‘Why! Just what I told you: a woman.’
‘But if I am a woman, then why arrest me?’
‘My goodness, because in our day, women are more dangerous than men – so our war might, properly, be called the women’s war. The queen and Madame de Condé are the two belligerent powers. They have taken as their lieutenants general: Mademoiselle de Chevreuse, Madame de Montbazon, Madame de Longueville… and you. Mademoiselle de Chevreuse is the general of the coadjutor, Madame de Montbazon is the general of Monsieur de Beaufort, Madame de Longueville is the general of Monsieur de La Rochefoucauld, and, as for you, you look to me like nothing so much as the general of the Duke d’Epernon.’
‘You are mad, Monsieur,’ the young traveller said, shrugging his shoulders.
‘I shall not believe you, fair lady, any more than I believed a handsome young man, a short time ago, who paid me the same compliment.’
‘And I suppose you told her that she was a man.’
‘Just so. I recognized my little gentleman because I had seen him on a particular evening at the start of May prowling around Master Biscarros’s inn, so I was not taken in by his skirts, his hairstyle and his high-pitched little voice – any more than I was fooled by your blue jerkin, your grey hat and your laced boots. And I said to myself: “My dear young friend, take whatever name you wish, put on whatever dress you like, assume whatever voice pleases you, you are nonetheless Viscount de Cambes.” ’
‘The Viscount de Cambes!’ the young traveller exclaimed.
‘Ah, the name means something to you, apparently. Do you know him, by any chance?’
‘A very young man, almost a child.’
‘Seventeen or eighteen, at the most.’
‘Very fair-haired?’
‘Very.’
‘With large blue eyes?’
‘Very large, very blue.’
‘Is he here?’
‘He is.’
‘And you say that he is…’
‘Disguised as a woman, the naughty boy, just as you are disguised as a man, naughty girl.’
‘What is he doing here?’ the young rider exclaimed, with a violence and anxiety that were becoming increasingly visible as Cauvignac, on the contrary, became more measured in his gestures and sparing of words.
‘However,’ Cauvignac replied, weighing each word, ‘he claims to have a rendez-vous with one of his friends.’
‘One of his friends?’
‘Yes.’
‘A gentleman?’
‘Probably.’
‘A baron?’
‘Perhaps.’
‘Whose name…’
Cauvignac’s brow furrowed under the effect of a complicated idea that had for the first time entered his mind and which, as it did so, had visibly caused a revolution in his brain: ‘Ah, ha!’ he murmured. ‘That would be a fine catch!’
‘Whose name…?’ the young traveller repeated.
‘Wait a second,’ Cauvignac said. ‘Wait, now… It was a name ending in olles.’
‘Baron de Canolles!’ exclaimed the young traveller, whose lips went deathly pale, making the black mask stand out against the whiteness of the skin in the most sinister manner.
‘That’s it, Canolles,’ said Cauvignac, watching the effect of this revelation on the visible part of the young man’s face and throughout his body. ‘Monsieur de Canolles: you were right. So you know Monsieur de Canolles, too! Well, I never! Do you know everyone?’
‘That’s enough!’ stammered the young man, shaking in every limb and apparently about to faint. ‘Where is this lady?’
‘In that room: look, the third one along from here, with yellow curtains.’
‘I want to see her!’ cried the traveller.
‘Oh, oh!’ said Cauvignac. ‘Was I wrong? Could you be the Monsieur de Canolles whom she is expecting? Or might Monsieur de Canolles not be the fine horseman who is just trotting up, followed by a lackey who looks to me like an accomplished nincompoop?’
The young traveller plunged so hard towards the front window of the carriage that he hit his forehead on it.
‘That’s him! That’s him!’ he cried, not even noticing that a few drops of blood were oozing from a slight wound. ‘Oh, misery! He is coming, he will meet her, I am lost!’
‘Ah, you see: you are a woman!’
‘They had an assignation,’ the young man went on, wringing his hands. ‘Oh, I shall have my revenge!’
