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

by Stanley John Weyman

  CHAPTER XV.

  THE BROTHER OF ST. MAGLOIRE.

  As the exertion of power is for the most part pleasing, so theexercise of that which a woman possesses over a man is especiallypleasant. When in addition a risk of no ordinary kind has been run,and the happy issue has been barely expected--above all when themomentary gain seems an augury of final victory--it is impossible thata feeling akin to exultation should not arise in the mind, howeverblack the horizon, and however distant the fair haven.

  The situation in which Count Hannibal left Mademoiselle de Vrillacwill be remembered. She had prevailed on him; but in return he hadbowed her to the earth, partly by subtle threats, and partly by sheersavagery. He had left her weeping, with the words "Madame de Tavannes"ringing doom in her ears, and the dark phantom of his will pointingonward to an inevitable future. Had she abandoned hope, it would havebeen natural.

  But the girl was of a spirit not long nor easily cowed; and Tavanneshad not left her half an hour before the reflection, that so far thehonours of the day were hers, rose up to console her. In spite of hispower and her impotence, she had imposed her will upon his; she hadestablished an influence over him, she had discovered a scruple whichstayed him, and a limit beyond which he would not pass. In the resultshe might escape; for the conditions which he had accepted with an illgrace, might prove beyond his fulfilling. She might escape! True, manyin her place would have feared a worse fate and harsher handling. Butthere lay half the merit of her victory. It had left her not only in abetter position, but with a new confidence in her power over heradversary. He would insist on the bargain struck between them; withinits four corners she could look for no indulgence. But if theconditions proved to be beyond his power, she believed that he wouldspare her: with an ill grace, indeed, with such ferocity and coarsereviling as her woman's pride might scarcely support. But he wouldspare her.

  And if the worst befell her? She would still have the consolation ofknowing that from the cataclysm which had overwhelmed her friends shehad ransomed those most dear to her. Owing to the position of herchamber, she saw nothing of the excesses to which Paris gave itself upduring the remainder of that day, and to which it returned withunabated zest on the following morning. But the Carlats and her womenlearned from the guards below what was passing; and quaking andcowering in their corners fixed frightened eyes on her, who was theirstay and hope. How could she prove false to them? How doom them toperish, had there been no question of her lover?

  Of him she sat thinking by the hour together. She recalled with solemntenderness the moment in which he had devoted himself to the deathwhich came but halfway to seize them; nor was she slow to forgive hissubsequent withdrawal, and his attempt to rescue her in spite ofherself. She found the impulse to die glorious; the withdrawal--forthe actor was her lover--a thing done for her, which he would not havedone for himself, and which she quickly forgave him. The revulsion offeeling which had conquered her at the time, and led her to tearherself from him, no longer moved her much; while all in his actionthat might have seemed in other eyes less than heroic, all in hisconduct--in a crisis demanding the highest--that smacked of common ormean, vanished, for she still clung to him. Clung to him, not so muchwith the passion of the mature woman, as with the maiden andsentimental affection of one who has now no hope of possessing, andfor whom love no longer spells life but sacrifice.

  She had leisure for these musings, for she was left to herself allthat day, and until late on the following day. Her own servants waitedon her, and it was known that below stairs Count Hannibal's riderskept sullen ward behind barred doors and shuttered windows, refusingadmission to all who came. Now and again echoes of the riot whichfilled the streets with bloodshed reached her ears: or word of themore striking occurrences was brought to her by Madame Carlat. Andearly on this second day, Monday, it was whispered that M. de Tavanneshad not returned, and that the men below were growing uneasy.

  At last, when the suspense below and above was growing tense, it wasbroken. Footsteps and voices were heard ascending the stairs, thetrampling and hubbub were followed by a heavy knock; perforce the doorwas opened. While Mademoiselle, who had risen, awaited with a beatingheart she knew not what, a cowled father, in the dress of the monks ofSt. Magloire, stood on the threshold, and, crossing himself, mutteredthe words of benediction. He entered slowly.

  No sight could have been more dreadful to Mademoiselle; for it set atnaught the conditions which she had so hardly exacted. What if CountHannibal were behind, were even now mounting the stairs, prepared toforce her to a marriage before this shaveling? Or ready to proceed, ifshe refused, to the last extremity? Sudden terror taking her by thethroat choked her; her colour fled, her hand flew to her breast. Yet,before the door had closed on Bigot, she had recovered herself.

