Under the Red Robe

  CHAPTER XIV. ST MARTIN'S EVE

  It was late evening on the twenty-ninth of November when I rode intoParis through the Orleans gate. The wind was in the north-east, and agreat cloud of vapour hung in the eye of an angry sunset. The air seemedto be heavy with smoke, the kennels reeked, my gorge rose at the city'ssmell; and with all my heart I envied the man who had gone out of it bythe same gate nearly two months before, with his face to the south andthe prospect of riding day after day and league after league acrossheath and moor and pasture. At least he had had some weeks of lifebefore him, and freedom and the open air, and hope and uncertainty;while I came back under doom, and in the pall of smoke that hung overthe huddle of innumerable roofs saw a gloomy shadowing of my own fate.

  For make no mistake. A man in middle life does not strip himself ofthe worldly habit with which experience has clothed him, does not runcounter to all the hard saws and instances by which he has governed hiscourse so long, without shiverings and doubts and horrible misgivings,and struggles of heart. At least a dozen times between the Loire andParis I asked myself what honour was, and what good it could do me whenI lay rotting and forgotten; if I were not a fool following a Jack o'Lanthorn; and whether, of all the men in the world, the relentless manto whom I was returning would not be the first to gibe at my folly?

  However, shame kept me straight; shame and the memory of Mademoiselle'slooks and words. I dared not be false to her again; I could not, afterspeaking so loftily, fall so low, And therefore--though not without manya secret struggle and quaking--I came, on the last evening but one ofNovember, to the Orleans gate, and rode slowly and sadly through thestreets by the Luxembourg on my way to the Pont au Change.

  The struggle had sapped my last strength, however; and with the firstwhiff of the gutters, the first rush of barefooted gamins under myhorse's hoofs, the first babel of street cries--the first breath, in aword, of Paris--there came a new temptation; to go for one last night toZaton's, to see the tables again and the faces of surprise, to be for anhour or two the old Berault. That would be no breach of honour, for inany case I could not reach the Cardinal before to-morrow. And it coulddo no harm. It could make no change in anything. It would not have beena thing worth struggling about, indeed; only--only I had in my inmostheart a suspicion that the stoutest resolutions might lose their forcein that atmosphere; and that there even such a talisman as the memory ofa woman's looks and words might lose its virtue.

  Still, I think that I should have succumbed in the end if I had notreceived at the corner of the Luxembourg a shock which sobered meeffectually. As I passed the gates, a coach, followed by two outriders,swept out of the Palace courtyard; it was going at a great pace, andI reined my jaded horse on one side to give it room. By chance as itwhirled by me, one of the leather curtains flapped back, and I saw for asecond by the waning light--the nearer wheels were no more than two feetfrom my boot--a face inside.

  A face and no more, and that only for a second. But it froze me. It wasRichelieu's, the Cardinal's; but not as I had been wont to see it--keen,cold, acute, with intellect and indomitable will in every feature. Thisface was contorted with the rage of impatience, was grim with the feverof haste, and the fear of death. The eyes burned under the pale brow,the moustache bristled, the teeth showed through the beard; I couldfancy the man crying 'Faster! Faster!' and gnawing his nails in theimpotence of passion; and I shrank back as if I had been struck. Thenext moment the outriders splashed me, the coach was a hundred pacesahead, and I was left chilled and wondering, foreseeing the worst, andno longer in any mood for Zaton's.

  Such a revelation of such a man was enough to appal me, for a momentconscience cried out that he must have heard that Cocheforet had escapedhim, and through me. But I dismissed the idea as soon as formed. In thevast meshes of the Cardinal's schemes Cocheforet could be only a smallfish; and to account for the face in the coach I needed a cataclysm, acatastrophe, a misfortune as far above ordinary mishaps as this man'sintellect rose above the common run of minds.

  It was almost dark when I crossed the bridges, and crept despondently tothe Rue Savonnerie. After stabling my horse I took my bag and holsters,and climbing the stairs to my old landlord's--I remember that the placehad grown, as it seemed to me, strangely mean and small and ill-smellingin my absence--I knocked at the door. It was promptly opened by thelittle tailor himself, who threw up his arms and opened his eyes atsight of me.