Cauvignac was about to try another pleasantry, but the young man gave him an imperious gesture with one hand, while with the other, he tore off his mask. It was then that the pale face of Nanon could be seen appearing, fully armed with menace, before the calm eyes of Cauvignac.
VII
‘Hello, Little Sister,’ said Cauvignac to Nanon, offering the young woman his hand with the most unshakeable sangfroid.
‘Hello! So you recognized me, did you?’
‘As soon as I saw you. It was not enough to hide your face, you should also have covered that charming little beauty spot and those pearly teeth. Do at least put on a mask for the whole face when you want to disguise yourself, my sweet impostor – but you don’t bother… “et fugit ad salices”…’18
‘Enough,’ said Nanon, imperiously. ‘Let’s talk seriously.’
‘I ask nothing better: it is only by means of serious talk that one does good business.’
‘So, you are telling me that the Viscountess de Cambes is here?’
‘Herself.’
‘And that Monsieur de Canolles is arriving at the inn at this moment?’
‘Not yet. He is dismounting and throwing the reins to his grooms. Ah! He’s been seen from this side, too. The window with the yellow curtains is opening, and the head of the viscountess is peering out. There! She’s given a cry of joy. Monsieur de Canolles is hurrying into the house. Hide, Little Sister, or everything is lost!’
Nanon leapt back, convulsively grasping the hand of Cauvignac, who was giving her a look of paternal sympathy.
‘And I was going to meet him in Paris!’ Nanon exclaimed. ‘I was risking everything to see him again!’
‘What sacrifices, Little Sister! And for an ungrateful wretch, too! Honestly, you could distribute your generosity better.’
‘What will they say, now that they are together again? What will they do?’
‘Really, my dear Nanon, that’s a very embarrassing question,’ said Cauvignac. ‘Why, I suppose that they are going to love one another a great deal.’
‘No, no! It cannot be!’ cried Nanon, furiously biting her nails, which were as polished as ivory.
‘On the contrary, I think it will,’ Cauvignac replied. ‘Ferguzon, who had orders not to allow anyone to leave, was not told to prevent anyone coming in. In all probability, at this moment, the viscountess and the Baron de Canolles are exchanging all kinds of nothings, each sweeter than the next. Goodness, my dear Nanon, you are too late.’
‘You think so?’ the young woman retorted with an indefinable expression of profound irony and venomous subtlety. ‘You think so? Well, come up beside me, you poor diplomat!’
Cauvignac did as she said.
‘Here, Bertrand,’ she went on, speaking to one of the musket-bearers. ‘Tell the coachman to turn round, without making a fuss about it, and wait under that clump of trees that we saw on the right as we came into the village.’ Then, turning back to Cauvignac: ‘Won’t that be a good place to talk?’
‘Excellent, but let me take a few precautions of my own.’
‘Go on.’
Cauvignac signalled to four of his men who had been strolling around outside the inn, humming and buzzing like hornets in the sun, and told them to follow him.
‘You do well to bring these men,’ said Nanon. ‘And if you take my word, you’ll take six rather than four. We’ll be able to make work for them.’
‘Good!’ said Cauvignac. ‘Work is what I need.’
‘Then you won’t be disappointed,’ the young woman replied.
&
nbsp; The chaise, doing an about-turn, took away Nanon, blushing with the ardour of her thoughts, and Cauvignac who, though apparently calm and cold, was nonetheless preparing to give his full attention to the opportunities that his sister had in store for him.
While this was happening, Canolles, drawn by the shout of joy that Madame de Cambes had given when she saw him, had rushed into the inn and straight to the viscountess’s apartment, taking no notice of Ferguzon, whom he had met standing in the corridor, but who, having no orders about Canolles, made no attempt to stop him.
‘Oh, Monsieur!’ exclaimed Madame de Cambes when she saw him. ‘Hurry to me, because I have been waiting impatiently for you.’
‘Those words would have made me the happiest man in the world, Madame, except that your pale face and anxious expression tell me that it was not for my own sake alone that you were waiting for me.’
‘You are right,’ Claire answered, with her most charming smile. ‘I want to put myself under a further obligation to you.’
‘What is it?’
‘To save me from some unknown danger that is threatening me.’
