A Gentleman of France

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'Certainly the words seem ambiguous,' Henry muttered.

'But it was Marsac killed him,' Retz cried in a rage.

'It is for some evidence of that we are waiting,' my champion
answered suavely.

The Marshal looked helplessly at Nevers and Mercoeur, who
commonly took part with him; but apparently those noblemen had
not been primed for this occasion. They merely shook their heads
and smiled. In the momentary silence which followed, while all
looked curiously at Bruhl, who could not conceal his
mortification, M. d'Agen stepped forward.

'If your Majesty will permit me,' he said, a malicious simper
crossing his handsome face--I had often remarked his extreme
dislike for Bruhl without understanding it--'I think I can
furnish some evidence more to the point than that; to which M. de
Bruhl has with so much fairness restricted himself.' He then
went on to state that he had had the honour of being in my
company at the time of the murder; and he added, besides, so many
details as to exculpate me to the satisfaction of any candid
person.

The king nodded. 'That settles the matter,' he said, with a sigh
of relief. 'You think so, Mercoeur, do you not? Precisely.
Villequier, see that the order respecting M. de Marsac is
cancelled.'

M. de Retz could not control his wrath on hearing this direction
given. 'At this rate,' he cried recklessly, 'we shall have few
priests left here! We have got a bad name at Blois, as it is!'

For a moment all in the circle held their breath, while the
king's eyes flashed fire at this daring allusion to the murder of
the Duke de Guise, and his brother the Cardinal. But it was
Henry's misfortune to be ever indulgent in the wrong place, and
severe when severity was either unjust or impolitic. He
recovered himself with an effort, and revenged himself only by
omitting to invite the Marshal, who was now trembling in his
shoes, to join his riding-party.

The circle broke up amid some excitement. I stood on one side
with M. d'Agen, while the king and his immediate following passed
out, and, greatly embarrassed as I was by the civil
congratulating of many who would have seen me hang with equal
goodwill, I was sharp enough to see that something was brewing
between Bruhl and Marshal Retz, who stood back conversing in low
tones. I was not surprised, therefore, when the former made his
way towards me through the press which filled the antechamber,
and with a lowering brow requested a word with me.

'Certainly,' I said, watching him narrowly, for I knew him to be
both treacherous and a bully. 'Speak on, sir.'

'You have balked me once and again,' he rejoined, in a voice
which shook a little, as did the fingers with which he stroked
his waxed moustache. 'There is no need of words between us. I,
with one sword besides, will to-morrow at noon keep the bridge at
Chaverny, a league from here. It is an open country. Possibly
your pleasure may lead you to ride that way with a friend?'

'You may depend upon me, sir,' I answered, bowing low, and
feeling thankful that the matter was at length to be brought to a
fair and open arbitration. 'I will be there--and in person. For
my deputy last night,' I added, searching his face with a
steadfast eye, 'seems to have been somewhat unlucky.'

CHAPTER XXI.

TWO WOMEN.

Out of compliment, and to show my gratitude, I attended M. de
Rambouillet home to his lodging, and found him as much pleased
with himself, and consequently with me, as I was with him. For
the time, indeed, I came near to loving him; and, certainly, he
was a man of high and patriotic feeling, and of skill and conduct
to match. But he lacked that touch of nature and that power of
sympathising with others which gave to such men as M. de Rosny
and the king, my master, their peculiar charm; though after what
I have related of him in the last chapter it does not lie in my
mouth to speak ill of him. And, indeed, he was a good man.

When I at last reached my lodging, I found a surprise awaiting me
in the shape of a note which had just arrived no one knew how.
If the manner of its delivery was mysterious, however, its
contents were brief and sufficiently explicit; for it; ran thus:
'SIR, BY MEETING ME THREE HOURS AFTER NOON IN THE SQUARE BEFORE
THE HOUSE OF THE LITTLE SISTERS YOU WILL DO A SERVICE AT ONCE TO
YOURSELF AND TO THE UNDERSIGNED, MARIE DE BRUHL.'

That was all, written in a feminine character, yet it was enough
to perplex me. Simon, who had manifested the liveliest joy at my
escape, would have had me treat it as I had treated the
invitation to the Parvis of the Cathedral; ignore it altogether I
mean. But I was of a different mind, and this for three reasons,
among others: that the request was straightforward, the time
early, and the place sufficiently public to be an unlikely
theatre for violence, though well fitted for an interview to
which the world at large was not invited. Then, too, the square
lay little more than a bowshot from my lodging, though on the
farther side of the Rue St. Denys.

