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

by Stanley John Weyman

  CHAPTER XI.

  A BARGAIN.

  It is the wont of the sex to snatch at an ell where an inch isoffered, and to press an advantage in circumstances in which a man,acknowledging the claims of generosity, scruples to ask for more. Thehabit, now ingrained, may have sprung from long dependence on themale, and is one which a hundred instances, from the time of Judithdownward, prove to be at its strongest where the need is greatest.

  When Mademoiselle de Vrillac came out of the hour-long swoon intowhich her lover's defection had cast her, the expectation of the worstwas so strong upon her that she could not at once credit the respitewhich Madame Carlat hastened to announce. She could not believe thatshe still lay safe, in her own room above stairs; that she was in thecare of her own servants, and that the chamber held no presence morehateful than that of the good woman who sat weeping beside her.

  As was to be expected, she came to herself sighing and shuddering,trembling with nervous exhaustion. She looked for _him_, as soon asshe looked for any; and even when she had seen the door locked anddouble-locked, she doubted--doubted, and shook and hid herself in thehangings of the bed. The noise of the riot and rapine which prevailedin the city, and which reached the ear even in that locked room--andalthough the window, of paper, with an upper pane of glass, lookedinto a courtyard--was enough to drive the blood from a woman's cheeks.But it was fear of the house, not of the street, fear from within, notfrom without, which impelled the girl into the darkest corner andshook her wits. She could not believe that even this short respite washers, until she had repeatedly heard the fact confirmed at MadameCarlat's mouth.

  "You are deceiving me!" she cried more than once. And each time shestarted up in fresh terror. "He never said that he would not returnuntil to-morrow!"

  "He did, my lamb, he did!" the old woman answered with tears. "Would Ideceive you?"

  "He said he would not return?"

  "He said he would not return until to-morrow. You had until to-morrow,he said."

  "And then?"

  "He would come and bring the priest with him," Madame Carlat repliedsorrowfully.

  "The priest? To-morrow!" Mademoiselle cried. "The priest!" and shecrouched anew with hot eyes behind the hangings of the bed, and,shivering, hid her face.

  But this for a time only. As soon as she had made certain of therespite, and that she had until the morrow, her courage rose, and withit the instinct of which mention has been made. Count Hannibal hadgranted a respite; short as it was, and no more than the baresthumanity required, to grant one at all was not the act of the merebutcher who holds the trembling lamb, unresisting, in his hands. Itwas an act--no more, again be it said, than humanity required--and yetan act which bespoke an expectation of some return, of somecorrelative advantage. It was not in the part of the mere brigand.Something had been granted. Something short of the utmost in thecaptor's power had been exacted. He had shown that there were thingshe would not do.

  Then might not something more be won from him? A further delay,another point; something, no matter what, which could be turned toadvantage. With the brigand it is not possible to bargain. But whogives a little may give more; who gives a day may give a week; whogives a week may give a month. And a month? Her heart leapt up. Amonth seemed a lifetime, an eternity, to her who had but untilto-morrow!

  Yet there was one consideration which might have daunted a spiritless brave. To obtain aught from Tavannes it was needful to ask him,and to ask him it was needful to see him; and to see him _before_ thatto-morrow which meant so much to her. It was necessary, in a word, torun some risk; but without risk the card could not be played, and shedid not hesitate. It might turn out that she was wrong, that the manwas not only pitiless and without bowels of mercy, but lacked also theshred of decency for which she gave him credit, and on which shecounted. In that case, if she sent for him--but she would not considerthat case.

