The Helmet of Navarre Part 77

"Her whereabouts?"

"Her whereabouts."

He had his hand to his knife by this. I abated somewhat of my drawl to say, still airily:

"Go ask M. de St. Quentin. He's here. He'll be so glad to see you."

"Here?"

"Certes. He's closeted now with M. de Mayenne. They're thicker than brothers. Go see for yourself, M.--Lucas."

"Where is mademoiselle?"

"Safe. She's to marry the Comte de Mar to-morrow."

He stared at me for one moment, weighing whether this could be true; then without further parley he shot into the house.

"Is that true?" d'Auvray demanded.

Their tongues loosened now, they flooded me with questions concerning mademoiselle, which I answered warily as I could, heartily repenting me by this of baiting Lucas. No good could come of it. He might even turn Mayenne from his bargain, upset all our triumph. I hardly heard what the soldiers said to me; I was almost nervous enough, wild enough, to dash up-stairs after him. But that was no help. I stayed where I was, fevered with anxiety.

At the end of five minutes he came out of the house again, and, without a glance at us, went straight through the gate with the step and air of a man who knows what he is about. I was no easier in my mind though I saw him gone.

Soon on his steps came a lackey to order M. de St. Quentin's horses and two musketeers to mount and ride with him. On reaching the door with the nags, I discovered I was not to be of the party; our second steed must carry gear of mademoiselle's and her handwoman, a hard-faced peasant, silent as a stone. Though the men quizzed her, asking if she were glad to get to her mistress again, whether she had known all this time the lady's whereabouts, she answered no single word, but busied herself seeing the horse loaded to her notion. Presently, in the guidance of Pierre, Monsieur appeared.

"You stay, Felix, and go to the Bastille for your master. Then you will wait at the St. Denis gate for Vigo, with horses."

"Is all right, Monsieur?" I had to ask, as I held his stirrup. "Is all right? Lucas--"

His face had been a little clouded as he came down the stairs, and now it darkened more, but he answered:

"Quite right, Achates. M. de Mayenne stands to his word. Lucas availed nothing."

He stood a moment frowning, then his countenance cleared up.

"My faith! I have enough to gladden me without fretting that Lucas is alive. Fare you well, Felix. You are like to reach St. Denis as soon as I. My son's horse will not lag."

He sprang to the saddle with a smiling salute to his guardians, and the little train clattered off.

Pierre came to my elbow with an open paper--the order signed and sealed for M. de Mar's release.

"Here, my young c.o.c.kerel, you and d'Auvray are to take this to the Bastille, and it will be strange if your master does not walk free again. His Grace bids you tell M. de Mar he remembers Wednesday night, underground."

"And I remember Tuesday night in the council-room, Pierre," I was beginning, but he cut me short. Even now that I was in favour, he risked no mention of his disobedience. He packed me off with d'Auvray on the instant; I had no chance to ask him whether he suspected us yesterday.

Sometimes I have thought he did, but I am bound to say he gave us no look to show it.

D'Auvray and I walked straight across Paris to the many-towered Bastille. It seemed a little way. Before the potent name of Mayenne bars flew open; a sentry on guard in the court led us into a small room all stone, floor, walls, ceiling, where sat at the table some high official, perhaps the governor of the prison himself. He was an old campaigner, grizzled and weather-beaten, his right sleeve hanging empty. An interesting figure, no doubt, but I paid him scant attention, for at his side stood Lucas.

"I come on M. de Mayenne's business," he was expostulating, vehement, yet civil. "I suppose he did not think it necessary to write the order, since you know me."

"The regulations, M. de Lorraine--" The officer broke off to demand of our escort, "Well, what now?"

I went straight up to him, not waiting permission, and held out my paper.

"An order, if it please you, monsieur, for the Comte de Mar's release."

Lucas's hand went out to s.n.a.t.c.h and crumple it; then his clenched fist dropped to his side. It seemed as if his eyes would blacken the paper with their fire.

"Just that--the requisition for M. de Mar's release," the officer told him, looking up from it. "All perfectly regular and in order. In five minutes, M. de Lorraine, the Comte de Mar shall be before you. You may have all the conversation you wish."

Lucas's face was as blank as the wall.

"I am a soldier, and a soldier's orders must be obeyed," the officer went on to explain, evidently not caring to offend the general's nephew.

"Without the written order I could not admit your brother of Guise. But now you can have all the conversation you desire with M. de Mar."

Lucas's face did not change, save to scowl at the very name of his brother Guise. He said curtly, "No, I must get back to his Grace," and, barely bowing, went from the room.

"Now, I don't make that out," the keeper muttered in his beard. That Lucas should be in one moment cured of his urgent need of seeing the Comte de Mar was too much for him, but no riddle to me. I knew he had come to stab M. etienne in his cell. It was his last chance, and he had missed it. I feared him no longer, for I believed in Mayenne's faith. My master once released, Lucas could not hurt him.

What was as much to the point, the officer had no doubt of Mayenne's good faith. He went with his paper into an inner room, where we caught sight, through the door, of big books with a clerk or two behind them, and in a moment appeared again with a key.

"Since the young gentleman's a count, I'll do turnkey's office myself,"

he said, his grim old battlement of a face smiling.

This was our day; from Mayenne down, everybody went out of his way to pleasure us. I was suddenly emboldened by his manner.

"Monsieur, perhaps it is preposterous to ask, but might I go with you?"

He looked at me a moment, surprised.

"Well, after all, why not? You too, Sir Musketeer, an you like."

So the three of us, he and d'Auvray and I, went to rescue the Comte de Mar.

We pa.s.sed through corridor after corridor, row after row of heavy-barred doors. The deeper we penetrated the mighty pile, the fonder I grew of my friend Mayenne, by whose complaisance none of these doors would shut on me. We climbed at last a steep turret stair winding about a huge fir trunk, lighted by slits of windows in the four-foot wall, and at the top turned down a dark pa.s.sage to a door at the end, the bolts of which, invisible to me in the gloom, the veteran drew back with familiar hand.

The cell was small, with one high window through which I could see naught but the sky. For all furniture it contained a pallet, a stool, a bench that might serve as table. M. etienne stood at the window, his arm crooked around the iron bars, gazing out over the roofs of Paris.

He wheeled about at the door's creaking.

"I go to trial, monsieur?" he asked quickly, not seeing me behind the keeper.

"No, M. le Comte. The charge is cancelled. I come to set you free."

I dashed in past the officer, s.n.a.t.c.hing my lord's hand to kiss.

"It's true, monsieur! You're free! It's all settled with Mayenne.

Monsieur's seen him; he sets you free. He said, 'In recognizance of Wednesday night.'"