The Suitors of Yvonne: being a portion of the memoirs of the Sieur Gaston de Luynes
CHAPTER XI. OF A WOMAN'S OBSTINACY
"M. de Luynes is a wizard," quoth Andrea, laughing, in answer tosomething that had been said.
It was afternoon. We had dined, and the bright sunshine and spring-likemildness of the weather had lured us out upon the terrace. Yvonne andGenevieve occupied the stone seat. Andrea had perched himself upon thegranite balustrade, and facing them he sat, swinging his shapely legsto and fro as he chatted merrily, whilst on either side of him stood theChevalier de Canaples and I.
"If M. de Luynes be as great a wizard in other things as with the sword,then, pardieu, he is a fearful magician," said Canaples.
I bowed, yet not so low but that I detected a sneer on Yvonne's lips.
"So, pretty lady," said I to myself, "we shall see if presently your lipwill curl when I show you something of my wizard's art."
And presently my chance came. M. de Canaples found reason to leave us,and no sooner was he gone than Genevieve remembered that she had thatday discovered a budding leaf upon one of the rose bushes in the gardenbelow. Andrea naturally caused an argument by asserting that she wasthe victim of her fancy, as it was by far too early in the year. Bythat means these two found the plea they sought for quitting us, sinceneither could rest until the other was convinced.
So down they went into that rose garden which methought was like toprove their fool's paradise, and Yvonne and I were left alone. Then shealso rose, but as she was on the point of quitting me:
"Mademoiselle," I ventured, "will you honour me by remaining for amoment? There is something that I would say to you."
With raised eyebrows she gave me a glance mingled with thatsuperciliousness which she was for ever bestowing upon me, and which,from the monotony of it alone, grew irksome.
"What can you have to say to me, M. de Luynes?"
"Will you not be seated? I shall not long detain you, nevertheless--"
"If I stand, perchance you will be more brief. I am waiting, Monsieur."
I shrugged my shoulders rudely. Why, indeed, be courteous where solittle courtesy was met with?
"A little while ago, Mademoiselle, when M. de Mancini dubbed me a wizardyou were good enough to sneer. Now, a sneer, Mademoiselle, impliesunbelief, and I would convince you that you were wrong to disbelieve."
"If you have no other motive for detaining me, suffer me to depart," sheinterrupted with some warmth. "Whether you be a wizard or not is of nomoment to me."
"And yet I dare swear that you will be of a different mind within fiveminutes. A wizard is one who discloses things unknown to his fellow-men.I am about to convince you that I can do this, and by convincing you Iam about to serve you."
"I seek neither conviction nor service at your hands," she answered.
"Your courtesy dumfounds me, Mademoiselle!"
"No less than does your insolence dumfound me," she retorted, withcrimson cheeks. "Do you forget, sir, that I know you for what you are--agamester, a libertine, a duellist, the murderer of my brother?"
"That your brother lives, Mademoiselle, is, methinks, sufficient proofthat I have not murdered him."
"You willed his death if you did not encompass it; so 't is all one.Do you not understand that it is because my father receives you here,thanks to M. de Mancini, your friend--a friendship easily understoodfrom the advantages you must derive from it--that I consent to endureyour presence and the insult of your glance? Is it not enough thatI should do this, and have you not wit enough to discern it, withoutadding to my shame by your insolent call upon my courtesy?"
Her words cut me as no words that I ever heard, and, more than herwords, her tone of loathing and disgust unspeakable. For half thatspeech I should have killed a man--indeed, I had killed men for lessthan half. And yet, for all the passion that raged in my soul, Ipreserved upon my countenance a smiling mask. That smile exhausted herpatience and increased her loathing, for with a contemptuous exclamationshe turned away.
"Tarry but a moment, Mademoiselle," I cried, with a sudden note ofcommand. "Or, if you will go, go then; but take with you my assurancethat before nightfall you will weep bitterly for it."
My words arrested her. The mystery of them awakened her curiosity.
"You speak in riddles, Monsieur."
"Like a true wizard, Mademoiselle. You received a letter this morning ina handwriting unknown, and bearing no signature."
She wheeled round and faced me again with a little gasp of astonishment.
"How know you that? Ah! I understand; you wrote it!"
"What shrewdness, Mademoiselle!" I laughed, ironically. "Come; thinkagain. What need have I to bid you meet me in the coppice yonder? May Inot speak freely with you here?"
"You know the purport of that letter?"
"I do, Mademoiselle, and I know more. I know that this hinted conspiracyagainst your father is a trumped-up lie to lure you to the coppice."
"And for what purpose, pray?"
"An evil one,--your abduction. Shall I tell you who penned that note,and who awaits you? The Marquis Cesar de St. Auban."
She shuddered as I pronounced the name, then, looking me straightbetween the eyes--"How come you to know these things?" she inquired.
"What does it signify, since I know them?"
"This, Monsieur, that unless I learn how, I can attach no credit to yourpreposterous story."
"Not credit it!" I cried. "Let me assure you that I have spoken thetruth; let me swear it. Go to the coppice at the appointed time, andthings will fall out as I have predicted."
"Again, Monsieur, how know you this?" she persisted, as women will.
"I may not tell you."
We stood close together, and her clear grey eyes met mine, her lipcurling in disdain.
