The House of the Wolf
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Stanley Weyman >> The House of the Wolf
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I nodded a smiling assent, thinking I understood. At the same
time I permitted myself in my own mind a little discretion.
Pavannes was not a fool, and the name of the Vidame--but,
however, I should see. I had more to say to him than she knew
of. Meanwhile she explained very carefully the three turnings I
had to take to reach the river, and the wharf where boats most
commonly lay, and the name of the house in which I should find M.
de Pavannes.
"He is at the Hotel de Bailli," she said. "And there, I think
that is all."
"No, not all," I said hardily. "There is one thing I have not
got. And that is a sword!"
She followed the direction of my eyes, started, and laughed--a
little oddly. But she fetched the weapon. "Take it, and do
not," she urged, "do not lose time. Do not mention me to
Pavannes. Do not let the white badges be seen as you return.
That is really all. And now good luck!" She gave me her hand to
kiss. "Good luck, my knight-errant, good luck--and come back to
me soon!"
She smiled divinely, as it seemed to me, as she said these last
words, and the same smile followed me down stairs: for she
leaned over the stair-head with one of the lamps in her hand, and
directed me how to draw the bolts. I took one backward glance as
I did so at the fair stooping figure above me, the shining eyes,
and tiny outstretched hand, and then darting into the gloom I
hurried on my way.
I was in a strange mood. A few minutes before I had been at
Pavannes' door, at the end of our journey; on the verge of
success. I had been within an ace, as I supposed at least, of
executing my errand. I had held the cup of success in my hand.
And it had slipped. Now the conflict had to be fought over
again; the danger to be faced. It would have been no more than
natural if I had felt the disappointment keenly: if I had almost
despaired.
But it was otherwise--far otherwise. Never had my heart beat
higher or more proudly than as I now hurried through the streets,
avoiding such groups as were abroad in them, and intent only on
observing the proper turnings. Never in any moment of triumph in
after days, in love or war, did anything like the exhilaration,
the energy, the spirit, of those minutes come back to me. I had
a woman's badge in my cap--for the first time--the music of her
voice in my ears. I had a magic ring on my finger: a talisman
on my arm. My sword was at my side again. All round me lay a
misty city of adventures, of danger and romance, full of the
richest and most beautiful possibilities; a city of real
witchery, such as I had read of in stories, through which those
fairy gifts and my right hand should guide me safely. I did not
even regret my brothers, or our separation. I was the eldest.
It was fitting that the cream of the enterprise should be
reserved for me, Anne de Caylus. And to what might it not lead?
In fancy I saw myself already a duke and peer of France--already
I held the baton.
Yet while I exulted boyishly, I did not forget what I was about.
I kept my eyes open, and soon remarked that the number of people
passing to and fro in the dark streets had much increased within
the last half hour. The silence in which in groups or singly
these figures stole by me was very striking. I heard no
brawling, fighting or singing; yet if it were too late for these
things, why were so many people up and about? I began to count
presently, and found that at least half of those I met wore
badges in their hats and on their arms, similar to mine, and that
they all moved with a businesslike air, as if bound for some
rendezvous.
I was not a fool, though I was young, and in some matters less
quick than Croisette. The hints which had been dropped by so
many had not been lost on me. "There is more afoot to-night than
you know of!" Madame d'O had said. And having eyes as well as
ears I fully believed it. Something was afoot. Something was
going to happen in Paris before morning. But what, I wondered.
Could it be that a rebellion was about to break out? If so I was
on the king's service, and all was well. I might even be going--
and only eighteen--to make history! Or was it only a brawl on a
great scale between two parties of nobles? I had heard of such
things happening in Paris. Then--well I did not see how I could
act in that case. I must be guided by events.
I did not imagine anything else which it could be. That is the
truth, though it may need explanation. I was accustomed only to
the milder religious differences, the more evenly balanced
parties of Quercy, where the peace between the Catholics and
Huguenots had been welcome to all save a very few. I could not
gauge therefore the fanaticism of the Parisian populace, and lost
count of the factor, which made possible that which was going to
happen--was going to happen in Paris before daylight as surely as
the sun was going to rise! I knew that the Huguenot nobles were
present in the city in great numbers, but it did not occur to me
that they could as a body be in danger. They were many and
powerful, and as was said, in favour with the king. They were
under the protection of the King of Navarre--France's brother-
in-law of a week, and the Prince of Conde; and though these
princes were young, Coligny the sagacious admiral was old, and
not much the worse I had learned for his wound. He at least was
high in royal favour, a trusted counsellor. Had not the king
visited him on his sick-bed and sat by him for an hour together?
