XXII
_The signet of the king._
Already a wan light was revealing the round tops of the plum-trees in M.de Mirabeau's garden, the high gray wall, and the narrow alleywaybeneath it. And the two vague shapes by me were no longer vague shapes,but were turning moment by moment, as if coming out of an enchantment,into their true forms. It really was Monsieur in the flesh, with a wetglint in his eyes as he kissed his boy.
Neither thought of me, and it was none of my concern what they said toeach other. I went a rod or two down the lane, round a curve in thewall, and watched the bands of light streaking the eastern sky, in uttercontent. Never before had the world seemed to me so good a place. Sincethis misery had come right, I knew all the rest would; I should yetdance at M. Etienne's wedding.
I leaned my head back against the wall, and had shut my eyes to considerthe matter more quietly, when I heard my name.
"Felix! Felix! Where is the boy got to?"
The sun was clean up over the horizon, and as I blinked and wonderedhow he had contrived the feat so quickly, my two messieurs came hand inhand round the corner to me, the level rays glittering on Monsieur'sburnished breastplate, on M. Etienne's bright head, and on both theirshining faces. Now that for the first time I saw them together, I foundthem, despite the dark hair and the yellow, the brown eyes and the gray,wonderfully alike. There was the same carriage, the same cock of thehead, the same smile. If I had not known before, I knew now, the instantI looked at them, that the quarrel was over. Save as it gave them adeeper love of each other, it might never have been.
I sprang up, and Monsieur, my duke, embraced me.
"Lucky we came up the lane when we did, eh, Felix?" M. Etienne said."But, Monsieur, I have not asked you yet what madness sent youtraversing this back passage at two in the morning."
"I might ask you that, Etienne."
The young man hesitated a bare moment before he answered:
"I am just come from serenading Mlle. de Montluc."
A shade fell over Monsieur's radiance. At his look, M. Etienne criedout:
"I've told you I'm no Leaguer! Mayenne offered me mademoiselle if Iwould come over. I refused. Last night he sent me word that he wouldkill me as a common nuisance if I sought to see her. That was why Itried."
"Monsieur," I cried, curiosity mastering me, "was she in the window?"
He shook his head, his eyes on his father' face.
"Etienne," Monsieur said slowly, "can't you see that Mlle. de Montluc isnot for you?"
"I shall never see it, Monsieur. The first article in my creed says sheis for me. And I'll have her yet, for all Mayenne."
"Then, mordieu, we'll steal her together!"
"You! You'll help me?"
"Why, dear son," Monsieur explained, "it broke my heart to think of youin the League. I could not bear that my son should help a Spaniard tothe throne of France, or a Lorrainer either. But if it is a question ofstealing the lady--well, I never prosed about prudence yet, thank God!"
M. Etienne, wet-eyed, laughing, hugged Monsieur.
"By St. Quentin, we'll get you your lady! I hated the marriage while Ithought it would make you a Leaguer. I could not see you sacrifice yourhonour to a girl's bright eyes. But your life--that is different."
"My life is a little thing."
"No," Monsieur said; "it is a good deal--one's life. But one is not toguard one's life at the cost of all that makes life sweet."
"Ah, you know how I love her!"
"They call me a fool," Monsieur went on musingly, "because I risk mylife in wild errands. But, mordieu! I am the wise man. For they whothink ever of safety, and crouch and scheme and shuffle to procure it,why, look you, they destroy their own ends. For, when all is done, theyhave never really lived. And that is why they hate death so, theseworthies. While I, who have never cringed to fear, I live like a king.I go my ways without any man's leave; and if death comes to me a littlesooner for that, I am a poor creature if I do not meet him smiling. If Imay live as I please, I am content to die when I must."
"Aye," said M. Etienne, "and if we live as we do not please, still wemust die presently. Therefore do I purpose never to give over strivingafter my lady."
"Oh, we'll win her by noon. But first we'll sleep. There's Felix yawninghis head off. Come, come."
We set off along the alley, the St. Quentins arm in arm, I at theirheels. Monsieur looked over his shoulder with a sudden anxiety.
"Felix, you said Huguet had run for aid?"
"Yes, Monsieur; Vigo should have been here before now," I answered,remembering Vigo's promptitude yesterday.
"Every one was asleep; he has been hammering this half-hour to get in,"M. Etienne said easily.
