XXI
_A chance encounter._
The street before us was as orderly as the aisle of Notre Dame. Fewway-farers passed us; those there were talked together as placidly as iflove-trysts and melees existed not, and tunnels and countersigns werebut the smoke of a dream. It was a street of shops, all shuttered,while, above, the burghers' families went respectably to bed.
"This is the Rue de la Ferronnerie," my master said, pausing a moment totake his bearings. "See, under the lantern, the sign of the PiercedHeart. The little shop is in the Rue de la Soierie. We are close by theHalles--we must have come half a mile underground. Well, we'll swingabout in a circle to get home. For this night I've had enough of theHotel de Lorraine."
And I. But I held my tongue about it, as became me.
"They were wider awake than I thought--those Lorrainers. Pardieu! Feix,you and I came closer quarters with death than is entirely amusing."
"If that door had not opened-" I shuddered.
"A new saint in the calendar--la Sainte Ferou! But what a madcap of asaint, then! My faith, she must have led them a dance when Francis I wasking!
"Natheless it galls me," he went on, half to himself, "to know that Iwas lost by my own folly, saved by pure chance. I underrated theenemy--worst mistake in the book of strategy. I came near flinging awaytwo lives and making a most unsightly mess under a lady's window."
"Monsieur made somewhat of a mess as it was."
"Aye. I would I knew whether I killed Brie. We'll go round in themorning and find out."
"I am thankful that monsieur does not mean to go to-night."
"Not to-night, Felix; I've had enough. No; we'll get home withoutpassing near the Hotel de Lorraine, if we go outside the walls to do it.To-night I draw my sword no more."
To this day I have no quite clear idea of how we went. A strange city atnight--Paris of all cities--is a labyrinth. I know that after a time wecame out in some meadows along the river-bank, traversed them, andplunged once more into narrow, high-walled streets. It was very late,and lights were few. We had started in clear starlight, but now a rackof clouds hid even their pale shine.
"The snake-hole over again," said M. Etienne. "But we are almost at ourown gates."
But, as in the snake-hole, came light. Turning a sharp corner, we ranstraight into a gentleman and his porte-flambeau, swinging along at assmart a pace as we.
"A thousand pardons," M. Etienne cried to his encounterer, the possessorof years and gravity but of no great size, whom he had almost knockeddown. "I heard you, but knew not you were so close. We were speeding toget home."
The personage was also of a portliness, and the collision had knockedthe wind out of him. He leaned panting against the wall. As he scannedM. Etienne's open countenance and princely dress his alarm vanished.
"It is unseemly to go about on a night like this without a lantern," hesaid with asperity. "The municipality should forbid it. I shallcertainly bring the matter up at the next sitting."
"Monsieur is a member of the Parliament?" M. Etienne asked with immenserespect.
"I have that honour, monsieur," the little man replied, delighted toimpress us, as he himself was impressed, by the sense of his importance.
"Oh," said M. Etienne, with increasing solemnity, "perhaps monsieur hada hand in a certain decree of the 28th June?"
The little man began to look uneasy.
"There was, as monsieur says, a measure passed that day," he stammered.
"A rebellious and contumacious decree," M. Etienne rejoined, "mostoffensive to the general-duke." Whereupon he fingered his sword.
"Monsieur," the little deputy cried, "we meant no offence to his Grace,or to any true Frenchman. We but desire peace after all these years ofblood. We were informed that his Grace was angry; yet we believed thateven he will come to see the matter in a different light--"
"You have acted in a manner insulting to his Grace of Mayenne," M.Etienne repeated inexorably, and he glanced up the street and down thestreet to make sure the coast was clear. The wretched little deputy'steeth chattered.
The linkman had retreated to the other side of the way, where he seemedon the point of fleeing, leaving his master to his fate. I thought itwould be a shame if the badgered deputy had to stumble home in the dark,so I growled out to the fellow:
"Stir one step at your peril!"
I was afraid he would drop the flambeau and run, but he did not; he onlysank back against the wall, eyeing my sword with exceeding deference. Heknew not that there was but a foot of blade in the scabbard.
The burgher looked up the street and down the street, after M. Etienne'sexample, but there was no help to be seen or heard. He turned to histormentor with the valour of a mouse at bay.
"Monsieur, beware what you do. I am Pierre Marceau!"
"Oh, you are Pierre Marceau? And can M. Pierre Marceau explain how hehappened to be faring forth from his dwelling at this unholy hour?"
"I am not faring forth; I am faring home. I--we had a little con--thatis, not to say a conference, but merely a little discussion on mattersof no importance--"
"I have the pleasure," interrupted M. Etienne, sternly, "of knowingwhere M. Marceau lives. M. Marceau's errand in this direction is notaccounted for."
