XXX
_My young lord settles scores with two foes at once._
Occupied in wrangling with the grooms over the merits of our severalstables, with the soldiers over politics and the armies, I awaited in ashady corner of the court the conclusion of formalities. I had justdeclared that King Henry would be in Paris within a week, and was on thepoint of getting my crown cracked for it, when, as if for the verypurpose--save the mark!--of rescuing me, entered from the street Lucas.He approached rapidly, eyes straight in front of him, heeding us nowhit; but all the loungers turned to stare at him. Even then he paid noheed, passing us without a glance. But the tall d'Auvray bespoke him.
"M. de Lorraine! Any news?"
He started and turned to us in half-absent surprise, as if he had notknown of our presence nor, indeed, quite realized it now. He was bothpale and rumpled, like one who has not closed an eye all night.
"Any news here?" he made Norman answer.
"No, monsieur, unless his Grace has information. We have heard nothing."
"And the woman?"
"Sticks to it mademoiselle told her never a word."
Lucas stood still, his eyes travelling dully over the group of us, as ifhe expected somewhere to find help. At the same time he was not in theleast thinking of us. He looked straight at me for a full minute beforehe awoke to my identity.
"You!"
"Yes, M. de Lorraine," I said, with all the respectfulness I couldmuster, which may not have been much. Considering our parting, I wasready for any violence. But after the first moment of startlement heregarded me in a singularly lack-lustre way, while he inquired withoutapparent resentment how I came there.
"With M. le Duc de St. Quentin," I grinned at him. "We and M. de Mayenneare friends now."
I could not rouse him even to curiosity, it seemed. But he turnedabruptly to the men with more life than he had yet shown.
"You've not told this fellow?"
"We understand our orders, monsieur," d'Auvray answered, a bit huffed.
Now this was eminently the place for me to hold my tongue, but of courseI could not.
"They had no need to tell me, M. de Lorraine. I know quite well what thetrouble is. I know rather more about it than you do yourself."
He confronted me now with all the fire I could ask.
"What mean you, whelp?"
"I mean mademoiselle. What else should I mean?"
"What do you know?"
"Everything."
"Her whereabouts?"
"Her whereabouts."
He had his hand to his knife by this. I abated somewhat of my drawl tosay, still airily:
"Go ask M. de St. Quentin. He's here. He'll be so glad to see you."
"Here?"
"Certes. He's closeted now with M. de Mayenne. They're thicker thanbrothers. Go see for yourself, M.--Lucas."
"Where is mademoiselle?"
"Safe. She's to marry the Comte de Mar to-morrow."
He stared at me for one moment, weighing whether this could be true;then without further parley he shot into the house.
"Is that true?" d'Auvray demanded.
Their tongues loosened now, they flooded me with questions concerningmademoiselle, which I answered warily as I could, heartily repenting meby this of baiting Lucas. No good could come of it. He might even turnMayenne from his bargain, upset all our triumph. I hardly heard what thesoldiers said to me; I was almost nervous enough, wild enough, to dashup-stairs after him. But that was no help. I stayed where I was, feveredwith anxiety.
At the end of five minutes he came out of the house again, and, withouta glance at us, went straight through the gate with the step and air ofa man who knows what he is about. I was no easier in my mind though Isaw him gone.
Soon on his steps came a lackey to order M. de St. Quentin's horses andtwo musketeers to mount and ride with him. On reaching the door with thenags, I discovered I was not to be of the party; our second steed mustcarry gear of mademoiselle's and her handwoman, a hard-faced peasant,silent as a stone. Though the men quizzed her, asking if she were gladto get to her mistress again, whether she had known all this time thelady's whereabouts, she answered no single word, but busied herselfseeing the horse loaded to her notion. Presently, in the guidance ofPierre, Monsieur appeared.
"You stay, Felix, and go to the Bastille for your master. Then you willwait at the St. Denis gate for Vigo, with horses."
"Is all right, Monsieur?" I had to ask, as I held his stirrup. "Is allright? Lucas--"
His face had been a little clouded as he came down the stairs, and nowit darkened more, but he answered:
"Quite right, Achates. M. de Mayenne stands to his word. Lucas availednothing."
He stood a moment frowning, then his countenance cleared up.