  "This intrusion is not by M. de Tavannes' orders!" she cried, steppingforward haughtily. "This person has no business here. How dare youadmit him?"

  The Norman showed his bearded visage a moment at the door. "My lord'sorders," he muttered sullenly. And he closed the door on them.

  She had a Huguenot's hatred of a cowl; and, in this crisis, herreasons for fearing it. Her eyes blazed with indignation. "Enough!"she cried, pointing with a gesture of dismissal to the door. "Go backto him who sent you! If he will insult me, let him do it to my face!If he will perjure himself, let him forswear himself in person. Or, ifyou come on your own account," she continued, flinging prudence to thewinds, "as your brethren came to Philippa de Luns, to offer me thechoice you offered her, I give you her answer! If I had thought ofmyself only, I had not lived so long! And rather than bear yourpresence or hear your arguments----"

  She came to a sudden, odd, quavering pause on the word; her lipsremained parted, she swayed an instant on her feet. The next momentMadame Carlat, to whom the visitor had turned his shoulder, doubtedher eyes, for Mademoiselle was in the monk's arms!

  "Clotilde! Clotilde!" he cried, and held her to him.

  For the monk was M. de Tignonville! Under the cowl was the lover withwhom Mademoiselle's thoughts had been engaged. In this disguise, andarmed with Tavannes' note to Madame St. Lo--which the guards belowknew for Count Hannibal's hand, though they were unable to decipherthe contents--he had found no difficulty in making his way to her.

  He had learned before he entered that Tavannes was abroad, and wasaware therefore that he ran little risk. His betrothed, on the otherhand, who knew nothing of his adventures in the interval, saw in himone who came to her at the greatest risk, across unnumbered perils,through streets swimming with blood. And though she had never embracedhim save in the crisis of the massacre, though she had never calledhim by his Christian name, in the joy of this meeting she abandonedherself to him, she clung to him weeping, she forgot for the time hisdefection, and thought only of him who had returned to her sogallantly, who brought into the room a breath of Poitou, and the sea,and the old days, and the old life; and at the sight of whom thehorrors of the last two days fell from her--for the moment.

  And Madame Carlat wept also, and in the room was a sound of weeping.The least moved was, for a certainty, M. de Tignonville himself, who,as we know, had gone through much that day. But even his heartswelled, partly with pride, partly with thankfulness that he hadreturned to one who loved him so well. Fate had been kinder to himthan he deserved; but he need not confess that now. When he hadbrought off the _coup_ which he had in his mind, he would hasten toforget that he had entertained other ideas.

  Mademoiselle had been the first to be carried away; she was also thefirst to recover herself. "I had forgotten," she cried suddenly. "Ihad forgotten," and she wrested herself from his embrace withviolence, and stood panting, her face white, her eyes affrighted. "Imust not! And you--I had forgotten that too! To be here, monsieur, isthe worst office you can do me. You must go! Go, monsieur, in mercy Ibeg of you, while it is possible. Every moment you are here, everymoment you spend in this house, I shudder."

  "You need not fear for me,
" he said, in a tone of bravado. He did notunderstand.

  "I fear for myself!" she answered. And then, wringing her hands,divided between her love for him and her fear for herself, "Oh,forgive me!" she said. "You do not know that he has promised to spareme, if he cannot produce you, and--and--a minister! He has granted methat; but I thought when you entered that he had gone back on hisword, and sent a priest, and it maddened me! I could not bear to thinkthat I had gained nothing. Now you understand, and you will pardon me,monsieur? If he cannot produce you I am saved. Go then, leave me, Ibeg, without a moment's delay."

  He laughed derisively as he turned back his cowl and squared hisshoulders. "All that is over!" he said, "over and done with, sweet! M.de Tavannes is at this moment a prisoner in the Arsenal. On my wayhither I fell in with M. de Biron, and he told me. The Grand Master,who would have had me join his company, had been all night at MarshalTavannes' hotel, where he had been detained longer than he expected.He stood pledged to release Count Hannibal on his return, but at myrequest he consented to hold him one hour, and to do also a littlething for me."

  The glow of hope which had transfigured her face faded slowly. "Itwill not help," she said, "if he find you here."

