Orrain Part 41

True and tried friend though he was I shook him off roughly, and hurried into the streets like a madman. How I reached the Hotel de Ville I cannot tell! I seemed to have made the pa.s.sage in darkness; but at last I found myself there, pressing through the ever-increasing crowd that thronged the entrance to the trial chamber; and finally, pa.s.sing the doors, I took my stand in the gallery reserved for spectators.

With burning eyes I looked upon the scene beneath me. Camus had just concluded his evidence, and was bowing to the court, a smile on his traitor's face as he listened to some words of compliment addressed to him by De Mouchy. Simon, the man I wanted, was nowhere to be seen, though my eyes, fierce with hatred, searched for him everywhere. But on a seat beside the judge was La Valentinois herself, radiantly beautiful, now fluttering her fan, now sniffing daintily at her vinaigrette, as she bent her frosty glance on the prisoners. One was old Ferrieres. Like a dying man, he leaned back in a chair that had been provided for him, for his wounds left him no strength to stand. His eyes were closed. He seemed to have fainted, and was oblivious of what was going on around him, whilst death had already set its seal upon his haggard and drawn face. Mademoiselle stood by his side, a hand resting on his chair. For one brief second our eyes met, and she smiled at me--a brave smile--and I bent my head in sorrow, for I could not look. It needed not the cry of the ushers in the court for silence. Every tongue was still. There was not a whisper, not a movement, for all felt that the supreme moment had arrived. De Mouchy bent over his papers. I heard them rustling; and then La Valentinois, leaning forward, said something to him in a low voice. There was a word to an usher, and once more the insupportable silence.

In a little we heard the steady tramp of feet. Nearer and nearer the sound came. A side door in the body of the court was opened, and a third prisoner was brought in and placed before the judge. Craning forward I looked. It was De Ganache; but how changed from the once brilliant cavalier. His figure was stooped and bent, his once dark hair was white, his face wrinkled as that of an old man, and in his s.h.i.+fty, unsettled glance glared the fires of madness. He did not seem to realise where he was, but began to laugh vacantly, but the laugh died away to a frozen look as his gaze fixed itself on La Valentinois.

"Diane," he cried in a terrible voice as he stretched his arms out towards her, "it was for your sake!"

But she, his destroyer, scarce glanced at him from her place on the judgment seat.

"He is quite mad!" And with a musical laugh she leaned back, and picking out a comfit from a little jewelled box began to nibble at it daintily as De Ganache's hands fell helplessly to his sides.

And now De Mouchy spoke. "Monsieur De Ganache, do you recognise the prisoners there?"

De Ganache followed his glance; a s.h.i.+ver went through him, and as he looked a red flush mounted to his forehead. Never had I seen a man look so before, and, thank G.o.d! never after. Unspeakable shame and hopeless despair were sealed upon his face. His lips grew livid, and twice the question was repeated ere he forced himself to answer.

"Yes."

I held my breath and listened. What did this mean? Ferrieres still lay back in his semi-trance, oblivious of all things; but mademoiselle moved forward and looked at De Ganache, ineffable pity in her eyes. And now came the next question.

"They are known to you as Christaudins?"

One glance at mademoiselle and De Ganache shrank back; but her voice rang out clear and sweet, for she, with all of us, mistook the reason of De Ganache's terrible emotion.

"Deny it not, De Ganache! Be not afraid."

But with a cry De Ganache put his hands to his face and turned aside. A woman began to sob amongst the spectators, and someone dropped a sword with an angry clash on the parquet. Once more the strident voices of the ushers arose, and after a little silence was restored.

De Mouchy was about to put yet another question when La Valentinois interposed.

"It is enough," she said; "I but wanted to confront them. Let him have his reward."

De Mouchy smiled, and bending forward addressed De Ganache.

"Gaston de Ganache, Vicomte de Ganache and Les Barres, you stand convicted a heretic and traitor, and for crimes such as yours the laws of G.o.d and man have but one punishment. But bearing in mind the services you have rendered by denouncing your fellow-conspirators and discovering their secrets to the King's most trusty servants, Simon, Vidame d'Orrain, and myself, the King at the intercession of Madame the d.u.c.h.ess de Valentinois has in his gracious mercy spared your life on condition that you quit France within four and twenty hours. Monsieur, you are free."

As these astonis.h.i.+ng words fell from the judge's lips--words that branded De Ganache with unutterable infamy--the miserable man looked around him like an animal at bay; and then, a madness coming upon him, he broke out into peal after peal of harsh, mirthless laughter--laughter that seemed to come from the grave and beyond; and, laughing thus, they led him away.

When he was gone De Mouchy pointed to Ferrieres as he said to a warder:

"Arouse him!"

They dragged the fainting man to his feet, and he stood limply between two gaolers; and then the judge asked:

"Prisoners, is there anything you would like to say?"

And mademoiselle answered for both, in a low but distinct voice:

"Nothing. We confess we are of the true faith, and we are willing to die for it. As to our having conspired against the King--we are innocent!"

And as she spoke some strange idea must have pa.s.sed through the wandering brain of Ferrieres. Half in delirium, he looked about him, and with a supreme effort, standing free of the warders, he called out in a loud, fever-strung voice:

"_Vive le Roi_!"

It was one of those moments when the sympathy of a crowd can be caught by a word. Small and mean-looking as he was there was something so forlorn and hopeless in the gallant cry of the doomed man that all hearts were touched. A low, responsive murmur broke from the spectators, and then with one voice they too shouted:

"_Vive le Roi_!"