Surely, I thought, if there were danger, these men would know of
it. And then the Huguenots' main enemy, Henri le Balafre, the
splendid Duke of Guise, "our great man," and "Lorraine," as the
crowd called him--he, it was rumoured, was in disgrace at court.
In a word these things, to say nothing of the peaceful and joyous
occasion which had brought the Huguenots to Paris, and which
seemed to put treachery out of the question, were more than
enough to prevent me forecasting the event.
If for a moment, indeed, as I hurried along towards the river,
anything like the truth occurred to me, I put it from me. I say
with pride I put it from me as a thing impossible. For God
forbid--one may speak out the truth these forty years back--God
forbid, say I, that all Frenchmen should bear the blood
guiltiness which came of other than French brains, though French
were the hands that did the work.
I was not greatly troubled by my forebodings therefore: and the
state of exaltation to which Madame d'O's confidence had raised
my spirits lasted until one of the narrow streets by the Louvre
brought me suddenly within sight of the river. Here faint
moonlight bursting momentarily through the clouds was shining on
the placid surface of the water. The fresh air played upon, and
cooled my temples. And this with the quiet scene so abruptly
presented to me, gave check to my thoughts, and somewhat sobered
me.
At some distance to my left I could distinguish in the middle of
the river the pile of buildings which crowd the Ile de la Cite,
and could follow the nearer arm of the stream as it swept
landwards of these, closely hemmed in by houses, but unbroken as
yet by the arches of the Pont Neuf which I have lived to see
built. Not far from me on my right--indeed within a stone's
throw--the bulky mass of the Louvre rose dark and shapeless
against the sky. Only a narrow open space--the foreshore--
separated me from the water; beyond which I could see an
irregular line of buildings, that no doubt formed the Faubourg
St. Germain.
I had been told that I should find stairs leading down to the
water, and boats moored at the foot of them, at this point.
Accordingly I walked quickly across the open space to a spot,
where I made out a couple of posts set up on the brink--
doubtless to mark the landing place.
I had not gone ten paces, however, out of the shadow, before I
chanced to look round, and discerned with an unpleasant eerie
feeling three figures detach themselves from it, and advance in a
row behind me, so as the better to cut off my retreat. I was not
to succeed in my enterprise too easily then. That was clear.
Still I thought it better to act as if I had not seen my
followers, and collecting myself, I walked as quickly as I could
down to the steps. The three were by that time close upon me--
within striking distance almost. I turned abruptly and
confronted them.
"Who are you, and what do you want?" I said, eyeing them warily,
my hand on my sword.
They did not answer, but separated more widely so as to form a
half-circle: and one of them whistled. On the instant a knot of
men started out of the line of houses, and came quickly across
the strip of light towards us.
The position seemed serious. If I could have run indeed--but I
glanced round, and found escape in that fashion impossible.
There were men crouching on the steps behind me, between me and
the river. I had fallen into a trap. Indeed, there was nothing
for it now but to do as Madame had bidden me, and play the man
boldly. I had the words still ringing in my ears. I had enough
of the excitement I had lately felt still bounding in my veins to
give nerve and daring. I folded my arms and drew myself up.
"Knaves!" I said, with as much quiet contempt as I could muster,
"you mistake me. You do not know whom you have to deal with.
Get me a boat, and let two of you row me across. Hinder me, and
your necks shall answer for it--or your backs!"
A laugh and an oath of derision formed the only response, and
before I could add more, the larger group arrived, and joined the
three.
"Who is it, Pierre?" asked one of these in a matter-of-fact way,
which showed I had not fallen amongst mere thieves.
The speaker seemed to be the leader of the band. He had a
feather in his bonnet, and I saw a steel corslet gleam under his
cloak, when some one held up a lanthorn to examine me the better.
His trunk-hose were striped with black, white, and green--the
livery as I learned afterwards of Monsieur the King's brother,
the Duke of Anjou, afterwards Henry the Third; then a close
friend of the Duke of Guise, and later his murderer. The captain
spoke with a foreign accent, and his complexion was dark to
swarthiness. His eyes sparkled and flashed like black beads. It
was easy to see that he was an Italian.
