Historical Romances: Under the Red Robe, Count Hannibal, A Gentleman of France

by Stanley John Weyman

  CHAPTER XIII.

  ST. MARTIN'S EVE.

  It was late evening on the last day but one of November, when I rodeinto Paris through the Orleans gate. The wind was in the northeast,and a great cloud of vapour hung in the eye of an angry sunset. Theair seemed to be full of wood smoke, the kennels reeked, my gorge roseat the city's smell; and with all my heart I envied the man who hadgone out of it by the same gate nearly two months before, with hisface to the south, and the prospect of riding day after day acrossheath and moor and pasture. At least he had had some weeks of lifebefore him, and freedom, and the open air, and hope and uncertainty,while I came back under doom; and in the pall of smoke that hung overthe huddle of innumerable roofs, saw a gloomy shadowing of my ownfate.

  For make no mistake. A man in middle life does not strip himself ofthe worldly habit with which experience has clothed him, does not runcounter to all the cynical saws and instances by which he has governedhis course so long, without shiverings and doubts and horriblemisgivings and struggles of heart. At least a dozen times between theLoire and Paris, I asked myself what honour was; and what good itwould do me when I lay rotting and forgotten; if I was not a foolfollowing a Jack-o'-lanthorn; and whether, of all the men in theworld, the relentless man to whom I was returning, would not be thefirst to gibe at my folly.

  However, shame kept me straight; shame and the memory ofMademoiselle's looks and words. I dared not be false to heragain; I could not, after speaking so loftily, fall so low. Andtherefore--though not without many a secret struggle and quaking--Icame, on this last evening but one of November, to the Orleans gate,and rode slowly and sadly through the streets by the Luxembourg, on myway to the Pont au Change.

  The struggle had sapped my last strength, however; and with the firstwhiff of the gutters, the first rush of barefooted _gamins_ under myhorse's hoofs, the first babel of street cries, the first breath, in aword, of Paris, there came a new temptation--to go for one last nightto Zaton's to see the tables again and the faces of surprise; to be,for an hour or two, the old Berault. That could be no breach ofhonour; for in any case I could not reach the Cardinal beforetomorrow. And it could do no harm. It could make no change inanything. It would not have been a thing worth struggling about--onlyI had in my inmost heart suspicions that the stoutest resolutionsmight lose their force in that atmosphere; that even such a talismanas the memory of a woman's looks and words might lose its virtuethere.

  Still I think I should have succumbed in the end, if I had notreceived at the corner of the Luxembourg a shock which sobered meeffectually. As I passed the gates, a coach followed by two outridersswept out of the palace courtyard; it was going at a great pace, and Ireined my jaded horse on one side to give it room. As it whirled byme, one of the leather curtains flapped back, and I saw for a second,by the waning light,--the nearer wheels were no more than two feetfrom my boot,--a face inside.

  A face, and no more, and that only for a second! But it froze me. Itwas Richelieu's, the Cardinal's; but not as I had been wont to see it,keen, cold, acute, with intellect and indomitable will in everyfeature. This face was distorted with rage and impatience; with thefever of haste and the fear of death. The eyes burned under the palebrow, the mustachios bristled, the teeth showed through the beard; Icould fancy the man crying "Faster! Faster!" and gnawing his nails inthe impatience of passion; and I shrank back as if I had been struck.The next moment the galloping outriders splashed me, the coach was ahundred paces ahead, and I was left chilled and wondering, foreseeingthe worst, and no longer in any mood for the gaming-table.

  Such a revelation of such a man was enough to appall me. Consciencecried out that he must have heard that Cocheforet had escaped, andthrough me! But I dismissed the idea as soon as formed.

  In the vast meshes of the Cardinal's schemes, Cocheforet could be onlya small fish; and to account for the face in the coach I needed acataclysm, a catastrophe, a misfortune, as far above ordinary mishaps,as this man's intellect rose above the common run of minds.

  It was almost dark when I crossed the bridges, and crept despondentlyto the Rue Savonnerie. After stabling my horse, I took my bag andholsters, and climbing the stairs to my old landlord's,--the placeseemed to have grown strangely mean and small and ill-smelling in myabsence,--I knocked at the door. It was opened by the little tailorhimself, who threw up his arms at the sight of me. "By St. Genevieve!"he said. "If it is not M. de Berault!"

