The House of the Wolf
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Stanley Weyman >> The House of the Wolf
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"And there is not!" cried the foremost of the gang about the
door, hastening to confront us in turn. His tone was insolent,
and it needed but half an eye to see that his fellows were
inclined to back him up. He stuck his arms akimbo and faced us
with an impudent smile. A lanthorn on the ground beside him
throwing an uncertain light on the group, I saw that they all
wore the same badge.
"Come," I said sternly, "the stables are large, and your horses
cannot fill them. Some room must be found for mine."
"To be sure! Make way for the king!" he retorted. While one
jeered "VIVE LE ROI!" and the rest laughed. Not good-
humouredly, but with a touch of spitefulness.
Quarrels between gentlemen's servants were as common then as they
are to-day. But the masters seldom condescended to interfere.
"Let the fellows fight it out," was the general sentiment. Here,
however, poor Jean was over-matched, and we had no choice but to
see to it ourselves.
"Come, men, have a care that you do not get into trouble," I
urged, restraining Croisette by a touch, for I by no means wished
to have a repetition of the catastrophe which had happened at
Caylus. "These horses belong to the Vicomte de Caylus. If your
master be a friend of his, as may very probably be the case, you
will run the risk of getting into trouble."
I thought I heard, as I stopped speaking, a subdued muttering,
and fancied I caught the words, "PAPEGOT! Down with the Guises!"
But the spokesman's only answer aloud was "Cock-a-doodle-doo!"
"Cock-a-doodle-doo!" he repeated, flapping his arms in defiance.
"Here is a cock of a fine hackle!" And so on, and so forth,
while he turned grinning to his companions, looking for their
applause.
I was itching to chastise him, and yet hesitating, lest the thing
should have its serious side, when a new actor appeared. "Shame,
you brutes!" cried a shrill voice above us in the clouds it
seemed. I looked up, and saw two girls, coarse and handsome,
standing at a window over the stable, a light between them. "For
shame! Don't you see that they are mere children? Let them be,"
cried one.
The men laughed louder than ever; and for me, I could not stand
by and be called a child. "Come here," I said, beckoning to the
man in the doorway. "Come here, you rascal, and I will give you
the thrashing you deserve for speaking to a gentleman!"
He lounged forward, a heavy fellow, taller than myself and six
inches wider at the shoulders. My heart failed me a little as I
measured him. But the thing had to be done. If I was slight, I
was wiry as a hound, and in the excitement had forgotten my
fatigue. I snatched from Marie a loaded riding-whip he carried,
and stepped forward.
"Have a care, little man!" cried the girl gaily--yet half in
pity, I think. "Or that fat pig will kill you!"
My antagonist did not join in the laugh this time. Indeed it
struck me that his eye wandered and that he was not so ready to
enter the ring as his mates were to form it. But before I could
try his mettle, a hand was laid on my shoulder. A man appearing
from I do not know where--from the dark fringe of the group, I
suppose--pushed me aside, roughly, but not discourteously.
"Leave this to me!" he said, coolly stepping before me. "Do not
dirty your hands with the knave, master. I am pining for work
and the job will just suit me! I will fit him for the worms
before the nuns above can say an AVE!"
I looked at the newcomer. He was a stout fellow; not over tall,
nor over big; swarthy, with prominent features. The plume of his
bonnet was broken, but he wore it in a rakish fashion; and
altogether he swaggered with so dare-devil an air, clinking his
spurs and swinging out his long sword recklessly, that it was no
wonder three or four of the nearest fellows gave back a foot.
"Come on!" he cried, boisterously, forming a ring by the simple
process of sweeping his blade from side to side, while he made
the dagger in his left hand flash round his head. "Who is for
the game? Who will strike a blow for the little Admiral? Will
you come one, two, three at once; or all together? Anyway, come
on, you--" And he closed his challenge with a volley of frightful
oaths, directed at the group opposite.
"It is no quarrel of yours," said the big man, sulkily; making no
show of drawing his sword, but rather drawing back himself.
"All quarrels are my quarrels! and no quarrels are your
quarrels. That is about the truth, I fancy!" was the smart
retort; which our champion rendered more emphatic by a playful
lunge that caused the big bully to skip again.
There was a loud laugh at this, even among the enemy's backers.
"Bah, the great pig!" ejaculated the girl above. "Spit him!"
and she spat down on the whilom Hector--who made no great figure
now.
