The Helmet of Navarre

by Bertha Runkle

  XVII

  _"I'll win my lady!"_

  Lucas's prophecy came to grief within five minutes of the making. Forwhen the musketeer unbarred the house door for me, the first thing I sawwas the morning sun.

  My spirits danced at sight of him, as he himself might dance on Easterday. Within the close, candle-lit room I had had no thought but that itwas still black midnight; and now at one step I passed from the gloomyhouse into the heartening sunshine of a new clean day. I ran along asjoyously as if I had left the last of my troubles behind me, forgottenin some dark corner of the Hotel de Lorraine. Always my heart liftswhen, after hours within walls, I find myself in the open again. I amafraid in houses, but out of doors I have no fear of harm from any manor any thing.

  Though Sir Sun was risen this half-hour, and at home we should all havebeen about our business, these lazy Paris folk were still snoring. Theyliked well to turn night into day and lie long abed of a morning.Although here a shopkeeper took down shutters, and there a briskservant-lass swept the door-step, yet I walked through a sleeping city,quiet as our St. Quentin woods, save that here my footsteps echoed inthe emptiness. At length, with the knack I have, whatever mystupidities, of finding my way in a strange place, I arrived before thecourtyard of the Trois Lanternes. The big wooden doors were indeed shut,but when I had pounded lustily awhile a young tapster, half clad andcross as a bear, opened to me. I vouchsafed him scant apology, but,dropping on a heap of hay under a shed in the court, passed straightwayinto dreamless slumber.

  When I awoke my good friend the sun was looking down at me from near hiszenith, and my first happy thought was that I was just in time fordinner. Then I discovered that I had been prodded out of my rest by thepitchfork of a hostler.

  "Sorry to disturb monsieur, but the horses must be fed."

  "Oh, I am obliged to you," I said, rubbing my eyes. "I must go up to M.le Comte."

  "He has been himself to look at you, and gave orders you were not to bedisturbed. But that was last week. Dame! you slept like a sabot."

  It did not take me long to brush the straw off me, wash my face at thetrough, and present myself before monsieur. He was dressed and sittingat table in his bedchamber, while a drawer served him with dinner.

  "You are out of bed, monsieur," I cried.

  "But yes," he answered, springing up, "I am as well as ever I was.Felix, what has happened to you?"

  "SORRY TO DISTURB MONSIEUR, BUT THE HORSES MUST BEFED."]

  I glanced at the serving-man; M. Etienne ordered him at once from theroom.

  "Now tell me quickly," he cried, as I faltered, tongue-tied from veryrichness of matter. "Mademoiselle?"

  "Ah, mademoiselle!" I exclaimed. "Mademoiselle is--" I paused in adearth of words worthy of her.

  "She is, she is!" he agreed, laughing. "Oh, go on, you little slow-poke!You saw her? And she said--"

  He was near to laying hands on me, to hurry my tale.

  "I saw her and Mayenne and Lucas and ever so many things," I told him."And they had me flogged, and mademoiselle loves you."

  "She does!" he cried, flushing. "Felix, does she? You cannot know."

  "But I do know it," I answered, not very lucidly. "You see, she wouldn'thave wept so much, just over me."

  "Did she weep? Lorance?" he exclaimed.

  "They flogged me," I said. "They didn't hurt me much. But she came downin the night with a candle and cried over me."

  "And what said she? Now I am sorry they beat you. Who did that? Mayenne?What said she, Felix?"

  "And then," I went on, not heeding his questions in sudden remembranceof my crowning news, "Mayenne and Lucas came in. And here is somethingyou do not know, monsieur. Lucas is Paul de Lorraine, Henri de Guise'sson."

  "Mille tonnerres du ciel! But he is a Huguenot, a Rochelais!"

  "Yes, but he is a son of Henri le Balafre. His mother was Rochelaise, Ithink. He was a spy for Navarre and captured at Ivry. They were going tohang him when Mayenne, worse luck, recognized him for a nephew. Sincethen he has been spying for them. Because Mayenne promised him Mlle. deMontluc in marriage."

  He stared at me with dropped jaw, absolutely too startled to swear.

  "He has not got her yet!" I cried. "Mayenne told him he should have herwhen he had killed St. Quentin. And St. Quentin is alive."

