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

by Stanley John Weyman

  CHAPTER XIX.

  MEN CALL IT CHANCE.

  If I were telling more than the truth, or had it in my mind toembellish my adventures, I could, doubtless, by the exercise of alittle ingenuity make it appear that I owed my escape from FatherAntoine's meshes to my own craft; and tell, in fine, as pretty a storyof plots and counterplots as M. de Brantome has ever woven. Having nodesire, however, to magnify myself, and, at this time of day, scarcelyany reason, I am fain to confess that the reverse was the case; andthat while no man ever did less to free himself than I did, myadversary retained his grasp to the end, and had surely, but for astrange interposition, effected my ruin. How relief came, and fromwhat quarter, I might defy the most ingenious person, after reading mymemoirs to this point, to say; and this not so much by reason of anysubtle device, as because the hand of Providence was for once directlymanifest.

  The three days of grace which the priest had granted I passed inanxious but futile search for some means of escape, every plan Iconceived dying stillborn, and not the least of my miseries lying inthe fact that I could discern no better course than still to sit andthink, and seemed doomed to perpetual inaction. M. de Rambouilletbeing a strict Catholic, though in all other respects a patriotic man,I knew better than to have recourse to him; and the priest's influenceover M. d'Agen I had myself witnessed. For similar reasons I rejectedthe idea of applying to the king; and this exhausting the list ofthose on whom I had any claim, I found myself thrown on my ownresources, which seemed limited--my wits failing me at this pinch--tomy sword and Simon Fleix.

  Assured that I must break out of Blois if I would save, not myselfonly, but others more precious because entrusted to my charge, Ithought it no disgrace to appeal to Simon; describing in a livelyfashion the danger which threatened us, and inciting the lad by everyargument which I thought likely to have weight with him to devise someway of escape.

  'Now is the time, my friend,' I said, 'to show your wits, and provethat M. de Rosny, who said you had a cunning above the ordinary, wasright. If your brain can ever save your head, now is the time! For Itell you plainly, if you cannot find some way to outman[oe]uvre thisvillain before to-morrow, I am spent. You can judge for yourself whatchance you will have of going free.'

  I paused at that, waiting for him to make some suggestion. To mychagrin he remained silent, leaning his head on his hand, and studyingthe table with his eyes in a sullen fashion; so that I began to regretthe condescension I had evinced in letting him be seated, and found itnecessary to remind him that he had taken service with me, and must domy bidding.

  'Well,' he said morosely, and without looking up, 'I am ready to doit. But I do not like priests, and this one least of all. I know him,and I will not meddle with him!'

  'You will not meddle with him?' I cried, almost beside myself withdismay.

  'No, I won't,' he replied, retaining his listless attitude. 'I knowhim, and I am afraid of him. I am no match for him.'

  'Then M. de Rosny was wrong, was he?' I said, giving way to my anger.

  'If it please you,' he answered pertly.

  This was too much for me. My riding-switch lay handy, and I snatchedit up. Before he knew what I would be at, I fell upon him, and gavehim such a sound wholesome drubbing as speedily brought him to hissenses. When he cried for mercy--which he did not for a good space,being still possessed by the peevish devil which had ridden him eversince his departure from Rosny--I put it to him again whether M. deRosny was not right. When he at last admitted this, but not till then,I threw the whip away and let him go, but did not cease to reproachhim as he deserved.

  'Did you think,' I said, 'that I was going to be ruined because youwould not use your lazy brains? That I was going to sit still, and letyou sulk, while mademoiselle walked blindfold into the toils? Not atall, my friend!'

  'Mademoiselle!' he exclaimed, looking at me with a sudden change ofcountenance, and ceasing to rub himself and scowl, as he had beendoing. 'She is not here, and is in no danger.'

  'She will be here to-morrow, or the next day,' I said.

  'You did not tell me that!' he replied, his eyes glittering. 'DoesFather Antoine know it?'

  'He will know it the moment she enters the town,' I answered.