  "No other," I said. It touched me a little, after my lonely journey,to find him so glad to see me--though I had never done him a greaterbenefit than sometimes to unbend with him and borrow his money. "Youlook surprised, little man!" I continued, as he made way for me toenter. "I'll be sworn you have been pawning my goods and letting myroom, you knave!"

  "Never, your excellency!" he answered, beaming on me. "On thecontrary, I have been expecting you."

  "How?" I said. "To-day?"

  "To-day or to-morrow," he answered, following me in and closing thedoor. "The first thing I said, when I heard the news this morning,was, Now we shall have M. de Berault back again. Your excellency willpardon the children," he continued, as I took the old seat on thethree-legged stool before the hearth. "The night is cold, and there isno fire in your room."

  While he ran to and fro with my cloak and bags, little Gil, to whom Ihad stood at St. Sulpice's--borrowing ten crowns the same day, Iremember--came shyly to play with my sword-hilt "So you expected meback when you heard the news, Frison, did you?" I said, taking the ladon my knee.

  "To be sure, your excellency," he answered, peeping into the black potbefore he lifted it to the hook.

  "Very good. Then, now, let us hear what the news was," I said drily.

  "Of the Cardinal, M. de Berault."

  "Ah? And what?"

  He looked at me, holding the heavy pot suspended in his hands. "Youhave not heard?" he exclaimed, his jaw falling.

  "Not a tittle. Tell it me, my good fellow."

  "You have not heard that His Eminence is disgraced?"

  I stared at him. "Not a word," I said.

  He set down the pot. "Your excellency must have made a very longjourney indeed, then," he said, with conviction. "For it has been inthe air a week or more, and I thought it had brought you back. A week?A month, I dare say. They whisper that it is the old Queen's doing. Atany rate, it is certain that they have cancelled his commissions anddisplaced his officers. There are rumours of immediate peace withSpain. His enemies are lifting up their heads, and I hear that he hasrelays of horses set all the way to the coast, that he may fly at anymoment For what I know he may be gone already."

  "But, man," I said--"the King! You forget the King. Let the Cardinalonce pipe to him, and he will dance. And they will dance, too!" Iadded grimly.

  "Yes," Frison answered eagerly. "True, your excellency, but the Kingwill not see him. Three times to-day, as I am told, the Cardinal hasdriven to the Luxembourg, and stood like any common man in theante-chamber, so that I hear it was pitiful to see him. But HisMajesty would not admit him. And when he went away the last time, I amtold that his face was like death! Well, he was a great man, and wemay be worse ruled, M. de Berault, saving your presence. If the noblesdid not like him, he was good to the traders, and the _bourgeoisie_,and equal to all."

  "Silence, man! Silence, and let me think," I said, much excited. Andwhile he bustled to and fro, getting my supper, and the firelightplayed about the snug, sorry little room, and the child toyed with hisplaything, I fell to digesting this great news, and pondering how Istood now and what I ought to do. At first sight, I know, it seemedthat I had nothing to do but sit still. In a few hours the man whoheld my bond would be powerless, and I should be free. In a few hoursI might smile at him. To all appearance, the dice had fallen well forme. I had done a great thing, run a great risk, won a woman's love,and after all was not to pay the penalty!

  But a word which fell from Frison as he fluttered round me, pouringout the broth, and cutting the bread, drop
ped into my mind and spoiledmy satisfaction. "Yes, your excellency," he exclaimed, confirmingsomething he had said before, and which I had missed, "and I am toldthat the last time he came into the gallery, there was not a man ofall the scores who attended his _levee_ last Monday would speak tohim. They fell off like rats,--just like rats,--until he was leftstanding all alone. And I have seen him!" Frison lifted up his eyesand his hands and drew in his breath. "Ah, I have seen the King lookshabby beside him! And his eye! I would not like to meet it now."

  "Pish!" I growled. "Some one has fooled you. Men are wiser than that."

