With your permission, sire,’ he said with a -comic cock of his eye, ‘but I am dead tired.’ And the King, who had -come in as sulky as a bear, burst into laughter. ‘Look, Madame,’ he -said, ‘look at this poor devil of an Abbé!’” - -“And the Pompadour?” - -“She shrugged her bare shoulders and laughed too, because the King was -amused, but she put back her ears, very pretty ears, by the way, like -a vicious horse. My faith! she will not forget ‘this poor devil of an -Abbé.’” - -“My friend, I could embrace you,” cried the Duchess. - -“If you would only do it again,” said the Comtesse, “I would embrace -you, too.” - -“Do you remember De Nérac’s prophecy,” St. Benôit asked quietly, “that -if that woman came to Versailles she would come to stay?” - -“Ah! if only some one would poison her,” murmured the Duchess. - -“Or another take her place,” cried the Comtesse. - -“For the good of the country,” interposed the Duke, “I am quite ready -to sacrifice the Duchess, even though she----” - -“This is no jesting matter,” St. Benôit interrupted sharply. “The -Queen and the ministers know that unless we can ruin this jade of the -_bourgeoisie_ France and we will be ruined. I wish to heaven André de -Nérac were here instead of risking his life in Flanders to no purpose -than the glory of the Pompadour.” - -“A miracle, a miracle!” cried the Duchess, pointing with her fan. - -At the end of the salon a little knot of excited courtiers had -gathered, and in their midst stood the Vicomte de Nérac. - -For a minute or two he halted, gazing about him with a slightly dazed -air. The brilliant lights, the jewels and bare shoulders of the ladies, -the uniforms and stars of the men, the rattle of the dice and the -clatter of a hundred idle tongues seemed to awe him, familiar though he -was with the scene. It was pleasant in this heavily-perfumed air with -the flash of the candelabra on his riding cloak, faded uniform, and -dusty boots, and on his tanned face, to mark the singularly bracing and -vivid contrast that he presented to the luxurious idlers of his world. -His eye had fallen on Denise. His shoulders straightened, his lips -tightened, unconsciously. - -“Depend on it,” St. Benôit whispered to the Duke. “André’s appearance -has something to do with this damnable treachery.” - -“Or,” added the Duke quietly, “with the schemes of that fishy grisette. -The post of the master of her household is vacant.” - -André was soon basking in the smiles of his lady friends, proud to -welcome a hero who had saved an army of France. Ten minutes showed that -he knew nothing of the mysterious affair at Vincennes, and he could -only repeat that he had been summoned to Versailles by the express -commands of his Sovereign. Why and for what he was ignorant. - -The ladies in particular as they babbled watched him closely. Eighteen -months of campaigning had not robbed his smile of its charm nor his -dark eyes of their eloquent reserve. He was still the André de Nérac -who had made more husbands jealous, more women rivals, than even the -Duc de Richelieu. For Mademoiselle Claire, for Mademoiselle Eugénie, -and the other maids of honour he had a bow and the finished compliment -so dear to Versailles; he had even a friendly nod for the Chevalier de -St. Amant. But to Denise’s curtsey a cold and correct salute in silence -was all he deigned to reply. The rebuke made the eyes of the Comtesse -des Forges very bright; indeed, it set the Salon de la Paix gossiping -when he withdrew to remove the stains of his hard riding. - -“This will ruin everything,” St. Benôit muttered, for he had both fears -and plans in his head. So that when André and Denise suddenly met in -the half-lights of the empty gallery neither knew the meeting was due -to a friendly schemer. - -The quick flush in Denise’s cheeks (she ravished the gay blades of -Versailles by scorning powder and paint), the dropping of her grey -eyes, sent a thrill into the soldier’s heart, but he kept a resolute -silence. - -“Madame your mother,” Denise began with an effort, “will be proud to -welcome you back. Do you stay long at Versailles?” she added hurriedly, -when he simply bowed. - -“I do not know, Mademoiselle; I await His Majesty’s commands.” - -“You are perhaps sorry to return?” - -“I cannot tell--yet,” he replied with slow emphasis. - -Denise flashed an inquiring glance. “What you will find here,” she -said hurriedly, “cannot please a noble of France. A neglected and -dishonoured queen--an adventuress----” - -“We are in the King’s hands,” André interrupted with a dry smile. - -“Yes. Versailles, France, are in the King’s hands,” she repeated -despairingly. “Ah!” she cried with a sudden flash, “we want all who -would help to--to--” the words died away under the chill of his -demeanour. - -“To banish the Marquise de Pompadour?” he inquired after a pause. - -“Yes. There will be no peace nor honour for France until the Queen, my -mistress, is restored to her place and that woman ceases to traffic in -the affairs of a great kingdom.” - -“I dare say you are right, Mademoiselle. Perhaps it is your business. -It certainly is not mine.” - -“Not yours? Why not? Are you not one of us, a soldier, a noble?” - -“Doubtless, but,” he shrugged his shoulders, “I at least cannot forget -that a worthless libertine----” - -“I had hoped you had forgotten those words; you are cruel,” she -interrupted, “you who have shown----” - -“Say no more,” he exclaimed joyfully. “I _have_ forgotten and I ask -you to forgive. I was rude as well as cruel. Yes, I have come back as -I swore I would to prove that I might be worthy of your regard, your -love, Denise.” - -He gently touched her hand and raised it to his lips. - -“Of my love,” she said quietly, “you must not speak, if you please. But -my regard you have already won in Flanders. And, André,” she continued -earnestly, “there is work for you to do here. You will help us--us who -would--ah!” - -She broke off sharply, for one of the ushers of the King’s bed-chamber -had swiftly come upon them. - -“Monsieur le Vicomte,” he said, “His Majesty desires you to wait upon -him at once in the salon of Madame la Marquise de Pompadour.” - -“But--” André looked at his travel-stained cloak and boots. - -“His Majesty desired Monsieur le Vicomte to attend just as he was.” - -“Adieu,” Denise whispered, “and do not forget to-night that you are a -noble and soldier of France.” - -André turned angrily to obey, for the message from those pleading grey -eyes had stirred all the fierce pride of his class. Confound this -_bourgeoise_ woman who ordered nobles to dance attendance in her salon! - -“I will not forget, Denise,” he whispered back and his spurs rang -defiance on the staircase which led to the second floor, where the -favourite so loathed by the Court held sway. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -A ROYAL GRISETTE - - -“MONSIEUR LE VICOMTE DE NÉRAC,” pronounced the gentleman-usher closing -the door behind him. - -The King was leaning against the mantelpiece talking to Madame de -Pompadour smiling from an arm-chair up at him. The bored, impenetrable -royal eyes travelled over André’s figure as he advanced to kneel and -kiss his Sovereign’s hand. Madame then without rising held out hers, -and André, conscious only of the King’s presence, must swallow his -pride and salute as she sat this upstart usurper of royal honours. But -the blood of the De Néracs boiled within him. - -Louis gazed with lazy approval round the apartment furnished with -even greater taste than wealth, at the costly books and pictures, at -the unfinished plaster cast which Madame had been modelling, at the -plans of buildings littered on a glorious escritoire. A Mæcenas in -petticoats, whatever else she was, this adventuress, thought André as -he waited in silence, and he recalled the memories of the salon she had -held as Madame d’Étiolles for Voltaire, the President Hénault, the Abbé -de Bernis, and the other famous wits. - -“Madame la Marquise,” said the King abruptly, “will convey my wishes. -Good-night, Vicomte.” - -The curtains at the other end of the room had scarcely fallen on the -departing King when the lady resumed her seat as if she desired the -standing André clearly to recognise that the King’s presence made no -difference to the rights she claimed. It was, too, as if she insolently -invited him to inspect her. And inspect her he did, tingling all the -time with rage. - -How she looked Nattier and La Tour, who painted her in the heyday of -her womanhood and of her beauty, have left on immortal record. And -anger could not prevent André’s heart, so susceptible to feminine -loveliness, from a swift thrill of homage. That dainty head, the -exquisite shape and pose of her neck, those wonderful eyes, now -black, now blue, now grey, that bust called by a poet _les parfaits -plaisirs_, the harmony of her heliotrope robe, lace-edged with cunning -artlessness--every line, every detail, witnessed to a woman’s magic -insight into the handiwork of God. And here in this haughty Versailles, -where taste, breeding, and birth were superior to mere beauty, this -woman, born a _bourgeoise_, had by some diabolic witchery usurped the -polished ease so justly regarded as the heritage and the monopoly of -the château and of the _noblesse_. - -She had risen. “Monsieur le Vicomte,” André noted the musical -modulation in her voice, “His Majesty has been pleased to confer on you -the fit reward of your valour.” - -She was gravely offering him the soldier’s and statesman’s most coveted -distinction, the Cordon Bleu. The blood leaped into André’s head. For -a moment the room swam blue as the ribbon. “Madame, I thank you,” he -stammered. - -“It is the King’s gift,” she corrected calmly. For a minute or two they -surveyed each other. - -“What is it?” she demanded of the servant who had entered. - -“The superintendent of police awaits the commands of Madame la -Marquise.” - -“Let him enter,” she said, resuming her seat and quietly ignoring André. - -His anger grew hot again as he observed how she took for granted the -official’s humble obedience. - -“Study that lampoon,” she said, tossing him a fly-sheet. “You must -discover the author and have him punished.” - -“But it is impossible, Madame,” the superintendent replied after a -pause. “I have no power to arrest, still less to punish, the ladies and -gentlemen of Versailles.” - -“It comes from the palace, then?” - -“It does not come from Paris,” the official answered drily. - -She placed the paper in a drawer. For a few seconds the look in her -eyes was terrible. “You have the other information I required?” she -asked. - -“His Majesty last night was closeted with his private secretaries -till half-past ten. At a quarter to eleven His Majesty walked in the -north gallery with the Chevalier de St. Amant. At eleven they met the -Marquise de Beau Séjour leaving her Majesty’s apartments. The Chevalier -spoke to her, the King did not. At ten minutes past eleven His Majesty -went to bed.” - -André went cold as ice at the glib report. Denise was right. There -would be no peace till this woman had been hunted from her place. - -“Good. That will do,” and she dismissed the official. Then she turned -her chair. - -“The post of master of my household is vacant,” she said. “It is the -King’s pleasure that it be filled by the Vicomte de Nérac.” - -“I beg pardon, Madame?” André questioned haughtily. - -She calmly repeated the sentence, looking him full in the face. - -“It is impossible,” he answered, with difficulty restraining his anger. - -“Nothing that the King of France is pleased to command a subject can be -impossible,” she rejoined almost sweetly. - -André clenched his hands and held his tongue. A gentleman must needs -accept an insult even from a low-born woman with the dignity due to -himself. - -“It is the King’s pleasure,” she proceeded with a flash of sarcasm, -“but it is not mine. I do not choose to accept the services of the -Vicomte de Nérac.” - -André gave her a look. Had she been a man she might have lived -twenty-four hours, certainly no more. - -“Has Monsieur le Vicomte any further observations to offer? No? Then--” -she made the pretence of a curtsey. He, André de Nérac, a Croix of St. -Louis and a Cordon Bleu, was dismissed. - -An icy bow; he was striding to the door. - -“Monsieur le Vicomte leaves the Cordon Bleu on the table,” she -remarked, but André in his rage paid no heed. - -“_Mon Dieu!_” a caressing laugh caused him to halt with a shiver. “_Mon -Dieu!_ so you have forgotten the little _vivandière_ at Fontenoy? Ah, -well, it is no matter.” - -André drew a deep breath. The past swept into his eyes. Was he -bewitched or---- - -“But I have not forgotten,” came that silvery voice, “see the proof,” -she was holding up the Cordon Bleu. - -“It was you--who,” he sat down overcome. - -“To be sure. Who else? I am a good actress, am I not? Ah, yes, the -world knows I can act. Paint and powder, a red jacket, a short -petticoat with boots half-way to the knees. Would they not stare in -the Galerie des Glaces if they knew?” She tripped towards him, head -cocked on one side, hands on her hips. “The Vicomte will not betray -our secret for all his wrath. ‘It is impossible, Madame, impossible,’” -she was mimicking divinely his haughty brevity. “Ah! you will forgive -the _vivandière_ though you cannot forgive the Marquise de Pompadour. -Yes, you did me a service that night for which I have repaid you by an -insult. I ask your pardon, for I am grateful.” - -In her pleading eyes floated a wonderful tenderness and penitence. - -“And every minute,” she pursued softly, “I felt sure you must recognise -me. But you did not. My faith! soldiers are strange, so proud and -fierce and stupid--eh? But you frightened me, upon my honour you did. I -tremble still.” - -André stumbled to his feet. - -“I am in your power,” she whispered. “No one but you knows that I was -at Fontenoy, not even the King. But all France knows that the Vicomte -de Nérac saved the army, though they have not learned it was at the -bidding of a _vivandière_,” she nodded, the corners of her mouth -bewitching. - -“It is amazing,” he cried, bewildered, “amazing!” - -She gently closed the door behind him. “Perhaps,” she said. “But have -you forgotten ‘No. 101’?” - -For eighteen months André had not heard a word of that traitor. His -existence had been blotted from his memory, but now in a flash the -scene in the wood stormed into his mind. - -“Ah!” he muttered. “Ah!” One minute of the past and he was once more -back in this dainty salon, though his anger and pride were melting fast -before the radiant witchery of this strange woman who had conquered a -king. - -“The treachery of ‘No. 101’ has begun again,” she was saying quietly. -“And it will not stop this time, I have good reason to believe, -unless--I--” she broke off--“unless----” - -Across the memory of the charcoal-burner’s cabin in the grisly wood -rang Denise’s warning. The Cordon Bleu gleamed at him from the table. -And Captain Statham who had seen the traitor’s face lay dead at his -feet. Madame smiled softly as if she divined the meaning of those -clenched fingers, the lips that formed a sentence and then were pressed -in silence. - -Madame briefly recited as the Abbé had done in the Salon de la Paix -the story of the stolen despatches and the courier’s fate in the ditch -at Vincennes. “It is the second time in three months,” she summed up. -“There will be a third before long.” - -“You really think so?” - -“I am sure of it,” she replied. “The negotiations for peace have -commenced, but the war still goes on. This black, infernal treachery -is here in Versailles, in our midst, for the prize to a traitor -at this critical time is worth a king’s ransom. It is maddening, -maddening--believe me, the man or woman who lays bare the mystery will -do the King and France a service never to be forgotten. And His Majesty -can be grateful.” - -André’s ambitious heart throbbed responsive to the skilful touch. - -“I mean to discover the traitor. I foiled him at Fontenoy. I will foil -him again, but,” she paused, “a woman cannot do it alone. When the -King wrote to me before I came to Versailles, ‘_Discret et Fidèle_’ was -his motto. I want to-day a friend who will be ‘_discret et fidèle_,’ a -man without fear, loyal, ingenious, and brave.” - -André raised his head sharply. The thoughts were coming fast; he began -to see dimly, to hope, to dream. - -“I confess,” she pursued, “that I thought the Vicomte de Nérac might be -that man, my man. But it is impossible, impossible.” - -“Why, Madame?” He was leaning eagerly across the table. - -“Why?” She laughed softly. “Because the Marquise de Pompadour is a -_bourgeoise_, a heartless, selfish, intriguing wanton, and she can -find many who will serve her, who will write ballades to her eyes and -sonnets to her bosom, and then behind her back will scribble the foul -libels that the soldiers sang at Fontenoy. But the Court, the Queen, -the Dauphin, the bishops and priests, the libertines and the _dévots_, -the ministers and the great ladies are leagued in hate against me. It -is true, is it not?” - -And André could not answer. - -“So long as I have the King on my side I am safe. But this palace is a -labyrinth of intrigue. If the King grows weary I shall be fortunate to -leave Versailles a free woman. And by my ruin those of my service will -be ruined too. The task I mean to perform is doubly dangerous--there -is the Court and there is ‘No. 101.’ Yes, it is no task for the Vicomte -de Nérac.” - -The gentle voice cut like a whip. André began to pace up and down. - -“You are young, my friend.” She was looking at him as she had looked -when she slipped the pillow beneath his head at Fontenoy. “You are -brave, a soldier with great ambitions and a great future, for you have -the heart and courage of your race. You are of the _noblesse_, your -world is not of this salon, but of the Salon de la Paix. Your friends, -your blood, have declared war upon me; for a traitor to their cause -they will have no mercy. True the King has commanded your services in -my household, but Antoinette d’Étiolles, who is grateful for what you -did at Fontenoy, refuses to accept because she would not ruin, I cannot -say a friend, but a noble hero of France.” - -Remorse, ambition, the witchery of her beauty, his love for Denise, -strove for mastery within him. - -“Adieu,” she whispered, “you must go your way, I mine. We shall meet, -perhaps. How long I shall be here God knows. But trust me, I will see -that your refusal to accept the King’s pleasure shall do you no harm. -You will succeed, you must, for fortune, birth, and manhood are on your -side. Adieu!” - -“But, Madame--” he cried impulsively. - -“No, Vicomte, no. It is impossible. A man may sacrifice himself, but -never--never must he sacrifice his love.” - -Her eyes rested on him with sympathetic significance. She had divined -his secret. André felt the blood scarlet as his uniform in his cheeks. -Denise--yes, Denise blocked the way to the future this enchantress had -dreamed for him, nay, that he had dreamed for himself. - -“Perhaps you are right,” he said slowly, raising her hand to his lips. -“But André de Nérac is not ungrateful.” - -“Perhaps,” she smiled. “Take your Cordon Bleu. It is none the less -deserved because it was asked for by a _vivandière_. Will Monsieur le -Vicomte permit? Yes?” she had pinned it to his breast. Her face was -very close to his; the flattery in those wonderful eyes caressed his -inmost soul. “See,” she whispered. - -“This way--it is safer for you.” - -She lifted the curtain over an alcove revealing a narrow staircase down -to a dark passage. “At the bottom you will find to the left a door -locked; here is the key. By that private door you can return to the -public galleries. The dark passage leads to the King’s and the Queen’s -private apartments. The King, or indeed any one who has the key, can -come this way unknown to the spies of the ministers or of the Court. -Remember, there are only two keys; the King has one, this is the other. -Keep it; you may want it.” - -“Want it?” he repeated, confused. - -“The Vicomte,” she corrected gently, “henceforth cannot without harming -himself visit publicly a _bourgeoise_ grisette. But he will remember -that in Antoinette de Pompadour he has, if he will but believe it, a -true and grateful friend. If he is in trouble or in difficulty the -key will show him the way and no one will be wiser. If not, it is no -matter.” - -“But, Madame, why should I be in trouble?” - -She laughed mysteriously. “Anything, as the Vicomte well knows, can -happen at Versailles. Adieu!” - -And yet she lingered. “The Cordon Bleu was from the King,” she said; -“accept this, pray, from me; it is the handkerchief, the famous -handkerchief of the Hôtel de Ville, and it comes from my heart.” She -had tossed it to him with an airy kiss blown from her jewelled fingers. - -What a charming picture she made, framed in the darkness there with her -heliotrope robe drawn back to avoid the dripping of the candle held -above her dainty head. _Un morceau de roi, parbleu!_ - -“Remember ‘No. 101.’ Adieu.” The soft echo stole into the chill -passage. The Marquise had dropped the curtain and André was alone with -his thoughts. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -WHAT THE VICOMTE DE NÉRAC SAW IN THE SECRET PASSAGE - - -ANDRÉ sat down on the stairs in the dark. It is perhaps not surprising -that his first thoughts were of “No. 101.” Across his path had fallen -for the second time the shadow of that baleful, blood-stained mystery. -So far all who had tried to run the traitor to earth had failed; but -when war and peace, the King’s policy and the destinies of France, -hung in the balance success in the task meant a great reward. That -masked woman in the wood had baffled him. Vanity, a passionate -curiosity, the spell of the mystery, patriotism, once more united to -kindle his longing to succeed where all had failed. But to attempt -it alone or without money or information was out of the question. To -invite the co-operation of his friends in this Versailles of intrigue -and counter-intrigue, of jealousy and selfishness, spelled certain -failure. With Madame de Pompadour’s help alone it might be done, but -that was impossible, doubly impossible. Madame was right. A De Nérac, -a Croix de St. Louis, and a Cordon Bleu could not enter the service -of a _bourgeoise_ favourite, here to-day and gone to-morrow, could not -defy his class, the Queen and the Court, could not outrage his own -dignity. Denise would spurn him for ever. Sacrifice his love? no, a -thousand times no! Still less could he return now a suppliant for the -Pompadour’s favours: she who had refused his aid; he who had scorned -her offer. Yet--yes, yet with what delicacy and sympathy she had atoned -for her apparent insolence. No woman, not Denise herself, could have -shown her gratitude with more grace and conviction. An adventuress she -was maybe, but a true woman for all that, and as charming as beautiful. -Name of a dog! The faint perfume of that dainty handkerchief, which had -made history, subtly recalled the intoxicating flattery of her eyes, -the tender gratitude of her voice. The King--André laughed softly--the -King was no fool when he was conquered by Antoinette d’Étiolles. And he -had her key; well, he would see about that key. - -His mind travelled to the thought of Denise. He had sworn to win her; -he loved her, his beautiful Marquise de Beau Séjour, for was she not -what the wife of a De Nérac should be--fair, noble, and pure? The -scandalous tongues of the Court rendered her the homage of silence. -She was the type to him of what France, the France for which he -fought, could be. Did not there burn in her soul the inspiring flame -of patriotism, duty, and high endeavour which she, as he, owed to her -lineage and to God? - -Well, well, to-morrow would bring counsel. He rose to grope his way to -the locked door. _Mon Dieu!_ What was this? - -The door was opening stealthily. Some one was coming in. The King? -Of course. André softly flew up the stairs and crouched in the folds -of the curtain. If the King was coming to the Pompadour he was lost, -but caught as he was in this dark corridor it was his only chance of -concealment. - -A light from a hand lamp flickered into the darkness. Ah! that was not -the King’s step; nor did the King hum gay songs under his breath. Ho! -ho! an adventure! Madame’s key was worth the owning after all. - -As he lived, the Chevalier de St. Amant, a rose between his lips, hat -cocked jauntily, his slim, boyish figure instinct with an abandoned -grace. Pooh! he was the King’s private secretary and the royal key -had been given him by his master for his own purposes. This was very -interesting and mightily droll. - -André drew a deep breath. The door at the top of the stairs at the -other end of the passage had quietly opened. Some one with a lamp was -standing awaiting the Chevalier. A woman! Yes, the light fell with a -gleam on the folds of her dress, on the jewel on her breast. The gay -young dog to use his royal master’s key in this way. What adorable -audacity! - -The woman held up the lamp with a familiar gesture. Denise! By God it -was Denise! - -One choking moment and then André turned stone-cold. Denise, his -Denise! Mechanically he wiped the perspiration from his brow as he -stared spellbound. Denise! - -The Chevalier doffed his hat, kissed her hand, took the lamp from her, -and once more André was alone in the darkness, gnawed by impotent and -implacable rage, jealousy black and hot as hell. - -But what did it mean--in heaven’s name what did it mean? And the -Chevalier? Ah, if it had not been his Denise! - -Only by the sternest self-control did he prevent himself from dashing -after them. Pure madness, for that door was certainly locked. He must -wait here if he waited till Doomsday. It seemed an eternity--in reality -it was about half-an-hour--and then the Chevalier reappeared alone and -still jauntily humming his song stealthily let himself out, ignorant, -poor boy, that only a noble’s refusal to stab in cold blood like a -common footpad had saved him from staining the floor of this dark -corridor with his life’s blood. - -Here was a fresh mystery. This cursed Versailles with its infamies -and plots, its libertines and intriguers, its cabals, cliques, -and conspiracies! “No. 101,” Yvonne, the crystal-gazer, Madame de -Pompadour, war, treachery, and the Chevalier--in what cruel toils was -his life set; but this last was the rudest shock of all. André could -have cried aloud in sheer perplexity at the riddles that beset him on -every side. - -He took out the key. The touch of the cool steel on his feverish -fingers sent a thrill through him. Ah! Madame had given him this key; -she had ushered him out this way. He had wondered why. Because she was -grateful? No. It was clear now--clear as daylight. She knew the secrets -of this hateful corridor and she desired him to see for himself. Could -it be possible? Yes, yes; it must be. A swift decision stormed into his -mind. - -Cautiously he let himself out. The public gallery was empty, but as he -strode towards the stables he was startled to meet Denise hurrying to -the Queen’s apartments. - -“Ah,” he said, inspecting her closely, “tell me, if you please, where I -can find the Chevalier de St. Amant?” - -Denise gazed at his bronzed, inscrutable face with astonishment--or was -it fear? - -“I was informed,” André said carelessly, “that he had been seen in your -company going towards the King’s apartments--a mistake, no doubt. The -Chevalier is probably with His Majesty. It is a pity, for----” - -“But the King,” Denise interrupted hastily, “is not in his private -apartments; neither is the Chevalier there.” - -André calmly studied her. “Ah, Mademoiselle,” he laughed, “I see you -are well informed. I must seek the Chevalier elsewhere.” He turned away. - -“And will you not tell me of what passed--” Denise had begun. - -“I regret infinitely that I have pressing business, Mademoiselle. -To-morrow, if you will be so kind,” and he smilingly bid her good-night. - -Five minutes later he was galloping through the woods to “The Cock with -the Spurs of Gold.” Something useful for his new resolve might possibly -be learned there, and every clue would help now. - -The inn that looked like a farmhouse buried in the woods wore as -deserted an air as it had worn eighteen months ago, and in answer to -his imperious knock there appeared the chambermaid with the shifty -eyes, who stared in fear and surprise at this officer in his faded -uniform and muddy boots who demanded entrance in the dark hours of the -night. - -“My mistress, the wise woman, is not here, sir,” she replied pettishly, -half closing the door in André’s face. - -“When will she be here?” - -“Never again, Monsieur. She has left.” - -André promptly pushed his way into the passage and closed the door. The -girl uttered a suppressed shriek. “Are you of the police, sir?” she -whimpered. “I know nothing, nothing; I swear it.” - -“I am not of the police,” he said quietly. “I am a friend of your -mistress. See that gold piece; you shall have it if you will tell me -all you know.” - -The girl looked slowly round. “I do not know where she is, my -mistress,” she said. “Three days ago there came an English -gentleman----” - -“English?” he interrupted sharply. - -“But yes. Madame said he was English. He saw her--he went away. -Yesterday Madam left; she will come no more. She is gone, perhaps, to -England. I do not know, I swear.” - -André reflected. Yes, it was more than possible that “the princess” had -returned to England. - -“Do you know,” he demanded next, “why she left?” - -“Because,” her voice dropped, “she feared the vengeance of the Marquise -de Pompadour.” - -André vividly recollected the scene when he had come to consult the -crystal-gazer. The girl was not lying. - -“And you know nothing more?” - -“Nothing, Monsieur.” - -She took the gold piece greedily. André had his foot in the stirrup -when a thought struck him. - -“Tell me,” he asked persuasively, “why you thought I was of the police?” - -The girl beckoned him within and closed the door. - -“Monsieur the superintendent of police has twice been here this week to -inquire about my mistress,” she answered softly. “This very morning he -was here. He would know everything would monsieur the superintendent. -But he does not pay and he learned nothing, nothing, I swear.” She -laughed knowingly. - -André mounted and rode away. Fate was against him. Well, it could -not be helped now. And the news of that English gentleman and the -inquiries of the police were disquieting. What were English gentlemen -doing at “The Cock with the Spurs of Gold” when England was at war with -France? No wonder the police, the Marquise’s friend in particular, were -prowling about so suspicious an inn. No wonder the crystal-gazer had -taken to flight. - -“Who is that?” cried a boyish voice. A galloping horse had suddenly -pulled up beside André’s. “You, Vicomte, you! The very man that is -wanted.” - -André had at the sudden challenge whipped out his sword to defend -himself. He now peered through the gloom. - -“Chevalier, you!” he exclaimed in intense suspicion and annoyance. - -“Yes, I, Chevalier de St. Amant. I am in luck. There’s the devil’s own -business here.” - -“What is it?” André demanded angrily. To be detected in this wood by -the Chevalier, of all men, was maddening. - -“Treachery,” said the Chevalier briefly. - -“Treachery?” - -St. Amant was excited. “I was on my way to Paris by the King’s orders -to overtake a courier. I took the short cut through this wood; you know -it doubtless. I hear a groan, I dismount, and there is the courier -in the ditch, tied hand and foot, gagged too, poor devil, and his -despatches gone.” - -“Gone?” A shiver ran down André’s back. - -“Clean as a whistle. The idiot had taken the short cut, too. As far as -I can make out he was attacked from behind, stunned, and robbed. Will -you help to bring the poor wretch back to Versailles, for I must go on -to Paris?” - -André sat appalled. “Of course,” he replied presently. - -“This is the Vincennes affair over again,” the Chevalier remarked when -they had unbound the courier and set him on André’s horse. “It is -devilish this treachery, devilish and amazing.” - -De Nérac nodded. He was in no mood to discuss anything with anybody -just now, least of all with the Chevalier de St. Amant. - -The young man had mounted. “I am very sorry,” he said, “that I cannot -offer to accompany you, but the King’s orders were urgent and I am -already late. Good-night, Vicomte.” - -André bowed stiffly. - -“If I might suggest,” the Chevalier added in the friendliest way, “it -would be well to say nothing of this damnable business until the King -has been informed in the morning.” - -“I thank you,” André replied coldly. “I had already intended to wait -until His Majesty had heard the story from your lips.” - -“Good. I shall be back at dawn.” The Chevalier spurred away. - -As De Nérac rode slowly back the Marquise’s words rang in his -ears--“This is the second time in three months. There will be a third -before long.” The third had already come, and as usual like a thief in -the night. Confound “No. 101”! Confound the Chevalier de St. Amant! - -He was in no mood to go to bed. He would walk in one of the galleries -until he had eased himself of all the black thoughts and fears, until -he could see a path through the thickets into which fate had plunged -him. - -A party of his friends was still playing at dice, and as André passed -through the room they stared at his muddy riding boots in amused -surprise. - -“You have news?” cried the Comte de Mont Rouge. - -“Yes,” André retorted curtly, “bad news which you will learn later.” - -“What the devil has he been doing?” he heard St. Benôit exclaim as -André sharply left the room. - -“I will tell you,” Mont Rouge laughed. “He has already begun to do the -dirty work of that grisette.” - -“What do you mean?” St. Benôit demanded. - -“She is going to make him master of her household.” - -“De Nérac? Master of the Pompadour’s household? Impossible!” A dozen -voices protested, and the dice-boxes ceased to rattle. - -“Wait and you will see,” Mont Rouge’s cynical tones replied. - -“Where and how did you learn this?” St. Benôit asked, aghast. - -“The Comtesse des Forges told me,” Mont Rouge answered. “She is in -the confidence of St. Amant, who as we all know is the King’s most -confidential secretary.” - -“I don’t believe it.” - -“Oh, well!” André, who had caught his friend’s denial, halted -involuntarily behind the door, picturing to himself Mont Rouge’s shrug -of the shoulders. Well, it was only one more item in a long account, an -account that would be settled some day. - -“If it is true,” said the Abbé St. Victor, “that De Nérac has sold -himself, he will be ruined when she is ruined. It is a pity, but he -will deserve it.” - -Ruined? André laughed the laugh of a reckless gambler staking his last -piece. Ruined? They would see. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -TWO PAGES IN THE BOOK OF LIFE - - -THE curtain over the alcove was very cautiously lifted. Madame de -Pompadour looked up from her papers. “Good afternoon, Vicomte,” she -smiled. “I was expecting you; you observe I am alone.” - -“Expecting me, Madame?” André demanded, astonished. - -“To be sure, expecting you to report your account of this baffling -affair in the woods with which all Versailles rings and to return my -key.” - -“I know nothing but what everybody knows of the matter, nor am I here -to return your key, but to keep it.” Madame studied him with calm -satisfaction. “Yes, Marquise, I am here because I have decided to enter -your service.” - -The lady leaned back in her chair and laughed. “But it is impossible, -my dear Vicomte,” she replied lightly. “His Majesty has already -appointed a master of my household.” She rose and looked into his face, -stern with a determination born of a prolonged inward struggle. “You -are disappointed. I thank you for the compliment. No matter, we will -arrange it another way, you and I.” - -“Will Madame kindly explain?” - -“You have reflected on our chat yesterday?” she asked. “Yes? You have -counted the cost?” André bowed in silence. “Good. I do not ask your -reasons; they are your affair, and the Vicomte does not act with his -eyes shut. But I am rejoiced, my friend; I could sing with pleasure. To -the _entente cordiale_ and to our success.” She held out her hand, and -in the sunshine of her gaze he raised it to his lips. - -“Now listen. I have thought it all out. To the world of Versailles we -are for the future deadly enemies, you and I. You have offended me. I -have insulted you. What could be more natural? Already the idle tongues -chatter in the galleries that the Vicomte de Nérac has refused to -accept the King’s pleasure and that Madame is in tears of rage. That is -my inspiration, you understand. But you will still keep my key and be -in my service without any of the disgrace--eh? _Mon Dieu_ it will be -droll.” - -André smiled in admiration of her finesse. A genius this marquise. - -“But perhaps I shall not be in Versailles,” he said after a pause. - -“Leave it to me,” she retorted gaily. “I have already provided for -that. It is my little secret--a _vivandière’s_ secret.” - -She began slowly to roll up the plans on her table. - -André’s eye caught one of the sheets. “Ah, you recognise it?” she asked. - -“To be sure. It is the Château de Beau Séjour.” - -“Yes; and what the King can give the King can take away,” she replied -with her mysterious smile. “Mademoiselle Denise--patience, my friend, -and hear me out--is very beautiful and very noble. It is better for -women who can afford it to be content with love, their beauty, and -their _noblesse_, and to leave politics alone. Politics, intrigue are -a very dangerous game, particularly for young ladies. Mademoiselle -would find some very instructive lessons as to that in the history of -her château. It might well be that the King might desire a second time -to confer Beau Séjour on a servant who had rendered precious service -to his Sovereign. And,” she added, throwing up her head, “I hope -Mademoiselle will learn that I will not be thwarted in my plans by a -girl even though she has forty marshals of France in her pedigree.” - -André listened in silence, but the colour in his bronzed cheeks -revealed the strong emotion within. - -“And now to business.” Madame had almost unsexed herself. The woman’s -charm and grace melted into a masculine, alert, and bracing keenness. -She beckoned to André to draw his chair up to the table. “‘No. 101,’ -that is our affair. After last night it is more imperative than ever -the mystery should be laid bare. And it is clear that the treachery -starts from Versailles. You agree?” - -“Yes, Madame.” - -“Good. The clues unfortunately are very slight. But not far from the -palace is an inn called ‘The Cock with the Spurs of Gold’--you know -it?” she questioned sharply. - -“I was there eighteen months ago,” he replied, recovering himself. - -“No doubt on the same foolish errand as all of us. But the -crystal-gazer has vanished and cannot be traced. It is no matter. We -have to do with another woman, a country wench called Yvonne of the -Spotless Ankles----” - -“Yvonne?” He controlled himself with difficulty. - -“A curious name for a peasant wench, is it not? Well, I am convinced -that this Yvonne in some way yet to be fathomed is connected with this -infernal treachery. The police can discover nothing but to her credit; -the police, of course, are fools. Vicomte, it is your task to master -Yvonne’s secret.” - -André’s fingers tapped on the table. - -“You are a man, a soldier, a lover,” Madame continued in her cool -voice. “You understand women. She is a peasant, you are a noble. A -woman who loves will tell everything. You take me?” - -“Perfectly.” He rose and began abruptly to pace up and down as he -always did when his thoughts over-mastered him. Madame consulted her -tablets. - -“And then there is the Chevalier de St. Amant,” she resumed, and André -came to a dead halt. “He and I do not love one another. The King -has his secrets from his ministers, from his valet, from me, secrets -of policy, and of his private life. The Chevalier is the King’s -creature, his confidant, and he is ambitious. He fears my influence, -he is an adventurer, a parvenu. When he has destroyed me the hand of -Mademoiselle Denise will wipe out his antecedents, will by a stroke of -the King’s pen make him ruler of France and one of its greatest nobles. -But,” she rose, “he shall not, he shall not.” - -“No,” said André in a low voice, “by God he shall not!” - -Madame smiled. “It is your task and mine,” she added, “to defeat, to -crush, the Chevalier de St. Amant.” - -“Yes,” said André simply. - -“We are engaged on a perilous task. There is a plot, more than one, on -foot to drive me from Versailles. And they are all in it, the Queen and -her ladies, monseigneurs the archbishops and bishops, the Dauphin and -the princesses of the blood, the ministers, the nobles, the army, even -the King’s valet. In the council, the galleries, the royal study, even -the King’s bedroom, day and night they are scheming and intriguing. It -will be a duel to the death--one woman against the Queen, the Church, -the ministers, and the _noblesse_, but he who will decide is the King.” - -She flung her arms up with a superbly dramatic gesture. Standing there -in the triumphant consciousness of her beauty she would have moved -the most merciless of her critics to admiration. And the man who would -decide was Louis XV. - -“He is strange, the King,” she mused as if she had forgotten André, -“how strange but few can guess--at one moment the slave of his passion, -at another burning with a king’s ambition, at a third indolent and -dull, at a fourth consumed by remorse, tortured by fear of God and -the pains of hell. The ennui of a royal life, that is his bane. The -woman who can amuse him, keep him from himself, he will never desert. -And I will be that woman. My beauty will fade, but give me first five -years--five years as I am to-day--and it will be death alone that will -separate the King and me.” - -“And you will rule France, Marquise?” - -She wheeled with a flash of fire. “Yes,” she said, “I will rule France -through the King.” - -There was silence. Madame leaned against the carved mantelpiece; her -eyes passed over the salon with its wealth and its refinement out into -the measureless spaces of the future, to the rosy peaks known only to -the dreams of ambition. - -“Paris,” she murmured, “calls me happy, fortunate. Listen,” and she -recited: - - “Pompadour, vous embellissez - La cour, Parnasse et Cythère. - -“M. de Voltaire is a poet. The homage of the poets, the philosophers, -the artists, the wits, the homage of the world to her beauty, the love -of a king--what can a woman desire more? I have them to-day, but shall -I keep them? _Mon Dieu!