"My faith! I have enough to gladden me without fretting that Lucas isalive. Fare you well, Felix. You are like to reach St. Denis as soon asI. My son's horse will not lag."
He sprang to the saddle with a smiling salute to his guardians, and thelittle train clattered off.
Pierre came to my elbow with an open paper--the order signed and sealedfor M. de Mar's release.
"Here, my young cockerel, you and d'Auvray are to take this to theBastille, and it will be strange if your master does not walk freeagain. His Grace bids you tell M. de Mar he remembers Wednesday night,underground."
"And I remember Tuesday night in the council-room, Pierre," I wasbeginning, but he cut me short. Even now that I was in favour, he riskedno mention of his disobedience. He packed me off with d'Auvray on theinstant; I had no chance to ask him whether he suspected us yesterday.Sometimes I have thought he did, but I am bound to say he gave us nolook to show it.
D'Auvray and I walked straight across Paris to the many-toweredBastille. It seemed a little way. Before the potent name of Mayenne barsflew open; a sentry on guard in the court led us into a small room allstone, floor, walls, ceiling, where sat at the table some high official,perhaps the governor of the prison himself. He was an old campaigner,grizzled and weather-beaten, his right sleeve hanging empty. Aninteresting figure, no doubt, but I paid him scant attention, for at hisside stood Lucas.
"I come on M. de Mayenne's business," he was expostulating, vehement,yet civil. "I suppose he did not think it necessary to write the order,since you know me."
"The regulations, M. de Lorraine--" The officer broke off to demand ofour escort, "Well, what now?"
I went straight up to him, not waiting permission, and held out mypaper.
"An order, if it please you, monsieur, for the Comte de Mar's release."
Lucas's hand went out to snatch and crumple it; then his clenched fistdropped to his side. It seemed as if his eyes would blacken the paperwith their fire.
"Just that--the requisition for M. de Mar's release," the officer toldhim, looking up from it. "All perfectly regular and in order. In fiveminutes, M. de Lorraine, the Comte de Mar shall be before you. You mayhave all the conversation you wish."
Lucas's face was as blank as the wall.
"I am a soldier, and a soldier's orders must be obeyed," the officerwent on to explain, evidently not caring to offend the general's nephew."Without the written order I could not admit your brother of Guise. Butnow you can have all the conversation you desire with M. de Mar."
Lucas's face did not change, save to scowl at the very name of hisbrother Guise. He said curtly, "No, I must get back to his Grace," and,barely bowing, went from the room.
"Now, I don't make that out," the keeper muttered in his beard. ThatLucas should be in one moment cured of his urgent need of seeing theComte de Mar was too much for him, but no riddle to me. I knew he hadcome to stab M. Etienne in his cell. It was his last chance, and he hadmissed it. I feared him no longer, for I believed in Mayenne's faith. Mymaster once released, Lucas could not hurt him.
What was as much to the point, the officer had no doubt of Mayenne'sgood faith. He went with his paper into an inner room, where we caughtsight, through the door, of big books wi
th a clerk or two behind them,and in a moment appeared again with a key.
"Since the young gentleman's a count, I'll do turnkey's office myself,"he said, his grim old battlement of a face smiling.
This was our day; from Mayenne down, everybody went out of his way topleasure us. I was suddenly emboldened by his manner.
"Monsieur, perhaps it is preposterous to ask, but might I go with you?"
He looked at me a moment, surprised.
"Well, after all, why not? You too, Sir Musketeer, an you like."
So the three of us, he and d'Auvray and I, went to rescue the Comte deMar.
We passed through corridor after corridor, row after row of heavy-barreddoors. The deeper we penetrated the mighty pile, the fonder I grew of myfriend Mayenne, by whose complaisance none of these doors would shut onme. We climbed at last a steep turret stair winding about a huge firtrunk, lighted by slits of windows in the four-foot wall, and at thetop turned down a dark passage to a door at the end, the bolts of which,invisible to me in the gloom, the veteran drew back with familiar hand.
The cell was small, with one high window through which I could seenaught but the sky. For all furniture it contained a pallet, a stool, abench that might serve as table. M. Etienne stood at the window, his armcrooked around the iron bars, gazing out over the roofs of Paris.
He wheeled about at the door's creaking.
"I go to trial, monsieur?" he asked quickly, not seeing me behind thekeeper.
