CHAPTER XXI.
RIVALS.
"It is impossible!" I said slowly. "Froment! It is impossible!"
But even while I said it, I knew that I lied; and I turned to thewindow that Benoit might not see my face. Froment! The name alone, nowthat the hint was supplied, let in the light. Fellow-traveller,fellow-conspirator, in turn protected and protector, his face as I hadseen it at the carriage door in the pass by Villeraugues, rose upbefore me, and I marvelled that I had not guessed the secret earlier.A bourgeois and ambitious, thrown into Mademoiselle's company, whatcould be more certain than that, sooner or later, he would lift hiseyes to her? What more likely than that Madame St. Alais, impoverishedand embittered, afloat on the whirlpool of agitation, would be willingto reward his daring even with her daughter's hand? Rich already,success would ennoble him; for the rest I knew how the man, strongwhere so many were weak, resolute where a hundred faltered, assured ofhis purpose and steadfast in pursuing it, where others knew none, mustloom in a woman's eyes. And I gnashed my teeth.
I had my eyes fixed, as I thought these thoughts, on a little dingy,well-like court that lay below his window, and on the farther side ofwhich, but far below me, a monastic-looking porch surmounted by acarved figure, formed the centre of vision. Mechanically, though Icould have sworn that my whole mind was otherwise engaged, I watchedtwo men come into the court, and go to this porch. They did not knockor call, but one of them struck his stick twice on the pavement; in asecond or two the door opened, as of itself, and the men disappeared.
I saw and noted this unconsciously; yet, in all probability, it wasthe closing of the door roused me from my thoughts. "Froment!" I said,"Froment!" And then I turned from the window. "Where is she?" I saidhoarsely.
Father Benoit shook his head.
"You must know!" I cried--indeed I saw that he did. "You must know!"
"I do know," he answered slowly, his eyes on mine. "But I cannot tellyou. I could not, were it to save your life, M. le Vicomte. I had itin confession."
I stared at him baffled; and my heart sank at that answer, as it wouldhave sunk at no other. I knew that on this door, this iron doorwithout a key, I might beat my hands and spend my fury until the endof time and go no farther. At length, "Then why--why have you told meso much?" I cried, with a harsh laugh. "Why tell me anything?"
"Because I would have you leave Nimes," Father Benoit answered gently,laying his hand on my arm, his eyes full of entreaty. "Mademoiselle iscontracted, and beyond your reach. Within a few hours, certainly assoon as the elections come on, there will be a rising here. I knowyou," he continued, "and your feelings, and I know that yoursympathies will be with neither party. Why stay then, M. le Vicomte?"
"Why?" I said, so quickly that his hand fell from my arm as if I hadstruck him. "Because until Mademoiselle is married I follow her, if itbe to Turin! Because M. Froment is unwise to mingle love and war, andmy sympathies are now with one side, and it is not his! It is not his!Why, you ask? Because--you cannot tell me, but there are those whocan, and I go to them!"
And without waiting to hear answer or remonstrance--though he cried tome and tried to detain me--I caught up my hat, and flew down thestairs; and once out of the house and in the street hastened back atthe top of my speed to the quarter of the town I had left. The streetsthrough which I passed were still crowded, but wore an air not so muchof disorder as of expectation, as if the procession I had followed hadleft a trail behind it. Here and there I saw soldiers patrolling, andwarning the people to be quiet; and everywhere knots of townsmen,whispering and scowling, who stared at me as I passed. Every tenthmale I saw was a monk, Dominican or Capuchin, and though my whole mindwas bent on finding M. de Geol and Buton, and learning from them whatthey knew, as enemies, of Froment's plans and strength, I felt thatthe city was in an abnormal state; and that if I would do anythingbefore the convulsion took place, I must act quickly.
I was fortunate enough to find M. de Geol and Buton at their lodgings.The former, whom I had not seen since our arrival, and who doubtlesshad his opinion of the cause of my sudden disappearance in the street,greeted me with a scowl and a bitter sarcasm, but when I had put a fewquestions, and he found that I was in earnest, his manner changed."You may tell him," he said, nodding to Buton.
