CHAPTER XIX. MEN CALL IT CHANCE.
If I were telling more than the truth, or had it in my mind to embellishmy adventures, I could, doubtless, by the exercise of a little ingenuitymake it appear that I owed my escape from Father Antoine's meshes tomy own craft; and tell, en fin, as pretty a story of plots andcounterplots as M. de Brantome has ever woven. Having no desire,however, to magnify myself and, at this time of day, scarcely anyreason, I am fain to confess that the reverse was the case; and thatwhile no man ever did less to free himself than I did, my adversaryretained his grasp to the end, and had surely, but for a strangeinterposition, effected my ruin. How relief came, and from what quarter,I might defy the most ingenious person, after reading my memoirs to thispoint, to say; and this not so much by reason of any subtle device, asbecause the hand of Providence was for once directly manifest.
The three days of grace which the priest had granted I passed in anxiousbut futile search for some means of escape, every plan I conceived dyingstillborn, and not the least of my miseries lying in the fact that Icould discern no better course than still to sit and think, and seemeddoomed to perpetual inaction. M. de Rambouillet being a strict Catholic,though in all other respects a patriotic man, I knew better than to haverecourse to him; and the priest's influence over M. d'Agen I had myselfwitnessed. For similar reasons I rejected the idea of applying to theking; and this exhausting the list of those on whom I had any claim, Ifound myself thrown on my own resources, which seemed limited--my witsfailing me at this pinch--to my sword and Simon Fleix.
Assured that I must break out of Blois if I would save not myself only,but others more precious because entrusted to my charge, I thought it nodisgrace to appeal to Simon; describing in a lively fashion the dangerwhich threatened us, and inciting the lad by every argument which Ithought likely to have weight with him to devise some way of escape.
Now is the time, my friend,' I said, 'to show your wits, and prove thatM. de Rosny, who said you had a cunning above the ordinary, was right.If your brain can ever save your head, now is the time! For I tell youplainly, if you cannot find some way to outmanoeuvre this villain beforeto-morrow, I am spent. You can judge for yourself what chance you willhave of going free.'
I paused at that, waiting for him to make some suggestion. To my chagrinhe remained silent, leaning his head on his hand, and studying thetable with his eyes in a sullen fashion; so that I began to regretthe condescension I had evinced in letting him be seated, and found itnecessary to remind him that he had taken service with me, and must domy bidding.
'Well,' he said morosely, and without looking up, 'I am ready to do it.But I do not like priests, and this one least of all. I know him, and Iwill not meddle with him.'
'You will not meddle with him?' I cried, almost beside myself withdismay.
'No, I won't,' he replied, retaining his listless attitude. 'I know him,and I am afraid of him. I am no match for him.'
'Then M. de Rosny was wrong, was he?' I said, giving way to my anger.
'If it please you,' he answered pertly.
This was too much for me. My riding-switch lay handy, and I snatchedit up. Before he knew what I would be at, I fell upon him, and gave himsuch a sound wholesome drubbing as speedily brought him to his senses.When he cried for mercy--which he did not for a good space, being stillpossessed by the peevish devil which had ridden him ever since hisdeparture from Rosny--I put it to him again whether M. de Rosny was notright. When he at last admitted this, but not till then, I threw thewhip away and let him go, but did not cease to reproach him as hedeserved.
'Did you think,' I said, 'that I was going to be ruined because youwould not use your lazy brains? That I was going to sit still, and letyou sulk, while mademoiselle walked blindfold into the toils? Not atall, my friend!'
'Mademoiselle!' he exclaimed, looking at me with a sudden change ofcountenance, end ceasing to rub himself and scowl, as he had been doing.'She is not here, and is in no danger.'
'She will be here to-morrow, or the next day,' I said.
You did not tell me that!' he replied, his eyes glittering. 'Does FatherAntoine know it?'
'He will know it the moment she enters the town,' I answered.
