XVIII
_To the Bastille._
But Vigo proved better than his word. If he would give us nocountenance, he gave freely good broad gold pieces. He himself suggestedM. Etienne's need of the sinews of war, not in the least embarrassed oroffended because he knew M. le Comte to be angry with him. He was nofeather ruffled, serene in the consciousness that he was absolutely inthe right. His position was impregnable; neither persuasion, ridicule,nor abuse moved him one whit. He had but a single purpose in life; hewas born to forward the interests of the Duke of St. Quentin. He wouldforward them, if need were, over our bleeding corpses.
On top of all his disobedience and disrespect he was most amiable to M.Etienne, treating him with a calm assumption of friendliness that wouldhave maddened a saint. Yet it was not hypocrisy; he liked his younglord, as we all did. He would not let him imperil Monsieur, but asidefrom that he wished him every good fortune in the world.
M. Etienne argued no more. He was wroth and sore over Vigo's attitude,but he said little. He accepted the advance of money--"Of courseMonsieur would say, What coin is his is yours," Vigo explained--anddespatched me to settle his score at the Three Lanterns.
I set out on my errand rather down in the mouth. We had accomplishednothing by our return to the hotel. Nay, rather had we lost, for we wereboth of us, I thought, disheartened by the cold water flung on ourambitions. I took the liberty of doubting whether perfect loyalty toMonsieur included thwarting and disobeying his heir. It was all verywell for Monsieur to spoil Vigo and let him speak his mind as became nothis station, for Vigo never disobeyed _him_, but stood by him in allthings. But I imagined that, were M. Etienne master, Vigo, for all hisyears of service, would be packed off the premises in short order.
I walked along in a brown study, wondering how M. Etienne did purpose torescue mademoiselle. His scheme, so far as vouchsafed to me, wassomewhat in the air. I could only hope he had more in his mind than hehad let me know. It seemed to me a pity not to be doing something in thematter, and though I had no particular liking for Hotel de Lorrainehospitality, I had very willingly been bound thither at this moment totry to get a letter to mademoiselle. But he would not send me.
"No," he had said, "it won't do. Think of something better, Felix."
But I could not, and so was taking my dull way to the inn of the TroisLanternes.
The city wore a sleepy afternoon look. It was very hot, and few caredto be stirring. I saw nothing worth my notice until, only a stone'sthrow from the Three Lanterns, I came upon a big black coach standing atthe door of a rival auberge, L'Oie d'Or. It aroused my interest at once,for a travelling-coach was a rare sight in the beleaguered city. As mymaster had said, this was not a time of pleasure-trips to Paris. Ireadily imagined that the owner of this chariot came on weighty businessindeed. He might be an ambassador from Spain, a legate from Rome.
I paused by the group of street urchins who were stroking the horses andclambering on the back of the coach, to wonder whether it would be worthwhile to wait and see the dignitary come out. I was just going to askthe coachman a question or two concerning his journey, when he began tosnap his whip about the bare legs of the little whelps. The street wasso narrow that he could hardly chastise them without danger to me, so itseemed best to saunter off. The screaming urchins stopped just out ofthe reach of his lash and set to pelting mud at him with a right goodwill, but I was too old for that game. I reflected that I was chargedwith business for my master, and that it was nothing to me what envoysmight come to Mayenne. I went on into the Three Lanterns.
The cabaret was absolutely deserted; one might have walked all about andcarried off what he pleased, as from the sleeping palace in the tale."This is a pretty way to keep an inn," I thought. "Where have all thelazy rascals got to?" Then I heard a confused murmur of voices andshuffle of feet from the back, and I went through into the passage wherethe staircase was.
Here were gathered, in a huddle, like scared sheep, some dozen of theserving-folk, men and maids, the lasses most of them in tears, the menlooking scarce less terrified. Their gaze was fixed on the closed doorof Maitre Menard's little counting-room, whence issued the shrill cry:
"Spare me, noble gentlemen! Spare a poor innkeeper! I swear I knownothing of his whereabouts."
