Petticoat Rule Part 39

"Whilst Gaston's skill is famous. . . . But, my dear, you need have no anxiety. . . . It was also with a view to rea.s.suring you on the subject that I have sought you so late. . . . You will believe your father's word, Lydie, if he tells you that your husband is in no grave danger at the hands of Gaston."

"I thank you, father dear," she rejoined with the same natural, even tone of voice which should have tranquillised him as to her mental condition, but which somehow failed to do so.

"Gaston must take up the matter . . . you understand that. . . . It is quite public and . . . he would be laughed at if he appealed for leave to fight from His Majesty . . . the matter was not serious and the result will be likewise. . . . Gaston will administer a slight punishment to milor . . . such a perfect swordsman, you understand, can select the very place on his opponent's body where he will inflict the scratch . . . it will be the shoulder perhaps . . . or . . . or . . . the cheek . . . nothing to be anxious about. . ."

"I am not anxious, father dear," she said with a serene smile, amused in spite of herself at his many circ.u.mlocutions, his obvious confusion, and his still quite apparent wish to speak of one more matter which seemed to be weighing on his mind.

"Is that all that you wished to say to me, dear?" she said gently, "for if so I can a.s.sure you that you need not be troubled on my account. I am neither anxious nor upset. . . . Milor I feel confident will take tender care of his shoulder . . . or of his cheek just as he does of his comfort and of his . . . his dignity."

"And you will not take it amiss from me, my dear, if I do not offer to be one of your husband's seconds in the affair?" he asked suddenly, throwing off his hesitation and speaking more frankly.

"Certainly not, father dear. . . . I feel sure that milor himself would not have suggested it. . . ."

"My position near His Majesty . . . you understand, my dear," he explained volubly, "and also my . . . our a.s.sociation with Gaston.

"Certainly--certainly," she repeated, emphasizing her words, "our a.s.sociation with Gaston. . . ."

"And he really is acting like a perfect gentleman . . . a man of honour. . . ."

"Indeed?"

"His enthusiasm, his courage, and devotion have been quite marvellous.

And though we shall primarily owe the success of our enterprise to you, my dear, yet His Majesty feels as I do, that we also owe much to Monsieur de Stainville. Ah! _mon Dieu!_ what it is to be young!"

"What has Monsieur de Stainville done, dear, to arouse your special enthusiasm?" she asked.

"You shall judge of it yourself, my dear. After the esclandre provoked by Irene to-night, the publicity given to our scheme, we held a hurried boudoir meeting, at which His Majesty and Madame de Pompadour were present, as well as myself and Gaston. We all felt that you too should have been there, dear, but you had gone with milor, and . . ."

"Yes, yes, never mind about me, father," she interrupted impatiently, seeing that he was getting lost in the mazes of his polite apologies.

"You held a boudoir meeting. What did you decide? . . ."

"That after the publicity given to the main idea of our scheme, you understand," he rejoined, "it would be no longer safe to wait for its execution until _Le Levantin_ was ready for sea. Something had to be risked, of course, but on the whole we all thought that now that the matter had become 'le secret de Polichinelle' a six days' delay would be dangerous, if not fatal to success. You were not there, Lydie," he repeated diffidently, "we could not consult you. . . ."

"No, no! Then what did you decide?"

"That we must send _Le Monarque_ off at once."

"_Le Monarque_? . . . at once? . . ."

"Yes! she is quite ready, so you told me this morning. And though we feared that Captain Barre might be too firm an adherent of the Stuart cause to be altogether reliable, still--as we had your own letter--we finally decided that we had better trust him now, rather than wait for _Le Levantin_. . . . I think we did right, do you not? . . . Lydie.

. . . Lydie . . . child, what is it?"

The desperately anxious query had its justification in Lydie's terrible pallor, the wild dilation of her pupils, the dark purple rings which circled her eyes.

As her father spoke she had risen from the divan, and now she seemed unable to stand; she was trembling from head to foot, her hands were held out before her, as in a pathetic appeal for physical support. In a moment his arm was round her, and with gentle force he drew her back to the couch, pressing her head against his shoulder.

"Lydie . . . Lydie, dear . . . I am sure you are ill."

But already she had recovered from this sudden attack of faintness and dizziness, of which, with characteristic impatience for all feminine weaknesses, she was now thoroughly ashamed. Her nervous system had received so many severe shocks in the course of this terrible and memorable day, that it was small wonder that this last awful blow struck her physically as well as mentally.

"No, no, dear father," she said as lightly as she could for she still felt very faint and ill, "I am quite well, I a.s.sure you . . . please . . . please . . ." she urged earnestly, "do not worry about me now, but tell me quite clearly--and as briefly as you can--exactly what are your plans at this moment . . . yours and Gaston's, with regard to the expedition against the Stuart prince . . . you spoke of a duel just now . . . and then of Monsieur de Stainville's enthusiasm and courage.

. . . I . . . I am a little confused . . . and I would like to understand."

"I will tell you as briefly as I can, my dear," he rejoined, not feeling altogether rea.s.sured, and regarding her with loving anxiety.

"We decided that, instead of waiting for _Le Levantin_ to be ready for sea, we would send _Le Monarque_, and instruct Captain Barre in accordance with the plan and the letter which you gave us, and the secret orders framed by His Majesty and myself. _Le Monarque_ having got the Stuart and his friends on board will make straight for the north-west coast of England, and land the Jacobites at the first possible port, where they can be handed over to the English authorities. Once this was settled, Gaston immediately offered to start for Le Havre at dawn with the secret orders. We are not really afraid of Captain Barre's possible disloyalty--and, of course, he is compelled to obey orders or suffer for his insubordination, which he is not likely to contemplate. On the whole I think we may safely say that we run far less risk by sending _Le Monarque_ than by waiting for _Le Levantin_: and Gaston has full powers to promise Captain Barre a heavy bribe in accordance with the speed which _Le Monarque_ will make. After that His Majesty was pleased to dismiss Monsieur de Stainville and myself, being most specially gratified with Gaston's enthusiastic offer to ride at breakneck speed to Le Havre, as soon as he could get to horse. Outside the boudoir, Gaston explained to me, however, that he could not s.h.i.+rk the duel with Lord Eglinton: his seconds, Monsieur de Belle-Isle and Monsieur de Lugeac, already had his instructions and would wait on milor to-night: to put it off now would be to cover himself with ridicule and to risk social ostracism; the affront put upon his wife could not be allowed to rest until after his own return. But the duel could take place at dawn, and then he could get to horse half an hour later. . . . So you see, my dear, that the duel cannot--because of these weighty reasons--have any serious consequences. As for our expedition, methinks everything now is most satisfactorily arranged, as Gaston swears that he will reach Le Havre ere the shades of the evening fall upon the sea."

Lydie had listened quite quietly to this long explanation, taking in every detail of the project, lest anything should escape her. Her father could indeed be completely rea.s.sured. She was perfectly calm, apparently cheerful, and when he had finished speaking she thanked him quite naturally and expressed approval of all that had been done.

"Everything is beautifully planned and arranged, my dear father," she said pleasantly, "methinks I cannot do better than take a rest. I fear I have been overwrought all day and have caused you much anxiety. All is for the best now, is it not? . . . Shall we both go to bed?"

Monsieur le Duc sighed with satisfaction. He seemed to have found a long-lost daughter. This was the one he knew, self-possessed, clear-headed, a comfort and a guide.

He drew her to him and kissed her tenderly, and if there was a suggestion of shrinking, of withdrawal in the young body, he was certainly too preoccupied to notice it. He bade her "good-night," and then with obvious relief and a light, elastic step, he finally went out of the room.

CHAPTER x.x.x

M. DE STAINVILLE'S SECONDS

When Monsieur Achille, having escorted Madame la Marquise as far as her apartments, once more retraced his sedate footsteps toward those occupied by Lord Eglinton, he was much surprised to find the worthy Baptiste Durand in the octagonal room which gave immediately on milor's study.

The wizened little man looked singularly upset; he had a couple of heavy books under his arm: and two large white quills, one behind each ear, gave him the look of a frightened stork.

It was long past the usual hour when M. Durand laden with his bulky books habitually entered the Marquis's private room and remained closeted therein with milor until long past midnight. Every evening at the self-same hour he came to the octagonal room, pa.s.sed the time of day with Monsieur Achille and then went in, to milor: he always carried a leather bag filled with papers neatly tied in bundles, and he wore a somewhat anxious look when he entered and one of relief when he finally departed. Monsieur Achille had often bent his broad and majestic back, in order to bring his ear down to the level of the keyhole of the door, through which Monsieur Durand invariably disappeared at ten o'clock in the evening; but all the satisfaction which his curiosity obtained was the sound of two voices, one steady and low and the other somewhat shrill, without any individual or comprehensible sentence detaching itself from the irritating babel.

And when M. Durand came out of the room after midnight, he bade Monsieur Achille a curt good-night and invariably refused any information with regard to the work he did for milor at that late hour of the night.

When closely pressed he would vaguely say: "Accounts!" which of course was ridiculous. Monsieur Achille had never heard of a n.o.bleman troubling himself about accounts, at the time when most people of consideration were either at _pet.i.ts soupers_ or else comfortably in bed.

As time went on Monsieur Achille ceased to take any interest in these nightly proceedings; they were so monotonous and so regular, that they were no longer exciting. But to-night everything seemed changed. M.

Durand instead of marching straight through with his books into the study, stood in the middle of the room, a veritable picture of helpless perturbation.

"Why, M. Durand," said Achille greatly astonished, "what ails you? You look as if you had seen a ghost."

"s.h.!.+---s.h.!.+---s.h.!.+" whispered the timorous little man, indicating with a jerk of his lean shoulder the distant door of the study, "do you hear that?"

Monsieur Achille bent his ear to listen. But strive how he might he could hear nothing but the great bracket-clock on the wall ticking monotonously. He shrugged his shoulders to indicate that the worthy Baptiste had been dreaming, but there was a certain look in the wizened face which caused him to tiptoe toward the study door and once more to bring his ear down to the level of the keyhole.

Then he shook his head, and tiptoed back to the centre of the room.

"I can hear nothing," he whispered. "Are you sure he is in there?"

"Quite, quite sure," replied Durand.