Vayenne

by Percy James Brebner

  CHAPTER XXVIII

  THE SUBMISSION OF MADEMOISELLE DE LIANCOURT

  They buried Jean in the great Church of St. Etienne, as was fitting,and a whole city mourned him. He had passed in and out amongst them,there was hardly a man, woman, or child in Vayenne who had not knownhim, now his place was suddenly empty. Some had laughed at him, somewith him; some had pitied him; and a few, understanding him better,had loved him. To-day the whole city mourned and honored him, and agreat silent crowd was in the streets as he passed to his last restingplace, to sleep for ever in that beautiful House of God where he hadso often crept in to sleep at night. Soldiers saluted as he passed,and men remembered what he had done for the city that he loved,crowning his good work by giving his life for the Duke's. "It's onlythe fool!" they had cried in their first gladness that the Duke hadnot been struck down, but now there was a sense of regret almost thatthey had expressed their gladness in such words, words which seemed tomark the loss as a trivial one. They recognized that the loss was agreat one, that Vayenne would be the poorer without that strangemisshapen figure in its streets.

  And chief among the mourners stood the Duke himself, and those abouthim saw that the strong man who seemed to know no fear, to whom, asthey believed, all sentiment and love were unknown, wept. They spokeno more of the Duke's fool, but of the Duke's friend. They understoodJean better now, and perhaps they understood the Duke better, too, asthey returned homeward.

  A solemn city to-day, yet over it the carillon laughed its constantmessage. Time passeth into Eternity, and Time is a little matter.Always Jean had understood something of the meaning of the message. Hehad a fuller understanding now.

  Jean's death had one marked effect upon the people's mind. Three dayssince they had accepted the Duke's judgment upon the prisoners withouta murmur, and, if they were inclined to think it too lenient, theyrealized that mercy has its part in justice, and were content. Theywere still content to exonerate Mademoiselle de Liancourt from anypart in deep-seated treachery, but they were loud in their demandsthat Count Felix should die the death of a traitor, nor was their furyagainst de Bornais much less. The Duke remained firm in his purposewith regard to de Bornais, who had left the city two days ago to theaccompaniment of hisses and execrations from the assembled multitude.Only a strong force of soldiers had procured his safe passage throughthe streets. Now Jean's funeral had further inflamed the people'sanger against the Count, who remained a close prisoner in thesemi-circular cell in the South Tower. There was no loose bar in thewindow high up in the wall any longer, there was no Jean to come tohis deliverance. Indeed, it was the safest refuge the Count couldhave, for in their present mood the populace would have torn down anyless well defended prison to get at him.

  Very sad at heart Herrick had returned to the castle after Jean'sfuneral. He had been met on all sides with loud demands for theCount's death. It seemed suddenly to have become the one question ofimportance. Many more of the nobles had come to Vayenne, and they,too, advised his speedy execution. He had added murder to treachery.No further mercy ought to be shown him.

  Herrick sat alone thinking of Jean. Something had gone out of his lifewith the quaint figure with which he had become so familiar. He hadnever liked the motley, yet, as Jean had said, it seemed to suitsomehow his outward appearance. Herrick would have given much to seethe door open quietly and to hear the jingle of the bells. Clad inthat gaudy green and scarlet, Jean had been a very wise counsellor,and Herrick missed his wisdom and advice every hour.

  "I had not been so good a Duke as I am had it not been for Jean," hemurmured.

  The door did open presently, quietly too, but it was Lemasle whoentered.

  "You have not forgotten that Mademoiselle de Liancourt rides to Passeythis afternoon, sir."

  "No, captain. You will take a strong force. There may still be robberson the Passey road, but not of the kind you and I have had experienceof."

  "Am I to return with my men from Passey at once?" asked Lemasle.

  Herrick was thoughtful for a few moments.

  "No," he said slowly. "Viscount Dupre has certain instructionsconcerning the--the prisoner, and will decide when it is advisable foryou to return. Be guided entirely by him, Lemasle."

  The captain regarded him curiously for a moment.

  "Sir, you surely do not intend----" Then he stopped, partly because ofthe absurdity of the idea that had suddenly come into his mind,partly because of the expression in the Duke's face.

  "I do nothing without careful consideration, Lemasle," said Herrick."Though I seek to serve the state, I am despot enough to do it in myown fashion."

  "Pardon, sir; instead of simply obeying orders, I was presuming to tryand understand."

  "To understand what, captain?"

  "Your purpose regarding Mademoiselle."

  "She is a prisoner sent to the Chateau of Passey," Herrick answered."Is it too lenient a punishment? It is a dull place, Passey, likely tobreak the high spirits and proud defiance of any woman. Is there notsome vindictiveness in my action in this matter?"