But Monsieur asked of me:
"Was he much hurt, Felix?"
"No; I am sure not, Monsieur. He was run through the arm; I am sure hewas not hurt otherwise."
We came to where the two slain men lay across the way. M. Etienneexclaimed:
"If you do not hold your life dear, you sell it dear, Monsieur! How manyof the rascals were there?"
"It was hard to tell in the dark. Five, I think."
"Now, Monsieur, how came you to be in this place in the dark?"
"Why, what to do, Etienne? I came in at the gate just after midnight. Icould not leave St. Denis earlier, and night is my time to enter Paris.The inns were shut--"
"But some friend near the gate? Tarigny would have sheltered you."
"Aye, and got into trouble for it, had it leaked out to the Sixteen."
"Tarigny is no craven."
"But neither am I," said Monsieur, smiling.
"Oh, I give you up! Go your ways. But I will not come to save you nexttime."
"No, lad; you will be at my side hereafter."
M. Etienne laughed and said no more.
"But in truth," Monsieur added, "I did not expect waylaying. If thesefellows watched by the gate, they hid cleverly. I never saw a finger-tipof them till they sprang upon us by the corner here, when we were almosthome."
M. Etienne bent over and turned face up the man whom Monsieur had runthrough the heart. He was an ugly enough fellow, one eye entirely closedby a great scar that ran from his forehead nearly to his grizzledmustache.
"This is Bernet le Borgne," he said. "Have you encountered him before,Monsieur? He was a soldier under Guise once, they say, but he has donenaught but hang about Paris taverns this many a year. We used to wonderhow he lived; we knew he did somebody's dirty work. Clisson employedhim once, so I know something of him. With his one eye he could fencebetter than most folks with two. My congratulations to you, Monsieur."
But Monsieur, not heeding, was bending over the other man.
"Your acquaintance is wider than mine. Do you know this one?"
M. Etienne shook his head over this other man, who lay face up, staringwith wide dark eyes into the sky. His hair curled in little rings abouthis forehead, and his cheeks were smooth; he looked no older than I.
"He dashed at me the first of all," Monsieur said in a low voice. "I ranhim through before the others came up. Mordieu! I am glad it was dark. Aboy like that!"
"He had good mettle to run up first," M. Etienne said. "And it is nodisgrace to fall to your sword, Monsieur. Come, let us go."
But Monsieur looked back again at the dead lad, and then at his son andat me, and came with us heavy of countenance.
On the stones before us lay a trail of blood-drops.
"Now, that is where Huguet ran with his wounded arm," I said to M.Etienne.
"Aye, and if we did not know the way home we could find it by this redtrack."
But the trail did not reach the door; for when we turned into the littlestreet where the arch is, where I had waited for Martin, as we turnedthe familiar corner under the walls of the house itself, we camesuddenly on the body of a man. Monsieur ran forward with a cry, for itwas the squire Huguet.
He wore a leather jerkin lined with steel rings, mail as stout as anyforged. Some one had stabbed once
and again at the coat without avail,and had then torn it open and stabbed his defenceless breast. Though wehad killed two of their men, they had rained blows enough on this man ofours to kill twenty.
Monsieur knelt on the ground beside him, but he was quite cold.
"The man who fled when we charged them must have lurked about," I said."Huguet's sword-arm was useless; he could not defend himself."
"Or else he fainted from his wound, he bled so," M. Etienne answered."And one of those who fled last came upon him helpless and did this."
"Why didn't I follow him instead of sitting down, a John o'dreams?" Icried. "But I was thinking of you and Monsieur; I forgot Huguet."
"I forgot him, too," Monsieur sorrowed. "Shame to me; he would not haveforgotten me."
"Monsieur," his son said, "it was no negligence of yours. You could havesaved him only by following when he ran. And that was impossible."
"In sight of the door," Monsieur said sadly. "In sight of his own door."
We held silent. Monsieur got soberly to his feet.
"I never lost a better man."
"Monsieur," I cried, "he asks no better epitaph. If you will say thatof me when I die, I shall not have lived in vain."
He smiled at the outburst, but I did not care; if he would only smile, Iwas content it should be at me.
"Nay, Felix," he said. "I hope it will not be I who compose yourepitaph. Come, we must get to the house and send after poor Huguet."
"Felix and I will carry him," M. Etienne said, and we lifted him betweenus--no easy task, for he was a heavy fellow. But it was little enough todo for him.