As my footsteps sounded on the threshold, one and all spun round to lookat me in fresh dread.
"Mon dieu, it is his lackey!" a chambermaid cried. In the next second alittle wiry dame, her eyes blazing with fury, darted out of the groupand seized me by the arm with a grip of her nails that made me think apanther had got me.
"So here you are," she screamed. I declare I thought she was going tobite me. "Oh-h-h, you and your fine master, that come here and devourour substance and never pay one sou, but bring ruin to the house! Now,go you straight in there and let them squeeze your throat awhile, andsee how you like it yourself!"
She swept me across the passage like a whirlwind, opened the door,shoved me in, and banged it after me before I could collect my senses.
The room was small; it was very well filled up by a bureau, a strongbox, a table, two chairs, three soldiers, one innkeeper, and myself.
The bureau stood by the window, with Maitre Menard's account-books onit. Opposite was the table, with a captain of dragoons on it. Of his twomen, one took the middle of the room, amusing himself with the windpipeof Maitre Menard; the other was posted at the door. I was shot out ofMme. Menard's grasp into his, and I found his the gentler of the two.
"I say I know not where he went," Maitre Menard was gasping, black inthe face from the dragoon's attentions. "He did not tell--I have nonotion. Ah--" The breath failed him utterly, but his eyes, bloodshot andbulging, rolled toward me.
"What now?" the captain cried, springing to his feet. "Who are you?"
He wore under his breastplate what I took to be the uniform of the cityguards. I had seen the like on the officer of the gate the night Ientered Paris. He was a young man of a decidedly bourgeois appearance,as if he were not much, outside of his uniform.
"My name is Felix Broux," I said. "I came to pay a bill--"
"His servant," Maitre Menard contrived to murmur, the dragoon allowinghim a breath.
"Oh, you are the Comte de Mar's servant, are you? Where have you leftyour master?"
"What do you want of him?" I asked in turn.
"Never you mind. I want him."
"But Mayenne said he should not be touched," I cried. "The Duke ofMayenne said himself he should not be touched."
"I know nothing about that," he returned, a trifle more civilly than hehad spoken. "I have naught to do with the Duke of Mayenne. If he isfriends with your master, M. de Mar may not stay behind bars very long.But I have the governor's warrant for his arrest."
"On what charge?"
"A trifle. Merely murder."
"_Murder?_"
"Yes, the murder of a lackey, one Pontou."
"But that is ridiculous!" I cried. "M. le Comte did not--"
I came to a halt, not knowing what to say. "Lucas--Paul de Lorrainekilled him," was on the tip of my tongue, but I choked it down. To flingwild accusations against a great man's man were no wisdom. By accident Ihad given the officer the impression that we were friends of Mayenne. Ishould do ill to imperil the delusion. "M. le Comte--" I began again,and again stopped. I meant to say that monsieur had never left the innlast night; he could have had no hand in the crime. Then I bethought methat I had better not know the hour of the murder. "M. le Comte is avery grand gentleman; he would not murder a lackey," I got out at last.
"You can tell that to the judges," the captain rejoined.
At this I felt ice sliding down my spine. To be arrested as a witnesswas the last thing I desired.
"I know nothing whatever about it," I cried. "He seemed to me a veryfine gentleman. But you can't always tell about these nobles. The Comtede Mar, I've only known him twenty-four hours. Until he engaged me aslackey, yesterday afternoon, I had never laid eyes on him. I know notwhat he has been a
bout. He engaged me yesterday to carry a message forhim to the Hotel St. Quentin. I came into Paris but night before last,and put up at the Amour de Dieu in the Rue Coupejarrets. Yesterday heemployed me to run his errands, and last night brought me here with him.But I had never seen him till this time yesterday. I know nothing abouthim save that he seemed a very free-handed, easy master."
To a nice ear I might have seemed a little too voluble, but the captainonly laughed at my patent fright.
"Oh, you need not look so whey-faced; I have no warrant for your arrest.I dare say you are as great a rogue as he, but the order says nothingabout you. Don't swoon away; you are in no peril."