"Shall I bring you a slice of him, my dear?" asked my rakehelly
friend, looking up and making his sword play round the shrinking
wretch. "Just a tit-bit, my love?" he added persuasively. "A
mouthful of white liver and caper sauce?"
"Not for me, the beast!" the girl cried, amid the laughter of
the yard.
"Not a bit? If I warrant him tender? Ladies' meat?"
"Bah! no!" and she stolidly spat down again.
"Do you hear? The lady has no taste for you," the tormentor
cried. "Pig of a Gascon!" And deftly sheathing his dagger, he
seized the big coward by the ear, and turning him round, gave him
a heavy kick which sent him spinning over a bucket, and down
against the wall. There the bully remained, swearing and rubbing
himself by turns; while the victor cried boastfully, "Enough of
him. If anyone wants to take up his quarrel, Blaise Bure is his
man. If not, let us have an end of it. Let someone find stalls
for the gentlemen's horses before they catch a chill; and have
done with it. As for me," he added, and then he turned to us and
removed his hat with an exaggerated flourish, "I am your
lordship's servant to command."
I thanked him with a heartiness, half-earnest, half-assumed. His
cloak was ragged, his trunk hose, which had once been fine
enough, were stained, and almost pointless, He swaggered
inimitably, and had led-captain written large upon him. But he
had done us a service, for Jean had no further trouble about the
horses. And besides one has a natural liking for a brave man,
and this man was brave beyond question.
"You are from Orleans," he said respectfully enough, but as one
asserting a fact, not asking a question.
"Yes," I answered, somewhat astonished, "Did you see us come in?"
"No, but I looked at your boots, gentlemen," he replied. "White
dust, north; red dust, south. Do you see?"
"Yes, I see," I said, with admiration. "You must have been
brought up in a sharp school, M. Bure."
"Sharp masters make sharp scholars," he replied, grinning. And
that answer I had occasion to remember afterwards.
"You are from Orleans, also?" I asked, as we prepared to go in.
"Yes, from Orleans too, gentlemen. But earlier in the day. With
letters--letters of importance!" And bestowing something like a
wink of confidence on us, he drew himself up, looked sternly at
the stable-folk, patted himself twice on the chest, and finally
twirled his moustaches, and smirked at the girl above, who was
chewing straws.
I thought it likely enough that we might find it hard to get rid
of him. But this was not so. After listening with gratification
to our repeated thanks, he bowed with the same grotesque
flourish, and marched off as grave as a Spaniard, humming--
"Ce petit homme tant joli!
Qui toujours cause et toujours rit,
Qui toujours baise sa mignonne,
Dieu gard' de mal ce petit homme!"
On our going in, the landlord met us politely, but with
curiosity, and a simmering of excitement also in his manner.
"From Paris, my lords?" he asked, rubbing his hands and bowing
low. "Or from the south?"
"From the south," I answered. "From Orleans, and hungry and
tired, Master Host."
"Ah!" he replied, disregarding the latter part of my answer,
while his little eyes twinkled with satisfaction. "Then I dare
swear, my lords, you have not heard the news?" He halted in the
narrow passage, and lifting the candle he carried, scanned our
faces closely, as if he wished to learn something about us before
he spoke.
"News!" I answered brusquely, being both tired, and as I had
told him, hungry. "We have heard none, and the best you can give
us will be that our supper is ready to be served."
But even this snub did not check his eagerness to tell his news.
"The Admiral de Coligny," he said, breathlessly, "you have not
heard what has happened to him?"
"To the admiral? No, what?" I inquired rapidly. I was
interested at last.
For a moment let me digress. The few of my age will remember,
and the many younger will have been told, that at this time the
Italian queen-mother was the ruling power in France. It was
Catharine de' Medici's first object to maintain her influence
over Charles the Ninth--her son; who, ricketty, weak, and
passionate, was already doomed to an early grave. Her second, to
support the royal power by balancing the extreme Catholics
against the Huguenots. For the latter purpose she would coquet
first with one party, then with the other. At the present moment
she had committed herself more deeply than was her wont to the
Huguenots. Their leaders, the Admiral Gaspard de Coligny, the
King of Navarre, and the Prince of Conde, were supposed to be
high in favour, while the chiefs of the other party, the Duke of
Guise, and the two Cardinals of his house, the Cardinal of
Lorraine and the Cardinal of Guise, were in disgrace; which, as
it seemed, even their friend at court, the queen's favourite son,
Henry of Anjou, was unable to overcome.