  'By Saint Genevieve!' he said, 'if it is not M. de Berault?'

  'It is,' I said. It touched me a little, after my lonely journey,to find him so glad to see me; though I had never done him a greaterbenefit than sometimes to unbend with him and borrow his money. 'Youlook surprised, little man!' I continued, as he made way for me toenter. 'I'll be sworn that you have been pawning my goods and lettingmy room, you knave!' 'Never, your Excellency!' he answered. 'On thecontrary, I have been expecting you.'

  'How?' I said. 'To-day?'

  'To-day or to-morrow,' he answered, following me in and closing thedoor. 'The first thing I said when I heard the news this morningwas--now we shall have M. de Berault back again. Your Excellency willpardon the children,' he continued, bobbing round me, as I took the oldseat on the three-legged stool before the hearth. 'The night is cold andthere is no fire in your room.'

  While he ran to and fro with my cloak and bags, little Gil, to whomI had stood at St Sulpice's, borrowing ten crowns the same day, Iremember, came shyly to play with my sword hilt.

  'So you expected me back when you heard the news, Frison, did you?' Isaid, taking the lad on my knee.

  'To be sure, your Excellency,' he answered, peeping into the black potbefore he lifted it to the hook.

  'Very good. Then now let us hear what the news is,' I said drily.

  'Of the Cardinal, M. de Berault.'

  'Ah! And what?' He looked at me, holding the heavy pot suspended in hishands.

  'You have not heard?' he exclaimed in astonishment.

  'Not a tittle. Tell it me, my good fellow.'

  'You have not heard that his Eminence is disgraced?'

  I stared at him. 'Not a word,' I said.

  He set down the pot.

  'Then your Excellency must have made a very long journey indeed,' hesaid with conviction. 'For it has been in the air a week or more, and Ithought that it had brought you back. A week? A month, I dare say. Theywhisper that it is the old Queen's doing. At any rate, it is certainthat they have cancelled his commissions and displaced his officers.There are rumours of immediate peace with Spain. Everywhere his enemiesare lifting up their heads; and I hear that he has relays of horses setall the way to the coast that he may fly at any moment. For what I knowhe may be gone already.'

  'But, man--' I said, surprised out of my composure. 'The King! Youforget the King. Let the Cardinal once pipe to him and he will dance.And they will dance too!' I added grimly.

  'Yes,' Frison answered eagerly. 'True, your Excellency, but the Kingwill not see him. Three times to-day, as I am told, the Cardinalhas driven to the Luxembourg and stood like any common man in theante-chamber, so that I hear it was pitiful to see him. But his Majestywould not admit him. And when he went away the last time I am told thathis face was like death! Well, he was a great man, and we may be worseruled, M. de Berault, saving your presence. If the nobles did not likehim, he was good to the traders and the bourgeoisie, and equal to all.'

  'Silence, man! Silence, and let me think,' I said, much excited. Andwhile he bustled to and fro, getting my supper, and the firelightplayed about the snug, sorry little room, and the child toyed with hisplaything, I fell to digesting this great news, and pondering how Istood now and what I ought to do. At first sight, I know, it seemed tome that I had nothing to do but to sit still. In a few hours the manwho had taken my bond would be powerless, and I should be free; in a fewhours I might smile at him. To all appearance the dice had fallen wellfor me. I had done a great thing, run a great risk, won a woman's love;and, after all, I was not to pay the penalty.

  But a word w
hich fell from Frison as he fluttered round me, pouring outthe broth and cutting the bread, dropped into my mind and spoiled mysatisfaction.

  'Yes, your Excellency,' he said, confirming something he had statedbefore and which I had missed, 'and I am told that the last time he cameinto the gallery there was not a man of all the scores who had been athis levee last Monday would speak to him. They fell off likerats--just like rats--until he was left standing alone. And I haveseen him!'--Frison lifted up his eyes and his hands and drew in hisbreath--'Ah! I have seen the King look shabby beside him! And his eye! Iwould not like to meet it now.'

  'Pish!' I growled. 'Someone has fooled you. Men are wiser than that.'