  "Great God!" said M. Etienne, only half aloud, dropping down on the armof his chair, overcome to realize the issue that had hung on a paltryhandful of pistoles. Then, recovering, himself a little, he cried:

  "But she--mademoiselle?"

  "You need give yourself no uneasiness there," I said. "Mademoisellehates him."

  "Does she know--"

  "I think she understands quite well what Lucas is," I made answer."Monsieur, I must tell you everything that happened from the beginning,or I shall never make it clear to you."

  "Yes, yes, go on," he cried.

  He sat down at table again, with the intention of eating his dinner as Italked, but precious few mouthfuls he took. At every word I spoke he gotdeeper into the interest of my tale. I never talked so much in my life,me, as I did those few days. I was always relating a history, toMonsieur, to mademoiselle, to M. Etienne, to--well, you shall know.

  I had finished at length, and he burst out at me:

  "You little scamp, you have all the luck! I never saw such a boy! Welldo they call you Felix! Mordieu, here I lie lapped in bed like a baby,while you go forth knight-erranting. I must lie here with old Galen forall company, while you bandy words with the Generalissimo himself! Andmake faces at Lucas, and kiss the hands of mademoiselle! But I'll standit no longer. I'm done with lying abed and letting you have all the fun.No; to-day I shall take part myself."

  "But monsieur's arm--"

  "Pshaw, it is well!" he cried. "It is a scratch--it is nothing. Pardieu,it takes more than that to put a St. Quentin out of the reckoning.To-day is no time for sloth; I must act."

  "Monsieur--" I began, but he broke in on me:

  "Nom de dieu, Felix, are we to sit idle while mademoiselle is carriedoff by that beast Lucas?"

  "Of course not," I said. "I was only trying to ask what monsieur meantto do."

  "To take the moon in my teeth," he cried.

  "Yes, monsieur, but how?"

  "Ah, if I knew!"

  He stared at me as if he would read the answer in my face, but he foundit as blank as the wall. He flung away and made a turn down the room,and came back to seize me by the arm.

  "How are we to do it, Felix?" he demanded.

  But I could only shrug my shoulders and answer:

  "Sais pas."

  He paced the floor once more, and presently faced me again with thedeclaration:

  "Lucas shall have her only over my dead body."

  "He will only have her own dead body," I said.

  He turned away abruptly and stood at the window, looking out withunseeing eyes. "Lorance--Lorance," he murmured to himself. I think hedid not know he spoke aloud.

  "If I could get word to her--" he went on presently. "But I can't sendyou again. Should I write a letter--But letters are mischievous. Theyfall into the wrong hands, and then where are we?"

  "Monsieur," I suggested, "if I could get a letter into the hands ofPierre, that lackey who befriended me--" But he shook his head.

  "They know you about the place. It were safer to despatch one of theseinn-men--if any had the sense to go rein in hand. Hang me if I don'tthink I'll go myself!"

  "Monsieur," I said, "Lucas swore by all things sacred that he wouldnever molest you more. Therefore you will do well to keep out of hisway."

  "My faith, Felix," he laughed, "you take a black view of mankind."

  "Not of mankind, M. Etienne. Only of Lucas. Not of Monsieur, or you, orVigo."

  "And of Mayenne?"

  "I don't make out Mayenne," I answered. "I thought he was the worst ofthe crew. But he let me go. He said he would, and he did."

  "Think you he meant to let you go from the first?"

  "Who knows?" I sai
d, shrugging. "Lucas is always lying. ButMayenne--sometimes he lies and sometimes not. He's base, and then againhe's kind. You can't make out Mayenne."

  "He does not mean you shall," M. Etienne returned. "Yet the key is notburied. He is made up, like all the rest of us, of good and bad."

  "Monsieur," I said, "if there is any bad in the St. Quentins I, for one,do not know it."

  "Ah, Felix," he cried, "you may believe that till doomsday--you will--ofMonsieur."

  His face clouded a little, and he fell silent. I knew that, besides histhoughts of his lady, came other thoughts of his father. He sat gravelysilent. But of last night's bitter distress he showed no trace. Lastnight he had not been able to take his eyes from the miserable past; butto-day he saw the future. A future not altogether flowery, perhaps, butone which, however it turned out, should not repeat the old mistakes andshames.

  "Felix," he said at length, "I see nothing for it but to eat my pride."

  I kept still in the happy hope that I should hear just what I longed to;he went on:

  "I swore then that I would never darken his doors again; I was mad withanger; so was he. He said if I went with Gervais I went forever."