_ do they reflect, these mere men and women, -what it costs to keep them? My life is a martyrdom. A false step, a -stupid word, to be gay when I should be silent, to be dull when I -should be gay--these may hurl me from my place. And the intrigues! -The intrigues! Vicomte, I declare to you that at night I lie awake -reckoning with tears what the day has accomplished, wrestling with -what to-morrow may bring. Heartless, frivolous, and false are my foes. -Is it surprising that I too should be heartless, frivolous, false? -But I would not change my lot. No! Better far one year with the cup -of pleasure at one’s lips; better far one glorious year in Versailles -of passion and power, than an eternity of that life I knew as Madame -d’Étiolles. Yes; if in twelve months I must pay the price at the -Bastille I would drink now to the full the joys of an uncrowned queen -of France.” - -She sat down overpowered by the visions of her own spirit. - -And André listened with a unique thrill of awe, torn by conflicting -emotions. Of his own free will he had asked for her help because his -ambitions thrust the sacrifice on him. Away from her presence he -recalled with a shiver a word, a gesture, a look, that spoke of a -cold selfishness, even of an insolent vulgarity, so strangely blended -with such grace, charm, and sympathy. Her low birth, her position at -Versailles, stirred in him the contempt that was the heritage of eight -centuries of noble ancestors. But once face to face with her all his -misgivings, all his scorn and dislike, melted away. And he dimly felt -that her victory was no mere triumph of a beautiful and gifted woman -over a man’s passion, the appeal of the flesh to the flesh, such as -he knew and had yielded to so often. This was no mere idol of a royal -and fleeting devotion, no mere splendid courtesan of Nature’s making; -it was the breath of the human spirit to the human spirit, blowing -with the divine mystery of the wind where it listed on the answering -spaces of the sea. And the soaring sweep of her ambition awoke in -his soul ambitions not less daring and supreme. What man in whom the -ceaseless call of the siren voices within, voices that no priestly -code, no laws, and no arguments can still, voices whose sweetness and -strength rise from the unfathomable abysses where flesh and spirit are -indistinguishable--what man who has from childhood listened to those -voices within but must feel the triumphant echo when he finds a woman -tempted and inspired as he has been tempted and inspired? Madame de -Pompadour might be what the Court said, but there were hopes, visions, -in her which the Court and King would never fathom, which it might be -well she herself could only see and follow because she must. She was -fate, this woman, the fate of France. Let others judge her. He could -not. It was enough to listen to her summons and to obey. - -And so they sat in silence lapped each in the glamour of their dreams. -Sharp awaking came with the abrupt entrance of Madame’s mistress of the -robes. - -“The King,” she cried, “the King is coming,” and she promptly fled. - -The Marquise rose almost in terror. “Quick, quick,” she whispered, “you -have the key.” - -But Louis had already entered, sullen and bored. - -André’s genius did not desert him. “Madame,” he exclaimed with a -matchless mixture of dismay and despair, “I am ruined. The King has -discovered me.” - -Louis broke into a laugh. His royal and jaded humour was tickled by the -comic dejection in the Vicomte’s face as he shamefacedly kneeled to -kiss the King’s hand. - -“_Ma foi!_ The gentleman should think of the lady,” he said smiling, -“and not merely of himself.” - -“True, Sire, when the lady will think presently of the gentleman. But -in this case the lady will not think of him at all--alas!” - -André’s half-droll, half-passionate sigh provoked a second royal laugh. - -“I must find employment for this idle vicomte,” Louis remarked to -Madame, “and not in your household, _parbleu!_” - -“I fear not, more’s the pity,” André answered. - -The King flung himself into a chair. His ennui had remastered him, and -he stared at the screen dully. “Your Majesty is tired,” the Marquise -murmured, kneeling to slip a cushion under his head. “I will read to -you something amusing.” - -“Not for worlds. They do not write amusing books in Paris to-day as -they once did.” He stared at the carpet, then at her faultless dress, -and André observed how his hand listlessly rested on hers as she -remained kneeling by his side. - -“It is only the book of life that is amusing, Sire,” she retorted with -a gay nod. “Your Majesty writes a fresh page in mine every day.” - -“Is it amusing?” he asked with a faint flash of interest. - -“Shall I tell you, Sire, what my woman said this morning? ‘Do you -laugh, Madame,’ quoth she, ‘when the King talks because it is a jest or -because he is the King?’” - -Louis looked up. “And your answer?” - -“You must guess, Sire.” - -“Because he is the King,” he said gloomily. - -“No, no. ‘The King never jests with me,’ I replied, ‘and he is never -the King to me; he is only--’” she completed the sentence by a curtsey -to her heels and the suspicion of a kiss on his fingers. - -“You are a foolish woman,” was the royal reply. The impenetrable eyes -cleared for a moment. - -André was thrilled by the ripple of laughter that floated through the -room. “Ah, Sire, now you jest for the first time--absolutely the first -time.” - -She rose. “Monsieur le Vicomte,” she said quickly, “you have His -Majesty’s permission to retire.” Then as he took his leave, “You are -a man, my friend,” she whispered softly, “and you saved us both. I -shall not forget,” and behind her Sovereign’s back she blew him an -intoxicating adieu. - -As the door closed Madame de Pompadour was whispering in Louis’s ear -and a hearty royal laugh rang out. - -For in such ways do kings permit themselves to be governed. - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -ANDRÉ IS THRICE SURPRISED - - -THE great historical buildings in Paris bear witness with eloquence -and beauty to the genius and ambition of the many royal rulers who -during three centuries of a wonderfully dramatic history have led a -nation itself gifted with genius and ambition. Versailles alone is the -exception, for in Versailles even the most ignorant and cold-blooded -of modern sightseers feels at every step that the years have vanished, -that he breathes the air of the grand age, that he is face to face with -the monument of one historic figure and one alone--Louis XIV. Gone is -the bitter memory of 1870; gone is the tragedy of Marie Antoinette. -Alike in the stately splendour of the Galerie des Glaces, in the -cold loneliness of the chapel, in the ordered magnificence of these -haughty gardens, most of all in the imperial pomp of the royal bedroom, -dominates the spirit of the Roi Soleil--the King who made kingship the -art and the science and the creed of a nation’s life. - -As one steps to-day into the empty stillness of that memorable Œil de -Bœuf the light from the oval windows seems to fall only on those white -and gold doors beyond which lies the state bed-chamber. But wait in -patience and the loneliness will vanish; the room is now crowded with -the courtiers awaiting the grand lever of majesty; a hundred tongues -are discussing eagerly the events of the hour, a hundred eyes watch -with feverish eagerness all who have the right to pass and repass those -jealously-guarded portals, behind which monarchy, on whose caprice -turns the fate of ministers and nobles, is dressing. - -“The King,” said Mont Rouge to St. Benôit, “is as playful this morning -as he was last night. Ah, you have not heard?” he added. “Well, when -the Duke de Richelieu was pulling off His Majesty’s boots, ‘How many -times, by the bye, Duke, have you been in the Bastille?’ asked the -King. ‘Three times, Sire,’ Richelieu replied stiffly. ‘Odd numbers -are unlucky,’ said the King in his slow way, and even Richelieu was -annoyed.” - -“A pretty plain hint,” St. Benôit remarked. “What has Richelieu been -doing? Another love affair and a duel?” - -“Oh, no; he was only saucy to the Pompadour at supper. That woman is -itching to show that dukes can be treated like kitchen wenches.” - -“Perhaps. But she doesn’t get her way with every one. De Nérac has -positively refused to enter her service, and the King is more pleased -with him than ever.” - -“It is true, then, that he has been given the Cordon Bleu?” Mont Rouge -demanded with a flash of jealousy. - -“Quite true, the lucky dog,” answered the Duke of Pontchartrain, who -had joined them, “and the extraordinary thing is that the Pompadour, -who was very angry with De Nérac, jested about it last night.” - -“But what has De Nérac done to get the Cordon Bleu?” Mont Rouge growled. - -The Duke shrugged his shoulders. “Have you forgotten the night before -Fontenoy, my friend?” His voice dropped. “This mysterious affair of -yesterday in the woods, too,” he whispered, “is all part of the same -infernal business.” - -“You don’t mean it?” - -“I do. The King and the ministers are convinced that the Vincennes -business, this affair of the woods, and that Fontenoy treachery all -come from the same hand--a hand near at home.” - -Mont Rouge and St. Benôit drew the Duke into a corner. - -“The traitor then is here? In Versailles?” St. Benôit asked. - -“It is the only explanation.” - -Mont Rouge passed a perplexed hand over his chin. “Good Lord!” he -ejaculated. “Think you that woman has--” - -“No, no,” replied the Duke with sharp conviction. “The Pompadour is as -anxious to discover the traitor as the King or d’Argenson himself. -You may take your oath of that. Heavens! man, if she can lay bare this -inscrutable mystery she will earn the King’s gratitude for the rest of -her naughty life.” - -“And what has De Nérac to do with----?” - -“What De Nérac discovered last night,” St. Benôit interrupted, “is -known only to the King and himself. You will get nothing from him; he -is pledged to secrecy. But”--he paused to beckon to the Abbé de St. -Victor to join them--“but it makes it more necessary than ever for us -to have De Nérac on our side.” - -“I do not see that,” Mont Rouge objected. - -St. Benôit’s foot tapped impatiently. “If our scheme,” he urged, “to -persuade the King to expel the Pompadour is to succeed, De Nérac must -be our ally. It is as clear as daylight.” - -“Of course,” said the Duke, “of course. Drive De Nérac into the -Pompadour’s arms and together they will discover the traitor, and the -Comte de Mont Rouge will presently be compelled to prefer the village -wenches on his estates in Poitou to the ladies of Versailles.” - -“Yes,” the Abbé assented. “We must have De Nérac, for he knows more -than any of us, and he has courage. Courage is a rare thing in -Versailles.” - -“I agree,” Mont Rouge said slowly. “But if he won’t join us in getting -rid of that detestable woman then he must share her fate.” - -“There is André,” St. Benôit gladly remarked. “Let us congratulate -him on his refusal to stain his honour by obedience to a wanton of the -_bourgeoisie_.” - -But they were anticipated by the Chevalier. “My felicitations, -Vicomte,” the young man was saying, “for you are the first to teach our -new and high-born marquise her place.” - -“You are very kind,” André replied sweetly, to the disgust and -astonishment of his friends. - -“_Mon Dieu!_” Mont Rouge growled as the Chevalier smilingly left them -to pass into the King’s bedroom, for as a royal favourite he had that -privileged _entrée_, “I would sooner pull that coxcomb’s ears than -accept his congratulations even if I were a Cordon Bleu.” - -“My dear Mont Rouge,” André answered, “the King will not permit us now -to pull a coxcomb’s ears, but some day I hope to have that pleasure.” - -“Oh, to be sure, some day?” Mont Rouge sneered. - -“To be sure. When you have turned out our mistress, Madame la Marquise -de Pompadour, you shall help me to pull the ears of the Chevalier de -St. Amant.” - -André in fact was in a rare humour. His plans were now arranged to -a nicety. With the Pompadour’s help “No. 101” was to be discovered -and Denise won. The mystery of last night had suggested half a dozen -clues. His star was once more in the ascendant. The great game to be -played required courage, resource, and Machiavellian cunning. This was -the beginning. The rest would follow. Ah! the white and gold doors -were thrown open; hats came off; the King had entered, and all eagerly -surveyed his bored, inscrutable countenance. - -“Is the Vicomte de Nérac here?” Louis demanded presently, and -André stepped forward to kiss his hand. “Monsieur le Vicomte,” he -proceeded in his slow, soft, yet clear voice, “you will bear my humble -salutations to her Majesty the Queen and say that I offer her Majesty, -for the vacant place of the captain of her guard, the services of the -bravest officer in the Chevau-légers of my Guards--yourself.” - -A loud hum, partly of warm approval, partly of excited and jealous -comment, drowned André’s thanks. - -“By G-Gad,” stammered Des Forges, “another s-slap for the fishy -g-grisette--eh?” - -“She’s going, yes, she’s going; God be praised!” muttered the Abbé St. -Victor. - -“What did I tell you?” St. Benôit cried, “more than ever we must keep -De Nérac on our side,” and Mont Rouge sulkily assented. - -The Duke de Pontchartrain thoughtfully stroked his lace ruffles. “I am -puzzled,” he remarked aside to St. Benôit; “I wonder if it really means -that the King has thrown over the grisette, or whether--” he paused. - -“Well?” St. Benôit demanded impatiently. - -“De Nérac is deep, devilish deep,” the Duke mused, “and so is the King. -If De Nérac is not on our side it will play old Harry with our plot to -have him ruling the roost in her Majesty’s apartments.” - -But his friends laughed his suspicions away. De Nérac had insulted the -Pompadour and he had been rewarded with the captaincy of the Queen’s -Guards. What could be better? - -Meanwhile André, having executed his commission and been flattered by -the joyful reception of the news by the Queen’s ladies, was somewhat -grimly reflecting in the Hall of the Queen’s Guards on this new turn -of fortune’s wheel. Truly the Pompadour was a wonderful woman. She -had promised to arrange and she had kept her word. To be placed in an -office which must daily bring him into touch with Denise was better -than he had ever dreamed. A genius the Pompadour as he had said, and -this was the woman whom the priests and ministers and courtiers hoped -to expel. Poor blind fools! They little knew the whole truth. Yes, his -star was in the ascendant. The Machiavellian game must be played out; -it promised victory and Denise. - -The rustle of a dress roused him. It was Denise, and surely that was -the Chevalier de St. Amant parting from her. - -“You have heard the King’s will, Mademoiselle,” André said quietly. - -“Yes,” she answered. Very lovely she looked at that moment, though her -manner was strangely cold. - -“You do not congratulate me?” - -“No.” - -[Illustration: Madame de Pompadour.] - -André glanced at her with sharp surprise. - -“After your kind words on my return,” he began, “I had hoped, -Mademoiselle, more for your congratulations than for those of any other -in Versailles.” - -Denise made no reply; she quietly moved away. - -“Denise,” he broke out passionately. “Denise----” - -“Mademoiselle la Marquise, if you please, Monsieur le Vicomte,” she -interrupted with her head high in air, and André could only gaze at her -in mute astonishment. - -“Yes,” she continued, “Mademoiselle la Marquise for the future. And if -you would know the reason ask your conscience, the conscience of one -who was once a noble and soldier of France.” André would have spoken, -but she made a peremptory sign with her hand. “It is the second time,” -she resumed, “I have been bitterly disappointed. Our world believes -that you have had the courage to refuse the temptation of that woman, -that the King’s reward was due to your courage and your loyalty. -Unhappily I know better. You are Captain of the Queen’s Guards because -it is the wish of the Marquise de Pompadour.” - -“Mademoiselle!” - -“You deny it?” She paused. “That, Monsieur le Vicomte, unfortunately -does not make it less true. But do not be alarmed. I shall not betray -your secret. And if you will, let my silence be due to the friendship -of the past, a friendship that you yourself by your own act have -severed.” - -She turned her back on him. But André had swiftly opened the door for -her. - -“It would be impertinent for me to ask for a hearing,” he said slowly. -“That you will not betray my secret as you are pleased to call it is -very kind. In return, Mademoiselle, I promise that I will not betray -yours.” - -Their eyes met. André faced her unflinchingly. - -“My secret?” Denise demanded, but she could not quite control her voice. - -“Your secret, Marquise.” He bowed low. - -He had the bitter satisfaction, if satisfaction it was, to see a faint -thrill of fear--or was it trouble?--pass into her eyes. And now that -he was alone he strode about the room letting his anger master him, -once more a prey to all the black doubts and fears. There was only one -explanation--that the Chevalier had wormed out the truth, and for his -own purposes had hastened to share his knowledge with Denise. The Court -was hoodwinked, but they were not. Cruelest of all, he could not deny -it, and the disdain in the face and figure of the woman he loved had -cut more sharply than her words. He clenched his fist. He could not go -back now--no, he had chosen his path; but the day would come, he swore, -when he should prove that it was his love and the ambition that it -inspired which had driven him to defy the Court, his class, and herself. - -There was work to be done which could not wait. He galloped away into -the woods. “Yvonne,” he called out, dismounting at the stables of “The -Cock with the Spurs of Gold.” - -“Monseigneur,” she exclaimed, flinging back her matted yellow hair and -springing up. He had surprised her with skirt pinned up to the knees -milking her sleek cow. She was indeed Yvonne of the Spotted Cow, Yvonne -of the Spotless Ankles. Bah! it was a pity her face was so smudged, her -bodice so ragged and dirty, for her figure was excellently straight and -supple. “Monseigneur!” she humbly kissed his hand. - -André felt strange qualms as he surveyed her in silence. Something -inexplicable in this peasant wench seemed to make the task he had -undertaken disagreeable, almost revolting, yet she was only a farm slut -and he was a noble. And the secret perhaps of “No. 101” was the prize. - -“I want your help, Yvonne,” he said abruptly. - -“My help?” she repeated as if she did not understand, but there was a -momentary gleam in her eyes. “My help? He is not happy, Monseigneur? -Ah,” she gave a little cry, “the lady that he loves, the Marquise, is -faithless.” - -“No,” he interrupted fiercely. “No, no! It is----” - -She put her finger on her lip. “Some one is coming,” she whispered. -“Monseigneur has enemies, many enemies. He must not be seen here. Come, -quick, quick!” - -She half pushed him into the stables, closed and locked the door and -left him. André from within could hear steps coming to and fro on the -stones, could hear voices. They ceased. The door opened. - -“Who was it?” he demanded. - -“Monsieur the Chevalier de St. Amant,” she replied quietly. - -“Name of a dog!” he ejaculated. He drew the girl into the stables, put -his hands on her shoulders. Such firm, well-shaped shoulders under her -dirty, ill-laced bodice. “Now tell me,” he said peremptorily, “what you -know of the Chevalier de St. Amant.” - -Yvonne faced him with a humble simplicity. Involuntarily André dropped -his hands, mastered by that indefinable feeling. “Monsieur the -Chevalier comes here from time to time,” she answered; “he inquires for -the wise woman who lived here, but he also would know if Monseigneur -visits the inn and why?” - -“Ah! And your answer?” - -“That I know nothing.” - -André scrutinised her remorselessly. Either she told the truth or she -was a consummate actress. - -“Did I do right, Monseigneur,” she asked in her simple way, “to say -what was not true?” - -“Yes,” he replied quickly, but not without a stab of shame. “And my -enemies, Yvonne, what of my enemies?” - -“They are great gentlemen of the Court. They and their servants come -here, too, they watch Monseigneur. They seek a traitor, so they say.” - -André reflected. It was what he feared. “I also seek a traitor, -Yvonne,” he began quietly, “and I am in great trouble. I need your -help.” - -“Monseigneur is pleased to jest. My help--the help of a peasant girl?” - -“Yes, your help, Yvonne. The King, my master, is betrayed. The traitor -is unknown, but at this inn perhaps one may learn what will reveal the -truth. You are here, you have eyes and ears. Will you promise to tell -me all that you can learn?” - -The girl was looking at him, but her smudged face disclosed nothing -save a natural fear. - -“Some might promise you,” he pursued, “money, wealth, love. Money I -have not got; love is not mine to give----” - -“It is an honour for a peasant girl,” she interrupted softly, “to be -loved by a noble who can give her jewels and fine clothes and pleasure. -And then when his love is cold, as needs must be, he can make her happy -with a good dowry.” - -“Oh, yes, that is so. But,” he took her hand, “I will not----” - -“I am not pretty, alas!” she interrupted again, but the coquetry in her -figure was strangely provocative. - -“Peace, child, peace! and listen. I cannot and will not treat you as -others might. Love is not mine to give. But I ask your help, although I -promise you nothing in return save the grateful thanks of a soldier of -France.” - -“I would be your servant,” she whispered, “your servant, Monseigneur.” - -André felt her hand tremble. For the moment swift passion tempted him, -and Yvonne was watching him closely though he did not know it. - -“Yes,” he said brusquely, “you shall be my servant, but nothing more.” -She was silent, and he feared he had made a fatal mistake. “Your help, -that is all I ask, and I ask it because I trust you.” - -“I will help,” she said in a low voice. “I will help.” - -He raised her hand to his lips as if it were the hand of a gentlewoman. -Why he did so strange a thing he could not have explained. - -“No, no,” she cried. “I am not worthy. Ah! Monseigneur is not as other -nobles. He has pity and respect even for a peasant wench. He shall -not dishonour himself, and I--I will help because I am grateful, yes, -grateful.” For a moment she hid her face overcome. - -“Adieu, Yvonne,” he murmured, almost tenderly. “Adieu, and remember!” -He mounted and rode away. As he turned into the woods a man rapidly -crossed the bridle track and disappeared, but not before he had caught -a sight of his face. Somewhere in the past he had seen that face--when? -Where? He knew he was not mistaken, though in vain he racked his -brains. And with this fresh torturing thought he rode into Paris. - -Yvonne had stood like one in a dream long after he had disappeared. Now -she surveyed with ill-concealed disgust her pinned-up skirt and clumsy -sabots, now impatiently brushed a tear from under the matted hair over -her eyes. “_Dieu le Vengeur!_” She suddenly threw up her arms with a -gesture of pain, “_Dieu le Vengeur!_” Then furtively glancing round she -walked slowly towards the house. On the threshold some one met her and -for a half-hour she might have been heard conversing earnestly, almost -pleading. The voices ceased. A moment later the Chevalier de St. Amant -stepped out from the inn, jauntily flung his gay cloak about him, and -galloped swiftly in the direction of Versailles. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - -THE FOUNTAIN OF NEPTUNE - - -THE autumn evening had already closed in on the noble gardens of -Versailles. Alleys, parterres, and walks alike were deserted save by -the Fountain of Neptune, where on a seat under the sombre shadows -of the stately trees a woman, cloaked to her feet and hooded, sat -patiently watching the ghostly glimmer of the statues in the dusk. She -had not to wait long before a man cloaked also had quietly joined her. - -“I am late, Mademoiselle,” he said, “but it is not my fault.” - -“It does not matter, Chevalier,” Denise replied calmly, “the later the -better for both of us.” - -“No doubt. Ah, it is noble of you to come here alone, you who have so -much to lose if----” - -“We will not talk of that, please. I am here of my own free will and I -would risk much more for the sake of the Queen, my mistress, and for -France.” - -“Yet I would it were not necessary.” - -“Unhappily it is. That woman’s spies have made it impossible that -you can any longer come to confer with the Queen’s friends by the -secret passage; if we are to succeed in our plan it must not be known -that you, who are in the King’s private service, are an ally of the -Ministers and of the Queen’s party; nor can you now openly visit her -Majesty’s apartments as you did----” - -“No,” said the Chevalier, “the new Captain of the Queen’s Guards has -prevented that.” - -For a minute or two Denise was silent. “Secrecy is necessary to -success,” she resumed in a restrained voice; “I am here as you know on -behalf of the Queen’s advisers; what others may think cannot affect -those who are my friends, who believe in me because they believe in -my--our--cause.” - -“Not merely your friends, Marquise, but those who love you.” - -“Monsieur, up there,” she pointed to the majestic front of the palace, -where the lights were beginning to twinkle, “you can speak like that if -you think fit. Down here I beg you to remember I am an orphan, a girl -alone.” - -And then both were silent. - -“Are you sure, really quite sure,” Denise began, “that the Vicomte de -Nérac owes his appointment to the intrigues of that woman?” - -“I am absolutely sure.” - -Denise sighed very faintly. “You will remember your promise not to -reveal this discovery to any one else.” - -“Certainly. But is it necessary?” - -“No, not necessary. I ask it as a favour.” - -The Chevalier bowed. Again there was silence, for her tone did not -invite further question. “Have you discovered anything fresh of -importance?” Denise asked presently. - -“Several things, Mademoiselle.” - -“Do they concern the Vicomte de Nérac?” she demanded quickly. - -“Yes.” - -“Then I do not wish to hear them. I cannot, I will not,” she added in a -low voice of emotion. - -The Chevalier made a gesture of despairing dismay. “But speak I must,” -he said, “for things cannot be worse than they are. The King is -absolutely infatuated. The Pompadour is wise enough to see that that -may not last; she will not rest therefore till she has his Majesty -completely in her power. This mysterious treachery is her chance. Let -her discover the truth and the traitor and no one will prevail against -her.” He paused to add, “And the man who will discover it for her is -her friend and servant in secret, the Vicomte de Nérac.” - -“You believe that?” she faced him eagerly. - -“Mademoiselle, if there is any man in Versailles who can do it the -Vicomte is that man.” - -Denise clasped her hands. “What can we do, Chevalier?” she asked. “What -can we do?” - -The Chevalier took a step or two up and down. “There are only two -courses,” he said very gravely. “Either the Vicomte must be compelled -to break with the Pompadour--or--” he paused--“the King must be -persuaded to dismiss him from Versailles--in plain words ruin him.” - -Denise drew a deep breath. “Ah, God!” she murmured, “that woman, how -I hate her! She steals the honourable soldiers of France and corrupts -them; she corrupts the King, she wrongs a Queen who has wronged no one. -Yes, I hate her because I am a woman, to whom because I believe in God -and my _noblesse_ these things are hateful.” - -“You are right, Mademoiselle,” sincerity rang in the boyish voice, “to -me, too, she is the symbol in a woman’s form of all that is evil in -France, and it is your France that will suffer for her ambition and her -sins.” - -“She will be punished,” said Denise, “God will punish her. _Dieu le -Vengeur!_” she murmured. - -The Chevalier had drawn a deep breath. “_Dieu le Vengeur!_” he repeated -to himself almost mockingly. “It is a fine motto, _Dieu le Vengeur!_” - -“It is strange,” she mused, “that you, Chevalier, who were not born a -French noble, should feel as we do.” - -“You have taught me,” he answered quietly. “Yes, yes, when I entered -the King’s service I found a strange court and a strange master. It was -you who taught me, what I could scarcely believe, that there are still -in France women worthy to be called noble, aye, and men, too. It is for -your sake that I work, that I would help to overthrow and punish that -low-born adventuress who would ruin the King. No, Marquise,” he added, -“I do not forget your warning, and I say no more than this, that your -love alone keeps me true to my task, to your--our--cause.” - -“I thank you,” she answered with simple dignity. “Let us work for -France, Chevalier, and for the right, and we shall win.” - -He bid her adieu and vanished, for safety required that he should leave -her first. Denise sank back into her seat lost in the bitter thought -that André, the friend of her girlhood, the lover of whom for all her -indignation she was proud, must either ruin her cause or be ruined by -herself and her friends. A step on the gravel startled her. - -“What is it, Chevalier?” she asked quickly. - -The man peered into her face apparently as startled as she was. “It is -not the Chevalier unfortunately,” André said with icy slowness, “but I -am obliged for the information, Marquise.” - -“Ah!” It was an exquisitely cruel moment. Flight on her part was -impossible. “Ah, you came to spy,” she burst out, beside herself. - -“Why deny it?” was the cool answer. “You would not believe me. So it -was the Chevalier de St. Amant who avoided me so successfully in the -dark just now. Happy Chevalier.” - -“I will, I can explain,” she began incoherently. - -“Pardon,” he interrupted. “The conduct of Mademoiselle la Marquise de -Beau Séjour is no affair of mine. I regret, however, that as I have -intruded on you I cannot offer you my escort, for it is neither in my -interest nor in yours, Mademoiselle, that you and I should run the risk -of being seen here by the Chevalier de St. Amant or by any one else who -talks of secrets to all his friends. With your permission, therefore, I -will leave you.” - -Denise dropped into her seat with a sob. That André of all men should -discover her here was anguish. Nor was it only that his discovery -might mean the frustration of the schemes that were being so carefully -planned; it was the cruel humiliation of herself against which all the -womanhood in her cried out. If he had reproached her, accused her, -denounced her, insulted her! No; he had only been cold as one who was -indifferent or was ready to believe any evil. - -Yet André was as unhappy as she, could she have but known it. Purely -by accident on his return from Paris had he stumbled on Denise in the -dark, and torturing thoughts made him feel bitter and then reckless. -Denise, his Denise! Surely there was nothing to live for now. Love was -a mockery and a sham. Women were all alike, faithless, vain, frivolous, -worthless. He would do the Pompadour’s work without a twinge of -conscience now, he would take what life had to offer of pleasure and -revenge. Yes; he would revenge himself to the full on this perjured, -intriguing, and immoral Court, and then he would go to die in the Low -Countries. - -Meanwhile Denise had returned safely to the Queen’s apartments and -after supper sat alone in her misery in the room which opened off the -hall of the Queen’s Guards. The curtains were drawn, but the door was -ajar and she could hear a group of young nobles chattering as they -played cards. Scattered remarks broke in on her bitter self-reproaches. -Women’s names, some of them her friends, some of them dancers at the -opera, were being freely bandied about. It was intolerable, vile, and -her cheek burned to think that it was with these men that the priests -and the ministers and herself were working to overthrow the Pompadour. -She rose to close the door and shut out the scandalous babble, when a -remark stammered out by the Comte des Forges sent a shiver through her. - -“I t-tell you it is quite t-true,” he was saying. “Mont Rouge has -l-learned that she m-met the Chevalier by the F-fountain of Neptune -this very evening.” - -“Quite true,” Mont Rouge assented in his most cynical tone. “But don’t -spill the wine on the dice, dear friend.” - -“But how did you learn?” several voices demanded. - -“As one always does, from another woman, of course.” Mont Rouge was -carelessly rattling the dice-box. - -“And you believe it?” - -“Certainly. Your turn to throw, Des Forges. Gad! your hand is shaky -to-night. Why should I not believe it? The Marquise, I suppose, is like -the rest of her sex, and,” he laughed softly, “the Chevalier is--the -Chevalier.” - -Des Forges sniggered fatuously. “Sixes--s-sixes. Name of St. Denys! You -speak like a m-married m-man, Mont Ro-ouge.” - -“What is Mont Rouge’s last scandal?” André had entered. - -Half a dozen tongues eager with malice repeated the story. There was a -pause. Denise stood thrilled. Her fate was in his hands. - -“This is not scandal,” André said slowly and very clearly. “It is a -lie.” - -Chairs were excitedly pushed back. Dice-boxes and a table rolled over. -Then dead silence. - -“Yes,” said the clear voice. “I repeat it is a lie.” - -“Monsieur le Vicomte,” Mont Rouge was speaking with an affectation -of marked politeness but his voice shook with passion, “I beg you to -remember who is responsible for the story. You will withdraw that -insult.” - -“At half-past six,” André proceeded calmly, “I was at the Fountain of -Neptune. The Chevalier de St. Amant was not there. The Marquise de Beau -Séjour was not there. The Comte de Mont Rouge will therefore no doubt -see fit to withdraw his insult.” - -“Where is the Chevalier de St. Amant?” “Have the Chevalier fetched,” -suggested two or three. - -“No,” said André firmly. “This is not the Chevalier’s affair. The Comte -de Mont Rouge can deal with him when and how he pleases. For my part -I repeat that the statement about the Marquise de Beau Séjour, for -which apparently Monsieur le Comte is responsible, is a lie, and I have -proved it.” - -“The Vicomte de Nérac talks,” Mout Rouge answered fiercely, “as if -_his_ honour had been questioned.” - -“Yes, sir, it has until you have withdrawn what you said.” - -“And supposing I refuse to withdraw at your dictation?” - -“It would be only what I expect. Gentlemen, I now assert in the -presence of you all that the Comte de Mont Rouge is a liar, and I shall -continue to repeat it until----” - -“No, sir,” Mont Rouge interrupted. “You will not repeat it. But at -half-past six to-morrow morning you will also in the presence of these -gentlemen doubtless permit me to teach you that I am not to be insulted -even by a Cordon Bleu!” - -André bowed. “The Comte de St. Benôit will make the necessary -arrangements,” he said quietly, “with the gentleman whom you will name.” - -The room slowly emptied. André paced to and fro. The curtain was -sharply flung aside, and he saw Denise pale and trembling. - -[Illustration: The curtain was sharply flung aside, and he saw -Denise.] - -“You will not fight?” she pleaded. - -“I have no choice, Mademoiselle.” - -“Oh, why did you say it?” she questioned passionately. - -“It is surely very simple. Mademoiselle la Marquise has no father, -husband, nor brother to maintain her honour. To me as Captain of the -Queen’s Guards belongs by right the duty of defending her Majesty’s -ladies from insults and lies.” - -“But it was true,” she whispered brokenly. - -“No,” he answered. “What was said and implied was not true. It was a -lie, and you, Mademoiselle, please God, know it as I hope to do.” - -The colour leaped into Denise’s cheeks. The thanks in her eyes were -intoxicating. - -“But if you are killed?” she murmured. - -“Why, then, I suppose the Marquise de Pompadour will have the pleasure -of appointing my successor.” - -Denise shrank at the remorseless taunt. André’s face was pitiless. - -“Do not be distressed,” he added as if he were addressing the wall. -“I have a long account with the Comte de Mont Rouge and I welcome -the opportunity of settling it so satisfactorily. Besides it is high -time that these shameless tongues should be silenced. I do assure you -that after to-morrow the Marquise de Beau Séjour will have nothing to -fear--but the truth.” - -Denise turned appealingly to him. “André!” she whispered softly. -“André!” - -For a moment his hands clenched. “Monsieur le Vicomte,” he corrected, -frigidly, “who is your servant, Marquise.” - -He raised the curtain with a stately reverence. In silence she walked -past him, her head bowed, and in silence he saluted as became the -Captain of the Queen’s Guard, to a maid of honour and a marquise. The -gleam of the candles in their gilt sconces fell on her hair and neck, -on the jewels on her breast. Then the curtain slowly swung between them. - - * * * * * - -When the woman of the Marquise de Beau Séjour brought in the morning -cup of chocolate she found her mistress had passed a sleepless night -of tears; but she was able to tell her that the Vicomte de Nérac had -for the fiftieth time vindicated his superb swordsmanship, and that the -Comte de Mont Rouge would not use his right arm for many weeks to come. -And Denise knew that the Court had heard the last of that meeting by -the Fountain of Neptune. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - -DENISE’S ANSWER - - -THE Queen’s ladies had been entertaining their friends, and the -antechamber was well filled with a company of the most fashionable -and powerful of the _noblesse_, particularly of those high-born -ladies and gentlemen who devoted whatever time they could spare from -breaking the Ten Commandments with a dulcet courtesy to the amusement -of political intrigue. Strangely enough the Queen’s friends were -drawn from three very different types--there were the “devout,” _les -dévots, les rigoristes_, to whom the free-thinking of the fashionable -philosophers coming to be the mode in the Faubourg St. Germain was -_anathema maranatha_, my lords of the hierarchy of the bishops, with -the high-born women who were their obedient pupils; there were the -“fribbles,” the great seigneurs with their wives and sisters and -daughters privileged morally as well as politically if only the breach -were made within their own class and with due regard to etiquette and -good manners, the men and women born within the purple who sincerely -believed that “God could scarcely condemn a person of that quality” -for what would be mortal sin in a _bourgeois_; and there were the -“snobs,” the women above all of the inferior _noblesse_ remorselessly -struggling upwards who snatched at the splendid opportunity a queen’s -cause and a minister’s cause offered. Monsieur the Dauphin, mesdames -the princesses of the blood were known to hate Madame de Pompadour, to -be plotting her overthrow; that was enough. Surely with royalty lay the -social future. - -“Yes, to be sure,” the Abbé St. Victor was explaining with the smile -of the lay _roué_ to the Duchesse de Pontchartrain, “the King’s sin -would be only one-half as heinous if Madame de Pompadour were simply a -widow or even a demoiselle”; he took a pinch of snuff and regretfully -shrugged his shoulders. - -“Or if she were really vulgar,” the Duchess interposed with the pouting -staccato which she knew became her best. “I wonder if all _bourgeoise_ -women are like her. She is not vulgar, alas! and really it is her duty -to be vulgar. Pontchartrain says she dresses better than I do.” - -“That is mere outward show,” the Abbé remarked, “as well as being not -true.” - -“I wonder,” the Duchess asked with an air of profundity, “if a woman -can be vulgar inside without being vulgar outside.” - -“She is not a Christian,” Mademoiselle Eugénie pronounced. “That is -enough for me.” - -“But she goes regularly to mass,” objected the puzzled Duchess. - -“To show her fine dresses to the Duke de Pontchartrain,” Mademoiselle -retorted with sour severity. “Clothes, Madame, have nothing to do with -religion.” - -“For heaven’s sake,” cried the Duchess, alarmed, “don’t say so to -Pontchartrain. It would put the most embarrassing ideas into his head.” - -The Abbé tittered into his lace handkerchief till he was checked by the -ferocious glare of the _dévotes_ at his elbow. “You will see how vulgar -the Pompadour can be,” he said hurriedly, “when you have turned her -out.” - -“Inside out or outside in?” asked the Comtesse des Forges to annoy -Mademoiselle Eugénie. - -“Oh, do let it be soon,” the Duchess pleaded, “whichever way it is.” - -The Abbé nodded mysteriously. He was as pleased as the rest of the -company that afternoon with the progress of the great plot. - -“You saw His Majesty’s confessor?” The Duke de Pontchartrain had drawn -Denise into a corner. “Is it satisfactory?” - -“Eminently so. His Majesty listened with great attention, and was much -impressed, his reverence thought.” - -“Good.” The Duke studied Denise’s eyes and figure. What a magnificent -_coryphée_ she would have made, to be sure, and how the diamonds he -had just given to that perfidious minx Babette would have suited her. -“The ministers,” he added quietly, “have followed the confessor’s -remonstrances up, I hear. They urged how unpopular the lady was in -Paris. His Majesty likes popularity, you know, with the _canaille_.” - -“Yes,” said Denise, “everything is going as we could wish.” - -Her eyes, like the Duke’s, had unconsciously crossed the room, where -André was talking to the Comtesse des Forges. - -“We miss Mont Rouge,” his Grace remarked carelessly. “He was a valuable -friend to the cause.” Like the rest of the Court the Duke was ignorant -of what had brought about the duel, but the sudden colour in Denise’s -cheeks and her silence confirmed his shrewd suspicions. “And,” he added -with the same carelessness, “I am not sure that De Nérac is--what shall -I say?--altogether a friend.” - -“Why do you think that?” Denise asked almost proudly. - -The Duke shrugged his shoulders. “My fancy, I suppose,” he answered -lightly. “Perhaps, however, our dear, captivating friend yonder will -convert him. She could convert St. Anthony if she really tried, eh?” - -Denise knew that under this persiflage the Duke was studying her -closely and she was greatly relieved that he now bowed himself away. -For all his affectation of being a man of pleasure and nothing more she -had divined his keen ability and wide knowledge of life. He had talked -to test her and she was angry that she could not meet his searching -gaiety with the polished impenetrability that was his unique gift. She -bitterly resented, too, that André should stand there basking in the -languishing eyes of the Comtesse des Forges, who was never happy save -when she was making her stammering nincompoop of a husband unhappy. -Two days had passed since that painful evening when he had parted from -her in the Salle des Gardes de la Reine. He had proved his chivalry; -he had triumphantly vindicated her honour; why did he not give her the -opportunity to show that his conduct had appealed both to her pride -and her heart? Why had he not come to ask and to receive forgiveness? -Was it as gossip whispered, that he really preferred the Comtesse des -Forges? Or was it, as the Duke had plainly hinted, because he really -preferred, what was far worse, the service and rewards of Madame de -Pompadour? And reward him the mistress could, poor Denise was thinking; -for to the surprise of the Court the King had simply ignored the duel, -though in other similar cases both victor and vanquished had been -forbidden Versailles for a season. And André was still Captain of the -Queen’s Guards. Denise’s foot beat on the floor. Yes, in the King’s -private salon André had a powerful protector, herself and her friends -a dangerous enemy, yet her pride and gratitude alike forbade her to -reveal the truth to her allies--to the Queen, to the ministers, to the -_dévots_, to the nobles working together for a common end. - -André saluted her as he passed out. On the threshold he paused to nod -quietly to the Chevalier de St. Amant, who was entering. The young man -was as gaily dressed as usual, but his boyish face was grave and sad. -He whispered something to the Duke de Pontchartrain. - -“Good heavens!” exclaimed his Grace, “impossible!” - -“I wish it were,” said the Chevalier, “but it is quite true.” - -“Dismissed! The Comptroller-General dismissed!” St. Benôit repeated, -and the news flew round the room. “But why? Why?” - -“It is an intrigue,” the Chevalier explained. “Messieurs Paris, the -bankers, who are related to the Pompadour, have refused to do any -further business with the Comptroller-General. And so His Majesty has -dismissed not the bankers but the minister.” - -“You mean,” remarked the Comtesse des Forges, “that the Pompadour has -dismissed the Comptroller-General?” - -“Exactly.” - -The consternation was general. “It is no laughing matter,” the Duke de -Pontchartrain pronounced. “This is the first time that that woman or -any woman in her position has interfered with high affairs of state. It -will not be the last.” - -“Ah, I knew she must be vulgar inside,” cried his Duchess triumphantly. -“It is a pity she dresses so well. The bankers pay, I suppose.” - -“It is an outrage,” Mademoiselle Eugénie said. “The Court must protest.” - -“My dear lady,” answered the Duke with his most finished scorn, “when -a king owes twenty million livres to a pair of money-lenders and wants -twenty million more you will find that it is they, not the Court, who -can protest.” - -“And that is not all,” the Chevalier proceeded grimly. “His Majesty -has been pleased to promise the reversion of the Comptroller-General’s -place to the Marquis de Vaudières.” - -“Impossible! Impossible!” The consternation increased, for the Marquis -till a few weeks before had been better known as Abel Poisson, Madame -de Pompadour’s brother. - -“Charming,” said the Duke, “if His Majesty must make marquises from the -gutter at the bidding of a grisette it is only fair he should enable -them to be masters of the public finances and to pay their way by -plunder. What is His Majesty’s next whim, Chevalier?” - -“What it will be to-morrow, Monseigneur, I cannot say. The King has -been pleased to do no more to-day than what I have said.” - -“And a very pretty day’s work it has been,” his Grace replied. “Well, -ladies, I have only one piece of advice to offer you. Smile, smile, -smile, for if you protest Madame la Marquise de Pompadour will turn -her attention to you. Do not forget that she has a pretty _bourgeoise_ -daughter eight years old to whom the post of maid of honour to her -Majesty would be a delightful and profitable education.” - -He saluted the company, and taking most of the men with him withdrew, -for the situation was sufficiently grave to demand an instant -conference. - -All the heart and gaiety had already been struck out of the ladies. The -Chevalier’s dejected air, so strange to his careless and irrepressible -spirit, was the most telling comment on the menace in his news. To the -angry indignation and rapid questions of the ladies he now replied with -melancholy brevity. The King was infatuated and obdurate, and Madame -de Pompadour was plainly determined to make him the instrument of her -vulgar vengeance. - -“She has captured the King,” the young man remarked in his gloomiest -tones. “She will now coerce the Queen. Her ambition is to be mistress -of the robes and thus to rule all Versailles.” - -The mere suggestion of such an outrage on precedent and etiquette made -the ladies speechless with horror. A _bourgeoise_ mistress of the -robes! It was unthinkable--blasphemous. As if her Majesty in dressing -could take even the simplest garment except from the hands of a -princess of the blood or of a duchess. - -“You forget, Madame,” the Chevalier remarked drily, “that the King’s -will is law. _Le Roi gouverne par lui-même._” - -They were the words of Louis XIV. To-day they can still be read as the -motto of Le Roi Soleil in the centre of the superb ceiling of that -Galerie des Glaces at Versailles which enshrines for all generations -the imperial ambitions of the king who made it. Arrogant words, but -true. - -The antechamber became gradually deserted. The Chevalier stood at the -window watching the gathering gloom. His dejection was not acting. His -boyish face was almost tragic in its gravity. Presently he rose and -began to pace up and down, wrestling with his thoughts, until he became -suddenly aware that Denise had re-entered and was looking at him in -questioning silence. - -“Mademoiselle,” he advanced to meet her. “I have no comfort for you. -Before long I shall be bidding you adieu for ever.” - -Her eyes invited an explanation, but she said nothing. - -“I speak seriously,” he proceeded. “You and your friends, Mademoiselle, -are aware that I am with you heart and soul in the desire to overthrow -this woman who will ruin us all. I have been able in the past, as you -know, to do some service to the cause by bringing you information that -I learned as His Majesty’s confidential secretary. At your request I -have to the best of my power abstained from appearing publicly to be -of your party, for His Majesty is suspicious and jealous. But I fear -from to-day my services must end.” - -“Why?” The single word revealed both anxiety and sympathy. - -“His Majesty has signified that for the present he will conduct his -private correspondence by himself. It is the first step. The next will -be that His Majesty no longer needs my services in any capacity, that I -am free,” he laughed with gentle bitterness, “to leave Versailles. Yes, -Mademoiselle, I can no longer help your cause.” - -“That--that woman--” Denise began. - -“Certainly. This is her doing. I stood between her and such secrets -as His Majesty was pleased to entrust to me, secrets not known to -ministers and to the Court. So long as I was private secretary that -woman was not the King’s master. But when I am finally dismissed she -will rule the King body and soul.” - -“Oh, cannot it be stopped?” - -“No, Marquise. I am not as his grace of Pontchartrain a great noble, -not even a Comptroller-General. I am the King’s creature, just as she -is. His Majesty made me, His Majesty can unmake me to-morrow.” - -“This is dreadful,” Denise murmured. “Without your help, your -information, your private influence with the King, we shall be -beaten, humiliated, ruined. You have been a true friend to our cause, -Chevalier.” - -The young man bowed. “I have done my best,” he said with unmistakable -sincerity; “that Madame de Pompadour should triumph cuts me to the -heart. But when I am obliged to leave Versailles her victory will not -be my only grief.” - -Denise looked up at him. His tone had completely altered. - -“I shall leave you, Mademoiselle,” he said simply, “and I love you. Ah! -it is the truth, the bare truth. You are a great noble, I am only the -Chevalier de St. Amant, a parvenu tolerated by the Court merely because -he is useful to them. It is presumption in me to dare to love you. But -even a parvenu’s heart can love. This cause is sacred to me because -not your beauty, nor your nobility, nor your wealth, but the womanhood -that is the greatest gift of God to you has taught me what you are--has -taught me that your service can be all that a man could desire.” - -“Monsieur----” Denise began, but the words failed her. - -“I had hoped that some day I might, perhaps, have dared to do more--to -ask for your love in return. But that is impossible--impossible.” - -“Is it?” Denise asked in a low voice, almost as if she were talking to -herself. - -“Yes, Marquise, because you love another.” - -She looked up half angrily, half inquiringly. “No,” she answered as he -was still silent, “I do not.” - -St. Amant resumed his pacing up and down. “Mademoiselle,” he said -presently, “are you aware how the King can be stopped in his present -course?” - -Denise turned eagerly towards him. “Madame de Pompadour,” he added very -slowly, “is only a woman, but she has an ally, the Vicomte de Nérac, -the ablest, subtlest brain in all Versailles. He is ambitious; he loves -the Marquise de Beau Séjour--hear me out, please. Take the Vicomte de -Nérac from Madame de Pompadour, make him her enemy, not her friend, -and----” - -“You believe that?” she interrupted. - -“Unfortunately it cannot be done,” he replied with decision. “André de -Nérac has chosen his party and he will not be turned aside. Therefore -the only other course is to ruin him. Publish to the world that he -is Madame’s spy, that he has the key of Madame’s secret passage in -his pocket, publish what I have told you and you compel me to keep a -secret, and you can ruin him to-morrow.” - -Denise drew a deep breath. Something like terror shone in her eyes. - -“I have information,” continued the Chevalier very quietly, “that if -made known to the King would ruin the Vicomte to-night. Am I to use it -or not? It is for you, Marquise, to say.” - -Denise’s lips paled. Her hand unconsciously crept to her throat. “What -sort of information?” she asked in a dry whisper. - -“That, Mademoiselle, must be my secret. But I do not jest when I say -that you can ruin Madame de Pompadour to-day, but you will also most -certainly ruin the Vicomte de Nérac at the same time. Am I to keep -silent or to reveal the whole truth to the Comte d’Argenson and the -President of the Council of Ministers?” - -Denise stood pale and trembling. Her eyes looked on her questioner with -a dumb piteousness cruel to behold. - -“You have answered me, Marquise,” he replied after an agitating pause. -“I shall hold my tongue, and forgive me, I beg, that I have been so -merciless. But love is merciless and blind.” He took her hand. “If you -doubt that a parvenu can love you better far than he loves himself, -think of my silence. When I am driven from Versailles do not forget -that I refused to speak the truth of one who regards me as his enemy, -at your bidding. Adieu!” - -In the doorway he paused to look back. For a moment he wavered. Denise -had stumbled to a chair and was crying softly. “_Soit!_” he muttered, -throwing up his head, “_Soit!_” and humming a reckless catch he strode -down the gallery. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - -THE HEART OF THE POMPADOUR - - -AFTER he had left Denise the Chevalier walked for some time in the -empty gallery up and down, up and down, striving to master the strong -emotion within. But when at last he made his way into the gardens he -was once more the jaunty dare-devil cynic whose fine blue eyes had -made many a Court beauty feel that even the veteran Vicomte de Nérac -had lessons to learn in the art of courtship. By the same Fountain -of Neptune where he had met Denise the Chevalier now found a woman -waiting, as indeed he expected. Yet, greeting scarcely passed between -them. - -“You were right,” he began with bitter brevity, “and you have had your -way.” - -The woman pondered on the reply. “Yes,” she said presently. “I knew I -was right. She loves him. And you?” she added, with a swift touch of -anxiety. - -“I shall finish what I have begun,” he answered with calm -determination. “It will cost me my life, perhaps, but,” his tone was -savagely reckless, “revenge is better than love.” - -The woman put her hand on his arm with affectionate entreaty. “Why -not,” she asked, “why not give it all up? It is becoming too dangerous.” - -“Dangerous? Of course. But it is too late to draw back, and I will keep -my oath now--now,” he repeated, lingering on the word, “if I perish -to-morrow.” He put his hand quietly on her shoulder and looked into her -eyes. “You, too, some day will come to believe that revenge is better -than love.” - -“At least we have no choice,” she answered with a cruel little laugh. - -“Don’t! don’t,” the Chevalier whispered, in a sudden tenderness. “What -does it matter for me? but you--you--I can’t bear it for you.” - -“It is fate,” she said very quietly, “your fate and mine.” - -With his arm about her she stood in silence for no small while. They -were both thinking their own thoughts, and they were not pleasant. - -“Are you quite sure he loves her?” the Chevalier asked. - -“I shall know for certain before many days,” she answered, “although a -woman feels sure now.” - -They parted, as they had met, without greeting, but had the Chevalier -followed her he would have seen that the woman went in the direction of -“The Cock with the Spurs of Gold.” It was probably because he already -knew this that he returned to the palace. - -All this time Denise had sat crushed and sad, alone in the -antechamber. Nor did she know that André had stood for some minutes in -the doorway looking at her, had twice stepped forward to speak, had -twice restrained himself, and finally had left her to her tears and her -silence. - -But the one person whom he did not desire to meet found him out by -accident at that moment. - -“Vicomte,” the Comtesse des Forges called softly, “will you do me a -favour?” - -André smiled with skilful hypocrisy. The Comtesse was looking her best, -and her heavy-lidded eyes were bright with admiration and an exquisite -suggestion of self-surrender. “A favour,” she repeated, “which is also -a secret. You will promise not to betray me.” - -André took her hand to his lips for answer. The jewel on the lady’s -breast gently rose and fell, echoing tenderly the coy trembling of her -fingers. It was not the first time these two had played with passion, -heedless of the future, but André swiftly recognised that this evening -it would not be play, pastime, or pleasure. - -“We have a petition to the King,” the Comtesse said in her silkiest -tones, “a petition from the Court praying His Majesty to dismiss that -woman, and we want you to present it. His Majesty will listen to you -more than to any other.” - -André still held her hand; the devotion in his face was intended to -conceal his thoughts. For the crisis that he feared had come. This -petition to the King from the Court was also an ultimatum to himself -from his friends. - -“It will be useless,” he said gently, “the petition.” - -“No--no! You can succeed with the King--you! André,” she pleaded with -a thrill of genuine passion, “do it to please me. You know I can be -grateful.” - -“I cannot,” he replied, controlling himself, “not even to please you, -Gabrielle.” - -“You will desert your friends and me--me?” she asked, a menace creeping -into her languorous voice. “André, it is impossible, surely impossible.” - -“I cannot present the petition,” he answered. - -Jealousy, fear, anger, swept the passion out of her eyes. “You are -afraid?” she demanded, with biting scorn. - -“Yes, I am afraid,” he assented, and if the Comtesse had not lost her -self-control she must have detected the delicate irony in his grave bow. - -“Ah!” she stepped back. “Ah! If Denise had asked you, you would have -consented.” - -“No,” he corrected with a freezing pride. “I would not permit the -Marquise de Beau Séjour even to make the request.” - -The answer surprised and delighted her. Yet, woman though she was, the -Comtesse failed to read what lay behind it, and in her determination -to win she now made a stupid mistake. “I would save you, André,” she -whispered, “because--” she laid a jewelled hand on his sleeve and -dropped her eyes slowly. “They will ruin you unless you consent.” - -Why break with the past, the present, and the future? André hesitated, -but only for a moment. - -“I cannot present the petition,” he answered curtly. - -“Very well,” she shrugged her shoulders in disdainful wrath. “Very -well. I shall not ask you a second time. You understand; so do I.” - -“Adieu!” he said, raising her fingers, but she snatched them back and -swept him a cold curtsey. - -“_Soit!_” André was saying to himself as his spurs rang in the empty -corridor, “_c’est la guerre! Soit!_” The die was cast. Madame de -Pompadour was his only friend now. Henceforward the Court, his friends, -his class, the women whom he had loved, would be his bitterest foes. -And it was to that one friend that he now turned. Yet, careful as he -was, he was unaware that the Comtesse had followed him stealthily, -had marked his entry by the secret door, and returned to the Duke of -Pontchartrain with the news. - -Madame de Pompadour was alone. “You have something to say?” she -questioned eagerly. - -André related what had just passed and Madame laughed. “Ah, my friend,” -she remarked gaily, “it will need more than a petition to-day.” She -flung herself back into her chair, her wonderful eyes ablaze with a -magnificently carnal consciousness of victorious beauty and power. -“And the Vicomte de Nérac cannot go back now,” she added with a sudden -gravity. “The priests, the nobles, the officers might forgive you, but -a woman, a comtesse, will neither forget nor forgive, never, never!” - -“Yes, Madame,” André said, “I am in your hands.” - -Madame de Pompadour moved swiftly towards him. “And I in yours,” she -whispered. - -The perfect music of her voice, the grace of her figure, the flash in -her eyes, were irresistible. Compared with this radiant, triumphant -goddess of a royal love, even Gabrielle des Forges seemed a bloodless, -heartless puppet. - -“I have more to say,” André proceeded, “I verily believe I am on the -track of ‘No. 101.’” She turned sharply, her breath came quickly. -“Yvonne,” she added, “Yvonne is proving very useful. I have learned -from her that the English have a spy, an agent in Paris, that he -frequents ‘The Cock with the Spurs of Gold,’ that he has a paid servant -at the palace. Before long I mean to have that spy in fetters, and -then----” he laughed. - -“Good--good!” Madame clapped her hands. “It is only what I suspected. -And the wench, Yvonne, is she in it?” - -“She is a simple girl, Madame, and I cannot say yet. But in another -week I shall know more.” - -“Do not be in a hurry. It is pleasant cajoling the truth from a wench, -_n’est-ce pas?_ We must act with extreme caution, it is a matter of -life and death for you and me. I, too, have not been idle. Listen. The -King’s secret is mine.” - -André looked at her sorely puzzled. Madame invited him to sit beside -her on the settee. “What is that secret?” she began. “Simply this: -Behind the ministers’ backs, contrary indeed to their despatches and -their public statements, His Majesty is intriguing with the Jacobites -and others too. More, His Majesty both in Paris and elsewhere spies on -his own servants and frequently thwarts them. The Chevalier was his -secretary and confidant. But there will be no more Chevalier. There -will henceforth only be,” she sprung up with a dramatic gesture, “the -Marquise de Pompadour.” - -“But why,” asked André slowly, “why does His Majesty do it?” - -“God knows. It is his foible, his passion. But so long as he had -secrets from me I was in constant peril. To-day I have learned all that -there is to know; and now,” she paused, “and now, please Heaven, the -King will be in my hands alone.” - -André was beginning to understand. “The King, in fact,” he commented, -“says one thing to the English ministers who desire peace and another -to the Jacobites; that may prove desperately dangerous if it is -discovered.” - -“Exactly. And the master of his secret is master of His Majesty. Ah, -my friend, my foes are learning that already, but it will need some -sharper lessons before they submit. They shall have those lessons, I -promise you. I have accepted the challenge of the Court and we shall -see what we shall see.” - -“Yes, Madame,” André said with sincere admiration, “you will be what -you desire to be, the ruler of France.” - -Madame de Pompadour drifted into a silent reverie. The dreams could be -read in her parted lips and faint smile as the soft light played on -every supple curve which this woman’s genius knew how to suggest with -such subtle restraint. - -“But one person can destroy me,” she remarked presently; “‘No. 101.’” - -André was startled by the gravity of her voice. “It is the truth,” she -was speaking now with nervous rapidity. “If, which God forbid, the -King’s secret intrigues are betrayed by treachery, to save his honour -and himself he will, must, find a victim. That victim will be I. Yes, -yes, I know the game is dangerous, but play it I must because the King -insists. Vicomte, ‘No. 101’ must never, _never_ succeed in securing any -of the King’s secrets as has happened in the past.” - -“Surely, Madame, you and I can prevent that.” - -“Can we? Can we? Vicomte, I am not a coward nor a fool, but I feel in -the poisonous air of this Court, surrounded by deadly enemies, my fate -at the mercy of the King’s caprice, that I am fighting not with flesh -and blood but with a foe mysterious, superhuman, invincible. And I -repeat, should the King’s secret be betrayed by ‘No. 101’ to my enemies -I am ruined.” - -“I am confident,” André answered, “that not only can I baffle that -traitor but that I can discover him.” - -Madame de Pompadour studied his calm, handsome face. Then the room -seemed suddenly to swim in the glories of a golden dawn. “My friend,” -she cried, holding out both her hands impulsively, “I believe you. Did -not Fontenoy teach me you are a man?” - -“And it taught me--” he began softly. - -“Hush!” she rippled over into an adorable coquetry. “You are not the -King yet, not yet, though--” it was the _vivandière_ of Fontenoy whose -saucy eyes and curtsey finished the sentence. - -“When you are victorious, Madame,” André said, “I shall ask for one -favour.” - -“Tut! only one! Dare I grant it beforehand?” - -She was now the refined Marquise of a remorselessly critical Versailles. - -“You can take your revenge on the Court, Madame, as you please, but you -must spare,” she put down her fan and waited anxiously, “the Marquise -de Beau Séjour.” - -There was silence for a minute. - -“A woman, a haughty, petted beauty,” she murmured, “and my bitterest -foe. Are you aware that Mademoiselle Denise is the soul of the party -that would destroy me, the close friend of the Chevalier de St. Amant, -and no friend to you.” - -“Yes, I know it all.” - -Madame de Pompadour came close to him. “She is not worthy of you,” she -said quietly, “she does not love you.” - -“Madame, I love her.” - -“And if I refuse to forego my just vengeance on her?” she awaited his -answer with anxiety wreathed in tempting smiles. - -“I will share her fate if she will permit it,” he answered simply. - -“Chivalrous fool!” she retorted, and she was not wholly jesting. “No -woman is worth the sacrifice of such a man as you.” - -“Pardon, Madame. Every man who loves a woman perhaps is a fool, but the -folly is a folly inspired by God and it leads to heaven.” - -The answer surprised her and for the moment she faltered between tears -and laughter. “I will not ask again,” André said in a low voice, “for I -trust you, Marquise. Adieu!” - -She hardly heeded his salute, and André was already in the dark on the -secret stairs when he felt a sharp touch on his shoulder. “Be loyal to -me, too!” she whispered pleadingly into his ear. “Give me your hand,” -and she laid it on her breast. In the darkful hush André could feel the -fierce beating of that insurgent, ambitious heart. - -“Swear,” she whispered. “Swear with your hand there that you will be -loyal also to me, to Antoinette de Pompadour.” - -“I swear.” Two words, but two words between a man and a woman can sweep -a soul into hell or lift it to heaven. - -“The heart of the Pompadour,” she murmured. “Can any man or woman -read it? Can she read it herself? God knows. Take care, take care of -yourself, my friend,” she added with a sudden wistful pathos. “You -alone I can trust. Adieu!” - -“The heart of the Pompadour,” André muttered as he stole back to the -Queen’s apartments. “The heart of the Pompadour.” What, indeed, was -there not written there of passion and ambition? Only a woman’s heart. -Yes, but one of the half-dozen women, in the history of the world, -the beatings of whose heart have shaped the destinies of peoples and -moulded the fate of kingdoms. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - -THE FLOWER GIRL OF “THE GALLOWS AND THE THREE CROWS” - - -ANDRÉ had understated the truth to Madame de Pompadour when he said -that he had learned much from Yvonne. Bit by bit her simple confessions -had convinced him that “The Cock with the Spurs of Gold” played an -important part in the inscrutable mystery of successful treachery -summed up in the blood-stained cipher of “No. 101.” Yvonne indeed -sorely puzzled him. She was only a hired wench at this hostelry kept -by a man and his wife against whom nothing discreditable could be -ferreted out. And he had utterly failed to break down the barriers of -her simplicity. She related things she had seen or heard which to André -with his knowledge of the facts were damningly conclusive, but that -she was aware of this was contradicted at every turn by her speech, -her gestures, her amazing innocence. In vain had he laid pitfall after -pitfall to catch her tripping. Not one syllable, one flutter of an -eyelid, one blush, one faltering tone, had rewarded his cunningest or -his most artless efforts. The girl had passed ordeal after ordeal just -as a peasant wench should who was only a peasant wench. Yet every -failure only deepened the feeling that Yvonne was not merely Yvonne of -the Spotless Ankles; proof he had none; proof indeed pointed to the -very reverse. André had nothing but a vague, indefinable, apparently -irrational, suspicion, and it maddened him. In the critical struggle -on which he had now embarked he was convinced he was being beaten, -tricked by a woman; she held, if he were right, the keys which would -unlock the mystery and she was simply playing with him, no doubt for -her own ends; she was probably betraying him daily to her accursed -allies. Worse still, because it was ridiculous as he felt it, there -was an inexplicable charm in this girl which threatened to master him. -Despite Denise and Madame de Pompadour and the Comtesse des Forges and -half a dozen other refined and attractive women at the Court to inspire -love and gratify passion, he, André de Nérac, a Cordon Bleu, a Croix -de St. Louis, a noble of the Maison du Roi, was in danger of falling -a victim to an unkempt peasant with a smudged face. Yvonne told him -things eminently useful, Yvonne baffled him, but these were not the -only reasons why daily he went to see her. And he had discovered this -humiliating fact by trying to answer a torturing question. If he could -prove Yvonne to be a traitor or the ally of traitors, was he ready -to hand her over to the awful mercies of the King’s justice? And if -not, why not? Supposing he could show that she was the woman who had -foiled him in the charcoal-burner’s cabin at Fontenoy, what then? And -his heart revolted in its answer against his reason: “No, I cannot; I -cannot leave Denise to the vengeance of Madame de Pompadour, because I -love her; I cannot give Yvonne to the rack, the executioner’s whip and -wheel, because”--and then he always stopped, because he had not the -courage even in the most intimate sanctuary of his conscience to finish -the answer. - -But discover the mystery he must more than ever now. His own fate -and Madame de Pompadour’s hung on success. The war was drawing to an -end; the negotiations for peace were beginning. If the King’s secrets -were betrayed as in the past Madame would be disgraced. André had -deliberately broken with his friends and his order. Their implacable -lust for vengeance on the mistress would require his punishment too. -The issue was as clear as daylight. Either he must crush them or they -would crush him. And succeed he must, because success alone meant -safety, honour, and the love of Denise. - -And so, after leaving Madame de Pompadour, André went as usual straight -to Yvonne, whom he found in the stalls feeding the spotted cow. “The -Englishman,” she informed him, “has been here, Monseigneur. He spoke -with a gentleman from the Court. I only know that to-morrow night they -will meet at a tavern in Paris; they called it ‘The Gallows and the -Three Crows.’” - -André took the lantern from her and let the light fall on her stained -face. - -“And this tavern, where is it?” he demanded. - -Yvonne met his gaze with the calmness of innocent ignorance. -“Monseigneur, I do not know. I have never been in Paris.” - -“You will swear you heard it as you say?” - -“Surely. They said the name twice.” - -“And the gentleman from the Court?” - -“His cloak was over his face, but I think--I am certain--it was -Monsieur the Chevalier.” - -André had heard enough. His blood was tingling with passion and -excitement. “You have done me a great service, Yvonne,” he cried. - -Yvonne very modestly disengaged the arm which for the first time he had -slipped about her supple waist. “Monseigneur must not kiss me,” she -whispered, humbly. “I cannot betray my lover even to you, sir.” - -André started as if he had been detected in a crime. “You have a lover, -Yvonne?” he exclaimed. - -The girl threw back her shock of matted hair and laughed. “Many -lovers,” she said, looking down at her clumsy sabots, “but only one -dares to kiss me. Would it be wrong?” she inquired thoughtfully, “for -me to let Monseigneur kiss me, too?” - -“No,” said André, still in the grip of passion. - -[Illustration: Yvonne very modestly disengaged the arm which for the -first time he had slipped about her supple waist.] - -“Then Monseigneur will do as he pleases,” she answered quietly. “I am -his servant and,” she laughed, “a peasant girl would remember the kiss -of a grand gentleman who has surely kissed many great ladies.” - -There was no satire in her voice, and the roguish gleam in her eyes was -simply bright with an innocent vanity, yet the words fell like ice-cold -water on molten steel. - -“Damn her!” was André’s savage comment as he galloped back to the -palace. Was she playing with him or was it sheer _naïveté_ of -soul?