  The position of the window, while it increased the women's safety,debarred them from all knowledge of what was going forward, exceptthat which their ears afforded them. They had no means of judgingwhether Tavannes remained in the house or had sallied forth toplay his part in the work of murder. Madame Carlat, indeed, had nodesire to know anything. In that room above stairs, with the doordouble-locked, lay a hope of safety in the present, and of ultimatedeliverance; there she had a respite from terror, as long as she keptthe world outside. To her, therefore, the notion of sending forTavannes, or communicating with him, came as a thunderbolt. Was hermistress mad? Did she wish to court her fate? To reach Tavannes theymust apply to his riders, for Carlat and the men-servants wereconfined above. Those riders were grim, brutal men, who might resortto rudeness on their own account. And Madame, clinging in a paroxysmof terror to her mistress, suggested all manner of horrors, one on topof the other, until she increased her own terror tenfold. And yet, todo her justice, nothing that even her frenzied imagination suggestedexceeded the things which the streets of Paris, fruitful mother ofhorrors, were witnessing at that very hour. As we now know.

  For it was noon--or a little more--of Sunday, August the twenty-fourth,"a holiday, and therefore the people could more conveniently findleisure to kill and plunder." From the bridges, and particularlyfrom the stone bridge of Notre Dame--while they lay safe in thatlocked room, and Tignonville crouched in his haymow--Huguenots lessfortunate were being cast, bound hand and foot, into the Seine. On theriver bank Spire Niquet, the bookman, was being burnt over a slowfire, fed with his own books. In their houses, Ramus the scholar andGoujon the sculptor--than whom Paris has neither seen nor deserved agreater--were being butchered like sheep; and in the Valley of Misery,now the Quai de la Megisserie, seven hundred persons who had soughtrefuge in the prisons were being beaten to death with bludgeons. Nay,at this hour--a little sooner or a little later, what matters it?--M.Tignonville's own cousin, Madame d'Yverne, the darling of the Louvrethe day before, perished in the hands of the mob; and the sister of M.de Taverny, equally ill-fated, died in the same fashion, after beingdragged through the streets.

  Madame Carlat, then, went not a whit beyond the mark in her argument.But Mademoiselle had made up her mind, and was not to be dissuaded.

  "If I am to be Monsieur's wife," she said with quivering nostrils,"shall I fear his servants?"

  And opening the door herself, for the others would not, she called.The man who answered was a Norman; and short of stature, and wrinkledand low-browed of feature, with a thatch of hair and a full beard, heseemed the embodiment of the women's apprehensions. Moreover, his_patois_ of the cider-land was little better than German to them;their southern, softer tongue was sheer Italian to him. But he seemednot ill-disposed, or Mademoiselle's air overawed him; and presentlyshe made him understand, and with a nod he descended to carry hermessage.

  Then Mademoiselle's heart began to beat; and beat more quickly whenshe heard _his_ step--alas! she knew it already, knew it from allothers--on the stairs. The table was set, the card must be played, towin or lose. It might be that with the low, opinion he held of womenhe would think her reconciled to her lot; he would think this anoverture, a step towards kinder treatment, one more proof of theinconstancy of the lower and the weaker sex, made to be men'splaythings. And at that thought her eyes grew hot with rage. But if itwere so, she must still put up with it. She must still put up with it!She had sent for him, and he was coming--he was at the door!

  He entered, and she breathed more freely. For once his face lacked thesneer, the look of smiling possession, which she had come to know andhate. It was grave, expectant, even suspicious; still harsh and dark,akin, as she now observed, to the low-browed, furrowed face of therider who had summoned him. But the offensive look was gone, and shecould breathe.

  He closed the door behind him, but he did not advance into the room."At your pleasure, Mademoiselle?" he said simply. "You sent for me, Ithink."

  She was on her feet, standing before him with something of thesubmissiveness of Roxana before her conq
ueror. "I did," she said; andstopped at that, her hand to her side as if she could not continue.But presently in a low voice, "I have heard," she went on, "what yousaid, Monsieur, after I lost consciousness."

  "Yes?" he said; and was silent. Nor did he lose his watchful look.

  "I am obliged to you for your thought of me," she continued in a faintvoice, "and I shall be still further obliged--I speak to you thusquickly and thus early--if you will grant me a somewhat longer time."

  "Do you mean--if I will postpone our marriage?"

  "Yes, Monsieur."

  "It is impossible!"

  "Do not say that," she cried, raising her voice impulsively. "I appealto your generosity. And for a short, a very short, time only."