I was stung to be thought such a craven, but I pocketed the insult, andmerely answered:
"I assure you, monsieur, I know naught of the matter." Yesterday I wouldhave blurted out to him the whole truth; decidedly my experiences wereteaching me something.
"Come now, I can't fool about here all day," he said impatiently. "Tellme where that precious master of yours is now. And be quicker about itthan this old mule."
Maitre Menard, then, had told them nothing--staunch old loyalist. Heknew perfectly that M. le Comte had gone home, and they had throttledhim, and yet he had not told. Well, he should not lose by it.
"Monsieur is about the streets somewhere. On my life, I know not where.But I know he will be back here to supper."
"Oh, you don't know, don't you? Then perhaps Gaspard can quicken yourmemory."
At the word the soldier who had attended to Maitre Menard came over tome and taught me how it feels to be hanged. I said to myself that if Ihad talked like a dastard I was not one, and every time he let me speakI gasped, "I don't know." The room was black to me, and the sea roaredin my ears, and I wondered whether I had done well to tell the lie. Forhad I said that my master was in the Hotel St Quentin, still thosefellows would have found it no easy job to take him. Vigo might not beready to defend Mlle. de Montluc, but he would defend Monsieur's heir tothe last gasp. Yet I would not yield before the choking Maitre Menardhad withstood, and I stuck to my lie.
Then I bethought me, while the room reeled about me and my head seemedlike to burst, that perchance if they should keep me here a captive forM. le Comte's arrival he might really follow to see what had become ofme. I turned sick with the fear of it, and resolved on the truth. ButGaspard's last gullet-gripe had robbed me of the power to speak. I couldonly pant and choke. As I struggled painfully for wind, the door wasflung open before a tall young man in black. Through the haze that hungbefore my vision I saw the soldier seize him as he crossed thethreshold. Through the noise of waters I heard the captain's cry oftriumph.
"Oh, M. Etienne!" I gasped, in agony that my pain had been for nothing.Now all was lost. Then the blur lifted, and my amazed eyes beheld not mymaster, but--Lucas!
"How now, sirrah?" he cried to the dragoon. "Hands off me, knaves!" Forthe second soldier had seized his other arm.
"I regret to inconvenience monsieur," the captain answered, "but he iswanted at the Bastille."
"Wanted? I?" Lucas cried, fear flashing into his eyes.
He felt an instant's terror, I deem, lest Mayenne had betrayed him.Quick as he was, he did not see that he had been taken for another man.
"You, monsieur. You are wanted for the murder of your man, Pontou."
He grew white, looking instinctively at me, remembering where I had beenat three o'clock this morning.
"It is a lie! He left my service a month back and I have never seen himsince."
"Tell that to the judges," the captain said, as he had said to me. "I amnot trying you. The handcuffs, men."
One of them produced a pair. Lucas struggled frantically in his captors'grasp. He dragged them from one end of the room to the other, callingdown all the curses of Heaven upon them; but they snapped the handcuffson for all that.
"If this is Mayenne's work--" he panted.
The officer caught nothing but the name Mayenne.
"The boy said you were a friend to his Grace, monsieur, but orders areorders. I have the warrant for your arrest from M. de Belin."
"At whose instigation?"
"How should I know'? I am a soldier of the guard. I have naught to dowith it but to arrest you."
"Let me see the warrant."
"I am not obliged to. But I will, though. It may quiet your bluster."
He took out the warrant and held it at a safe distance before Lucas'seyes. A great light broke in on that personage.
"Mille tonnerres! I am not the Comte de Mar!"
"Oh, you say that now, do you? Pity you had not thought of it sooner."
"But I am not the Comte de Mar! I am Paul de Lorraine, nephew to my LordMayenne."
"Why don't you say straight out that you're the Duc de Guise?"
"I am not the Due de Guise," Lucas returned with dignity. He must havebeen cursing himself that he had not given his name sooner. "But I amhis brother."
"You take me for a fool."
"Aye, who shall hang for his folly!"