"You may not tell me? You need not. I can guess." And she tossed hershapely head and laughed. "Seek some likelier story, Monsieur. Had younot spoken of it, 't is likely I should have left the letter unheeded.But your disinterested warning has determined me to go to thisrendezvous. Shall I tell you what I have guessed? That this conspiracyagainst my father, the details of which you would not have me learn,is some evil of your own devising. Ah! You change colour!" she cried,pointing to my face. Then with a laugh of disdain she left me before Ihad sufficiently recovered from my amazement to bid her stay.
"Ciel!" I cried, as I watched the tall, lissom figure vanish through theportals of the chateau. "Did ever God create so crass and obstinate athing as woman?"
It occurred to me to tell Andrea, and bid him warn her. But then shewould guess that I had prompted him. Naught remained but to lay thematter before the Chevalier de Canaples. Already I had informed him ofmy fracas with St. Auban, and of the duel that was to be fought thatnight, and he, in his turn, had given me the details of his stormyinterview with the Marquis, which had culminated in St. Auban'sdismissal from Canaples. I had not hitherto deemed it necessary to alarmhim with the news imparted to me by Malpertuis, imagining that did Iinform Mademoiselle that would suffice.
Now, however, as I have said, no other course was left me but to tellhim of it. Accordingly, I went within and inquired of Guilbert, whom Imet in the hall, where I might find the Chevalier. He answered me thatM. de Canaples was not in the chateau. It was believed that he had gonewith M. Louis, the intendant of the estates, to visit the vineyards atMontcroix.
The news made me choke with impatience. Already it was close upon fiveo'clock, and in another hour the sun would set and the Angelus wouldtoll the knell of Mademoiselle's preposterous suspicions, unless in themeantime I had speech with Canaples, and led him to employ a father'sauthority to keep his daughter indoors.
Fuming at the contretemps I called for my horse and set out at a brisktrot for Montcroix. But my ride was fruitless. The vineyard peasants hadnot seen the Chevalier for over a week.
Now, 'twixt Montcroix and the chateau there lies a good league, and tomake matters worse, as I galloped furiously back to Canaples, an evilchance led me to mistake the way and pursue a track that brought me outon the very banks o
f the river, with a strong belt of trees screeningthe chateau from sight, and defying me to repair my error by goingstraight ahead.
I was forced to retrace my steps, and before I had regained the pointwhere I had gone astray a precious quarter of an hour was wasted, andthe sun already hung, a dull red globe, on the brink of the horizon.
Clenching my teeth, I tore at my horse's flanks, and with a bloody heelI drove the maddened brute along at a pace that might have cost us bothdearly. I dashed, at last, into the quadrangle, and, throwing the reinsto a gaping groom, I sprang up the steps.
"Has the Chevalier returned?" I gasped breathlessly.
"Not yet, Monsieur," answered Guilbert with a tranquillity that made medesire to strangle him. "Is Mademoiselle in the chateau?" was my nextquestion, mechanically asked.
"I saw her on the terrace some moments ago. She has not since comewithin."
Like one possessed I flew across the intervening room and out on to theterrace. Genevieve and Andrea were walking there, deep in conversation.At another time I might have cursed their lack of prudence. At themoment I did not so much as remark it.
"Where is Mademoiselle de Canaples?" I burst out.
They gazed at me, as much astounded by my question and the abruptness ofit as by my apparent agitation.
"Has anything happened?" inquired Genevieve, her blue eyes wide open.
"Yes--no; naught has happened. Tell me where she is. I must speak toher."
"She was here a while ago," said Andrea, "but she left us to strollalong the river bank."
"How long is it since she left you?"
"A quarter of an hour, perhaps."
"Something has happened!" cried Genevieve, and added more, maybe, but Iwaited not to hear.
Muttering curses as I ran--for 't was my way to curse where pious soulsmight pray--I sped back to the quadrangle and my horse.
"Follow me," I shouted to the groom, "you and as many of your fellowsas you can find. Follow me at once--at once, mark you--to the coppiceby the river." And without waiting for his answer, I sent my horsethundering down the avenue. The sun was gone, leaving naught but aroseate streak to tell of its passage, and at that moment a distant belltinkled forth the Angelus.
With whip, spur, and imprecations I plied my steed, a prey to suchexcitement as I had never known until that moment--not even in thecarnage of battle.
I had no plan. My mind was a chaos of thought without a singleclear idea to light it, and I never so much as bethought me thatsingle-handled I was about to attempt to wrest Yvonne from the hands ofperchance half a dozen men. To save time I did not far pursue the road,but, clearing a hedge, I galloped ventre-a-terre across the meadowtowards the little coppice by the waterside. As I rode I saw no sign ofany moving thing. No sound disturbed the evening stillness save the dullthump of my horse's hoofs upon the turf, and a great fear arose in myheart that I might come too late.
At last I reached the belt of trees, and my fears grew into certainty.The place was deserted.
Then a fresh hope sprang up. Perchance, thinking of my warning, she hadseen the emptiness of her suspicions towards me, and had pursued thatwalk of hers in another direction.
But when I had penetrated to the little open space within that clusterof naked trees, I had proof overwhelming that the worst had befallen.Not only on the moist ground was stamped the impress of struggling feet,but on a branch I found a strip of torn green velvet, and, rememberingthe dress she had worn that day, I understood to the full thesignificance of that rag, and, understanding it, I groaned aloud.