"No, M. le Comte. The charge is cancelled. I come to set you free."
I dashed in past the officer, snatching my lord's hand to kiss.
"It's true, monsieur! You're free! It's all settled with Mayenne.Monsieur's seen him; he sets you free. He said, 'In recognizance ofWednesday night.'"
Incredulous joy flashed over his face, to give way to belief withoutjoy.
"Now I know she's married."
"Nothing of the sort!" I fairly shouted at him, dancing up and down inmy eagerness. "She's to marry M. le Comte. She's at St. Denis withMonsieur. She's to marry you. It's all arranged. Mayenne consents--theking--everybody. It's all settled. She marries you."
Preposterous as it seemed, he could not discredit my fervour. Hefollowed us out of the cell and through the fortress in a radiant daze.He half believed himself dreaming, I think, and feared to speak lest hishappiness should melt. I fancied even that he walked lightly andgingerly, as if the slightest unwary movement might break the spell. Nottill we were actually in the open door of the court, face to face withfreedom, did he rouse himself to acknowledge the thing real. With ajoyous laugh, he turned to the keeper:
"M. de La Motte, you should employ your leisure in writing down yourreflections, like the Chevalier de Montaigne. You could give us atrenchant essay on the Ingratitude of Man. Here are you host of thebiggest inn in Paris--a pile more imposing than the Louvre itself. Yourhospitality is so eager that you insist on entertaining me, so lavishthat you lodge me for nothing, would keep me without a murmur till theend of my life. Yet I, ingrate that I am, depart without a thank you!"
"They don't leave in such case that they can very well thank me, most ofmy guests," La Motte answered, with a dry smile. "You are a fortunateman, M. de Mar."
"M. le Comte, will you come quietly with me to the St. Denis gate?"d'Auvray asked him. "Or must I borrow a guard from M. de La Motte?"
M. Etienne's whole face was smiling; not his lips alone, but his eyes.Even his skin and hair seemed to have taken on a brighter look. Heglanced at d'Auvray in surprise at the absurd question.
"I will come like a lamb, M. le Mousquetaire."
We saluted La Motte and walked merrily out into the Place Bastille. Ithink I never felt so grand as when I passed through the noblesally-port, the soldiers making no motion to hinder us, but all salutingas if we owned the place. It had its advantage, this making friends withMayenne.
The first thing my lord did, still in the shadow of the prison, was tocome to terms with d'Auvray.
"See here, my friend, why must you put yourself to the fatigue ofescorting me to the gate?"
"Orders, monsieur. The general-duke wants to know that you get into nomischief between here and the gate. You are banished, you understand,from Paris."
"I pledge you my word I shall make no attempt to elude my fate. I gostraight to the gate. But, with all politeness to you, Sir Musketeer, Icould dispense with your company."
"I am a soldier, and a soldier's orders must be obeyed," d'Auvray quotedthe keeper's words, which seemed to have impressed him. "However, M. leComte, if I had something to look at, I could walk ten paces behind youand look at it."
"Oh, if it is a question of something to play with!" M. Etienne laughed.
D'Auvray was provided with toys, and M. Etienne linked arms with me, thesoldier out of ear-shot behind us. He followed till we were in the RueSt. Denis, when, waving his hand in farewell, he turned his steps withthe pious consciousness of duty done. Only I looked back to see it;monsieur had forgotten his existence.
"I am not proud; I don't mind being marched through the streets by amusketeer," M. Etienne explained as we started; "but I can't talk beforehim. Tell me, Felix, the story, if you would have me live."
And I told him, till we almost ran blindly into the tower of the St.Denis gate.
We learned of the warder that M. de St. Quentin had recently passed out,but that nothing had been seen of his equery. No steeds were here forus.
"Well, then, we'll go have a glass. But if Vigo doesn't come soon, by myfaith, I'll walk to St. Denis!"
But that promised glass was never drunk, nor were we to set out at oncefor St. Denis; for in the door of the wine-shop we met Lucas.
I had dismissed him from thought, as something out of the reckoning,dead and done with, powerless as yesterday's broken sword. I thought himgone out of our lives when he went out of prison--gone forever, likelast year's snow. And here within the hour we encountered him, a nakedsword in his hand, a smile on his lips. He said, in the flower of hiseasy insolence:
"Tuesday I told you our hour would come. It is here."
