The Grey Cloak Part 18

Victor watched them till they dwindled into the semblance of so many ravens. He rubbed his fevered face with snow, and waited.

Meantime the Chevalier returned to the table. "Drink, you beggars; drink, I say!" The sword swept the table, cras.h.i.+ng among the bottles and gla.s.ses and candlesticks, "Take the news to Paris, fools! Spell it largely! It will amuse the court. Drink, drink, drink!" Wine bubbled and ran about the table; candles sputtered and died; still the sword rose and fell. Then came silence, broken only by heavy breathing and the ticking of the clock in the salon. The Chevalier sat crouched in his chair, his arm and sword resting on the table where they had at length fallen.

The marquis recovered from his stupor. He hurried toward the dining-hall, fumbling his lips, mumbling incoherent sentences. He came to a stand on the threshold.

"Blundering fool," he cried pa.s.sionately, "what have you said and done?"

At the sound of his father's voice, the Chevalier's rage returned; but it was a cold rage, actionless.

"What have I done? I have written it large, Monsieur, that I am only your poor b.a.s.t.a.r.d. How Paris will laugh!" He gazed around, dimly noting the havoc. He rose, the sword still in his grasp. "What! the marquis so many times a father, to die without legal issue?"

The marquis raised his cane to strike, so great was his pa.s.sion and chagrin; but palsy seized his arm.

"Drunken fool!" he roared; "be b.a.s.t.a.r.d, then; play drunken fool to the end!"

"Who was my mother?"

"Find that out yourself, drunkard! Never from me shall you know!"

"It is just as well." The Chevalier took from his pocket his purse. He cast it contemptuously at his father's feet.

"The last of the gold you gave me. Now, Monsieur, listen. I shall never again cross the threshold of any house of yours; never again shall I look upon your face, nor hear with patience your name spoken. In spite of all you have done, I shall yet become a man. Somewhere I shall begin anew.

I shall find a level, and from that I shall rise. And I shall become what you will never become, respected." He picked up his cloak and hat.

He looked steadily into his father's eyes, then swung on his heels, pa.s.sed through the salon, thence to the street.

"Paul?" said Victor.

"Is that you, Victor?" quietly.

"Yes, Paul." Victor gently replaced the Chevalier's sword into its scabbard, and locking his arm in his friend's, the two walked in silence toward the Corne d'Abondance.

And the marquis? Ah, G.o.d--the G.o.d he did not believe in!--only G.o.d could a.n.a.lyse his thoughts.

"Fool!" he cried, seeing himself alone and the gift of prescience foretelling that he was to be henceforth and forever alone,--"senile fool! Dotard!" He beat about with his cane even as the Chevalier had beaten about with his sword. "Double fool! to lose him for the sake of a lie, a d.a.m.nable lie, and the lack of courage to own to it!" A Venetian mirror caught his attention. He stood before it, and seeing his reflection he beat the gla.s.s into a thousand fragments.

Jehan appeared, white and trembling, carrying his master's candlestick.

"Ah!" cried the marquis. "'Tis you. Jehan, call your master a fool."

"I, Monsieur?" Jehan retreated.

"Aye; or I promise to beat your worthless body within an inch of death.

Call me a fool, whose wrath, over-leaped his prudence and sense of truth and honor. Call me a fool."

"Oh!"

"Quickly!" The cane rose.

"G.o.d forgive me this disrespect! . . . Monsieur, you are a fool!"

"A senile, doting fool."

"A senile, doting fool!" repeated Jehan, weeping.

"That is well. My candle. Listen to me." The marquis moved toward the staircase. "Monsieur le Comte has left this house for good and all, so he says. Should he return to-morrow . . ."

Jehan listened attentively, as attentively as his dazed mind would permit.

"Should he come back within a month . . ." The marquis had by this time reached the first landing.

"Yes, Monsieur."

"If he ever comes back . . ."

"I am listening."

"Let him in."

And the marquis vanished beyond the landing, leaving the astonished lackey staring at the vanis.h.i.+ng point. He saw the ruin and desolation in the dining-hall, from which arose the odor of stale wine and smoke.

"Mother of Jesus! What has happened?"

CHAPTER IX

THE FIFTY PISTOLES OF MONSIEUR LE VICOMTE

The roisterers went their devious ways, sobered and subdued. So deep was their distraction that the watch pa.s.sed unmolested. Usually a rout was rounded out and finished by robbing the watch of their staffs and lanterns; by singing in front of the hotel of the mayor or the episcopal palace; by yielding to any extravagant whim suggested by mischief. But to-night mischief itself was quiet and uninventive. Had there been a violent death among them, the roisterers would have accepted the event with drunken philosophy. The catastrophe of this night, however, was beyond their imagination: they were still-voiced and horrified. The Chevalier du Cevennes, that prince of good fellows . . . was a n.o.body, a son of the left hand! Those who owed the Chevalier money or grat.i.tude now recollected with no small satisfaction that they had not paid their indebtedness. Truly adversity is the crucible in which the quality of friends.h.i.+p is tried.

On the way to the Corne d'Abondance the self-made victim of this night's madness and his friend exchanged no words. There was nothing to be said. But there was death in the Chevalier's heart; his chin was sunken in his collar, and he bore heavily on Victor's arm; from time to time he hiccoughed. Victor bit his lips to repress the sighs which urged against them.

"Where do you wish to go, Paul?" he asked, when they arrived under the green lantern and tarnished cherubs of the tavern.

"Have I still a place to go?" the Chevalier asked. "Ah well, lead on, wherever you will; I am in your keeping."

So together they entered the tavern.

"Maitre," said Victor to le Borgne, "is the private a.s.sembly in use?"

"No, Monsieur; you wish to use it?"

"Yes; and see that no one disturbs us."

In pa.s.sing through the common a.s.sembly, Victor saw Du Puys and Bouchard in conversation with the Jesuits. Brother Jacques glanced carelessly in the Chevalier's direction, frowned at some thought, and turned his head away. The Iroquois had fallen asleep in a chair close to the fire. In a far corner Victor discovered the form of the Vicomte d'Halluys; he was apparently sleeping on his arms, which were extended across the table.

"Why do I dislike that man?" Victor asked in thought. "There is something in his banter which strikes me as coming from a man consumed either by hate or envy." He pushed the Chevalier into the private a.s.sembly, followed and closed the door.