  "So? Well, your excellency understands. But--there are no cats on acold hearth."

  I told him again that he was a fool. But withal I felt uncomfortable.This was a great man if ever a great man lived, and they were allleaving him; and I--well, I had no cause to love him. But I had takenhis money, I had accepted his commission, and I had betrayed him.Those three things being so, if he fell before I could--with the bestwill in the world--set myself right with him, so much the better forme. That was my gain, the fortune of war. But if I lay hid, and tooktime for my ally, and being here while he stood still,--thoughtottering,--waited until he fell, what of my honour then? What of thegrand words I had said to Mademoiselle at Agen? I should be like therecreant in the old romance, who, lying in the ditch while the battleraged, came out afterwards and boasted of his courage. And yet theflesh was weak. A day, twenty-four hours, two days, might make thedifference between life and death. At last I settled what I would do.At noon the next day, the time at which I should have presentedmyself, if I had not heard this news, at that time I would stillpresent myself. Not earlier; I owed myself the chance. Not later; thatwas due to him.

  Having so settled it, I thought to rest in peace. But with the firstlight I was awake; and it was all I could do to keep myself quietuntil I heard Frison stirring. I called to him then to know if therewas any news, and lay waiting and listening while he went down to thestreet to learn. It seemed an endless time before he came back; anage, after he came back, before he spoke.

  "Well, he has not set off?" I cried at last, unable to control myeagerness.

  Of course he had not. At nine o'clock I sent Frison out again; and atten, and at eleven--always with the same result. I was like a manwaiting, and looking, and, above all, listening for a reprieve, and assick as any craven. But when he came back at eleven, I gave up hope,and dressed myself carefully. I suppose I still had an odd look,however; for Frison stopped me at the door and asked me, with evidentalarm, whither I was going.

  I put the little man aside gently. "To the tables," I said. "To make abig throw, my friend."

  It was a fine morning; sunny, keen, pleasant. Even the streets smelledfresh. But I scarcely noticed it. All my thoughts were where I wasgoing. It seemed but a step from my threshold to the Hotel Richelieu.I was no sooner gone from the one than I found myself at the other. Ason the memorable evening, when I had crossed the street in a drizzlingrain, and looked that way with foreboding, there were two or threeguards in the Cardinal's livery, loitering before the gates. But thiswas not all. Coming nearer, I found the opposite pavement under theLouvre thronged with people; not moving about their business, butstanding all silent, all looking across furtively, all with the air ofpersons who wished to be thought passing by. Their silence and theirkeen looks had in some way an air of menace. Looking back after I hadturned in towards the gates, I found them devouring me with theireyes.

  Certainly they had little else to look at. In the courtyard, wheresome mornings when the court was in Paris I had seen a score ofcoaches waiting and thrice as many servants, were now emptiness andsunshine and stillness. The officer, who stood twisting hismustachios, on guard, looked at me in wonder as I passed. The lackeyslounging in the portico, and all too much taken up with whispering tomake a pretence of being of service, grinned at my appearance. Butthat which happened when I had mounted the stairs, and come to thedoor of the ante-chamber, outdid all. The man on guard there wouldhave opened the door; but when I went to take advantage of the offer,and enter, a major-domo, who was standing near, muttering with two orthree of his kind, hastened forward and stopped me.

  "Your business, Monsieur, if you please?" he said inquisitively. And Iwondered why the others looked at me so strangely.

  "I am M. de Berault," I answered sharply. "I have the _entree_."

  He bowed politely enough. "Yes, M. de Berault, I have the honour toknow your face," he said. "But pardon me. Have you business with HisEminence?"

  "I have the common business," I answered bluntly, "by which many of uslive, sirrah!--to wait on him."

  "But--by appointment, Monsieur?" he persisted.

  "No," I said, astonished. "It is the usual hour. For the matter ofthat, however, I have business with him."

  The man looked at me for a moment, in apparent embarrassment. Then hestood reluctantly aside, and signed to the door-keeper to open thedoor. I passed in, uncovering, with an assured face, ready to meet alleyes. Then in a moment, on the threshold, the mystery was explained.

  The room was empty.