CHAPTER IX
The next morning Wogan was tossing from side to side in a high fever.The fever itself was of no great importance, but it had consequences ofa world-wide influence, for it left Wogan weak and tied to his bed; sothat it was Gaydon who travelled to Rome and obtained the Pope'spassport. Gaydon consequently saw what otherwise Wogan would have seen;and Gaydon, the cautious, prudent Gaydon, was careful to avoid making aninopportune discovery, whereas Wogan would never have rested until hehad made it.
Gaydon stayed in Rome a week, lying snug and close in a lodging only onestreet removed from that house upon the Tiber where his King lived.Secrets had a way of leaking out, and Gaydon was determined that thisone should not through any inattention of his. He therefore never wentabroad until dark, and even then kept aloof from the house whichoverlooked the Tiber. His business he conducted through his servant,sending him to and fro between Edgar, the secretary, and himself. Oneaudience of his King alone he asked, and that was to be granted him onthe day of his departure from Rome.
Thus the time hung very heavily upon him. From daybreak to dusk he wascooped within a little insignificant room which looked out upon a littleinsignificant street. His window, however, though it promised littlediversion, was his one resource. Gaydon was a man of observation, andfound a pleasure in guessing at this and that person's business from hisappearance, his dress, and whether he went fast or slow. So he satsteadily at his window, and after a day or two had passed he began to bepuzzled. The moment he was puzzled he became interested. On the secondday he drew his chair a little distance back from the window andwatched. On the third day he drew his chair close to the window, but atthe side and against the wall. In this way he could see everything thathappened and everyone who passed, and yet remain himself unobserved.
Almost opposite to his window stood a small mean house fallen intoneglect and disrepair. The windows were curtained with dust, many of thepanes were broken, the shutters hung upon broken hinges, the paint waspeeling from the door. The house had the most melancholy aspect of longdisuse. It seemed to belong to no one and to be crumbling pitifully toruin like an aged man who has no friends. Yet this house had its uses,which Gaydon could not but perceive were of a secret kind. On the veryfirst day that Gaydon sat at his window a man, who seemed from his dressto be of a high consideration, came sauntering along that sordidthoroughfare, where he seemed entirely out of place, like a butterflyon the high seas. To Gaydon's surprise he stopped at the door, gave acautious look round, and rapped quickly with his stick. At once the doorof that uninhabited house was opened. The man entered, the door wasclosed upon him, and a good hour by Gaydon's watch elapsed before it wasopened again to let him out. In the afternoon another man came and wasadmitted with the same secrecy. Both men had worn their hats drawn downupon their foreheads, and whereas one of them held a muffler to hisface, the other had thrust his chin within the folds of his cravat.Gaydon had not been able to see the face of either. After nightfall heremarked that such visits became more frequent. Moreover, they wererepeated on the next day and the next. Gaydon watched, but never got anynearer to a solution of the mystery. At the end of the sixth day he wasmore puzzled and interested than ever, for closely as he had watched hehad not seen the face of any man who had passed in and out of that door.
But he was to see a face that night.
At nine o'clock a messenger from Edgar, the secretary, brought him apackage which contained a letter and the passport for these six daysdelayed. The letter warned him that Edgar himself would come to fetchhim in the morning to his audience with James. The passport gaveauthority to a Flemish nobleman, the Count of Cernes, to make apilgrimage to Loretto with his wife and family. The name of Warner hadserved its turn and could no longer be employed.
As soon as the messenger had gone, Gaydon destroyed Edgar's letter, putthe passport safely away in his breast, and since he had not left hisroom that day, put on his hat. Being a prudent man with a turn foreconomy, he also extinguished his lamp. He had also a liking for freshair, so he opened the window, and at the same moment the door of thehouse opposite was opened. A tall burly man with a lantern in his handstepped out into the street; he was followed by a slight man of a shortstature. Both men were wrapped in their cloaks, but the shorter onetripped on a break in the road and his cloak fell apart. His companionturned at once and held his lantern aloft. Just for a second the lighttherefore flashed upon a face, and Gaydon at his dark window caught aglimpse of it. The face was the face of his King.
Gaydon was more than ever puzzled. He had only seen the face for aninstant; moreover, he was looking down upon it, so that he might bemistaken. He felt, however, that he was not, and he began to wonder atthe business that could take his King to this mysterious house. Butthere was one thing of which he was sure amidst all his doubts, Rome wasnot the safest city in the world for a man to walk about at nights. HisKing would be none the worse off for a second guardian who would follownear enough to give help and far enough for discretion. Gaydon went downhis stairs into the street. The lantern twinkled ahead; Gaydon followedit until it stopped before a great house which had lights burning hereand there in the windows. The smaller man mounted the steps and wasadmitted; his big companion with the lantern remained outside.