Noting the change which the introduction of mademoiselle's name into theaffair had wrought in him, I felt something like humiliation. But at themoment I had no choice; it was my business to use such instruments ascame to my hand, and not, mademoiselle's safety being at stake, to pickand choose too nicely. In a few minutes our positions were reversed. Thelad had grown as hot as I cold, as keenly excited as I critical. Whenhe presently came to a stand in front of me, I saw a strange likenessbetween his face and the priest's; nor was I astonished when hepresently made just such a proposal as I should have expected fromFather Antoine himself.
'There is only one thing for it,' he muttered, trembling all over. 'Hemust be got rid of!'
'Fine talking!' I said, contemptuously. 'If he were a soldier he mightbe brought to it. But he is a priest, my friend, and does not fight.'
'Fight? Who wants him to fight?' the lad answered, his face dark, hishands moving restlessly. 'It is the easier done. A blow in the back, andhe will trouble us no more.'
'Who is to strike it?' I asked drily.
Simon trembled and hesitated; but presently, heaving a deep sigh, hesaid, 'I will.'
'It might not be difficult,' I muttered, thinking it over.
'It would be easy,' he answered under his breath. His eyes shone, hislips were white, and his long dark hair hung wet over his forehead.
I reflected, and the longer I did so the more feasible seemed thesuggestion. A single word, and I might sweep from my path the man whoseexistence threatened mine; who would not meet me fairly, but, workingagainst me darkly and treacherously, deserved no better treatment at myhands than that which a detected spy receives. He had wronged my mother;he would fain destroy my friends!
And, doubtless, I shall be blamed by some and ridiculed by more forindulging in scruples at such a time. But I have all my life long beenprejudiced against that form of underhand violence which I have heardold men contend came into fashion in our country in modern times, andwhich certainly seems to be alien from the French character. Withoutjudging others too harshly, or saying that the poniard is neverexcusable--for then might some wrongs done to women and the helplessgo without remedy--I have set my face against its use as unworthy of asoldier. At the time, moreover, of which I am now writing the extent towhich our enemies had lately resorted to it tended to fix this feelingwith peculiar firmness in my mind; and, but for the very desperatedilemma in which I stood at the moment--and not I alone--I do not thinkthat I should have entertained Simon's proposal for a minute.
As it was, I presently answered him in a way which left him in no doubtof my sentiments. 'Simon, my friend,' I said--and I remember I was alittle moved--'you have something still to learn, both as a soldier anda Huguenot. Neither the one nor the other strikes at the back.'
'But if he will not fight?' the lad retorted rebelliously. 'What then?'
It was so clear that our adversary gained an unfair advantage in thisway that I could not answer the question. I let it pass, therefore, andmerely repeating my former injunction, bade Simon think out another way.
He promised reluctantly to do so, and, after spending some moments inthought, went out to learn whether the house was being watched.
When he returned, his countenance wore so new an expression that I sawat once that something had happened. He did not meet my eye, however,and did not explain, but made as if he would go out again, withsomething of confusion in his manner. Before finally disappearing,however, he seemed to change his mind once more; for, marching up to mewhere I stood eyeing him with the utmost astonishment, he stopped beforeme, and suddenly drawing out his hand, thrust something into mine.
'What is it, man?' I said mechanically.
'Look!' he answered rudely, breaking silence for the first time. 'Youshould know. Why ask me? What have I to do with i
t?'
I looked then, and saw that he had given me a knot of velvet preciselysimilar is shape, size, and material to that well-remembered one whichhad aided me so opportunely in my search for mademoiselle. This differedfrom that a little in colour, but in nothing else, the fashion of thebow being the same, and one lappet hearing the initials 'C. d. l. V.,'while the other had the words, 'A moi.' I gazed at it in wonder. 'But,Simon,' I said, 'what does it mean? Where did you get it?'
'Where should I get it?' he answered jealously. Then, seeming torecollect himself, he changed his tone. 'A woman gave it to me in thestreet,' he said.
I asked him what woman.
'How should I know?' he answered, his eyes gleaming with anger. 'It wasa woman in a mask.'
'Was it Fanchette?' I said sternly.
'It might have been. I do not know,' he responded.