They heard it outside--the mult.i.tude who thronged the stairways, the courtyards, and the Place de Greve. And they too yelled with brazen lungs, and the roar of their voices came to us through the open windows, with the sunbeams that lit the shadows of the vast and gloomy hall.

Never did subjects hail their king in a moment more sad.

Ferrieres had sunk back in a crumpled heap, and mademoiselle was leaning over him in womanly sympathy; but the guards thrust her aside, and held up the dying man once more to hear, if he could, his sentence. The tumult sank away, and once more there was silence. La Valentinois sat still, watching the prisoners behind her fan; and then De Mouchy, in a speech that was dignified and impressive even to me who knew the unheard-of guilt of the man, pa.s.sed the last sentence of the law. The sin of the prisoners was amply proved. It was against the King, and, he bent his head, against the Church of G.o.d. The King had already shown his mercy--all men had seen and felt it--but the wrath of G.o.d had shown itself in the disasters that had smitten the land, and France must be purged clean of the sin of heresy. As for the judge, the laws, and, in chief, the Edict of Compiegne, gave him no power to mitigate the punishment of wretches so guilty as these who stood now before him. And so Diane, Demoiselle de Paradis, and Jean, Sieur de Ferrieres, were condemned to be drawn two days hence on hurdles to the Place Maubert, there to suffer the greater torture and the less, and there to have their bodies consumed by fire, as Almighty G.o.d would hereafter consume their souls.

And then, amidst an awed hush, the blasphemer who sat upon the judgment seat made a sign to the guards to remove the prisoners, and, bending down, began slowly to gather up his papers.

As the terrible words fell from De Mouchy's lips I was for the moment overcome, and the immense hall seemed to swim before me, so that I had to support myself by holding to the railings of the gallery.

La Valentinois had risen, and was leaning forward looking hard at Diane, as if expecting some cry, some appeal for mercy; but at the last words of De Mouchy mademoiselle had bent her head in silent prayer, and then her calm, pure eyes met those of the wicked woman before her, and rested on her for a moment with a grave pity in them, as she said in a clear voice:

"Madame, G.o.d has already taken one of us beyond your reach." And she pointed to Ferrieres. "As for me, His mercy will come to me too, I pray; and may He forgive you as I, who am to die, forgive you now."

It was truth she spoke. A hand more powerful than aught earthly had rescued Ferrieres, and he was dead. He had pa.s.sed as he stood there, held by the warders, and the lifeless figure, with its glazed eyes staring into the unknown, was only kept from falling by the supporting hands around it. Even De Mouchy paled; and La Valentinois, who had striven to meet mademoiselle's look with her cruel laugh, shrank back and covered her face with her hand. And now the guards closed around their prisoners, the living and the dead, and they pa.s.sed from my sight.

In a moment the tension was relaxed, and a hundred voices were raised at once, discussing the sentence, the news of which had already gone forth; and outside the mult.i.tude began to hoot and groan and cheer.

A man seized me by the cloak. "A just sentence, was it not, monsieur?"

he asked. And then went on: "A pity the old fox died; but it will be a good expiation, almost as good as that of Clinet and De Luns--_cujus regio, ejus religio_," he babbled on, airing his Latin; but I drove the fool from me with a curse, and wonder to this day if he ever knew how near he was to death.

La Valentinois had arisen, and, followed by De Mouchy and half a dozen others, was making her way to the exit, all parting before her as though she were the Queen. Now was my chance. Simon had escaped me for to-day; but De Mouchy--he at least was within my reach--and with my hand to my poniard I pressed down the steps of the gallery, but near the door was hemmed in by the crowd. Try as I would it was impossible to get through, and a barrier was put up, which made matters hopeless. There as I stood in impotent rage I saw over the heads of the crowd La Valentinois entering her coach. She was followed by De Mouchy. The guards closed around. There was a cheer, and they were gone. It was then that a cold hand touched my wrist, and a voice whispered in my ear:

"There are two days yet; do nothing ras.h.!.+"

I turned swiftly, and saw Le Brusquet at my elbow, and behind him the tall figure of De Lorgnac; unknown to me he had followed me here.

"Come with us!" he said; and I made no answer, but did as I was bidden, and placing me between them we went back together to the Louvre. Once in Le Brusquet's apartments the reaction set in, and flinging myself in a chair I covered my face with my hands--for the first time in my life I had broken down utterly.

After a while I somewhat recovered myself. Lorgnac was standing with his back to me, looking out of the window, and Le Brusquet was by my side, a gla.s.s of cordial in his hand.

"Drink this," he said. "Remember there are two days yet; and G.o.d's arm is long."

Mechanically I drank, and as I held the gla.s.s in my hand Le Brusquet removed his cloak. In doing this something dropped, and stooping he picked it up. It was a packet of letters, tied with a red ribbon. With a glance of contempt at it he flung it on the table in front of De Lorgnac, who had joined us, saying as he did so:

"There are De Ganache's letters. I had almost forgotten them."

The packet had fallen on the table, almost under De Lorgnac's eyes. Half unconsciously he let his glance rest upon it, and then a strange expression came into his face, and holding up the letters, he asked Le Brusquet, with apparent unconcern:

"You have not looked at the writing, have you?"

"Not I! I dare swear 'tis some woman. Nothing else would be tied with red ribbon and scented with musk. Throw the thing away. It is too thick with memories of that traitor. My G.o.d! I did not think earth held so foul a villain."

But Lorgnac took no notice of his last words, only the hand holding the packet began to shake a little as he said slowly: