The Helmet of Navarre Part 46

"How the devil come you here?"

"Evidently by way of M. Ferou's house," M. etienne answered. Mayenne still stared in thick amazement; after a moment my master added: "I must in justice say that M. Ferou is not aware that I am using this pa.s.sage; he is, with madame his wife, supping with the Archbishop of Lyons."

M. etienne leaned his shoulder against the wall, smiling pleasantly, and waiting for the duke to make the next move. Mayenne kept a nonplussed silence. The situation was indeed somewhat awkward. He could not come forward without encountering an agile opponent, whose exceeding skill with the sword was probably known to him. He could not turn tail, had his dignity allowed the course, without exposing himself to be spitted.

He was in the predicament of the goat on the bridge. Yet was he gaping at us less in fear, I think, than in bewilderment. This Ferou, as I learned later, was one of his right-hand men, years-long supporter.

Mayenne had as soon expected to meet a lion in the tunnel as to meet a foe. He cried out again upon us, with an instinctive certainty that a great prince's question must be answered:

"How came you here?"

"I don't ask," said M. etienne, "how it happens that M. le Duc is walking through this rat-hole. Nor do I feel disposed to make any explanation to him."

"Very well, then," said Mayenne; "our swords, if you are ready, will make adequate explanation."

"Now, that is gallant of you," returned M. etienne, "as it is evident that the closeness of these walls will inconvenience your Grace more than it will me."

The walls of the pa.s.sage were roughly laid. Mayenne perched his lantern on a projecting stone.

"On guard, sir," he answered.

The silence was profound. Mayenne had no companion following him. He was alone with his sword. He was not now head of the state, but only a man with a sword, standing opposite another man with a sword. Nor was he in the pink of form. Though he gave the effect, from his clear colour and proud bearing, perhaps also from his masterful energy, of tremendous force and strength, his body was in truth but a poor machine, his great corpulence making him clumsy and scant of breath. He must have known, as he eyed his supple antagonist, what the end would be. Yet he merely said:

"On guard, monsieur."

M. etienne did not raise his weapon. I retreated a pace, that I might not be in the way of his jump, should Mayenne spring on him. M. etienne said slowly:

"M. de Mayenne, this encounter was none of my contriving. Nor have I any wish to cross swords with you. Family quarrels are to be deprecated.

Since I still intend to become your cousin, I must respectfully beg to be released from the obligation of fighting you."

A man knowing himself overmatched cannot refuse combat. He may, even as Mayenne had done, think himself compelled to offer it. But if he insists on forcing battle with a reluctant adversary, he must be a hothead indeed. And Mayenne was no hothead. He stood hesitant, feeling that he was made ridiculous in accepting the clemency and should be still more ridiculous to refuse it. He half lifted his sword, only to lower it again, till at last his good sense came to his relief in a laugh.

"M. de Mar, it appears that, after all, some explanations are necessary.

You think that in declining to fight you put me in your debt. Possibly you are right. But if you expect that in grat.i.tude I shall hand over Lorance de Montluc, you were never more mistaken. Never, while I live, shall she marry into the king's camp. Now, monsieur, that we understand each other, I abide by your decision whether we fight or not."

For answer, M. etienne put up his blade. The Duke of Mayenne, saluting with his, did the like. "Mar," he said, "you stood off from us, like a coquetting girl, for three years. At length, last May, you refused point-blank to join us. I do not often ask a man twice, but I ask you.

Will you join the League to-night, and marry Lorance to-morrow?"

No man could have spoken with a franker grace. I believe then, I believe now, he meant it. M. etienne believed he meant it.

"Monsieur," he answered, "I have s.h.i.+lly-shallied long; but I am planted squarely at last with my father on the king's side. You put your interesting nephew into my father's house to kill him; I shall not sign myself with the League."

"In that case," returned Mayenne, "perhaps we might each continue on his way."

"With all my heart, monsieur."