Besides, I could conceive many grounds which Madame de Bruhl
might have for seeing me; of which some touched me nearly. I
disregarded Simon's warnings, therefore, and repaired at the time
appointed to the place--a clean, paved square a little off the
Rue St. Denys, and entered from the latter by a narrow passage.
It was a spot pleasantly convenient for meditation, but
overlooked on one side by the House of the Little Sisters; in
which, as I guessed afterwards, madame must have awaited me, for
the square when I entered it was empty, yet in a moment, though
no one came in from the street, she stood beside me. She wore a
mask and long cloak. The beautiful hair and perfect complexion,
which had filled me with so much admiration at our first meeting
in her house, were hidden, but I saw enough of her figure and
carriage to be sure that it was Madame de Bruhl and no other.

She began by addressing me in a tone of bitterness, for which I
was not altogether unprepared.

'Well, sir,' she exclaimed, her voice trembling with anger, 'you
are satisfied, I hope, with your work?'

I expected this and had my answer ready. 'I am not aware,
Madame,' I said, 'that I have cause to reproach myself. But,
however that may be, I trust you have summoned me for some better
purpose than to chide me for another's fault; though it was my
voice which brought it to light.'

'Why did you shame me publicly?' she retorted, thrusting her
handkerchief to her lips and withdrawing it again with a
passionate gesture.

'Madame,' I answered patiently--I was full of pity for her,
'consider for a moment the wrong your husband did me and how
small and inadequate was the thing I did to him in return.'

'To him!' she ejaculated so fiercely that I started. 'It was to
me--to me you did it! What had I done that you should expose me
to the ridicule of those who know no pity, and the anger of one
as merciless? What had I done, sir?'

I shook my head sorrowfully. 'So far, madame,' I answered, 'I
allow I owe you reparation, and I will make it should it ever be
in my power. Nay, I will say more,' I continued, for the tone in
which she spoke had wrung my heart. 'In one point I strained the
case against your husband. To the best of my belief he abducted
the lady who was in my charge, not for the love of her, but for
political reasons, and as the agent of another.'

She gasped. 'What?' she cried. 'Say that again!'

As I complied she tore off her mask and gazed into my face with
straining eyes and parted lips. I saw then how much she was
changed, even in these few days--how pale and worn were her
cheeks, how dark the circles round her eyes. 'Will you swear to
it?' she said at last, speaking with uncontrollable eagerness,
while she laid a hand which shook with excitement on my arm.
Will you swear to it, sir?'

'It is true,' I answered steadfastly. I might have added that
after the event her husband had so treated mademoiselle as to
lead her to fear the worst. But I refrained, feeling that it was
no part of my duty to come between husband and wife.

She clasped her hands, and for a moment looked passionately
upwards, as though she were giving thanks to Heaven; while the
flesh of health and loveliness which I had so much admired
returned, and illumined her face in a wonderful manner. She
seemed, in truth and for the moment, transformed. Her blue eyes
filled with tears, her lips moved; nor have I ever seen anything
bear so near a resemblance to those pictures of the Virgin Mary
which Romans worship as madame did then.

The change, however, was as evanescent as it was admirable. In
an instant she seemed to collapse. She struck her hands to her
face and moaned, and I saw tears, which she vainly strove to
restrain, dropping through her fingers. 'Too late!' she
murmured, in a tone of anguish which wrung my heart. 'Alas, you
robbed me of one man, you give me back another. I know him now
for what he is. If he did not love her then, he does now. It is
too late!'

She seemed so much overcome that I assisted her to reach a bench
which stood against the wall a few paces away; nor, I confess,
was it without difficulty and much self-reproach that I limited
myself to those prudent offices only which her state and my duty
required. To console her on the subject of her husband was
impossible; to ignore him, and so to console her, a task which
neither my discretion nor my sense of honour, though sorely
tried, permitted me to undertake.

She presently recovered and, putting on her mask again, said
hurriedly that she had still a word to say to me. 'You have
treated me honestly,' she continued, 'and, though I have no cause
to do anything but hate you, I say in return, look to yourself!
You escaped last night--I know all, for it was my velvet knot--
which I had made thinking to send it to you to procure this
meeting--that he used as a lure. But he is not yet at the end of
his resources. Look to yourself, therefore.'

I thought of the appointment I had made with him for the morrow,
but I confined myself to thanking her, merely saying, as I bowed
over the hand she resigned to me in token of farewell, 'Madame, I
am grateful. I am obliged to you both for your warning and your
forgiveness.'