Such was the outward aspect of things in August, 1572, but there
were not wanting rumours that already Coligny, taking advantage
of the footing given him, had gained an influence over the young
king, which threatened Catharine de' Medici herself. The
admiral, therefore, to whom the Huguenot half of France had long
looked as to its leader, was now the object of the closest
interest to all; the Guise faction, hating him--as the alleged
assassin of the Duke of Guise--with an intensity which probably
was not to be found in the affection of his friends, popular with
the latter as he was.
Still, many who were not Huguenots had a regard for him as a
great Frenchman and a gallant soldier. We--though we were of the
old faith, and the other side--had heard much of him, and much
good. The Vicomte had spoken of him always as a great man, a man
mistaken, but brave, honest and capable in his error. Therefore
it was that when the landlord mentioned him, I forgot even my
hunger.
"He was shot, my lords, as he passed through the Rue des Fosses,
yesterday," the man declared with bated breath. "It is not known
whether he will live or die. Paris is in an uproar, and there
are some who fear the worst."
"But," I said doubtfully, "who has dared to do this? He had a
safe conduct from the king himself."
Our host did not answer; shrugging his shoulders instead, he
opened the door, and ushered us into the eating-room.
Some preparations for our meal had already been made at one end
of the long board. At the other was seated a man past middle
age; richly but simply dressed. His grey hair, cut short about a
massive head, and his grave, resolute face, square-jawed, and
deeply-lined, marked him as one to whom respect was due apart
from his clothes. We bowed to him as we took our seats.
He acknowledged the salute, fixing us a moment with a penetrating
glance; and then resumed his meal. I noticed that his sword and
belt were propped against a chair at his elbow, and a dag,
apparently loaded, lay close to his hand by the candlestick. Two
lackeys waited behind his chair, wearing the badge we had
remarked in the inn yard.
We began to talk, speaking in low tones that we might not disturb
him. The attack on Coligny had, if true, its bearing on our own
business. For if a Huguenot so great and famous and enjoying the
king's special favour still went in Paris in danger of his life,
what must be the risk that such an one as Pavannes ran? We had
hoped to find the city quiet. If instead it should be in a state
of turmoil Bezers' chances were so much the better; and ours
--and Kit's, poor Kit's--so much the worse.
Our companion had by this time finished his supper. But he still
sat at table, and seemed to be regarding us with some curiosity.
At length he spoke. "Are you going to Paris, young gentlemen?"
he asked, his tone harsh and high-pitched.
We answered in the affirmative. "To-morrow?" he questioned.
"Yes," we answered; and expected him to continue the
conversation. But instead he became silent, gazing abstractedly
at the table; and what with our meal, and our own talk we had
almost forgotten him again, when looking up, I found him at my
elbow, holding out in silence a small piece of paper.
I started his face was so grave. But seeing that there were
half-a-dozen guests of a meaner sort at another table close by, I
guessed that he merely wished to make a private communication to
us; and hastened to take the paper and read it. It contained a
scrawl of four words only--
"Va chasser l'Idole."
No more. I looked at him puzzled; able to make nothing out of
it. St. Croix wrinkled his brow over it with the same result.
It was no good handing it to Marie, therefore.
"You do not understand?" the stranger continued, as he put the
scrap of paper back in his pouch.
"No," I answered, shaking my head. We had all risen out of
respect to him, and were standing a little group about him.
"Just so; it is all right then," he answered, looking at us as it
seemed to me with grave good-nature. "It is nothing. Go your
way. But--I have a son yonder not much younger than you, young
gentlemen. And if you had understood, I should have said to you,
'Do not go! There are enough sheep for the shearer!'"
He was turning away with this oracular saying when Croisette
touched his sleeve. "Pray can you tell us if it be true," the
lad said eagerly, "that the Admiral de Coligny was wounded
yesterday?"
"It is true," the other answered, turning his grave eyes on his
questioner, while for a moment his stern look failed him, "It is
true, my boy," he added with an air of strange solemnity. "Whom
the Lord loveth, He chasteneth. And, God forgive me for saying
it, whom He would destroy, He first maketh mad."
He had gazed with peculiar favour at Croisette's girlish face, I
thought: Marie and I were dark and ugly by the side of the boy.
But he turned from him now with a queer, excited gesture,
thumping his gold-headed cane on the floor. He called his
servants in a loud, rasping voice, and left the room in seeming
anger, driving them before him, the one carrying his dag, and the
other, two candles.