  "And afterward, sir?"

  "Ah, my good friend, so you would look through the Duke into the heartof the man," said Herrick, with a smile. "The passing hours must bringthe afterward as they will; but this much of my heart you may know: Isend Mademoiselle to Passey guarded by the man, the one man I trust asI would trust myself--Gaspar Lemasle; yet even he would be a fool toenter Vayenne again should harm befall Christine de Liancourt. She isdear to me, dear as my own soul; know, therefore, Lemasle, how I trustyou."

  "Your words prophesy summer weather for this land of Montvilliers,"said the captain quickly. "If only----"

  Herrick looked at him as he paused.

  "I would to heaven my sword had been thrust deeply into the Count'sthroat the other day before your sharp command had had time to hold itback," the captain burst out.

  "Truly he is a great difficulty," said Herrick.

  "Let him die, sir. No man ever merited death more. The whole citydemands it."

  What would Jean have said? Herrick found himself glancing down at thefloor beside his chair, caught himself listening for the jingle ofbells. There was no sound, there was no quaint little figure seatedbeside him.

  "For a few days longer he must live," he said suddenly. "He is a pawnin the game, and must keep his place on the board. He shall be judged,Lemasle. Rest assured, he shall be judged. Has not a man, because ofhim, died for me?"

  The captain had turned to go, fully satisfied that the Count's fatewas sealed, when the door opened, and a messenger entered.

  "Sir, Mademoiselle de Liancourt prays that she may see you before sheleaves the castle."

  "I will come to her at once," Herrick answered, and the messengerwithdrew.

  The prompt answer, the sudden change in Herrick's face, the alertnessof his movements as he rose from his chair, were not lost uponLemasle. The least observant of men could not help but be conscious ofthem.

  "Is it possible that, after all, Mademoiselle will not leave thecastle?" he asked.

  "Nothing will prevent her going to Passey, Lemasle, I trust you to seethat she goes in safety." And then as Herrick reached the door heturned back. "You must take a strong force. The rabble is fickle, andmay think to please me by jeering at her. Should any cur fling so muchas a sneering word at her, drag him to his knees, captain, make himkiss the dust before her, humble himself, and crave her pardon. If, asyou let him go, you so far forget yourself as to give him a sound cuffto help him to better manners in the future, no great harm will bedone. There is more vindictiveness in me than you supposed."

  With the stripping off of her wedding garments a gladness had comeinto Christine's heart, a feeling that in casting them aside she hadescaped some great disaster. Herrick was hardly absent from herthoughts for a moment. She had credited him with an overweeningambition; had judged all his actions in this light. She could nolonger believe that he was prompted by mere ambition. He had foughtfor, and saved Montvilliers. He had returned to save h
er from adisastrous wedding. She knew now that others about her had schemed andplotted for their own ends, and that, whatever motive lay under RogerHerrick's actions, the love of this land was deep rooted in his heart.He had indeed taught her a lesson in patriotism. She did notunderstand him, how could she? but the outlines of the man, as itwere, began to take a different and a larger shape. They wereindefinite still, she could not fit the Roger Herrick who had knelt toher offering his service with the Duke who seemed desirous of bendingeveryone and everything to his will. His splendid courage before theChurch of St. Etienne had fascinated her. The man she had come tomarry, all the men about her, seemed to sink into insignificancebeside this one commanding figure; she felt that he must be obeyed,and forgot to be resentful. The words he had spoken to her were sternones, yet there was a look in his eyes, something in the touch of hishand as he helped her into the carriage, which had thrilled her. Thenhad come that day in the hall. Surely he had excuse enough to avengehimself, not upon herself, she had not expected him to do that, butupon Felix and de Bornais. She had to confess that his judgments uponthem were more lenient than probably her own would have been. Toolenient, surely, for the swift tragedy of Jean's death had followed.As surely as the downward stroke of that cruel dagger had taken thedwarf's life, so surely had it shown to Christine, in an instant oftime, what this man Roger Herrick really was to her. Real grief hadcast her upon her knees beside Jean, but there was wild joy in herheart that it was not Herrick who lay there.