  Noting the change which the introduction of mademoiselle's name intothe affair had wrought in him, I felt something like humiliation. Butat the moment I had no choice; it was my business to use suchinstruments as came to my hand, and not, mademoiselle's safety beingat stake, to pick and choose too nicely. In a few minutes ourpositions were reversed. The lad had grown as hot as I cold, as keenlyexcited as I critical. When he presently came to a stand in front ofme, I saw a strange likeness between his face and the priest's; norwas I astonished when he presently made just such a proposal as Ishould have expected from Father Antoine himself.

  'There is only one thing for it,' he muttered, trembling all over. 'Hemust be got rid of!'

  'Fine talking!' I said, contemptuously. 'If he were a soldier he mightbe brought to it. But he is a priest, my friend, and does not fight.'

  'Fight? Who wants him to fight?' the lad answered, his face dark, hishands moving restlessly. 'It is the easier done. A blow in the back,and he will trouble us no more.'

  'Who is to strike it?' I asked drily.

  Simon trembled and hesitated; but presently, heaving a deep sigh, hesaid, 'I will.'

  'It might not be difficult,' I muttered, thinking it over.

  'It would be easy,' he answered under his breath. His eyes shone, hislips were white, and his long dark hair hung wet over his forehead.

  I reflected; and the longer I did so the more feasible seemed thesuggestion. A single word, and I might sweep from my path the manwhose existence threatened mine; who would not meet me fairly, but,working against me darkly and treacherously, deserved no bettertreatment at my hands than that which a detected spy receives. He hadwronged my mother; he would fain destroy my friends!

  And, doubtless, I shall be blamed by some and ridiculed by more forindulging in scruples at such a time. But I have all my life long beenprejudiced against that form of underhand violence which I have heardold men contend came into fashion in our country in modern times, andwhich certainly seems to be alien from the French character. Withoutjudging others too harshly, or saying that the poniard is neverexcusable--for then might some wrongs done to women and the helplessgo without remedy--I have set my face against its use as unworthy of asoldier. At the time, moreover, of which I am now writing the extentto which our enemies had lately resorted to it tended to fix thisfeeling with peculiar firmness in my mind; and, but for the verydesperate dilemma in which I stood at the moment--and not I alone--Ido not think that I should have entertained Simon's proposal for aminute.

  As it was, I presently answered him in a way which left him in nodoubt of my sentiments. 'Simon, my friend,' I said--and I remember Iwas a little moved--'you have something still to learn, both as asoldier and a Huguenot. Neither the one nor the other strikes at theback.'

  'But if he will not fight?' the lad retorted rebelliously. 'Whatthen?'

  It was so clear that our adversary gained an unfair advantage in thisway that I could not answer the question. I let it pass, therefore,and merely repeating my former injunction, bade Simon think outanother way.

  He promised reluctantly to do so, and, after spending some moments inthought, went out to learn whether the house was being watched.

  When he returned, his countenance wore so new an expression that I sawat once that something had happened. He did not meet my eye, however,and did not explain, but made as if he would go out again, withsomething of confusion in his manner. Before finally disappearing,however, he seemed to change his mind once more; for, marching up tome where I stood eyeing him with the utmost astonishment, he stoppedbefore me, and suddenly drawing out his hand, thrust something intomine.

  'What is it, man?' I said mechanically.

  'Look!' he answered rudely, breaking silence f
or the first time. 'Youshould know. Why ask me? What have I to do with it?'

  I looked then, and saw that he had given me a knot of velvet preciselysimilar in shape, size, and material to that well-remembered one whichhad aided me so opportunely in my search for mademoiselle. Thisdiffered from that a little in colour, but in nothing else, thefashion of the bow being the same, and one lappet bearing the initials'C. d. l. V.,' while the other had the words, 'A moi.' I gazed at itin wonder. 'But, Simon,' I said, 'what does it mean? Where did you getit?'

  'Where should I get it?' he answered jealously. Then, seeming torecollect himself, he changed his tone. 'A woman gave it to me in thestreet,' he said.

  I asked him what woman.

  'How should I know?' he answered, his eyes gleaming with anger. 'Itwas a woman in a mask.'

  'Was it Fanchette?' I said sternly.

