Complete Works of Stanley J Weyman

by Stanley J Weyman

  It did not escape me that once again M. Nicholas looked uncomfortable, his red face taking a deeper tinge and his hand going nervously to his pointed gray beard, “I do not think he would do for you,” he answered.

  “What is his name?” I asked, purposely bending over the papers and avoiding his eyes.

  “I have dismissed him,” he rejoined curtly. “I do not know where he could now be found.”

  “That is a pity — he writes well,” I answered, as if it were nothing but a whim that led me to pursue the subject. “And good clerks are scarce. What was his name?”

  “Felix,” he said reluctantly.

  I had now all I wanted. Accordingly I spoke of another matter and shortly afterward Nicholas rose and went. But he left me in a fever of doubt and suspicion; so that for nearly half an hour I walked up and down the room, unable to decide whether I should treat the warning of the snowball with contempt, as the work of a discharged servant, or on that very account attach the more credit to it. By and by I remembered that the last sheet of the roll I had audited bore date the previous day; whence it was clear that Felix had been dismissed within the last twenty-four hours, and perhaps after the delivery of his note to me. Such a coincidence, which seemed no less pertinent than strange, opened a wide field for conjecture; and the possibility that Nicholas had really called on me to sound me and learn what I knew presently occurring to my mind, brought me to a final determination to seek out this Felix, and without the delay of an hour sift the matter to the bottom.

  Doubtless I shall seem to some to have acted precipitately, and built much on small foundations. I answer that I had the life of the King my master to guard, and in that cause dared neglect no precaution, however trivial, nor any indication, however remote. Would that all my care and vigilance had longer sufficed to preserve for France the life of that great man! But God willed otherwise.

  I sent word at once to La Font, my valet-de-chambre, the same who advised me at the time of my first marriage, to come to me; and directing him to make instant and secret inquiry where Felix, a clerk in the Chamber of Accounts, lodged, bade him report to me on my return from the Great Hall, where, it will be remembered, it was my custom to give audience after dinner to all who had business with me. As it happened, I was detained long that day, and found him awaiting me. Being a man of few words, he said, as soon as the door was shut, “At the ‘Three Half Moons,’ in the Faubourg St. Honoré, Monseigneur.”

  “That is near the Louvre,” I answered. “Get me my cloak, and your own also; and bring your pistols. I am going for a walk. You will accompany me.”

  He was a good man, La Font, and devoted to my interests. “It will be night in half an hour, Monseigneur,” he answered respectfully. “You will take some of the Swiss?”

  “In one word, no!” I rejoined. “We will go out by the stable entrance. In the mean time, and until we return, I will bid Maignan keep the door, and admit no one.”

  The crowd of those who daily left the Arsenal before nightfall happened to be augmented on this occasion by a troop of my clients from Mantes; tenants on the lands of Rosny, who had lingered after the hour of audience to see the courts and garden. By mingling with these we had no difficulty in passing out unobserved; nor, once in the streets, where a thaw had set in, that filled the kennel with water and the pavement with slush, was La Font long in bringing me to the house I sought. It stood on the outskirts of the St. Honoré Faubourg, in a quarter sufficiently respectable, and a street marked neither by extreme squalor nor extravagant ostentation — from one or other of which all desperate enterprises, in my opinion, take their rise. The house, which was high and narrow, presented only two windows to the street, but the staircase was sweet and clean, and it was impossible to cross the threshold without feeling a prepossession in Felix’s favor. Already I began to think I had come on a fool’s errand.

  “Which floor?” I asked La Font.

  “The highest. Monsieur,” he answered.

  I went up softly and he followed me. Under the tiles I found a door, and heard some one moving beyond it. Bidding La Font remain on guard outside, and come to my aid only if I called him, I knocked boldly. A gentle voice bade me enter, and I did so.