  They had hurried Felix roughly from the hall, and she had left Herrickbending over the body of the man who had died to save him. He had notspoken to her, he had not replied to the words she had whispered asJean died; their eyes had met for a moment, and she had not seen himsince. Lucille, her only companion, was as close a prisoner asherself, so nothing of the gossip of the castle was brought toChristine. One of those who watched and waited upon her told her thatthe Count was confined in the South Tower, and gradually Felix beganto come into her thoughts. For prisoners there had ever been asinister meaning in that semi-circular cell in the South Tower. Deathhad so often been the only road to freedom from it. Felix deserveddeath. It was almost certain that the Duke had decided upon his death.It was just, and yet Christine shrank from the contemplation of it. Byreason of Roger Herrick's coming, Felix had suffered terriblehumiliation; there was surely some excuse for him. There was, Herrickhimself had admitted it, but that, of course, was before Jean had beenmurdered. Yes, it was just that Felix should die, and yet he was hercousin, the man whom a few days ago she had been willing to marry. Wasshe not in some measure responsible for what had happened? The thoughtthat in an hour or two she would have left Vayenne, would bepowerless to plead for mercy, made her send impulsively to Herrick andpray for an audience.

  She had sent Lucille into another room, and was standing by the windowclad in her riding habit ready for her journey to Passey when the dooropened, and a soldier, saluting, announced the Duke.

  Christine remembered that last time he had come unannounced.

  For a moment Herrick paused upon the threshold. She had been dressedas she was now when he had first seen her. She had looked like thiswhen he had first offered her his service. Nothing could suit thepretty head so well as that astrakhan cap. It was with an effort thathe advanced slowly toward her; he would like to have caught her in hisarms, and stopped all remonstrance with his kisses on her lips.

  "You sent for me, mademoiselle."

  Now he had come Christine hardly knew what to say to him, or how bestto say it. Could she move him to mercy if she were humble enough?

  "I wanted to thank you," she said, "for your leniency to me and--andto others. You might have chosen a harder prison for me than theChateau of Passey. It has its associations for me. You thought of thatwhen you chose it."

  "Naturally I had reasons for choosing it," he answered.

  "My lord, Count Felix is----"

  "Mademoiselle, for these three days past the Count's name has beenringing in my ears. Spare me more of it. They shout in the streets atme for his death. In the castle they are insistent that he should die.I cannot forget that Jean's love for me saved my life, and Jean isdead."

  "Neither do I forget it; still, I would plead for the Count."

  "Surely he merits death?"

  "Yes; still, I would plead for him," said Christine earnestly. "Youknow--you said--you have admitted that for his plotting, at least,there was some excuse. He was mad with the uncontrollable madness of adesperate man."

  "It was murder, mademoiselle, no more, no less; that the victim wasnot the one he hoped for makes little difference."

  "Yet I plead for him," she persisted. "You have already shown greatgenerosity; show it once more, if not to him, to me. Felix is my ownflesh and blood. How far I may be responsible for his madness I do notknow. He had lost everything, his kingdom, his honor, the woman he hasalways desired to marry. In his own fashion he may have loved me. Ihad plotted with him against you. Truly in a large degree I amresponsible, and I pray you have mercy. Make my punishment greater ifyou will, so that you save Felix. Banish him, anything, but do notkill him."

  "You forget that the state has laws, and that the Duke but serves thestate," he said quietly.

  "You are all-powerful, and you know it. On my knees I beg this thing."And she suddenly dropped at his feet. "I beg it of the Duke, the DukeI promise to serve should it presently please him to give me freedom.You have taught me patriotism. I would I had the power I once had tomake my service a worthy gift."

  "Mademoiselle, I doubt not the people still love you," said Herrick,putting out his hand to raise her; but she would not see it.

  "You believe that? You believe that I might still be a danger?"

  "Am I not sending you to the Chateau of Passey? If you were of smallaccount in Vayenne, why should I banish you from the city?"

  There was a moment's pause, then she said quietly. "Not long ago inthis room you asked me to make a sacrifice, it was your own word, andI refused. I have learned much since then. I will do anything to servethe Duke and my country."

  Herrick remembered the manner in which he had asked her to marry him.For an instant now he nearly lost control of himself, almost bent downand caught her up in his arms to tell her all that was in his heart,but he quickly had himself in hand again.

  "Mademoiselle," he said, gently raising her, "I do not like to haveyou kneeling to me, and I will not bargain with you in this fashion.For the present Felix must remain where he is, but this I promise, youshall have speech with me again before he is condemned."

  "Thank you," she said. "Before he is condemned; you mean before----"

  "There is no juggling in the words," Herrick answered. "Is it too muchto ask you to trust me?"

  "I trust the word of the Duke," she said.

  "I will leave you, mademoiselle. I hear your escort assembling in thecourt-yard. You may find the Chateau of Passey a less dreary prisonthan you imagine."

  A little later Christine and Lucille rode out of the great gates withGaspard Lemasle and a large escort, and from a corner of the terraceRoger Herrick watched them go. His world had moved since the night hehad seen her ride out upon the same journey when she went to bring thepale scholar of Passey to Vayenne.