"You must think me a fool," the captain repeated. "The Duke of Guise'seldest brother is but seventeen--"
"I did not say I was legitimate."
"Oh, you did not say that? You did not know, then, that I could reel offthe ages of every Lorraine of them all. No, M. de Mar, I am not sosimple as you think. You will come along with me to the Bastille."
"Blockhead! I'll have you broken on the wheel for this," Lucas stormed."I am no more Count of Mar than I am King of Spain. Speak up, you oldturnspit," he shouted to Maitre Menard. "Am I he?"
Poor Maitre Menard had dropped down on his iron box, too limp and sickto know what was going on. He only stared helplessly.
"Speak, rascal," Lucas cried. "Am I Comte de Mar?"
"No," the maitre answered in low, faltering tones. He was at the lastpoint of pain and fear. "No, monsieur officer, it is as he says. He isnot the Comte de Mar."
"Who is he, then?"
"I know not," the maitre stammered. "He came here last night. But it isas he says--he is not the Comte de Mar."
"Take care, mine host," the officer returned; "you're lying."
I could not wonder at him; if I had not been in a position to knowotherwise, I had thought myself the maitre was lying.
"If you had spoken at first I might have believed you," the captainsaid, bestowing a kick on him. "Get out of here, old ass, before I cramyour lie down your throat. And clear your people away from this door.I'll not walk through a mob. Send every man Jack about his business, orit will be the worse for him. And every woman Jill, too."
"M. le Capitaine," Maitre Menard quavered, rising unsteadily to hisfeet, "you make a mistake. On my sacred word, you mistake; this isnot--"
"Get out!" cried the captain, helping him along with his boot. MaitreMenard fell rather than walked out of the door.
A gray hue came over Lucas's face. His first fright had given way tofury at perceiving himself the victim of a mistake, but now alarm wasborn in his eyes again. Was it, after all, a mistake? This obstinatedisbelief in his assertion, this ordering away of all who could swear tohis identity--was it not rather a plot for his ruin? He swallowed hardonce or twice, fear gripping his throat harder than ever the dragoon'sfingers had gripped mine. Certainly he was not the Comte de Mar; butthen he was the man who had killed Pontou.
"If this is a plot against me, say so!" he cried. "If you have orders toarrest me, do so. But arrest me by the name of Paul de Lorraine, not ofEtienne de Mar."
"The name of Etienne de Mar will do," the captain returned; "we have nofancy for aliases at the Bastille."
"It is a plot!" Lucas cried.
"It is a warrant; that is all I know about it"
"But I am not Comte de Mar," Lucas repeated.
His uneasy conscience had numbed his wits. In his dread of a plot he haddone little to dissipate an error. But now he pulled himself together;error or intention, he would act as if he knew it must be error.
"My captain, you have made a mista
ke likely to cost you yourshoulder-straps. I tell you I am not Mar; the landlord, who knows himwell, tells you I am not Mar. Ask those who know M. de Mar; ask theseinn people. They will one and all tell you I am not he. Ask that boythere; even he dares not say to my face that I am."
His eyes met mine, and I could see that, even in the moment ofchallenging me, he repented. He believed that I would give the lie. Butthe dragoon who was bending over him, relieving him of his sword-belt,spared me the necessity.
"Captain, you need give yourself no uneasiness; this is the Comte rightenough. I live in the Quartier Marais, and I have seen this gentleman ascore of times riding with M. de St. Quentin."
Lucas, at this unexpected testimony, looked so taken aback that thecaptain burst out laughing.
"Yes, my dear monsieur, it is a little hard for M. de Mayenne'snephew--you are a nephew, are you not?--to explain how he comes to ridewith the Duc de St. Quentin."
It was awkward to explain. Lucas, knowing well that there was no futurefor him who betrayed the Generalissimo's secrets, cried out angrily:
"He lies! I never rode out with M. de St. Quentin."
"Oh, come now. Really you waste a great deal of breath," the captainsaid. "I regret the cruel necessity of arresting you, M. de Mar; butthere is nothing gained by blustering about it. I usually know what I amabout."