"At your service," quoth my lord.
"Then it needs not to slap your face?"
"You insult me safely, Lucas. You have but one life. That is forfeit, beyou courteous."
"You think so?"
"I know it."
Lucas held out the bare sword, hilt toward us.
"Monsieur had a box for weapon yesterday, but as I prefer to fight inthe established way, I ventured to provide him with a sword."
"Thoughtful of you, Lucas. Is this the make of sword you elect to bekilled with?"
He was bending the blade to try its temper. Lucas unsheathed his own.
"M. de Mar may have his choice."
M. de Mar professed himself satisfied with the blade given him.
"Have you summoned your seconds, Lucas?"
Lucas raised his eyebrows.
"Is that necessary? I thought we might settle our affairs without delay.I confess myself impatient."
"Your sentiments for once are mine."
"It is understood you bring your spaniel with you. He will watch that Ido not spring on you before you are ready," Lucas said, with a finesneer.
"And who is to watch me?"
"Oh, monsieur's chivalry is notorious. Precautions are unnecessary. Itis your privilege, monsieur, to appoint the happy spot."
"The spot is near at hand. Where you slew Pontou is the fitting placefor you to die."
"It is fitting for you to die in your own house," Lucas amended.
Without further parley we turned into the Rue des Innocents, on our wayto that of the Coupejarrets.
Now, I had been on the watch from the first instant for foul play. I hadsuspected something wrong with the sword, but my lord, who knew, hadaccepted it. Then, when Lucas proposed no seconds, I had felt sure of atrap. But his inviting my presence at the place of our choice smelt likehonesty.
M. Etienne remarked casually to me:
"Faith, t
here'll soon be as many ghosts in the house as you thought yousaw there--Grammont, Pontou, and now Lucas. What ails you, lad?Footsteps on your grave?"
But it was not thoughts of my grave caused the shudder, but of his. Forof the three men of the lightning-flash, the third was not Lucas, but M.Etienne. What if the vision were, after all, the thing I had at firstbelieved it--a portent? An appearance not of those who had died bysteel, but of those who must. One, two, and now the third.
Next moment I almost laughed out in relief. It was not Pontou I hadseen, but Louis Martin. And he was living. The vision was no omen, but amere happening. Was I a babe to shiver so?
And yet Martin, if not dead, was like to die. He was in duress as aLeaguer spy, to await King Henry's will. All who entered this house layunder a curse. We should none of us pass out again, save to our tombs.
We entered the well-remembered little passage, the well-rememberedcourt, where shards of glass still strewed the pavement. Some one--thegendarmes, I fancy, when they took away Pontou--had put a heavy padlockon the door Lucas and Grammont left swinging.
"We go in by your postern, Felix," my master said. "M. Lucas, I confessI prefer that you go first."
Lucas put his back to the wall.
"Why go farther, M. le Comte?"
"Do you long for interruption'?"
"We were not noticed coming in. The street was quiet."
He crossed the court abruptly and went down the alley to look into thestreet.
"Not a soul in sight," he said, coming back. "I think we shall not beinterrupted. Still, it is wise to use every care. We will fight, if youlike, in the house."
He opened with his knife the fastened shutter, and leaped lightly in.Monsieur followed. I, the last, was for closing the shutter, but hestopped me.
"No; leave it wide. I have no fancy for a walk in pitch-darkness with M.Lucas."
"Do we fight here?" Lucas asked, facing us in the wide, square hall. "Wecan let in more light."
"You seem anxious, my friend, to call attention to your whereabouts. AsI am host, I designate the fighting-ground. Up-stairs, if you please."
"I suppose you insist on my walking first," Lucas sneered.
"I request it, monsieur."
"With all the willingness in the world," his rogue-ship answered,setting foot straightway on the stair and mounting steadily, neverturning to see how near we followed, or what we did with our hands. Histrust made me ashamed of our lack of it. I almost believed we did himinjustice. Yet at heart I could not bring myself to credit him with anyfair dealing.
We went up one flight, up two. We had left behind us the twilight of thelower story, had not reached dawn again at the top. We walked inblackness. Suddenly I halted.
"Monsieur!"
"What?"
"I heard a noise."
"Of course you did. The place is full of rats."