I concluded at first that mademoiselle and her escort had arrived in theoutskirts of the city, and that Maignan had justified his reputationfor discretion by sending in to learn from me whether the way was clearbefore he entered. In this notion I was partly confirmed and partlyshaken by the accompanying message; which Simon, from whom every scrapof information had to be dragged as blood from a stone, presentlydelivered.
'You are to meet the sender half an hour after sunset to-morrowevening,' he said, 'on the Parvis at the north-east corner of thecathedral.'
'To-morrow evening?'
'Yes, when else?' the lad answered ungraciously. 'I said to-morrowevening.'
I thought this strange. I could understand why Maignan should prefer tokeep his charge outside the walls until he heard from me, but not whyhe should postpone a meeting so long. The message, too, seemedunnecessarily meagre, and I began to think Simon was still withholdingsomething.
'Was that all?' I asked him.
'Yes, all,' he answered, 'except--'
'Except what?' I said sternly.
'Except that the woman showed me the gold token Mademoiselle de laVire used to carry,' he answered reluctantly, 'and said, if you wantedfurther assurance that would satisfy you.'
'Did you see the coin?' I cried eagerly.
'To be sure,' he answered.
'Then, mon dieu!' I retorted, 'either you are deceiving me, or the womanyou saw deceived you. For mademoiselle has not got the token! I have ithere, in my possession! Now, do you still say you saw it, man?'
'I saw one like it,' he answered, trembling, his face damp. 'That I willswear. And the woman told me what I have told you. And no more.'
'Then it is clear,' I answered, 'that mademoiselle has nothing to dowith this, and is doubtless many a league away. This is one of M. deBruhl's tricks. Fresnoy gave him the token he stole from me. And Itold him the story of the velvet knot myself. This is a trap; and hadI fallen into it, and gone to the Parvis to-morrow evening, I had neverkept another assignation, my lad.'
Simon looked thoughtful. Presently he said, with a crestfallen air, 'Youwere to go alone. The woman said that.'
Though I knew well why he had suppressed this item, I forbore to blamehim. 'What was the woman like?' I said.
'She had very much of Franchette's figure,' he answered. He could notgo beyond that. Blinded by the idea that the woman was mademoiselle'sattendant, and no one else, he had taken little heed of her, and couldnot even say for certain that she was not a man in woman's clothes.
I thought the matter over and discussed it with him; and was heartilyminded to punish M. de Bruhl, if I could discover a way of turning histreacherous plot against himself. But the lack of any precise knowledgeof his plans prevented me stirring in the matter; the more as I felt nocertainty that I should be master of my actions when the time came.
Strange to say the discovery of this movement on the part of Bruhl, whohad sedulously kept himself in the background since the scene in theking's presence, far from increasing my anxieties, had the effect ofadministering a fillip to my spirits; which the cold and unyieldingpressure of the Jacobin had reduced to a low point. Here was something Icould understand, resist, and guard against. The feeling that I hadonce more to do with a man of like aims and passions with myself quicklyrestored me to the use of my faculties; as I have heard that a swordsmanopposed to the powers of evil regains his vigour on finding himselfengaged with a mortal foe. Though I knew that the hours of grace werefast running to a close, and that on the morrow the priest would callfor an answer, I experienced that evening an unreasonable lightness andcheerfulness. I retired to rest with confidence, and slept in comfort,supported in part, perhaps, by the assurance that in that room where mymother died her persecutor could have no power to harm me.
Upon Simon Fleix, on the other hand, the discovery that Bruhl wasmoving, and that consequently peril threatened us from a new quarter,had a different effect. He fell into a state of extreme excitement, andspent the evening and a great part of the night in walking restlesslyup and down the room, wrestling with the fears and anxieties which besetus, and now talking fast to himself, now biting his nails in an agonyof impatience. In vain I adjured him not to meet troubles halfway; or,pointing to the pallet which he occupied at the foot of my couch, badehim, if he could not devise a way of escape, at least to let the matterrest until morning. He had no power to obey, but, tortured by the vividanticipations which it was his nature to entertain, he continued toramble to and fro in a fever of the nerves, and had no sooner laindown than be was up again. Remembering, however, how well he had bornehimself on the night of mademoiselle's escape from Blois, I refrainedfrom calling him a coward; and contented myself instead with thereflection that nothing sits worse on a fighting-man than too muchknowledge--except, perhaps, a lively imagination.