--for as usual Yvonne had in her mysterious way lured him on and -then administered a humiliating rebuke. - - * * * * * - -The tavern with the grim name of “The Gallows and the Three Crows” -lay in the mouth of a slum on the south side of the river, and when -André, cloaked and disguised to the best of his power, entered its -dark parlour he recognised that the police were not wrong in telling -him it was partly a gaming hell, partly the haunt of the select of the -scum, male and female, of Paris, the rendezvous for the low amours of -bullies, sharpers, and broken gentry, and the women who were their -victims or their tools. He felt that the half-dozen occupants of the -room eyed his swaggering entry with the keenest interest, but it was -not his first introduction to such resorts, and a soldier of half a -dozen campaigns and a swordsman of his quality knew no fear. Nor was -the wine so bad, and the flower girl who impudently took a seat at -once at his table, though he could scarcely see her face in the gloom, -promised some pleasant fun, when she had ceased to turn her back on -him and to chaff a man at the next table. - -Nothing in particular, however, happened until a figure heavily cloaked -rose from the further corner, and as he passed the flower girl tapped -her familiarly on the shoulder. She looked up, started unmistakably, -and André noticed the man had tried to slip a piece of paper into her -basket of flowers. Unnoticed by both, the paper fell on the dirty -sanded floor among the refuse, and in a trice André had his foot on it. - -He felt his heart beating like a sledge hammer. He had caught a glimpse -of the man’s face--the same face that had puzzled him behind the trees -near “The Cock with the Spurs of Gold.” Ah! the memories rushed in on -him. Yes; he remembered now, of course, he had seen that face in the -glare of the flaming charcoal-burner’s cabin and in London at a supper -party. It was the face of George Onslow, an Englishman. Yvonne had not -been mistaken. Onslow was the English spy in Paris. Onslow at Fontenoy -had come to receive the plans from “No. 101.” Ha! should he follow him? -Yes? No? Before he could decide he recognised two other men drinking -carelessly but stealthily watching the room. These were servants, -trusted servants, of the Duke de Pontchartrain and the Comte de Mont -Rouge. What the devil were they doing here? By accident, or to meet -some wench of the town, or as spies on whom or what? - -George Onslow had meanwhile disappeared. The flower girl, too, humming -a catch, was slipping away. André stooped to pick up the piece of -paper, but by the time he had reached the door, pest on her nimble -heels, she, too, had vanished! And André was only conscious that the -two servants were following him out. Ah, that was their game, was it? -Calling for another bottle of wine, he went back to the table, and -immediately the pair returned to their seat. That was conclusive. They -were there to watch him, but why? Clearly because the Court desired -to know of all his movements. The consequences of his refusal to the -Comtesse des Forges were in fact beginning. André smiled grimly, -stretched out his legs and examined the precious slip of paper. At once -his heart pounded the more fiercely. The scrap had no writing on it at -all; all that he could see was a curious symbol, two crossed daggers -and the figures “101” in red ink--no, blood! There was no mistaking -it--blood. The mysterious traitor’s sign, pass, or counterword. He set -his teeth. Why, oh, why had he allowed that girl to escape him? - -An hour passed. Nothing happened, and André goaded by a feverish -curiosity which he could not satisfy, and feeling only that he had been -baffled again, planned how to leave. Pausing, to be sure that the two -servants were ready as before to follow him, he flung himself round -the corner into the darkness and up the first alley and down the next, -reckless of stabs in the back, until he was able to crouch in the first -convenient doorway. He had thrown his spies off, that was something, -and just as he was wondering what to do next a cloaked figure brushed -past him. The Chevalier de St. Amant, as he lived! He grabbed at the -cloak in vicious rage. The Chevalier at least should not escape him. - -“Don’t be so rude, Vicomte,” laughed a woman’s voice. “I won’t vanish -up the chimney.” - -André, in sheer astonishment, staggered against the door, glaring -all the time into the darkness. “You will be wise to follow me,” she -continued, “and in silence.” - -In two minutes the pair were standing in a small and empty back room -of the tavern André had just left. The woman threw back her hood, -revealing the trim figure and saucy face of the impudent flower girl, -who was no other than his long-lost acquaintance, the crystal-gazer. - -“You will present,” she said mockingly, “my humble duties to Madame la -Marquise de Pompadour----” - -André had recovered his bewilderment. “What is the meaning of that?” he -demanded, brusquely, thrusting the slip of paper into her hands. - -“I don’t know,” she retorted coolly, and then tore the slip into a -dozen pieces, “and I do not care to know.” - -André was so startled by the studied insolence of the act that for a -few minutes he could neither speak nor move. When he did, it was to put -his back to the door very significantly. - -“One question, Madame,” he demanded. “You are aware that George Onslow -is in Paris, that he spoke to you, gave you that paper?” - -“Certainly. Mr. Onslow mistook me for some one else. I have just -convinced him of his mistake.” She was positively smiling. - -“You expect me to believe that?” - -She shrugged her shoulders. “No,” she answered, “the truth told by -women is never believed, least of all at Versailles by men.” - -André ran his eye over her. As in the past, so now something in her -voice and figure reminded him of some one else, but of whom he could -not recall. “Madame,” he said earnestly, “I urge you to tell the truth. -You were never in such danger as you are now.” - -“Perhaps not. But I am not in such peril as you are, Monsieur le -Vicomte.” - -Instinctively he turned sharply round. The woman laughed and the laugh -maddened him, for they were alone and the door had been locked by -himself. - -“My friend,” she said quietly, “you are being spied on. To-morrow the -ministers, the Comtesse des Forges, and the Comte de Mont Rouge will -know how the Vicomte de Nérac, who gave out he was going to visit -Madame his aged mother, has spent the evening in the company of Mr. -George Onslow and disreputable women. I feel sure the Marquise de Beau -Séjour will hear it, too, with additions.” - -“Well,” said André, stonily. - -“Monsieur le Vicomte also is known to frequent the society of one -Yvonne. Innocent peasant girls, when put on the rack, are sometimes -obliged to tell lies, poor things, but lies useful to those who rack -them. The Marquise de Beau----” - -“Hold your tongue.” - -“No, I will not. Monsieur le Vicomte is also the lover of Madame de -Pompadour. You deny it? Then why go in the darkness with the King’s -private key to her apartment? The noble whose arm you slit will enjoy -taking that delightful scandal about the Captain of the Queen’s -Guards to the King, and the King--_mon Dieu!_ the King--” she laughed -bloodthirstily, nor was it necessary to finish the sentence. - -André wiped the sweat off his brow. The woman came close to him. -“Supposing,” she said in a low voice, “supposing you had been arrested -to-night with that slip of paper in your pocket, would all your -services, all your oaths, your nobility, have saved you? Think, my -friend, think. I did a bold thing, perhaps, in destroying it, but it -was in your interest, Vicomte, not mine.” - -André was silent, appalled at her knowledge. The tables had been turned -on him with a vengeance, and this astonishing woman was right, which -was hardest of all. - -“You would know,” she proceeded, divining marvellously his confused -thoughts, “how I have all this information. I have my crystal,” she -laughed, “but I also hate the King and the woman who rules him. You -and she are not the only persons at Versailles to whom it is a matter -of life and death to discover the secret of ‘No. 101.’ Monsieur, I am -the paid agent of the foes of that wanton, the King’s mistress, and of -yourself.” - -Unconsciously André’s fingers clutched the hilt of his sword. - -“Why do I tell you all this?” she asked in a low voice. “Does that -confession amuse or startle you? Am I the first woman who would -sacrifice herself for the Vicomte de Nérac or the first to confess -her love? No. And to prove I speak the truth I will reveal to you -the secret of ‘No. 101’ that I alone have discovered, but on one -condition”--she paused to put her hands on both his shoulders--“that -you will promise from this moment to abandon Mademoiselle Denise, who -is not worthy of you, and to love me alone.” - -Dead silence. André stood hypnotised, half by fear, half by the -witchery of her womanhood. - -“I have beauty, wealth, power,” she whispered caressingly. “Yes, I am -as fair a woman as Mademoiselle Denise; I can make you a greater man -than Madame de Pompadour can; I can reveal to you the secret that is -worth the ransom of the King’s crown; and I love you. Say yes, André, -for your own sake; you will never regret it.” - -André looked into her blue eyes, so resplendent against the cream -tint of her skin, and at her magnificent black hair. Passion and -ambition began to sap his will. Then slowly he dragged himself from his -intoxicating dream and disengaged her hands. - -“No,” he said gently but firmly, “I do not love you. I cannot--I -cannot, because,” his voice rang out, “I love Denise.” - -She was trembling, he thought, with rage, but there was no rage in her -eyes, only a mysterious pity and pathos as of a woman who had staked -all on one throw and lost, yet was not wholly sorry. - -“Ah! well,” she said, controlling herself. “I know now that you will -never discover the secret of ‘No. 101’--never!” - -“I shall,” he answered, with unfaltering confidence, “I shall succeed -because I must.” - -She shrugged her shoulders with scorn. “Open that window,” she -commanded, in the most matter-of-fact tone, “before you leave you had -better be sure the King’s police are not waiting for you.” - -With the key of the door in his pocket André quietly threw the shutters -open and peered out. - -“Well? No one?” said a voice at his elbow. “I fear, Vicomte, I cannot -wait while you make up your mind what you will do with me. You will -hear interesting news at Versailles to-morrow. Thank you. Good-night!” - -A sharp push, the vision of two small boots, and a flutter of short -skirts, and she had lightly vaulted into the street. When André -recovered his balance the darkness of the network of slums had -swallowed her. Tricked and baffled again by a woman, and with these -questions above all crying out for an answer: why had he mistaken her -for the Chevalier? Was she really in love with him? And was she an -agent of the plotters against Madame de Pompadour? - - - - -CHAPTER XX - -AT HOME WITH A CIPHER - - -MIDNIGHT had struck, the same night, more than an hour ago; the black -and squalid Carrefour of St. Antoine was deserted; the houses that -fringed it lay in darkness, yet in the main salon of one of them, -though they could not be discerned by a passer-by, the lights still -blazed, for the shutters were closed and bolted, the thick double -curtains were drawn tight. On the table in the centre of the room -were ample traces that two persons had recently supped, and supped -sumptuously. But there was only one now in the room, a woman copying -from a roll of manuscript, and absorbed in her task. Save for the -monotonous tick of the clock, and a curious muffled murmur which -trickled through a door that faced the main entry, the silence in the -strangely brilliant glare of the numerous candelabra was oppressively -eery. Presently the woman threw down her pen and walked with a quick -but graceful step in front of one of the many long mirrors that lined -the walls. She inspected herself with a charmingly insolent cynicism. -The glass, with truthful admiration, flashed back the reflection of a -supple and exquisitely moulded figure, fair hair, bright blue eyes, and -a skin on face, neck, and shoulders amazingly delicate in its blended -tints of snow and rose. A young woman this, in the heyday of health -and beauty, noble of birth, too, if the refinement of her features, -and the ease and dignity of her carriage, did not strangely lie; and -at every movement the costly jewels in her hair and on her breast, in -her artfully simple dress, and on her fingers, only heightened the -challenge to the homage claimed by her youth and beauty. Very soon, -however, she ceased to find pleasure in looking at herself. A soft -pathos swept over the artificial audacity of her eyes and lips. She -sat down, her elbows on her knees, then stretched her arms wearily and -sighed that most pathetic of all sighs, a sigh from a young woman’s -heart. - -Suddenly she sprang up, and, after listening attentively, seized a -hand lamp and left the room. When she returned, it was with a man, who -flung off his cloak and stood blinking now at her, now at the brilliant -lights. - -“So it is you they have sent?” she said contemptuously; “you!” - -“I volunteered,” George Onslow answered, “because I wanted to come.” -His gaze lingered hungrily on her. “And, by God! I am glad. You,” he -laughed wearily, “you pretend you are not?” - -“What does it matter to me whom your accursed government sends? Any -man is better than a woman, such women, at least, as they employed last -time.” - -His eyes roamed from her jewels to the supper table. - -“You have had company to-night, Enchantress?” he asked in a flash of -jealousy. - -“Yes,” she answered over her shoulder, “two can make very good -company--sometimes. But here is what you wanted. Take it and go.” - -He scanned the roll of manuscript eagerly, his eyes sparkling. - -“You have not signed,” he remarked, half jestingly. - -The woman opened a penknife and pushed back the lace which fringed her -splendid arm at the shoulder. - -“Don’t!” cried Onslow, in genuine pain. “I can’t bear----” - -“Pooh!” With the few drops of blood produced by the knife she made a -symbol with her pen on the roll. “From as near my heart as any man will -ever get anything,” she said, replacing the lace again. “And now my -pay, please.” - -Onslow handed her a small bag of gold, which she locked in a drawer. -“You will drink,” she continued, pouring out two glasses of wine. “Your -health, skulking spy, and damnation to Louis XV. and all his crew of my -fascinating sex!” - -“To your trade and mine, _ma mignonne_, to yourself and--to the -damnation of Louis XV.!” He drained his glass, refilled it, and drained -it again. “You are a witch,” he cried, tapping the roll. “How do you -do it?” - -“Come this way and I will show you.” - -She opened the side door, revealing a small room lit by a single -candle. On the bed lay a man bound hand and foot, and gagged. One boot -was off, showing whence the despatch had been taken. “A confidential -messenger of the King whose damnation you have just drunk,” she -explained, with careless calm, “and like all secret agents the prey -of his passions. He went from my supper table--or rather I carried -him--like that. There will be a pother in Versailles to-morrow or next -day. It is not only at the palace, you see, that a beautiful woman can -ruin a kingdom.” - -She slammed the door behind her and admired herself in the mirror, -while George Onslow’s glowing eyes gloated on the superb picture that -the mirror and she made under the blazing candles. - -“You are a wonderful woman,” he said softly. - -“I am not a woman, I am only a number.” - -“As I think I told you when I saw you last in London.” - -She wheeled suddenly. “And because you were such a fool as to show you -had discovered it,” she retorted, “I could send you to-night, or any -night, to be broken on the executioner’s wheel. Exactly.” - -“It baffles me why you do it,” he muttered, ignoring the remark. - -“Well, I will tell you. For three hundred and sixty days in the year -I am a cipher, a sexless vagrant, unknown and a mystery; but for five -days maybe I wear my jewels and am a woman rejoicing in my health and -my beauty. These are my woman’s hours, glorious hours. That is one -reason; the other is--revenge!” - -“Ah!” He rubbed his hands appreciatively. - -“And you?” she asked, with a faint smile of the most tempting -provocation. - -“For love,” he spoke with a hint of pain. “To the world you are a -mysterious number, but to me you are the most beautiful, most splendid -woman on earth, without whose love I cannot live. Had you not by chance -crossed my path I would have dropped this dirty felon’s game, but I go -on and shall go on, taking my chance of the wheel, the halter, or the -footpad’s death in the gutter, till you are mine, wholly mine.” - -Her lip curled. “The wine is getting into your head,” she said, in her -passionless tones. “In your trade and mine that is dangerous. Remember -the fate of all who, knowing what you know, have seen my face; remember -your friend, Captain Statham, who recognised the Princess in the hut -near Fontenoy. Love? Love? You are a strong, vile animal of a man -tempted by mere beauty of body. But I am not an animal, nor a woman as -women are in Paris, London, Vienna. Love? a man’s animal love? Think -you if that was what I could feel or wanted I would be to-day a thief -of state secrets, a cipher, a skulker from justice? No, I would be the -mistress of the King of France and would rule a great kingdom. And -you have the insolence to offer me the caresses of a felon, a spy, a -traitor. You are mad.” - -“It is you who made me and keep me mad, thank God!” - -She sat down, beckoning him to sit beside her. “Now listen,” she said -calmly. “The game is up. There will be no more papers for a long time. -Why? Because my foes are on my track. The toils are being drawn around -me. My sources of information are being discovered and stopped. And--” -she paused--“and a man worth ten of you, unless I am very careful, -will----” - -“The Vicomte de Nérac?” he gasped out. “Curse him!” - -“Yes, the Vicomte de Nérac, who balked you at Fontenoy.” - -“You let him balk us--you did.” - -“And if I did for my own ends, what then?” - -“You love him? Answer! Answer or----” - -“What is it to you? He is worth a woman’s love. But, my good friend, he -does not love me. Give me your hand!” she suddenly commanded, soothing -him at the same time by a caressing look. “Ah! I thought so. There is -death, a violent death, in that palm of yours, death coming soon. And -yet, my friend, you can avert it. But unless you take my advice and -forget me from this night, unless you cease to be a spy and a traitor, -before long you will have to reckon with the Vicomte de Nérac--it is -written there--and then--” She let his hand drop with icy indifference, -“_c’est fini pour vous!_” - -“A fig for your old wives’ fables! I have sworn you shall be mine and -you shall.” - -“Stand back!” She sprang up. - -“No!” For one minute he faced her and then, with a hunter’s cry on his -prey, he had pinioned her wrist, and in that besotted grip she was -powerless, though she struggled fiercely. - -“No, _ma mignonne_, I, too, am strong. You shall learn you are only a -weak woman after all.” He had whipped the dagger from its concealment -by her heart, his arm was about her, his eyes the eyes of a victorious -maniac. - -“Kiss me at your will,” she murmured faintly. “See, _mon ami_, I resist -no longer. Yes, you, too, are a man. I was only tempting you. I am not -a number, but a woman. You have my secret, and I am yours!” No man -could have resisted the intoxicating self-surrender in her eyes and -voice, least of all George Onslow in the grip of unholy passion long -thwarted. - -Suddenly her released fingers closed like a vise on his throat. In -vain he struggled, for he was choking. Her great natural strength was -duplicated by rage and an insulted womanhood. She forced him on to -the ground, livid, gasping for breath, and put a knee on his chest. -“Mercy!” he faltered, “Mercy!” - -With her left hand she tore the lace from her breast, and gagged him -inch by inch. With her right hand still on his throat she produced a -rope from her pocket and tied with practised skill his hands and feet. -Then she rose and calmly rearranged her disordered dress and hair and -quickly searched him for pistols and dagger. - -“Carrion! scum!” she whispered, bending over him, “you deserve to die -like the English dog you are. Miserable, insolent libertine!” and she -struck him on the cheek. “No, I will not kill you, for you have my work -to do and you shall do it. But a weak woman has taught you a lesson and -your hour is not yet come. Another shall soil his hands or his sword -with your rascallion blood. Go!” - -She dragged him down the passages, loosened the rope on his ankles till -he could just hobble, flung his coat about him, and with her dagger at -his throat pushed him to the open door, where she propped him against -the wall in the damp darkness of the court, and the silent serenity of -the stars. - -“It will take you,” she said pleasantly, “twenty minutes to bite -through that cord, and by that time I shall have disappeared for ever -from your sight. But remember my advice, or as sure as you stand -here, before long my secret will die with you.” She drew the lace gag -from his mouth and stuffed it inside his collar. “Cry out now if you -please,” she continued contemptuously, “and my secret will die with you -in two days on the executioner’s wheel. Oh, keep the lace; it came -from a woman’s heart, and on the scaffold will be a pleasant souvenir -of a night of love with a cipher. Adieu!” - -The outer door was locked. The woman who was a cipher had disappeared; -whence and whither, who could say? - -As George Onslow stood with rage, jealousy, baffled passion, -humiliation, surging within him, he was startled by the sudden -appearance of a stranger. - -“Don’t be alarmed,” said the boyish voice of the Chevalier de St. -Amant. “’Tis a friend.” He muttered a reassuring password. “So that -woman has treated you as she treated me?” In a trice he had set the -helpless spy free. - -Onslow’s answer was an incoherent growl of gratitude, surprise, and -relief. - -“Well,” said the Chevalier, “we are in the same boat. You will hear -from me shortly, I promise you. And then you and I can have our revenge -on her and the Vicomte de Nérac. Revenge, my friend, revenge will be -sweet. Meanwhile have courage, and be careful till our turn comes!” - -And then he, too, glided away to be lost in the night that divined and -protected all the treachery and treason, all the dreams of love and -hate, of passion and ambition, the tears and laughter and prayers that -throbbed then, and will always throb, in the heart of Paris. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI - -THE KING’S COMMISSION - - -ANDRÉ was not the only person at Versailles who, tortured with -perplexity and fear, must now choose between loyalty to a cause or -loyalty to the dictates of the heart. Poor Denise, whose womanhood, -nobility, and devotion to her neglected and insulted Queen made her -so bitter a foe of Madame de Pompadour, whose sensitive self-respect -and self-reverence, whose ideal of purity so strange in the world of -Versailles, whose indignation at André’s desertion to the side of the -ambitious mistress, had combined to make her despise and twice reject -the hero of her girlhood; yes, poor Denise had at last been driven by -a cruel necessity to acknowledge to herself and to the Chevalier that -she really loved André, and that she could not sacrifice him even to -victory over Madame de Pompadour. Ever since that hour of misery she -had bitterly blamed herself for her selfish weakness. She had not only -been untrue to her own cause, but perhaps had ensured its defeat--and -for what? Because she loved, despite all, one who did not love her. And -unless she made atonement for this folly and sin she must forfeit her -own self-respect for ever and be punished as well. Denise, therefore, -goaded by remorse, by a dim hope of saving André at the last hour, had -steeled herself to conquer her pride and her modesty and to speak to -André himself. - -He, too, oppressed with misgivings and fears, had returned early in -the morning to Versailles, and when he found himself alone in the -antechamber with Denise, pale and resolute, instinct warned him as it -warned her that both their lives might now turn on silence or speech. - -“Will you answer a question?” she began with nervous directness. - -He bowed with a singularly poor attempt at resolute indifference. - -“Why,” she demanded in a low voice, “why did you say you were going to -Nérac when you really meant to visit a low cabaret in Paris?” - -André had no answer ready, for it was not the question he had been -expecting from Denise. - -“I see,” he said, after a pitiful pause, “that you are well informed, -Mademoiselle.” - -Denise looked round the room as if to make sure they were not being -spied on. Then she walked towards him, her trembling fingers revealing -her emotion. - -“I will tell you why I ask,” she said. “This morning, at three o’clock, -in the gutter outside the cabaret--where you were seen at midnight--one -of the King’s messengers was discovered by the police, gagged and -bound, and his despatches gone--stolen, of course, by the traitor who -has done this felon’s work before.” - -“Good God!” The horror in his face was unmistakable, but was it due to -guilty knowledge or innocent surprise? The crystal-gazer’s last words, -“There will be news in the morning for you at Versailles,” were ringing -in his ears, and now he stared dully and confused at the girl’s pale -face. - -“You do not wish to tell me,” Denise continued, “why you went to that -cabaret?” - -With the memory of the night still painfully vivid, aware how his path -was beset by pitfalls, André was trying to decide whether Denise was -asking as the agent of his implacable foes or for herself alone. - -“You,” she began again, “are the Captain of the Queen’s Guards; you -visit by stealth at an inn a wench called Yvonne, you refused to -present our petition to the King, you visit a cabaret frequented by a -foreigner suspected of being an English spy, under whose walls foul -treason is committed, and you professed to have gone to Nérac”--she -paused, and looked at him wistfully. “Why do you do these things?” - -“To discover the traitor; that is my reason,” he answered. - -“At the request of His Majesty?” she asked swiftly and significantly. - -Should he lie to Denise? André’s troubled eyes passionately sought her -face. - -“I can say no more,” he replied slowly, and Denise, though she knew -that he had admitted her accusation, was glad he had not told her a -falsehood. - -“Do you know that you are in extreme danger?” she asked. - -“Yes, I know it.” He spoke with great gravity. - -“I have been unjust to you,” she said quickly; “unjust and unkind. I am -more than grateful for your generosity and honour in saving me by that -duel. I am ready now to believe your word just because it is yours. -They tell me you are the lover of Madame de Pompadour and at heart a -traitor, but it is a lie--a lie!” - -“Ah!”--it was a true lover’s cry of joy--“a lie, Denise!” - -“Yes, a lie. I say so to you because I have said it to them. André, -will you for your own sake--I cannot and will not ask for mine--will -you not refuse now and henceforth to be the servant and ally of Madame -de Pompadour? Will you not help me instead in the cause which is the -cause of your nobility and mine--of honesty and honour?” - -“I could wish,” he answered earnestly, “for your sake, Denise, that -you would refuse to have any part in this squalid struggle for power. -Believe me, it is no task for a woman such as we--I--would have you be.” - -“Do not I know it?” she answered wearily. “To the woman I would be it -is hateful. It soils--it soils,” she cried in a low voice of anguish. -“But take my place, André, and I promise you I will leave Versailles -for Beau Séjour till”--she looked up timidly, unable to check the -tender radiance in her appealing eyes--“till you come to tell me you -are victorious and she has gone for ever.” - -André had taken her outstretched hands. Her words were like wine to -a fainting man. Denise loved him--Denise loved him! Last night with -another woman’s hands on his shoulders, a woman promising him love, -success, glory, the great secret whose fascination was so irresistible, -he had refused to succumb to temptation, and Denise’s look even more -than her words was now his reward. He had only to promise and she would -be in his arms for ever. And so for a few blissful moments of oblivion -to the perils that beset them both he stood with her dear hands in his, -her face close to his, supremely happy, as she was. - -Suddenly they both stepped back. Some one had stealthily entered--only -a lackey peeping cautiously, but a lackey, they both recognised at -once, of Madame de Pompadour. - -“Whom do you seek?” Denise demanded haughtily. - -The man had obviously expected to find André alone. He now tried to -sidle away. - -“If,” said the Marquise de Beau Séjour, “you have a message for -Monsieur le Vicomte de Nérac, give it to him.” - -The man, thus sternly commanded, reluctantly handed André a small note -and fled. - -“Read it, I beg,” Denise urged, her tone unconsciously cold and severe. - -It was sealed with the crest of the Marquise de Pompadour, and André -read these words: - - “I must see you at once.--A. DE P.” - -The crumpled note fell from his fingers. Ah! Sooner or later he had -known even in his great bliss that he must answer Denise’s appeal, but -this message made a decision imperative. - -“Will you save me as I asked you?” Denise said, and once again she came -close to him. - -“And if I cannot promise to take your place?” he questioned to gain -time. - -“Then I must go on alone--alone,” she answered, “and God knows what I -may do.” - -Ambition, loyalty, love, his pledged oath to Madame de Pompadour, fear, -remorse, and pain struggled within him. - -“I will promise anything, anything but that,” he cried in despair. - -“It is the only thing that can help,” she said very quietly: “but it is -well I should know the truth. I thank you for that.” Tears were in her -voice. “Do not think the worse of me if--” she stopped. Words failed -her. Fate and the mistakes of the past of each were too strong for him -and for her. - -And then, André, unable to endure the misery longer, without a syllable -of explanation or justification, left her. - -Denise’s eye fell on the note from the woman who she felt had ruined -her life and his. For one minute she held it in her fingers. Her -friends would give much for this damning evidence of his guilt. If she -desired revenge, here was the chance; and she was, alas! racked by the -jealousy and curiosity of a woman who loved and had been rejected; but -it was only for a moment that she wavered, then with a proud sadness -tore the note into fragments and threw them on the fire. Not till the -last had been burnt did she take refuge in the hopeless loneliness of -her own room. - - * * * * * - -“_Mon Dieu!_” exclaimed Madame de Pompadour, as André stepped from -behind the curtains of the secret door, “_Mon Dieu!_ my friend, I am -not the devil, that you should look at me like that.” - -“Madame,” André replied, “I am here to receive your commands.” - -A jest, a taunt, a direct question, hovered on the lady’s lips. But -after another searching look, instead she held out a hand of swift and -strong sympathy. - -“Courage, Vicomte,” she said softly, “do not despair. I am not beaten -yet, nor are you. No woman can forget a man’s loyalty, certainly not I.” - -Madame de Pompadour was a selfish and ambitious woman, yet to a few -such nature has granted the mysterious power of expressing in word -and look what they do not really feel. Then, as always in her unique -career, it proved the most potent of her many gifts. - -“I thank you, Marquise,” André replied, deeply touched. - -“You have heard the news,” she said, wisely returning to business. -“Yes? Could anything be worse? But thank Heaven the messenger was -carrying only public despatches. Had it been one of the King’s secrets -you and I would not be talking here.” - -“And His Majesty?” - -“Is one moment furiously angry, at another plunged in the deepest -dejection, at another jesting. This accursed treachery appalls him. -No wonder. But, as the business of last night affects the ministers -more than himself, he is angry with them alone. Cursed dullards, he -called them in this very room, infamous bunglers. I think,” she added, -smiling, “His Majesty will presently see it is his interest to give -some of them change of air and occupation. Who knows, the Vicomte de -Nérac may be Minister for War yet.” - -André laughed grimly. That would be a triumphant retort indeed to the -Court that hoped to prove him a traitor and a libertine. - -Madame de Pompadour ceased to smile. Fear and anxiety made her voice -and eyes grave. “‘No. 101,’” she said, “has given the King occasion to -call his ministers dullards and bunglers. If to-morrow, thanks to ‘No. -101,’ the King should have reason to call me that and worse, you and I -are ruined. You follow me?” - -“Perfectly, Madame.” - -“_Eh bien!_ it is necessary for His Majesty to communicate with the -Jacobites. That, unhappily, is not my affair. His Majesty wills it so, -and I, who alone know this, must obey. This is the despatch.” - -André took the sheet of paper. “It is in your handwriting, Madame!” he -exclaimed, in sharp astonishment. - -“Yes, I wrote it at the King’s dictation this morning. Have you -forgotten I, alone, am his confidential secretary now?” She quietly -folded the paper, sealed it with her own private seal, and wrote a -direction on the cover. - -“You wish me to be the bearer?” André asked quickly. - -“Three persons alone,” she replied quietly, “know of this despatch and -its contents--the King, you, and I. The King cannot deliver it. It -must, therefore, be you or I. With ‘No. 101’ out there or here in the -palace we cannot trust any messenger. That is the price you and I have -to pay for the power we have won.” - -“I will take it,” André said at once. - -“Reflect, my friend,” she answered. “If that despatch is found on -your person, or stolen, it reveals an intrigue with the Jacobites in -defiance of the King’s public promise and the policy of his ministers, -and you will go to the Bastille as a traitor. It is in my handwriting, -sealed with my seal, and the King will disavow us both; therefore, I -shall follow you to prison and death. This is a more dangerous errand -than my commission at Fontenoy. You can risk it and will, but is it -fair?” - -“Madame, if you were not involved, I should welcome the Bastille and -the scaffold,” he replied. - -She flashed a swift look, piercing to the marrow, and she read how -the iron of some unknown fate had entered into his soul; but with -marvellous self-restraint she suppressed her curiosity. - -“I thank you,” she said; “no, I cannot thank you, but some day I will.” - -It is not given to many men to see in such a woman’s eyes what André -saw then. He wrenched himself into asking an obvious question. - -“The agent of the Jacobites will be at midnight at ‘The Cock with the -Spurs of Gold,’” she answered. “Do not be surprised; it is not I who -have chosen that place; it is the King, and we must obey. Paris is too -far off; the road and the city are as we know only too full of dangers. -Remember that before you deliver the despatch the agent will give you -the password, ‘_Discret et fidèle_,’ and show you a seal like this. -Yes, keep it.” She handed him an impression of the private royal seal. -“And now I will sew the paper into your inside pocket; it is the safest -way I can think of.” - -For a couple of minutes she stitched in the most businesslike way, but -neither he nor she could make the operation other than it was. - -What a beautiful woman! André was only human, indeed more susceptible -than most to physical charm. The flutter of her eyelids, the lights -that unconsciously came and went in her eyes, the dimple in the cheek, -the rounded curve of neck, shoulder, and arm--veritably a _morceau de -roi_. - -“They say,” she whispered, with a roguish laugh, “that poor fool of a -messenger was cajoled off his errand by a petticoat. Women, you know, -are often surprised at the extraordinary weakness of even strong men. I -wonder if any woman could make you, Vicomte, betray yourself. Perhaps?” - -“I hope not.” André found it wiser to jest too. - -“_Ma foi!_ I should like to try.” - -André kissed her fingers with the unconscious grace that was vainly -imitated by all the young courtiers of Versailles. “I could only -succumb to your equal, Marquise,” he said, “but such a woman does not -exist. Therefore I shall succeed.” - -“You must; you must.” - -“Madame, the paper will be delivered safely or I shall never return.” - -The thoughts of both had soared away in the sudden silence, and across -the unconquerable dreams of ambition and love there fell the sinister, -blood-stained mystery of the unknown traitor and darkened the room. - -“God keep you, my friend,” Madame murmured. “God keep you safe!” - - - - -CHAPTER XXII - -ON SECRET SERVICE - - -THE clock in André’s room struck eleven. André pulled the curtains back -and surveyed the night. Serene, flawlessly serene, as an October night -at Versailles can be. Satisfied that his pistols were properly primed, -that the precious despatch was still in his pocket, he blew out the -lights and then by a rope ladder swung himself out of the window. His -experience at “The Gallows and the Three Crows” had warned him that for -his foes to discover the King’s commission was for Madame de Pompadour -and himself ruin, death, and dishonour. And he was determined the Court -should not so much as know he had left the palace. So at midday he had -given out that he was ill, had even sent for a physician, and then had -quietly slept till the hour had come. And now that he had successfully -given them the slip the Captain of the Queen’s Guards laughed as a -truant schoolboy might have done. A few lights still twinkled into the -October air, some from behind shutters, others through the open glass. -André paused to survey the majestic front of the palace as it faces -the broad terrace that commands the gardens, that terrace where to-day -the bare-legged French children scamper and the chattering tourists -stroll--those gardens where, could he have known it, was to be played -out the tragi-comedy of _The Diamond Necklace_ and the downfall of the -descendants of Le Roi Soleil. And he was asking himself, would he ever -see Versailles again? - -Up there to the right was the window of Denise’s room. If only he could -have said two words of farewell before he rode out to battle with the -unknown! Hush! the shutters were being fretfully thrown back. Yes, that -figure in white was Denise looking out, as so many in their sorrow or -passion have looked out, to the passionless stars for an answer, and -in vain. His blood throbbed feverishly, until Denise, ignorant that in -the darkness below her a heart as cruelly torn as her own was beating -wistfully, wearily closed the shutters, and went back to a sleepless -bed. - -André stole away across the gardens to seek the road yonder where a -trusted servant from Paris would be waiting with his best horse. - -“She is not a peasant,” he muttered, showing whither his thoughts were -travelling. “Well, well!” - -“If I am not at the palace by nine o’clock, Jean,” he said as he -mounted, “come for my orders to the inn called ‘The Cock with the Spurs -of Gold.’” And Jean nodded knowingly. - -Orders! André smiled grimly. Dead men can give no orders, not even for -their own burial, nor can they take all their secrets with them; more -was the pity. - -When the servant had disappeared André bound the mare’s hoofs with -felt, and she whinnied affectionately, as if she understood. She had -only twice been so treated, once the night before Fontenoy and now, for -she was the English blood mare which had crushed into pulp the face of -that miserable dead woman in the charcoal-burner’s wood and had saved -her master’s life from “No. 101” and George Onslow. André stroked her -neck and whispered into her ear. To-night she might have to save his -honour as well as his life. - -Once in the main road André drew rein in the shadow of a tree on the -outskirts of the forest and listened attentively. To the right ran the -track for farm carts that led directly to the inn, but he decided not -to take that. If by any chance he had been followed or an ambush was -laid his foes would certainly choose that track, his natural route. -He therefore rode past it, again halted to listen, and then plunged -fearlessly under the trees, picking his way along a wood-cutter’s -disused path. - -Already, through the tangle of boughs, he could make out the blurred -shape of the inn ahead, when a faint hiss brought his sword from the -scabbard. No, that was a low whistle there on the right. That bush, -too, just in front was stirring suspiciously; by St. Denys! the crown -of a man’s hat? A howl of surprise and pain rent the air. André had -driven in his spurs; the maddened mare had leaped on to the bush and -the hat with the man’s head under it was cut through with one pitiless -stroke of the sword. In went the spurs again; for he saw now there -were three others running up from the main track which he had refused -to follow. The flash of a pistol: the bullet went through his cloak, -but the man who fired it took André’s sword point in his throat and -dropped, gurgling. The remaining two stood their ground, and struck at -him with their swords. One of them, with a cry “Seigneur Jésu!” lurched -forward, run through the breast. But the other had stabbed the mare -from behind. She plunged and fell heavily. André felt a sharp pain in -his left arm; he, too, was stabbed! He had a vision of himself being -tossed through the air, his head struck a tree trunk, and---- - -When he recovered consciousness he was lying on the ground and all -was still. In an agony of bewildered fear he tore his coat open and -felt for the despatch. Impossible! Yes, it was still there. A red mist -danced in his eyes, his left arm throbbed with pain, but he lay half -sobbing with a delirious joy. The despatch was still there! Death and -dishonour had not the mastery of him yet. - -“You are hurt, Monseigneur?” - -Yvonne, in her tattered gown and dishevelled hair, with a lantern in -her hand, was kneeling beside him. André staggered to his feet; he -scarcely knew whether he was hurt or not. He gazed round, trying to -recollect, as the flickering light showed him four men’s bodies lying -this way and that near him. Dead, all of them. And his horse--no, that -was alive; she whinnied as he tottered up to her. - -“Take it to the stable,” he muttered, “take the mare, Yvonne. It is not -the first time she has saved my life.” - -Yvonne in silence led the bleeding beast away. The girl who loved a cow -could also understand why a soldier could love his horse. - -André now seized the lantern and examined the dead men. Ha! two of them -he did not know, but two were the spies of “The Gallows and the Three -Crows,” the servants of the Duke de Pontchartrain and the Comte de Mont -Rouge. He sat down on a fallen tree trunk, faint and sick. But the -shock braced his dazed mind and he tugged out his watch. Ten minutes -to twelve. Ten minutes! He could still be in time. His arm indeed was -dripping with blood, but it was a mere flesh-wound, which he promptly -bound up with his handkerchief, and by this time Yvonne had returned. - -“Tell me what happened,” he commanded. - -“I was sitting in the kitchen,” she said quietly, “when I heard a -cry--a terrible cry. I seized a bludgeon and a lantern and rushed -out. _Mon Dieu!