When I came down early next morning, the first person I met was
Blaise Bure. He looked rather fiercer and more shabby by
daylight than candlelight. But he saluted me respectfully; and
this, since it was clear that he did not respect many people,
inclined me to regard him with favour. It is always so, the more
savage the dog, the more highly we prize its attentions. I asked
him who the Huguenot noble was who had supped with us. For a
Huguenot we knew he must be.
"The Baron de Rosny," he answered; adding with a sneer, "He is a
careful man! If they were all like him, with eyes on both sides
of his head and a dag by his candle--well, my lord, there would
be one more king in France--or one less! But they are a blind
lot: as blind as bats." He muttered something farther in which
I caught the word "to-night." But I did not hear it all; or
understand any of it.
"Your lordships are going to Paris?" he resumed in a different
tone. When I said that we were, he looked at me in a shamefaced
way, half timid, half arrogant. "I have a small favour to ask of
you then," he said. "I am going to Paris myself. I am not
afraid of odds, as you have seen. But the roads will be in a
queer state if there be anything on foot in the city, and--well,
I would rather ride with you gentlemen than alone."
"You are welcome to join us," I said. "But we start in half-an-
hour. Do you know Paris well?"
"As well as my sword-hilt," he replied briskly, relieved I
thought by my acquiescence, "And I have known that from my
breeching. If you want a game at PAUME, or a pretty girl to
kiss, I can put you in the way for the one or the other."
The half rustic shrinking from the great city which I felt,
suggested to me that our swashbuckling friend might help us if he
would. "Do you know M. de Pavannes?" I asked impulsively,
"Where he lives in Paris, I mean?"
"M. Louis de Pavannes?" quoth he.
"Yes."
"I know--" he replied slowly, rubbing his chin and looking at the
ground in thought--"where he had his lodgings in town a while
ago, before--Ah! I do know! I remember," he added, slapping his
thigh, "when I was in Paris a fortnight ago I was told that his
steward had taken lodgings for him in the Rue St. Antoine."
"Good!" I answered overjoyed. "Then we want to dismount there,
if you can guide us straight to the house."
"I can," he replied simply. "And you will not be the worse for
my company. Paris is a queer place when there is trouble to the
fore, but your lordships have got the right man to pilot you
through it."
I did not ask him what trouble he meant, but ran indoors to
buckle on my sword, and tell Marie and Croisette of the ally I
had secured. They were much pleased, as was natural; so that we
took the road in excellent spirits intending to reach the city in
the afternoon. But Marie's horse cast a shoe, and it was some
time before we could find a smith. Then at Etampes, where we
stopped to lunch, we were kept an unconscionable time waiting for
it. And so we approached Paris for the first time at sunset. A
ruddy glow was at the moment warming the eastern heights, and
picking out with flame the twin towers of Notre Dame, and the one
tall tower of St. Jacques la Boucherie. A dozen roofs higher
than their neighbours shone hotly; and a great bank of cloud,
which lay north and south, and looked like a man's hand stretched
over the city, changed gradually from blood-red to violet, and
from violet to black, as evening fell.
Passing within the gates and across first one bridge and then
another, we were astonished and utterly confused by the noise and
hubbub through which we rode. Hundreds seemed to be moving this
way and that in the narrow streets. Women screamed to one
another from window to window. The bells of half-a-dozen
churches rang the curfew. Our country ears were deafened. Still
our eyes had leisure to take in the tall houses with their high-
pitched roofs, and here and there a tower built into the wall;
the quaint churches, and the groups of townsfolk--sullen fellows
some of them with a fierce gleam in their eyes---who, standing in
the mouths of reeking alleys, watched us go by.
But presently we had to stop. A crowd had gathered to watch a
little cavalcade of six gentlemen pass across our path. They
were riding two and two, lounging in their saddles and chattering
to one another, distainfully unconscious of the people about
them, or the remarks they excited. Their graceful bearing and
the richness of their dress and equipment surpassed anything I
had ever seen. A dozen pages and lackeys were attending them on
foot, and the sound of their jests and laughter came to us over
the heads of the crowd.
While I was gazing at them, some movement of the throng drove
back Bure's horse against mine. Bure himself uttered a savage
oath; uncalled for so far as I could see. But my attention was
arrested the next moment by Croisette, who tapped my arm with his
riding whip. "Look!" he cried in some excitement, "is not that
he?"
