The False Chevalier

  CHAPTER XXIII

  THE EXECUTIONER OF DESTINY

  Lorgnette in hand, Cyrene was sitting in the music chamber of the Hotelde Noailles, scanning the bars of a sheet of music sent her by hersuitor. Near by was the harpsichord on which she was about to try it,when it seemed to her that a screen beside her trembled. Glancing for aninstant at it she was reassured. Almost immediately, however, it againshook and fixed her attention, but after watching it for a few momentsand seeing no repetition, she once more turned away, satisfied that shehad been mistaken. Then suddenly she became aware that a man wasstanding beside her, sprang to her feet and would have screamed had hisattitude not been so deferential.

  He was dressed entirely in black, of the best materials and Paris cut;his age was over fifty, and his features well made, but pinched and ofan ashen tint. His expression of strange woe roused her sympathy andquieted her fears.

  "Who are you?" she said.

  He took no notice of her words.

  "Are you la Montmorency," he asked, "the _fiancee_ of the Guardsman?"

  "This is a strange question," she exclaimed. "How does it concern you,sir?"

  "Deeply, deeply. These are matters of life and death."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Do not fear, your lover is safe. I could have killed him, but did not."

  She became roused and agitated, and the thought flashed upon her thatthe man might be a maniac.

  "You would not," she said, trying to reason with him, "have injuredanyone so good and inoffensive as Monsieur de Repentigny?"

  "Repentigny!" he cried. "It is because he bore that name that I trackedhim to Troyes. It was a Repentigny who slew my father, and blessed wasthe light of the street lamp which showed me your lover was none of thatbrood."

  "You would have killed him, you say?"

  "I was to do so, but it was by mistake."

  "Who are you, then?" she inquired with the greatest earnestness.

  "The Instrument of Vengeance. Do you hear it?" he continued, as iflistening. "The Voice of Vengeance in the distance, approaching,approaching, calling, calling? Nearer, year by year, month by month, dayby day, hour by hour, moment by moment, until when it reaches my side Ishall slay my enemy. When he fled to the farthest Indies, there he foundme; now he is in Paris, and finds me here; wherever he goes he has foundme. He knows his fate. He knows that I am the Instrument of Vengeance,that a day shall come that has not come, that this hand is the hand ofheaven, and this sword the sword of the Almighty."

  "You say he slew your father?"

  "Yes, thrust him through on the steps of our house--the House of theGolden Dog."

  "What was your father's name?"

  "The Bourgeois Philibert, of Quebec."

  "And who do you say killed him?"

  "Repentigny."

  "But not my Germain!" she exclaimed eagerly and positively.

  "No, he is none of that spawn of evil."

  "You will bear him no ill-will at any time then?" she pleaded.

  "On the contrary, he is now on my side. They are his enemies too."

  "_Who_ are his enemies?"

  "The Repentignys; but fear not, Mademoiselle, he is far superior tothem. He shall triumph and prevail, for I shall keep him, and heaven hasappointed me its Instrument. Nothing they do can prevail against me andour side."

  "Why do you say they are his enemies? They are not always enemies whocarry the same name."

  "Mademoiselle, I see you know not _this_ name," he said with gravecourtesy; "I see you know not _this_ name--this name of sorrow, thisname of blood--my father's blood--alas! alas! alas! alas!" and his voicetrembled with infinite dolor.

  "Oh, poor man," she cried, weeping. "I pity you."

  He turned upon her a dazed glance, a glance out of a mind absorbed in anunspeakable grief, and returning into his absorption, left the room.

  She had been so keenly excited from instant to instant by the statementsof Philibert that she had not checked the interview. Apart from her pityfor him, the safety of Germain was the single issue of her thoughts, andit was with alarm that she sat down and put together her impressions onthat subject. The mixture of woe with triumph on Philibert's countenanceaffected her powerfully, and the words, "You know not this name ofsorrow, this name of blood," troubled her. The vengeance, the killing,the family feud, to which he referred, what were they all? "Oh,Germain," she thought, continuing to weep, "some heavy cloud is hangingover you."

  Meanwhile the scandal had spread to several circles in Versailles, andwas lit upon by the Abbe Jude, who, too happy to contain himself, ran toCyrene and invented an order to her from the Princess to attend in herchamber; and when he had led her into the presence of her Excellency, headdressed the latter--

  "Madame has of course heard the new tale?" he said.

  "Something fresh this morning, Abbe? Who does it concern?"

  "Not the great Monsieur, the Prince, my lady, but a Monsieur of muchnearer acquaintance."

  "Indeed? Monsieur Who, then? How interesting! Make no delay."

  "The difficulty precisely is to say Who, Madame; but it is he who_calls_ himself Monsieur de Repentigny. There is in Paris at this veryinstant a _real_ Monsieur de Repentigny--no relation to our one--who ispublicly declaring our Canadian to have stolen his title, and to benothing less than a cheat."

  He gave a malicious look at Cyrene, who turned pale and caught at achair. However, the great lady herself intervened.

  "Stop, Abbe; stop, sir. This time you pass the bounds permitted you. Howdare you come into the presence of a Princess inventing such slanderousmonstrosities against your superior. A nephew, sir, of the Chevalier deBailleul, acknowledged by him as such to myself in his own chateau, isabove the aspersions of a contemptible plebeian. Let this be a lesson toyou, and never dare again to enter my sight. Footmen, conduct him outof my presence and service. No reply! I am irrevocable in this."

  "What is the commotion I heard?" exclaimed Madame l'Etiquette, enteringjust after the reader's expulsion.

  The Princess told her of Jude's insolent assertion.

  "It is a serious matter. As likely as not it is true," Madame said, andlooked severely at Cyrene.

  "I know it to be a falsehood," the latter retorted, with fieryquickness. "Those people are his enemies. I have it on the word of anhonest man and a Canadian."