  There was only one person in the room, a young woman with fair, waving hair, a pale face, and blue eyes, who, seeing a cloaked stranger instead of the friend or neighbor she anticipated, stared at me in the utmost wonder and some alarm. The room, though poorly furnished, was particularly neat and clean; which, taken with the woman’s complexion, left me in no doubt as to her native province. On the floor near the fire stood a cradle; and in the window a cage with a singing bird completed the homely and pleasant aspect of this interior, which was such as, if I could, I would multiply by thousands in every town of France.

  A small lamp, which the woman was in the act of lighting, enabled me to see those details, and also discovered me to her. I asked politely if I spoke to Madame Felix, the wife of M. Felix of the Chamber of Accounts.

  “I am Madame Felix,” she answered, advancing slowly toward me. “My husband is late. Do you come from him? It is not bad news, Monsieur?”

  The tone of anxiety in which she uttered her last question, and the quickness with which she raised her lamp to scan my face, went to my heart, already softened by this young mother in her home. I hastened to answer that I had no bad news, and wished merely to see her husband on business connected with his employment.

  “He is very late,” she said, a shade of perplexity crossing her face. “I have never known him so late before. Monsieur is unfortunate.”

  I replied that with her leave I would wait; on which she very readily placed a stool for me, and sat down herself by the cradle, I ventured to remark that perhaps M. Nicholas had detained her husband: she answered simply that it might be so, but that she had never known it happen before.

  “M. Felix has evening employment?” I asked after a moment’s reflection.

  She looked at me in some wonder. “No,” she said. “He spends his evenings with me, Monsieur. It is not much, for he is at work all day.”

  I bowed, and was preparing another question, when the sound of footsteps ascending the stairs in haste reached my ears, and led me to pause. Madame heard the noise at the same moment and rose. “It is my husband,” she said, looking toward the door with such a light in her eyes as betrayed the sweetheart lingering in the wife. “I was afraid — I do not know what I feared,” she muttered to herself.

  SHE SPRANG FORWARD. Page 37.

  Proposing to myself the advantage of seeing Felix before he saw me, I pushed back my stool into the shadow, contriving to do this so discreetly that the young woman noticed nothing. A moment later it appeared I might have spared my pains; for at sight of her husband, a comely young man who came in with lack-lustre eye and drooping head, she sprang forward with a cry of dismay, and, utterly forgetting my presence, appealed to him to know what was the matter.

  He threw himself on to a stool, the first he reached, and, leaning his elbows on the table in an attitude of extreme dejection, covered his face with his hands. “What is it?” he said in a hollow tone. “We are ruined, Margot. I have no more work. I am dismissed.”

  “Dismissed?” she ejaculated.

  He nodded. “Nicholas discharged me this morning,” he said, almost in a whisper. He dared not speak louder, for he could not command his voice.

  “Why?” she asked gently, as she leant over him. “What had you done?”

  “Nothing!” he answered with bitterness. “He said clerks were plentiful, and the King or I must starve.”

  Hitherto I had witnessed the scene in silence, a prey to emotions so various I will not attempt to describe them. But hearing the King’s name thus prostituted and put to base uses, I started forward with a violence which in a moment made my presence known. Felix, confounded by the sight of a stranger at his elbow, rose hurriedly from his seat, and retreating before me with vivid alarm painted on his countenance, asked with a falteri
ng tongue who I was.

  I replied in as soothing a manner as possible, that I was a friend, anxious to assist him. Nevertheless, seeing that I kept my cloak about my face — for I was not willing to be recognized — he continued to look at me with distrust and terror. “What do you want?” he said, raising the lamp much as his wife had done, to see me the better.

  “The answers to one or two questions,” I replied firmly. “Answer them truly, and I promise you your troubles are at an end.” So saying, I drew from my pouch the scrap of paper which had come to me so strangely. “When did you write this, my friend?” I continued, placing it before him.

  He drew a deep breath at sight of it, and a look of comprehension and dismay crossed his face. For a moment he hesitated. Then in a hurried manner he said that he had never seen the paper.