Each drew back against the wall to let the other pa.s.s, with a wary eye for daggers. Then M. etienne, laughing a little, but watching Mayenne like a lynx, started to go by. The duke, seeing the look, suddenly raised his hands over his head, holding them there while both of us squeezed past him.

"Cousin Charles," said M. etienne, "I see that when I have married Lorance you and I shall get on capitally. Till then, G.o.d have you ever in guard."

"I thank you, monsieur. You make me immortal."

"I have no need to make you witty. M. de Mayenne, when you have submitted to the king, as you will one of these days, I shall have as delightful a kinsman as heart of man could wish. You and I will yet drink a loving-cup together. Till that happy hour, I am your good enemy.

Fare you well, monsieur."

He bowed; the duke, half laughing despite a considerable ire, returned the obeisance with all pomp. M. etienne took me by the arm and departed.

Mayenne stood still for a s.p.a.ce; then we heard his retreating footsteps, and the glimmer of his light slowly faded away.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "WE CLIMBED OUT INTO A SILK-MERCER'S SHOP."]

"It wasn't necessary to tell him the door is bolted," M. etienne muttered.

We hurried along now without precaution, knowing that the floor which had supported Mayenne would support us. The consequence was that we stumbled abruptly against a step, and fell with a force like to break our kneecaps. I picked myself up at once, and ran headlong up the stairs, to hit my crown on the ceiling and reel back on M. etienne, sweeping him off his feet, so that we rolled in a struggling heap on the stones of the pa.s.sage. And for the minute the place was no longer dark; I saw more lightning than even flashed in the Rue Coupejarrets.

"Are you hurt, Felix?" cried M. etienne, the first to disentangle himself.

"No," I said, groaning; "but I banged my head. She did not say it was a trap-door."

We ascended the stairs a second time--this time most cautiously on our hands and knees. Above us, at the end, we could feel, with upleaping of spirit, a wooden ceiling.

"Ah, I have the cord!" he exclaimed.

The next instant we heard a faint but most comforting tinkle somewhere above us. Before we had time to wonder whether any marked it but us, we heard steps overhead, and a noise as of a chest being pulled about, and then the trap lifted. We climbed out into a silk-mercer's shop.

"Faith, my man," said M. etienne to the little bourgeois who had opened to us, "I am glad to see you appear so promptly."

He looked at us, somewhat troubled or alarmed.

"You must have met--" he suggested with hesitancy.

"Yes," said M. etienne; "but he did not object. We are, of course, of the initiated."

"Of course, of course," the little fellow a.s.sented, with a funny a.s.sumption of knowing all about it. "Not every one has the secret of the pa.s.sage. Well, I can call myself a lucky man. 'Tis mighty few mercers have a duke in their shop as often as I."

We looked curiously about us. The shop was low and dim, with piles of stuff in rolls on the shelves, and other stuffs lying loose on the counter before us, as if the man had just been measuring them--gorgeous brocades and satins. Above us, a bell on the rafter still quivered.

"Yes, that is the bell of the trap," the proprietor said, following our glance. "Customers do not know where it rings from. And if I am not at liberty to open, I drop my bra.s.s yardstick on the floor--But they told you that, doubtless, monsieur?" he added, regarding M. etienne again a little uneasily.

"They told me something else I had near forgotten," M. etienne answered, and, drawing a crown in the air, gave the pa.s.sword, "For the Cause."

"For the King," the shopkeeper made instant rejoinder, drawing in the air in his turn a letter C and the numeral X.

M. etienne laid a gold piece on the counter, and if the shopkeeper had felt any doubts of this well-dressed gallant who wore no hat, they vanished in its radiance.

"And now, my friend, let us out into the street and forget our faces."

The man took up his candle to light us to the door.

"Perhaps it would not trouble monsieur to say a word for me over there?"

he suggested, pointing in the direction of the tunnel. "M. le Duc has every confidence in me. Still, it would do no harm if monsieur should mention how quickly I let him out."