_ Monseigneur, it was horrible; you were fighting -and falling. I struck as hard as I could, and then all was still. -Monseigneur, I can see now, killed three of them, but the fourth I -think I killed. See--there!” - -[Illustration: Yvonne, with a finger to her lips, holding her -petticoats off the floor, stole in, and behind her a stranger.] - -Her bludgeon was lying beside one of the dead men, whose head it had -battered in. Yvonne began to cry at the sight. - -“Will they hang me, Monseigneur?” she asked. - -“Hang you! Good heavens! You have saved my life, my honour. They will -not hang you unless they hang me, and they will not do that. Come, -Yvonne, we must show these _canaille_ where the superintendent of the -police can see them to-morrow.” - -They carried the four bodies to one of the outhouses, and not till then -did André enter the inn parlour to wait for the agent of the Jacobites; -but no agent arrived, and, after drinking some wine which Yvonne found -for him and telling her to summon him if required, André dismissed her, -drew a chair up to the fire, and began to ponder on the night’s work; -but his mind refused to think. A curious numbness as if produced by a -drug steadily overpowered him, and after wrestling with himself in vain -he fell into a deep sleep. - -He had been lying in the chair perhaps a quarter of an hour when the -door softly opened. Yvonne with a finger to her lips, holding her -petticoats off the floor, stole in, and behind her a stranger, shading -the light he carried with his hand, stepped stealthily on tiptoe. - -In silence they both inspected the sleeping André. Then Yvonne very -cautiously inserted her hand inside the sleeper’s coat and probed -as it were gently. The pair inspected the despatch closely, smiling -when they observed the handwriting on the cover. Then with the same -practised sureness of touch, they rebuttoned the coat, and withdrew -as noiselessly as they had entered; but as they reached the threshold -a little tongue of flame from one of the logs on the fire suddenly -revealed the face of Yvonne’s companion to be that of the Chevalier de -St. Amant. - -Outside the door, the girl hung her lantern quietly on the wall in the -passage. - -“Why hasn’t François come?” she asked, in an anxious whisper. - -“François will never come,” the Chevalier replied, very curtly. - -“Do you”--she pushed back her matted hair with a gesture of horror--“do -you----” - -“Yes, I do. The English have been on François’s track for some time. He -was last seen, I learn, loitering about the Carrefour de St. Antoine. -Poor fool, why did he go there, of all places? He has disappeared -and----” - -“George Onslow?” she interrupted with a flash of anger. - -“I fear so. Onslow is mad with despair and wrath. He had discovered -François’s trade and his Jacobite employers; and the English Government -pays handsomely for Jacobite secrets. Onslow, too, was convinced he -would get no more papers as he had got them before, and so----” - -“Yes, yes.” Then she added, “And he desired revenge on a woman.” - -The Chevalier nodded quietly. “If he had secured from François that -paper which De Nérac is carrying, revenge was in his hands. But the -madman has struck too soon; it is just as well for all of us.” He -looked up and down the dimly lit passage. “Some day,” he said, in a -matter-of-fact tone that was cruelly tragic, “François’s fate will be -mine.” - -The girl flung out a hand of passionate protest. Her voice choked. - -“I feel it for certain,” the Chevalier continued, “it is fate, the fate -of our--” He checked himself sharply. “Oh, I shall not resent my turn -when it comes; I have no desire to live now.” - -“No.” She, too, stretched arms of impotent appeal against the grip of a -pitiless destiny. “No, there is nothing to live for, now.” - -The Chevalier looked into her eyes with the earnest scrutiny of deep -affection. “So your question, too, has been answered?” he whispered. - -“Only as I expected. Could it be otherwise?” - -“All for De Nérac,” he commented aloud to himself; “all for De -Nérac--love, success, glory, honour, and, as if that were not enough, -he and that wanton will frustrate the revenge and punishment----” - -“Yes, he will do that. It is the destiny of France.” - -The thought imposed silence on both. André’s measured breathing could -be heard dying away in peaceful innocence in the dim passage. - -“But this attack?” Yvonne demanded suddenly. - -“The ministers and the Court, of course,” was the quick reply. “Some -one has warned them of _his_”--he nodded towards the parlour--“his -errand. The some one can only be Onslow, the miserable traitor, and -it explains François’s disappearance, too. The despatch can wait. But -Onslow’s game must be watched or----” - -“And checkmated,” she interrupted decisively. “Ah! I see it now--I see -it all now.” - -They fell to talking earnestly. - - * * * * * - -Three hours later André had returned to his room in the palace as he -had left it--by his rope ladder. He had an interesting story to add to -the morning chocolate of Madame de Pompadour, and he was able to give -back intact a despatch which he had been unable to deliver. - -And the next event was at ten o’clock, when the Duke of Pontchartrain -was chatting with the morning crowd in the Œil de Bœuf. Sharp -exclamations, followed by a dead silence, greeted the entry of the -Captain of the Queen’s Guards, whose left arm, all could see, was -bandaged and carried in a sling. - -“Monsieur le Duc,” André said in a voice that rang through the room, -“His Majesty commands your presence at eleven o’clock in the Council -Chamber.” He paused to allow the royal message to be appreciated by -the attentive company; then he added: “And, Monsieur le Duc, I beg to -say for myself that if your Grace wishes to know where your servant -and that of the Comte de Mont Rouge are, who attempted to murder me -last night when carrying out the commission of the King of France, -your Grace will find them both dead, along with two others, in the inn -called ‘The Cock with the Spurs of Gold.’” - -A haughty bow, and he had left the astonished Duke and the appalled -audience to their bewildered reflections. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII - -THE KING FAINTS - - -THE customary midday service in the chapel at the palace that morning -was unusually crowded. Mansart’s dignified and classical architecture -in all its frigid splendour is best viewed to-day by the visitor from -the royal tribune, and it is with difficulty that the cold and empty -desolation condescends to conjure up for the imagination the historic -share of this chapel in the grand age of the French monarchy. For -under Louis XV.--sensualist and bigot--the homage of attendance at -the rites of the religion of the Sovereign and the national Church -was as profitable, nay, as obligatory, as obedience to the inflexible -conventions of Court etiquette and the good breeding of the Faubourg -St. Germain. So, indeed, it had been under Louis XIV. and the ascetic -pietism of Madame de Maintenon; so it continued to be under Louis XV. -and the genial culture of Madame de Pompadour and the libertinism of -Madame du Barry. But, André, like every one else in the congregation -that morning, was not thinking of this curious paradox as his eye -scanned the _dévots_ worshipping beside the men and women who -patronised Voltaire and laughed at miracles in polished epigrams that -dissolved the central truths of the Christian faith into a riddle for -the vulgar. He saw the King, the Queen, and the crowd of courtiers, he -saw Madame de Pompadour, who as yet had not gained, as she did later, -the seat she coveted in the grand tribune. He was asking himself, as -he mechanically rose from or fell on his knees, where was the Duke of -Pontchartrain and what had the King said to him? - -André, alike with the foes of his own order, knew that a crisis had -been reached. The next forty-eight hours must settle decisively the -great battle between the Court and the _maîtresse en titre_. And the -decision rested with the royal figure kneeling devoutly on his crimson -faldstool, with that man of the soft, impenetrable, bored eyes, who -broke all the Ten Commandments, yet said his prayers with the same -absorption as the most fanatical _dévot_. Yes; Louis’s worship was -watched with feverish interest by every man and woman present. - -“He is in a great rage,” the Comtesse des Forges whispered, as she -crossed herself; “he never says all the responses unless he is truly -angry.” - -The Abbé de St. Victor tittered gently, rather because the licentious -love story he had had stitched into his service-book had reached an -amusing _dénoûement_. “To be sure,” he whispered back behind his lace -handkerchief, “and he never is so polite to the Queen as when he is -hopelessly in love with another woman.” - -“Poor Pontchartrain,” whispered the Duchess, “always kisses me with -passion half an hour before he kisses Françoise. All well-bred men are -like the King in that, I suppose. It is the kiss of peace,” she pouted -at the High Altar. - -The Abbé tittered again with dulcet decorum, but, seeing Denise’s eye -on him, prayed for the rest of the service with exemplary fervency and -finished his love story at the same time. - -When the congregation broke up, the Queen’s antechamber was the general -meeting-place of the noble rebels, and Denise, lingering without, -marked with surprise Madame de Pompadour’s sedan chair stop in the -gallery. Madame de Pompadour had her chair just because it was the -privilege of mesdames of the blood-royal, but to return this way was a -fresh outrage. - -Denise was still more surprised when she was addressed. - -“I beg you,” said the lady, “to present my humble duties to her Majesty -and to pray her to do me the honour of accepting these flowers.” She -tendered a magnificent bouquet. - -Denise looked her up and down. “The gentleman-usher of the week, -Madame,” she replied, making a motion with her fan, “conveys messages -to her Majesty.” - -“I am aware of that,” Madame de Pompadour said sweetly, “but I asked a -favour, Mademoiselle; may I simply add that I hope if the Marquise de -Beau Séjour should so far forget herself as ever to ask a favour of the -Marquise de Pompadour she will not be so foolish or so uncharitable as -to refer it to her gentleman-usher.” - -The two women confronted each other in silence. Then Madame de -Pompadour curtsied deferentially, stepped into her chair, and -disappeared. Denise walked into the antechamber with two angry red -spots in her pale cheeks and her grey eyes blazing. - -“_Mon Dieu!_” cried the Comtesse des Forges. “It is insufferable. What -insolence! My consolations, dear Mademoiselle.” - -“There is something coming,” the Abbé de St. Victor said gravely. “The -grisette’s speech was a trumpet of war. Before long there will be a new -maid of honour--that’s what she----” - -“A hundred l-livres to one,” stammered Des Forges, “that it is n-not -this week.” - -“I’ll take that,” said the Abbé, using the jewelled pencil the Duchess -had given him. “I want a hundred livres sorely.” - -“Here is the Duchess,” exclaimed Mademoiselle Claire. - -“Well? the news--the news?” cried a dozen excited voices. - -“Terrible,” said the Duchess, fanning herself languidly, “terrible. -Pontchartrain is ordered to his estates; he is forbidden Paris and -Versailles.” - -“For how long?” - -“For ever--for ever. No time was said. The King was dreadfully angry. -He swore by St. Louis and refused to believe all Pontchartrain’s -falsehoods. Oh, my friends, think of living always in the country, the -horrible country, where there are so many rosy-cheeked wenches that -milk cows. Pontchartrain will take to drinking milk for breakfast, I am -sure, before I am dressed, and Françoise will never consent to live in -our château, and I sha’n’t have any one worth a sou to wash my lace and -do my hair. Ah! the King is abominably cruel and inconsiderate.” - -While the ladies were bewailing her fate, St. Benôit turned to the -Abbé. “How could the Duke be such a fool,” he asked savagely, “as to -allow André to be attacked--André of all men?” - -“The information was explicit,” the Abbé said, in a low voice. “If the -attack had succeeded, we should have ruined the grisette.” - -St. Benôit made an impatient gesture. - -“The folly,” added the Abbé, “lay in employing fellows who could be -recognised.” - -“With the result,” growled St. Benôit, “that the country will enjoy the -ablest head in our party. It’s simply disgusting.” - -“Exactly,” commented the Chevalier drily. “I sympathise with the Duke. -Only I haven’t a château to retire to, worse luck.” - -The remark had been heard by the ladies, and called out a dozen -questions. - -“Yes, Duchess,” the Chevalier said quietly, “this afternoon I have my -last audience with His Majesty. I understand I am to be dismissed--from -Versailles, perhaps from France.” - -“But who will take your place?” cried Mademoiselle Claire. - -“The lady who will shortly take all our places, Madame la Marquise de -Pompadour.” - -He glanced at Denise, and the glance went home. She had refused to -let him ruin Madame de Pompadour and André with her; he had obeyed -because he loved her; and he alone, poor boy, was to pay the penalty. -In Denise’s soul, stricken by remorse, surged the wild desire that had -been shaping for days. If only by some great act of renunciation, of -self-sacrifice, she could repair the terrible harm that her love for -André had done to her and their cause. - -“We are ruined, beaten,” the Comtesse des Forges said in a hopeless -tone. “That woman has won. Fate is against us.” - -“Yes, nothing but a miracle can save us now,” St. Benôit remarked. - -“And even the Abbé will admit that the age of miracles is past.” - -“You forget, _mon cher_. The grisette is herself a miracle--of Satan,” -retorted the Abbé, but the company was in no mood for jests. The -completeness of Madame de Pompadour’s triumph was too convincing and -too galling. And the Duke’s dismissal they knew well would be followed -shortly by other blows as cruel, as well directed, and as insulting. -The King was in the hands of an able and unscrupulous woman with an -abler hero as her ally, and the King was absolute master of France. - -“If only His Majesty would fall ill,” murmured the Duchess, “if only he -would fall dangerously ill.” - -“Ah!” the Comtesse cried, with a splendidly vindictive gleam under her -heavy eyelids, “ah, then we could treat that wanton as we treated the -Duchess of Châteauroux.” - -The company assented in silence. Well did they all remember the -memorable events of Metz in 1743, when Louis the Well-Beloved had -been smitten down, and the Church and the Court had so skilfully used -his fears of death to get the _maîtresse en titre_, the Duchess of -Châteauroux, dismissed. - -“And the Duchess died, the miserable sinner,” said Mademoiselle Claire, -“very soon. It surely was the judgment of Heaven.” - -“The same miracle,” smiled the Abbé, “never happens twice, alas!” - -“And the King was never so well as to-day,” added St. Benôit, -remorsefully. - -Denise had already withdrawn. Deep as was her resentment against -Madame de Pompadour, strong as was her desire by self-sacrifice, if -need be, to atone for what she now felt was a sin, the conversation of -her friends never failed to offend her tastes and her conscience. She -was working for a cause, they were simply bent on vengeance. - -The Chevalier met her in the gallery as he thoughtfully strolled away. - -“Courage, Mademoiselle,” he stopped to say. “I cannot win your love; -perhaps I may yet be permitted to help to make you happy,” and he -glided off before she could ask what he meant or speak a word of all -the things she longed to say. - -The young man had guessed aright. That afternoon Louis dismissed him -in royally curt words, intimating at the same time that he desired to -see him no more at Versailles or Paris. The Chevalier simply bowed, -and the King now sat alone in his private _Cabinet de Travail_ busy -with his secret correspondence and somewhat troubled in mind. Madame de -Pompadour had had her way, but the Chevalier de St. Amant, Louis was -aware, left his service with a dangerous store of knowledge. And Louis -was in fact penning a secret order to the police for his immediate -arrest and detention in the fortress of Vincennes when the rings of -the curtain over the door behind him rasped sharply. Some one had -unceremoniously entered. - -The King turned angrily at this extraordinary defiance of his express -command that he was to be disturbed by no one. One glance, and the pen -dropped from his hand. - -“You recognise me, Sire?” said the intruder slowly. - -“Dead--dead,” the King muttered. His fingers had clenched, his face was -ashy grey. - -“I was dead, but I have come back as I promised. The dead do not -forget.” - -Louis stared straight at him as a man stares in fear through the dark. -Two great drops of perspiration dripped on to the unsigned _lettre de -cachet_. - -“Some day, perhaps soon,” said the man, “your Majesty will answer for -your acts, not at the tribunal of men, but at the tribunal of--the -devil.” - -Louis crouched in his chair. His lips moved, but he could not speak. - -“Fifteen years ago we last met, your Majesty and I. My wife was stolen -from me, my nobility branded, myself condemned and executed on a false -charge, and you, Sire, were the author of all these foul deeds. To-day -your Majesty is betrayed by the unknown. The man who steals, and will -continue to steal, your papers, Sire, is not ‘No. 101’; it is I--I--” -he stepped forward--“I, the dead.” - -Louis shrank back, his dry lips moving; his fingers convulsively crept -towards the hand-bell. - -“Touch that bell,” said the man in a terrible tone, “and I will -strangle you, Sire--royal betrayer of women, curse of the orphan and -the fatherless.” - -Louis’s arm fell paralysed at his side. - -“Take warning,” the unknown continued, “take warning in time. If you, -Sire, would save yourself from the judgment of God, dismiss at once the -woman who betrays you, the woman called the Marquise de Pompadour.” He -paused and repeated her name twice, adding with emphasis on each word, -“And remember _Dieu Le Vengeur! Dieu Le Vengeur!_” - -The motto seemed to strike an awful chord in the King’s memory. He -covered his face with his hands. When at last a long silence gave him -courage again to look up, the room was empty. He was alone! - -Ah! He had dreamed an evil dream, that was all. With a shudder -of relief he stretched his arms as one freed from the mastery of -unendurable pain. A dream, thank God! an evil dream. And then his eye -fell on his desk. The _lettre de cachet_ was torn into bits, and the -bits were wet with the perspiration of his agony. The King tottered to -his feet, clutched at the hand-bell feverishly, and rang--rang--rang. - -The gentleman-usher stared in awe at His Majesty’s ashy grey face and -twitching lips. - -“Did--did any one pass out?” Louis stammered. - -“Sire?” - -“Did any one pass out, out from here?” Louis repeated. - -“No, Sire.” The man’s face was both puzzled and frightened. His royal -master put his hand on a chair to support himself. - -“You are sure?” - -“I heard voices in the room, Sire, but----” - -“You heard voices, ah!” - -“But I can swear no one either entered or left since your Majesty gave -orders for--ah! _Au secours!_ _Hola_ there! _hola! au secours!_” the -gentleman-usher’s voice had become a shriek. “_Au secours! Le Roi, le -Roi!_” - -Louis had fallen in a dead faint on the floor. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV - -A WISHED-FOR MIRACLE - - -THE wished-for miracle had happened after all. Yet the news that the -King had suddenly fainted, which spread like wildfire through the -palace, was at first made light of. “The King,” said the Abbé de St. -Victor, “likes to show a touch of human and feminine weakness; he -faints as women do, to relieve the ennui of perpetual flattery.” In two -or three hours, however, it was known that after being put to bed His -Majesty had fainted again and again, that he had scarcely rallied, that -the doctors whispered of palsy and a stroke, and that his condition -was truly critical. The excitement slowly rose to feverish anxiety, -mingled with no little exultation. Versailles was thrilled as Paris and -France had been thrilled in 1743, when the King’s dangerous illness at -Metz had fired every class into touching demonstrations of passionate -loyalty. About midnight the watchers could relate that urgent couriers -had been despatched, on what errands no one could precisely say, but it -was certain that Monsieur le Dauphin, absent on a hunting expedition, -had been summoned to return at once, that mesdames the princesses were -being fetched from their convent, that a council of ministers would be -held as soon as the Dauphin arrived, that the Archbishop of Paris and -the saintly Bishop of Bordeaux, then in the capital, had been invited -by the King’s confessor to come to Versailles. Towards dawn the doctors -reported that His Majesty had been twice bled, that he had rallied for -an hour and then slowly slipped back into virtual unconsciousness. -Unless--unless, the whispers ran, a change for the better came soon, -France would have a new king. - -And Madame de Pompadour? Her name was on every one’s lips. A new king! -Would it be the Bastille or Vincennes for the grisette then? Fierce joy -throbbed in the Queen’s apartments when the rumour was confirmed that -Madame de Pompadour, on hearing of her royal lover’s illness, had at -once hurried to his room, but that the door had been shut in her face, -by whose orders no one knew, nor whether it was with the King’s consent -or not. What was certain was that the King’s confessor had refused to -prepare his Sovereign for absolution so long as he remained in mortal -sin, and that the Archbishop of Paris and the Bishop of Bordeaux would -without doubt presently support the confessor. The dramatic scene at -Metz was in fact repeating itself at Versailles. The King must be -reconciled to his Queen and wife, must confess his sin, and promise to -dismiss the partner in his guilt from his Court and his presence before -he could receive the most solemn ministrations of the Church. And when -Queen Marie Leczinska’s ladies were aware that their royal mistress -had on her own initiative gone to her husband’s sick couch, had been -admitted, and had not yet returned, a sigh of thankfulness, exultation, -and vengeance went up. The hours of Madame de Pompadour’s supremacy -were numbered. A just Heaven had intervened. Madame de Pompadour was -doomed. - -By nine o’clock next morning the _noblesse_ had flocked, or were still -flocking, in crowds from Paris to Versailles, thirsting for news, -pining for revenge, on the tiptoe of excitement. The court-yards and -stables were blocked with their carriages and every minute brought -fresh arrivals. The Œil de Bœuf was filled with officers, nobles, -clerics, officials, who overflowed into the Galerie des Glaces, in the -noble windows of which chattered groups of eager questioners. In the -Œil de Bœuf itself the subdued babble of talk rose and fell, but all -eyes were alertly watching the white and gold doors so jealously kept -by the Swiss Guards. Beyond was the royal bed-chamber, but what was -passing within who could say? The physicians had forbidden the _entrée_ -to every one save the King’s valet, a couple of menial servants, the -royal confessor, and now the Bishop of Bordeaux. How critical affairs -were reckoned to have become could be judged by the presence of the -Chevalier de St. Amant, the Duke of Pontchartrain, and the Comte de -Mont Rouge, who had dared thus to defy the exile imposed by the sick -King. - -“I t-tell you,” Des Forges was saying, “he s-saw a d-devil and -f-fainted. I d-don’t w-wonder.” - -“It wasn’t a devil nor the devil; it was a woman,” the Abbé corrected. -“Some women are devils, but all devils are not women. That is logic and -truth together, which is rare.” - -“Yes, it was a woman,” Mont Rouge added. “A woman in the shape of a -vampire.” - -“It was only a flower girl,” Pontchartrain laughed, and he threw in a -ribald story which set his hearers choking with laughter. - -“Well, when he was bled the blood came out black----” - -“No, no; purple”--“yellow”--“blue”--corrected half a dozen voices, and -each had a witness who had seen the bleeding and could swear to the -colour; and so the speculation as to the causes of the King’s illness -gaily ran on. The most extraordinary theories were afloat, for that the -King had “seen something” was now a matter of common knowledge. But -all were agreed on one point--Madame de Pompadour’s fate was sealed. -Whether the King recovered or whether the Dauphin succeeded him the -grisette was ruined. - -André had hurried from the Queen’s antechamber to learn what could -be learned. A glimpse of Denise’s proud, pale face had been granted -him as his spurs rang along the galleries. He had read in it pity -wrestling with joy, and his soul was bitter within him. And the cold -glances, the silence of his friends if he drew near, the shrugs of -the shoulders, completed the tale. He, too, was ruined if the Court -could have its way. His foes, though they had not published their -evidence yet, could prove that he was the ally of Madame de Pompadour. -His success inspired their jealousy, his ability their fear. They had -tried to murder him in order to procure the final damning proof, and -they had failed. But he could never be forgiven for the humiliation -of the Duke of Pontchartrain, and Mont Rouge’s arm, not yet healed, -cried out for vengeance. To-morrow it would be his turn for exile to -Nérac, stripped of his honours, happy if permitted to eat his heart -out in a debt-loaded château far from Paris and Versailles. André had -played for a great stake; he had been within an ace of winning and now -he had lost. Yet alone, shunned, neglected in this seething crowd, he -found himself despising as he had never despised before the _noblesse_ -to which he belonged. The Court of a dying king does not show even -an ancient and haughty nobility, justly proud of its manners and its -refinement, at its best. Of the hundreds here were there any who felt -any pity, any real affection, for the Sovereign over whose vices they -were jesting, at whose weaknesses they jibed? Ambition, curiosity, -greed, avarice, jealousy, could be read in many faces; the _noblesse_ -were here to worship and honour the rising sun, to flatter the Dauphin, -to intrigue, to traffic at the foot of a new throne in the squalid and -sleepless scuffle for places, pensions, ribbons, honours, power. André -turned away and gazed out of the window, at the serenely noble gardens -where the autumn sun was shining on the autumn trees, on the dewy -grass, and gleaming statues. Yes, the peace of Nérac near the Loire -would be welcome though bought by failure in this Court of Versailles. -But there remained “No. 101,” and the fascination of that unsolved -riddle gripped him to-day more mercilessly than ever before. The key -to the mystery was so near. Was he, too, like all the others, to be -baffled? And then there was Denise. He could have had her love; never -could he forget that supreme moment when they had stood hand in hand, -and life had given him all that a man’s soul could dream or desire; but -he had lost Denise. Had he? Ah, had he? And as he stared out towards -the Fountain of Neptune the gardens melted into a dark and secret -staircase, and once again he heard the beating of the heart of the -Pompadour. The vision filled him with a great pity. She was no worse -than he had been. There were women in this Court--did he of all men not -know it?--on whose carriages glowed coronets and haughty coats of arms, -with as little right to absolution as Madame de Pompadour and the dying -King. But they confessed and were absolved. Confession and absolution! -The mummery of priests. She at least had sinned from ambition, because -the flesh and the spirit would not permit her to remain Antoinette -de Poisson. But she was a _bourgeoise_ and they were noble. For all -that, could those noble women or these men ever understand--would the -world ever understand before it judged the heart of such a woman as -the Pompadour? To him, perhaps, alone some of the inscrutable riddles -of the spirit had been revealed because his heart, too, beat as hers -did, and assuredly to that hated and feared woman to-day the bitterness -of death would be sweet and welcome compared with the bitterness--the -tragic bitterness--of failure. God alone--if there was a God--could -know all and judge aright. For her and for him, in this hour of defeat, -a great pity was surely fittest. - -No one came to speak to him. The renegade Vicomte de Nérac, alone -there in the window, scarcely moved even compassion. He had deserted -his order; he deserved punishment--to be an example to traitors -who betrayed their blood and their dignity--and the punishment had -begun. No one? Yes, one; the Chevalier de St. Amant. André was -surprised--touched. - -“Pardon my presumption,” the young man said, “but you and I, Vicomte, -have more than once crossed swords. I at least have done my best to -defeat you; you have done yours to defeat me.” - -“Certainly,” André admitted readily. - -“And you have won.” - -“Have I?” André smiled as he looked down the crowded Galerie des Glaces -and back at the empty space where they stood. - -“Yes, Vicomte, you are victor.” His tones trembled with emotion. -“Victor in the one prize that matters--a woman’s heart. Do not you -forget that. I at least cannot.” - -André looked into his eyes, but he said nothing. - -“Whether,” the Chevalier continued, “I go to Italy or you go to Nérac -is a little thing; but the other is a great thing, and the result will -always be what it is--always. It has been a fair fight if fights for a -woman’s love can ever be fair. Will you give me the pleasure of shaking -hands?” - -“Yes,” André answered, with much emotion. “And if I am not sent to -Nérac you shall not go to Italy.” - -“We will see.” The Chevalier had resumed his jesting tone, for they -were both being jealously watched. He nodded and slipped away. André, -muttering, “Always, always,” slipped away, too. “Always.” Was Denise -still to be won, or why had a tear stood in the boy’s eye when he had -spoken? - -“Madame!” he cried, aghast, as he stepped into the Marquise de -Pompadour’s salon. - -She was sitting in her _peignoir_ in front of the fire, her hair -about her lovely shoulders, staring at the smouldering logs. Trunks -half-packed littered the room. Papers torn up and drawers half-open -met the eye in every corner. And when she wearily turned round at his -exclamation her face was the face of a woman sleepless, haggard, and -worn--the face of one quieted by fear, misery, and failure. - -“Ruined, Vicomte,” she murmured hopelessly, “ruined, and you, too.” - -“Not yet,” he answered, with such poor courage as he could summon. - -She flung back her hair and pointed at him with a bare arm. “Look in -the glass, miserable fellow-gambler; your eyes are as mine, hunted by -despair and defeat, and we are both right. My God, have I ever passed -such a night? And unless I am gone from this palace in six hours--oh, -they have warned me--I shall sleep in a cell at Vincennes. Courage, -pshaw! The King alone could save me and I have lost him for ever.” - -“Are you sure?” - -She waved the question on one side. “It is a plot,” she cried -passionately, “a plot of my enemies. They tried to murder you and they -failed. Now this--this is their last device. They have poisoned the -King, that his sick body may fall into the hands of the priests, who -will torture his soul till they have frightened him into dismissing -me. What can one woman do against the Church, whose bishops keep -mistresses as the King does? Nothing, nothing. I am ruined. I fly from -here that I may leave Versailles free. Do you save yourself. I can -protect you no longer. Give me up, go back to the Court, trample on the -unfortunate--it is not too late for you. Even my wenches know that, and -dare to insult me.” - -“No, Madame, I will not give you up.” - -“Poor, mad fool!” But the sudden, radiant flush in that haggard face -would have inspired a man under sentence of death to hope and joy. - -“And I will save you yet, Marquise.” - -She looked at him, fixedly. “Vicomte,” she moaned, with an exceeding -bitter cry, “save me. Yes, save me, I implore you.” - -Her helplessness and her misery, she, who twenty-four hours ago had -been the Queen of Love to the Sovereign of France, did not appeal in -vain. - -“The King may recover,” he said, “do not fly yet. If in twelve hours I -do not return you will never see me again. Then, but not till then, for -God’s sake save yourself, Madame.” - -“You have a clue--know something?” - -“Adieu.” - -She strove to keep him, but he bowed himself resolutely out, and he -knew she had flung herself back into that chair in front of the fire to -watch her fortunes and her ambitions flicker out with the dying flames -in the remorseless march of the hours. - -This time he boldly left by the public entrance. - -Twelve hours! Twelve hours! he had no clue, no information. He had -spoken from the infatuation of sheer pity; alas! he had nothing but a -fierce and meaningless resolve. - -“André,” called softly a voice he knew only too well. Denise was -standing in the empty gallery, and in her eyes there was something -of the hunted despair and fear Madame de Pompadour had read in his. -“André, you have been to see her?” - -“Yes.” - -“She is ruined.” She paused. “And they will ruin you too. Let me save -you; I can.” - -“No,” he said, very quietly, “you cannot.” Denise looked at him, -trembling. “You can only save me if I now at once go on my knees to my -foes. To you I would gladly do it, for I have wronged you, and I love -you, but to them, never! never!” - -Her head bowed in appealing silence. - -“The Marquise de Pompadour,” he drew himself up, “the Marquise honoured -me with her friendship when she was powerful. Now that she is fallen -and in misery I will not be such a dastard as to save myself by helping -to ruin her. No, I will not!” - -“You are mad,” she cried incoherently. But his chivalry fired her heart. - -“You must do as you think right, Denise,” he said gently, “and so must -I. It is cruel for me--how cruel--no, I must not speak.” He broke off -and returned to the Œil de Bœuf. - -The crowd was denser than ever. Monsieur le Dauphin had just passed -through the heated, suffocating room and was now in the royal -bed-chamber. Suddenly the subdued babel of tongues ceased as if by -magic. The doors were opening. Dukes, ministers, nobles, lackeys pushed -and fought to get to the front. The King was dead! Resolutely the Swiss -Guards stemmed the surging tide. Ha! the King’s physician. Dead silence. - -“Nobles of the realm, and gentlemen,” cried the physician, “I am happy -to say that the sacred person of His Majesty is no longer in danger.” -A dull roar as of inarticulate wild beasts rose and fell. “With God’s -help the King of France will, we trust, be shortly restored to perfect -health.” - -The doors were closed again. The Comte de Mont Rouge wiped his brow. - -“It is now or never,” he whispered savagely to the Duke of -Pontchartrain. - -“Yes, now or never,” smiled the Duke, “for I prefer the society of -the ladies of Versailles and Paris to that of the drabs and bigots of -Pontchartrain.