CHAPTER XII. THE ROAD TO PARIS
I remember hearing Marshal Bassompierre, who, of all the men withinmy knowledge, had the widest experience, say that not dangers butdiscomforts prove a man and show what he is; and that the worst sores inlife are caused by crumpled rose-leaves and not by thorns.
I am inclined to think him right, for I remember that when I came frommy room on the morning after the arrest, and found hall and parlour andpassage empty, and all the common rooms of the house deserted, and nomeal laid; and when I divined anew from this discovery the feeling ofthe house towards me--however natural and to be expected--I rememberthat I felt as sharp a pang as when, the night before, I had had to facediscovery and open rage and scorn. I stood in the silent, empty parlour,and looked on the familiar things with a sense of desolation, ofsomething lost and gone, which I could not understand. The morning wasgrey and cloudy, the air sharp, a shower was falling. The rose-bushesoutside swayed in the wind, and inside, where I could remember the hotsunshine lying on floor and table, the rain beat in and stained theboards. The inner door flapped and creaked on its hinges. I thought ofother days and of meals I had taken there, and of the scent of flowers;and I fled to the hall in despair.
But here, too, were no signs of life or company, no comfort, noattendance. The ashes of the logs, by whose blaze Mademoiselle had toldme the secret, lay on the hearth white and cold fit emblem of the changethat had taken place; and now and then a drop of moisture, sliding downthe great chimney, pattered among them. The main door stood open, as ifthe house had no longer anything to guard. The only living thing to beseen was a hound which roamed about restlessly, now gazing at the emptyhearth now lying down with pricked cars and watchful eyes. Some leaves,which had been blown in by the wind, rustled in a corner.
I went out moodily into the garden and wandered down one path and upanother, looking at the dripping woods, and remembering things, untilI came to the stone seat. On it, against the wall, trickling withraindrops, and with a dead leaf half filling its narrow neck, stood thepitcher of food. I thought how much had happened since Mademoiselle tookher hand from it and the sergeant's lanthorn disclosed it to me; and,sighing grimly, I went in again through the parlour door.
A woman was on her knees, on the hearth kindling the belated fire. Shehad her back to me, and I stood a moment looking at her doubtfully,wondering how she would bear herself and what she would say to me. Thenshe turned, and I started back, crying out her name in horror--for itwas Madame! Madame de Cocheforet!
She was plainly dressed, and her childish face was wan and piteous withweeping; but either the night had worn out her passion and drained hertears, or some great exigency had given her temporary calmness, forshe was perfectly composed. She shivered as her eyes met mine, and sheblinked as if a bright light had been suddenly thrust before her; butthat was all, and she turned again to her task without speaking.
'Madame! Madame!' I cried in a frenzy of distress. 'What is this?'
'The servants would not do it,' she answered in a low but steady voice.'You are still our guest, Monsieur.'
'But I cannot suffer it!' I cried. 'Madame de Cocheforet, I will not--'
She raised her hand with a strange patient expression in her face.
'Hush! please,' she said. 'Hush! you trouble me.'
The fire blazed up as she spoke, and she rose slowly from it, and with alingering look at it went out, leaving me to stand and stare and listenin the middle of the floor. Presently I heard her coming back along thepassage, and she entered bearing a tray with wine and meat and bread.She set it down on the table, and with the same wan face, tremblingalways on the verge of tears, she began to lay out the things. Theglasses clinked fitfully against the plates as she handled them; theknives jarred with one another. And I stood by, trembling myself; andendured this strange kind of penance.
She signed to me at last to sit down; and she went herself, and stood inthe garden doorway with her back to me. I obeyed. I sat down. But thoughI had eaten nothing since the afternoon of the day before, I could notswallow. I fumbled with my knife, and drank; and grew hot and angry atthis farce; and then looked through the window at the dripping bushes,and the rain and the distant sundial--and grew cold again.
Suddenly she turned round and came to my side. 'You do not eat,' shesaid.
I threw down my knife, and sprang up in a frenzy of passion. 'MON DIEU!Madame,' I cried, 'do you think that I have NO heart?'
