St. Martin's Summer Part 23

Nor on the morrow, when they returned to the subject at a.r.s.enio's eager demand, did Garnache tell him all, or even that the service was mademoiselle's. Instead he pretended that it was some one in Gren.o.ble who needed two such men as they.

"Word has been brought me," he said mysteriously. "You must not ask me how."

"But how the devil are we to reach Gren.o.ble? The Captain will never let us go," said a.r.s.enio, in an ill-humour.

"On the night that you are of the watch, a.r.s.enio, we will depart together without asking the Captain's leave. You shall open the postern when I come to join you here in the courtyard."

"But what of the man at the door yonder?" And he jerked his thumb towards the tower where mademoiselle was a captive, and where at night "Battista" was locked in with her. At the door leading to the courtyard a sentry was always posted for greater security. That door and that sentry were obstacles which Garnache saw the futility of attempting to overcome without aid. That was why he had been forced to enlist a.r.s.enio's a.s.sistance.

"You must account for him, a.r.s.enio," said he.

"Thus?" inquired a.r.s.enio coolly, and he pa.s.sed the edge of his hand significantly across his throat. Garnache shook his head.

"No," said he; "there will be no need for that. A blow over the head will suffice. Besides, it may be quieter. You will find the key of the tower in his belt. When you have felled him, get it and unlock the door; then whistle for me. The rest will be easy."

"You are sure he has the key?"

"I have it from madame herself. They were forced to leave it with him to provide for emergencies. Mademoiselle's attempted escape by the window showed them the necessity for it." He did not add that it was the implicit confidence they reposed in "Battista" himself that had overcome their reluctance to leave the key with the sentry.

To seal the bargain, and in earnest of all the gold to come, Garnache gave a.r.s.enio a couple of gold louis as a loan to be repaid him when their nameless employer should pay him his fifty pistoles in Gren.o.ble.

The sight and touch of the gold convinced a.r.s.enio that the thing was no dream. He told Garnache that he believed he would be on guard-duty on the night of the following Wednesday--this was Friday--and so for Wednesday next they left the execution of their plans unless, meantime, a change should be effected in the disposition of the sentries.

CHAPTER XIII. THE COURIER

Monsieur de Garnache was pleased with the issue of his little affair with a.r.s.enio.

"Mademoiselle," he told Valerie that evening, "I was right to have faith in my luck, right to believe that the tide of it is flowing. All we need now is a little patience; everything has become easy."

It was the hour of supper. Valerie was at table in her anteroom, and "Battista" was in attendance. It was an added duty they had imposed upon him, for, since her attempt to escape, mademoiselle's imprisonment had been rendered more rigorous than ever. No servant of the chateau was allowed past the door of the outer anteroom, now commonly spoken of as the guardroom of the tower. Valerie dined daily in the salon with Madame de Condillac and Marius, but her other meals were served her in her own apartments. The servants who brought the meals from the kitchen delivered them to "Battista" in the guardroom, and he it was who laid the cloth and waited upon mademoiselle. At first this added duty had irritated him more than all that he had so far endured. Had he Martin Marie Rigobert de Garnache lived to discharge the duties of a lackey, to bear dishes to a lady's table and to remain at hand to serve her?

The very thought had all but set him in a rage. But presently he grew reconciled to it. It afforded him particular opportunities of being in mademoiselle's presence and of conferring with her; and for the sake of such an advantage he might well belittle the unsavoury part of the affair.

A half-dozen candles burned in two gleaming silver sconces on the table; in her tall-backed leather chair mademoiselle sat, and ate and drank but little, while Garnache told her of the preparations he had made.

"If my luck but holds until Wednesday next," he concluded, "you may count upon being well out of Condillac. a.r.s.enio does not dream that you come with us, so that even should he change his mind, at least we have no cause to fear a betrayal. But he will not change his mind. The prospect of fifty pistoles has rendered it immutable."

She looked up at him with eyes brightened by hope and by the encouragement to count upon success which she gathered from his optimism.

"You have contrived it marvellously well," she praised him. "If we succeed--"

"Say when we succeed, mademoiselle," he laughingly corrected her.

"Very well, then--when we shall have succeeded in leaving Condillac, whither am I to go?"