  "Monsieur, if you repent your hot words, so does he."

  "I must e'en give him the chance. If he do repent them, it werechurlish to deny him the opportunity to tell me so. If he still maintainthem, it were cowardly to shrink from hearing it. No, whatever Monsieurreplies, I must go tell him I repent."

  I came forward to kiss his hand, I was so pleased.

  "Oh, you look very smiling over it," he cried. "Think you I likesneaking back home again like a whipped hound to his kennel?"

  "But," I protested, indignant, "monsieur is not a whipped hound."

  "Well, a prodigal son, as Lucas named me yesterday. It is the samething."

  "I have heard M. l'Abbe read the story of the prodigal son," I said."And he was a vaurien, if you like--no more monsieur's sort than Lucashimself. But it says that when his father saw him coming a long way off,he ran out to meet him and fell on his neck."

  M. Etienne looked not altogether convinced.

  "Well, however it turns out, it must be gone through with. It is onlydecent to go to Monsieur. But even at that, I think I should not go ifit were not for mademoiselle."

  "You will beg his aid, monsieur?"

  "I will beg his advice at least. For how you and I are to carry offmademoiselle under Mayenne's hand--well, I confess for the nonce thatbeats me."

  "We must do it, monsieur," I cried.

  "Aye, and we will! Come, Felix, you may put your knife in my dish. Wemust eat and be off. The meats have got cold and the wine warm, butnever mind."

  I did not mind, but was indeed thankful to get any dinner at all. Onceresolved on the move, he was in a fever to be off; it was not longbefore we were in the streets, bound for the Hotel St. Quentin. He saidno more of Monsieur as we walked, but plied me with questions aboutMlle. de Montluc--not only as to every word she said, but as to everyturn of her head and flicker of her eyelids; and he called me a dull oafwhen I could not answer. But as we entered the Quartier Marais he fellsilent, more Friday-faced than ever his lady looked. He had his fairallowance of pride, this M. Etienne; he found his own words no palatablemeal.

  However, when we came within a dozen paces of the gate he dropped, asone drops a cloak, all signs of gloom or discomposure, and approachedthe entrance with the easy swagger of the gay young gallant who hadlived there. As if returning from a morning stroll he called to thesentry:

  "Hola, squinting Charlot! Open now!"

  "Morbleu, M. le Comte!" the fellow exclaimed, running to draw the bolts."Well, this is a sight for sore eyes, anyway."

  M. Etienne laughed out in pleasure. It put heart into him, I could see,that his first greeting should be thus friendly.

  "Vigo didn't know what had become of you, monsieur," Chariotvolunteered. "The old man wasn't in the best of tempers last night,after Lucas got away and you gave us the slip, too. He called us allblockheads and cursed idiots. Things were lively for a time, nom d'unchien!"

  "Eh bien, I am found," M. Etienne returned. "In time we'll get Lucas,too. Is Monsieur back?"

  "No, M. Etienne, not yet."

  I think he was half sorry, half glad.

  "Where's Vigo?" he demanded.

  "Somewhere about. I'll find him for monsieur."

  "No, stay at your post. I'll find him."

  He went straight across the court and in at the door he had sworn neveragain to darken. Humility and repentance might have brought him there,but it was the hand of mademoiselle drew him over the threshold withouta falter.

  Alone in the hall was my little friend Marcel, throwing dice againsthimself to while the time away. He sprang up at sight of us, agleam withexcitement.

  "Well, Marcel," my master said, "and where is M. l'Ecuyer?"

  "I think in the stables, monsieur."

  "Bid him come to me in the small cabinet."

  He turned with accustomed feet into the room at the end of the hallwhere Vigo kept the rolls of the guard. I, knowing it to be my duty tokeep close at hand lest I be wanted, followed. Soon Marcel came flyingback to say Vigo was on his way. M. Etienne thanked him, and he hungabout, longing to pump me, and, in my lord's presence, not quite daring,till I took him by the shoulders and turned him out. I hate curiosity.

  M. Etienne stood behind the table, looking his haughtiest. He was unsureof a welcome from the contumacious Vigo; I read in his eyes a sterndetermination to set this insolent servant in his place.

  The big man entered, saluted, came straight over to his young lord'sside, no whit hesitating, and said, as heartily as if there had neverbeen a hard word between them:

  "M. Etienne, I had liefer see you stand here than the king himself."