I thought it possible that mademoiselle might arrive next day beforeFather Antoine called to receive his answer. In this event I hoped tohave the support of Maignan's experience. But the party did not arrive.I had to rely on myself and my own resources, and, this being so,determined to refuse the priest's offer, but in all other things to beguided by circumstances.
About noon he came, attended, as was his practice, by two friends,whom he left outside. He looked paler and more shadowy than before, Ithought, his hands thinner, and his cheeks more transparent. I coulddraw no good augury, however, from these, signs of frailty, for thebrightness of his eyes and the unusual elation of his manner toldplainly of a spirit assured of the mastery. He entered the room with anair of confidence, and addressed me in a tone of patronage which left mein no doubt of his intentions; the frankness with which he now laid barehis plans going far to prove that already he considered me no betterthan his tool.
I did not at once undeceive him, but allowed him to proceed, and evento bring out the five hundred crowns which he had promised me, and thesight of which he doubtless supposed would clench the matter.
Seeing this he became still less reticent, and spoke so largely that Ipresently felt myself impelled to ask him if he would answer a question.
'That is as may be, M. de Marsac,' he answered lightly. 'You may askit.'
'You hint at great schemes which you have in hand, father,' I said.'You speak of France and Spain and Navarre, and kings and Leagues andcardinals! You talk of secret strings, and would have me believe that ifI comply with your wishes I shall find you as powerful a patron as M. deRosny. But--one moment, if you please,' I continued hastily, seeing thathe was about to interrupt me with such eager assurances as I had alreadyheard; 'tell me this. With so many irons in the fire, why did youinterfere with one old gentlewoman--for the sake of a few crowns?'
'I will tell you even that,' he answered, his face flushing at my tone.'Have you ever heard of an elephant? Yes. Well, it has a trunk, youknow, with which it can either drag an oak from the earth or lifta groat from the ground. It is so with me. But again you ask,' hecontinued with an airy grimace, 'why I wanted a few crowns. Enough thatI did. There are going to be two things in the world, and two only, M.de Marsac: brains and money. The former I have, and had: the latter Ineeded--and took.'
'Money an
d brains?' I said, looking at him thoughtfully.
'Yes,' he answered, his eyes sparkling, his thin nostrils beginning todilate. 'Give me these two, and I will rule France!'
'You will rule France?' I exclaimed, amazed beyond measure by hisaudacity. 'You, man?'
'Yes, I,' he answered, with abominable coolness. 'I, priest, monk,Churchman, clerk. You look surprised, but mark you, sir, there is achange going on. Our time is coming, and yours is going. What hampersour lord the king and shuts him up in Blois, while rebellions stalkthrough France? Lack of men? No; but lack of money. Who can get themoney for him--you the soldier, or I the clerk? A thousand times, I!Therefore, my time is coming, and before you die you will see a priestrule France.'
'God forbid it should be you,' I answered scornfully.
'As you please,' he answered, shrugging his shoulders, and assuming ina breath a mask of humility which sat as ill on his monstrous conceitas ever nun's veil on a trooper. 'Yet it may even be I; by the favour ofthe Holy Catholic Church, whose humble minister I am.'
I sprang up with a great oath at that, having no stomach for more of thestrange transformations, in which this man delighted, and whereof thelast had ever the air of being the most hateful. 'You villain!' I cried,twisting my moustaches, a habit I have when enraged. 'And so you wouldmake me a stepping-stone to your greatness. You would bribe me--asoldier and a gentleman. Go, before I do you a mischief. That is allI have to say to you. Go! You have your answer. I will tell younothing--not a jot or a tittle. Begone from my room!'
He fell back a step in his surprise, and stood against the table bitinghis nails and scowling at me, fear and chagrin contending with half adozen devils for the possession of his face. 'So you have been deceivingme,' he said slowly, and at last.