Then I saw that they too were excited, though they would fain hide it."What is it?" I asked.
"Froment's party rose at Avignon yesterday," he answered eagerly."Prematurely; and were crushed--crushed with heavy loss. The news hasjust arrived. It may hasten his plans."
"I saw soldiers in the street," I said.
"Yes, the Calvinists have asked for protection. But, that, and thepatrols," De Geol answered with a grim smile, "are equally a farce.The regiment of Guienne, which is patriotic and would assist us, andeven be some protection, is kept within barracks by its officers; themayor and municipals are red, and whatever happens will not hoist theflag or call out the troops. The Catholic cabarets are alive witharmed men; in a word, my friend, if Froment succeeds in mastering thetown, and holding it three days, M. d'Artois, governor of Montpellier,will be here with his garrison, and----"
"Yes!"
"And what was a riot will be a revolt," he said pithily. "But there ismany a slip between the cup and the lip, and there are more than sheepin the Cevennes Mountains!"
The words had scarcely passed from his lips, when a man ran into theroom, looked at us, and raised his hand in a peculiar way. "Pardonme," said M. de Geol quickly; and with a muttered word he followed theman out. Buton was not a whit behind. In a moment I was alone.
I supposed they would return, and I waited impatiently; but a minuteor two passed, and they did not appear. At length, tired of waiting,and wondering what was afoot, I went into the yard of the inn, andthence into the street. Still I did not find them; but collectedbefore the inn I found a group of servants and others belonging to theplace. They were all standing silent, listening, and as I joined themone looked round peevishly, and raised his hand as a warning to me tobe quiet.
Before I could ask what it meant, the distant report of a gun,followed quickly by a second and a third, made my heart beat. A dullsound, made, it might be, by men shouting, or the passage of a heavywaggon over pavement, ensued; then more firing, each report short,sharp, and decisive. While we listened, and as the last red glow ofsunset faded on the eaves above us, leaving the street cold and grey,a bell somewhere began to toll hurriedly, stroke upon stroke; and aman, dashing round a corner not far away, made towards us.
But the landlord of the Ecu did not wait for him. "All in!" he criedto his people, "and close the great gates! And do you, Pierre, bar theshutters. And you, Monsieur," he continued hurriedly, turning to me,"will do well to come in also. The town is up, and the streets willnot be safe for strangers."
But I was already half-way down the street. I met the fugitive, and hecried to me, as I passed, that the mob were coming. I met afrightened, riderless horse, galloping madly along the kennel; itswerved from me, and almost fell on the slippery pavement. But I tookno heed of either. I ran on until two hundred paces before me I sawsmoke and dust, and dimly through it a row of soldiers, who, withtheir backs to me, were slowly giving way before a dense crowd thatpressed upon them. Even as I came in sight of them, they seemed tobreak and melt away, and with a roar of triumph the mob swept over theplace on which they had stood.
I had the wit to see that to force my way past the crowd wasimpossible; and I darted aside into a narrow passage darkened by wideflat eaves that almost hid the pale evening sky. This brought me to alane, full of women, standing listening with scared faces. I hurriedthrough them, and when I had gone, as I judged, far enough to outflankthe mob, chose a lane that appeared to lead in the direction of FatherBenoit's house. Fortunately, the crowd was engaged in the mainstreets, the byways were comparatively deserted, and without accidentI reached the little square by the gate.
Probably the attack on the soldiers had begun there,
or in thatneighbourhood, for a broken musket lay in two pieces on the pavement,and pale faces at upper windows followed me in a strange unwinkingsilence as I crossed the square. But no man was to be seen, andunmolested I reached the door of Father Benoit's staircase, andentered.
In the open the light was still good, but within doors it was dusk,and I had not taken two steps before I tripped and fell headlong oversome object that lay in my way. I struck the foot of the stairsheavily, and got up groaning; but ceased to groan and held my breath,as peering through the half light of the entry, I saw over what I hadfallen. It was a man's body.