  "It is impossible," he answered quietly. "And for reasons,Mademoiselle. In the first place I can more easily protect my wife. Inthe second, I am even now summoned to the Louvre, and should be on myway thither. By to-morrow evening, unless I am mistaken in thebusiness on which I am required, I shall be on my way to a distantprovince with royal letters. It is essential that our marriage takeplace before I go."

  "Why?" she asked stubbornly.

  He shrugged his shoulders. "Why?" he repeated. "Can you ask,Mademoiselle, after the events of last night? Because, if you please,I do not wish to share the fate of M. de Tignonville. Because in thesedays life is uncertain, and death too certain. Because it was our turnlast night, and it may be the turn of your friends--to-morrow night!"

  "Then some have escaped?" she cried.

  He smiled. "I am glad to find you so shrewd," he replied. "In anhonest wife it is an excellent quality. Yes, Mademoiselle; one ortwo."

  "Who? Who? I pray you tell me."

  "M. de Montgomery, who slept beyond the river, for one; and theVidame, and some with him. M. de Biron, whom I count a Huguenot, andwho holds the Arsenal in the King's teeth, for another. And a fewmore. Enough, in a word, Mademoiselle, to keep us wakeful. It isimpossible, therefore, for me to postpone the fulfilment of yourpromise."

  "A promise on conditions!" she retorted, in rage that she could win nomore. And every line of her splendid figure, every tone of her voiceflamed sudden, hot rebellion. "I do not go for nothing! You gave methe lives of all in the house, Monsieur! Of all!" she repeated withpassion. "And all are not here! Before I marry you, you must show meM. de Tignonville alive and safe!"

  He shrugged his shoulders. "He has taken himself off," he said. "It isnaught to me what happens to him now."

  "It is all to me!" she retorted.

  At that he glared at her, the veins of his forehead swelling suddenly.But after a seeming struggle with himself he put the insult by,perhaps for future reckoning and account. "I did what I could," hesaid sullenly. "Had I willed it he had died there and then in the roombelow. I gave him his life. If he has risked it anew and lost it, itis naught to me."

  "It was his life you gave me," she repeated stubbornly. "His life--andthe others. But that is not all," she continued; "you promised me aminister."

  He nodded, smiling sourly to himself, as if this confirmed a suspicionhe had entertained. "Or a priest," he said.

  "No, a minister."

  "If one could be obtained. If not, a priest."

  "No, it was to be at my will; and I will a minister! I will aminister!" she cried passionately. "Show me M. Tignonville alive, andbring me a minister of my faith, and I will keep my promise, M. deTavannes. Have no fear of that. But otherwise, I will not."

  "You will not?" he cried. "You will not?"

  "No!"

  "You will not marry me?"

  "No!"

  The moment she had said it fear seized her, and she could have fledfrom him, screaming. The flash of his eyes, the sudden passion of hisface, burned themselves into her memory. She thought for a second thathe would spring on her and strike her down. Yet though the womenbehind her held their breath, she faced him, and did not quail; and tothat, she fancied, she owed it that he controlled himself. "You willnot?" he repeated, as if he could not understand such resistance tohis will--as if he could not credit his ears. "You will not?" Butafter that, when he had said it three times, he laughed; a laugh,however, with a snarl in it that chilled her blood.

  "You bargain, do you?" he said. "You will have the last tittle of theprice, will you? And have thought of this and that to put me off, andto gain time until your lover, who is all to you, come to save you?Oh, clever girl! clever! But have you thought where you stand--woman?Do you know that if I gave the word to my people they would treat youas the commonest baggage that tramps the Froidmantel? Do you know thatit rests with me to save you, or to throw you to the wolves whoseravening you hear?" And he pointed to the window. "Minister? Priest?"he continued. "_Mon Dieu_, Mademoiselle, I stand astonished at mymoderation. You chatter to me of ministers and priests, and the one orthe other, when it might be neither! When you are as much and ashopelessly in my power to-day as the wench in my kitchen! You! Youflout me, and make terms with me! You!"