  "He will not! Nor you!"

  "How, monsieur?"

  "In a few minutes," he explained--he could not hide his exultation, "amessage will come from the Arsenal in the name of Tavannes, biddingthe monk he sent to you bring you to him. A spoken message,corroborated by my presence, should suffice: '_Bid the monk who is nowwith Mademoiselle_,' it will run, '_bring her to me at the Arsenal,and let four pikes guard them hither_.' When I begged M. de Biron todo this, he laughed. 'I can do better,' he said. 'They shall bring oneof Count Hannibal's gloves, which he left on my table. Alwayssupposing my rascals have done him no harm, which God forbid, for I amanswerable.'"

  Tignonville, delighted with the stratagem which the meeting with Bironhad suggested, could see no flaw in it. She could, and though sheheard him to the end, no second glow of hope softened the lines of herfeatures. With a gesture full of dignity, which took in not onlyMadame Carlat and the waiting-woman who stood at the door but theabsent servants, "And what of these?" she said. "What of these? Youforgot them, monsieur. You do not think, you cannot have thought, thatI would abandon them? That I would leave them to such mercy as he,defeated, might extend to them? No, you forgot them."

  He did not know what to answer, for the jealous eyes of the frightenedwaiting-woman, fierce with the fierceness of a hunted animal, were onhim. The Carlat and she had heard, could hear. At last, "Better onethan none!" he muttered, in a voice so low that if the servants caughthis meaning it was but indistinctly. "I have to think of you."

  "And I of them," she answered firmly. "Nor is that all. Were they nothere, it could not be. My word is passed--though a moment ago,monsieur, in the joy of seeing you I forgot it. And how," shecontinued, "if I keep not my word, can I expect him to keep his? Orhow, if I am ready to break the bond, on this happening which I neverexpected, can I hold him to conditions which he loves as little--aslittle as I love him?"

  Her voice dropped piteously on the last words; her eyes, craving herlover's pardon, sought his. But rage, not pity or admiration, was thefeeling roused in Tignonville's breast. He stood staring at her,struck dumb by folly so immense. At last, "You cannot mean this," heblurted out. "You cannot mean, Mademoiselle, that you intend to standon that! To keep a promise wrung from you by force, by treachery, inthe midst of such horrors as he and his have brought upon us! It isinconceivable!"

  She shook her head. "I promised," she said.

  "You were forced to it."

  "But the promise saved our lives."

  "From murderers! From assassins!" he protested.

  She shook her head. "I cannot go back," she said firmly; "I cannot."

  "Then you are willing to marry him," he cried in ignoble anger. "Thatis it! Nay, you must wish to marry him! For, as for his conditions,Mademoiselle," the young man continued, with an insulting laugh, "youcannot think seriously of them. _He_ keep conditions and you in hispower! He, Count Hannibal! But for the matter of that, and were he inthe mind to keep them, what are they? There are plenty of ministers. Ileft one only this morning. I could lay my hand on one in fiveminutes. He has only to find one therefore--and to find me!"

  "Yes, monsieur," she cried, trembling with wounded pride, "it is forthat reason I implore you to go. The sooner you leave me, the sooneryou place yourself in a position of security, the happier for me!Every moment that you spend here, you endanger both yourself and me!"

  "If you will not be persuaded----"

  "I shall not be persuaded," she answered firmly, "and you dobut"--alas! her pride began to break down, her voice to quiver, shelooked piteously at him--"by staying here make it harder for meto--to----"

  "Hush!" cried Madame Carlat, "Hush!" And as they started and turnedtowards her--she was at the end of the chamber by the door, almost outof earshot--she raised a warning hand. "Listen!" she muttered, "someone has entered the house."

  "'Tis my messenger from Biron," Tignonville answered sullenly. And hedrew his cowl over his face, and, hiding his hands in his sleeves,moved towards the door. But on the threshold he turned and held outhis arms. He could not go thus. "Mademoiselle! Clotilde!" he criedwith passion, "for the last time, listen to me, come with me. Bepersuaded!"

  "Hush!" Madame Carlat interposed again, and turned a scared face onthem. "It is no messenger! It is Tavannes himself: I know his voice."And she wrung her hands. "_Oh, mon Dieu, mon Dieu_, what are we todo?" she continued, panic-stricken. And she looked all ways about theroom.