The man was a monk, in the black and white robe of his order; and hewas quite dead. It took me an instant to overcome the horror of thediscovery, but that done, I saw easily enough how the corpse came tobe there. Doubtless the man had been shot in the street at thebeginning of the riot--perhaps he had been the first to attack thepatrol; and the body had been dragged into shelter here, while hisparty swept on to vengeance.
I stooped and reverently adjusted the cowl which my foot had draggedaway; and that done--it was no time for sentiment--I turned from him,and hurried up the stairs. Alas, when I reached Father Benoit's roomit was empty.
Wondering what I should do next, I stood a moment in the failinglight. What could I do? Then I walked aimlessly to the casement andlooked out. In the dull, almost blind wall which met my eyes acrossthe court, was one window on a level with that at which I stood, but alittle to the side. On a sudden, as I stared stupidly at the wall nearit, a bright light shone out in this window. A lamp had been kindledin the room; and darkly outlined against the glow I saw the head andshoulders of a woman.
I almost screamed a name. It was Denise!
Even while I held my breath she moved from the window, a curtain wasdrawn and all was dark. Only the plain lines of the window--and thosefast fading in the gloom--remained; only those and the gloomy,well-like court, that separated me from her.
I leaned a moment on the sill, my heart bounding quickly, my thoughtsworking with inconceivable rapidity. She was there, in the houseopposite! It seemed too wonderful; it seemed inexplicable. Then Ireflected that the house stood next to the old gate I had seen fromthe street; and had not some one told me that Froment lived in thePort d'Auguste?
Doubtless this was it; and she lay in his power in this house thatadjoined it and was one with it. I leaned farther out, partly that Imight cool my burning face, partly to see more; my eyes, greedilyscanning the front of the house, traced the line of arrow-slits thatmarked the ascent of the staircase. I followed the line downwards; itended beside the porch surmounted by a little statue, at which I hadseen the two men enter.
They were still fighting in the town. I could hear the dull sound ofdistant volleys, and the tolling of bells, and now and then a wave ofnoise, of screams and yells, that rose and sank on the evening air.But my eyes were on the porch below; and suddenly I had a thought. Ifollowed the line of arrow-slits up again--it was too dark in thesombre court to see them well--and marked the position of the windowat which Denise had appeared. Then I turned, and passing through theroom, I groped my way downstairs.
I had no light, and I had to go carefully with one hand on the grimywall; but I knew now where the monk's body lay, and I stepped over itsafely, and to the door, and putting out my head, looked up and down.
Two men, as I did so, passed hurriedly through the little square, and,before reaching the gate, dived into an entry on the right, anddisappeared. About the eaves of the highest house, that towered highand black above me, a faint ruddy light was beginning to dance. Iheard voices, that came, I thought, from the tower of the gateway; andthere, too, I thought that I saw a figure outlined against the sky.But otherwise, all was quiet in the neighbourhood; and I went inagain.
No matter what I did in the darkness at the foot of the stairs; I hateto recall it. But in a minute or two I came out a monk in cowl andgirdle. Then I, too, dived into the entry, and in a trice found myselfin the court. Before me was the porch, and with the barrel of thebroken musket, which I had snatched up as I passed, I struck twice onthe pavement.
I had no time to think what would happen next, or what I was going toconfront. The door opened instantly, and I went in; as by magic thedoor closed silently behind me.
I found myself in a long, bare hall or corridor, plain andunfurnished, that had once perhaps been a cloister. A lighted lamphung against a wall, and opposite me, on a stone seat sat two personstalking; three or four others were walking up and down. All paused atmy entrance, however, and looked at me eagerly. "Whence are you,brother?" said one of them, advancing to me.
"The Cabaret Vierge," I answered at a venture. The light dazzled me,and I raised my hand to ward it off.
"For the Chief?"
"Yes."