And then in a moment I knew what I had done, what a folly I hadcommitted. For in a moment she was on her knees on the floor, claspingmy knees, pressing her wet cheeks to my rough clothes, crying to me formercy--for life! life! his life! Oh, it was horrible! It was horrible tohear her gasping voice, to see her fair hair falling over my mud-stainedboots, to mark her slender little form convulsed with sobs, to feel thatit was a woman, a gentlewoman, who thus abased herself at my feet!
'Oh, Madame! Madame!' I cried in my pain, 'I beg you to rise. Rise, or Imust go!'
'His life! only his life!' she moaned passionately. 'What had he doneto you--that you should hunt him down? what have we done to you that youshould slay us? Oh! have mercy! Have mercy! Let him go, and we will prayfor you, I and my sister will pray for you, every morning and night ofour lives.'
I was in terror lest someone should come and see her lying there, and Istooped and tried to raise her. But she only sank the lower, until hertender little hands touched the rowels of my spurs. I dared not move, Atlast I took a sudden resolution.
'Listen, then, Madame!' I said almost sternly, 'if you will not rise.You forget everything, both how I stand, and how small my power is! Youforget that if I were to release your husband to-day he would be seizedwithin the hour by those who are still in the village and who arewatching every road--who have not ceased to suspect my movements and myintentions. You forget, I say my circumstances--'
She cut me short on that word. She sprang to her feet and faced me. Onemoment more and I should have said something to the purpose. But at thatword she stood before me, white, breathless, dishevelled, struggling forspeech.
'Oh, yes, yes!' she panted eagerly. 'I know--I know!' And she thrust herhand into her bosom and plucked something out and gave it to me--forcedit upon me. 'I know--I know!' she said again. 'Take it, and Godreward you, Monsieur! God reward you! We give it freely--freely andthankfully!'
I stood and looked at her and it; and slowly I froze. She had given methe packet--the packet I had restored to Mademoiselle--the parcel ofjewels. I weighed it in my hands, and my heart grew hard again, forI knew that this was Mademoiselle's doing; that it was she who,mistrusting the effect of Madame's tears and prayers, had armed her withthis last weapon--this dirty bribe. I flung it down on the table amongthe plates.
'Madame!' I cried ruthlessly, all my pity changed to anger, 'you mistakeme altogether! I have heard hard words enough in the last twenty-fourhours, and I know what you think of me! But you have yet to learn that Ihave never done one thing. I have never turned traitor to the hand thatemployed me, nor sold my own side! When I do so for a treasure ten timesthe worth of that, may my hand rot off!'
She sank on a seat with a moan of despair; and precisely at that momentM. de Cocheforet opened the door and came in. Over his shoulder I had aglimpse of Mademoiselle's proud face, a little whiter than of yore, withdark marks under the eyes, but like Satan's for coldness.
'What is this?' he said, frowning, as his eyes lighted on Madame.
'It is--that we start at eleven o'clock, Monsieur,' I answered, bowingcurtly. And I went out by the other door.
. . . . .
That I might not be present at their parting I remained in the gardenuntil the hour I had appointed was well past; and then, without enteringthe house, I went to the stable entrance. Here I found all in readiness,the two troopers whose company I had requisitioned as far as Auch,already in the saddle, my own two knaves waiting with my sorrel and M.de Cocheforet's chestnut. Another horse was being led up and down byLouis, and, alas! my heart moved at
the sight, for it bore a lady'ssaddle. We were to have company then. Was it Madame who meant to comewith us, or Mademoiselle? And how far? To Auch?
I suppose that they had set some kind of a watch on me, for as I walkedup M. de Cocheforet and his sister came out of the house; he with a paleface and bright eyes, and a twitching visible in his cheek--though hestill affected a jaunty bearing; she wearing a black mask.
'Mademoiselle accompanies us?' I said formally.
'With your permission, Monsieur,' he answered with bitter politeness.But I saw that he was choking with emotion; he had just parted from hiswife, and I turned away.
When we were all mounted he looked at me.
'Perhaps--as you have my parole, you will permit me to ride alone?' hesaid with a little hesitation. 'And--'
'Without me!' I rejoined keenly. 'Assuredly, so far as is possible.'
