The Chevalier d'Auriac Part 26

'My dear friend, I cannot get it out of my head that I have seen him before, and I don't like a riddle like that to be unsolved.'

'This comes of your court intrigues, de Belin. You were not wont to be so.'

'Other times, other manners,' he answered, a little grimly, and we sat at our table.

How well do I remember that small room in the Two Ecus, with the dark oak wainscoting, the furniture that age had polished, the open window showing the yellow sunset between the high-roofed and many-gabled houses, the red Frontignac sparkling like rubies in our long-necked gla.s.ses, and the deft service of Susette, the landlord's daughter, whose pretty lips pouted with disappointment, because no notice was taken of her good looks by the two cavaliers who supped together, whose faces were so grave, and whose speech was in tones so low as to be heard only by each other. At last we were left to ourselves, and Belin, who had been explaining many things to me that I knew not before, suddenly rose and began to pace the room, saying: 'You take the position now, d'Auriac. If not, let me put the points again before you briefly. There are men like Sully, Villeroi, Forget, and I myself, who understand and grasp the King's views, and know that if he has his way France will be the greatest country on earth. On the other hand, Henry is bound by ties of much service rendered to him by men like Sancy, who disgraces his name by plundering the state, and Zamet, who cannot disgrace himself by anything he does. These men, and such as they, exhaust our resources if they do nothing else, and serve the cause of the great n.o.bles, such as Epernon, Turenne, Tremouille, and above all Biron, whose ambition knows no bounds, and who, I am certain, will never be still unless his head is on a crown-piece or else on the block.'

'But what has that to do with me?'

'Listen! Great as the King is, he has one failing--you know what it is; and it is on this the Sancys and Birons play. To carry out his own designs it is necessary that Henry should be saved from himself. The Italian emba.s.sy is with us, and whilst d'Ossat and the Cardinal performed the ostensible object of their mission, they affected another and secret object--and that was the arrangement of the King's marriage with Marie de Medici.'

'The King's marriage!'

'Yes.'

'But the Queen still lives.'

'And long may she live; but not as Queen.'

'Ah!'

'Exactly; you begin to see now. If we can make this move we get the support of the Quirinal, and, more, the help of the Florentine coffers. We will paralyse the great conspiracy which Biron heads--rather a league than a conspiracy. We can dispense with the expensive services of Sancy, of Ornano, and of Zamet, and then Henry will be free to carry out his great designs.'

'If, however, Biron is as strong as you say?'

'Permit me--we are providing for that. He has been kept close to the King. Sully, as Master-General of the ordnance, has ordered the guns at Dijon to be sent to Paris with a view of replacing them with new ones. None are going, and by the time that the King's betrothal is announced, Burgundy will be as much Henry's as it is the Marshal's now.'

'But he will believe nothing against Biron.'

'Other people have nursed vipers before, but the King is not himself now. He can think of nothing but one thing. See here, d'Auriac, I have helped you for two reasons: one, because I love France; and the other, because I love you. Henry has ordered the marriage of Madame de Bidache with d'Ayen to be celebrated to-morrow. He gave that order to-day, to put an end to the importunities of the Marshal in regard to de Gomeron. I know this, and Madame knows it too. In plain language you must play a bold stroke for the woman you love--take her away to-night.'

'That was partly arranged--we are to go to Switzerland.'

'You will never reach the frontier. Look--there is my castle of Mourmeton in Champagne. It is old and half in ruins. See, here is my signet. Take it, show it to Gringel, the old forester there--he will take you to a hiding place. Stay there until the affair blows over, and then to Switzerland or elsewhere, if you will; in the meantime I pledge you the faith of de Belin that no stone will be left unturned to effect your pardon.'

I took the ring he gave me and slipped it on, and then our hands met in a hearty clasp that expressed more than words. It was at this moment that Susette announced Pantin, and the little notary came in with his quick, short step.

'I am late, messieurs, I know,' he said, 'but I was not at home when Vallon arrived, or else I had been here sooner.'

'You are in ample time for what we want, Pantin,' I said, 'though there is no time to waste. I am leaving Paris to-night, and will not return to the Rue des Deux Mondes, but start from here. My business concerns the safety and honour of Madame de la Bidache, and when I say that I know I can rely on you. Is it not so?'

'It is, monsieur.'

'Well, then, should anyone ask for me, say I have gone you know not where. You do not know, as a matter of fact. If Jacques, my servant, returns, bid him go straight to M. le Compte. He will get orders from him.'

'I understand perfectly, monsieur.'

'There is yet another thing. Hasten to Maitre Palin and bid him await me now outside the Porte St. Denis with two spare horses; he will understand what I mean. And now, my friend, adieu. This will pay what I owe you,' and I thrust a half-dozen pistoles into his hand.

But he resolutely refused. 'No, no, monsieur le chevalier.'

'But dame Annette?' interposed Belin.

'Um!' said the notary, scratching his chin, 'that is another matter. I had for the moment forgotten I was a married man. Very well, monsieur, I will take the money--not that I need it, but for the sake of peace; and now there is little time to lose. I go to do all you have asked me to, and rest a.s.sured, messieurs, it will be faithfully done.'