We bore him along slowly, Monsieur striding ahead. But of a sudden heturned back to us, laying quick fingers on the poor torn breast.
"What is it, Monsieur?" cried his son.
"My papers."
We set him down, and the three of us examined him from top to toe,stripping off his steel coat, pulling apart his blood-clotted linen,prying into his very boots. But no papers revealed themselves.
"What were they, Monsieur?"
A drawn look had come over Monsieur's face.
"Papers which the king gave me, and which I, fool and traitor, havelost."
I ran back to the spot where we had found Huguet; there was his hat onthe ground, but no papers. I followed up the red trail to its beginning,looking behind every stone, every bunch of grass; but no papers. In mydesperation I even pulled about the dead man, lest the packet had beencovered, falling from Huguet in the fray. The two gentlemen joined mein the search, and we went over every inch of the ground, but to nopurpose.
"I thought them safer with Huguet than with me," Monsieur groaned. "Iknew we ran the risk of ambush. Myself would be the object of attack; Ibade Huguet, were we waylaid, to run with the papers."
"And of course he would not."
"He should; it was my command. He stayed and saved my life perhaps, andlost me what is dearer than life--my honour."
"He could not leave you to be killed, Monsieur; that were asking theimpossible."
"Aye, but I am saved at the ruin of a hundred others!" Monsieur cried."The papers contained certain lists of names of Mayenne's officerspledged to support the king if he turn Catholic. I had them forLemaitre. But at this date, in Mayenne's hands, they spell the men'sdestruction. Huguet should have known that if I told him to desert me, Imeant it."
M. Etienne ventured no word, understanding well enough that in suchbitter moments no consolation consoles. M. le Duc added after a moment:
"Mordieu! I am ashamed of myself. I might be better occupied than inblaming the dead--the brave and faithful dead. Belike he could not run,they set on us so suddenly. When he could, he did go, and he went to hisdeath. They were my charge, the papers. I had no right to put theresponsibility on any other. I should have kept them myself. I shouldhave gone to Tarigny. I should never have ventured myself through theseblack lanes. Fool! traitorous fool!"
"Nay, Monsieur, the mischance might have befallen any one."
"It would not have befallen Villeroi! It would not have befallen Rosny!"Monsieur exclaimed bitterly. "It befalls me because I am a lack-wit whorushes into affairs for which he is not fit. I can handle a sword, but Ihave no business to meddle in statecraft."
"Then have those wiseheads out at St. Denis no business to employ you,"M. Etienne said. "He is not unknown to fame, this Duke of St. Quentin;everybody knows how he goes about things. Monsieur, they gave you thepapers because no one else would carry them into Paris. They knew youhad no fear in you; and it is because of that that the papers arelacking. But take heart, Monsieur. We'll get them back."
"When? How?"
"Soon," M. Etienne answered, "and easily, if you will tell me what theyare like. Are they open?"
"I fear by now they may be. There are three sheets of names, and afourth sheet, a letter--all in cipher."
"Ah, but in that case--"
Monsieur cut short his son's jubilation.
"But--Lucas."
"Of course--I forgot him. He knows your ciphers, then?"
"Dolt that I was, he knows everything."
"Then must we lay hands on the papers before they reach Mayenne, andall is saved," M. Etienne declared cheerfully. "These fellows can't reada cipher. If the packet be not open, Monsieur?"
"It was a span long, and half as wide; for all address, the letters _St.Q._ in the corner. It was tied with red cord and bore the seal of aflying falcon, and the motto, _Je reviendrai_."
"What! the king's seal? That's serious. Expect, then, Monsieur, to seethe papers in an hour's time."
"Etienne, Etienne," Monsieur cried, "are you mad?"
"No madder than is proper for a St. Quentin. It's simple enough. I toldyou I recognized that worthy back there for one Bernet, who lodged at aninn I wot of over beyond the markets. Do we betake ourselves thither, wemay easily fall in with some comrades of his bosom who have not themisfortune to be lying dead in a back lane, who will know something ofyour loss. Bernet's sort are no bigots; while they work for the League,they will lend a kindly ear to the chink of Kingsmen's florins."
"Ah," cried Monsieur, "then let us go." But M. Etienne laid arestraining hand on his shoulder.
"Not you. I. They will kill you in the Halles just as cheerfully as inthe Quartier Marais. This is my affair."