‘Danger!’
‘Yes. Wait…’ Claire went to the door and shot the bolt. ‘I have been recognized,’ she said, when she came back.
‘By whom?’
‘By a man whose name I do not know, but whose face and voice are familiar to me. I think I heard his voice on the evening when in this same room you received the order to leave at once for Mantes, and I think I saw his face at the hunt in Chantilly on the day when I took the place of Madame de Condé.’
‘And what do you think this man is?’
‘An agent of the Duke d’Epernon, and consequently an enemy.’
‘The devil he is!’ said Canolles. ‘And you say he recognized you?’
‘I’m certain of it. He called me by name, though insisting that I was a man. Everywhere around here there are officers of the royal faction. I am known to belong to the princes’ party, so perhaps they meant to bother me. But now you are here, I am not afraid of anything. You are an officer yourself. You belong to the same party as they do, so you will serve as my protector.’
‘Alas!’ Canolles replied. ‘I’m very much afraid that I can offer you no other defence and protection than that of my sword.’
‘Why?’
‘From now on, Madame, I am no longer in the service of the king.’
‘Is that true?’ Claire cried, overwhelmed with joy.
‘I promised myself that I would send my resignation dated from the place where I met you, if I did. I have met you, and my resignation will be dated from Jaulnay.’
‘Free, free! You are free! You can embrace the party of justice and loyalty, you can serve the cause of the princes, that is to say of all the nobility. Oh, I knew that you were too worthy a man not to do so.’
Claire gave Canolles a hand which he kissed with rapture.
‘How did it happen? What brought you to it? Tell me all the details.’
‘It won’t be a long story. I wrote in advance to Monsieur de Mazarin to inform him of what had happened. When I reached Mantes, I received the order to go and see him. He called me brainless; I called him weak in the head. He laughed; I lost my temper. He raised his voice; I told him to go to the devil. I went back to my lodging, where I waited for him to throw me into the Bastille. He was waiting for sober reflection to make me leave Mantes. After a day, the sober reflection came – and that, too, I owe to you, because I remembered what you promised and thought that you might be waiting for me, if only for a second. So, filling my lungs with the open air and free of all responsibilities and duties, with no party, no commitment and almost no preference, I recalled only one thing, Madame, which is that I loved you and that now I could tell you so boldly and openly.’
‘So you have lost your rank for my sake, you have shamed yourself for my sake, you have ruined yourself for my sake! Dear Monsieur de Canolles, how could I ever repay you what I owe, how could I ever prove my gratitude?’
With a smile and a tear that returned him a hundred times more than he had lost, Madame de Cambes made Canolles fall at her feet.
‘Oh, Madame,’ he said. ‘On the contrary, from this moment I am rich and happy, because I shall follow you and never leave you again, so I shall be happy in seeing you and rich with your love.’
‘So nothing will stop you?’
‘Nothing.’
‘You will belong to me entirely and, while keeping your heart, I can offer your arm to fight for the princess?’
‘You may.’
‘You have sent your resignation?’
‘Not yet. I wanted to see you first. But as I said, now that I have seen you, I shall write it here, this moment. I was leaving myself the happiness of being able to obey you.’
‘Then write! Do it at once! If you don’t write, you will be considered as a traitor. And before you make any definite move, you must wait for your resignation to be accepted.’
‘Don’t worry, my dear little diplomat. They will grant it to me, and willingly. My clumsy handling of affairs in Chantilly will mean that they have few regrets. Didn’t they say that I was “brainless”?’ Canolles went on, with a laugh.
‘Yes, but we shall make up to you for the low opinion that they have of you. Your affairs in Chantilly will seem more successful in Bordeaux than in Paris, believe me. But write, Baron, write, so that we can leave! I have to tell you that staying in this inn does not make me feel at all secure.’
‘Are you talking about the past and making yourself so afraid with your memories?’ said Canolles, casting a loving look around him and pausing on the little alcove with two beds that had already attracted his attention more than once.
‘No, I’m talking about the present, and you are no longer the cause of my anxieties. It is not you that I am afraid of now.’