Gaydon, wishing to make sure of his conjectures one way or the other,walked quickly past him and stole a glance sideways at his face. But theman with the lantern looked at Gaydon at the same moment. Their eyesmet, and the lantern was immediately held aloft.
"It is Major Gaydon."
Gaydon had to make the best of the business. He bowed.
"Mr. Whittington, I think."
"Sir," said Whittington, politely, "I am honoured by your memory. Formyself, I never forget a face though I see it but for a moment betweenthe light and the dark, but I do not expect the like from myacquaintances. We did meet, I believe, in Paris? You are of Dillon'sregiment?"
"And on leave in Rome," said Gaydon, a trifle hastily.
"On leave?" said Whittington, idly. "Well, so far as towns go, Rome isas good as another, though, to tell the truth, I find them all quiteunendurable. Would I were on leave! but I am pinned here, a watchmanwith a lantern. I do but lack a rattle, though, to be sure, I could notspring it. We are secret to-night, major. Do you know what house thisis?"
"No," replied Gaydon. "But I am waited for and will bid you good-night."
He had a thought that the Chevalier, since he would be secret, hadchosen his watchman rather ill. He had no wish to pry, and so was forreturning to his lodging; but that careless, imprudent man, Whittington,would not lose a companion so easily. He caught Gaydon by the arm.
"Well, it is the house of Maria Vittoria, Mademoiselle de Caprara, theheiress of Bologna, who has only this evening come to Rome. And so nolater than this evening I am playing link-boy, appointed by letterspatent, one might say. But what will you? Youth is youth, whether in aploughboy or a--But my tongue needs a gag. Another word, and I had saidtoo much. Well, since you will be going, good-night. We shall meet, nodoubt, in a certain house that overlooks the Tiber."
"Hardly," said Gaydon, "since I leave Rome to-morrow."
"Indeed? You leave Rome to-morrow?" said Whittington. "I would I were asfortunate," and he jerked his thumb dolefully towards the CapraraPalace. Gaydon hesitated for a moment, considering whether or not heshould ask Whittington to be silent upon their meeting. But hedetermined the man was too incautious in his speech. If he begged himnot to mention Gaydon's presence in Rome, he would remember it the moresurely, and if nothing was said he might forget it. Gaydon wished himgood-night and went back to his lodging, walking rather moodily.Whittington looked after him and chuckled.
Meanwhile, in a room of the house two people sat,--one the slight,graceful man who had accompanied Whittington and whom Gaydon hadcorrectly guessed to be his King, the other, Maria Vittoria de Caprara.The Chevalier de St. George was speaking awkwardly with a voice whichbroke. Maria listened with a face set and drawn. She was a girl both infeatures
and complexion of a remarkable purity. Of colour, but for herred lips, she had none. Her hair was black, her face of a clear pallorwhich her hair made yet more pale. Her eyes matched her hair, and wereso bright and quick a starry spark seemed to glow in the depths of them.She was a poet's simile for night.
The Chevalier ended and sat with his eyes turned away. Maria Vittoriadid not change her attitude, nor for a while did she answer, but thetears gathered in her eyes and welled over. They ran down her cheeks;she did not wipe them away, she did not sob, nor did her face alter fromits fixity. She did not even close her eyes. Only the tears rained downso silently that the Prince was not aware of them. He had even a thoughtas he sat with his head averted that she might have shown a trifle moreof distress, and it was almost with a reproach upon his lips that heturned to her. Never was a man more glad that he had left a wordunspoken. This silent grief of tears cut him to the heart.
"Maria!" he cried, and moved towards her. She made no gesture to repelhim, she did not move, but she spoke in a whisper.
"His Holiness the Pope had consented to our marriage. What would I nothave done for you?"
The Chevalier stooped over her and took her hand. The hand remainedinert in his.
"Maria!"
"Would that I were poor! Would that I were powerless! But I am rich--sorich. I could have done so much. I am alone--so much alone. What would Inot have done for you?"
"Maria!"
His voice choked upon the word, his lips touched her hair, and sheshivered from head to foot. Then her hand tightened fast upon his; shedrew him down almost fiercely until he sank upon his knees by her side;she put an arm about his shoulder and held him to her breast.