He looked at Monsieur with kindling eyes, seeing his chance to prove hisdevotion. The duke yielded to his eagerness.
"But," M. Etienne added generously, "you may have the honour of payingthe piper."
"I give you carte blanche, my son. Etienne, if you put that packet intomy hand, it is more than if you brought the sceptre of France."
"Then go practise, Monsieur, at feeling more than king."
He embraced his father, and we turned off down the street.
The sun was well up by this time, and the city rousing to the labours ofthe day. Half was I glad of the lateness of the hour, for we ran no risknow of cutthroats; and half was I sorry, for it behooves not a mansupposed to be in the Bastille to show himself too liberally to thebroad eye of the streets. Every time--and it was often--that weapproached a person who to my nervous imagination looked official, Ishook in my shoes. The way seemed fairly to bristle with soldiers,officers, judges; for aught I knew, members of the Sixteen, GovernorBelin himself. It was a great surprise to me when at length we arrivedwithout let or hindrance before the door of a mean littledrinking-place, our goal.
We went in, and M. Etienne ordered wine, much to my satisfaction. Mystomach was beginning to remind me that I had given it nothing fortwelve hours or so, while I had worked my legs hard.
"Does M. Bernet lodge with you?" my master asked of the landlord. Wewere his only patrons at the moment.
"M. Bernet? Him with the eye out?"
"The same."
"Why, no, monsieur. I don't let lodgings. The building is not mine. Ibut rent the ground floor for my purposes."
"But M. Bernet lodges in the house, then?"
"No, he doesn't. He lod
ges round the corner, in the court off the RueClichet."
"But he comes here often?"
"Oh, aye. Every morning for his glass. And most evenings, too."
M. Etienne laid down the drink-money, and something more.
"Sometimes he has a friend with him, eh?"
The man laughed.
"No, monsieur; he comes in here alone. Many's the time I'll standing inmy door when he'll go by with some gallant, and he never chances to seeme or my shop. While if he's alone it's 'Good morning, Jean. Anything inthe casks to-day?' He can no more get by my door than he'll get byDeath's when the time comes."
"No," agreed M. Etienne; "we all stop there, soon or late. Those friendsof M. Bernet, then--there is none you could put a name to?"
"Why, no, monsieur, more's the pity. He has none lives in this quarter.M. Bernet's in low water, you understand, monsieur. If he lives here, itis because he can't help it. But he goes elsewhere for his friends."
"Then you can tell us, my man, where he lodges?"
"Aye, that can I," mine host answered, bustling out from behind the bar,eager in the interest of the pleasant-spoken, open-handed gallant. "Justround the corner of the Rue Clichet, in the court. The first house onthe left, that is his. I would go with monsieur, only I cannot leave theshop alone, and the wife not back from market. But monsieur cannot missit. The first house in the court. Thank you, monsieur. Au revoir,monsieur."
In the doorway of the first house on the left in the little court stoodan old man with a wooden leg, sweeping heaps of refuse out of thepassage.
"It appears that every one on this stair lacks something," M. Etiennemurmured to me. "It is the livery of the house. Can you tell me, friend,where I may find M. Bernet?"
The concierge regarded us without cordiality, while by no means ceasinghis endeavours to cover our shoes with his sweepings.
"Third story back," he said.
"Does M. Bernet lodge alone?"
"One of him's enough," the old fellow growled, whacking out his dirtybroom on the door-post, powdering us with dust. M. Etienne, coughing,pursued his inquiries:
"Ah, I understood he shared his lodgings with a comrade. He has afriend, then, in the building?"
"Aye, I suppose so," the old chap grinned, "when monsieur walks in."
"But he has another friend besides me, has he not?" M. Etiennepersisted. "One who, if he does not live here, comes often to see M.Bernet?"
"You seem to know all about it. Better see Bernet himself, instead ofchattering here all day."
"Good advice, and I'll take it," said M. Etienne, lightly setting footon the stair, muttering to himself as he mounted, "and come back tobreak your head, mon vieillard."
We went up the three flights and along the passage to the door at theback, whereon M. Etienne pounded loudly. I could not see his reason, andheartily I wished he would not. It seemed to me a creepy thing to beknocking on a man's door when we knew very well he would never open itagain. We knocked as if we fully thought him within, when all the whilewe knew he was lying a stone on the stones under M. de Mirabeau's gardenwall. Perhaps by this time he had been found; perhaps one of themarquis's liveried lackeys, or a passing idler, or a woman with amarket-basket had come upon him; perhaps even now he was being borneaway on a plank to be identified. And here were we, knocking, knocking,as if we innocently expected him to open to us. I had a chill dread thatsuddenly he would open to us. The door would swing wide and show himpale and bloody, with the broken sword in his heart. At the realcreaking of a hinge I could scarce swallow a cry.
It was not Bernet's door, but the door at the front which opened,letting a stream of sunlight into the dark passage. In the doorway stooda woman, with two bare-legged babies clinging to her skirts.
"Madame," M. Etienne addressed her, with the courtesy due to a duchess,"I have been knocking at M. Bernet's door without result. Perhaps youcould give me some hint as to his whereabouts?"
"Ah, I am sorry. I know nothing to tell monsieur," she criedregretfully, impressed, as the concierge had not been, by his look andmanner. "But this I can say: he went out last night, and I do notbelieve he has been in since. He went out about nine--or it may havebeen later than that. Because I did not put the children to bed tillafter dark; they enjoy running about in the cool of the evening as muchas anybody else, the little dears. And they were cross last night, theday was so hot, and I was a long time hushing them to sleep. Yes, itmust have been after ten, because they were asleep, and the manstumbling on the stairs woke Pierre. And he cried for an hour. Didn'tyou, my angel?"
She picked one of the brats up in her arms to display him to us. M.Etienne asked:
"What man?"
"Why, the one that came for him. The one he went out with."
"And what sort of person was this?"
"Nay, how was I to see? Would I be out walking the common passage with achild to hush? I was rocking the cradle."
"But who does come here to visit M. Bernet?"
"I've never seen any one, monsieur. I've never laid eyes on M. Bernetbut twice. I keep in my apartment. And besides, we have only been here aweek."
"I thank you, madame," M. Etienne said, turning to the stairs.
She ran out to the rail, babies and all.
"But I could take a message for him, monsieur. I will make a point ofseeing him when he comes in."
"I will not burden you, madame," M. Etienne answered from the storybelow. But she was loath to stop talking, and hung over the railing tocall:
"Beware of your footing, monsieur. Those second-floor people are not sotidy as they might be; one stumbles over all sorts of their rubbish outin the public way."
The door in front of us opened with a startling suddenness, and a big,brawny wench bounced out to demand of us:
"What is that she says? What are you saying of us, you slut?"
We had no mind to be mixed in the quarrel. We fled for our lives downthe stair.
The old carl, though his sweeping was done, leaned on his broom on theouter step.
"So you didn't find M. Bernet at home? I could have told you as much hadyou been civil enough to ask."
I would have kicked the old curmudgeon, but M. Etienne drew two goldpieces from his pouch.
"Perchance if I ask you civilly, you will tell me with whom M. Bernetwent out last night?"
"Who says he went out with anybody?"
"I do," and M. Etienne made a motion to return the coins to their place.
"Since you know so much, it's strange you don't know a little more," theold chap growled. "Well, Lord knows if it is really his, but he goes bythe name of Peyrot."
"And where does he lodge?"
"How should I know? I have trouble enough keeping track of my ownlodgers, without bothering my head about other people's."
"Now rack your brains, my friend, over this fellow," M. Etienne saidpatiently, with a persuasive chink of his pouch. "Recollect now; youhave been sent to this monsieur with a message."
"Well, Rue des Tournelles, sign of the Gilded Shears," the old carl spatout at last.
"You are sure?"
"Hang me else."
"If you are lying to me, I will come back and beat you to a jelly withyour own broom."
"It's the truth, monsieur," he said, with some proper show of respect atlast. "Peyrot, at the Gilded Shears, Rue des Tournelles. You may beat meto a jelly if I lie."
"It would do you good in any event," M. Etienne told him, but flinginghim his pistoles, nevertheless. The old fellow swooped upon them,gathered them up, and was behind the closed door all in one movement.But as we walked away, he opened a little wicket in the upper panel, andstuck out his ugly head to yell after us:
"If M. Bernet's not at home yet, neither will his friend be. I've toldyou what will profit you none."
"You mistake, Sir Gargoyle," M. Etienne called over his shoulder. "Yourinformation is entirely to my needs."
The Helmet of Navarre Page 23