"But I was going home--on my sacred honour I was! Ask Jacques, else. Butas we went down the Rue de l'Eveque we saw two men in front of us. Asthey reached the wall by M. de Mirabeau's garden a gang of footpads fellon them. The two drew blades and defended themselves, but the ruffianswere a dozen--a score. We ran for our lives."
M. Etienne wheeled round to me.
"Felix, here is work for us. As I was saying, M. Marceau, your decree ismost offensive to the general-duke, and therefore, since he is myparticular enemy, most pleasing to me. A beautiful night, is it not,sir? I wish you a delightful walk home."
He seized me by the hand, and we dashed up the street.
At the corner the noise of a fray came faintly but plainly to our ears.M. le Comte without hesitation plunged down a lane in the direction ofthe sound.
"I said I wanted no more fighting to-night, but two against a mob! Weknow how it feels."
The clash of steel on steel grew ever louder, and as we wheeled around ajutting garden wall we came full upon the combatants.
"A rescue, a rescue!" cried M. Etienne. "Shout, Felix! Montjoie St.Denis! A rescue, a rescue!"
We charged down the street, drawing our swords and shouting at the topof our lungs.
It was too dark to see much save a mass of struggling figures, withevery now and then, as the steel hit, a point of light flashing out, tofade and appear again like a brilliant glow-worm. We could scarce tellwhich were the attackers, which the two comrades we had come to save.
But if we could not make them out, neither could they us. We shouted asboldly as if we had been a company, and in the clatter of their heels onthe stones they could not count our feet. They knew not how manyfollowers the darkness held. The group parted. Two men remained in hotcombat close under the left wall. Across the way one sturdy fighter heldoff two, while a sixth man, crying on his mates to follow, fled down thelane.
M. Etienne knew now what he was about, and at once took sides with thesolitary fencer. The combat being made equal, I started in pursuit ofthe flying figure. I had run but a few yards, however, when I trippedand fell prostrate over the body of a man. I was up in a moment, feelinghim to find out if he were dead; my hands over his heart dipped into apool of something wet and warm like new milk. I wiped them on his sleeveas best I could, and hastily groped about for his sword. He did not needit now, and I did.
When I rose with it my quarry was swallowed up in the shadows. M.Etienne, whose light clothing made a distinguishable spot in the gloom,had driven his opponent, or his opponent had driven him, some rods upthe lane the way we had come. I stood perplexed, not knowing where tobusy myself. M. Etienne's side I could not reach past the two duels; andof the four men near me, I could by no means tell, as they circledabout and about, whi
ch were my chosen allies. They were all sombrelyclad, their faces blurred in the darkness. When one made a clever pass,I knew not whether to rejoice or despair. But at length I picked out onewho fenced, though valiantly enough, yet with greater effort than therest; and I deemed that this had been the hardest pressed of all andmust certainly be one of the attacked and the one most deserving ofsuccour. He was plainly losing ground. I darted to his side just as hisfoe ran him through the arm.
The assailant pulled his blade free and darted back against the wall toface the two of us. But the sword of the wounded man fell from his loosefingers.
"I'm out of it," he cried to me; "I go for aid." And as his latecombatant sprang forward to engage me, I heard him running off,stumbling where I had.
There had been little light toward the last in the court of the house inthe Rue Coupejarrets, and less under the windows of the Hotel deLorraine; but here was none at all, I had to use my sword solely by thefeel of his against it, and I underwent chilling qualms lest presently,without in the least knowing how it got there, I should find his pointsticking out of my back. I could hardly believe he was not hitting me; Ibegan to prickle in half a dozen places, and knew not whether the stingswere real or imaginary. But one was not imaginary; my shoulder whichLucas had pinked and the doctor bandaged was throbbing painfully. Ifancied that in my earlier combat the wound had opened again and that Iwas bleeding to death; and the fear shook me. I lunged wildly, and Ihad been sent to my account in short order had not at this moment one ofthe other pair near us, as it afterward appeared, driven his weaponsquare through his vis-a-vis's breast.
"I am done for. Run who can!" he cried as he fell. The sword snapped intwo against the paving-stones; he rolled over and lay still, his face inthe dirt.
My encounterer, with a shout to his single remaining comrade, made offdown the lane. On my part, I was very willing to let him depart inpeace.
The clash of swords up the lane had ceased at the stricken man's cry,and out of the gloom came the sound of footfalls fainter and fainter. Ideemed that the battle was over.
The champion came toward me, three white patches visible for his faceand hands; the rest of him but darkness moving in darkness. He held asword rifled from the enemy, and advanced on me hesitatingly, not surewhether friend or foe remained to him. I felt that an explanation wasdue from me, but in my ignorance as to who he was and who his foes were,and why they had been fighting him and why we had been fighting them, Istood for a moment confused. It is hard to open conversation with ashadow.