"A gallant young cock enough," the soldier who had whistled
answered; "and not quite of the breed we expected." He held his
lanthorn towards me and pointed to the white badge on my sleeve.
"It strikes me we have caught a crow instead of a pigeon!"
"How comes this?" the Italian asked harshly, addressing me.
"Who are you? And why do you wish to cross the river at this
time of night, young sir?"
I acted on the inspiration of the moment. "Play the man boldly!"
Madame had said. I would: and I did with a vengeance. I sprang
forward and seizing the captain by the clasp of his cloak, shook
him violently, and flung him off with all my force, so that he
reeled. "Dog!" I exclaimed, advancing, as if I would seize him
again. "Learn how to speak to your betters! Am I to be stopped
by such sweepings as you? Hark ye, I am on the King's service!"
He fairly spluttered with rage. "More like the devil's!" he
exclaimed, pronouncing his words abominably, and fumbling vainly
for his weapon. "King's service or no service you do not insult
Andrea Pallavicini!"
I could only vindicate my daring by greater daring, and I saw
this even as, death staring me in the face, my heart seemed to
stop. The man had his mouth open and his hand raised to give an
order which would certainly have sent Anne de Caylus from the
world, when I cried passionately--it was my last chance, and I
never wished to live more strongly than at that moment--I cried
passionately, "Andrea Pallavicini, if such be your name, look at
that! Look at that!" I repeated, shaking my open hand with the
ring on it before his face, "and then hinder me if you dare! To-
morrow if you have quarterings enough, I will see to your
quarrel! Now send me on my way, or your fate be on your own
head! Disobey--ay, do but hesitate--and I will call on these
very men of yours to cut you down!"
It was a bold throw, for I staked all on a talisman of which I
did not know the value! To me it was the turn of a die, for I
had had no leisure to look at the ring, and knew no more than a
babe whose it was. But the venture was as happy as desperate.
Andrea Pallavicini's expression--no pleasant one at the best of
times--changed on the instant. His face fell as he seized my
hand, and peered at the ring long and intently. Then he cast a
quick glance of suspicion at his men, of hatred at me. But I
cared nothing for his glance, or his hatred. I saw already that
he had made up his mind to obey the charm: and that for me was
everything. "If you had shown that to me a little earlier, young
sir, it would, maybe, have been better for both of us," he said,
a surly menace in his voice. And cursing his men for their
stupidity he ordered two of them to unmoor a boat.
Apparently the craft had been secured with more care than skill,
for to loosen it seemed to be a work of time. Meanwhile I stood
waiting in the midst of the group, anxious and yet exultant; an
object of curiosity, and yet curious myself. I heard the guards
whisper together, and caught such phrases as "It is the Duc
d'Aumale."
"No, it is not D'Aumale. It is nothing like him."
"Well, he has the Duke's ring, fool!"
"The Duke's?"
"Ay."
"Then it is all right, God bless him!" This last was uttered
with extreme fervour.
I was conscious too of being the object of many respectful
glances; and had just bidden the men on the steps below me to be
quick, when I discovered with alarm three figures moving across
the open space towards us, and coming apparently from the same
point from which Pallavicini and his men had emerged.
In a moment I foresaw danger. "Now be quick there!" I cried
again. But scarcely had I spoken before I saw that it was
impossible to get afloat before these others came up, and I
prepared to stand my ground resolutely.
The first words, however, with which Pallavicini saluted the new-
comers scattered my fears. "Well, what the foul fiend do you
want?" he exclaimed rudely; and he rapped out half-a-dozen
CORPOS before they could answer him. "What have you brought him
here for, when I left him in the guard-house? Imbeciles!"
"Captain Pallavicini," interposed the midmost of the three,
speaking with patience--he was a man of about thirty, dressed
with some richness, though his clothes were now disordered as
though by a struggle--"I have induced these good men to bring me
down--"
"Then," cried the captain, brutally interrupting him, "you have
lost your labour, Monsieur."
"You do not know me," replied the prisoner with sternness--a
prisoner he seemed to be. "You do not understand that I am a
friend of the Prince of Conde, and that--"
He would have said more, but the Italian again cut him short. "A
fig for the Prince of Conde!" he cried; "I understand my duty.
You may as well take things easily. You cannot cross, and you
cannot go home, and you cannot have any explanation; except that
it is the King's will! Explanation?" he grumbled, in a lower
tone, "you will get it soon enough, I warrant! Before you want
it!"
