The Suitors of Yvonne: being a portion of the memoirs of the Sieur Gaston de Luynes
CHAPTER XIII. THE HAND OF YVONNE
We did not long remain upon the field of battle. Indeed, if we lingeredat all it was but so that Mademoiselle might bandage Michelot's wound.And whilst she did so, my stout henchman related to us how it had faredwith him, and how, having taken the two ruffians separately, he had beenwounded by the first, whom he repaid by splitting his skull, whereuponthe second one had discharged his pistol without effect, then madeoff towards the road, whilst Michelot, remembering that I might needassistance, had let him go.
"There, good Michelot," quoth Mademoiselle, completing her task, "I havedone what little I can. And now, M. de Luynes, let us go."
It was close upon seven o'clock, and night was at hand. Already the moonwas showing her large, full face above the tree-tops by Chambord, andcasting a silver streak athwart the stream. The plash of oars from theMarquis's boat was waxing indistinct despite the stillness, whilst bythe eye the boat itself was no longer to be distinguished.
As I turned, my glance fell upon the bravo whom I had shot. He laystiff and stark upon his back, his sightless eyes wide open and staringheavenwards, his face all blood-smeared and ghastly to behold.
Mademoiselle shuddered. "Let us go," she repeated in a faint whisper;her eye had also fallen on that thing, and her voice was full of awe.She laid her hand upon my sleeve and 'neath the suasion of her touch Imoved away.
To our surprise and joy we found St. Auban's coach where we had left it,with two saddled horses tethered close by. The others had doubtless beentaken by the coachman and the bravo who had escaped Michelot, both ofwhom had fled. These animals we looked upon as the spoils of war, andaccordingly when we set out in the coach,--Mademoiselle having desiredme to ride beside her therein,--Michelot wielding the reins, it was withthose two horses tethered behind.
"Monsieur de Luynes," said my companion softly, "I fear that I have doneyou a great injustice. Indeed, I know not how to crave your forgiveness,how to thank you, or how to hide my shame at those words I spoke to youthis afternoon at Canaples."
"Not another word on that score, Mademoiselle!"
And to myself I thought of what recompense already had been mine. To meit had been given to have her lean trustingly upon me, my arm about herwaist, whilst, sword in hand, I had fought for her. Dieu! Was that notsomething to have lived for?--aye, and to have died for, methought.
"I deserved, Monsieur," she continued presently, "that you should haveleft me to my fate for all the odious things I uttered when you warnedme of my peril,--for the manner in which I have treated you since yourcoming to Blois."
"You have but treated me, Mademoiselle, in the only manner in which youcould treat one so far beneath you, one who is utterly unworthy that youshould bestow a single regret upon him."
"You are strangely humble to-night, Monsieur. It is unwonted in you, andfor once you wrong yourself. You have not said that I am forgiven."
"I have naught to forgive."
"Helas! you have--indeed you have!"
"Eh, bien!" quoth I, with a return of my old tone of banter, "I forgivethen."
Thereafter we travelled on in silence for some little while, my heartfull of joy at being so near to her, and the friendliness which sheevinced for me, and my mind casting o'er my joyous heart a cloud of someindefinable evil presage.
"You are a brave man, M. de Luynes," she murmured presently, "and I havebeen taught that brave men are ever honourable and true."
"Had they who taught you that known Gaston de Luynes, they would havetold you instead that it is possible for a vile man to have the oneredeeming virtue of courage, even as it is possible for a liar to have acountenance that is sweet and innocent."
"There speaks that humble mood you are affecting, and which sits uponyou as my father's clothes might do. Nay, Monsieur, I shall believe inmy first teaching, and be deaf to yours."
Again there was a spell of silence. At last--"I have been thinking,Monsieur," she said, "of that other occasion on which you rode with me.I remember that you said you had killed a man, and when I asked you why,you said that you had done it because he sought to kill you. Was thatthe truth?"
"Assuredly, Mademoiselle. We fought a duel, and it is customary in aduel for each to seek to kill the other."
"But why was this duel fought?" she cried, with some petulance.
"I fear me, Mademoiselle, that I may not answer you," I said, recallingthe exact motives, and thinking how futile appeared the quarrel whichEugene de Canaples had sought with Andrea when viewed in the light ofwhat had since befallen.
"Was the quarrel of your seeking?"
"In a measure it was, Mademoiselle."
"In a measure!" she echoed. Then persisting, as women will--"Will younot tell me what this measure was?"
"Tenez, Mademoiselle," I answered in despair; "I will tell you justso much as I may. Your brother had occasion to be opposed to certainprojects that were being formed in Paris by persons high in poweraround a beardless boy. Himself of too small importance to dare wagewar against those powerful ones who would have crushed him, your brothersought to gain his ends by sending a challenge to this boy. The lad washigh-spirited and consented to meet M. de Canaples, by whom he wouldassuredly have been murdered--'t is the only word, Mademoiselle--had Inot intervened as I did."
She was silent for a moment. Then--"I believe you, Monsieur," she saidsimply. "You fought, then, to shield another--but why?"
"For three reasons, Mademoiselle. Firstly, those persons high in powerchose to think it my fault that the quarrel had arisen, and threatenedto hang me if the duel took place and the boy were harmed. Secondly,I myself felt a kindness for the boy. Thirdly, because, whatever sinsHeaven may record against me, it has at least ever been my way to sideagainst men who, confident of their superiority, seek, with the cowardlycourage of the strong, to harm the weak. It is, Mademoiselle, thecourage of the man who knows no fear when he strikes a woman, yet whowill shake with a palsy when another man but threatens him."