'Bending her head coldly she drew away her hand. At that moment,
as I lifted my eyes, I saw something which for an instant rooted
me to the spot with astonishment. In the entrance of the passage
which led to the Rue St. Denys two people were standing, watching
us. The one was Simon Fleix, and the other, a masked woman, a
trifle below the middle height, and clad in a riding-coat, was
Mademoiselle de la Vire!

I knew her in a moment. But the relief I experienced on seeing
her safe and in Blois was not unmixed with annoyance that Simon
Fleix should have been so imprudent as to parade her
unnecessarily in the street. I felt something of confusion also
on my own account; for I could not tell how long she and her
escort had been watching me. And these two feelings were
augmented when, after turning to pay a final salute to Madame de
Bruhl, I looked again towards the passage and discovered that
mademoiselle and her squire were gone.

Impatient as I was, I would not seem to leave madame rudely or
without feeling, after the consideration she had shown me in her
own sorrow; and accordingly I waited uncovered until she
disappeared within the 'Little Sisters.' Then I started eagerly
towards my lodging, thinking I might yet overtake mademoiselle
before she entered. I was destined to meet, however, with
another though very pertinent hindrance. As I passed from the
Rue St. Denys into the quiet of my street I heard a voice calling
my name, and, looking back, saw M. de Rambouillet's equerry, a
man deep in his confidence, running after me. He brought a
message from his master, which he begged me to consider of the
first importance.

'The Marquis would not trust it to writing, sir,' he continued,
drawing me aside into a corner where we were conveniently
retired, 'but he made me learn it by heart. "Tell M. de Marsac,"
said he, "that that which he was left in Blois to do must be done
quickly, or not at all. There is something afoot in the other
camp, I am not sure what. But now is the time to knock in the
nail. I know his zeal, and I depend upon him."'

An hour before I should have listened to this message with
serious doubts and misgivings. Now, acquainted with
mademoiselle's arrival, I returned M. de Rambouillet an answer in
the same strain, and parting civilly from Bertram, who was a man
I much esteemed, I hastened on to my lodgings, exulting in the
thought that the hour and the woman were come at last, and that
before the dawn of another day I might hope, all being well, to
accomplish with honour to myself and advantage to others the
commission which M. de Rosny had entrusted to me.

I must not deny that, mingled with this, was some excitement at
the prospect of seeing mademoiselle again. I strove to conjure
up before me as I mounted the stairs the exact expression of her
face as I had last seen it bending from the window at Rosny; to
the end that I might have some guide for my future conduct, and
might be less likely to fall into the snare of a young girl's
coquetry. But I could come now, as then, to no satisfactory or
safe conclusion, and only felt anew the vexation I had
experienced on losing the velvet knot, which she had given me on
that occasion.

I knocked at the door of the rooms which I had reserved for her,
and which were on the floor below my own; but I got no answer.
Supposing that Simon had taken her upstairs, I mounted quickly,
not doubting I should find her there. Judge of my surprise and
dismay when I found that room also empty, save for the lackey
whom M. de Rambouillet had lent me!

'Where are they?' I asked the man, speaking sharply, and
standing with my hand on the door.

'The lady and her woman, sir?' he answered, coming forward.

'Yes, yes!' I cried impatiently, a sudden fear at my heart.

She went out immediately after her arrival with Simon Fleix, sir,
and has not yet returned,' he answered.

The words were scarcely out of his mouth before I heard several
persons enter the passage below and begin to ascend the stairs.
I did not; doubt that mademoiselle and the lad had come home
another way and, been somehow detained; and I turned with a sigh
of relief to receive them. But when the persons whose steps I
had heard appeared, they proved to be only M. de Rosny's equerry,
stout, burly, and bright-eyed as ever, and two armed servants.

CHAPTER XXII.

'LA FEMME DISPOSE.'

The moment the equerry's foot touched the uppermost stair I
advanced upon him. 'Where is your mistress, man?' I said.
'Where is Mademoiselle de la Vire? Be quick, tell me what you
have done with her.'

His face fell amazingly. 'Where is she?' he answered, faltering
between surprise and alarm at my sudden onslaught. 'Here, she
should be. I left her here not an hour ago. Mon Dieu! Is she
not here now?'

His alarm increased mine tenfold. 'No!' I retorted, 'she is
not! She is gone! And you--what business had you, in the fiend's
name, to leave her here, alone and unprotected? Tell me that!'