  “Come,” I rejoined sternly, “look at it again. Let there be no mistake. When did you write that, and why?”

  But still he shook his head; and, though I pressed him hard, continued so stubborn in his denial that, but for the look I had seen on his face when I first produced the paper, and the strange coincidence of his dismissal, I might have believed him. As it was, I saw nothing for it but to have him arrested and brought to my house, where I did not doubt he would tell the truth; and I was about to retire to give the necessary orders, when something in the sidelong glance I saw him cast at his wife caught my eye and furnished me with a new idea. Acting on this, I affected to be satisfied. I apologized for my intrusion on the ground of mistake, and gradually withdrawing to the door asked him at the last moment to light me downstairs.

  Complying with a shaking hand, he went out before me, and had nearly reached the foot of the staircase when I touched him on the shoulder.

  “Now,” I said bluntly, fixing him with my eyes, “your wife is no longer listening, and you can tell me the truth. Who employed you to write these words?”

  Trembling so violently he had to lean on the balustrade for support, he answered me.

  “Madame Nicholas,” he whispered.

  “What?” I cried, recoiling. I had no doubt he was telling me the truth now.

  “The secretary’s wife, do you mean? Be careful, man.”

  He nodded.

  “When?” I asked suspiciously.

  “Yesterday,” he answered. “She is an old cat!” he continued, almost fiercely. “I hate her! But my wife is jealous.”

  “And did you throw it into my coach,” I said, “on the Pont du Change, to-day?”

  “God forbid!” he replied, shrinking into himself again. “I wrote it for her, and she took it away. She said it was a jest she was playing. That is all I know.”

  I saw it was, and after a few more words was content to dismiss him, bidding him keep silence on the matter, and remain at home in case I needed him. At the last, he plucked up spirit to ask me who I was; but preferring to keep that discovery for a day still to come, when I might appear as the benefactor of this little family, I told him sharply that I was one of the King’s servants, and so left him.

  It will be believed, however, that I found the information I had received little to my mind. The longer I dwelt on it, the more serious seemed the matter. While I could scarcely conceive any circumstances in which a woman would be likely to inform against her husband without cause, I could recall more than one dangerous conspiracy which had been frustrated by informers of that class — sometimes out of regard for the very persons against whom they informed. Viewed in this light only, the warning seemed to my mind sufficiently alarming, but when I came also to consider the secrecy with which Madame Nicholas had both prepared it — so that her hand might not be known — and conveyed it to me, the aspect of the case grew yet more formidable. In the result, I had not passed through two streets before my mind was made up to lay the case before the King, and the sagacity and penetration which were never wanting to my gracious master.

  An unexpected rencontre which awaited me on my return to the Arsenal both confirmed me in this resolution and enabled me to carry it into effect. We succeeded in slipping in without difficulty, and duly found Maignan on guard at the door of my apartments. But a single glance at his face sufficed to show that something was wrong; nor did it need the look of penitence which he assumed on seeing us — a look so piteous that at another time it must have diverted me — to convince me that he had infringed my orders.

  “How now, sirrah?” I said angrily, without waiting for him to speak. “What have you been doing?”

  “They would take no refusal, Monseigneur,” he answered plaintively, waving his hand toward the door.

  “What!” I cried sternly, astonished; for this was an instance of such direct disobedience as I could scarce understand. “Did I not give you the strictest orders to deny me to everybody?”

  “They would take no refusal, Monseigneur,” he answered penitently, edging away from me as he spoke.

  “Who are they?” I asked sternly, leaving the question of his punishment for another season. “Speak, rascal, though it shall not save you.”

  “There are M. le Marquis de la Varenne, and M. de Vitry,” he said slowly, “and M. de Vic, and M. Erard, the engineer, and M. de Fontange, and — —”

  “Pardieu!” I cried, cutting him short in a rage; for he was going on counting on his fingers in a manner the most provoking. “Have you let in all Paris, dolt? Grace! that I should be served by a fool! Open the door, and let me see them!”