  'So? Well, your Excellency understands,' he answered meekly. 'But--thereare no cats on a cold hearth.'

  I told him again that he was a fool. But for all that, and my reasoning,I felt uncomfortable. This was a great man, if ever a great man lived,and they were all leaving him; and I--well, I had no cause to love him.But I had taken his money, I had accepted his commission, and Ihad betrayed him. These three things being so, if he fell before Icould--with the best will in the world--set myself right with him, somuch the better for me. That was my gain--the fortune of war, the turnof the dice. But if I lay hid, and took time for my ally, and being herewhile he still stood, though tottering, waited until he fell, what of myhonour then? What of the grand words I had said to Mademoiselle at Agen?I should be like the recreant in the old romance, who, lying in theditch while the battle raged, came out afterwards and boasted of hiscourage.

  And yet the flesh was weak. A day, twenty-four hours, two days, mightmake the difference between life and death, love and death; and Iwavered. But at last I settled what I would do. At noon the next day,the time at which I should have presented myself if I had not heard thisnews, at that time I would still present myself. Not earlier; I owedmyself the chance. Not later; that was due to him.

  Having so settled it, I thought to rest in peace. But with the firstlight I was awake, and it was all I could do to keep myself quiet untilI heard Frison stirring. I called to him then to know if there was anynews, and lay waiting and listening while he went down to the street tolearn. It seemed an endless time before he came back; an age, when hecame back, before he spoke.

  'Well, he has not set off?' I asked at last, unable to control myeagerness.

  Of course he had not; and at nine o'clock I sent Frison out again; andat ten and eleven--always with the same result. I was like a man waitingand looking and, above all, listening for a reprieve; and as sick asany craven. But when he came back, at eleven, I gave up hope and dressedmyself carefully. I suppose I had an odd look then, however, for Frisonstopped me at the door, and asked me, with evident alarm, where I wasgoing.

  I put the little man aside gently.

  'To the tables,' I said, 'to make a big throw, my friend.'

  It was a fine morning, sunny, keen, pleasant, when I went out into thestreet; but I scarcely noticed it. All my thoughts were where I wasgoing, so that it seemed but a step from my threshold to the HotelRichelieu; I was no sooner gone from the one than I found myself at theother. Now, as on a memorable evening when I had crossed the street ina drizzling rain, and looked that way with foreboding, there were two orthree guards, in the Cardinal's livery, loitering in front of the greatgates. Coming nearer, I found the opposite pavement under the Louvrethronged with people, not moving about their business, but standing allsilent, all looking across furtively, all with the air of persons whowished to be thought passing by. Their silence and their keen looks hadin some way an air of menace. Looking back after I had turned in towardsthe gates, I found them devouring me with their eyes.

  And certainly they had little else to look at. In the courtyard, where,some mornings, when the Court was in Paris, I had seen a score ofcoaches waiting and thrice as many servants, were now emptiness andsunshine and stillness. The officer on guard, twirling his moustachios,looked at me in wonder as I passed him; the lackeys lounging in theportico, and all too much taken up with whispering to make a pretence ofbeing of service, grinned at my appearance. But that which happened whenI had mounted the stairs and came to the door of the ante-chamber outdidall. The man on guard would have opened the door, but when I went toenter, a major-domo who was standing by, muttering with two or three ofhis kind, hastened forward and stopped me.

  'Your business, Monsieur, if you please?' he said inquisitively; while Iwondered why he and the others looked at me so strangely.

  'I am M. de Berault,' I answered sharply. 'I have the entree.'

  He bowed politely enough.

  'Yes, M. de Berault, I have the honour to know your face,' he said.'But--pardon me. Have you business with his Eminence?'

  'I have the common business,' I answered sharply. 'By which many of uslive, sirrah! To wait on him.'

  'But--by appointment, Monsieur?'

  'No,' I said, astonished. 'It is the usual hour. For the matter of that,however, I have business with him.'

  The man still looked at me for a moment in seeming embarrassment. Thenhe stood aside and signed to the door-keeper to open the door. I passedin, uncovering; with an assured face and steadfast mien, ready to meetall eyes. In a moment, on the threshold, the mystery was explained.

  The room was empty.