CHAPTER XXXVIII.
THE VENGEANCE OF VALENTINE LA NINA
When Valentine la Nina left him in the summer parlour where theirinterview had taken place, the Abbe John made no attempt to freehimself. He seemed still half-unconscious, and, indeed, proceededwithout rhyme or reason to make some repairs in the once gay court suit,exactly as if he had been seated in his tent in the camp of theBearnais.
As yet he had no thought of escape. He was in the fortress of theInquisition. The influence of the Place of Eyes was on him still. Toescape appeared an impossibility to his weakened mind. Indeed, hethought only of the strange girl who had just talked with him. Was sheindeed a king's daughter, with provinces to bring in dower, or----No,she could not lie. He was sure of that. She did _not_ lie, certainly,decided the Abbe John, with natural masculine favour towards a beautifulwoman. A girl like that could not have lied. Mad--perhaps, yes, alittle--but to lie, impossible.
So in that quiet place, he watched the slow wheeling of the longcheckered bars of the window _grille_, and the shadows made by thebranches of the Judas tree in the courtyard move regularly across thecarpet. One of the leaves boarded his foot as he looked, climbed up theinstep, and made a pretty shifting pattern upon the silken toe.
The Abbe John had resumed his customary position of easyself-possession--one ankle perched upon the opposing knee, his headthrown far back, his dark hair in some disorder, but curling naturallyand densely, none the less picturesque because of that--when Valentinela Nina re-entered.
He rose at once, and in some surprise. She held a knife in her hand, andher face carried something about it of wild and dangerous, a kind ofstorm-sunshine, as it seemed.
"Hum," thought the Abbe John, as he looked at her, "I had better havestayed in the Place of Eyes! I see not why all this should happen to me.I am an easy man, and have always done what I could to content a lady.But this one asks too much. And then, after all, now there is Claire! Itold her so. It is very tiresome!"
Nevertheless he smiled his sweet, careless smile, and swept back hiscurls with his hand.
"If I am to die, a fellow may as well do it with some grace," hemurmured; "I wish I had been more fit--if only Claire had had the timeto make me a better man!"
Yet it is to be feared that even in that moment the Abbe John thoughtmore of the process (as outlined in his mind with Claire asinstructress) than of the very desirable result.
What the thoughts of Valentine la Nina were when she left the presenceof her uncle could hardly be defined even to her own mind. But seeingthis young man so easy, so debonair in spite of his dishevelledappearance, the girl only held out her left hand. A faint smile, likethe sun breaking momentarily through the thunder-clouds, appeared on herlips.
"I was wrong," she said; "let me help you only--I ask no more. Come!"
And without another word she led him into a narrow passage, between twohigh walls. They passed door after door, all closed, one of them beingthe chamber of Mariana, in which he sat like a spider spinning webs forthe Society of the Gesu. What might have happened if that door had beensuddenly opened in their faces also remains a mystery. For Valentine'sarm was strong, and the dagger her hand held was sharp.
However, as it chanced, the doors remained shut, so that when they cameto a little wicket, of solid iron like all the rest, the steel blade ofthe dagger still shone bright.
Then Valentine la Nina snatched from a nail the long black mantle, withwhich any who left the House of the Holy Office by that door concealedfrom the curious their rank or errand. She flung it about Johnd'Albret's shoulders with a single movement of her arm.
"I do what I can," she said, "yield me the justice to allow that. I amgiving you a chance to return to her. There--take it--now you arearmed!"
She gave him the knife, and the sheath from which she had drawn it inher uncle's bureau.
"And now, bid me farewell--no thanks--I do not want them! You will not,I know, forget me, and I only ask you to pray that I may be able toforget you!"
The Abbe John stooped to kiss her hand, but she snatched it behind herquickly.
"I think I deserve so much," she said softly, holding up her face, "noteven she would deny me!"
And the Abbe John, quieting his soul by the vow of necessity, futureconfession, and absolution, kissed Valentine la Nina.
She gave one little sobbing cry, and would have fallen, had he notcaught her. But she shook him off, striking angrily at his wrist withher clenched hand.
"No! No! _No!_" she cried; "go--I bid you--go, do not heed me. I amwell. They may be here any moment. They are ever on the watch. It cannotbe long. Go. I am repaid. She has never risked as much for you! Lock thedoor without!"
And she pushed him into the street, shut the door, and fell in a whiteheap fainting behind it, as John d'Albret turned the key outside.
The White Plumes of Navarre: A Romance of the Wars of Religion Page 39