"You do not know! Nom de dieu, you do not know. Felix Broux, speak upthere. If you have told him behind my back that I am Etienne de Mar, Idefy you to say it to my face."
"I know nothing about it, messieurs." I repeated my little refrain."Monsieur captain, remember, if you please, I never saw him tillyesterday; he may be Paul de Lorraine for all I know. But he did notcall himself that yesterday."
"You hell-hound!" Lucas cried.
"Go tell Louis to drive up to the cabaret door, Gaspard," bade thecaptain.
Lucas gazed at him as if to tear out of him the truth of the matter. Ithink he was still a prey to suspicion of a plot in this, and itparalyzed his tongue. He so reeked with intrigue that he smelled onewherever he went. He was much too clever to believe that this arrestingofficer was simply thick-witted.
"I say no more," he cried. "You may spare yourself your lies, the wholecrew of you. I go as your prisoner, but I go as Paul of Lorraine, son ofHenry, Duke of Guise."
He said it with a certain superbness; but the young captain, bourgeoisof the bourgeois, did not mean to let himself be put down by any sprigof the noblesse.
"Certainly, if it is any comfort to you," he retorted. "But you are verydull, monsieur, not to be aware that your identity is known perfectlyto others besides your lackey here and my man. I did not come to arrestyou without a minute description of you from M. de Belin himself."
"Ventre bleu!" Lucas shouted. "I wrote the description. I myself lodgedinformation against Mar. I came here to make sure you took him. Carry mebefore Belin; he will know me."
I trembled lest the officer could not but see that the man spoke truth.But I had no need to fear; there is a combination of stupidity andvanity which nothing can move.
"I have no orders to take you to M. de Belin," he returned calmly. "Soyou wrote the description, did you? Perhaps you will deny that it fitsyou?"
He read from the paper:
"'Charles-Andre-Etienne-Marie de St. Quentin, Comte de Mar. Age,three-and-twenty; figure, tall and slender; was dressed yesterday inblack with a plain falling-band; carries his right arm in a sling--"
"Is my arm in a sling?" Lucas demanded.
"No, in a handcuff," the captain laughed, at the same moment that hisdragoon exclaimed, "His right wrist is bandaged, though."
"That is nothing! It is a mere scratch. I did it myself last night byaccident," Lucas shouted, striving with his hampered left hand to pullthe folds apart to show it. But he could not, and fell silent,wide-eyed, like one who sees the net of fate drawing in about him. Thecaptain went on reading from his little paper:
"HE WAS DEPOSITED IN THE BIG BLACK COACH."]
"'Fair hair, gray eyes, aquiline nose'--I suppose you will still tellus, monsieur, that you are not the man?"
"I am not he. The Comte de Mar and I are nothing alike. We are bothyoung, tall, yes; but that is all. He is slashed all up the forearm; mywrist is but scratched with a knife-edge. He has yellow hair; mine isbrown. His eyes--"
"It is plain to me, monsieur," the officer interrupted, "that thedescription fits you in every particular." And so it did.
I, who had heard M. Etienne described twenty times, had yesterdaymistaken Lucas for him; the same items served for both. It was the moreremarkable because they actually looked no more alike than chalk andcheese. Lucas had set down his catalogue without a thought that he wasdrawing his own picture. If ever hunter was caught in his own gin, Lucaswas!
"You lie!" he cried furiously. "You know I am not Mar. You lie, thewhole pack of you!"
"Gag him, Ravelle," the captain commanded with an angry flush.
"I demand to be taken before M. de Belin!" Lucas shouted.
The next moment the soldier had twisted a handkerchief about his mouth.
"Ready?" the captain asked of Gaspard, who had come back just in time toaid in the throttling. "Move on, then."
He led the way out, the two dragoons following with their prisoner. Andthis time Lucas's fertile wits failed him. He did not slip from hiscaptors' fingers between the room and the street. He was deposited inthe big black coach that had aroused my wonder. Louis cracked his whipand off they rumbled.
I laughed all the way back to the Hotel St. Quentin.
The Helmet of Navarre Page 19