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXV - -THE FALL OF THE DICE - - -THE excitement was rather increased than diminished by the report of -the King’s recovery. Indeed, throughout, men’s and women’s thoughts -were absorbed far more feverishly with the fortunes of Madame de -Pompadour than with those of Louis himself. A palace revolution was -what was desired, vengeance on the woman who had threatened to become -dictator, a happy return to the old order; and the King’s illness was -only important as the extraordinary miracle which would accomplish what -was so passionately prayed for. The noble gentlemen and ladies spent -the next hour in agitating suspense. And when it was reported that the -King had rallied so marvellously as to be out of bed, to eat and to -talk, the high hopes sank. Another miracle had supervened to undo the -work of the first. - -“A fig for miracles,” said Pontchartrain. “Voltaire and the -philosophers are right; they are either stupid, useless, or -meaningless. We can get on so much better without them.” - -The “saints” of the circle in the Queen’s antechamber were -inexpressibly shocked. And they sighed at the inscrutable and -irritating way in which things in this world were ordered by Providence. - -“Your theology, my dear Duke, savours of _bourgeois_ vulgarity and -ignorance. Heaven will only help those who help themselves. That woman -must be ruined before the King is well enough to become insane again. -If we can only drive her from the palace to-day she will never return.” - -“And,” Mont Rouge added significantly, “there is a pleasant pit into -which we can drive her. The fall will break her charming neck.” He -began to explain very earnestly his scheme, which was listened to with -the most eager attention. - -“We have her,” he wound up, triumphantly. “I shall not spend the winter -at Mont Rouge.” - -The next news was very inspiriting. The King, on the advice of his -physicians, was to leave Versailles for Rambouillet, where change of -air and, presently, some of his favourite hunting would completely -restore his health. He was to leave that afternoon, accompanied only by -his confessor, his physician, and half a dozen servants. - -“Poor fellow,” commented Pontchartrain, “how bored he will be. I -suppose they left out his wife because there are limits to what -husbands can endure. You agree, _ma mignonne_?” He kissed his Duchess’s -hands. - -“Yes, because there are no limits, _mon cher_,” she retorted, “to what -wives must endure.” - -“Ah, we shall make you a vulgar and ignorant philosopher yet, _chère -amie_. And, as His Majesty said to the grisette, yours is an education -which promises me infinite amusement.” - -But the best part of the new information had still to come. Madame -de Pompadour had tried again to see the King, but His Majesty had -listened to his confessor’s warning and refused. The doctors, too, -had forbidden any such interviews. The King must on no account be -excited or annoyed. Physicians and priests alike had their cue from the -ministers; and the King, subject all his life to fits of gloomy remorse -and superstition, was again ready, after his illness, to listen to the -solemn remonstrances from the Church on his evil life. Nor did the -Court know that the memory of the apparition, which had been the cause -of his collapse, had played its part in strengthening his determination -to free himself of Madame de Pompadour. - -“She, too, must leave Versailles,” St. Benôit urged. “Mont Rouge has -shown us how we can complete the victory once we have driven her out. -When the King returns from Rambouillet he must find her fled and -then--” He and they all smiled. As soon as the King could bear exciting -news there would be exciting news for him with a vengeance. - -Denise had so far listened in silence. She now made a suggestion. “Can -we not frighten her away?” she said. “If she could be persuaded her -life is in danger, once the King has left the palace, she will go of -her own accord. I am quite ready to see her and tell her so.” - -For Denise was still haunted by the desire, through some act of -self-sacrifice,--and to visit Madame de Pompadour would be a painful -humiliation,--to atone for what her conscience called treachery in the -past to the cause. And if only the Pompadour would leave, André would -be really free from her baleful influence and even now might be saved -against himself. - -“It is not necessary, Mademoiselle,” the Chevalier said. “I have just -come from Madame’s salon.” The company that had welcomed his noiseless -entry waited breathlessly. “I think I have convinced her she had better -leave Versailles this very afternoon.” - -Denise joined heartily in the sigh of relief. But the Chevalier’s next -sentence was disquieting. “The Vicomte de Nérac,” he said, “is now in -audience with the King.” - -What did that mean? Had the King sent for him? He was strong enough -to see him? Had the doctors permitted it? Were the ministers and -the confessor to be present? The Chevalier could not answer these -questions. But he could vouch for the fact, as the Vicomte had himself -told him half an hour ago of the royal summons. - -“More than ever the grisette must leave,” the Abbé de St. Victor -pronounced. “Else the Vicomte will be her agent and effect a -reconciliation.” - -Mont Rouge and the Duke de Pontchartrain were holding an earnest -conversation in whispers with the Chevalier. What the Chevalier said -clearly gave them great satisfaction, and Mont Rouge studied with -ill-concealed joy a paper which looked like a plan that the Chevalier -had produced. - -“The time has come for the dice,” Mont Rouge said decisively. With the -help of the Duke he cleared a table and laid out on it four dice-boxes. - -“The ladies will throw as well as the gentlemen?” asked the Comtesse -des Forges. She was looking meaningly at Mont Rouge. - -“It is hardly necessary,” the Duke said carelessly. “But if one lady be -good enough to take her chance then all must. What do you say, ladies?” - -“I am always unlucky,” remarked the Duchess, “so I will take my chance.” - -“And you, Marquise?” the Duke turned deferentially to Denise. Mont -Rouge took up one of the dice-boxes and began to rattle it noisily. -Had his courage not been beyond reproach, a close observer might have -thought he was at that moment very nervous. The Comtesse des Forges was -yawning at her beautiful face in the mirror. - -Before Denise could reply, André was seen standing on the threshold. A -cold air seemed at once to blow over the room. No one offered a word -of greeting, and the conversation proceeded just as if a lackey had -entered. The Chevalier, indeed, went so far as to bow haughtily and -to leave the room with the air of a man who found André’s presence an -intolerable intrusion. Denise alone marked how pale André was and how -his dark eyes burned. A choking sensation, as if her heart had ceased -to beat, mastered her. - -“I am sure,” André said very slowly and distinctly, “it will interest -you ladies and gentlemen to know that I have ceased to be Captain of -the Queen’s Guards, by His Majesty’s commands.” A rustle of skirts, a -suppressed exclamation, a snuff-box dropped, showed in the dead silence -the emotion this news had produced. “I am ordered,” André continued, -“to retire to Nérac until His Majesty is pleased to change his mind. My -congratulations, ladies and gentlemen. You desired and plotted my ruin. -You have achieved it.” - -The curtain dropped. “And you, Marquise?” repeated the Duke, -imperturbably, holding out a dice-box to Denise as if nothing had -interrupted the conversation. - -Denise saw all the flushed faces, the joy, the banished fears. Too -late! Too late! She could not save André. No, but perhaps she could -still punish the woman who had seduced and ruined the man she loved. - -“Of course I will gladly take my chance,” she answered, in a voice of -reckless revolt. - -André was pacing down the gallery. No one could have taken him for a -ruined man, for aught than a proud officer in the Chevau-légers de la -Garde, a Croix de St. Louis, and a Cordon Bleu. Though he knew that -fate had at last smitten him down, the bitterest thought in his mind -was that in a few hours Madame de Pompadour would be flying, too, from -Versailles. The twelve hours would run out; she would never see him -again. - -“So it is Nérac after all?” - -André started. The Chevalier was at his elbow. “No,” he answered, “it -will not be Nérac.” - -“The best swordsman in France will, to be sure, take a lot of killing,” -the young man retorted lightly. - -The flash in André’s eye showed with what true sympathy the Chevalier -had divined his meaning. - -“Well, Vicomte, let us say adieu. We shall not meet again in -Versailles, nor elsewhere, I fancy.” Behind the tone of raillery peeped -out a strange, almost tragic, gravity. - -They shook hands in silence; had, in fact, separated a few paces when -the Chevalier added carelessly, “There was a wench asking for you in -the stables--Yvonne or some such name--I couldn’t make out what it was -all about, but she seemed distressed at not getting word with you. -Pardon my mentioning such a trifle.” He hurried away. - -Yvonne! André halted dead. Yvonne! Name of St. Denys, what did that -mean? For a moment he wavered as if he hoped against hope that Denise -might appear. Then his spurs rang out on the polished floor. He was -hurrying to the stables. - -The Chevalier went back to the antechamber. - -“Only two,” Mont Rouge was saying, as he entered the room, “only two -threw sixes, two ladies curiously enough, the Comtesse des Forges and -the Marquise de Beau Séjour.” - -“How stupid,” yawned the Comtesse. “Must we throw again? Or, perhaps, -Mademoiselle Denise will kindly withdraw and leave me victor?” - -“No, no,” protested Mont Rouge, “the cast of the dice must be fairly -played out; I insist.” And the company unanimously agreed with him. - -“Oh, very well.” The Comtesse shrugged her shoulders. “Comte, you shall -throw for me this time.” - -Mont Rouge took up one of the dice-boxes which he had been fingering -for some minutes. - -“And will the Marquise permit me to throw for her,” inquired the -Chevalier. - -Denise assented with a nod. But the suggestion did not seem to please -the Comtesse. A gleam of vindictive malevolence lingered under her -heavy lids, but a glance from Mont Rouge reassured her. - -The Chevalier advanced and threw a four and a three. Mont Rouge, the -company standing round and watching eagerly, threw carelessly enough a -two and a one. - -“Bungler!” cried the Comtesse, “you have lost.” - -“I did my best,” Mont Rouge answered, looking into her eyes, and he -added in a whisper, “my best for you. You have lost, but I have won.” - -The Comtesse put her hand warningly on her lips. Her gaze lingered on -Denise, pale and calm, accepting her victory as the inevitable will of -fate. “My congratulations, Mademoiselle,” she said in the silky tones -with which women preface the insult of a kiss to their most-feared -rival. - -“I will accept them to-morrow,” Denise answered, “when I have done my -duty.” - -While the company were chattering gaily the Chevalier carelessly and -unnoticed took up the dice, first the four and the three he had thrown -for Denise, and then the two and the one thrown by Mont Rouge, which -were still lying on the table. As he put back the two and the one into -the box which belonged to Mont Rouge he smiled. He had detected these -two were loaded, yet curiously enough he said nothing. Indeed, the -discovery seemed to give him positive pleasure, and he rallied the -Comtesse des Forges for a good half-hour, till her husband stammered -with rage and Mont Rouge was sulky with jealousy. - -Just as the company were breaking up a sweating horse dashed into the -stables of the palace. André flung himself from the saddle. He had -ridden from “The Cock with the Spurs of Gold” at a break-neck gallop -and his spurs were red. He now hurried off to Madame de Pompadour’s -salon, bursting in from the secret staircase. - -Madame gave him one look. “Begone! quick, hussy,” she cried to the maid -who was packing. The scared girl fled from the room. - -“Well?” Madame held out her arms in awful suspense. - -“Is the secret despatch,” André panted, “still in your keeping?” - -“Yes, yes, what of it?” - -He sat down and wiped his face. “Ah! thank God!” he muttered. - -Madame kneeled down beside him. “What is it?” she asked, in a caressing -voice, “does the King want it?” - -“The King has already left Versailles; he is now on his way to -Rambouillet.” - -A cry of despair was wrung from her. “Then I am indeed ruined,” she -moaned. “You have come to tell me so. Ah!” she sobbed, her head in her -hands on his knees. - -“No,” he raised her up. “I have come to save you.” - -She stared at him stupefied, incredulous. - -“Yes, Madame. You must leave Versailles at once, but you must go to -Rambouillet.” - -“You are mad or drunk.” She pushed him away angrily. - -“No-no.” He almost forced her into a seat and began to talk rapidly -and with intense conviction. Madame listened at first sullenly, then -gradually became interested, then excited; the lights began to blaze in -her eyes, the colour rose in her cheeks. She interrupted sharply with -questions. When André had finished she sat thinking. - -“By God! I will do it.” She had sprung to her feet. She was once again -the Queen of Love, unconquerable, immortal. “I can do it and I will.” - -“Leave the rest to me, Madame,” André said. - -She put a hand to his shoulder. “And your reward?” She was wooing him -unconsciously, as she wooed all men. - -“I will ask for it when I have succeeded.” - -“And you shall have it. I promise.” - -An hour later the Palace heard with rapture that Madame de Pompadour -had fled to Paris, in such fear for her life that she had not had time -to take even her jewels with her. Her household was to follow her as -soon as possible. In the Queen’s antechamber the joy was inexpressible. -A third miracle! a third miracle! The grisette had vanished. Ah! If she -returned now to one of the King’s castles it would be to the Bastille, -not Versailles. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI - -THE THIEF OF THE SECRET DESPATCH - - -WHAT had André discovered? - -When he had reached the stables he could not find Yvonne, but at -“The Cock with the Spurs of Gold,” whither he hurried, he was not -disappointed. And Yvonne had news to give him as thrilling as -unexpected. The English spy she had learned was coming to the inn that -very afternoon to meet a strange woman, and the meeting was to be -kept a solemn secret. Yvonne had felt sure Monseigneur ought to know, -and had ventured as far as the Palace in search of him. André’s heart -leaped at the chance that fate, which had buffeted him so sorely, had -now by a miracle put in his way. The spy could be no other than George -Onslow, with whom he had crossed swords in the wood the night before -Fontenoy; and the woman? Would she be the flower girl of “The Gallows -and the Three Crows,” the crystal-gazer, the mysterious “princess,” -whose dancing had first stirred his blood in London, the woman who had -said she loved him? Or would it be some other unfortunate, caught like -himself in the terrible toils of a mystery which bid fair to be the -ruin of them all? - -What did it matter? André was sure of one thing. Could he but hear what -passed at that meeting he would be many steps nearer to the solution of -the blood-stained riddle of “No. 101.” - -Perhaps he could yet save Madame de Pompadour, yet win Denise, yet take -vengeance on his foes. The hand of destiny was in this. With “No. 101” -his life had as it were begun; at each stage he had been now thwarted, -now strangely aided, by the acts of the unknown traitor; with “No. 101” -it was clearly fated to end. Despair, insatiable curiosity, the blind -impetus of forces he could not control, alike steeled him to make the -attempt. - -Yvonne was easily persuaded; indeed, she had already schemed for it, -and with her help he lay concealed in the room of meeting and awaited -with a beating pulse the arrival of the traitors. The spy proved to -be George Onslow, as he had guessed, and André studied his able, -sleuth-hound face, the dark eyes of slumbering passion, and the sensual -lips, with the eery yet joyous shiver of one who feels that here is -an opponent with whom reckoning must be made before life is over. -The woman, however, was unknown to him. She was certainly not the -crystal-gazer. Nothing more unlike the black hair and dark eyebrows, -the creamy skin, of that mysterious enchantress could be imagined. -For this was a lady who to-day we should say had stepped straight -from a pastel by Latour, or, as André thought, from the Salon de Vénus -at Versailles, a girl with the figure of Diana and that indefinable -carriage and air which only centuries of high birth and the company of -such can bestow. Denise’s grey eyes and exquisite pose of head were not -more characteristic of the quality that the _noblesse_ of the _ancien -régime_ rightly claimed as their monopoly, than were the blue eyes and -innocent insolence of the stranger. And yet André felt that in the most -mysterious and irritating way she reminded him of some one. But of -whom? Of whom? And then he almost laughed out loud. Of Yvonne! - -They both talked in English as English was talked in London, without -a trace of a foreign accent. Now if one thing was certain Yvonne did -not know a word of English, for he had tried her by many pitfalls in -the past and she had simply showed boorish but natural ignorance. Nor -could it be the crystal-gazer, for he remembered her English was not -the English of the salons. Once only did they drop into French, and -then André was more puzzled than ever. Onslow spoke it extraordinarily -well, yet his accent betrayed him at once; the girl, however, revealed -to a noble’s sensitive ear the idiom and tone so much more difficult to -acquire than mere accent of the Faubourg St. Germain. Had the Comtesse -heard that sentence she would have said it might have been spoken by -the Duchesse de Pontchartrain. Strange, but true. - -Much of the conversation was quite unintelligible. There was a -reconciliation to begin with, and André marvelled at the subtle way -in which the woman soothed the man’s anger, and then with enchanting -nuances of provocation, of look, of gesture, quietly reduced him to -helpless and adoring submission. And George Onslow was not the only -man in the room who at the end of that half-hour felt as clay in her -hands. They talked, too, of incidents, of persons, of things which to -André were a closed book. But the main substance was perfectly clear -and deliriously enthralling to the concealed hearer. That very night -the secret despatch in Madame de Pompadour’s handwriting, which the -Court had tried to win by murder, was to be stolen from the escritoire -in which it still reposed, and in which the King’s sudden illness and -the ignorance of its existence by all save Madame herself and André had -permitted it to stay. Onslow apparently had wormed out the fact of its -existence; the woman now informed him of its hiding-place, and together -they planned for its theft, that it might be used by the English -Government to blast and ruin the King, with whom that Government was -still at war. It would also ruin the Jacobites, which was not less -important in English eyes. That it would ruin Madame de Pompadour -neither Onslow nor the woman seemed to consider nor care about. Why -should they? What were Madame and the hatred of a court to the English -or they to her? - -But André also learned many other things that were as interesting. -It was George Onslow who had informed the anti-Pompadour party of the -errand which had led to the attack on André himself. And André gathered -that it was with the help of some one at Versailles whose name was not -mentioned, for he was always spoken of as “Lui,” that the theft was to -be executed. A double-edged business, in fact, this plot. The stolen -despatch would do the work of the English Government, but it would also -do the work of the Court. When its contents were made public Madame -would be ruined automatically. Hence the connivance of “Lui” and his -friends in the scheme. - -The completeness of their information, the cold-blooded way in which -they arranged to a nicety the smallest detail, appalled André. They -both knew exactly where Madame was lodged, how to get there, and how to -escape, of every fact concerned with the King’s illness and of Madame’s -certain flight, on which the success of the plot hung. Who exactly was -to be the thief he could not make out; that apparently had already been -arranged, but George Onslow was to be at the palace, and he was then to -make his way to this inn, whence he and his accomplice were to vanish -their own way into the friendly slums of Paris, that would shelter -every crime committed against itself and France. - -“And the Chevalier?” Onslow had asked. - -The woman replied in a low voice: “Have as little to do with the -Chevalier as possible. He is not to be trusted in this business. He is -no friend of mine and no friend of yours. But,” she paused, “he is far -too much a friend of De Nérac.” - -At the mention of his own name André almost betrayed his presence, -because the warning drew from Onslow a deep “Ah!” and a look of undying -hatred, jealousy, and fear. But what had thrilled him quite as much as -the look and speech itself was the suppressed emotion in the speaker’s -voice. He had only heard a woman speak like that once in his life, when -he and Denise had parted at the foot of the Pompadour’s stairs an hour -or two ago and he had refused to let her save him. - -“Take care of De Nérac,” the woman added slowly, “he ruined you once, -and if he can he will ruin you again. De Nérac is the only man who has -beaten me. Nor am I the only woman who has found that out to her cost.” - -Onslow thrust out his hand. “What does that say?” he demanded with a -curious mixture of bravado, curiosity, and fear. - -She studied the lines carefully. “Before long you and he will meet,” -she answered, “and only one will survive: which,” she paused, “rests -with God.” - -André found his sword coming slowly out of its sheath. Pah! Let the -traitor wait. The woman was right. Onslow must first do his night’s -work, and then--and then--ah! - -Onslow, too, had said nothing, but his face was eloquent of his -resolve. She let him kiss her fingers, even let them linger in his, -and her look promised much more of reward when the task had been -successfully accomplished. The spy left the room with the air André -might have done, the air of a man who was daring all things, hoping -all things, for a woman’s sake. Bitter as André felt towards this -cold-blooded traitress, he wished so fair a woman had not looked at -that sensual sleuth-hound like that. - -Once alone the girl stood thoughtfully gazing into space, and presently -with a shiver wiped her fingers. André, lost in his thoughts, missed -the refined scorn with which she flung the handkerchief she had used on -to the burning logs, as if it was soiled. Then she sat down in front -of the fire, rested her chin on her hands, and mused. A faint but -long-drawn sigh floated up to the blackened rafters. André started. -Where was he? Lying, surely, in the damp grass on the rim of that -grisly wood at Fontenoy, staring up at a window in a charcoal-burner’s -cabin, which had been stealthily opened. For just such a sigh had -greeted him on that night, a sigh from a weary woman’s heart. - -And with an exultant throb in his blood he felt that at last he was in -the presence of “No. 101.” The riddle was solved at last. - -The woman stretched her arms as if in pain,--the gesture was strangely -familiar,--rose with decision, and glided from the room. - -André waited a few minutes before he cautiously made his escape. -All his doubts were gone. His suspicions of the Chevalier had been -dispelled by the traitorous pair; if Yvonne was an accomplice it -mattered not; he saw what must be done. One more great stroke and the -game which he had been fighting for so long would be his. Yes. He would -save Madame de Pompadour, take vengeance on his foes, and win Denise. -Not least, the man who had saved an army of France at Fontenoy would -reveal the secret and destroy the traitor who had baffled all and -betrayed the destinies of his race. - -And it was with the scheme planned out to a nicety that he burst into -Madame de Pompadour’s salon. - -The Watteau-like shepherdesses of the clock on the mantelpiece in the -salon of Madame de Pompadour chimed out eleven tinkling strokes into -the darkness--how few of us who have stood to-day in that dismantled -room have succeeded in hearing even the echoes of what those bare walls -could tell of the true history of France, the history that can never -be unearthed by the École des Chartes. Just as the chimes died away -André climbed noiselessly up the secret stair, and crouched with drawn -sword and pistol cocked behind the curtain, a corner of which he pulled -back far enough to give a clear glimpse into the room. It was the third -time since Madame had fled that he had, thief-like, lurked in that -hiding-place, and, as before, all was ghastly still. Two or three of -Madame’s servants had followed her flight; the rest, he was aware, had -proclaimed their allegiance to the Court. The powerful favourite who -had dismissed a minister was ruined, and none now more noisily swore -to their hatred of her than the men and women who had thronged her -toilette or taken her pay. - -In the dim light André could make out the half-packed trunks, the -litter of disorder, so eloquent of their owner’s disgrace. How were -the mighty fallen. Here indeed was a truer text for priest and -preacher than the sins of the woman who had not been the first to -grace these silent apartments, an accomplice in the passions of a -King of France. The air to-night was thick with ghostly memories of -other women, not less fair and frail, to whose inheritance of soiled -supremacy the Marquise de Pompadour had succeeded. And there, gleaming -in a faint ray, shone the escritoire which contained the despatch. -To complete her mastery of the master of France, Madame had written -it with her own hand--had, by doing so, her enemies hoped, signed -her own death-warrant. The King’s secret. Little did André know, as -he waited, that the true story of Louis’s incredible and persistent -determination to pursue his own tortuous policy, to revel in thwarting -and intriguing against his own ministers--at once a disease, a passion, -and a pastime in that enigma of kings--was in all its labyrinthine -details reserved to be the discovery of a noble a century hence, and -to be read in a Republican France, a France that had done with kings, -that made Versailles a public picture gallery, a France that had -seen the victorious legions of Germany offer an imperial crown to -the descendant of the parvenu Prussian ally of Louis in the Fontenoy -campaign in yonder Galerie des Glaces of the Roi Soleil. - -André shivered. He was thinking only of “No. 101.” Could that girl of -his own race, if ever woman was, really be the traitor? And if she was, -by what temptation of the devil had she embarked on her awful career? -To-night she would be a prisoner; she was doomed to die, but would -they ever know her secret--the real secret of “No. 101”? Punish her -they could, but the secret, the real secret, was beyond their power. -André clenched his hands. She would baffle them after all. It was the -secret that fascinated him, and that was surely destined to perish with -her in a felon’s grave. “No. 101” would be like the man in the iron -mask--unknown and unknowable--a perpetual puzzle to the generations to -come. Torturing thought. - -A mouse squeaked across the floor, the boards creaked. André recalled -with a curious thrill the grisly warning that all who had ever seen -the face of “No. 101” had perished. He recalled the death of Captain -Statham, of others. Was he, after all, to share the same fate? In this -deathly quiet he felt his blood go cold, his courage ooze and ebb. A -longing to crawl away began to master him. - -Brave man though he was, he would have obeyed it, when a rustle on the -public stairs brought him with a swift spring to his feet. For that -was the rustle of a woman’s skirt. The door was opening. The rustle -again, and a gleam of light from a lamp. A woman, by God! the thief was -a woman. _The_ woman! - -Yes. The girl at the inn surely, for this was a tall young woman who -walked straight forward to the escritoire, a thief who knew no fear, -calmly determined to do her business without flinching. André wavered -as he had in the charcoal-burner’s cabin. Should he arrest her there -and then or wait? Yes, no? Yes, wait. She must be caught red-handed in -the act that he might win his love. - -Suddenly the lingering echo of a trumpet floated up into the darkness -from the Cour des Princes. André started. Again that silvery note. The -trumpets--the silver trumpets--of the Chevau-légers de la Garde! Was he -dreaming? Was he at Fontenoy? No, no. The King’s escort, ha! the King -had returned. The great _coup_ had succeeded. The game was his just -as he had planned. Fortune, superbly beneficent, had given him all. -And then he clutched at the curtain, sick, faint, gasping. For at the -second trumpet note the woman had turned to listen, the light fell on -her face--Denise! The thief was Denise! - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII - -THE CHEVALIER MAKES HIS LAST APPEARANCE - - -DENISE! yes, it was Denise! - -The sweat dripped off André’s face in the agony of that moment. His -fingers, his brain, his body, had turned numb. Think, he could not. -He was only conscious of one thought, that burned red-hot. Fortune, -superbly maleficent, had kept her most devilish revenge and punishment -to the last. Denise must be ruined by the man who loved her, for Louis, -persuaded to return by Madame de Pompadour at the instigation of the -Vicomte de Nérac, would be in this room in a few minutes. This, and not -the successful theft of the despatch, was the vengeance of “No. 101.” - -Fascinated by fear, André, tongue-tied, watched Denise go straight up -to the escritoire, insert a key, open the drawer. And then love swept -his horror away, unloosed the paralysis that held him a prisoner, and -told him what to do. Denise could yet be saved by instant flight. True, -his scheme had failed; the wrath of Madame de Pompadour and the King -whom she had deceived would fall on him; Madame would herself probably -be ruined. What did it matter, so that he rescued Denise from the awful -peril, the wiles which “No. 101” had with such fiendish completeness -laid for her? For that it was “No. 101’s” diabolical plan he had no -doubt now. Yvonne had gulled and betrayed him, as from the first. - -But just as he wrenched the curtain aside and sprang into the room with -cry of “Denise!” she had tottered back with a low exclamation of horror. - -“Denise!” - -The candle fell from her hand. In the darkness he heard her sob. -“Gone,” she muttered feebly. “Gone!” - -“Quick, the King is coming! For God’s sake, fly. There is the key--the -secret staircase. I will--can--explain later.” - -He hurried her towards the doorway with a terrible yet tender energy of -love. - -“André,” she cried, “André, it is gone.” - -“Oh, fly; fly, for God’s sake!” - -“But it is gone--the secret despatch; it is not there--stolen!” Her -voice dropped to a whisper. She was sobbing on his shoulder with fear -and horror. - -[Illustration: The candle fell from her hand. “Gone!” she muttered -feebly, “gone!”] - -The words acted like a galvanic shock. Gone--stolen already! This -was more--much more--than he had dreamed of. The full meaning of the -situation was revealed and it stunned him into action. In a second he -had the candle alight, and, mastering the faintness that gripped -him, dashed at the escritoire. It was perfectly empty. The secret -despatch was not in it. Another thief had already secured it--“No. -101”! He put the candle very slowly down on the table and turned to -Denise, who was standing in the middle of the room white to the lips. - -André laughed, as men will laugh when tears and passion are futile. -That laugh at his own outwitting by a girl and her English accomplice -rang through the room. The traitors had been before him. The secret -despatch was already in the hands of the King’s enemies, of Madame de -Pompadour’s enemies, of his. He and she were ruined. Nothing could -save them now. In a few hours the English Government could publish -the truth, the Court could proclaim Madame by the evidence of her -own hand an intriguer against the King, and Denise and he would be -found here in the darkness with an empty escritoire by Louis XV. and -Madame de Pompadour, to whom its contents were a matter of life and -death. Hopeless to struggle now. Love had inspired a plan, but fate -was stronger than love. Madame de Pompadour must come, and hear what -had happened, from his lips. He had ruined her, ruined himself, ruined -Denise. Louis alone could lie. Louis by a lie alone would escape. André -had matched himself, in his pride, against “No. 101,” a girl, and this -was the result. - -“They told me,” Denise began, “it was here. We threw with dice as to -who should find it. We were determined to punish and destroy Madame de -Pompadour. I took my chance, and----” - -“Yes, yes,” he interrupted impatiently, for he had already divined -Denise’s motives. - -“To save you before,” Denise went on, “I let her escape and sinned -against my conscience, for that woman polluted Versailles, your life -and mine. I owed reparation; this was to be my reparation. You were -ruined, André, dismissed, disgraced. I cared no longer for life--for -anything. You I could not save, but her I could punish, for she had -broken my heart and shattered your career in her selfishness. That is -why I came--willingly, gladly. It was a duty to my cause--to myself.” - -André knew nothing of the scheme of Mont Rouge, of the loaded dice -whereby the love of a wicked woman, the Comtesse des Forges, turned to -hatred, and a defeated rival’s vengeance, had foisted on Denise the -task of braving alone the perils and the disgrace and of completing -the plot of the Court; but what he did know showed him that the Court, -too, like himself, had been the victims of the man and the woman he -had spied on at the inn. But, unlike himself, the Court would gain its -vengeance. - -“I performed a duty,” Denise was saying, “and instead, André, I have -ruined you. Your enemies have stolen the despatch.” - -Voices at the foot of the stairs. No time for explanation now. But, -thank God! Denise did not know the truth nor of Madame de Pompadour’s -and the King’s return. One glance at the agony in her face, the agony -of a woman who loved, and André was again inspired to a noble decision. - -“You are mistaken,” he said with perfect calmness. “I was here to -watch, I confess, in the interests of His Majesty; we had hoped to -catch quite another person, but it is you, Denise, whom my foes have -lured into the trap--our trap. I ask you for my sake to leave me to -explain all to Madame. Sweetheart”--he was pleading now as he had never -pleaded to any woman before--“sweetheart, do not inflict on me the pain -of giving you into the hands of Madame. You will not; you cannot do it.” - -The glorious lie, aided by the power of his love over her, prevailed. -Denise took his key, and just in time André had drawn the curtain when -Madame de Pompadour flung the door open. Face and figure were all aglow -with the triumphant victory she had won. She had returned to place her -heel on the necks of the defeated, to drink the cup of vengeance to the -dregs. - -André very quietly kissed her hands and removed her cloak. The peace -and happiness in his eyes, his self-sacrifice had already brought -him, showed that love had by its own divine alchemy created for him a -new heaven and a new earth. He could face the future with a tranquil -confidence and bliss that surprised himself. - -“_Mon cher_,” Madame cried, “I--no, you--have won. The King is mine. I -shall never lose him now.” Her eyes ran over the room--fell on the open -escritoire. “Well, you have the traitor?” - -“No, Madame.” - -“What? They did not dare?” She laughed. “No matter. The King is mine.” - -“The paper has been stolen,” he said quietly, “and the thief has -escaped.” - -Madame put her hand on her breast, tottered back a step or two. Her -radiant eyes grew cold. Incredulity and fear made her an old woman. -“Stolen? escaped? Do you mean----?” - -“They fooled me. The hour was midnight, as I told you. I have been here -three times waiting; the thief never came, but the paper is gone.” - -The meaning of his words trickled into her mind. With a cry of rage she -sprang at the escritoire and turned it upside down. Then she hurled it -into the centre of the room, and wheeled on André. “Ah, _misérable, -coquin, lâche_!” the hot, incoherent words tumbled over each other. -“You have failed. It is me you have fooled, betrayed. Ah, traitor, -you are my foe; gone, Seigneur Jésu, gone! Stolen; then I am ruined; -ruined; after all I have done.” She burst into tears, racked by rage, -terror, despair. - -“I am no traitor.” - -“Bah! I have done with you.” She paced up and down. “Ah! that accursed -‘No. 101,’ accursed; what can I do? Ruined, ruined!” she sank into a -chair with a low moan. - -André watched the candle-light flicker on her hair and breast, on the -shimmering folds of the beautiful dress she had so unerringly selected -to aid in reconquering Louis. But a woman’s beauty, genius, and -passion, and ambition had fought in vain, for “No. 101” was stronger -than all of these. - -Suddenly she rose with an exclamation of vindictive and unholy -exultation. She had picked a jewelled pendant from the floor. “Ha!” she -cried, “here is proof of the thief you could not catch. Mademoiselle -Denise has been here; that jewel is hers and it fell by the escritoire -table; it is not ‘No. 101’ who has stolen the despatch, it is the -Marquise de Beau Séjour.” - -André had turned deadly pale. He stared in impotent silence. Yes, the -jewel was Denise’s; on the back he knew was a fatal D. And it was a -pendant that he himself, in a thrice happy hour, had given her. - -“The King’s honour,” Madame said in her cruelly cold voice, “is at -stake in that despatch. And he will not spare the thief even if she -were of the blood-royal. Nor will I. This is proof enough for me; I -promise you it will also be proof enough for His Majesty. I have here a -_lettre de cachet_ which the King gave me, already signed. But the name -is not filled in. That was to be done to-night with the thief’s name. -And filled in I swear it shall be. For unless the secret despatch is -in my hands by to-morrow morning at ten o’clock the Marquise de Beau -Séjour shall go to the Bastille.” - -“Madame!” - -“You cannot deceive me. You are shielding her. It is in your face. -She is the thief. I repeat, to-morrow at ten--not one minute longer, -and had it not been for our friendship I would have sent her there -to-night.” - -André was still silent, striving to think, be calm. If Denise were -questioned she was ruined. Denise could not tell a lie. Nor could -she save her lover now by a lie. “You can settle it,” Madame went on -in her icy anger, “with Mademoiselle. I care not how or for what she -gives way. Lovers’ confessions can be sweet, they say. But my life, my -honour, my future, my dreams, my all, are at stake. Think you I will -allow a girl, a noble, a woman who has insulted me, conspired against -me, a thief of state secrets, to defeat me--me! Then you do not know -the woman Antoinette de Pompadour.” - -And André confessed to himself that till that moment he did not. - -“Madame,” he said very quietly, “the Marquise de Beau Séjour has not -got the despatch, nor did she steal it. However, I do not choose to -discuss that now. I shall return to this room at ten o’clock to-morrow. -But if I have the despatch by then I do not promise to give it back to -you.” Madame had turned her back on him; she wheeled in a flash. “That -will depend on some other things. But,” he bowed, “if the Marquise de -Pompadour imagines that she can call gentlemen cowards and scoundrels -with impunity, or that she can so easily ruin the Marquise de Beau -Séjour, she does not know me--me, the man André de Nérac.” - -And there he left her stunned into a fearful silence. He was about -to pass, he was aware, a night of despairing, futile search, but it -would not be such a prolonged agony of torture as this woman, amidst -the litter of her humiliation, would endure. One last chance remained. -The girl he called “No. 101” and George Onslow had arranged to meet at -midnight at “The Cock with the Spurs of Gold.” That agreement might -not prove as false as other things he had overheard and been tricked -into believing. If they were there they would not leave the inn alive, -for André, too, had begun to divine the full meaning of this hellish -plot. His enemies at Court had planned with the English traitors that -they might ruin him and Denise likewise. To-morrow he would reckon with -the Duc de Pontchartrain, the Comte de Mont Rouge, and the Comtesse -des Forges, as well as with Madame de Pompadour, but to-night he had -an account to settle with “No. 101,” with George Onslow, with the -Chevalier de St. Amant, with Yvonne. - -Only pausing to scribble a couple of orders, which went off to Paris -by mounted couriers, warned that their royal master would brook of -no delay, he gathered a dozen of his guards and spurred his way to -“The Cock with the Spurs of Gold.” And as he galloped he knew that in -a couple of hours the police of Paris would be sweeping every slum, -ransacking every cabaret and tavern, hunting down every suspect, and -bribing for information every _fille de joie_ from the Faubourg St. -Antoine to the Faubourg St. Germain, from the Barrier of the Hôpital -St. Louis to the Barriers of Les Gobelins, and the Palais Bourbon. -And it was Denise that he must save. Love--not the sham idol of -gallantry--but love can do things that neither the fear of death nor of -hell can. - -The inn was plunged in darkness. Not a light to be spied anywhere. -André set his guards around it and began to explore systematically. -The outhouses were empty save for Yvonne’s sleek cow contentedly -chewing the cud. Not a soul to be seen. Torch in hand he strode into -the parlour where he had been so successfully befoiled. There were the -chairs, the screen, the tables. - -Ha! on the centre table a piece of paper quite large. No writing on it, -but instead a mocking sign, two crossed daggers roughly drawn in red -and the mystic number: - -[Illustration] - -Blood, human blood! Blood still fresh and scarcely dried. They had been -here, the traitors; they had not left long, for blood does not take -long to dry, and they had determined to flout their dupe with this -ghastly mummery. To Paris! to Paris! They could still be caught before -the October dawn was reddening the roofs of the Conciergerie and the -battlements of the Bastille. - -André wheeled with a hoarse command, and then something, what he could -not say, a swift intuition or feeling, arrested him as he left the -room. He hurled the screen aside. Ah! Ah! A cry of horror broke from -him. - -A man was lying behind it, face downwards, his blood staining the -mouse-gnawed boards. The man was the Chevalier de St. Amant. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII - -THE CARREFOUR DE ST. ANTOINE NO. 3 - - -ANDRÉ saw in a moment from the Chevalier’s position as he lay face -downwards on the bare boards what had happened. The unhappy boy had -been stabbed from behind; and he bore plain signs of having been -searched after he had been stabbed, for his clothes were rumpled, his -boots wrenched off, his stockings ripped up, his shirt torn open. The -searcher had then calmly left him to bleed to death. Had the Chevalier -been the robber of the escritoire? If so had the secret despatch been -taken from him and the second thief escaped with it? Who could say? - -André kneeled down and gently lifted the prostrate body on to the sofa. - -“Go, two of you, at once to Versailles,” he cried to his men, “and -bring a doctor. Ride for your lives.” - -He returned to the couch, but as he did so his boot kicked against -something that jingled. An English guinea! George Onslow had been here, -then. André recognised with the intuition that is stronger than proof -that Onslow was the second thief, as well as the man who had stabbed -the Chevalier in the back. - -The Chevalier was not dead! A low moan from the couch had echoed -through the room, and André poured brandy down his throat, stanched the -wound, and waited with feverish passion, for the Chevalier’s lips were -moving. His eyes opened--he saw who it was at his side. - -“Marie,” came the faint words, “Marie--the Carrefour”--his head fell -back. - -André waited, overwhelmed by a wave of passion, repentance, remorse. -The Chevalier was no foe--he was trying to tell him something, -something of vital importance to both of them; would he have the -strength to do it? Denise’s and his own fate hung on that. - -“Marie,” trickled the feeble words, “Carrefour de St. Antoine No. 3--” -again he swooned, but André had learned almost enough. It was time -to leave him, cruel as it seemed, for every half-hour now would be -precious. - -“Marie--paper--save her--Onslow,” the Chevalier was making a great -effort; André guessed the rest. But the Chevalier’s hand moved -pleadingly. He was asking for a promise--“save her,” he repeated and -his lips ceased to move. - -André took the young man’s hand. He scarcely knew what he was saying, -he knew not who Marie was, but in the presence of death, death -inflicted by that dastard stab in the back, a man who was inspired by -love might well feel a great pity, the desire to forgive and atone. - -“I promise,” he whispered. “I promise.” - -Moved by the beautiful peace that those two words brought into the -young man’s face, André kneeled beside him. No doctor could save the -Chevalier de St. Amant now, but he, too, had loved Denise; he, too, had -charged by the side of the Chevau-légers de la Garde at Fontenoy. And -him at least an assassin’s dagger had delivered from the justice of the -King of France and of Madame de Pompadour. - -Sceptic as he was, André whispered a brief prayer, and, as Denise -would have wished him to do, reverently made the sign of the Cross, -commending his soul to the God whose eyes are upon the truth, and whose -mercy is infinite. - -As he stepped outside, into that clearing where Yvonne had saved his -own life, a sharp altercation apparently in the outhouses at the back -sent him hurrying thither. - -“Curse you, let me go, scum!” were the words he heard, followed by a -sharp scuffle. - -“Good-evening, Monsieur le Comte,” André said, with icy sarcasm, “but -the scum will not let you go.” - -Mont Rouge’s livid face paled at his rival’s voice. De Nérac least of -all men had he expected to discover at “The Cock with the Spurs of -Gold.” - -“You will keep Monsieur le Comte de Mont Rouge a prisoner,” André -commanded the guards who had caught the Count, “until I return, and -you will answer with your heads for his safety.” - -“By what right--” Mont Rouge began, savagely. - -“That, Monsieur le Comte,” André interrupted, politely, “you will learn -when it suits me. But to-morrow His Majesty will require to know by -what right an exiled gentleman is still at Versailles,” he paused, “and -why a noble of France trades under the title of ‘Lui’ with traitors in -the pay of the English Government.” - -It was a bold thrust, but it went home. The mingled fear and rage in -Mont Rouge’s cynical eyes revealed the correctness of André’s guess. - -“His Majesty,” André continued, “you will be interested to know, has -returned to Versailles to take summary vengeance on all traitors.” - -And as he galloped away he knew that Mont Rouge was unaware of Louis’s -unexpected return. That Mont Rouge was at the inn at all showed that -Onslow and his accomplice had been expected to share the results of -their theft with the noble conspirators against Madame de Pompadour. - - * * * * * - -No. 3 in the deserted Carrefour de St. Antoine was the house where -Onslow had made love before, and in that very room, with its barred -shutters and tightly drawn curtains, with its thick carpets into -which the foot noiselessly sank, and its blazing candles, the woman -whom André had spied on at “The Cock with the Spurs of Gold” now sat -calmly destroying papers. Every now and then she stopped to listen -attentively; twice at least she opened the door and peered out, but -there was no one, and she placidly resumed her task. - -When all the papers were destroyed she surveyed herself in the glass -and smiled sadly. To-night her jewels and her patrician virginal beauty -gave her no pleasure, yet she was dressed with consummate taste and -infinite care, as though she were going to a ball in the Galerie des -Glaces. - -The clock struck half-past two. She moved behind the curtains and -unbarred the shutters, carefully pinning them back, thus leaving the -balcony not more than ten feet up from the street quite clear. Then she -blew out all the candles but two and waited patiently. - -Ten minutes passed. This time when she rose she carefully locked both -side doors leading off the salon, and when she returned from the -passage she was accompanied by Onslow. Unobserved, she locked that -door, too. There was no exit now from the room save by the balcony. - -Onslow’s sleuth-hound features wore a careworn look, the look of -the hunted man; his cloak and boots were splashed with mud; he was -breathing quickly, for he had ridden hard. - -“I was expecting you,” she surprised him by saying quietly. “Why did -you not bring the Chevalier with you?” - -“The Chevalier was obliged to stay at the inn,” was the grim reply. -“You forget ‘Lui,’” he added hastily, for her penetrating eyes were -searching his face. “Some one had to deal with the fool, and,” with a -laugh, “he will be astonished, will be ‘Lui.’” - -“He will,” she said with such emphasis that Onslow gave a guilty start. -“‘Lui’ I expect at this moment is in the hands of your friend and mine, -the Vicomte de Nérac.” - -The oath that came from Onslow’s lips as he whipped out a pistol, the -look that accompanied it, were more eloquent than an hour’s speech. - -“De Nérac, I warned you, was an abler head than yours, my friend; he -was concealed in the room when you and I arranged our little plan.” - -“What?” Onslow sat down in consternation. - -“It is as I say. Yvonne, the wench, was his accomplice. She fooled you, -that peasant girl; that is why our programme was so suddenly altered.” - -She walked away with her swinging, graceful carriage of head and body. -Had Onslow seen her eyes at that moment it would not have relieved the -fears that haunted his face. But when she turned again she was smiling -seductively. - -“You want the paper,” she said. “Here it is. I keep my word, you see.” -She quietly handed him the secret despatch and he pounced on it as a -hungry vulture pounces on carrion. - -“But how did you get it?” he demanded. - -“I was at the Palace when the Chevalier stole it. Stealing it was not -an easy task, for the Vicomte de Nérac was on the watch, but when I had -got it I came straight here. The Chevalier went back to the inn. It -would have been better,” she added carelessly, watching him closely, -“if he, too, had come here.” - -“Perhaps.” - -The girl stooped and fastened her shoe, for she knew that she could not -always control her eyes. The shoe fastened she was smiling again at -Onslow’s trembling fingers. - -“There is blood upon your boot,” she remarked pleasantly, “you have -been stepping in blood. Whose, I wonder?” She moved towards the -curtain, and listened attentively, while she affected to pull the -string. - -“So De Nérac knew of the plan?” Onslow growled out. “That explains a -good deal, but not all.” - -“You are right. If De Nérac meets the Chevalier at the inn he may know -more,” was the calm response. She had begun to take off her jewels and -was packing them one by one into a leather case. - -“What do you mean?” - -“This. The game is up for you, my friend, and for me. There will be no -more richly paid treachery for some time in our lives. The Chevalier -loves me, loves me as his own soul. To save me he will probably betray -what De Nérac does not already know----” - -Onslow had risen. He buttoned up his coat over the despatch, while his -eyes glowed with the unholy lust that was corroding his mind and body. - -“And,” she continued, “the Chevalier knows that I love him, love him -more dearly than any man. I shall be grateful to his love if it saves -him and saves me, as I think it will. But it cannot save you, I fear.” - -“Ah!” his breath came quick. His eyes went round and round like those -of a beast tracked by dogs to its lair. - -“Yes, I hope he will confess all.” She faced him. “I tell you now that -he went to the inn to confess all--all.” - -“Then,” Onslow answered in a thick voice of brutal exultation, “he will -not do it. He is dead, your Chevalier, your lover--dead.” - -She suppressed the cry of horror, of agony, that was wrung from her. -But her great blue eyes fixed on him. “You killed him?” she asked in a -whisper. - -“I did.” - -She sank into a chair and covered her face with her hands. She was not -crying. This was a sorrow too deep for tears. - -Suddenly Onslow darted forward. The girl, too, sprang up. A horse’s -hoofs, several horses’ hoofs, clattering furiously on the stones of the -deserted Carrefour could be heard distinctly for those who had ears to -hear. - -“Miserable libertine!” she cried, in a terrible voice, “assassin! Your -hour has come as I told you it would. You will not leave this house -alive, and I am glad, very glad. Stand back!” she said peremptorily, -and she had whipped out a pistol. “The doors are locked, all of them. -Dear God! I could slay you with my own hands, but it is not necessary.” - -She had swiftly stolen behind the curtains. There was a moment’s pause -while Onslow in vain tried to force the door by which he had entered. -There was a crash, a wrench, and then the curtains were drawn back. - -“Monsieur le Vicomte de Nérac--Monsieur George Onslow,” the girl said -quietly, as if she were introducing two gentlemen in a lady’s salon. -She had flung the window open and André, sword in hand, was standing in -the room, looking about him half dazed but triumphant. - -“That man there,” she proceeded in her tearless voice, pointing at -Onslow, “is an English spy. In his pocket is the secret despatch of -Madame de Pompadour which you seek. He is the assassin, by his own -confession, of the Chevalier de St. Amant, and he has also a valuable -letter in the handwriting of the Comte de Mont Rouge. Monsieur le -Vicomte, you will deal with him as and how you please, but if you have -any pity for the blood of the man who sent you to this place you will -have no mercy for a coward, a libertine, and an assassin. Adieu!” - -She had swiftly unlocked one of the side doors, glided through it, and -relocked it from the other side, leaving Onslow and André face to face. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX - -ANDRÉ FAILS TO DECIDE - - -ONSLOW had the advantage of André in his intimate knowledge of the -essential facts of the situation; and he had not been for ten years an -agent of the secret service, in daily peril of his life, in hourly need -of having to decide at once on a course of action, without learning all -that an able and desperate man can learn from pitting his wits against -the wits of men and women as unscrupulous and desperate as himself. - -“Good-evening, Vicomte,” he now said, bowing politely. “I could not -have wished for a more opportune meeting. As a proof, there are my -pistols,” he tossed them ostentatiously on to the table. - -André drew the curtains behind him, threw off his cloak, and advanced -into the centre of the room. - -“You killed the Chevalier?” he demanded briefly. - -“Certainly. Shall I tell you why? Because he had betrayed me; because, -rather, he was the lover of the woman who betrayed me. That woman is -the ‘No. 101’ you have sought for so long, who has baffled you before -and has baffled you again to-night. She is a liar as well as a wanton.” - -André quietly shrugged his shoulders. - -“Let us come to business,” Onslow said coolly. “The secret despatch, -I regret to say, is not in my possession. It would have been in ten -minutes, but it is still in the keeping of the charming spy, who is -probably now on her way to the frontier. Madame de Pompadour will hear -more of it before long, but that does not concern you. What does,” he -held out a paper, “is this letter in the handwriting of the Comte de -Mont Rouge.” - -Onslow’s tone had the calmness of conviction, and if he spoke the truth -André knew he had failed miserably. It was more than probable that “No. -101” had again baffled him. For the despatch was more important to her -than to Onslow. - -“Well?” André said, to gain time for his mind to work. - -“If you have this letter, Vicomte, you can ruin your enemies to-morrow. -Let me tell you that Mademoiselle Denise was by loaded dice, the device -of another beautiful wanton and her accomplice, the writer of this -letter,” he held it out, “yes, Mademoiselle Denise was chosen to steal -the despatch in order that she, as well as you, might be destroyed. I -see you did not know that. It is worth having, that letter.” - -Onslow recognised at once he had struck the right chord. André’s face -would have terrified the Comtesse des Forges, and it surprised himself -as he caught a glimpse of it in the glass. Men in the white heat of -wrath and baffled revenge so seldom see what their faces express. - -“You can kill me, of course,” Onslow went on easily. “I am an English -spy. But you will not get the letter nor the despatch in that way. Why? -Because I haven’t the one, and before you can run me through the letter -will be in the fire.” - -“Stop!” André commanded, for Onslow was very near the stove and the -letter was very precious. - -“For five minutes only,” Onslow retorted. “Give me your word of honour -that you will let me go free and you shall have the letter--or I -destroy it and fight for my life as best I can. Make up your mind, -Vicomte.” - -The clock ticked very loud and clear while André weighed the issues. -The letter was precious; it was there, which the despatch was not; time -was more precious still, for there remained “No. 101” to be dealt with. -Onslow’s life was of no value to Denise or himself. André studied the -secret agent’s calm face for three silent minutes. - -“Give me the letter,” he said at last, “you shall go free, on my word -of honour.” - -“I thank you. But you have decided wisely.” Onslow placed the letter -on the table. “And now,” he buttoned up his cloak, “kindly write me a -pass, for I must leave your accursed city before dawn.” - -“The password at the Barrier of the Hospital of St. Louis is, ‘_La -santé du Roi_,’” André answered. “That will take you through in safety.” - -Onslow bowed. “My compliments, Vicomte; your precautions devised at -such short notice do you infinite credit. I fancy we shall meet again, -but not in the salon of ‘the Princess’ either in Paris or London.” - -André had moved towards the writing-table. “I had better write you -a pass after all,” he said, very politely, “the police are not so -scrupulous as I am about a pledge of honour.” - -Onslow fell into the trap. Like many clever men who find a lie succeed -beyond their expectations, he wholly misunderstood the motives that -had persuaded the other to accept for truth what he feared was untrue. -André had turned his back to write, but he had hardly scrawled three -words when he wheeled with incredible swiftness. - -“No!” he cried, “you don’t stab two men in the back unawares in one -night, traitor and spy.” - -For that was what Onslow had, dagger in hand, stealthily crept up to -do, inspired by the sight of André’s apparently defenceless position -at the writing-table and by the desire to wipe out a long score. But a -chair hurled with terrible force met him full in the stomach, and when -he had recovered he was facing the sword point of the finest swordsman -in Paris. He had lost his pistols, and the death his lies had averted -so skilfully was at hand. - -“I will tell you where you can find the secret despatch,” the spy -pleaded, “if you will let me go.” - -“I am not going to kill you,” André answered. “A De Nérac’s sword is -not to be soiled with the carrion blood of an English hireling and -assassin. The public executioner will deal with you, not I.” - -He whistled sharply. Three of the guards swung themselves in by the -balcony. - -“Disarm and bind that scoundrel,” was the brief order, and in three -minutes a wounded prisoner had been securely tied hand and foot. Five -minutes later George Onslow was on his way to a police cell, and André -was standing alone in the beautiful salon, with the secret despatch and -Mont Rouge’s damning letter in his possession. - -He walked up and down trying to believe that his amazing good fortune -was really true. The terrible strain of the last twelve hours had at -last begun to tell, and, instead of the triumphant joy that he had -imagined would be his should he achieve the impossible and recover -the despatch, he was only conscious of complete mental and physical -exhaustion, of a strange and utter weariness. The power of his mind -seemed broken. His ambition had melted away. He had no doubt saved -Madame de Pompadour, the King’s secret would remain a secret, and -Denise would emerge scathless from the awful ordeal into which she -had been plunged. The love for which he had plotted, schemed, and -worked would be his now. Yes, he had gained all of which ambition -had inspired him to dream, more than all, for he had only to put into -Madame de Pompadour’s hands that guilty letter, and the men and women -who had dabbled in treason to sate their jealousy and their lust for -vengeance would be condemned to pass from the Salon de Vénus and the -Œil de Bœuf to the scaffold. - -Success! a Croix de St. Louis, a Cordon Bleu already! To-morrow he -might be Minister for War, in the years to come he might share with -the _bourgeoise_ mistress of his Sovereign the rule of France. But at -what a cost? As Madame de Pompadour had done and must always do, by -sleepless intrigue and scheming, by playing on the fears and fancies, -the bigotry and animal passions of the King, by checkmating or -degrading the _noblesse_ into an odious and reluctant submission. He -had won power so far by such ways. It could only be kept at Versailles -by the same hateful, sordid scuffling, and he, the man, must daily -train himself to keep his place by trading on the weakness of women, -from the kitchen wenches to the mistress of the robes, by trafficking -in the selfish plans of gamblers as ambitious and unscrupulous as -himself. Versailles was there, the King was there; Louis was what he -would always be, an impenetrable sensualist and the despot of France. -More bitter still, the life of the Court as he and she knew it was what -he must ask Denise now to share and to lead. The first offering of -their marriage feast would be the disgrace, perhaps the blood, of the -men of his own order who had been his friends, by whose side he had -fought for France, and of the women to whom--. Bah! it was a revolting -thought. Little, indeed, had he foreseen when he rode down the hill -from the Castle of Beau Séjour, and swore that at all costs and by all -means he would win Denise, what success might and did mean. Well, ah -well! he had learned it at last. - -Ah! in this bitter hour, if it had not been for Denise, he would have -flung despatch and letter into the fire, and left Paris to cast its -mystic spell of tears and laughter on other men, and let him go free, -deaf to the siren song of the ambitions born of their mother, the -enchantress of cities. - -Success! Yet had he succeeded after all? Surely not. “No. 101” had -escaped. Futile to seek her now. Her papers had been destroyed. She -was doubtless provided with a pass. Proof against her there was none. -And the mystery with which his search had begun was as great as it had -ever been. Yvonne had vanished, the Chevalier de St. Amant was dead, -and the woman herself had passed triumphantly into the moonlit autumn -night. How strange and puzzling it all was. Yet, had not indeed the -Chevalier put him on the track, had she herself not delivered that -assassin and spy into his power? In a few days not even Onslow--and -who would believe Onslow?--would be able to reveal what he knew. The -secret whose fascination lured men to their ruin would remain a secret, -and the little he had discovered would be buried in the tombs of the -De Néracs. This girl had matched herself against all the brains and -resources of a great government and had defeated King, mistress, and -ministers, not once, but every time. Worse, far worse, what she had -done in the past she could repeat in the future. That eternal struggle -for power at Versailles which was to be his and Denise’s life from -to-day would be haunted and poisoned, perhaps thwarted and brought to -ruin, by the same strange treachery. The blood of the Chevalier would -taint the life of Denise and himself and of Madame de Pompadour and the -King for ever. - -The clock on the mantelpiece chimed out four. André stopped his pacing. -He must return to Versailles, but as he crossed the room he caught a -glimpse of his haggard, sleepless face and burning eyes in the mirror, -and he halted and with trembling fingers turned the clock sharply -round. He had spied the reflection of a familiar crest on the reverse -of the timepiece. “_Dieu Le Vengeur!_” He had not been wrong. The words -were written round the crest. “_Dieu Le Vengeur!_” - -André drew a deep breath, he looked all round the room with a shiver. -What did it-- A rustle of a woman’s dress. The great curtains were -quickly drawn aside. The Princess, as he had seen her first in London -with the blood-red flowers on her breast, was watching him, pale and -beautiful. - -“Why should the clock not be there?” she asked, as if she were -continuing a conversation. “Are you so ignorant of Paris, Vicomte, as -not to know that the salon in which you stand once belonged to the -owners of the clock? It is a fine motto and truer than most. ‘_Amour -fait tout_,’ for example.” She had smilingly selected the motto of the -De Néracs. “You don’t agree?” - -“I did not come here,” André answered, “to discuss mottoes.” - -The appearance of this woman had awakened all his latent anger, his -sense of defeat. She should not escape him again. - -“No, but to do my business,” she retorted. “I see you have won your -despatch and your letter”--they were lying on the table--“and I gladly -infer that you have given a scoundrel his deserts. For that I thank -you from the bottom of my heart. One libertine and traitor less in the -world is a blessing even to women such as I am.” - -Her perfect calm, the complete absence of fear, the extraordinary -strangeness of their meeting, the crest and motto on the clock, had -reduced André to impotent silence. The Princess and crystal-gazer -quietly sat down. “One question before you go,” she said in a changed -tone--“did Onslow tell the truth when he said that the Chevalier de St. -Amant was dead?” - -“Yes.” - -She stretched her arms,--the gesture was curiously familiar to -André,--but she said nothing for some minutes. “It is fate,” was her -comment in a tearless voice when she spoke at last. “Fate!” she rose, -“fate, dear God!” She was staring with knitted fingers into the cold -shadows cast by the four flickering candles. And André was more moved -by the sight of her stern, impassive self-restraint than if she had -wept. Surely she had loved the dead man, for he was in the company of a -sorrow too sacred to be fathomed even by herself. - -“Why did you come back,” he asked bitterly, “why did you come back?” - -She awoke from her reverie. “Where could I go?” she answered. “To ‘The -Cock with the Spurs of Gold’?” She shivered. “To ‘The Gallows and the -Three Crows,’ where your police are now? To the Barriers that are -guarded by your men? I had not the password. The man who would have -given it to me, had I chose to ask it, I have sent to his account. -No, my friend, I prefer to be arrested by a gentleman who will do his -duty like a gentleman, and will not chaffer with me as if I were a -street-walker.” - -André wiped the perspiration from his brow. The woman smiled and -approached him. - -“Come, Vicomte,” she said. “It is disagreeable, perhaps, for André de -Nérac to arrest a beautiful woman, but you have kept your men waiting -quite long enough in the Carrefour out there. Onslow has gone to the -Bastille? Yes? Then do me the favour of sending me to Vincennes. I -cannot share the same prison as that miscreant murderer.” She walked -towards the curtains. André guessed she was about to signal to the -square. - -“Stop,” he cried, in sharp despair, “stop!” - -“You have no choice,” she said. “Are you aware that I have been tracked -to this house; that it is known to your police, warned by yourself -four hours ago, that I have not left it? Do you doubt my word? Then -look.” She cautiously drew back a curtain on the panelled wall which -covered a small window. André, with the curtain behind him shutting out -the light, stared into the moonlit court at the back. When he let the -curtain fall his face wore almost the look of the hunted felon. - -“Well; you recognised them,” the Princess said calmly. “Four, I think. -Yes? They are Madame de Pompadour’s men,” she added. “She does not -trust you, poor woman; she, too, sent messages from Versailles, and she -will wish to know in the morning the reason why you have not arrested -the impudent hussy who derided her at an inn, who is a traitor into the -bargain, and who was in your power, alone, undefended, and with the -evidence of her guilt staring you in the face.” She quietly touched the -despatch and the letter lying on the table. “Unless, my friend, you -wish to join George Onslow, the Comte de Mont Rouge, and myself in the -cells you had better do your duty.” - -André feverishly took up the papers; he looked now towards the great -window into the Carrefour, now towards that hateful little outlook into -the court where he knew the sleuth-hounds of an ambitious woman dogged -their guilty prey. - -“It is useless to destroy the papers,” the Princess remarked placidly. -“That will only send Mademoiselle de Beau Séjour to join our pleasant -party at the Bastille. Madame de Pompadour is a great and beautiful -woman, but like all really ambitious men and women she has no mercy, -and she naturally does not wish to take our places in the cells. -She is fighting for her life and love as you are. Come, Vicomte, be -reasonable. In five minutes it will be all over and you will return a -hero to Versailles. Remember what awaits you there.” - -Every sentence in this calmly terrible speech made André feel more -misery than he could have believed a man could endure. - -“Why be in any doubt?” she began again. - -“Oh, for God’s sake--” he pleaded. “For God’s sake----” - -“No, you must hear me out. The proof of my treachery is here; they, -these men, will find it on me”; she had drawn a paper from her breast. -“Do you know what that is? It is a copy of the secret despatch; it -is addressed to the agent who would convey it to England, and it is -signed.” - -[Illustration: “Yvonne, of course; Yvonne of the spotless ankles,” she -lifted her dress a few inches.] - -She held it up and in the flickering light André could see the red -mystic sign of the crossed daggers and the cipher number. He -shivered as she replaced it in her bosom. “The game is up for me,” she -said in her impassive voice. “That paper will send me to the scaffold, -and unless you arrest me it will send you too.” - -“You are mad,” he cried incoherently, and he really believed what he -said. “You are mad.” - -“Was the woman mad who tricked you at Fontenoy, who has tricked and -befooled you at every turn since you came back? I have betrayed your -country, your King, your army, yourself, and yet you, a noble hating -treason, loving France, hesitate to arrest the traitress whom you have -sworn to bring to justice. It is you who are mad, my friend, not I; or -shall I say,” she had dropped her eyes and curtsied, “Monseigneur is -too good?” - -“Yvonne!” the exclamation burst from his lips. He was leaning heavily -on a chair and peering dazed into her eyes. - -“Yvonne, of course; Yvonne of the Spotless Ankles,” she lifted her -dress a few inches. “Yvonne whom at the bidding of another woman you -were to make your tool. Did you? I think not, for the Vicomte de Nérac -can be more easily tricked by women into doing what they please than -the most unscrupulous libertine in France. But you must take your -revenge on Yvonne now.” - -Yvonne! André’s brain reeled. Yvonne, who had saved his life, was a -traitress, the traitress whose crimes merited condign punishment, whom -now, by the devilish device of fate, he must arrest and send to a -felon’s death to save himself and Denise. - -He seized her arm. “Who and what are you?” he cried, beside himself, -for the torture of the fascinating riddle racked him beyond endurance. - -“That,” she replied with her slow smile, “is my secret and it will -perish with me. Do your duty, Vicomte, and return to Versailles. Madame -de Pompadour awaits you; the blood of the _noblesse_, her foes, will -atone in her eyes. She has triumphed, and so have you. Go back to your -King, take him the proof of his royal intrigues, destroy the noble -traitors who would have destroyed you. Love and revenge, the sweetest -things the world can give a man, are yours. Are they not enough?” She -was coolly taunting him, and out there in the court-yard waited the -police ready to arrest a traitress with the proof of her crime on her -person. Was ever a man in so cruel and tragic a position? - -“Why do you waver?” she asked very quietly. “Is it because of Denise?” - -He met her gaze. This was not the crystal-gazer, nor the “Princess,” -nor even Yvonne who spoke. It was another woman, from whom all that was -hateful, cynical, insolent, had vanished. André’s hands on his chair -trembled. - -“Yes,” he answered, in a low voice, “were it not for Denise and -Denise’s sake alone I would destroy these papers and would take you -past the Barriers myself. You saved my life once, more than once, -for you could have killed me in the cabin at Fontenoy; you and the -Chevalier--God rest his soul--enabled me to save the honour of -Denise--Denise.” He paused for emotion. “You have enabled me to save -my own honour. Why you did these things I do not know. But I would -to-night, and now, take you past the Barrier of St. Louis, and I would -then bid Versailles and you adieu for ever. God alone can judge you, -not I--but Denise--there is Denise----” - -“Then Denise herself must decide.” - -She was mad after all; stark mad. He stood helplessly picking at the -embroidered upholstery of the chair. Mad, mad; they were all mad. - -The woman had glided towards the door on the right. André looked up -exultingly. Ha! She was gone--fled. Then he, too, must escape at once. -He gathered up the papers, seized his cloak, and darted towards the -window, only to start back with a cry. - -On the threshold of the doorway stood Denise. - -He stood spellbound. Yes, it was Denise. - - - - -CHAPTER XXX - -DENISE HAS TO DECIDE FOR THE LAST TIME - - -SHE came forward with outstretched hands. “André,” she asked with -passionate eagerness, “you are safe?” - -He took her to his breast, looking into her eyes. “Sweetheart,” he -whispered, “why are you here?” - -“Because you sent for me,” she began innocently. - -“Sent for you?” he repeated, in dull bewilderment. “Mad,” he muttered, -“mad, mad.” His brain was beginning to break down. - -“Yes,” she whispered, for his face frightened her, “you sent for me. -See; read.” - -André took the strip of paper from her. After a few minutes he was able -to spell out these words: - - “I am in great danger. You alone can save me. Come at once to Paris. - Carrefour de St. Antoine No. 3. - “ANDRÉ.” - -The paper dropped. The writing was his, at least it appeared to be. -Could he have written it? He searched his whirling thoughts, recalling -the events of this awful night following on the King’s illness, the -strain of waiting in Madame de Pompadour’s room after the scene at the -inn, the discovery of Denise, the interviews that followed, the finding -of the Chevalier and Mont Rouge, the gallop to Paris, and then all that -had happened in this salon. He snatched at the paper again; he had not -written it; no, it was a clever forgery, the work of the only woman who -could do it--“No. 101.” - -Denise was watching him in terror, for his lips moved, yet he said -nothing. - -“A girl called Yvonne,” she whispered, “brought it to me at midnight; -she conducted me to this house, and I have been waiting here ever -since, waiting for you. Yvonne has disappeared and the doors were all -locked. There is only the woman who----” - -They both turned sharply at the rustle of a dress and stood hand in -hand gazing in silence, for there had entered the girl whom André had -seen plotting with Onslow at “The Cock with the Spurs of Gold.” - -André mechanically whipped off his hat, Denise mechanically answered -the curtsey of the lady who had entered, for this was a gentlewoman of -their own rank, whose beauty would have adorned the great hall in the -Château de Beau Séjour. - -“We agreed,” she began quietly, “that Mademoiselle la Marquise was to -decide. Monsieur le Vicomte, what I have to say is for the ears of -Mademoiselle alone. Permit me to show you where you can wait. I shall -not keep you long.” She pointed with her fan to the door and then held -out her fingers. - -André walked out of the room like one in a dream. The door closed. The -two women were alone. - -“I can be brief,” the stranger said quietly. “You have heard of ‘No. -101’; you know of the stealing of the secret despatch. I am the thief. -I am ‘No. 101.’” - -Denise recoiled with a cry of horror, her eyes fixed on the girl’s face -with an expression of indignant stupefaction. - -“The Vicomte de Nérac,” the stranger proceeded, “knows what you know -now, and he will return to Versailles a hero,” she paused, “if he will -arrest me. He has the despatch; he has a letter which will convict the -Comte de Mont Rouge, who, Mademoiselle, by loaded dice, sent you to be -the thief of the Court. The Vicomte has been seen to come here; it has -also been discovered that I am in this house, and unless he returns to -Versailles with that despatch he will be ruined and Madame de Pompadour -will also send you to the Bastille, for she has proof that you were -in her room this night. The Vicomte is in great danger, and you were -summoned here to save him, for at your bidding alone will he do his -duty and arrest the traitress--myself.” - -Denise’s indignation had already begun to melt. She freed the necklace -at her throat as if it were choking her. - -“Shall I now ask the Vicomte to return?” The girl moved towards the -door. - -“Wait--one moment! You are”--Denise broke off in agitation--“you are -Yvonne?” she whispered. - -The stranger sat down and unconcernedly began to tear up one of the -sheets of paper littering the floor. “I am,” she answered quietly. - -“And you gave the Vicomte de Nérac the secret despatch which you stole?” - -“He took it from the English agent to whom I had given it.” - -“Ah!” Again Denise had guessed the truth. “You once saved the Vicomte’s -life?” she went on. - -“I helped to do so.” - -“Yet you are a traitress?” - -“Yes, I am a traitress, and a traitress I should have continued to be -if you and the Vicomte de Nérac had not stepped in to prevent me.” - -The emotionless voice in which this confession was made had ceased to -startle Denise, for she was scanning the girl’s face intently. - -“Ah!” she cried with sudden conviction, “the Chevalier de St. Amant is -your brother!” - -The other looked up quickly. “Was my brother,” she corrected gently. -“The Chevalier de St. Amant is dead.” - -“Merciful God!” Denise was leaning against a chair, faint and white. - -“He was killed at the inn by the English agent, from whom in this room -the Vicomte de Nérac took the secret despatch.” Denise had covered her -face with her hands. “And you are right, Mademoiselle; the Chevalier -was my brother, who helped me till to-night to be the traitress that I -am.” - -“Silence,” Denise cried in anguish. “Oh, for God’s sake be silent!” - -“The truth,” replied the other in her passionless voice, “can never be -silent.” - -Denise walked to and fro, wrung by a torture unendurable to a woman’s -soul. - -Suddenly she paused. “Do you know,” she demanded, “that your brother -saved the Vicomte de Nérac when he might have ruined him?” - -“I know more than that. Yes, Mademoiselle, I know that what he did was -done because he loved you. That also is the truth.” - -Denise caught at her arms. The question in her gesture and her eyes -needed no words. The girl rose and faced her. - -“When we parted at the foot of Madame de Pompadour’s stairs his last -words were, ‘Unless Denise or the Vicomte gets the paper Denise is -ruined.’ The paper was in my possession and my brother went back to the -inn to explain to the English agent why he could not have it.” - -“But why did you not give me the paper at Versailles--you came to me as -Yvonne--you----” - -“If I had given you the paper at Versailles should I have been here -now? I loved my life a little then--I did not know my brother’s fate.” - -And Denise had no answer but a shiver of mute assent. - -“You have forgotten my brother, who was to come here to meet me that -we might fly together; you have also forgotten the Vicomte, to whom -that despatch was a necessity, and you have forgotten yourself, -Mademoiselle. Could my brother, who loved you, have wished that you -should at Versailles have been proved to have stolen what you had tried -to steal? You have forgotten Madame de Pompadour. Would she or the -King have believed your story that a peasant girl had given you the -despatch?” She paused for a moment. “Would the Vicomte have believed -it?” - -“André?” Denise cried passionately. “How dare you?” - -“There was only one way,” the girl continued, quietly ignoring that -cry of love’s conviction, “to save you from the trap into which your -enemies had lured you, and that was to bring the Vicomte and yourself -here. My brother would have wished it, and I am glad that I tried and -succeeded.” - -She turned away; her voice showed that the wonderful strength of will -which had sustained her was giving way at last. - -“You did it,” Denise said after a long silence, “not for my sake, not -wholly for your brother’s, but--because you love André.” - -The girl, who had sunk on to the sofa, presently rose and crossed the -room, and Denise, watching her as only one woman can watch another, -shrank at the sight of that noble and pathetic beauty. - -“Yes,” was the unfaltering answer, “I did it because I love André, -because I alone can save him. Ah! it is not you, but I--I, who have -saved him.” - -Denise gazed at her in silent helplessness. Fate was too strong for -them all. The clock chimed out five strokes into the awful quiet of the -room, and as Denise, in her restless misery, walked past the fireplace -with its sculptured marble chimney-piece, she halted with a sharp-drawn -breath. The crest on the clock had caught her eye, for the motto on it -was “_Dieu Le Vengeur!