"It was no rat. It was footsteps."
We all three held still.
"There, monsieur. Don't you hear?"
"Nothing, Felix; your teeth are chattering. Cross yourself and come on."
But I could not stand it.
"I'll go back and see, monsieur."
"No," Lucas said, striding back from the foot of the next flight. "Iwill go."
We saw a glint in the gloom, monsieur's bared sword.
"You will go neither one of you. Hush! If we show ourselves, there'll beno duel to-day."
We kept still, all three leaning over the banister, peering down towhere the white tiles picked themselves out of the floor of the hall farbeneath. We could see them better than we could see one another. All wassilent. Not so much as a rustle came up from below. Suddenly Lucas madea step or two, as if to pass us. M. Etienne wheeled about, raising hissword toward the spot where from his footfalls we supposed Lucas to be.
"You show an eagerness to get away from me, M. de Lorraine."
"Not in the least, M. de Mar. This alarm is but Felix's poltroonery, yetit prompts me to go down and close the shutter."
"On the contrary, you will go up with me. Felix will close the shutter."
They confronted each other, vague shapes in the darkness, each withdrawn sword. Then Lucas raised his in salute.
"As you will; so be some one sees to it."
"Go, Felix."
Lucas first, they mounted the last flight of stairs, and their footstepspassed along the corridor to the room at the back. I, as I was ordered,set my face down the stairs.
They might mock me as they liked, but I could not get it out of my headthat I had heard steps below. Cautiously, with a thumping heart, I stolefrom stair to stair, pausing at the bottom of the flight. I heardplainly the sound of moving above me, and of voices; but below not awhisper, not a creak. It must have been my silly fears. Resolved tochoke them, I planted my feet boldly on the next flight, and descendedhumming, to prove my ease, the rollicky tune of Peyrot's catch.Suddenly, from not three feet off, came the soft singing:
_Mirth, my love, and Folly dear_--
My knees knocked together, and the breath fluttered in my throat. Itseemed the darkness itself had given tongue. Then came a low laugh andthe muttered words:
"Here we are, M. de Lorraine. Are you ready?"
There was a stir of feet on the landing before me, behind the voice. Thehouse, then, was full of Lucas's cutthroats, the first of them Peyrot.In the height of my terror, I remembered that M. Etienne's life, too,depended on my wits, and I kept them. I whispered, for whispering voicesare hard to tell apart:
"Not yet. The two of them are up there. Keep quiet, and I'll send theboy down. When you've finished him, come up."
"As you say, monsieur. It is your job."
I turned, scarce able to believe my luck, and, not daring to run, walkedup-stairs again. Prick my ears as I might, I heard no movement after me.Actually, I had fooled Peyrot. I had gone down to meet my death, and atune had saved me.
When I reached the uppermost landing, I rushed along the passage andinto the room, flinging the door shut, locking and bolting it.
They had not begun to fight, but had busied themselves clearing thespace of all obstacles. The table was pushed against the wall in thecorner by the door; the chairs were heaped one on another at the end ofthe room. Both shutters were wide open. M. Etienne, bareheaded, in hisshirt, stood at guard. Lucas was kneeling on the floor, picking up withscrupulous care some bits of a broken plate. He sprang to his feet atsight of me.
"What is it?" cried M. Etienne.
"Cutthroats. They'll be here in a minute."
Even as I spoke, I heard tramping on the stairs below. My slam of thedoor had warned them that something was wrong.
"Was that your delay?" M. Etienne shouted, springing at his foe.
"I play to win!" Lucas answered, smiling.
The blades met; the men circled about and about. Lucas, though hepreferred to murder, knew how to duel.
We were doomed. With monsieur's sword for only weapon, we could neverhope to pass the gang. In another minute they would be here to batterthe door down and end us. Our consolation lay in killing Lucas first.Yet as I watched, I feared that M. Etienne, in the brief moments thatremained to him, could not conquer him, so shrewd and strong was Lucas'sfence. Must the scoundrel win? I started forward to play Pontou's trick.Lucas sought to murder us. Why not we him?
One flash from my lord's eyes, and I retreated in despair. For I knewthat did I touch Lucas, M. Etienne would let fall his sword, let Lucaskill him. And the bravos were on the last flight.
