The Chevalier d'Auriac Part 29

She looked from right to left with a quick, uneasy motion of her eyes.

'I do not know. She is not here.'

I was compelled to believe her--or to accept her statement, which you will.

'Very well, then I waste time no longer,' and suiting actions to my words, and exerting my strength to its utmost, I took her with me up the stairway, forcing her to open each of the doors that closed on it.

At the last door I took the precaution of gagging Babette, and fastened her arms securely, but lightly, behind her back with her own girdle. Then holding her against the wall, I ran rapidly over the whole position. If Madame was in the house, which was uncertain, I could effect her rescue better from without than within. If, on the other hand, she was not there, I would be wasting most valuable time, and perhaps ruin all chance of saving her, by searching the rooms of the Toison d'Or, unarmed as I was. Once free, I could force de Gomeron to give up his victim. He would not, after the charges I should lay against him in an hour, dare to leave Paris, whatever else he might do. That would in itself be a confession of guilt. As for Babette, I felt it was impossible to drag her with me through the streets of Paris.

'Look here!' and I gave my prisoner a shake. 'I fully believe that Madame is here, and if you wish to save yourself from the rack--it hurts more than what I have done to you--you will see that no harm comes to her. You follow?'

She was speechless, but her eyes were blazing with wrath as she made a sullen movement of her head.

'You had also better tell Monsieur de Gomeron, your master, that I refuse his terms. It will save him the trouble of knowing that I have escaped--you understand?'

This time she nodded eagerly enough.

'Now,' I went on, 'we will open the last door.'

I took the bunch of keys, and, after a try or two, succeeded in hitting on the right one. After this I pushed Babette before me into the small flagged yard, and saw to my surprise that it was night, and that the moon was out. Then I gave the fact no further thought beyond an inward 'Thank G.o.d!' for the uncertain moonlight that would cover my escape. As I pushed my captive along the shadow of the wall until we came to the entrance gate, I looked around and above me carefully, but there was nothing to indicate where Madame was. A hundred times was I tempted to turn back and risk all in searching the house for her, and it was only because I was convinced that the sole chance of saving her was to be free first myself that I did not give in to my desire. On reaching the gate I discovered that there was a wicket in it large enough to squeeze a man's body through, and that this was closed by a heavy pair of iron cross-bars, a secure enough defence from the outside. Holding Babette at arm's-length from me, I put down the bar and opened the wicket. Then, still keeping my hold on her, I freed her hands, and, bending slightly forwards and looking her straight in the face, said:

'Remember! And adieu, Madame de--Mau-ginot!'

At these words, which brought back to her memory her crime on the battle-field of La Fere, she shrank back, her eyes seemed to sink into their sockets, and as I loosed my hold of her shoulder she fell in a huddled heap on the flags of the yard.

CHAPTER XVI

A COUNCIL OF WAR

As I slipped through the wicket I cast a hurried glance around me, and then, acting on the impulse of the moment, ran forwards along the road for about fifty paces, with Babette's dagger clenched in my hand.