"Come, quickly then," the man said, "he is on the roof. It goes well?"he continued, looking with a smile at my weapon.
"It goes," I answered, holding my head low, so that my face was lostin the cowl.
"They are beginning to light up, I am told?"
"Yes."
He took up a small lamp, and opening a door in a kind of buttress thatstrengthened one of the arches, he led the way through it, and up anarrow winding staircase made in the thickness of the wall. Presentlywe passed an open door, and I ticked it off in my mind. It led to therooms on the first floor from the ground. Twenty steps higher wepassed another door--closed this time. Again fifteen steps and we cameto a third. That floor held my heart, and I looked round greedily,desperately, for some way of evading my guide and so reaching it. ButI saw only the smooth stones of the wall; and he continued to climb.
I halted half a dozen steps higher. "What is it?" he asked, lookingdown at me.
"I have dropped a note," I said; and I began to grope about the steps.
"For the Chief?"
"Yes."
"Here, take the light!" he answered impatiently. "And be quick! ifyour news is worth the telling, it is worth telling quickly. _Sacre!_man, what have you done?"
I had let the lamp fall on the steps, extinguishing it; and we were indarkness. In the moment of silence which followed, before he recoveredfrom his surprise, I could hear the voices of men above us, and thetramp of their feet on the roof; and a cold draught of air met me. Heswore another oath. "Get down, get down!" he cried angrily, "and letme pass you! You are a pretty messenger to--there wait; wait until Ifetch another light."
He squeezed by me, and left me standing in the very place I would havechosen, in the angle of the doorway we had just passed; before he hadclattered down half a dozen steps I had my finger on the latch. To myjoy the door--which might so easily have been locked--yielded to myknee, and passing through it, I closed it behind me. Then turning tothe right--all was still dark--I groped my way along the wall throughwhich I had entered. I knew it to be the outside wall, and dimly infront I discerned the faint radiance of a window. Now that the momenthad come to put all to the test I was as calm as I could wish to be. Icounted ten paces, and came, as I expected, to the window; ten pacesfarther and I felt my way barred by a door. This should be theroom--the last that way; listening intently for the first sounds ofpursuit or alarm, I felt about for a latch, found it, and tried thedoor. Again fortune favoured me, it came to my hand; but instead oflight I found all dark as before; and then understood, as I struckwith some violence against a second door.
A stifled cry in a woman's voice came from beyond it: and some oneasked sharply, "Who is that?"
I gave no answer, but searched for the latch, found it, and in amoment the door was opened. The light which poured out dazzled me fora second or two; but while I stood blinking, under the lamp I had avision of two girls standing at bay, one behind the other, and thenearer was Denise!
I stepped towards her with a cry of joy; she retreated with terrorwritten on her face. "What do you want?" she stammered as sheretreated. "You have made some mistake. We----"
Then I remembered the guise in which I stood, and the gun-barrel in
myhand, and I dashed back the cowl from my face; and in a moment--it wasof all surprises the most joyous, for I had not seen her since we satopposite one another in the carriage, and then only a word had passedbetween us--in a moment she was in my arms, on my breast, and sobbingwith her head hidden, and my lips on her hair.
"They told me you were dead!" she cried. "They told me you were dead!"
Then I understood; and I held her to me, held her to me more and moreclosely, and said--God knows what I said. And for the moment she letme, and we forgot all else, our danger, the dark future, even thewoman who stood by. We had been plighted before, and it had beennothing to us; now, with my lips on hers, and her arms clinging, Iknew that it was once for all, and that only death, if death, couldpart us.
Alas! that was not so far from us that we could long ignore it. In aminute or two she freed herself, and thrust me from her, her face paleand red by turns, her eyes soft and shining in the lamplight. "How doyou come here, Monsieur?" she cried. "And in that dress?"
"To see you," I answered. And at the word, I stepped forward and wouldhave taken her in my arms again.
But she waved me back. "Oh, no, no!" she cried, shuddering. "Not now!Do you know that they will kill you? Do you know that they will killyou if they find you here? Go! Go! I beg of you, while you can."