"But you love me," she said quickly. "Tell me so! Say, 'I love you, Ilove you, I love you.' Oh that we both could die, you saying it, Ihearing it,--die to-night, like this, my arm about you, your faceagainst my heart! My lord, my lord!" and then she flung him from her,holding him at arm's length. "Say it with your eyes on mine! I can seethough the tears fall. I shall never hear the words again afterto-night. Do not stint me of them; let them flow just as these tearsflow. They will leave no more trace than do my tears."
"Maria, I love you," said the Chevalier. "How I do love you!" He tookher hands from his shoulders and pressed his forehead upon them. Sheleaned forward, and in a voice so low it seemed her heart waswhispering, not her mouth, she made her prayer.
"Say that you have no room in your thoughts except for me. Say that youhave no scrap of love--" He dropped her hands and drew away; she caughthim to her. "No, no! Say that you have no scrap of love to toss to thewoman there in Innspruck!"
"Maria!" he exclaimed.
"Hush!" said she, with a woful smile. "To-morrow you shall love her;to-morrow I will not ask your eyes to dwell on mine or your hand toquiver as it touches mine. But to-night love no one but me."
For answer he kissed her on the lips. She took his head between herhands and gave the kiss back, gently as though her lips feared to bruisehis, slowly as though this one moment must content her for all her life.Then she looked at him for a little, and with a childish movement thatwas infinitely sad she laid his face side by side with hers so that hischeek touched hers.
"Shall I tell you my thought?" she asked. "Shall I dare to tell you it?"
"Tell it me!"
"God has died to-night. Hush! Do not move! Do not speak! Perhaps theworld will slip and crumble if we but stay still." And they remainedthus cheek to cheek silent in the room, staring forward with eyes wideopen and hopeful. The very air seemed to them a-quiver withexpectation. They, too, had an expectant smile upon their lips. Butthere was no crack of thunder overhead, no roar of a slipping world.
"CHEEK TO CHEEK, SILENT IN THE ROOM, STARING FORWARD WITHEYES WIDE OPEN AND HOPEFUL."--_Page 136_.] The Chevalier was the firstto move.
"But we are children," he cried, starting up. "Is it not strange thevery pain which tortures us because we are man and woman should sink usinto children? We sit hoping that a miracle will split the world inpieces! This is the Caprara Palace; Whittington drowses outside over hislantern; and to-morrow Gaydon rides with his passport northwards toCharles Wogan."
The name hurt Maria Vittoria like a physical torture. She beat her handstogether with a cry, "I hate him! I hate him!"
"Yet I have no better servant!"
"Speak no good word of him in my ears! He robs me of you."
"He risks his life for me."
"I will pray that he may lose it."
"Maria!"
The Chevalier started, thrilled and almost appalled by the violence ofher passion.
"I do pray," she cried. "Every fibre in me tingles with the prayer. Oh,I hate him! Why did you give him leave to rescue her?"
"Could I refuse? I did delay him; I did hesitate. Only to-day Gaydonreceives the passport, and even so I have delayed too long. Indeed,Maria, I dare not think of the shame, the danger, her Highness hasendured for me, lest my presence here, even for this farewell, shouldtoo bitterly reproach me."
At that all Maria Vittoria's vehemence left her. She fell to beseechingsand entreaties. With her vehemence went also her dignity. She droppedupon her knees and dragged herself across the room to him. To James herhumility was more terrible than her passion, for passion had alwaysdistinguished her, and he was familiar with it; but pride had alwaysgone hand in hand with it. He stepped forward and would have raised herfrom the ground, but Maria would have none of his help; she crouched athis feet pleading.
"You told me business would call you to Spain. Go there! Stay there! Fora little--oh, not for long! But for a month, say, after your Princesscomes triumphing into Bologna. Promise me that! I could not bear thatyou should meet her as she comes. There would be shouts; I can hearthem. No, I will not have it! I can see her proud cursed face a-flush.No! You think too much of what she has suffered. If I could havesuffered too! But suffering, shame, humiliation, these fall to women,always have fallen. We have learnt to bear them so that we feel themless than you. My dear lord, believe me! Her suffering is no greatthing. If we love we welcome it! Each throb of pain endured for lovebecomes a thrill of joy. If I could have suffered too!"
It was strange to hear this girl with the streaming eyes and tormentedface bewail her fate in that she had not won that great privilege ofsuffering. She knelt on the ground a splendid image of pain, and longedfor pain that she might prove thereby how little a thing she made of it.The Chevalier drew a stool to her side and seating himself upon itclasped her about the waist. She laid her cheek upon his knee just as adog will do.