"Why, with me, to Paris, as was determined. My man awaits me at Voiron with money and horses. No further obstacle shall rise to hamper us once our backs are turned upon the ugly walls of Condillac. The Queen shall make you welcome and keep you safe until Monsieur Florimond comes to claim his bride."

She sipped her wine, then set down the gla.s.s and leaned her elbow on the table, taking her chin in her fine white hand. "Madame tells me that he is dead," said she, and Garnache was shocked at the comparative calmness with which she said it. He looked at her sharply from under his sooted brows. Was she, after all, he wondered, no different from other women?

Was she cold and calculating, and had she as little heart as he had come to believe was usual with her s.e.x, that she could contemplate so calmly the possibility of her lover being dead? He had thought her better, more natural, more large-hearted and more pure. That had encouraged him to stand by her in these straits of hers, no matter at what loss of dignity to himself. It began to seem that his conclusions had been wrong.

His silence caused her to look up, and in his face she read something of what was pa.s.sing in his thoughts. She smiled rather wanly.

"You are thinking me heartless, Monsieur de Garnache?"

"I am thinking you--womanly."

"The same thing, then, to your mind. Tell me, monsieur, do you know much of women?"

"G.o.d forbid! I have found trouble enough in my life."

"And you pa.s.s judgment thus upon a s.e.x with which you have no acquaintance?"

"Not by acquaintance only is it that we come to knowledge. There are ways of learning other than by the road of experience. One may learn of dangers by watching others perish. It is the fool who will be satisfied alone with the knowledge that comes to him from what he undergoes himself."

"You are very wise, monsieur," said she demurely, so demurely that he suspected her of laughing at him. "You were never wed?"

"Never, mademoiselle," he answered stiffly, "nor ever in any danger of it."

"Must you, indeed, account it a danger?"

"A deadly peril, mademoiselle," said he; whereupon they both laughed.

She pushed back her chair and rose slowly. Slowly she pa.s.sed from the table and stepped towards the window. Turning she set her back to it, and faced him.

"Monsieur de Garnache," said she, "you are a good man, a true and n.o.ble gentleman. I would that you thought a little better of us. All women are not contemptible, believe me. I will pray that you may yet mate with one who will prove to you the truth of what I say."

He smiled gently, and shook his head.

"My child," said he, "I am not half the n.o.ble fellow you account me. I have a stubborn pride that stands me at times in the stead of virtue.

It was pride brought me back here, for instance. I could not brook the laughter that would greet me in Paris did I confess that I was beaten by the Dowager of Condillac. I tell you this to the end that, thinking less well of me, you may spare me prayers which I should dread to see fulfilled. I have told you before, mademoiselle, Heaven is likely to answer the prayers of such a heart as yours."

"Yet but a moment back you deemed me heartless," she reminded him.

"You seemed so indifferent to the fate of Florimond de Condillac."

"I must have seemed, then, what I am not," she told him, "for I am far from indifferent to Florimond's fate. The truth is, monsieur, I do not believe Madame de Condillac. Knowing me to be under a promise that naught can prevail upon me to break, she would have me believe that nature has dissolved the obligation for me. She thinks that were I persuaded of Florimond's death, I might turn an ear to the wooing of Marius. But she is mistaken, utterly mistaken; and so I sought to convince her. My father willed that I should wed Florimond. Florimond's father had been his dearest friend. I promised him that I would do his will, and by that promise I am bound. But were Florimond indeed dead, and were I free to choose, I should not choose Marius were he the only man in all the world."

Garnache moved nearer to her.

"You speak," said he, "as if you were indifferent in the matter of wedding Florimond, whilst I understand that your letter to the Queen professed you eager for the alliance. I may be impertinent, but, frankly, your att.i.tude puzzles me."

"I am not indifferent," she answered him, but calmly, without enthusiasm. "Florimond and I were playmates, and as a little child I loved him and admired him as I might have loved and admired a brother perhaps. He is comely, honourable, and true. I believe he would be the kindest husband ever woman had, and so I am content to give my life into his keeping. What more can be needed?"

"Never ask me, mademoiselle; I am by no means an authority," said he. "But you appear to have been well schooled in a most excellent philosophy." And he laughed outright. She reddened under his amus.e.m.e.nt.

"It was thus my father taught me," said she, in quieter tones; "and he was the wisest man I ever knew, just as he was the n.o.blest and the bravest."