Was there no escape? There were three doors in the room. One led to thepassage, one to the closet, the third--I dashed through to find myselfin a large empty chamber, a door wide open giving on the passage.Through it I could see the dusky figures of four men running up thestairs.
I was across the room like an arrow, and got the door shut and boltedbefore they could reach the landing. The next moment some one flungagainst it. It stood firm. Delaying only a moment to shake it, three ofthe four I could hear run to the far
ther door, whence issued the noiseof the swords.
I, inside the wall, ran back too. The combat still raged. Neither, thatI could see, had gained the least advantage. Outside, the murderersdashed themselves upon the door.
I dragged at the heavy table, and, with a strength that amazed myself,pushed and pulled it before the door. It would make the panels a littlefirmer.
Was there no escape? None? I ran once more into the second chamber. Itsshutters were closed; I threw them open. There was no other door to theroom, no hiding-place. There was a chimney, but spanned a foot above thefireplace by two iron bars. The thinnest sweep that ever wielded broomcould not have squeezed between them.
In despair, I ran to the window again. Top of the house as it was, Ithought I would sooner leap than be stabbed to death. I stuck my headout. It was the same window where I had stood when Grammont seized me.There, not ten feet away, eight at the most, but a little above me, wasthe casement of my garret in the Amour de Dieu. Would it be possible tojump and catch the sill? If I did, I could scarce pull myself in.
I looked below me. There swung the sign of the Amour de Dieu. And therebeside it stood a homespun figure surely known to me. There was nomistaking that bald pate. I yelled at the top of my lungs:
"Maitre Jacques!"
He looked up, gaping at this voice out of the sky, but, despite hisamazement, I saw that he knew me.
"Maitre Jacques! We're being murdered! We can't get out! Help us for thelove of Christ! Bring a plank, a rope, to the window there!"
For an instant he stood confounded. Then he vanished into the inn.
I waited, on fire. Still from the next room sounded the clash of steel.White shirt and black doublet passed the door in turn, unflagging,ungaining.
Suddenly came a new noise from the passage, of trampling and rending,blows and oaths. My first thought was that they were fighting out there,that rescuers had come. Then, as I listened, I learned better.Despairing of kicking down the door, they were tearing out a piece ofstair-rail for a battering-ram. It would not long stand against that.
I ran back to the window. No Jacques appeared. We were lost, lost!
Hark, from the next room a cry, a fall! Well, were it Lucas's victory,he might kill me as well as another. I walked into the back room. But itwas Lucas who lay prone.
"Come, come!" I cried, clutching monsieur's wrist. But he would not tillwith Lucas's own misericorde he had given him coup de grace.
Crash! Crash! The upper panel shivered in twain. A great splinter sixinches wide, hanging from the top, blocked the opening. A hand camethrough to wrench it away.
M. Etienne, across the room at a leap, drove his knife through the hand,nailing it to the wood. On the instant he recognized its owner.
"Good morning, Peyrot. We've recovered the packet."
Not waiting for further amenities, I seized my lord and dashed him intothe front room, only a faint hope to lead me, but the oaths of thebravos a good spur. And, St. Quentin be thanked, there in the garretwindow were Jacques and his tapsters, pushing a ladder to us.
"Go, monsieur! There are four behind us. Go!"
"You first!"
But I, who had snatched up his sword as he stabbed Lucas, ran back toguard the door. He had the sense to see there was no good arguing.Crying, "Quick after me, Felix!" he crawled out on the ladder.
Peyrot was released. Another blow from the ram, and the door fell tofinders. They leaped in over the table like a freshet over a dam. Idarted to the window. M. Etienne was in the garret, helping hold theladder for me. I flung myself upon it all too eagerly. Like a lath itsnapped.
XXXI
_"The very pattern of a king."_
The next world appeared to be strangely like this. I found myself lyingon a straw bed in a little low attic, my head resting comfortably onsome one's shoulder, while some one else poured wine down my gullet.Presently I discovered that Maitre Jacques's was the ministering hand,M. Etienne's the shoulder. After all, this was not heaven, but stillParis.
I had no desire to speak so long as the flow of old Jacques's bestBurgundy continued; but when he saw my eyes wide open, he stopped, and Isaid, my voice, to my surprise, very faint and quavery:
"What happened?"