Accordingly I directed the troopers to ride before him, keeping out ofearshot, while my two men followed him at a little distance with theircarbines on their knees. Last of all, I rode myself with my eyes openand a pistol loose in my holster. M. de Cocheforet muttered a sneer atso many precautions and the mountain made of his request; but I had notdone so much and come so far, I had not faced scorn and insults to becheated of my prize at last; and aware that until we were beyond Auchthere must be hourly and pressing danger of a rescue, I was determinedthat he who should wrest my prisoner from me should pay dearly for it.Only pride, and, perhaps, in a degree also, appetite for a fight, hadprevented me borrowing ten troopers instead of two.
As was wont I looked with a lingering eye and many memories at thelittle bridge, the narrow woodland path, the first roofs of the village;all now familiar, all seen for the last time. Up the brook a party ofsoldiers were dragging for the captain's body. A furlong farther on, acottage, burned by some carelessness in the night, lay a heap of blackashes. Louis ran beside us weeping; the last brown leaves fluttered downin showers. And between my eyes and all, the slow steady rain fell andfell. And so I left Cocheforet.
Louis went with us to a point a mile beyond the village, and there stoodand saw us go, cursing me furiously as I passed. Looking back when wehad ridden on, I still saw him standing, and after a moment's hesitationI rode back to him.
'Listen, fool!' I said, cutting him short in the midst of his mowing andsnarling, 'and give this message to your mistress. Tell her from me thatit will be with her husband as it was with M. de Regnier, when he fellinto the hands of his enemy--no better and no worse.'
'You want to kill her, too, I suppose?' he answered glowering at me.
'No, fool, I want to save her,' I retorted wrathfully. 'Tell her that,just that and no more, and you will see the result.'
'I shall not,' he said sullenly. 'A message from you indeed!' And hespat on the ground.
'Then on your head be it,' I answered solemnly, And I turned my horse'shead and galloped fast after the others. But I felt sure that he wouldreport what I had said, if it were only out of curiosity; and it wouldbe strange if Madame, a gentlewoman of the south, bred among old familytraditions, did not understand the reference.
And so we began our journey; sadly, under dripping trees and a leadensky. The country we had to traverse was the same I had trodden on thelast day of my march southwards, but the passage of a month had changedthe face of everything. Green dells, where springs welling out of thechalk had once made of the leafy bottom a fairies' home, strewn withdelicate ferns and hung with mosses, were now swamps into which ourhorses sank to the fetlock. Sunny brews, whence I had viewed thechampaign and traced my forward path, had become bare, wind-sweptridges. The beech woods that had glowed with ruddy light were naked now;mere black trunks and rigid arms pointing to heaven. An earthy smellfilled the air; a hundred paces away a wall of mist closed the view.We plodded on sadly up hill and down hill, now fording brooks, alreadystained with flood-water, now crossing barren heaths. But up hill ordown hill, whatever the outlook, I was never permitted to forget thatI was the jailor, the ogre, the villain; that I, riding behind in myloneliness, was the blight on all--the death-spot. True, I wasbehind the others--I escaped their eyes. But there was not a line ofMademoiselle's figure that did not speak scorn to me; not a turn of headthat did not seem to say, 'Oh, God, that such a thing should breathe.'
I had only speech with her once during the day, and that was on the lastridge before we went down into the valley to climb up again to Auch.The rain had ceased; the sun, near its setting, shone faintly; for a fewmoments we stood on the brow and looked southwards while we breathed thehorses. The mist lay like a pall on the country we had traversed; butbeyond and above it, gleaming pearl-like in the level rays, the lineof the mountains stood up like a land of enchantment, soft, radiant,wonderful!--or like one of those castles on the Hill of Glass of whichthe old romances tell us. I forgot for an instant how we were placed,and I cried to my neighbour that it was the fairest pageant I had everseen.
She--it was Mademoiselle, and she had taken off her mask--cast onelook at me in answer; only one, but it conveyed disgust and loathing sounspeakable that scorn beside them would have been a gift. I reined inmy horse as if she had struck me, and felt myself go first hot and thencold under her eyes. Then she looked another way.
But I did not forget the lesson; and after that I avoided her moresedulously than before. We lay that night at Auch, and I gave M. deCocheforet the utmost liberty, even permitting him to go out and returnat his will. In the morning, believing that on the farther side of Auchwe ran little risk of attack, I dismissed the two dragoons, and an hourafter sunrise we set out again. The day was dry and cold, the weathermore promising. I proposed to go by way of Lectoure, crossing theGaronne at Agen; and I thought that, with roads continually improvingas we moved northwards, we should be able to make good progress beforenight. My two men rode first, I came last by myself.