He leaned against the balustrade, making no attempt to defend
himself, and seemed, in his sudden terror, anything but the bold,
alert fellow who had ascended the stairs two minutes before. 'I
was a fool,' he groaned. 'I saw your man Simon here; and
Fanchette, who is as good as a man, was with her mistress. And I
went to stable the horses. I thought no evil. And now--My God!'
he added, suddenly straightening himself, while his face. grew
hard and grim, 'I am undone! My master will never forgive me!'

'Did you come straight here?' I said, considering that, after
all, he was no more in fault than I had been on a former
occasion.

'We went first to M. de Rosny's lodging,' he answered, 'where we
found your message telling us to come here. We came on without
dismounting.'

'Mademoiselle may have gone back, and be there,' I said. 'It is
possible. Do you stay here and keep a good look-out, and I will
go and see. Let one of your men come with me.'

He uttered a brief assent; being a man as ready to take as to
give orders, and thankful now for any suggestion which held out a
hope of mademoiselle's safety. Followed by the servant he
selected, I ran down the stairs, and in a moment was hurrying
along the Rue St. Denys. The day was waning. The narrow streets
and alleys were already dark, but the air of excitement which I
had noticed in the morning still marked the townsfolk, of whom a
great number were strolling abroad, or standing in doorways
talking to their gossips. Feverishly anxious as I was, I
remarked the gloom which dwelt on all faces; but as I set it
down. to the king's approaching departure, and besides was
intent on seeing that those we sought did not by any chance pass
us in the crowd, I thought little of it. Five minutes' walking
brought us to M. de Rosny's lodging. There I knocked at the
door; impatiently, I confess, and with little hope of success.
But, to my surprise, barely an instant elapsed before the door
opened, and I saw before me Simon Fleix!

Discovering who it was, he cowered back, with a terrified face,
and retreated to the wall with his arm raised.

'You scoundrel!' I exclaimed, restraining myself with
difficulty. 'Tell me this moment where Mademoiselle de la Vire
is! Or, by Heaven, I shall forget what my mother owed to you,
and do you a mischief!'

For an instant he glared at me viciously, with all his teeth
exposed, as though he meant to refuse--and more. Then he thought
better of it, and, raising his hand, pointed sulkily upwards.

'Go before me and knock at the door,' I said, tapping the hilt of
my dagger with meaning.

Cowed by my manner, he obeyed, and led the way to the room in
which M. de Rambouillet had surprised us on a former occasion.
Here he stopped at the door and knocked gently; on which a sharp
voice inside bade us enter. I raised the latch and did so,
closing the door behind me.

Mademoiselle, still wearing her riding-coat, sat in a chair
before the hearth, on which a newly kindled fire sputtered and
smoked. She had her back to me, and did not turn on my entrance,
but continued to toy in an absent manner with the strings of the
mask which lay in her lap. Fanchette stood bolt upright behind
her, with her elbows squared and her hands clasped; in such an
attitude that I guessed the maid had been expressing her strong
dissatisfaction with this latest whim of her mistress, and
particularly with mademoiselle's imprudence in wantonly exposing
herself, with so inadequate a guard as Simon, in a place where
she had already suffered so much. I was confirmed in this notion
on seeing the woman's harsh countenance clear at sight of me;
though the churlish nod, which was all the greeting she bestowed
on me, seemed to betoken anything but favour or good-will. She
touched her mistress on the shoulder, however, and said, 'M. de
Marsac is here.'

Mademoiselle turned her head and looked at me languidly, without
stirring in her chair or removing the foot she, was warming.
'Good evening,' she said.

The greeting seemed so brief and so commonplace, ignoring, as it
did, both the pains and anxiety to which she had just put me and
the great purpose for which we were here--to say nothing of that
ambiguous parting which she must surely remember as well as I--
that the words I had prepared died on my lips, and I looked at
her in honest confusion. All her small face was pale except her
lips. Her brow was dark, her eyes were hard as well as weary.
And not words only failed me as I looked at her, but anger;
having mounted the stairs hot foot to chide, I felt on a sudden
--despite my new cloak and scabbard, my appointment, and the
same I had made at Court--the same consciousness of age; and
shabbiness and poverty which had possessed me in her presence
from the beginning. I muttered, 'Good evening, mademoiselle,'
and that was all I could say--I who had frightened the burly
Maignan a few minutes before!

Seeing, I have no doubt, the effect she produced on me, she
maintained for some time an embarrassing silence. At length she
said, frigidly, 'Perhaps M. de Marsac will sit, Fanchette. Place
a chair for him. I am afraid, however, that after his successes
at Court he may find our reception somewhat cold. But we are
only from the country,' she added, looking at me askance, with a
gleam of anger in her eyes.