"Dear, brave lad! You fainted!"
My lord's voice was as unsteady as mine.
"But the ladder?" I murmured.
"The ladder broke. But you had hold beyond the break. You hung on tillwe seized you. And then you swooned."
"What a baby!" I said, getting to my feet. "But the men, monsieur?Peyrot?"
"I think we've seen the last of those worthies. They took to their heelswhen you escaped them."
"But, monsieur, they've gone to inform! You'll be taken for killingLucas."
"I doubt it. Themselves smell too strong of blood to dare bruit thematter. Natheless, if you can walk now, we'll make good time to thegate."
But for all his haste, he would not start till I had had some bread andsoup down in the kitchen.
"We must take good care of you, boy Felix," he said. "For where the St.Quentins would be without you, I tremble to think."
I set out a new man. In three steps, it seemed to me, we had reached thecity gate, to find the way blocked by a company of twenty or thirtyhorse, the St. Quentin uniform flaunting gay in the sun. The nearesttrooper set up a shout at sight of us, when Vigo, coming out suddenlyfrom behind a nag, took M. le Comte in his big embrace. He released himimmediately, looking immensely startled at his own demonstration.
M. Etienne laughed out at him.
"Be more careful, I beg you, Vigo! You will make me imagine myself ofsome importance."
"I thought you swallowed up," Vigo growled. "You had been here--Icouldn't get a trace of you."
"I was killing Lucas."
"Sacre! He's dead?"
"Dead."
"That's the best morning's work ever you did, M. Etienne."
"Have you horse for us, Vigo?"
"Of course. Some of the men will walk. I suppose we're leaving Paris tobuy you out of the Bastille?"
"Not worth it, eh, Vigo?"
"Yes," said Vigo, gravely--"yes, M. Etienne. You are worth it."
Vigo's troop was but slow-moving, as some of the horses carried double,some were loaded with chattels. M. Etienne and I, on the duke'sblood-chargers, soon left the cavalcade behind us. Before I knew it, wewere halted at the outpost of the camp. My lord gave his name.
"To be sure!" cried the sentry. "We've orders about you. You dine withthe king, M. de Mar."
"Mordieu! I do?"
"You do. Orders are to take you to him out of hand. Captain!"
The officer lounged out of the tavern door.
"Captain, M. de Mar."
"Oh, aye!" cried the captain, coming forward with brisk interest. "M. deMar, you're the child of luck. You dine with the king."
"I am the child of bewilderment, captain."
"And you've not too much time to recover from it, M. le Comte. You areto go straight to the king."
"I may go to M. de St. Quentin's lodgings first?"
"No, monsieur; straight to the king."
"What! in my shirt?"
"I can't help it, monsieur," the captain laughed. "I suppose the kingdid not guess you were coming in your shirt. Anyway, his order was tofetch you direct. And direct you go. But never care. Our king's nostickler for toggery. He's known what it is himself to lack for a coat."
"I might wash my face, then."
"Certainly. No harm in that."
So M. Etienne went into the tournebride and washed his face. And thatwas all the toilet he made for audience with the greatest king in theworld.
"You'll ride to Monsieur's," he commanded me, when the captain answered:
"No; he goes with you, monsieur, if he's the boy Choux, Troux, whateverit is."
"Broux--Felix Broux!" I cried, a-quiver.
"That's it. You go to the king, too. Another luck-child."
I thought so indeed. We followed the sentry
through the town in a wakingdream, content to let him do with us as he would. He did the talking,explained to the grandees in the king's hall our names and errand. Oneof them led us up the stairs and knocked at a closed door.
"Enter!"
It was Henry's own voice. I pinched monsieur's hand to tell him. Ourguide opened the door a crack.
"M. de Mar, Sire, and his servant."
"Good, La Force. Let them enter."
M. La Force fairly pushed us over the sill, so abashed were we, and shutthe door upon us.
The king was alone. But before this simple gentleman in the rusty black,M. Etienne caught his breath as he had not done before a court in fullpomp. He had seen courts, but he had never seen the first soldier ofEurope. He advanced three steps into the room, and forgot to kneel,forgot to lower his gaze in the presence, but merely stared wide-eyed atmajesty, as majesty stared at him. Thus they stood surveying each otherfrom top to toe in the frankest curiosity, till at length the kingspoke:
"M. de Mar, you look less like a carpet-knight than I expected."