  'It might have been. I do not know,' he responded.

  I concluded at first that mademoiselle and her escort had arrived inthe outskirts of the city, and that Maignan had justified hisreputation for discretion by sending in to learn from me whether theway was clear before he entered. In this notion I was partly confirmedand partly shaken by the accompanying message; which Simon, from whomevery scrap of information had to be dragged as blood from a stone,presently delivered.

  'You are to meet the sender half an hour after sunset to-morrowevening,' he said, 'on the Parvis at the north-east corner of thecathedral.'

  'To-morrow evening?'

  'Yes, when else?' the lad answered ungraciously. 'I said to-morrowevening.'

  I thought this strange. I could understand why Maignan should preferto keep his charge outside the walls until he heard from me, but notwhy he should postpone a meeting so long. The message, too, seemedunnecessarily meagre, and I began to think Simon was still withholdingsomething.

  'Was that all?' I asked him.

  'Yes, all,' he answered, 'except----'

  'Except what?' I said sternly.

  'Except that the woman showed me the gold token Mademoiselle de laVire used to carry,' he answered reluctantly, 'and said, if you wantedfurther assurance that would satisfy you.'

  'Did you see the coin?' I cried eagerly.

  'To be sure,' he answered.

  'Then, mon dieu!' I retorted, 'either you are deceiving me, or thewoman you saw deceived you. For mademoiselle has not got the token! Ihave it; here, in my possession! Now, do you still say you saw it,man?'

  'I saw one like it,' he answered, trembling, his face damp. 'That Iwill swear. And the woman told me what I have told you. And no more.'

  'Then it is clear,' I answered, 'that mademoiselle has nothing to dowith this, and is doubtless many a league away. This is one of M. deBruhl's tricks. Fresnoy gave him the token he stole from me. And Itold him the story of the velvet knot myself. This is a trap; and hadI fallen into it, and gone to the Parvis to-morrow evening, I hadnever kept another assignation, my lad.'

  Simon looked thoughtful. Presently he said, with a crestfallen air,'You were to go alone. The woman said that.'

  Though I knew well why he had suppressed this item, I forbore to blamehim. 'What was the woman like?' I said.

  'She had very much of Fanchette's figure,' he answered. He could notgo beyond that. Blinded by the idea that the woman was mademoiselle'sattendant, and no one else, he had taken little heed of her, and couldnot even say for certain that she was not a man in woman's clothes.

  I thought the matter over and discussed it with him; and was heartilyminded to punish M. de Bruhl, if I could discover a way of turning histreacherous plot against himself. But the lack of any preciseknowledge of his plans prevented me stirring in the matter; the moreas I felt no certainty that I should be master of my actions when thetime came.

  Strange to say the discovery of this movement on the part of Bruhl,who had sedulously kept himself in the background since the scene inthe king's presence, far from increasing my anxieties, had the effectof administering a fillip to my spirits; which the cold and unyieldingpressure of the Jacobin had reduced to a low point. Here was somethingI could understand, resist, and guard against. The feeling that I hadonce more to do with a man of like aims and passions with myselfquickly restored me to the use of my faculties; as I have heard that aswordsman opposed to the powers of evil regains his vigour on findinghimself engaged with a mortal foe. Though I knew that the hours ofgrace were fast running to a close, and that on the morrow the priestwould call for an answer, I experienced that evening an unreasonablelightness and cheerfulness. I retired to rest with confidence, andslept in comfort, supported in part, perhaps, by the assurance that inthat room where my mother died her persecutor could have no power toharm me.

  Upon Simon Fleix, on the other hand, the discovery that Bruhl wasmoving, and that consequently peril threatened us from a new quarter,had a different effect. He fell into a state of extreme excitement,and spent the evening and a great part of the night in walkingrestlessly up and down the room, wrestling with the fears andanxieties which beset us, and now talking fast to himself, now bitinghis nails in an agony of impatience. In vain I adjured him not to meettroubles halfway; or, pointing to the pallet which he occupied at thefoot of my couch, bade him, if he could not devise a way of escape, atleast to let the matter rest until morning. He had no power to obey,but, tortured by the vivid anticipations which it was his nature toentertain, he continued to ramble to and fro in a fever of the nerves,and had no sooner lain down than he was up again. Remembering,however, how well he had borne himself on the night of mademoiselle'sescape from Blois, I refrained from calling him a coward; andcontented myself instead with the reflection that nothing sits worseon a fighting-man than too much knowledge--except, perhaps, a livelyimagination.