I thanked her huskily, saying that I would not sit, as I could
not stay. 'Simon Fleix,' I continued, finding my voice with
difficulty, 'has, I am afraid, caused you some trouble by
bringing you to this house instead of telling you that I had made
preparation for you at my lodgings.'

'It was not Simon Fleix's fault,' she replied curtly. 'I prefer
these rooms. They are more convenient.'

'They are, perhaps, more convenient,' I rejoined humbly, 'But I
have to think of safety, mademoiselle, as you know. At my house
I have a competent guard, and can answer for your being
unmolested.'

'You can send your guard here,' she said with a royal air.

'But, mademoiselle--'

'Is it not enough that I have said that I prefer these rooms?'
she replied sharply, dropping her mask on her lap and looking
round at me in undisguised displeasure. 'Are you deaf, sir? Let
me tell you, I am in no mood for argument. I am tired with
riding. I prefer these rooms, and that is enough!'

Nothing could exceed the determination with which she said these
words, unless it were the malicious pleasure in thwarting my
wishes which made itself seen through the veil of assumed
indifference. I felt myself brought up with a vengeance, and in
a manner the most provoking that could be conceived. But
opposition so childish, so utterly wanton, by exciting my
indignation, had presently the effect of banishing the peculiar
bashfulness I felt in her presence, and recalling me to my duty.

'Mademoiselle,' I said firmly, looking at her with a fixed
countenance, 'pardon me if I speak plainly. This is no time for
playing with straws. The men from whom you escaped once are as
determined and more desperate now. By this time they probably
know of your arrival. Do, then, as I ask, I pray and beseech
you. Or this time I may lack the power, though never the will,
to save you.'

Wholly ignoring my appeal, she looked into my face--for by this
time I had advanced to her side--with a whimsical smile. 'You
are really much improved in manner since I last saw you,' she
said.

'Mademoiselle!' I replied, baffled and repelled. 'What do you
mean?'

'What I say,' she answered, flippantly. 'But it was to be
expected.'

'For shame!' I cried, provoked almost beyond bearing by her ill-
timed raillery, 'will you never be serious until you have ruined
us and yourself? I tell you this house is not safe for you! It
is not safe for me! I cannot bring my men to it, for there is
not room for them. If you have any spark of consideration, of
gratitude, therefore--'

'Gratitude!' she exclaimed, swinging her mask slowly to and fro
by a ribbon, while she looked up at me as though my excitement
amused her. 'Gratitude--'tis a very pretty phrase, and means
much; but it is for those who serve us faithfully, M. de Marsac,
and not for others. You receive so many favours, I am told, and
are so successful at Court, that I should not be justified in
monopolising your services.'

'But, mademoiselle--' I said in a low tone. And there I stopped.
I dared not proceed.

'Well, sir,' she answered, looking up at she after a moment's
silence, and ceasing on a sudden to play with her toy, 'what is
it?'

'You spoke of favours,' I continued, with an effort. 'I never
received but one from a lady. That was at Rosny, and from your
hand.'

'From my hand?' she answered, with an air of cold surprise.

'It was so, mademoiselle.'

'You have fallen into some strange mistake, sir,' she replied,
rousing herself, and looking at me indifferently 'I never gave
you a favour.'

I bowed low. 'If you say you did not, mademoiselle, that is
enough,' I answered.

'Nay, but do not let me do you an injustice, M. de Marsac,' she
rejoined, speaking more quickly and in an altered tone. 'If you
can show me the favour I gave you, I shall, of course, be
convinced. Seeing is believing, you know,' she added, with a
light nervous laugh, and a gesture of something like shyness.

If I had not sufficiently regretted my carelessness, and loss of
the bow at the time, I did so now. I looked at her in silence,
and saw her face, that had for a moment shown signs of feeling,
almost of shame, grow slowly hard again.

'Well, sir?' she said impatiently. 'The proof is easy.'

'It was taken from me; I believe, by M. de Rosny,' I answered
lamely, wondering what ill-luck had led her to put the question
and press it to this point.

'It was taken from you!' she exclaimed, rising and confronting
me with the utmost suddenness, while her eyes flashed, and her
little hand crumpled the mask beyond future usefulness. 'It was
taken from you, sir!' she repeated, her voice and her whole
frame trembling with anger and disdain. 'Then I thank you, I
prefer my version. Yours is impossible. For let me tell you,
when Mademoiselle de la Vire does confer a favour, it will be on
a man with the power and the wit--and the constancy, to keep it,
even from M. de Rosny!'

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