_” - -“Before we part,” she cried, “you will tell me, you must, who you -are--no,” she added, in a stricken voice, “it is not necessary. I know, -I know. Ah, God! this is terrible. ‘_Dieu Le Vengeur!_’” She covered -her face with her hands. - -A quiet hand was laid on her shoulder. “Denise.” - -For some moments they looked at each other in breathless silence. - -“It is true; yes it is true, and you--you have guessed because you are -a woman who loves. Ah! when your ancestors were as nothing mine were -the nobles who made kings, who were leading the armies of France. I am -a traitress, but to what?” her voice rang out. “To the man called Louis -the Fifteenth, a craven, a bigot, a liar, a libertine, the victim of -the priests and his lusts. That man is not France, not your France -and mine. Listen. What would you have done if the King--the King,” her -scorn was immeasurable, “had stolen your mother, deserted her, sent -your father to the scaffold for treason that he never committed? if -you, the only daughter, had been saved from infamy and beggary by two -faithful servants and brought up in secret to know that your name was -corrupted, your brother a starveling in exile, your lands given to -another? To that King I bear no allegiance and will bear none, so help -me God, God who can avenge.” - -“Then----” - -“Do not say that name. It is blotted out, but it is mine. Fifteen years -ago, a child, I swore, and every year since I have sworn it on the -grave that is called mine, that I would have revenge.” - -Denise answered with pale lips, “Yes, revenge.” - -“My brother and I planned and plotted revenge and we succeeded. The -Court and the King can judge of that. Beauty was mine and I nourished -it for revenge, I used it for revenge, but I have never forgotten, -never, that I am a daughter of the _noblesse_, a woman as proud of my -womanhood as you, Denise.” - -“Thank God,” she murmured gently. - -“To the world I was simply a number, to myself a sexless tool, living -for one object alone, until you came into my brother’s life, and then, -ah, then, I dreamed of the day when my brother should win through you -what is his by right--should be Marquis de Beau Séjour. But----” - -Denise took her hand. - -“If that were only all.” She paused for a moment, overcome. “In London -André came into my life. Till that fatal day I have inspired many men -with the passion they call love. I thought I alone of women knew not -what love could be, but another dream came to haunt me. It could not -be. You did not love François. André did not love me. Some day he will -tell you the story; the truth he must never know.” - -“And your brother----” - -“Yes, he worked for you as best he could and I for André. Remember what -we were and how we were placed. But we have succeeded--love brought us -through. We remembered our Beau Séjour, and you whom he loved, he whom -I loved, will share it between you. I thank God for that. My mother,” -the girl went on, “was a De Nérac, a cousin of André’s mother. Had -justice been done fifteen years ago André’s father should have had my -forfeited lands. But love will do what justice could not--your love and -mine.” - -“André can restore you your name, your honour. He shall, he must.” - -“It is impossible. You cannot change the King. He would not, could not, -undo the past--his past. My brother is dead, my family will die with -me as will my secret. Fate is too strong for you, for me, for France. -With François I worked to destroy the woman who now rules at Versailles -and will continue to rule. And André from love for you strove to defeat -us. Madame de Pompadour has triumphed over the Court, the _noblesse_, -the Church, my brother, and you. Remember the past and to-night. -Remember you can only ruin that woman by ruining yourself, by ruining -André, and you will not save me. I see it all now. It is the destiny of -France, and against the destiny of God’s will we must fight in vain.” - -Denise had clasped her hands like one listening to the sentence of -a supreme power. Were they not all caught alike in the web of a -mysterious and inscrutable force, mere puppets as it seemed in a -stupendous drama whose beginning and whose end were beyond all human -insight and control, but puppets also of flesh and blood, whose -passions and whose spirit, whose ambitions and whose ideals, whose -souls and bodies so strong and so weak, gave to the drama the immortal -breath of life? If--ah, if--Denise wrung her hands again. How few are -there of those born of women from whom has not been wrung that bitter -cry of revolt against the “if” of fate--if only they had been taught -that out of the past comes the present and out of the present will come -the future, and that they, the puppets, must make, every hour, their -own lives and the lives of all others. - -“You cannot save your France and mine,” the girl was saying. “She is -doomed, doomed. The writing is on the walls. Ruin is coming on kings -and nobles and the people. In ten, twenty, perhaps fifty years there -will be a new France, for the greatness of my people and yours no power -can crush. Voices are crying out in the streets of Paris to-day, but -France will not listen. She is drunk, mad, diseased, corrupt. Yet I -know it, it has been revealed to me, that there is a glorious future -for our country, and see to it that the sons of what to-day is called -Beau Séjour shall be in the hour of that rebirth on the side of the new -France.” - -She moved quietly to the door, opened it, and called softly, -“Mademoiselle has decided. Come.” - -As André entered he gazed from one to the other with the calmness of a -great fear. What had he come to be told? He saw Denise’s mind was made -up, and he knew he must obey. - -“André,” she said, with dignified composure, “you will please bring the -chief of police from the court-yard to this room.” - -For an instant he wavered, then controlling his emotion he left the -room. When he returned with the chief of police one woman, hooded and -cloaked, alone was there. - -Denise threw back the girl’s cloak which she had slipped on. The police -agent started with intense surprise. - -“You recognise me, Monsieur,” Denise said freezingly. “Yes, it is the -Marquise de Beau Séjour, and one of the maids of honour to her Majesty, -who is not accustomed to be shadowed when she visits a house that -belongs to herself, as this does.” - -“I offer my apologies to Mademoiselle la Marquise,” the man stammered, -“but I thought--I felt sure----” - -“What you chose to think,” Denise pursued, “can be no excuse for -so insulting a mistake. The Marquise de Beau Séjour will, however, -overlook it for once, provided that you promise not to repeat the -offence. That will do.” - -She turned her back on his fervent avowals and the man crept from her -haughty presence. In five minutes the court-yard was clear of Madame de -Pompadour’s spies. - -Denise had fetched the stranger back. “André,” she said, “be so good -as to conduct this lady yourself to the barriers. I will wait for you -here.” - -The girl quietly put on her cloak. “Adieu, Mademoiselle!” They clasped -hands in silence. “Adieu--Denise,” she whispered. “Adieu for ever!” -Without another word André and she left the room. - -When he returned an hour later one glance at his face told Denise that, -whatever had passed in the journey, he did not know the secret of “No. -101.” That was still to remain in the keeping of two women who loved -the same man, and it would go with those two to the grave a secret for -ever. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXI - -FORTUNE’S BANTER - - -“MONSIEUR LE VICOMTE DE NÉRAC waits on Madame la Marquise,” said the -gentleman-usher. - -Madame de Pompadour glanced at the clock. As André bowed it began to -strike ten distinctly. - -“You are punctual, Vicomte, and a man of your word,” the lady said with -a faint smile. - -André bowed again. What a contrast! The salon was as gay and refined as -it had been a week ago. All traces of disorder had vanished and Madame -herself in her heliotrope silk was as divinely seductive, as fresh and -unconquerable, as when she had captivated Paris and the King at the -ball of the Hôtel-de-Ville. And against that vision of loveliness he -saw reflected in the mirror his own grim face, with the haggard eyes -and deep-cut lines round mouth and chin of a man who had “been in hell” -since he last stood in this room. - -“You are tired,” Madame said gently. “If you please--” she wheeled -a chair forward. But André remained standing. “I have to ask your -pardon,” she continued, dropping her eyes. “I am sorry that last night -I used words which I deeply regret using. But though I cannot ask you, -Vicomte, to forget them, I can and do ask you to forgive.” - -André’s hand tightened unconsciously on the back of the chair. He was -here to demand an apology, and he had been swiftly disarmed by one -gentle stroke. - -“This is the jewel of the Marquise de Beau Séjour,” Madame said, “it is -useless to me. I return it to you, unless you prefer I should return it -to the Marquise herself in your presence and repeat what I have tried -to say to you.” - -André took the jewel mechanically. An apology also to Denise! That, -too, he had come to extort, and it was his and hers without the asking. -The pastels on the panelled walls rocked slowly in a blur of the -October sunlight which kissed the heliotrope ribbon on Madame’s throat. - -“You have served me,” she added, “as no man has ever done or ever will. -I was ungrateful and false and cruel and unjust. Let me atone now.” She -had held out a hand. - -A third time André felt that he did not know Madame de Pompadour; he -was learning as some men can that the heart and thoughts of a woman of -genius, born to conquer a king and subjugate a court, are not to be -fathomed in a few weeks, even by one to whom many other women have laid -bare the mysterious workings of a woman’s heart. - -“I have brought you your despatch, Madame,” he said, choosing his words -slowly, and conscious of his clumsiness before the ease and tact of -this _bourgeoise_ adventuress. - -“Yes,” she took it almost indifferently, but the flash that turned her -eyes from grey to blue, the quick movement of the locket on her breast, -would have revealed much to another woman. She placed it on the table -beside a tiny heap of torn papers. André recognised these fragments. -They had once been the _lettre de cachet_ for Denise, which Madame had -destroyed before he came. “Yes,” she said, “though the despatch is -useless now, none the less I thank you from the bottom of my heart.” - -“Useless,” André stammered. - -“For two reasons,” she smiled. “The agent from whom you forced that -despatch at the peril of your life took poison an hour after he -was lodged at the Bastille. You had not heard? Well, the dead tell -no embarrassing tales. Secondly,” she pulled out her watch, “the -Jacobites have already been informed in the King’s own handwriting -that they might have a forgery in my writing imposed on them, and -that information has already been privately conveyed to the English -Government. The English would not give a sou for the secret despatch -to-day.” - -So that was how Madame had spent her night, and it had left her radiant -as Aphrodite rising from the foam, while he, André, was oppressed by -the weariness of the defeated. - -“Yes, the Marquise de Beau Séjour is safe, you are safe, Vicomte, and -I am safe, and the King is happy and well. The only persons who are not -safe and happy,” she smiled with the daintiest irony, “are or will be -some of your enemies and mine. My hour has come. I shall not ask them -to forgive, nor will they forget.” - -Had Denise been in the room she would have recalled the words of the -girl whom André had conducted to the Barrier of St. Louis. This woman -was the destiny of France, against whom men fought in vain. As it was, -Mont Rouge’s letter in his breast pocket seemed to cry out, and André -shivered. Madame de Pompadour’s triumph was complete. - -“No, they will not forget,” Madame continued, “because they conspired -to ruin you, my friend, you to whom Antoinette de Pompadour will always -be grateful, for when you might have deserted her and saved yourself -you refused. You may not forgive me, but I can punish them, and I will.” - -André impulsively took her hand. “Forget my words, Madame,” he cried. - -“They were forgotten hours ago,” she answered softly. “I only remember -your oath of loyalty and how nobly you kept it.” - -It was the _vivandière_ at Fontenoy who was looking at him now; nay, -rather it was the woman the beating of whose heart he had heard on the -secret stair. Death alone would silence that beating now. - -“See,” she said, “you are again the Captain of the Queen’s Guards, -the King has promised, and you shall be Minister for War. And,” she -unrolled a sheet of paper, “if you choose, to-morrow in the Galerie des -Glaces they shall know that before long you will be Marquis de Beau -Séjour as well as Vicomte de Nérac. But neither I nor you can settle -that, nor the King, for kings and men alone,” she laughed gently, -“cannot make a man’s fate.” - -“I thank you, Madame. His Majesty, I hope, will know that I am his -servant always, but my decision is already taken, and from to-day I -shall not live at Versailles nor Paris; De Nérac is to be my home, and -perhaps some day Beau Séjour.” - -Madame had dropped the roll of paper in an astonishment she failed to -master. Her lips parted as she looked him in the face. - -“Yes,” André repeated. “The Marquise de Beau Séjour and I have decided. -Nothing can alter that decision.” - -“Is it because of me?” she asked in a low voice. - -“No, Marquise. I had made up my mind before I knew Mademoiselle had -made up hers.” - -Madame endeavoured to penetrate his motives. There were mysteries -fascinating to a woman, the wrestlings of the spirit that alter a -human soul, to be read in that handsome face so grey, so tried, yet -so nobly firm. Madame de Pompadour could discover no more than that a -new element, born of spiritual travail in the night that had passed, -had entered into André’s life. What it was, whence it came, and why, -baffled her. It is, perhaps, well for women of genius to learn early -that there are gifts of the spirit to a few men that it is not for a -woman to comprehend, just as there are impulses in a woman that the -choicest soul of man must accept by faith in the acts in which they -find expression. - -“Then your ambitions are gone?” she asked, with that touch of sadness -that can quicken sympathy into inspiration. “You are destined to be -great, and,” her eyes pierced the vision of the future, “I desired to -help to make you great.” - -“Madame,” he answered simply, “I have achieved my greatest ambition, -and I believe I can serve my France better at Beau Séjour than at -Versailles.” - -She was playing the great game that was her life, and she was not -beaten yet. - -“And ‘No. 101’?” she asked gravely. - -“There will be treachery, no doubt, in the future,” André replied, -“there may even be a ‘No. 101’; but the ‘No. 101’ that you and I, -Madame, have fought with will not trouble you again.” - -Madame de Pompadour studied the speaker’s face, reflecting on the -mysterious confidence in this answer. The riddle was as puzzling to her -to-day as it had been at Fontenoy. André, she saw, could have told her -much; but she also felt he would never tell. And it was not the least -of her rare gifts instinctively to recognise when to stop and when to -yield. The future was her absorbing care always, and the Vicomte de -Nérac would belong to that future. - -“You keep your best news to the end,” she said with graceful gratitude. -“Thanks to you, Vicomte, I hope I have heard the last of ‘No. 101.’ -I shall not forget you at Beau Séjour; do not, in the years to come, -think too harshly of me. Good-bye!” - -“Adieu, Madame,” he raised her fingers to his lips. “Adieu!” - -And as the door closed on him she knew, if “No. 101” had defeated her -after all, that whatever the past had been, whatever the future might -bring, she would never triumph over any man as she had triumphed that -morning over André de Nérac. Nor would he ever forget the salon of -Madame de Pompadour. The spell of a woman’s genius once cast on any man -touched to the finer issues of human destinies can never be effaced. - -But one thing remained, and it was settled in the parlour of “The Cock -with the Spurs of Gold,” in which the Comtesse des Forges, the Duc de -Pontchartrain, and the Comte de Mont Rouge, still a prisoner, unknown -to the Court and the King, were waiting for André. - -They had dimly guessed why they had been summoned, and their bitter -fears were confirmed by the sight of Denise, whom André had brought -with him. - -“The Comte de Mont Rouge,” André began without ceremony, “was arrested -last night by myself. The reason will be found in these three letters, -copies of which I now give you.” - -Denise alone was surprised. André had been given something at the -Barrier of St. Louis after all. The letters proved to have been written -by Mont Rouge, the Duke, and the Comtesse. - -“If I chose,” André continued, “all of you three might now be in the -Bastille, noble though you be. But the Marquise de Beau Séjour, who has -not read those letters, has asked me to spare you because you were once -her friends. I have agreed.” - -“I shall not forget your indulgence, Mademoiselle,” the Comtesse burst -out, beside herself with vindictive rage. - -“Nor will Madame de Pompadour,” André answered drily. “The originals -of those letters are now in her possession in a sealed envelope. She -does not yet know what they contain; may I hope you will never make -it necessary for her to ask for permission from the Marquise de Beau -Séjour to break that seal? You may not find either the King or Madame -as indulgent as the lady whom you have wronged.” - -“Mademoiselle,” said the Duke, after a pause, “the pleasantest task for -a gentleman in life is to confess to a lady that he has been a fool, -when the folly has been inspired by herself. You will give me that -pleasure now.” - -And with his finished smile he had kissed her hand and bowed himself -out of the room. Not so Mont Rouge. - -“You shall give me satisfaction, Vicomte,” he growled sulkily. - -André looked him all over with a quiet scorn. “Monsieur le Comte,” he -said, “the Vicomte de Nérac does not cross swords with traitors nor -with men who use loaded dice.” - -Then he took Denise to her carriage and returned. - -“And when your sword arm is healed,” he added, “two other gentlemen -have a prior claim, and I understand they will both insist on it, the -Comte des Forges,” he bowed to the Comtesse, “and my friend the Vicomte -de St. Benôit, whose name you pledged to an English traitor without -his knowledge, and whom you tricked into being the accomplice of a -card-sharper’s rascality. I am afraid I shall not have the pleasure of -showing you that for such as you the Vicomte de Nérac does not use a -sword, but his hunting whip.” - -And André left him to his fate. - - * * * * * - -Neither he nor Denise altered their decision. To Beau Séjour they -went, and at Beau Séjour they remained. Had you visited, as so many -travellers then and since have done, the famous château, two questions -you would certainly have been tempted to ask: To whom had that noble -coat of arms in the great hall once belonged, a coat not of the Beau -Séjour nor of the De Néracs? And the other would rise to your lips in -the crypt of the village church, where amidst the nameless tombs of -many who bear the same coat of arms with the same motto lay a single -slab. “François de St. Amant” is all the name it bears. It has no -date, no heraldic symbol to show why it is there, but at the foot are -cut the familiar words, “_Dieu Le Vengeur_.” Nor could any one now or -since explain why these things were so, nor why beside that simple -slab lay for many years another with no inscription on it at all, a -tomb waiting, as it were for some one whom death had not yet claimed. -To the villagers, happier than any serfs on any demesne in France, -these mysteries were simply the will of Madame la Marquise, nor did the -curious ever succeed in getting a more satisfying answer. - -The villagers were right. It was Denise’s act, and André, whatever -he may have guessed, never asked why, for of certain events in the -past both he and she were content with the better part of silence. -Friends came to them from Paris and Versailles; they heard of all that -was being done at the Court, of the unshaken supremacy of Madame de -Pompadour; they lived through the years of hollow truce that followed -the war of Fontenoy, through the terrible humiliation of the Seven -Years’ War that followed the hollow truce, through the sombre and bleak -tragedies of misery, disgrace, and starvation, defeat on sea and land -for their France. Once only did they go together to Paris, in 1768, to -attend the funeral of Queen Marie Leczinska. And once only before then -André had been summoned alone to Versailles, to say good-bye to the -dying Madame de Pompadour, to find her a wasted skeleton, her face a -pitiful wreck of the beauty which twenty years before had stormed the -privileged citadel of royalty and the _noblesse_, but a woman in whom -the spirit and the wit that had dominated France were unquenched and -unquenchable. - -Nor did André ever again forget that April day with its chilling rain. -He stood at the windows of the Palace, where, if you will, you can -stand to-day, and watched the cortège that carried the last remains -of the Marquise de Pompadour from the Cour d’Honneur into the Place -d’Armes and down the Avenue de Paris to the magnificent sepulchre that -had been prepared in the Church of the Capuchins in the Place Vendôme -for the Mistress of France. - -To one who had heard the crystal-gazer’s prediction, and had lived -through these twenty years, there was more than a sermon in the King’s -heartless comment as he, too, eyed the long procession wind away in the -drenching squalls. - -“Madame,” he said, “has a cold day for her journey.” That was all. - -And Queen Marie did not exaggerate when she wrote, “She is forgotten as -if she had never existed. Such is the way of the world.” What a world -is this, and how does Fortune banter us! as a greater person than Queen -Marie remarked. - -When André returned to his château from that melancholy visit, Denise -asked no questions, not even about the new ring he wore, with a crest -she knew and the historic motto, “_Discret et Fidèle_.” Versailles and -Fontenoy alike belonged to a buried past. - -Still less had either reason or wish to witness the degradation of -the Palace of Louis Quatorze by Madame du Barry, under the grandson -for whose death the nation that had once called him “Louis the -Well-Beloved” now prayed. With the accession of Louis XVI. and Marie -Antoinette they both believed that the night of bankruptcy and shame -had at last passed, and death in his mercy took them away before the -belief could be shattered, before the silver trumpets of the nobles of -the Chevau-légers de la Garde de la Maison du Roi, that had blown for -the monarchy of France on so many stricken fields, were silenced by -the tumbrils of the Conciergerie for ever. Perhaps they were happier -in their ignorance than those whose footsteps to-day so inquisitively -mock the proud silence of the Galerie des Glaces, whose voices scare -the ghostly echoes in the loneliness of what was once the salon of -Madame de Pompadour; for these are reminded at every turn that in the -new France, Versailles, once the emblem of a nation’s greatness, is -now only a museum of pictures; that if it has a history for the French -children playing on the terrace it is because it is a tomb of bitter -memories, of blood shed not only by the hand of an alien foe, of the -disaster that cries out for a nation’s revenge, but is not blessed -with the heritage of a people’s love, still less has the right to ask -for a people’s tears. - - Les chars, les royales merveilles - Des gardes les nocturnes vieilles, - Tout a fui! Des grandeurs tu n’es plus le séjour - Mais le sommeil, la solitude - Dieux jadis inconnus, et les arts et l’étude - Composent aujourd’hui ta cour! - - - - - _A Selection from the - Catalogue of_ - - G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS - - [Illustration] - - Complete Catalogues sent - on application - - - - - “The greatest book of the year.”--_Rochester Herald._ - - Monsieur Martin - A Romance of the Great Swedish War - - By - Wymond Carey - - Author of “No. 101,” “For the White Rose,” etc. - - Crown octavo. (By mail, $1.35) Net, $1.20 - -A romance of the great Swedish War, when Charles XII. was filling all -Europe with turmoil. It is a novel of energy, of rapid and fierce -action, of remarkable character drawing. - - “Mr. Carey has given us much pleasure, and we are glad to praise this - book. It has life, incident, and nearly all the qualities that give - worth to romance.”--_Baltimore Sun._ - - “Nothing could be better than the stirring pictures of the gay, - dissolute, reckless, and intriguing life at Dresden. The story hums - and sparkles with real life.”--_Chicago Post._ - - “A story with a lofty ideal, and will hold the reader from cover to - cover.”--_Chicago Inter-Ocean._ - - New York--G. P. Putnam’s Sons--London - - - - - “Something distinctly out of the common, well conceived, vividly told, - and stirring from start to finish.”--_London Telegraph._ - - The - Scarlet Pimpernel - - By Baroness Orczy - - _Author of “The Emperor’s Candlesticks,” etc._ - -A dramatic romance of the French Revolution and the Émigré Nobles. The -“Scarlet Pimpernel” was the chief of a daring band of young Englishmen -leagued together to rescue members of the French nobility from the -Terrorists of France. The identity of the brilliant and resourceful -leader is sacredly guarded by his followers and eagerly sought by the -agents of the French Revolutionary Government. Scenes of intrigue, -danger, and devotion, follow close one upon another. The heroine is -a charming, fearless woman who in the end shares the honors with the -“Scarlet Pimpernel.” In a stage version prepared by the author _The -Scarlet Pimpernel_ was one of the dramatic successes of the last London -season, Mr. Fred Terry and Miss Julia Neilson acting the leading rôles. - - - Crown 8vo, with Illustrations from Photographs of the Play, $1.50 - - - _New York_ ~ G. P. Putnam’s Sons ~ _London_ - - - - - _A Fascinating Romance_ - - Love Alone is Lord - - _By_ F. Frankfort Moore - - _Author of “The Jessamy Bride,” etc._ - -This latest story by the author of _The Jessamy Bride_ has for its -theme the only really ideal love affair in the romantic life of Lord -Byron. The story opens during the poet’s boyhood and tells of his early -devotion to his cousin, Mary Chaworth. Mr. Moore has followed history -very closely, and his descriptions of London society when Byron was the -rage are as accurate as they are dramatic. Lady Caroline Lamb figures -prominently in the story, but the heroine continues to be Byron’s early -love, Mary Chaworth. His attachment for his cousin was the strongest -and most enduring of his life, and it failed of realization only by the -narrowest of chances. - - _Crown 8vo, $1.50_ - - G. P. Putnam’s Sons - _New York_ _London_ - - - - - “Miss Reed is delightfully witty, delightfully humorous, - delightfully cynical, delightfully sane, and above all, delightfully - spontaneous.”--_Philadelphia Telegraph._ - - At the Sign of The Jack O’ Lantern - - _By_ MYRTLE REED - - Author of “Lavender and Old Lace,” “The Master’s Violin,” etc. - - Uniform with “Lavender and Old Lace” - 8^o. Cloth, net, $1.50, Red Leather, net, $2.00 - Antique Calf, net, $2.50 - Lavender Silk, net, $3.50 - -A genial story of the adventures of a New York newspaper man and his -young wife, who, at the end of their honeymoon, go to an unexplored -heirloom in the shape of a peculiar old house, where many strange and -amusing things happen. There is a mystery in the house, as well as a -significant portrait of an uncanny cat. A vein of delicate humor, and a -homely philosophy runs through the story. - -A complete descriptive circular of Miss Reed’s books sent on -application. - - New York--G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS--London - - - - -TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES: - - - Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_. - - Superscripted characters are preceded by a carat character: 8^o. - - Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. - - Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized. - - Archaic or variant spelling has been retained. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK “NO. 101” *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ -concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, -and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following -the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use -of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for -copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very -easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation -of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project -Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away--you may -do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected -by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark -license, especially commercial redistribution. - -START: FULL LICENSE - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project -Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full -Project Gutenberg™ License available with this file or online at -www.gutenberg.org/license. - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project -Gutenberg™ electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg™ -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or -destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in your -possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a -Project Gutenberg™ electronic work and you do not agree to be bound -by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the -person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph -1.E.8. - -1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg™ electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg™ electronic works if you follow the terms of this -agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg™ -electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the -Foundation” or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection -of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works. Nearly all the individual -works in the collection are in the public domain in the United -States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the -United States and you are located in the United States, we do not -claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, -displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as -all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope -that you will support the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting -free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg™ -works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the -Project Gutenberg™ name associated with the work. You can easily -comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the -same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg™ License when -you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are -in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, -check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this -agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, -distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any -other Project Gutenberg™ work. The Foundation makes no -representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any -country other than the United States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other -immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg™ License must appear -prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg™ work (any work -on which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the -phrase “Project Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed, -performed, viewed, copied or distributed: - - This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and - most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no - restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it - under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this - eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the - United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where - you are located before using this eBook. - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is -derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not -contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the -copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in -the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are -redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase “Project -Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply -either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or -obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg™ -trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any -additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms -will be linked to the Project Gutenberg™ License for all works -posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the -beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg™ -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg™. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg™ License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including -any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access -to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg™ work in a format -other than “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official -version posted on the official Project Gutenberg™ website -(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense -to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means -of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original “Plain -Vanilla ASCII” or other form. Any alternate format must include the -full Project Gutenberg™ License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg™ works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works -provided that: - -• You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg™ works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed - to the owner of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark, but he has - agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid - within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are - legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty - payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in - Section 4, “Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg - Literary Archive Foundation.” - -• You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg™ - License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all - copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue - all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg™ - works. - -• You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of - any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of - receipt of the work. - -• You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg™ works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project -Gutenberg™ electronic work or group of works on different terms than -are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing -from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of -the Project Gutenberg™ trademark. Contact the Foundation as set -forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project -Gutenberg™ collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg™ -electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may -contain “Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate -or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other -intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or -other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or -cannot be read by your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right -of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg™ trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg™ electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium -with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you -with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in -lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person -or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second -opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If -the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing -without further opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you “AS-IS”, WITH NO -OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT -LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of -damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement -violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the -agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or -limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or -unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the -remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in -accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the -production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg™ -electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, -including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of -the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this -or any Project Gutenberg™ work, (b) alteration, modification, or -additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg™ work, and (c) any -Defect you cause. - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg™ - -Project Gutenberg™ is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of -computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It -exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations -from people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg™'s -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg™ collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg™ and future -generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see -Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at -www.gutenberg.org - -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by -U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, -Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up -to date contact information can be found at the Foundation's website -and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg™ depends upon and cannot survive without -widespread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND -DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular -state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To -donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg™ electronic works - -Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project -Gutenberg™ concept of a library of electronic works that could be -freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and -distributed Project Gutenberg™ eBooks with only a loose network of -volunteer support. - -Project Gutenberg™ eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in -the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. - -Most people start at our website which has the main PG search -facility: www.gutenberg.org - -This website includes information about Project Gutenberg™, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. |