"Sweetheart," said he, "I would have no woman suffer a pang for me had Imy will of the world. But since that may not be, I do not believe thatany woman could be deeper hurt than you are now."
"Not Clementina?"
"No."
Maria uttered a little sigh. Her pain gave her a sort of ownership ofthe man who caused it. "Nor can she love as deep," she continuedquietly. "A Sobieski from the snows! Love was born here in Italy. Sherobs me of you. I hate her." Then she raised her face eagerly. "CharlesWogan may fail."
"You do not know him."
"The cleverest have made mistakes and died for them."
"Wogan makes mistakes like another, but somehow gets the better of themin the end. There was a word he said to me when he begged for mypermission. I told him his plan was a mere dream. He answered he woulddream it true; he will."
"You should have waked him. You were the master, he the servant. Youwere the King."
"And when can the King do what he wills instead of what he must? Maria,if you and I had met before I sent Charles Wogan to search out a wifefor me--"
Maria Vittoria knelt up. She drew herself away.
"He chose her as your wife?"
"If only I had had time to summon him back!"
"He chose her--Charles Wogan. How I hate him!"
"I sent him to make the choice."
"And he might have gone no step beyond Bologna. There was I not a miledistant ready to h
is hand! But I was too mean, too despicable--"
"Maria, hush!" And the troubled voice in which he spoke rang with somuch pain that she was at once contrite with remorse.
"My lord, I hurt you, so you see how I am proven mean. Give me your handand laugh to me; laugh with your heart and eyes and lips. I am jealousof your pain. I am a woman. I would have it all, gather it all into mybosom, and cherish each sharp stab like a flower my lover gives to me. Iam glad of them. They are flowers that will not wither. Add a kiss,sweetheart, the sharpest stab, and so the chief flower, the very rose offlowers. There, that is well," and she rose from her knees and turnedaway. So she stood for a little, and when she turned again she wore uponher face the smile which she had bidden rise in his.
"Would we were free!" cried the Chevalier.
"But since we are not, let us show brave faces to the world and hide ourhearts. I do wish you all happiness. But you will go to Spain. There'sa friend's hand in warrant of the wish."
She held out a hand which clasped his firmly without so much as atremor.
"Good-night, my friend," said she. "Speak those same words to me, and noword more. I am tired with the day's doings. I have need of sleep, oh,great need of it!"
The Chevalier read plainly the overwhelming strain her counterfeit offriendliness put upon her. He dared not prolong it. Even as he looked ather, her lips quivered and her eyes swam.
"Good-night, my friend," said he.
She conducted him along a wide gallery to the great staircase where herlackeys waited. Then he bowed to her and she curtsied low to him, but noword was spoken by either. This little comedy must needs be played inpantomime lest the actors should spoil it with a show of broken hearts.
Maria Vittoria went back to the room. She could have hindered Wogan ifshe had had the mind. She had the time to betray him; she knew of hispurpose. But the thought of betrayal never so much as entered herthoughts.
She hated him, she hated Clementina, but she was loyal to her King. Shesat alone in her palace, her chin propped upon her hands, and in alittle in her wide unblinking eyes the tears gathered again and rolleddown her cheeks and on her hands. She wept silently and without amovement, like a statue weeping.
The Chevalier found Whittington waiting for him, but the candle in hislantern had burned out.
"I have kept you here a wearisome long time," he said with an effort. Itwas not easy for him to speak upon an indifferent matter.
"I had some talk with Major Gaydon which helped me to beguile it," saidWhittington.
"Gaydon!" exclaimed the Chevalier, "are you certain?"
"A man may make mistakes in the darkness," said Whittington.
"To be sure."
"And I never had an eye for faces."
"It was not Gaydon, then?" said the Chevalier.
"It may not have been," said Whittington, "and by the best of goodfortune I said nothing to him of any significance whatever."
The Chevalier was satisfied with the reply. He had chosen the rightattendant for this nocturnal visit. Had Gaydon met with a more observantman than Whittington outside the Caprara Palace, he might have got anumber of foolish suspicions into his head.
Gaydon, however, was at that moment in his bed, saying to himself thatthere were many matters concerning which it would be an impertinence forhim to have one meddlesome thought. By God's blessing he was a soldierand no politician. He fell asleep comforted by that conclusion.
In the morning Edgar, the Chevalier's secretary, came privately to him.
"The King will receive you now," said he. "Let us go."
"It is broad daylight. We shall be seen."