  And he came so near her with his dark harsh face, his tone rose somenacing on the last word, that her nerves, shattered before, gaveway, and, unable to control herself, she flinched with a low cry,thinking he would strike her.

  He did not follow, nor move to follow; but he laughed a low laugh ofcontent. And his eyes devoured her. "Ho! ho!" he said. "We are not sobrave as we pretend to be, it seems. And yet you dared to chaffer withme? You thought to thwart me--Tavannes! _Mon Dieu_, Mademoiselle, towhat did you trust? To what did you trust? Ay, and to what do youtrust?"

  She knew that by the movement, which fear had forced from her, she hadjeopardised everything. That she stood to lose all and more than allwhich she had thought to win by a bold front. A woman less brave, of aspirit less firm, would have given up the contest, and have been gladto escape so. But this woman, though her bloodless face showed thatshe knew what cause she had for fear, and though her heart was,indeed, sick with sheer terror, held her ground at the point to whichshe had retreated. She played her last card. "To what do I trust?" shemuttered with trembling lips.

  "Yes, Mademoiselle," he answered, between his teeth. "To what do youtrust--that you play with Tavannes?"

  "To his honour, Monsieur," she answered faintly. "And to yourpromise."

  He looked at her with his mocking smile. "And yet," he sneered, "youthought a moment ago that I was going to strike you. You thought thatI should beat you! And now it is my honour and my promise! Oh, clever,clever, Mademoiselle! 'Tis so that women make fools of men. I knewthat something of this kind was on foot when you sent for me, for Iknow women and their ways. But, let me tell you, it is an ill time tospeak of honour when the streets are red! And of promises when theKing's word is 'No faith with a heretic!'"

  "Yet you will keep yours," she said bravely.

  He did not answer at once, and hope which was almost dead in herbreast began to recover; nay, presently sprang up erect. For the manhesitated, it was evident; he brooded with a puckered brow and gloomyeyes; an observer might have fancied that he traced pain as well asdoubt in his face. At last: "There is a thing," he said slowly andwith a sort of glare at her, "which, it may be, you have not reckoned.You press me now, and will stand on your terms and your conditions,your _ifs_ and your _unlesses!_ You will have the most from me, andthe bargain and a little beside the bargain! But I would have youthink if you are wise. Bethink you how it will be between us when youare my wife--if you press me so now, Mademoiselle. How will it sweetenthings then? How will it soften them? And to what, I pray you, willyou trust for fair treatment then, if you will be so against me now?"

  She shuddered. "To the mercy of my husband," she said in a low voice.And her chin sank on her breast.

  "You will be content to trust to that?" he answered grimly. And histone and the lifting of his brow promised little clemency. "Bethinkyou! 'Tis your rights now, and your terms, Mademoiselle! And then itwill be only my mercy--Madame."

  "I am content," she muttered faintly.

  "And the Lord have mercy on my soul, i
s what you would add," heretorted, "so much trust have you in my mercy! And you are right! Youare right, since you have played this trick on me. But as you will. Ifyou will have it so, have it so! You shall stand on your conditionsnow; you shall have your pennyweight and full advantage, and therigour of the pact. But afterwards--afterwards, Madame deTavannes----"

  He did not finish his sentence, for at the first word which grantedher petition, Mademoiselle had sunk down on the low wooden window-seatbeside which she stood, and, cowering into its farthest corner, herface hidden on her arms, had burst into violent weeping. Her hair,hastily knotted up in the hurry of the previous night, hung in a thickplait to the curve of her waist; the nape of her neck showed beside itmilk-white. The man stood awhile contemplating her in silence, hisgloomy eyes watching the pitiful movement of her shoulders, theconvulsive heaving of her figure. But he did not offer to touch her,and at length he turned about. First one and then the other of herwomen quailed and shrank under his gaze; he seemed about to addsomething. But he did not speak. The sentence he had left unfinished,the long look he bent on the weeping girl as he turned from her, spokemore eloquently of the future than a score of orations.

  "_Afterwards, Madame de Tavannes!_"