There I was brought to a stand by a dead wall, studded with iron spikes at the top, which rose sheer above me for fully twenty feet and barred all further progress. It was evident that the Toison d'Or stood in a blind alley, and that I had taken the wrong turning. Not even an ape could have scaled the moss-grown and slippery surface of those stones, and, leaning against a b.u.t.tress in the darkest corner of the wall, I stood for a moment or so and waited, determined to sell my life as dearly as possible should I be pursued. There was no sound, however; all was still as the grave. I ran my eye down the road, but the moon was not bright enough to penetrate the shadows, and I could make out nothing except the many-storied and gabled buildings that, packed closely to each other, beetled over the pa.s.sage. The hanging turrets projecting from these houses were for all the world like gigantic wasps' nests, such as are seen clinging to the rocks of the upper Dordogne. Here and there a turret window showed a light glimmering behind it, and, had I time, I might have pictured to myself a resemblance between this 'beetle-browed' pa.s.sage to that of some long, narrow, and sluggish mountain tarn, guarded on each side by an impa.s.sable barrier of frowning rocks. It was, however, not a moment to let oneself be impressed by scenery, and, eyes and ears on the stretch, I peered into the indistinct light to see the slightest movement, to catch the slightest sound. But the silence remained undisturbed. It was an eyrie of night-hawks, and they were hunting now far from their nests. So I stole forth from the shadow of the b.u.t.tress, and, keeping the dagger ready to strike, retraced my steps past the Toison d'Or and along the winding and crooked pa.s.sage, keeping as far away from the walls as possible to avoid any sudden attack, until at last I found myself in a cross street, down which I went, taking note of such landmarks as I could to guide me back, when I should return with vengeance in my right hand. The cross street led into other winding and twisting lanes, whose squalid inhabitants were either flitting up and down, or quarrelling amongst themselves, or else sitting in a sullen silence. I guessed I had got myself into one of the very worst parts of Paris, and as I had heard that it was more than dangerous to be recognised in such places as one not belonging to the n.o.ble order of cut-purses, I did not halt to make inquiries, but pursued my way steadily along the labyrinth of streets, feeling more lost at every step I took. Once or twice I pa.s.sed a street stall, and, as the flare of the torches which lit up its gruesome contents fell on me, I was looked at curiously; but so soiled and wet was I, so torn my cloak and doublet in the struggle with de Gomeron's bravos, that at the most they took me for a night-hawk of superior feather, whose plumes had been ruffled by a meeting with the law. That I inspired this idea was evident, indeed, from the way in which one terrible-looking old man leaned forwards and, shaking his palsied finger at me, croaked out:

'Run, captain; run, Messire de Montfaucon!'

I hurried past as fast as I could, followed by the laughter of those who heard the remark, thinking to myself it was lucky it was no worse than a jibe that was flung at me.

How long I wandered in that maze of streets I cannot say, but at last I came upon an open s.p.a.ce, and, finding it more or less empty, stopped to take my bearings. My only chance to get back to my lodging that night--and it was all-important to do so--was to strike the Seine at some point or other; but in what direction the river lay, I could not, for the life of me, tell. At last I determined to steer by the moon, and, holding her track to the south-west of me, went on, keeping as a landmark on my left the tall spire of a church whose name I then did not know. So I must have plodded on for about an hour, until at last I was sensible that the street in which I was in was wider than the others I had pa.s.sed through, and, finally, I saw before me a couple of lanterns, evidently slung on a rope that stretched across a street much broader still than the one I was in. That, and the sight of the lanterns, convinced me that I had gained one of the main arteries of the city, and it was with an inward 'Thank G.o.d!' that I stepped under the light and looked about me, uncertain which direction I should take, for if I kept the moon behind me, as I had done hitherto, I should have to cross over and leave the street, and I felt sure this would be a serious error that would only lead me into further difficulties. It was as yet not more than a half-hour or so beyond compline, so the street was full. And unwilling to attract the attention of the watch, which had a habit of confining its beat to places where it was least required, I began to stroll slowly down, determined to inquire the way of the first pa.s.ser-by who looked in a mood amiable enough to exchange a word with so bedraggled a wretch as I was then.

I had not long to wait, for in a short time I noticed one who was evidently a well-to-do citizen hurrying along, with a persuading staff in his right hand, and the m.u.f.fled figure of a lady clinging on to his left arm. I could make out nothing of her; but the man himself was short and stout of figure, and I ran to the conclusion that he must be a cheery soul, for, as far as I could see by the light of the street lamps, he looked like one who enjoyed a good meal and a can to follow, and approaching, I addressed him--

'Pardon, monsieur, but I have lost my way.'

I had hardly spoken so much, when, loosening his arm from the lady, the little man jumped back a yard, and began flouris.h.i.+ng his stick.

I saw that in the next moment he would shout for the watch, and stopped him with a quick--

'Monsieur, I have been attacked and robbed--there,' and I pointed in the direction whence I had come. 'I have escaped but with my life, and I pray you tell me how to find my way to the Rue de Bourdonnais.' The lady, who had at first retreated with a little cry of alarm behind her companion, here stepped forward with a soft--

'Poor man! are you much hurt?'