"And leave you?"
"Yes, and leave me," she answered, with a gesture of despair. "Iimplore you to do so."
"And leave you to Froment?" I cried again.
She looked at me in a different way, and with a little start. "Youknow that?" she said.
"Yes," I answered.
"Then know this too, Monsieur," she replied, raising her head, andmeeting my eyes with the bravest look. "Know this too: that whateverbetide, I shall not, after this, marry him, nor any man but you!"
I would have fallen on my knees and kissed the hem of her gown forthat word, but she drew back, and passionately begged me to begone."This house is not safe for you," she said. "It is death, it is death,Monsieur! My mother is merciless, my brother is here; and _he_--thehouse is full of his sworn creatures. You escaped him hardly before;if he finds you here now he will kill you."
"But if I need fear him so," I answered grimly,--for I saw, now thatshe had ceased to blush, how pale and wan she was, and what dark marksfear had painted under her eyes--child's eyes no longer, but awoman's--"if I need fear him so, what of you? What of you,Mademoiselle? Am I to leave you at his mercy?"
She looked at me with a strange gravity in her face; and answered meso that I never forgot her answer. "Monsieur," she said, "was I afraidon the roof of the house at St. Alais? And I have more to guard now.Have no fear. There is a roof here, too, and I walk on it; nor shallmy husband ever have cause to blush for me."
"But I was there," I said quickly. Heaven knows why; it was a strangething to say. Yet she did not find it so.
"Yes," she said--and smiled; and with the smile, her face burned againand her eyes grew soft, and all her dignity fled in a moment, and shelooked at me, drooping. And in an instant she was in my arms.
But only for a few seconds. Then she tore herself away almost inanger. "Oh, go, go!" she cried. "If you love me, go, Monsieur."
"Swear," I said, "to put a handkerchief in your window if you wanthelp!"
"In my window?"
"I can see it from Father Benoit's."
A gleam of joy lit up her face. "I will," she said. "Oh, God bethanked that you are so near! I will. But I have Francoise, too, andshe is true to me. As long as I have her----"
She stopped with her lips apart, and the blood gone suddenly from hercheeks; and we looked at one another. Alas, I had stayed too long!There was a noise of feet coming along the passage, and a hubbub ofvoices outside, and the clatter of a door hastily closed. I think fora moment we scarcely breathed; and even after that it was her womanwho was the first to move. She sprang to the door and softly lockedit.
"It is vain!" Denise said in a harsh whisper; she leaned against thetable, her face as white as snow. "They will fetch my mother, and theywill kill you."
"There is no other door?" I muttered, staring round with hunted eyes,and feeling for the first time the full danger of the course I hadtaken.
She shook her head.
"What is that?" I cried, pointing to the farther end of the chamber,where a bed stood in the alcove.
"A closet," the woman answered, almost with a sob. "Yes, yes,Monsieur, they may not search. Quick, and I can lock it."
In such a case man acts on instinct. I heard the latch of the doortried, and then some one knocked peremptorily; and so long Ihesitated. But a second knock followed on the first, and a voice Iknew cried imperatively: "Open, open, Francoise!" and I moved towardsthe closet. The girl, distracted by the repeated summons and herterror, hung a moment between me and the door of the room; but in theend had to go to the latter, so that I drew the closet door uponmyself.
Then in a moment it came upon me that if, hiding there, I was found, Ishould shame Denise; it darted through my brain that if, lurking therebehind the closed doors among her woman's things, I was caught, Ishould harm her a hundred times more than if I stood out in the middleof the floor and faced the worst. And with my face on fire at the merethought, I opened the door again, and stepped out; and was just intime. For as the door of the room flew open, and M. de St. Alaisstrode in and looked round, I was the first person he saw.
There were three or four men behind him; and among them the man whom Ihad cheated on the stairs. But M. St. Alais' eyes blazing with wrathcaught mine, and held them; and the others were nothing to me.
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