  I thought it possible that mademoiselle might arrive next day beforeFather Antoine called to receive his answer. In this event I hoped tohave the support of Maignan's experience. But the party did notarrive. I had to rely on myself and my own resources, and, this beingso, determined to refuse the priest's offer, but in all other thingsto be guided by circumstances.

  About noon he came, attended, as was his practice, by two friends,whom he left outside. He looked paler and more shadowy than before, Ithought, his hands thinner, and his cheeks more transparent. I coulddraw no good augury, however, from these signs of frailty, for thebrightness of his eyes and the unusual elation of his manner toldplainly of a spirit assured of the mastery. He entered the room withan air of confidence, and addressed me in a tone of patronage whichleft me in no doubt of his intentions; the frankness with which he nowlaid bare his plans going far to prove that already he considered meno better than his tool.

  I did not at once undeceive him, but allowed him to proceed, and evento bring out the five hundred crowns which he had promised me, and thesight of which he doubtless supposed would clench the matter.

  Seeing this he became still less reticent, and spoke so largely that Ipresently felt myself impelled to ask him if he would answer aquestion.

  'That is as may be, M. de Marsac,' he answered lightly. 'You may askit.'

  'You hint at great schemes which you have in hand, father,' I said.'You speak of France and Spain and Navarre, and kings and Leagues andcardinals! You talk of secret strings, and would have me believe thatif I comply with your wishes I shall find you as powerful a patron asM. de Rosny. But--one moment, if you please,' I continued hastily,seeing that he was about to interrupt me with such eager assurances asI had already heard; 'tell me this. With so many irons in the fire,why did you interfere with one old gentlewoman--for the sake of a fewcrowns?'

  'I will tell you even that,' he answered, his face flushing at mytone. 'Have you ever heard of an elephant? Yes. Well, it has a trunk,you know, with which it can either drag an oak from the earth or lifta groat from the ground. It is so with me. But again you ask,' hecontinued with an airy grimace, 'why I wanted a few crowns. Enoughthat I did. There are going to be two things in the world, and twoonly, M. de Marsac: brains and money. The former I have, an
d had: thelatter I needed--and took.'

  'Money and brains?' I said, looking at him thoughtfully.

  'Yes,' he answered, his eyes sparkling, his thin nostrils beginning todilate. 'Give me these two, and I will rule France!'

  'You will rule France?' I exclaimed, amazed beyond measure by hisaudacity. 'You, man?'

  'Yes, I,' he answered, with abominable coolness. 'I, priest, monk,Churchman, clerk. You look surprised, but mark you, sir, there is achange going on. Our time is coming, and yours is going. What hampersour lord the king and shuts him up in Blois, while rebellions stalkthrough France? Lack of men? No; but lack of money. Who can get themoney for him--you the soldier, or I the clerk? A thousand times, I!Therefore, my time is coining, and before you die you will see apriest rule France.'

  'God forbid it should be you,' I answered scornfully.

  'As you please,' he answered, shrugging his shoulders, and assuming ina breath a mask of humility which sat as ill on his monstrous conceitas ever nun's veil on a trooper. 'Yet it may even be I; by the favourof the Holy Catholic Church, whose humble minister I am.'

  I sprang up with a great oath at that, having no stomach for more ofthe strange transformations, in which this man delighted, and whereofthe last had ever the air of being the most hateful. 'You villain!' Icried, twisting my moustaches, a habit I have when enraged. 'And soyou would make me a stepping-stone to your greatness. You would bribeme--a soldier and a gentleman. Go, before I do you a mischief. That isall I have to say to you. Go! You have your answer. I will tell younothing--not a jot or a tittle. Begone from my room!'