'I have let you deceive yourself' I answered, looking at him with scorn,but with little of the fear with which he had for a while inspired me.'Begone, and do your worst.'
'You know what you are doing,' he said. 'I have that will hang you, M.de Marsac--or worse.'
'Go!' I cried.
'You have thought of your friends,' he continued mockingly.
'Go!' I said.
'Of Mademoiselle de la Vire, if by any chance she fall into my hands?It will not be hanging for her. You remember the two Foucauds?'--and helaughed.
The vile threat, which I knew he had used to my mother, so worked uponme that I strode forward unable to control myself longer. In anothermoment I had certainly taken him by the throat and squeezed the life outof his miserable carcase, had not Providence in its goodness intervenedto save me. The door, on which he had already laid his hand in terror,opened suddenly. It admitted Simon, who, closing it; behind him, stoodlooking from one to the other of us in nervous doubt; divided betweenthat respect for the priest which a training at the Sorbonne hadinstilled into him, and the rage which despair arouses in the weakest.
His presence, while it checked me in my purpose, seemed to give FatherAntoine courage, for the priest stood his ground, and even turned to mea second time, his face dark with spite and disappointment. 'Good,' hesaid hoarsely. 'Destroy yourself if you will! I advise you to baryour door, for in an hour the guards will be here to fetch you to thequestion.'
Simon cried out at the threat, so that I turned and looked at the lad.His knees were shaking, his hair stood on end.
The priest saw his terror and his own opportunity. 'Ay, in an hour,' hecontinued slowly, looking at him with cruel eyes. 'In an hour, lad! Youmust be fond of pain to court it, and out of humour with life to throwit away. Or stay,' he continued abruptly, after considering Simon'snarrowly for a moment, and doubtless deducing from it a last hope, 'Iwill be merciful. I will give you one more chance.'
'And yourself?' I said with a sneer.
'As you please,' he answered, declining to be diverted from thetrembling lad, whom his gaze seemed to fascinate. 'I will give you untilhalf an hour after sunset this evening to reconsider the matter. If youmake up your minds to accept my terms, meet me then. I leave to-nightfor Paris, and I will give you until the last moment. But,' he continuedgrimly, 'if you do not meet me, or, meeting me, remain obstinate--God doso to me, and more also, if you see the sun rise thrice.'
Some impulse, I know not what, seeing that I had no thought of acceptinghis terms or meeting him, led me to ask briefly, 'Where?'
'On the Parvis of the Cathedral,' he answered after a moment'scalculation. 'At the north-east corner, half an hour after sunset. It isa quiet spot.'
Simon uttered a stifled exclamation. And then for a moment there wassilence in the room, while the lad breathed hard and irregularly, and Istood rooted to the spot, looking so long and so strangely at the priestthat Father Antoine laid his hand again on the door and glanced uneasilybehind him. Nor was he content until he had hit on, as he fancied, thecause of my strange regard.
'Ha!' he said, his thin lip curling in conceit at his astuteness, 'Iunderstand you think to kill me to-night? Let me tell you, this house iswatched. If you leave here to meet me with any companion--unless it beM. d'Agen, whom I can trust, I shall be warned, and be gone before youreach the rendezvous. And gone, mind you,' he added, with a grim smile,'to sign your death-warrant.'
He went out with that, closing the door behind him; and we heard hisstep go softly down the staircase. I gazed at Simon, and he at me, withall the astonishment and awe which it was natural we should feel inpresence of so remarkable a coincidence.
For by a marvel the priest had named the same spot and the same time asthe sender of the velvet knot!
'He will go,' Simon said, his face flushed and his voice trembling, 'andthey will go.'
'And in the dark they will not know him,' I muttered. 'He is about myheight. They will take him for me!'
'And kill him!' Simon cried hysterically. 'They will kill him! He goesto his death, monsieur. It is the finger of God.'
A Gentleman of France: Being the Memoirs of Gaston de Bonne Sieur de Marsac Page 19