"But there is a boat going to cross," said the other, controlling
his temper by an effort and speaking with dignity. "You told me
that by the King's order no one could cross; and you arrested me
because, having urgent need to visit St. Germain, I persisted.
Now what does this mean, Captain Pallavicini? Others are
crossing. I ask what this means?"
"Whatever you please, M. de Pavannes," the Italian retorted
contemptuously. "Explain it for yourself!"
I started as the name struck my ear, and at once cried out in
surprise, "M. de Pavannes!" Had I heard aright?
Apparently I had, for the prisoner turned to me with a bow.
"Yes, sir," he said with dignity, "I am M. de Pavannes. I have
not the honour of knowing you, but you seem to be a gentleman."
He cast a withering glance at the captain as he said this.
"Perhaps you will explain to me why this violence has been done
to me. If you can, I shall consider it a favour; if not, pardon
me."
I did not answer him at once, for a good reason--that every
faculty I had was bent on a close scrutiny of the man himself.
He was fair, and of a ruddy complexion. His beard was cut in the
short pointed fashion of the court; and in these respects he bore
a kind of likeness, a curious likeness, to Louis de Pavannes.
But his figure was shorter and stouter. He was less martial in
bearing, with more of the air of a scholar than a soldier. "You
are related to M. Louis de Pavannes?" I said, my heart beginning
to beat with an odd excitement. I think I foresaw already what
was coming.
"I am Louis de Pavannes," he replied with impatience.
I stared at him in silence: thinking--thinking--thinking. And
then I said slowly, "You have a cousin of the same name?"
"I have."
"He fell prisoner to the Vicomte de Caylus at Moncontour?"
"He did," he answered curtly. "But what of that, sir?"
Again I did not answer--at once. The murder was out. I
remembered, in the dim fashion in which one remembers such things
after the event, that I had heard Louis de Pavannes, when we
first became acquainted with him, mention this cousin of the same
name; the head of a younger branch. But our Louis living in
Provence and the other in Normandy, the distance between their
homes, and the troubles of the times had loosened a tie which
their common religion might have strengthened. They had scarcely
ever seen one another. As Louis had spoken of his namesake but
once during his long stay with us, and I had not then foreseen
the connection to be formed between our families, it was no
wonder that in the course of months the chance word had passed
out of my head, and I had clean forgotten the subject of it.
Here however, he was before my eyes, and seeing him; I saw too
what the discovery meant. It meant a most joyful thing! a most
wonderful thing which I longed to tell Croisette and Marie. It
meant that our Louis de Pavannes--my cheek burned for my want of
faith in him--was no villain after all, but such a noble
gentleman as we had always till this day thought him! It meant
that he was no court gallant bent on breaking a country heart for
sport, but Kit's own true lover! And--and it meant more--it
meant that he was yet in danger, and still ignorant of the vow
that unchained fiend Bezers had taken to have his life! In
pursuing his namesake we had been led astray, how sadly I only
knew now! And had indeed lost most precious time.
"Your wife, M. de Pavannes"--I began in haste, seeing the
necessity of explaining matters with the utmost quickness. "Your
wife is--"
"Ah, my wife!" he cried interrupting me, with anxiety in his
tone. "What of her? You have seen her!"
"I have. She is safe at your house in the Rue de St. Merri."
"Thank Heaven for that!" he replied fervently. Before he could
say more Captain Andrea interrupted us. I could see that his
suspicions were aroused afresh. He pushed rudely between us, and
addressing me said, "Now, young sir, your boat is ready."
"My boat?" I answered, while I rapidly considered the situation.
Of course I did not want to cross the river now. No doubt
Pavannes---this Pavannes--could guide me to Louis' address. "My
boat?"
"Yes, it is waiting," the Italian replied, his black eyes roving
from one to the other of us.
"Then let it wait!" I answered haughtily, speaking with an
assumption of anger. "Plague upon you for interrupting us! I
shall not cross the river now. This gentleman can give me the
information I want. I shall take him back with me."
"To whom?"
"To whom? To those who sent me, sirrah!"
I thundered. "You do not seem to be much in the Duke's
confidence, captain," I went on; "now take a word of advice from
me! There is nothing: so easily cast off as an over-officious
servant! He goes too far--and he goes like an old glove! An old
glove," I repeated grimly, sneering in his face, "which saves the
hand and suffers itself. Beware of too much zeal, Captain
Pallavicini! It is a dangerous thing!"