  With that I was about to enter; when the door, which I had not perceived to be ajar, was suddenly thrown open, and a laughing face thrust out. It was the King’s.

  IT WAS THE KING. Page 48.

  “Ha, ha! Grand-master!” he cried, vastly diverted by the success of his jest and the abrupt change which doubtless came over my countenance. “Never was such graceful hospitality, I’ll be sworn! But come, pardon this varlet. And now embrace me, and tell me where you have been playing truant.”

  Saying these words with the charm which never failed him, and in his time won to his side more foes than his sword ever conquered, the King drew me into my room, where I found De Vic, Vitry, Roquelaure, and the rest. They all laughed heartily at my surprise, nor was Maignan, who had a pretty fancy, and was the author, it will be remembered, of that whimsical procession to Rosny after the battle of Ivry, which I have elsewhere described, far behind them; the rascal knowing well that the king’s presence covered all, and that in my gratification at the honor done me I should be certain to overlook his impertinence.

  Perceiving that this impromptu visit had no other object than to divert Henry — though he was kind enough to say that he felt uneasy when he did not see me often — I begged to know if he would honor me by staying to sup; but this he would not do, though he consented to drink a cup of my Arbois wine, and praised it highly. I thought I saw by and by that he was willing to be alone with me; and as I had every reason to desire this myself, I made an opportunity. Sending for Arnaud and some of my gentlemen, I committed my other guests to their care, and led the King into my closet, where, after requesting his leave to speak on business, I proceeded to unfold to him the adventure of the snowball, with all the particulars which I have here set down.

  He listened very attentively, drumming on the table with his fingers; nor did he move or speak when I had done but still continued in the same attitude of deep thought. At last: “Grand-master,” he said, touching with his hand the mark of the wound which still remained on his lip, “how long is it since Chalet’s attempt — when I got this?”

  “Seven years last Christmas, Sire,” I answered.

  “And Barrière’s?”

  “That was the year before. Avenious’ plot was that year too.”

  “And the Italian, from Milan, of whom the Capuchin Honorio warned us?”

  “That was two years ago, Sire.”

  “And how many more attempts have there been against my person?” he went on, much moved. Then falling into a tone of extreme sadness, he continued, “Rosny, my friend
, they must succeed at last. No man can fight against his fate. The end is sure, notwithstanding all your fidelity and vigilance, and the love you bear me, for which I love you too. But Nicholas? Nicholas? Yet he has been careless and distraught of late. I have noticed it; and a month back I refused to give him an appointment, of which he wished to have the sale.”

  I did not dare to speak, and for a time Henry, too, remained silent. At length he rose with an air of resolution.

  “We will clear this matter up within the hour!” he said firmly. “I will send my people back to the Louvre, and do you, Grand-master, order half-a-dozen Swiss to be ready to conduct us to this woman’s house. When we have heard her we shall know what to do.”

  I tried my utmost to dissuade him, pleading that his presence could not be necessary, and might prove a hindrance; besides exposing his person to a certain amount of risk. But he would not listen. When I saw, therefore, that his mind was made up to go, and that as his spirits rose he was inclined to welcome this little expedition as a relief from the ennui which at times troubled him, I reluctantly withdrew my opposition and gave the necessary orders. The King dismissed his suite with a few kind words, and in a very short space we were on our way, under cover of darkness, to the secretary’s house.

  He lived at this time in a court off the Rue St. Jacques, not far from the church of that name; and the house being remote from the eyes and observations of the street, seemed not unfit for secret and desperate uses.

  Although we found lights shining behind several of the barred windows, the wintry night, the darkness of the court, and perhaps the errand on which we came, imparted so gloomy an aspect to the place that the King hitched his sword forward, while I begged him to permit the Swiss who accompanied us to go on with us. This, however, he would not allow, and accordingly they were left at the entrance to the court with orders to follow at a given signal.