"Not if the street is empty," said Edgar, looking out of the window.
The street, as it chanced, was for the moment empty. Edgar crossed thestreet and rapped quickly with certain pauses between the raps on thedoor of that deserted house into which Gaydon had watched men enter. Thedoor was opened. "Follow me," said Edgar. Gaydon followed him into abare passage unswept and with discoloured walls. A man in a little hutchin the wall opened and closed the door with a string.
Edgar walked forward to the end of the passage with Gaydon at his heels.The two men came to a flight of stone steps, which they descended. Thesteps led to a dark and dripping cellar with no pavement but the mud,and that depressed into puddles. The air was cold and noisome; the wallsto the touch of Gaydon's hand were greasy with slime. He followed Edgaracross the cellar into a sort of tunnel. Here Edgar drew an end ofcandle from his pocket and lighted it. The tunnel was so low thatGaydon, though a shortish man, could barely hold his head erect. Hefollowed Edgar to the end and up a flight of winding steps. The air grewwarmer and dryer. They had risen above ground, the spiral wound withinthe thickness of a wall. The steps ended abruptly; there was no doorvisible; in face of them and on each side the bare stone walls enclosedthem. Edgar stooped down and pressed with his finger on a roundinsignificant discolouration of the stone. Then he stood up again.
"You will breathe no word of this passage, Major Gaydon," said he. "Thehouse was built a century ago when Rome was more troubled than it isto-day, but the passage was never more useful than now. Men fromEngland, whose names it would astonish you to know, have trodden thesesteps on a secret visit to the King. Ah!" From the wall before theirfaces a great slab of the size of a door sank noiselessly down anddisclosed a wooden panel. The panel slid aside. Edgar and Gaydon steppedinto a little cabinet lighted by a single window. The room was empty.Gaydon took a peep out of the window and saw the Tiber eddying beneath.Edgar went to a corner and touched a spring. The stone slab rose fromits grooves; the panel slid back across it; at the same moment the doorof the room was opened, and the Chevalier stepped across the threshold.
Gaydon could no longer even pretend to doubt who had walked withWhittington to the Caprara Palace the night before. It was none of hisbusiness, however, he assured himself. If his King dwelt with emphasisupon the dangers of the enterprise, it was not his business to remarkupon it or to be thereby disheartened. The King said very graciouslythat he would hold the major and his friends in no less esteem if by anymisfortune they came back empty-handed. That was most kind of him, butit was none of Gaydon's business. The King was ill at ease and looked asthough he had not slept a wink the livelong night. Well, swollen eyesand a patched pallid face disfigure all men at times, and in any casethey were none of Gaydon's business.
He rode out of Rome that afternoon as the light was failing. He rode ata quick trot, and did not notice at the corner of a street a bigstalwart man who sauntered along swinging his stick by the tassel with avacant look of idleness upon the passers-by. He stopped and directed thesame vacant look at Gaydon.
But he was thinking curiously, "Will he tell Charles Wogan?"
The stalwart man was Harry Whittington.
Gaydon, however, never breathed a word about the Caprara Palace when hehanded the passport to Charles Wogan at Schlestadt. Wogan was sittingpropped up with pillows in a chair, and he asked Gaydon many questionsof the news at Rome, and how the King bore himself.
"The King was not in the best of spirits," said Gaydon.
"With this," cried Wogan, flourishing the passport, "we'll find a meansto hearten him."
Gaydon filled a pipe and lighted it.
"Will you tell me, Wogan," he asked,--"I am by nature curious,--was itthe King who proposed this enterprise to you, or was it you who proposedit to the King?"
The question had an extraordinary effect. Wogan was startled out of hischair.
"What do you mean?" he exclaimed fiercely. There was something more thanfierceness in the words,--an accent of fear, it almost seemed to Gaydon.There was a look almost of fear in his eyes, as though he had let someappalling secret slip. Gaydon stared at him in wonder, and Woganrecovered himself with a laugh. "Faith," said he, "it is a question toperplex a man. I misdoubt but we both had the thought about the sametime. 'Wogan,' said he, 'there's the Princess with a chain on her leg,so to speak,' and I answered him, 'A chain's a galling sort
of thing toa lady's ankle.' There was little more said if I remember right."
Gaydon nodded as though his curiosity was now satisfied. Wogan's alarmwas strange, no doubt, strange and unexpected like the Chevalier's visitto the Caprara Palace. Gaydon had a glimpse of dark and troubled waters,but he turned his face away. They were none of his business.