Our way lay down the valley of the Gers, under poplars and by long rowsof willows, and presently the sun came out and warmed us. Unfortunatelythe rain of the day before had swollen the brooks which crossed ourpath, and we more than once had a difficulty in fording them. Noon foundus little more than half way to Lectoure, and I was growing each minutemore impatient when our road, which had for a little while left theriver bank, dropped down to it again, and I saw before us anothercrossing, half ford half slough. My men tried it gingerly and gave backand tried it again in another place; and finally, just as Mademoiselleand her brother came up to them, floundered through and sprang slantwiseup the farther bank.
The delay had been long enough to bring me, with no good will of my own,close upon the Cocheforets. Mademoiselle's horse made a little businessof the place, and in the result we entered the water almost together;and I crossed close on her heels. The bank on either side was steep;while crossing we could see neither before nor behind. But at the momentI thought nothing of this nor of her delay; and I was following herquite at my leisure and picking my way, when the sudden report of acarbine, a second report, and a yell of alarm in front thrilled methrough.
On the instant, while the sound was still in my ears, I saw it all. Likea hot iron piercing my brain the truth flashed into my mind. We wereattacked! We were attacked, and I was here helpless in this pit, thistrap! The loss of a second while I fumbled here, Mademoiselle's horsebarring the way, might be fatal.
There was but one way. I turned my horse straight at the steep bank, andhe breasted it. One moment he hung as if he must fall back. Then, witha snort of terror and a desperate bound, he topped it, and gained thelevel, trembling and snorting.
Seventy paces away on the road lay one of my men. He had fallen, horseand man, and lay still. Near him, with his back against a bank, stoodhis fellow, on foot, pressed by four horsemen, and shouting. As myeye lighted on the scene he let fly with a carbine, and dropped one.I clutched a pistol from my holster and seized my horse by the head.I might save the man yet, I shouted to him to encourage him, and wasdriving in my spurs to second my voice, when a sudden vicious blow,swift and unexpected,
struck the pistol from my hand.
I made a snatch at it as it fell, but missed it, and before I couldrecover myself, Mademoiselle thrust her horse furiously against mine,and with her riding-whip lashed the sorrel across the ears. As the horsereared up madly, I had a glimpse of her eyes flashing hate through hermask; of her hand again uplifted; the next moment, I was down in theroad, ingloriously unhorsed, the sorrel was galloping away, and herhorse, scared in its turn, was plunging unmanageably a score of pacesfrom me.
But for that I think that she would have trampled on me. As it was, Iwas free to rise, and draw, and in a twinkling was running towards thefighters. All had happened in a few seconds. My man was still defendinghimself, the smoke of the carbine had scarcely risen. I sprang acrossa fallen tree that intervened, and at the same moment two of the mendetached themselves and rode to meet me. One, whom I took to be theleader, was masked. He came furiously at me to ride me down, but Ileaped aside nimbly, and, evading him, rushed at the other, and scaringhis horse, so that he dropped his point, cut him across the shoulder,before he could guard himself. He plunged away, cursing and trying tohold in his horse, and I turned to meet the masked man.
'You villain!' he cried, riding at me again. This time he manoeuvred hishorse so skilfully that I was hard put to it to prevent him knockingme down; while I could not with all my efforts reach him to hurt him.'Surrender, will you?' he cried, 'you bloodhound!'
I wounded him slightly in the knee for answer; before I could do morehis companion came back, and the two set upon me, slashing at my head sofuriously and towering above me with so great an advantage that it wasall I could do to guard it. I was soon glad to fall back against thebank. In this sort of conflict my rapier would have been of littleuse, but fortunately I had armed myself before I left Paris with acut-and-thrust sword for the road; and though my mastery of the weaponwas not on a par with my rapier play, I was able to fend off their cuts,and by an occasional prick keep the horses at a distance. Still, theyswore and cut at me; and it was trying work. A little delay might enablethe other man to come to their help, or Mademoiselle, for all I knew,might shoot me with my own pistol. I was unfeignedly glad when a luckyparade sent the masked man's sword flying across the road. On that hepushed his horse recklessly at me, spurring it without mercy; but theanimal, which I had several times touched, reared up instead, and threwhim at the very moment that I wounded his companion a second time in thearm, and made him give back.