He turned pale with anger at being thus treated by a beardless
boy. But he faltered all the same. What I said was unpleasant,
but the bravo knew it was true.
I saw the impression I had made, and I turned to the soldiers
standing round.
"Bring here, my friends," I said, "M. de Pavannes' sword!"
One ran up to the guard house and brought it at once. They were
townsfolk, burgher guards or such like, and for some reason
betrayed so evident a respect for me, that I soberly believe they
would have turned on their temporary leader at my bidding.
Pavannes took his sword, and placed it under his arm. We both
bowed ceremoniously to Pallavicini, who scowled in response; and
slowly, for I was afraid to show any signs of haste, we walked
across the moonlit space to the bottom of the street by which I
had come. There the gloom swallowed us up at once. Pavannes
touched my sleeve and stopped in the darkness.
"I beg to be allowed to thank you for your aid," he said with
emotion, turning and facing me. "Whom have I the honour of
addressing?"
"M. Anne de Caylus, a friend of your cousin," I replied.
"Indeed?" he said "well, I thank you most heartily," and we
embraced with warmth.
"But I could have done little," I answered modestly, "on your
behalf, if it had not been for this ring."
"And the virtue of the ring lies in--"
"In--I am sure I cannot say in what!" I confessed. And then, in
the sympathy which the scene had naturally created between us, I
forgot one portion of my lady's commands and I added impulsively,
"All I know is that Madame d'O gave it me; and that it has done
all, and more than all she said it would."
"Who gave it to you?" he asked, grasping my arm so tightly as to
hurt me.
"Madame d'O," I repeated. It was too late to draw back now.
"That woman!" he ejaculated in a strange low whisper. "Is it
possible? That woman gave it you?"
I wandered what on earth he meant, surprise, scorn and dislike
were so blended in his tone. It even seemed to me that he drew
off from me somewhat. "Yes, M. de Pavannes," I replied, offended
and indignant, "It is so far possible that it is the truth; and
more, I think you would not so speak of this lady if you knew
all; and that it was through her your wife was to-day freed from
those who were detaining her, and taken safely home!"
"Ha!" he cried eagerly. "Then where has my wife been?"
"At the house of Mirepoix, the glover," I answered coldly, "in
the Rue Platriere. Do you know him? You do. Well, she was kept
there a prisoner, until we helped her to escape an hour or so
ago."
He did not seem to comprehend even then. I could see little of
his face, but there was doubt and wonder in his tone when he
spoke. "Mirepoix the glover," he murmured. "He is an honest man
enough, though a Catholic. She was kept there! Who kept her
there?"
"The Abbess of the Ursulines seems to have been at the bottom of
it," I explained, fretting with impatience. This wonder was
misplaced, I thought; and time was passing. "Madame d'O found
out where she was," I continued, "and took her home, and then
sent me to fetch you, hearing you had crossed the river. That is
the story in brief."
"That woman sent you to fetch me?" he repeated again.
"Yes," I answered angrily. "She did, M. de Pavannes."
"Then," he said slowly, and with an air of solemn conviction
which could not but impress me, "there is a trap laid for me!
She is the worst, the most wicked, the vilest of women! If she
sent you, this is a trap! And my wife has fallen into it
already! Heaven help her--and me--if it be so!"
CHAPTER VIII.
THE PARISIAN MATINS.
There are some statements for which it is impossible to be
prepared; statements so strong and so startling that it is
impossible to answer them except by action--by a blow. And this
of M. de Pavannes was one of these. If there had been any one
present, I think I should have given him the lie and drawn upon
him. But alone with him at midnight in the shadow near the
bottom of the Rue des Fosses, with no witnesses, with every
reason to feel friendly towards him, what was I to do?
As a fact, I did nothing. I stood, silent and stupefied, waiting
to hear more. He did not keep me long.
"She is my wife's sister," he continued grimly. "But I have no
reason to shield her on that account! Shield her? Had you lived
at court only a month I might shield her all I could, M. de
Caylus, it would avail nothing. Not Madame de Sauves is better
known. And I would not if I could! I know well, though my wife
will not believe it, that there is nothing so near Madame d'O's
heart as to get rid of her sister and me--of both of us--that she
may succeed to Madeleine's inheritance! Oh, yes, I had good
grounds for being nervous yesterday, when my wife did not
return," he added excitedly.
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