I followed the direction of the lad's finger--as well as I could
for the plunging of my horse which Bure's had frightened--and
scrutinized the last pair of the troop. They were crossing the
street in which we stood, and I had only a side view of them; or
rather of the nearer rider. He was a singularly handsome man, in
age about twenty-two or twenty-three with long lovelocks falling
on his lace collar and cloak of orange silk. His face was sweet
and kindly and gracious to a marvel. But he was a stranger to
me.
"I could have sworn," exclaimed Croisette, "that that was Louis
himself--M. de Pavannes!"
"That?" I answered, as we began to move again, the crowd melting
before us. "Oh, dear, no!"
"No! no! The farther man!" he explained.
But I had not been able to get a good look at the farther of the
two. We turned in our saddles and peered after him. His back in
the dusk certainly reminded me of Louis. Bure, however, who said
he knew M. de Pavannes by sight, laughed at the idea. "Your
friend," he said, "is a wider man than that!" And I thought he
was right there--but then it might be the cut of the clothes.
"They have been at the Louvre playing paume, I'll be sworn!" he
went on. "So the Admiral must be better. The one next us was M.
de Teligny, the Admiral's son-in-law. And the other, whom you
mean, was the Comte de la Rochefoucault."
We turned as he spoke into a narrow street near the river, and
could see not far from us a mass of dark buildings which Bure
told us was the Louvre--the king's residence. Out of this street
we turned into a short one; and here Bure drew rein and rapped
loudly at some heavy gates. It was so dark that when, these
being opened, he led the way into a courtyard, we could see
little more than a tall, sharp-gabled house, projecting over us
against a pale sky; and a group of men and horses in one corner.
Bure spoke to one of the men, and begging us to dismount, said
the footman would show us to M. de Pavannes.
The thought that we were at the end of our long journey, and in
time to warn Louis of his danger, made us forget all our
exertions, our fatigue and stiffness. Gladly throwing the
bridles to Jean we ran up the steps after the servant. The thing
was done. Hurrah! the thing was done!
The house--as we passed through a long passage and up some steps
--seemed full of people. We heard voices and the ring of arms
more than once. But our guide, without pausing, led us to a
small room lighted by a hanging lamp. "I will inform M. de
Pavannes of your arrival," he said respectfully, and passed
behind a curtain, which seemed to hide the door of an inner
apartment. As he did so the clink of glasses and the hum of
conversation reached us.
"He has company supping with him," I said nervously. I tried to
flip some of the dust from my boots with my whip. I remembered
that this was Paris.
"He will be surprised to see us," quoth Croisette, laughing--a
little shyly, too, I think. And so we stood waiting.
I began to wonder as minutes passed by--the gay company we had
seen putting it in my mind, I suppose--whether M. de Pavannes, of
Paris, might not turn out to be a very different person from
Louis de Pavannes, of Caylus; whether the king's courtier would
be as friendly as Kit's lover. And I was still thinking of this
without having settled the point to my satisfaction, when the
curtain was thrust aside again. A very tall man, wearing a
splendid suit of black and silver and a stiff trencher-like ruff,
came quickly in, and stood smiling at us, a little dog in his
arms. The little dog sat up and snarled: and Croisette gasped.
It was not our old friend Louis certainly! It was not Louis de
Pavannes at all. It was no old friend at all, It was the Vidame
de Bezers!
"Welcome, gentlemen!" he said, smiling at us--and never had the
cast been so apparent in his eyes. "Welcome to Paris, M. Anne!"
CHAPTER IV.
ENTRAPPED!
There was a long silence. We stood glaring at him, and he smiled
upon us--as a cat smiles. Croisette told me afterwards that he
could have died of mortification--of shame and anger that we had
been so outwitted. For myself I did not at once grasp the
position. I did not understand. I could not disentangle myself
in a moment from the belief in which I had entered the house--
that it was Louis de Pavannes' house. But I seemed vaguely to
suspect that Bezers had swept him aside and taken his place. My
first impulse therefore--obeyed on the instant--was to stride to
the Vidame's side and grasp his arm. "What have you done?" I
cried, my voice sounding hoarsely even in my own ears. "What
have you done with M. de Pavannes? Answer me!"
He showed just a little more of his sharp white teeth as he
looked down at my face--a flushed and troubled face doubtless.
"Nothing--yet," he replied very mildly. And he shook me off.
"Then," I retorted, "how do you come here?"
He glanced at Croisette and shrugged his shoulders, as if I had
been a spoiled child. "M. Anne does not seem to understand," he
said with mock courtesy, "that I have the honour to welcome him
to my house the Hotel Bezers, Rue de Platriere."
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