Orrain Part 36

His face was thin and sunken; there was a red spot on each cheek and a fierce light in his hollow eyes. For a moment I stood watching him, and then, having made up my mind, stepped up to him. As I approached he stared at me with his livid glance and then rose slowly to his feet.

So deadly a hate shone on his face that for a second it came to me to turn away and leave him to his fate; but, fallen as he was, I could not let him go to his death without a word or a sign. So I walked straight up to him.

"Monsieur, a word with you."

He simply looked at me. I saw his forehead flush hot, and he pa.s.sed his tongue over dry lips, and then, as if controlling himself with an effort, he turned from me. But I called out:

"M. de Ganache, this is life and death. I have come to warn----"

He flung round on his heel and faced me once more, his hand on the hilt of his poniard.

"Begone!" he said, "begone! else I may slay you where you stand!

I----" And his voice failed him, but his eyes glared like those of a boar at bay.

"Monsieur," I said calmly, "fifty windows look down upon us, and there may be a hundred eyes watching us. If you wish it, I will cross swords with you with pleasure, but listen to what I say first. Your life, and the lives of your friends of your faith, hang on a hair. The council to-day has applied anew the edicts. As you value your life, get your fastest horse and leave Paris at once."

"In what tavern have you heard this?" he sneered.

"Monsieur," I answered gravely, "this is no jest. If you care not to take the warning yourself, give it to others. I myself will warn those of your faith who meet to-night in the Rue des Mathurins. There may be others you know of; give them at least a chance. As for yourself, you have had yours."

What answer he would have made I know not, but at this moment a sharp voice cut in upon us.

"_Eh bien_, Monsieur de Ganache! but it seems to me that Madame de Valentinois signals to you from the window yonder."

There was a little rustling in the bushes, and Le Brusquet stepped out, his ape perched upon his shoulder.

"Behold!" he said, "the crescent moon is already out." And he pointed to a window overlooking the lawn, where a group of ladies stood watching us.

"It must be to you, Monsieur le Vicomte, that madame signals," Le Brusquet went on. "Orrain here is too ugly, and as for me, she loves me no better than my ape."

With an oath De Ganache pushed past Le Brusquet and hurried across the lawn, leaving us staring after him.

"He had his warning," said Le Brusquet. "I heard every word, and thought it was time to step in ere he drew his poniard. The man is mad! But what is this?" And stepping towards the seat he picked up the small packet of letters that De Ganache was reading.

"They belong to De Ganache," I said; "he was reading them as I came up."

"In that case I will return them to monsieur with my own hands." And Le Brusquet slipped the packet into his pocket. Then turning he took me by the arm and led me off, telling me some absurd story, and laughing loudly, until we had pa.s.sed out of sight of the windows. Then he stopped.

"Do not forget this," he said: "the fifth house on the right-hand side of the Rue des Mathurins as you enter from the Rue St. Jacques."

"Thanks; I will not forget. However did you find out?"

"It is too long to tell, and I must return these papers to De Ganache."

So saying, he went off.

CHAPTER XXVI

THE CHURCH UNDER THE GROUND

The wicket gate near the riding-school was used almost exclusively by the servants of the palace, to whom it gave access to that maze of nameless streets, dingy, tumble-down houses, and squalid shops that was known as the Magasins. Here it was that the waiting-woman and the lackey stole forth to meet their lovers. Through this filtered all the backstairs' gossip of the Louvre, and more besides, for the small shopkeepers of the Magasins upheld a reputation as evil as the place in which they plied their trade.

At the mouth of one of these streets, only a few yards away from the wicket, was a small eating-house. It was here that I repaired at sunset, and calling for a basin of lentil soup sat me down at a rough table near the door, which commanded a view of the gate. It had rained that afternoon, a summer shower that pa.s.sed as quickly as it came, but the eaves were still dripping, and the water was trickling in glistening lines down the walls and bubbling in the gutters. There were three other clients in the house besides myself. One contented himself, as I had, with some lentil soup, and the other two, sitting near a great spit, impatiently watched a leg of kid they had brought with them for their supper being turned thereon by a small dog, now and then exchanging a word or so with the bare-armed hostess who was supervising the process. Whilst this was going on my fellow-companion with the lentil soup kept casting envious glances at the spit, sniffing the savoury odour of the roasting meat as he slowly ate pieces of black bread sopped in the thick soup.