He spoke first, in a voice husky from his exertion:
"Who are you?"
"A friend," I said. "My master and I saw two men fighting four--we cameto help the weaker side. Your friend was hurt, but he got away safe tofetch aid."
The unknown made a rapid step toward me, crying, "What--"
But at the word M. Etienne emerged from the shadows.
"Who lives?" he called out. "You, Felix?"
"Not hurt, monsieur. And you?"
"Not a scratch. Nor did I scratch my man. Permit me to congratulate you,monsieur l'inconnu, on our coming up when we did."
The unknown said one word:
"Etienne!"
I sprang forward with the impulse to throw my arms about him, in thepure rapture of recognizing his voice. This struggler, whom we hadrushed in, blindfold, to save, was Monsieur! If we had been content tomind our own business, had sheered away like the deputy--it turned mefaint to think how long we had delayed with old Marceau, we were sonearly too late. I wanted to seize Monsieur, to convince myself that hewas all safe, to feel him quick and warm.
I made one pace and stopped; for I remembered what ghastly shape stoodbetween me and Monsieur--that horrible lying story.
"Dieu!" gasped M. Etienne, "Monsieur!"
For a moment we all kept silence, motionless; then Monsieur flung hissword over the wall.
"Do your will, Etienne."
His son darted forward with a cry.
"Monsieur, Monsieur, I am not your assassin! I came to your aid notdreaming who you were; but, had I known, I would have fought a hundredtimes the harder. I never plotted against you. On the honour of a St.Quentin I swear it."
Monsieur said naught, and we could not see his face; could not knowwhether he believed or rejected, softened or condemned.
M. Etienne, catching at his breath, went on:
"Monsieur, I know it is hard to credit. I have been a bad son to you,unloving, rebellious, insolent. We quarrelled; I spoke bitter words. ButI am no ruffian. I am a St. Quentin. Had you had me whipped from thehouse, still would I never have raised hand against you. I knew nothingof the plot. Felix told you I was in it--small blame to him. But he waswrong. I knew naught of it."
Had he been content to rest his case here, I think Monsieur could notbut have believed his innocence on his bare word. The stones in thepavement must have known that he was uttering truth. But he in hiseagerness paused for no answer, but went on to stun Monsieur withstatements new and amazing to his ear.
"My cousin Grammont--who is dead--was in the plot, and his lackeyPontou, and Martin the clerk; but the contriver was Lucas."
"Lucas?"
"Lucas," continued M. Etienne. "Or, to give him his true title, Paul deLorraine, son of Henri de Guise."
"But that is impossible" Monsieur cried, stupefied.
"It is impossible, but it is true. He is a Lorraine--Mayenne's nephew,and for years Mayenne's spy. He came to you to kill you--for thatobject pure and simple. Last spring, before he came to you, he was herein Paris with Mayenne, making terms for your murder. He is no Huguenot,no Kingsman. He is Mayenne's henchman, son to Guise himself."
"And how long have you known this?" asked Monsieur.
"Since this morning." Then, as the import of the question struck him, hefell back with a groan. "Ah, Monsieur, if you can ask that, I have nomore to say. It is useless." He turned away into the darkness.
That they should part thus was too miserable to be endured. I was sureMonsieur's question was no accusation, but the groping of bewilderment.
"M. Etienne, stop!" I commanded. "Monsieur, it is the truth. Indeed itis the truth. He is innocent, and Lucas _is_ a Guise. Monsieur, you mustlisten to me. M. Etienne, you must wait. I stirred up the whole troublewith my story to you, Monsieur, and I take it back. I believed I wastelling the truth. I was wrong. When I left you, I went straight back tothe Rue Coupejarrets to kill your son--your murderer, I thought. Andthere I found Grammont and Lucas side by side. We thought them swornfoes: they were hand in glove. They came at me to end me because I hadtold, and M. Etienne saved me. Lucas mocked him to his face because hehad been tricked; Lucas bragged that it was his own scheme--that M.Etienne was his dupe. Vigo will tell you. Vigo heard him. His schemewas to saddle M. Etienne with your murder. He was tricked. He believedwhat he told me--that the thing was a duel between Lucas and Grammont.You must believe it, Monsieur!"
M. Etienne, who had actually obeyed me,--me, his lackey,--turned to hisfather once again.
"Monsieur, if you cannot believe me, believe Felix. You believed himwhen he took away my good name. Believe him now when he restores it."
"Nay," Monsieur cried; "I believe thee, Etienne."
And he took his son in his arms.
The Helmet of Navarre Page 22