  He fell back a step in his surprise, and stood against the tablebiting his nails and scowling at me, fear and chagrin contending withhalf a dozen devils for the possession of his face. 'So you have beendeceiving me,' he said slowly, and at last.

  'I have let you deceive yourself,' I answered, looking at him withscorn, but with none of the fear with which he had for a whileinspired me. 'Begone, and do your worst.'

  'You know what you are doing,' he said. 'I have that will hang you, M.de Marsac--or worse.'

  'Go!' I cried.

  'You have thought of your friends,' he continued mockingly.

  'Go!' I said.

  'Of Mademoiselle de la Vire, if by any chance she fall into my hands?It will not be hanging for her. You remember the two Foucauds?'--andhe laughed.

  The vile threat, which I knew he had used to my mother, so worked uponme that I strode forward unable to control myself longer. In anothermoment I had certainly taken him by the throat and squeezed the lifeout of his miserable carcase, had not Providence in its goodnessintervened to save me. The door, on which he had already laid his handin terror, opened suddenly. It admitted Simon, who, closing it behindhim, stood looking from one to the other of us in nervous doubt;divided between that respect for the priest which a training at theSorbonne had instilled into him, and the rage which despair arouses inthe weakest.

  His presence, while it checked me in my purpose, seemed to give FatherAntoine courage, for the priest stood his ground, and even turned tome a second time, his face dark with spite and disappointment. 'Good,'he said hoarsely. 'Destroy yourself if you will! I advise you to baryour door, for in an hour the guards will be here to fetch you to thequestion.'

  Simon cried out at the threat, so that I turned and looked at the lad.His knees were shaking, his hair stood on end.

  The priest saw his terror and his own opportunity. 'Ay, in an hour,'he continued slowly, looking at him with cruel eyes. 'In an hour, lad!You must be fond of pain to court it, and out of humour with life tothrow it away. Or stay,' he continued abruptly, after consideringSimon's agony for a moment, and doubtless deducing from it a lasthope, 'I will be merciful. I will give you one more chance.'

  'And yourself?' I said with a sneer.

  'As you please,' he answered, declining to be diverted from thetrembling lad, whom his gaze seemed to fascinate. 'I will give youuntil half an hour after sunset this evening to reconsider the matter.If you make up your minds to accept my terms, meet me then. I leaveto-night for Paris, and I will give you until the last moment. But,'he continued grimly, 'if you do not meet me, or, meeting me, remainobstinate--God do so to me, and more also, if you see the sun risethrice.'

  Some impulse, I know not what, seeing that I had no thought ofaccepting his terms or meeting him, led me to ask briefly, 'Where?'

  'On the Parvis of the Cathedral,' he answered after a moment'scalculation. 'At the north-east corner, half an hour after sunset. Itis a quiet spot.'

  Simon uttered a stifled exclamation. And then for a moment there wassilence in the room, while the lad breathed hard and irregularly, andI stood rooted to the spot, looking so long and so strangely at thepriest that Father Antoine laid his hand again on the door and glanceduneasily behind him. Nor was he content until he had hit on, as hefancied, the cause of my strange regard.

  'Ha!' he said, his thin lip curling in conceit at his astuteness, 'Iunderstand. You think to kill me to-night? Let me tell you, this houseis watched. If you leave here to meet me with any companion--unless itbe M. d'Agen, whom I can trust--I shall be warned, and be gone beforeyou reach the rendezvous. And gone, mind you,' he added, with a grimsmile, 'to sign your death-warrant.'

  He went out with that, closing the door behind him; and we heard hisstep go softly down the staircase. I gazed at Simon, and he at me,with all the astonishment and awe which it was natural we should feelin presence of so remarkable a coincidence.

  For by a marvel the priest had named the same spot and the same timeas the sender of the velvet knot!

  'He will go,' Simon said, his face flushed and his voice trembling,'and they will go.'

  'And in the dark they will not know him,' I muttered. 'He is about myheight. They will take him for me!'

  'And kill him!' Simon cried hysterically. 'They will kill him! He goesto his death, monsieur. It is the finger of God.'