‘What are you afraid of, then? What do you have to fear?’
‘God knows!’
At that moment, as though to justify the viscountess in her fears, three knocks sounded on the door. They were delivered with grave solemnity.
Canolles and the viscountess fell silent and exchanged an anxious look.
‘Open!’ said a voice. ‘In the name of the king!’
Suddenly, the fragile door burst open. Canolles tried to grab his sword, but in no time a man had leapt between his sword and him.
‘What does this mean?’ the baron asked.
‘You are the Baron de Canolles, I believe?’
‘Certainly.’
‘A captain in the regiment of Navailles?’
‘Yes.’
‘Sent on a mission from the Duke d’Epernon?’
Canolles nodded.
‘In that case, in the name of the king and of Her Majesty the Queen Regent, I arrest you.’
‘Where’s your warrant?’
‘Here.’
‘But, Monsieur,’ said Canolles, handing back the paper after glancing quickly at it, ‘I have a feeling that I know you.’
‘Indeed you do! Was it not in this same village where I am arresting you today that I brought you the order from the Duke d’Epernon to leave for the court? Your fortune was in that order, my fine fellow. You failed in it, and so much the worse for you.’
The colour drained from Claire’s face and she fell weeping into a chair. She, too, had recognized the indiscreet enquirer.
‘Monsieur de Mazarin is taking his revenge,’ Canolles murmured.
‘Come, Monsieur, let’s go,’ said Cauvignac.
Claire was motionless. Canolles seemed hesitant and almost mad. His misfortune was so great, so dire and so unexpected that he was crushed beneath its weight: he bent his head and resigned himself to his fate. Indeed, at that time, the words ‘In the name of the king!’ still retained some magic power, and no one tried to resist.
‘Where are you taking me, Monsieur?’ he asked. ‘Or are you even forbidden from giving me the consolation of knowing where I am going?’
> ‘No, Monsieur, I shall tell you: we are taking you to the fortress on the Ile Saint-Georges.’
‘Adieu, Madame,’ said Canolles, bowing respectfully before Madame de Cambes. ‘Adieu.’
‘Well, well,’ Cauvignac said to himself. ‘Things are not so advanced as I would have thought. I’ll tell Nanon: she’ll be pleased.’ Then, going to the doorway, he shouted: ‘Four men to escort the captain! And four other men ahead.’
‘And me,’ cried Madame de Cambes, reaching out her arms towards the prisoner. ‘And me – where are you taking me? Because if the baron is guilty, I am even more so than he is!’
‘You, Madame, can go,’ Cauvignac replied. ‘You are free.’
And he left with the baron.
Madame de Cambes got up, revived by a glimmer of hope, and prepared everything for her departure, before these good intentions were replaced by contrary orders. ‘I am free,’ she said. ‘So I can keep watch over him. Let’s go.’
Hurrying to the window, she saw the cavalcade taking Canolles away, exchanged a last wave with him and, calling Pompée – who, hoping for a stay of two or three days, had settled down in the best room he could find – she gave him orders to prepare everything for their departure.
VIII
The journey was even sadder for Canolles than he had expected. The horse, that gives even the most closely guarded prisoner a false sense of freedom, had been replaced by a carriage, a ghastly leather four-wheeler, the shape and shuddering of which still survive in Touraine. Moreover, Canolles’s knees were locked in those of a man with a nose like an eagle’s beak, whose hand was resting in a sort of proprietorial manner on the butt of an iron pistol. Sometimes at night (because he slept during the day), Canolles hoped to catch this new watchdog off guard, but beside the eagle’s beak shone two great owl’s eyes, round, blazing and entirely suited to seeing in the dark, so that, whichever way he turned, Canolles could still see these two round eyes shining in his direction.
While he was sleeping, one of the eyes also slept, but only one: nature had given the man the ability to sleep with only one eye shut.
Canolles spent two days and two nights in sombre reflections: the fortress of the Ile Saint-Georges, though a fairly innocent fortress in reality, assumed terrifying proportions in the eyes of the prisoner, as fear and remorse gradually sank deeper and deeper into his heart.
The Women's War Page 29