'Not in the least, mademoiselle, thank you,' and I unconsciously moved a step forward.

'Stand back!' called out the little man, dabbing his stick at me, 'and say Madame, sir--the lady is my wife.'

'Pardon my error, sir, but----'

The lady, however, interposed--

'Be still. Mangel. So you wish to find the Rue de Bourdonnais, sir?'

'He had better find the watch,' interrupted Maitre Mangel; 'they have gone that way, towards the Porte St. Martin.'

'This, then, is the----'

'Rue St. Martin.'

'A hundred thanks, mademoiselle.'

'Madame--_Madame_ Mangel, monsieur.'

'Pardon, I now know where I am, and have only to follow my nose to get to where I want. I thank you once more, and good night.'

'Good night, monsieur,' answered Madame; but Maitre Mangel, who was evidently of a jealous complexion, tucked his wife under his arm and hurried her off, muttering something under his breath.

I let my eye follow them for a moment or so, and ere they had gone many paces, Madame Mangel, who appeared to be of a frolicsome spirit, turned her head and glanced over her shoulder, but was immediately pulled back with a jerk by her husband, whose hand moved in much the same manner as that of a nervous rider when clawing at the reins of a restive horse. Then I, too, turned and went down in an opposite direction along the Rue St. Martin, smiling to myself at the little scene I had witnessed, and my spirits rising at every step I took, for I felt each moment was bringing me nearer the time when I should be able to effect Claude's freedom, and balance my account with Adam de Gomeron. At last I saw the spire of St. Jacques de la Boucherie to my right, and a few steps more brought me to the bridge of Notre Dame.

The pa.s.sage was, however, closed, and, turning to the west, I kept along the river face and made for the Pont du Change, hoping that this bridge would be open, else I should perforce be compelled to swim the Seine once more, as no boats were allowed to ply during the night.

Here, however, I was not disappointed, and threading my way through the crowd that still lingered round the money-changers' stalls, I soon found myself in the Barillierie, and hastening past Sainte Chapelle to the Rue des Deux Mondes. I had determined in the first instance to seek out de Belin, but thought better of that as I went along the Rue St. Martin, when I considered how unlikely I was to find my friend at home, whereas, on the other hand, the notary and his wife were sure to be in their house; and it moreover struck me as being the safest plan to go straight there until I could communicate with de Belin. For if I should be suspected of making away with Madame, no one would think me fool enough to come back to my lodging, which was well known, no doubt, and where I could be trapped at once.

At last I was once again in the Rue des Deux Mondes, very footsore and weary, but kept up by the thought of what I had before me, and ready to drop dead before I should yield to fatigue. There was no one in the street, and, seizing the huge knocker, I hammered at the door in a manner loud enough to waken the dead. It had the effect of arousing one or two of the inhabitants of the adjoining houses, who opened their windows and peered out into the night, and then shut them again hastily, for the wind blew chill across the Pa.s.seur aux Vaches. There was no answer to my knock, and then I again beat furiously at the door, with a little sinking of my heart as it came to me that perhaps some harm had befallen these good people. This time, however, I heard a noise within, and presently Pantin's voice, inquiring in angry accents who it was that disturbed the rest of honest people at so late an hour.

'Open, Pantin,' I shouted; 'it is I--do you not know me?'

Then I heard another voice, and a sudden joy went through me, for it was that of my trusty Jacques.

'_Grand Dieu!_ It is the Chevalier! Open the door quick, man!'

It was done in a trice, and as I stepped in Pantin closed it again rapidly, whilst Jacques seized my hand in his, and then, letting it go, gambolled about like a great dog that had just found its master.

I noticed, however, at the first glance I took round, that both Pantin and Jacques were fully dressed, late as it was, and that the notary was very pale, and the hand in which he held a lantern was visibly trembling.

'Monsieur,' he began, and then stopped; but I understood the question in his voice, and answered at once--

'Pantin, I have come back to free her--come back almost from the dead.'

'Then, monsieur, there are those here who can help you still. I had thought you brought the worst news,' and he looked at me where I stood, soiled and wet. 'This way, monsieur le chevalier,' he continued.