"Why did you not tell me all this before?" she whispered, after a pause.And methought I caught a quaver in her voice.
I laughed for answer, and she read my laugh aright; presently shepursued her questions and asked me the name of the boy I had defended.But I evaded her, telling her that she must need no further details tobelieve me.
"It is not that, Monsieur! I do believe you; I do indeed, but--"
"Hark, Mademoiselle!" I cried suddenly, as the clatter of many hoofssounded near at hand. "What is that?"
A shout rang out at that moment. "Halt! Who goes there?"
"Mon Dieu!" exclaimed Mademoiselle, drawing close up to me, and againthe voice sounded, this time more sinister.
"Halt, I say--in the King's name!"
The coach came to a standstill, and through the window I beheld theshadowy forms of several mounted men, and the feeble glare of a lantern.
"Who travels in the carriage, knave?" came the voice again.
"Mademoiselle de Canaples," answered Michelot; then, like a fool, hemust needs add: "Have a care whom you knave, my master, if you wouldgrow old."
"Pardieu! let us behold this Mademoiselle de Canaples who owns sofearful a warrior for a coachman."
The door was flung rudely open, and the man bearing the lantern--whoserays shone upon a uniform of the Cardinal's guards--confronted us.
With a chuckle he flashed the light in my face, then suddenly grewserious.
"Peste! Is it indeed you, M. de Luynes?" quoth he; adding, with sternpoliteness, "It grieves me to disturb you, but I have a warrant for yourarrest."
He was fumbling in his doublet as he spoke, and during the time I hadleisure to scan his countenance, recognising, to my surprise, a younglieutenant of the guards who had but recently served with me, and withwhom I had been on terms almost of friendship. His words, "I have awarrant for your arrest," came like a bolt from the blue to enlightenme, and to remind me of what St. Auban had that morning told me, andwhich for the nonce I had all but forgotten.
Upon hearing those same words, Yvonne, methought, grew pale, and hereyes were bent upon me with a look of surprise and pity.
"Upon what charge am I arrested?" I enquired, with forced composure.
"My warrant mentions none, M. de Luynes. It is here." And he thrustbefore me a paper, whose purport I could have read in its shape andseals. Idly my eye ran along the words:
"By these presents I charge and empower my lieutenant, Jean deMontresor, to seize where'er he may be found, hold, and conduct to Paristhe Sieur Gaston de Luynes--"
And so further, until the Cardinal's signature ended the legal verbiage.
"In the King's name, M. de Luynes," said Montresor, firmly yetdeferentially, "your sword!"
It would have been madness to do aught but comply with his request, andso I surrendered my rapier, which he in his turn delivered to one of hisfollowers. Next I stepped down from the coach and turned to take leaveof Mademoiselle, whereupon Montresor, thinking that peradventurematters were as they appeared to be between us, and, being a man of finefeelings, signed to his men to fall back, whilst he himself withdrew afew paces.
"Adieu, Mademoiselle!" I said simply. "I shall carry with me forconsolation the memory that I have been of service to you, and I shallever--during the little time that may be left me--be grateful to Heavenfor the opportunity that it has afforded me of causing you--perchancewithout sufficient reason--to think better of me. Adieu, Mademoiselle!God guard you!"
It was too dark to see her face, but my heart bounded with joy to catchin her voice a quaver that argued, methought, regret for me.
"What does it mean, M. de Luynes? Why are they taking you?"
"Because I have displeased my Lord Cardinal, albeit, Mademoiselle, Iswear to you that I have no cause for shame at the reasons for which Iam being arrested."
"My father is Monseigneur de Mazarin's friend," she cried. "He is alsoyours. He shall exert for you what influence he possesses."
"'T were useless, Mademoiselle. Besides, what does it signify? Again,adieu!"
She spoke no answering word, but silently held out her hand. SilentlyI took it in mine, and for a moment I hesitated, thinking of what Iwas--of what she was. At last, moved by some power that was greater thanmy will, I stooped and pressed those shapely fingers to my lips. ThenI stepped suddenly back and closed the carriage door, oppressed by afeeling akin to that of having done an evil deed.
"Have I your permission to say a word to my servant, M. le Lieutenant?"I inquired.
He bowed assent, whereat, stepping close up to the horror-strickenMichelot--
"Drive straight to the Chateau de Canaples," I said in a low voice."Thereafter return to the Lys de France and there wait until you hearfrom me. Here, take my purse; there are some fifty pistoles in it."
"Speak but the word, Monsieur," he growled, "and I'll pistol a couple ofthese dogs."
"Pah! You grow childish," I laughed, "or can you not see that fellow'smusket?"
"Pardieu! I'll risk his aim! I never yet saw one of these curs shootstraight."
"No, no, obey me, Michelot. Think of Mademoiselle. Go! Adieu! If weshould not meet again, mon brave," I finished, as I seized his loyalhand, "what few things of mine are at the hostelry shall belong to you,as well as what may be left of this money. It is little enough payment,Michelot, for all your faithfulness--"
"Monsieur, Monsieur!" he cried.
"Diable!" I muttered, "we are becoming women! Be off, you knave! Adieu!"
The peremptoriness of my tone ended our leave-taking and caused himto grip his reins and bring down his whip. The coach moved on. A whiteface, on which the moonlight fell, glanced at me from the window,then to my staring eyes naught was left but the back of the retreatingvehicle, with one of the two saddle-horses that had been tethered to itstill ambling in its wake.
"M. de Montresor," I said, thrusting my bullet-pierced hat upon my head,"I am at your service."