  M. Etienne displayed the funniest face of bafflement. He had beenprepared to lash rudeness or sullenness, to accept, de haut en bas,shamed contrition. But this easy cordiality took the wind out of hissails. He stared, and then flushed, and then laughed. And then he heldout his hand, saying simply:

  "Thank you, Vigo."

  Vigo bent over to kiss it in cheerful ignorance of how that hand haditched to box his ears.

  "What became of you last night, M. Etienne?" he inquired.

  "I was hunting Lucas. When does Monsieur return, Vigo?"

  "He thought he might be back to-day. But he could not tell."

  "Have you sent to tell him about me?" he asked, colouring.

  "No, I couldn't do that," Vigo said. "You see, it is quite on the cardsthat the Spanish gang may come hither to clean us out. I want every manI have if they do."

  "I understand that," M. Etienne said, "but--"

  "So long as you are innocent a day or two matters not," Vigopronounced. "He will presently turn up here or send word that he willnot return till the king comes in. But since you are impatient, M. leComte, you can go to him at St. Denis. If _he_ can get through the gates_you_ can."

  "Aye, but I have business in Paris. I mean to join King Henry, Vigo.There's glory going begging out there at St. Denis. It would like mewell to bear away my share. But--"

  He broke off, to begin again abruptly:

  "Ah, Vigo, that still tongue of yours! You knew, then, that there wasmore cause of trouble between my father and me than the pistoles?"

  "I knew he suspected you of a kindness for the League, monsieur. But youare cured of that."

  "There you are wrong. For I never had it, and I am not cured of it. If Ihung around the Hotel de Lorraine, it was not for politics; it was forpetticoats."

  Vigo made no answer, but the corners of his grim mouth twitched.

  "That's no news, either? Well, then, since you know so much, you may aswell know more. Step up, Felix, and tell your tale."

  I did as I was bid, M. Etienne now and then taking the words out of mymouth in his eagerness, Vigo listening to us both with grave attention.I had for the second time in my career the pleasure of startling him outof his iron com
posure when I told him the true name and condition ofLucas. But at the end of the adventure all the comment he made was:

  "A fool for luck."

  "Well," said M. Etienne, impatiently, "is that all you have to say? Whatare we to do about it?"

  "Do? Why, nothing."

  "Nothing?" he cried, with his hand on his sword. "Nothing? And let thatscoundrel have her?"

  "That is M. de Mayenne's affair," Vigo said. "We can't help it."

  "I will help it!" M. Etienne declared. "Mordieu! Am I to let thattraitor, that spy, that soul of dirt, marry Mlle. de Montluc?"

  "What Mayenne wishes he'll have," Vigo said. "Some day you will surelyget a chance to fight Lucas, monsieur."

  "And meantime he is to enjoy her?"

  "It is a pity," Vigo admitted. "But there is Mayenne. Can we storm theHotel de Lorraine? No one can drink up the sea."

  "One could if he wanted to as much as I want mademoiselle," my lorddeclared.

  But Vigo shook his head.

  "Monsieur," he said gravely, "monsieur, you have a great chance. Youhave a sword and a good cause to draw it in. What more should a man askin the world than that? Your father has been without it these threeyears, and for want of it he has eaten his heart out. You have beenwithout it, and you have got yourself into all sorts of mischief. Butnow all that is coming straight. King Henry is turning Catholic, so thata man may follow him without offence to God. He is a good fellow and afirst-rate general. He's just out there, at St. Denis. There's yourplace, M. Etienne."

  "Not to-day, Vigo."

  "Yes, M. Etienne, to-day. Be advised, monsieur," Vigo said with hissteady persistence. "There is nothing to gain by staying here to drinkup the sea. Mayenne will no more give your lady to you now than he wouldgive her to Felix. And you can no more carry her off than could Felix.Mayenne will have you killed and flung into the Seine, as easy as eatbreakfast."

  "And you bid me grudge my life? Strange counsel from you, Vigo."

  "No, monsieur, but I bid you not throw it away. We all hope to dieafield, but we have a preference how and where. If you fell fighting forNavarre, I should be sorry; Monsieur would grieve deep. But we shouldsay it was well; we grudged not your life to the country and the king.While, if you fall in this fool affair--"

  "I fall for my lady," M. Etienne finished. "The bravest captain of themall does no better than that."