'I have no doubt of that, Pantin.'

'We had better make a start, too,' I said, and Belin shouted for the horses. We stayed for a moment or so after the notary's departure, during which time Belin urged me to take Vallon and a couple of men with me to my tryst, but, fearing no complications, I refused, saying that this was a matter that were best done with one hand. Belin would have come himself but that, his friends.h.i.+p with me being known, it was necessary for him to avoid all suspicion of his being in the affair.

'I shall go to the Louvre,' he said, 'and engage d'Ayen at play.

Pimental and others will be there, and, if I mistake not M. le Baron will have a sore head for his wedding,' and he chuckled here.

Then I settled the score with mine host, and, mounting our horses, we rode back the way we came. It was at the Magasins that we wished each other good-bye, and, with a last grip of the hand and a last warning to hasten to Mourmeton, Belin turned towards the Louvre, whilst I went on towards the Tuileries, keeping the northern road, and not the more frequented street along the river face. I chose this way because, although it was a little longer, yet there was still a half-hour for my appointment, and it would not do for me to arrive too early, as by hanging about at the trysting-place I might attract attention, and, perhaps, ruin the game. As I rode on I caught myself wondering if I could play the same hand that Sully, Villeroi, and de Belin were throwing to. I knew they were honest men--their positions removed them from such temptations as might a.s.sail even a great n.o.ble, and that they were loyally trying to serve their country and their King. If such service, however good its object, meant, as it clearly did, that one must be up to the elbows in intrigue, then I thanked G.o.d that I belonged to no party, and inwardly resolved that, whether I won or lost my hazard, the court would see me no more; and as for the King!

_Pardieu!_ It is not good to know a hero too well.

There was a strong moon, and the night was as clear as crystal. One side of the street was in shadow, illumined here and there by the dim light of a few lanterns set high up in niches in the old and moss-grown walls of the buildings. The houses here were old even for this part of Paris, and, with their sloping roofs and many gables, rose in irregular outlines on either side--outlines, however, so softened by the moonlight, in which they seemed to quiver, that it was as if some fantastic creation of fairyland had been set down here--a phantom city that would melt into nothingness with the warm rays of the morning sun.

Away in the distance it still seemed as if I could hear the hum of the city behind me, but here all was quiet and still and the iron-shod hoofs of Couronne rang out with a strange clearness into the night.

Occasionally I met a pa.s.ser on the road, but he or she, whoever they were, took care to give me a wide berth, and once a woman who had opened her door to look out, for some reason or other, hurried in and shut it with a little cry of alarm as I pa.s.sed.

I had now come to the gardens of the Tuileries, and, putting Couronne at the wall which was just being raised around them, found myself within a quarter-mile of our place of meeting. The turf was soft and level here, and I let Couronne go at a half-gallop, keeping in the chequered shade of the huge trees, which whispered strange things to each other in the breeze. At this moment it seemed as if I heard the smothered neigh of a horse. I knew the sound well, for often had my old Norman tried to serve me in this way through the scarf by which his jaws were bound together when we lay in ambuscade. With a touch of my hand I stayed my beast and stopped to listen. Beyond me stretched the avenue, at the end of which stood the great lime trees. I could see nothing but the ghostly line of trunks, lit up here by the moon, there standing out black against the night, or fading away into a lacework of leaves and branches. There was no sound except the tinkle of the leaves and the sullen creaking of the boughs overhead. 'It must be her horse or Palings,' I said aloud to myself; and then the compline came to me clear and sweet from the spire of St. Germain.

I lifted my hat for an instant with a silent prayer to G.o.d for help, and then shook up Couronne. Ere the last notes of the bells had gone I was under the limes. At first I could see nothing; there was no one there; and my heart grew cold at the thought that some danger had overtaken my dear one.

'Madame!' I called out. 'It is I---d'Auriac'

Then a figure in a grey mantle stepped out from the shadow of the trees, and I sprang from the saddle and held out my hand.

'I knew it was you, chevalier,' she said, 'but I wanted to make certain and waited until you spoke.'

'I hope I have not kept you waiting?'

'Indeed no. I had but just come across from the Louvre when you arrived.'

'Then you did not come riding?'

'How could I? I have been in the Louvre, and am expected to be at the _coucher_ of Madame Catherine in a half-hour,' and she laughed slightly.

The thought of that smothered neigh flashed through my mind like lightning.

'We must trust ourselves to Couronne,' I said. 'Palin will be at the Porte St. Denis. There is no time to waste; come!'

Then it seemed that she hesitated, and, flinging back her hood, looked me full in the face. In the moonlight I saw her white as marble, and she suddenly put out both her hands, saying:

'I trust you utterly, d'Auriac'

Man is not made of stone, and I loved this woman as my life. There was that in her voice, in the pitiful appeal of its tones, that broke down all my false pride. I cannot say how it happened, but in a moment my arm was round her waist, and I drew her towards me, she nothing resisting.

'Claude, I love you. Give me the right to protect you.'