M. Etienne came to himself, to kneel at once.
"Sire, I blush for my looks. But your zealous soldiers would not let mefrom their clutches. I am just come from killing Paul de Lorraine."
"What! the spy Lucas?"
"Himself. And when I left the spot by way of the window in some haste, Iwas not expecting this honour, Sire."
"Nor do I think you deserve it, ventre-saint-gris!" the king cried."Though you come hatless and coat-less to-day, you have been a long timeon the road, M. de Mar."
"Aye, Sire."
"You might as well have stayed away as come at this hour. Marry, all'sover! Go hang yourself, my breathless follower! We have fought all ourgreat battles, and you were not there!"
Scarlet under the lash, M. Etienne, kneeling, bent his eyes on theground. He was silent, but as the king spoke not, he felt it incumbentto stammer something:
"That is my life's misfortune, Sire."
"Misfortune, sirrah? Misfortune you call it? Let me hear you say fault."
"I dare not, Sire," M. Etienne murmured. "It was of course yourMajesty's fault. We cannot serve heretics, we St. Quentins."
"Ventre-saint-gris! You think well of yourself, young Mar."
"I must, Sire, when your Majesty invites me to dinner."
The king burst into laughter, and his temper, which I believe was all aplay, vanished to the winds.
"Pardieu! you're a glib fellow, Mar. But I didn't invite you to dinnerfor your own sake, little as you can imagine it. So you would havejoined my flag four years ago, had I not been a stinking heretic?"
"Aye, Sire, I needs must have. Therefore am I everlastingly beholden toyour Majesty for remaining so long a Huguenot."
"How now, cockerel?"
M. Etienne faltered a moment. He was not burdened by shyness, but beforethe king's sharp glance he underwent a cold terror lest he had been toofree with his tongue. However, there was naught to do but go on.
"Sire, had I fought under your banner like a man, at Dieppe and Arquesand Ivry, M. de Mayenne had never dreamed of marrying his ward to me. Ihad never known her."
"The loveliest demoiselle I ever saw!" the king cried. "I shall marryher to one of my staunchest supporters."
THE MEETING.]
The smile was washed from M. Etienne's lips. He turned as white aslinen. In one moment his youth seemed to go from him. The king,unnoting, picked a parchment off the table.
"To one of my bravest captains. Here's his commission, my lad."
M. Etienne stared up from the writing into the king's laughing face.
"I, Sire? I?"
"You, Mar, you. You are my staunch supporter, perhaps?"
"Your horse-boy, an you ask it, Sire!"
He pressed his lips to the king's hand, great, helpless tears drippingdown upon it.
"If I ever desert you, I am a dog, Sire! But the fighting is not alldone. I will capture you a flag yet."
"Perhaps. I much fear me there's life in Mayenne still."
M. Etienne, not venturing to rise, yet lifted beseeching eyes to theking's.
"What! you want to get away from me, ventre-saint-gris!"
My lord, who wanted precisely that, had no choice but to protest thatnothing was farther from his thoughts.
"Stuff!" the king exclaimed. "You're in a sweat to be gone, youunmannerly churl! You, a raw, untried boy, are invited to dine with theking, and your one itch is to escape the tedium!"
"Sire--"
"Peace! You are guilty, sirrah. Take your punishment!"
He darted across the room, and throwing open an inner door, calledgently, "Mademoiselle!"
"Yes, Sire," she answered, coming to the threshold.
The peasant lass was gone forever. The great lady, regal in satins,stood before us. She bent on the king a little, eager, questioningglance; then she caught sight of her lover. Faith, had the sun gone out,the room would have been brilliant with the light of her face.
M. Etienne sprang up and toward her. And she, pushing by the king as ifhe had been the door-post, went to him. They stood before each other,neither touching nor speaking, but only looking one at the other liketwo blind folk by a heavenly miracle restored to sight.
"How now, children? Am I not a model monarch? Do you swear by meforever? Do you vouch me the very pattern of a king?"
Answer he got none. They heard nothing, knew nothing, but each other.The slighted king chuckled and, beckoning me, withdrew to his cabinet.
So here an end. For if Henry of France leave them, you and I may notstay.
The Helmet of Navarre Page 31