  "M. Etienne, she is no wife for you. You cannot get her. And if youcould 'twere pity. She is a Ligueuse, and you from now on are a staunchKingsman. Give her up, monsieur. You have had this maggot in your brainthis four years. Once for all, get it out. Go to St. Denis; take yourtroop among Biron's horse. That is the place for you. You will marry amaid of honour and die a marshal of France."

  M. Etienne laid his arm around Vigo's shoulder with a smile.

  "Good old Vigo! Vigo, tell me this; if you saw a marshal's baton waitingyou in the field, and at home your dearest friend were alone and inperil, would you go off after glory?"

  "Aye, if 'twas a hopeless business to stay, certes I would go."

  "Oh, tell that in Bedlam!" M. Etienne cried. "You would do nothing ofthe sort. Was it to win glory you stayed three years in that hole, St.Quentin?"

  "I had no choice, monsieur. My master was there."

  "And my mistress is here! You may save your breath, Vigo; I know what Ishall do. The eloquence of monk Christin wouldn't change me."

  "What is your purpose, M. Etienne?" Vigo asked.

  Indeed, there was a vagueness about his scheme as revealed to us.

  "It is quite simple. I purpose to get speech with mademoiselle if I cancontrive it, and I think I can. I purpose to smuggle her out of theHotel de Lorraine--such feats have been accomplished before and may beagain. Then I shall bring her here and hold her against all comers."

  "No," Vigo said, "no, monsieur. You may not do that."

  "Ventre bleu, Vigo!" his young lord cried.

  "No," said Vigo. "I can't have her here, and Mayenne's army after her."

  "Coward!" shouted M. Etienne.

  I thought Vigo would take us both by the scruff of our necks and throwus out of the place. But he answered undisturbed:

  "No, that is not the reason, monsieur. If M. le Duc told me to hold thishouse against the armies of France and Spain, I'd hold it till the lastman of us was dead. But I am here in his absence to guard his hotel, hismoneys, and his papers. I don't call it guarding to throw a firebrandamong them. Bringing Mayenne's niece here would be worse than that."

  "Monsieur would never hesitate! Monsieur is no chicken-heart!" M.Etienne cried. "If he were here, he'd say, 'We'll defend the lady ifevery stone in this house is pulled from its fellow!'"

  A twinkle came into Vigo's eyes.

  "I think that is likely true," he said. "Monsieur opposed the marriageas long as Mayenne desired it; but now that Mayenne forbids it, stealingthe demoiselle is another pair of sleeves."

  "Well, then," cried M. Etienne, all good humour in a moment, "what moredo you want? We'll divert ourselves pouring pitch out of the windows onMayenne's ruffians."

  "No, M. Etienne, it can't be done. If M. le Duc were here and gave thecommand to receive her, that would be one thing. No one would obey witha readier heart than I. Mordieu, monsieur, I have no objection tosuccouring a damsel in distress; I have been in the business beforenow."

  "Then why not now? Death of my life, Vigo! When I know, and you know,Monsieur would approve."

  "I don't know it, monsieur," Vigo said. "I only think it. And I cannotmove by my own guesswork. I am in charge of the house till Monsieurreturns. I purpose to do nothing to jeopard it. But I interfere in noway with your liberty to proceed as you please."

  "I should think not, forsooth!" M. Etienne blazed out furiously.

  "I could," rejoined Vigo, with his maddening tranquillity. "I couldorder the guard--and they would obey--to lock you up in your chamber. Ibelieve Monsieur would thank me for it. But I don't do it. I leave youfree to act as it likes you."

  My lord was white with ire.

  "Who is master here, you or I?"

  "Neither of us, M. le Comte. But Monsieur, leaving, put the keys in myhand, and I am head of the house till he returns. You are very angry, M.Etienne, but my shoulders are broad enough to bear it. Your madness willget no countenance from me."

  "Hang you for an obstinate pig!" M. Etienne cried.

  Vigo said no more. He had made plain his position; he had naught to addor retract. Yeux-gris's face cleared. After all, there was no use beingangry with Vigo; one might as well make fists at the flow of the Seine.

  "Very well." M. Etienne swallowed his wrath. "It is understood that Iget no aid from you. Then I have nobody in the world with me save Felixhere. But for all that I'll win my lady!"