The wicket was open, for until compline ingress and egress was free; nevertheless, there was a sentry on duty, an arquebusier, who paced slowly up and down whistling the "Rappel d'Aunis," stopping only to exchange some barrack-room badinage with every serving-wench who, as she went out or came in, found a moment or so to spare for him. It was a lax enough watch, and it was clear that guard duty at the wicket was not so dull a matter as one might have imagined.

One of these pa.s.sing affairs was rather longer and more interesting than usual, and he of the lentil soup was chuckling to himself over it, when we heard the clattering of horses at a trot coming up the road lying between us and the gate. The girl uttered a little cry and fled down the walk towards the Louvre, whilst the sentry drew himself up stiffly.

In another minute a party of about half a dozen hors.e.m.e.n filed up, a spare horse with them, and judge of my surprise and fear when I saw it was Simon himself who led them. As the sentry saluted the Vidame he rode close up to the man, and, bending down from the saddle, said something in a quick, low voice, but it was too far off for me to hear.

The sentry saluted again, and began a steady pacing backwards and forwards; whilst Simon, dismounting three of his men, had the horses taken towards the riding-school, he remaining at the gate on foot with his three followers.

"An arrest!" exclaimed my unknown companion, and the words brought the two others from their kid, which they were just sitting down to demolish, to the door, where they were joined by the landlady and the turnspit dog.

The worst suspicions crowded upon me, and from where I sat I watched Simon anxiously, for all depended on his object in being here. He took no notice of the little group observing him, however, but, drawing his men up against the wall, leaned against a b.u.t.tress, moodily pulling at his long moustache.

"We are going to see pretty things," said the hostess; "that tall crookback is the Vidame d'Orrain himself, and 'twas just the same way last year that he took poor Monsieur de Mailly."

For about ten minutes we waited impatiently, but with no result, and so the owners of the kid went back to their repast, and the man with the lentil soup called for another basin. The suspense, however, was not to be for long. Presently a man came down the walk towards the wicket, coming slowly, keeping as much as possible in the shadow of the trees, now and again stopping and looking around him as though he feared being followed. Finally, as he neared the gate, he put a bold face on the matter, and with an air of unconcern stepped towards the sentry. His hat was pulled over his eyes; but there was no mistaking De Ganache, and I watched with breathless interest. As he came up the arquebusier began to whistle his eternal "Rappel d'Aunis" once more, and the figures near the wall closed in around the b.u.t.tress. In five paces De Ganache had pa.s.sed the sentry and was at the gate. In another step he freed the wicket, and came face to face with the Vidame. De Ganache started, retreated a half pace, and then, recovering himself, said with affected gaiety:

"Well met, Orrain! I----" And then he stopped as he met the Vidame's sombre look and saw drawn swords on either side of him.

"Is this a jest or an outrage? What does this mean, monsieur?" And, hand to his sword, he faced Simon, who answered coldly:

"It means, monsieur, that you are my prisoner. Your sword, in the King's name!"

"I! Arrested! It is impossible! What foolery is this?"

But the Vidame simply held out a paper. "You may read this if you doubt."

Almost mechanically De Ganache took the paper and ran his eyes over it.

As he did so his fingers seemed to lose power, for the paper slipped from his hand and fluttered to the ground. The Vidame picked it up, and said again:

"Your sword, monsieur!" And then, with a bitter scorn in his voice: "A traitor's game is a losing game, Monsieur le Vicomte, and the King knows you at last."

What the words meant I was to find out later, but they took all heart from De Ganache. He put his hand to his head as one dazed, and then, dropping it again, unbuckled his sword, and handed it to the Vidame without a word. There was a sharp whistle. The horses came up. De Ganache, who seemed utterly broken, was mounted on the spare horse.

The troopers surrounded him, and then came the quick order:

"The Chatelet!" And they were gone.

"_Harnibleu_!" exclaimed the hostess, "that was not how Monsieur de Mailly allowed himself to be taken. He swore like the Constable, and fought right across the road, up to this very door, and might have escaped had he not tripped up. As for that hare there--pouf!" And with an expressive shrug of her shoulders and a snap of her fingers she went back to her spit.

I sat still, wondering, but with a great relief in my heart. There was a little talk, as will be when things of this kind occur, and then matters settled down. A few more customers came in. The twilight began to fall, and then, all at once, I saw two figures at the gate.

They were mademoiselle and De Lorgnac. In a moment I had joined them, and together we went on towards the river face.

At the corner of the Rue St. Thomas, De Lorgnac bade us farewell, but as he left us I took the opportunity to whisper to him the news of De Ganache's arrest.

"Then put wings to your business," he said, and pressing my hand went off, and mademoiselle and I were alone. Silently she took the arm I offered, and we hastened towards the river.