The scene was now changed. The man in the mask staggered to his feet,and felt stupidly for a pistol. But he could not find one, and he wasin no state to use it if he had. He reeled helplessly to the bankand leaned against it. The man I had wounded was in scarcely bettercondition. He retreated before me, but in a moment, losing courage,let drop his sword, and, wheeling round, cantered off, clinging to hispommel. There remained only the fellow engaged with my man, and I turnedto see how they were getting on. They were standing to take breath, soI ran towards them; but on seeing me coming, this rascal, too, whippedround his horse and disappeared in the wood, and left us victors.
The first thing I did--and I remember it to this day with pleasure--wasto plunge my hand into my pocket, take out half of all the money I hadin the world, and press it on the man who had fought for me so stoutly.In my joy I could have kissed him! It was not only that I had escapeddefeat by the skin of my teeth--and his good sword; but I knew, andfelt, and thrilled with the knowledge, that the fight had, in a sense,redeemed my character. He was wounded in two places, and I had a scratchor two, and had lost my horse; and my other poor fellow was dead as aherring. But, speaking for myself, I would have spent half the blood inmy body to purchase the feeling with which I turned back to speak to M.de Cocheforet and his sister. Mademoiselle had dismounted, and with herface averted and her mask pushed on one side, was openly weeping.Her brother, who had faithfully kept his place by the ford from thebeginning of the fight to the end, met me with raised eyebrows and apeculiar smile.
'Acknowledge my virtue,' he said airily. 'I am here, M. de Berault;which is more than can be said of the two gentlemen who have just riddenoff.'
'Yes,' I answered with a touch of bitterness. 'I wish that they had notshot my poor man before they went.'
He shrugged his shoulders.
'They were my friends,' he said. 'You must not expect me to blame them.But that is not all, M. de Berault.'
'No,' I said, wiping my sword. 'There is this gentleman in the mask.'And I turned to go towards him.
'M. de Berault!' Cocheforet called after me, his tone strained andabrupt.
I stood. 'Pardon?' I said, turning.
'That gentleman?' he said, hesitating and looking at me doubtfully.'Have you considered what will happen to him if you give him up to theauthorities?'
'Who is he?' I asked sharply.
'That is rather a delicate question,' he answered frowning.
'Not for me,' I replied brutally, 'since he is in my power. If he willtake off his mask I shall know better what I intend to do with him.'
The stranger had lost his hat in his fall, and his fair hair, stainedwith dust, hung in curls on his shoulders. He was a tall man, of aslender, handsome presence, and, though his dress was plain and almostrough, I espied a splendid jewel on his hand, and fancied that Idetected other signs of high quality. He still lay against the bank in ahalf-swooning condition, and seemed unconscious of my scrutiny.
'Should I know him if he unmasked?' I said suddenly, a new idea in myhead.
'You would,' M. de Cocheforet answered.
'And?'
'It would be bad for everyone.'
'Ho! ho!' I replied softly, looking hard first at my old prisoner, andthen at my new one. 'Then--what do you wish me to do?'
'Leave him here!' M. de Cocheforet answered, his face flushed, the pulsein his cheek beating.
I had known him for a man of perfect honour before, and trusted him. Butthis evident earnest anxiety on behalf of his friend touched me not alittle. Besides, I knew that I was treading on slippery ground: that itbehoved me to be careful.
'I will do it,' I said after a moment's reflection. 'He will play me notricks, I suppose? A letter of--'
'MON DIEU, no! He will understand,' Cocheforet answered eagerly. 'Youwill not repent it. Let us be going.'
'Well, but my horse?' I said, somewhat taken aback by this extremehaste. 'How am I to--'
'We shall overtake it,' he assured me. 'It will have kept the road.Lectoure is no more than a league from here, and we can give ordersthere to have these two fetched and buried.'
I had nothing to gain by demurring, and so, after another word or two,it was arranged. We picked up what we had dropped, M. de Cocheforethelped his sister to mount, and within five minutes we were gone.Casting a glance back from the skirts of the wood I fancied that I sawthe masked man straighten himself and turn to look after us, but theleaves were beginning to intervene, the distance may have cheatedme. And yet I was not indisposed to think the unknown a trifle moreobservant, and a little less seriously hurt, than he seemed.
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