CHAPTER X
THE BITER BITTEN
When Torquato Trotto lifted the candle to guide mademoiselle and LaMarmotte from the supper-room he was confident in the success of hisplan, and already heard the jingle of Simon's crown-pieces in his ears.Perhaps it was the certainty that the birds were caged that made him atrifle careless, and so there was something in his air and in theglance he cast back upon his companions, whilst leading them throughthe gallery, that filled mademoiselle with a sudden fear, and, but forher pride, she would have run back to my side. So she nerved herself,and went on to La Marmotte's room, though it was with a quaking heart.At the door Torquato stopped, expressed a civil hope that mademoisellewould be comfortable, and, bowing politely to her as she passed in,handed the candle to La Marmotte, and was about to return when he felthis arm seized. It was La Marmotte, and she looked into his face witheager, searching eyes as she asked: "What does this mean?--moretreachery?"
There was a bitter note in her voice, and the Italian looked at hersteadily. "She grows old," his thoughts ran on, "old, and exacting; Imust end this." Then, because there was other business on hand, herestrained himself, and answered calmly:
"I mean no harm to her, I assure you."
With this he tried to disengage himself; but La Marmotte was notsatisfied. She felt he was lying. Then, too, all the vague feelingsof the past that had somehow been aroused in her that night were awakeand groping in her poor heart, and, perhaps, with these emotions therewas jealousy--who knows?
Time had been in the gay days in Paris when La Marmotte could havecounted her lovers by the score. At last fate had thrown her acrossthe path of the Italian, and she, although knowing him evil, loved himnone the less, and followed his uncertain fortune like a faithful dog;but years were going, and beauty was fading, and her heart was fearfullest she should be cast adrift.
"Trotto," she said, and her voice was husky, "I--I do not like this.Let them go."
Torquato Trotto cursed under his breath; but time was short, and hecould not afford to waste it. He bent down and kissed the woman's hand.
"_Carissima_! have no fear. And now let me go and see to our guest'swounds." With this he freed himself, and went back.
La Marmotte stood for a pace watching the dim figure as it slippedthrough the gloom of the corridor, the candle in her hand casting itslight on her red lips, her white neck and arms, and on the silken blackhair that hung to her waist. Then with a half-stifled sigh shefollowed mademoiselle, and stepped into the room. It was empty. LaMarmotte's heart almost stood still, and the candlestick she held allbut fell from her trembling hand, as the poor wretch thought of thewrath that would overtake her if her charge escaped. But it wasimpossible! It could not be! And La Marmotte made another stepforward, and as she looked she saw a white-robed figure kneeling at a_prie-dieu_, half concealed by the valence of the bed.
"It is her," murmured La Marmotte with a sudden relief; and then shealmost spoke the words aloud, "she prays." And after a moment ofhesitation, she crept up softly, step by step, and stood behindmademoiselle, a tumult of strange thoughts in her soul. La Marmottequivered from head to foot. Near her was a small table. With ashaking hand she placed the light thereon, and made yet another stepforward.
Prayer! Years had passed since she had prayed. It was years since shehad learned to laugh at the soul's communion with its God; to laugh,and yet to know, in her heart of hearts, that she lied to herself.After all, life had gone gaily with her. She was as a sleep-walker insome garden of dreamland until this girl had come, and with her comingstartled her into wakefulness. And, standing there, La Marmotte wasfor the moment innocent and pure in heart. "I will pray too," shethought. What she was going to say, what she was going to ask from herCreator, never struck her. All that she felt in her impulsive andemotional heart was an overpowering desire to pray. She half sank onher knees, and then sprang up, flushed and trembling, for at the momentmademoiselle arose, and, turning, saw her.
"Mademoiselle was praying?" stammered the woman.
"Yes, madame. I was thanking God for our escape, and for the friendsHe has given us here."
La Marmotte thought of Simon lurking in his chamber. She thought ofTorquato Trotto, and she shivered at the thought. Mademoiselle came upto her, and placing a hand on her shoulder, said: "I will never forgetthe kindness I have had here."
It was too much for La Marmotte. She shrank from the gentle touch.
"Don't," she said; "I am not worthy."
But mademoiselle simply leaned forward and kissed her forehead, and thecaress broke the woman down.
Falling on her knees she sobbed out: "Forgive! forgive! Mademoiselle,there is danger here! They are going to kill here! Go back tomonsieur, and leave this place whilst there is time. Better trust tothe mercy of the forest wolves than the mercy of Le Jaquemart."
"Is this true?"
"True as I kneel before you." And, springing to her feet, La Marmottewent on: "But there is no time to waste; come--come at once. A--h!"For the loud report of the arquebus, and Pierrebon's angry shout, rangout; then followed the rasping of swords, and the two stood speechless,staring at each other.
But mademoiselle was brave, and she came to herself.
"Oh! they are killing him." And she flew to the door, but La Marmotteclung to her. "Not that way! There is dreadful work there!Here!--come here with me!"
So saying she strove to drag mademoiselle back; but the latter, with astrength surprising in one so slight, freed herself, and slipping pastLa Marmotte made for the corridor. Down this she ran, almost brushingagainst a figure crouching behind the arras--a figure skulking therelike the evil thing it was. It was Simon, who had heard the shot too,and overcome by his fierce impatience had come forth from his chamber,poniard in hand. As the girl passed he made a half movement towardsher, like the spider about to pounce upon his prey. But La Marmottewas following, and he drew back, and watched the two figures speedingdown the gallery, and then they halted suddenly, for the clashingceased, and there was the thud of a heavy body falling. Through thepartly-open door of the supper-room a banner of light fell crosswise onthe corridor, throwing into relief the figures of the two womenstanding side by side with blanched faces, and for the moment there wasan awful stillness.
"Well thrust, Trotto!" shouted Simon from his lurking-place, too sureof the issue, and then he started back with a sickening chill.
He had heard my voice as I stepped out and called to mademoiselle. Andshe, who was but an arm's length away, sprang forward.
"Here! here! Oh! what has happened?"
"It has happened that we have come into the house of murder," Ireplied; and then, my eyes falling on La Marmotte, I said, as I pointedto the room within: "He needs all your care; go to him."
La Marmotte shrank back at my look and tone, and then cried out: "I aminnocent--I swear it."
"Go to him!" I said; and turning to mademoiselle: "Come! we have not amoment to lose."
And so we went out, leaving La Marmotte staring after us, for she madeno movement. And, standing there, a cold hand grasped her wrist, and avoice hissed in her ear:
"Fool! there is a dagger at your girdle. Could you not have driven itthrough his heart?"
But La Marmotte only looked at the Vidame foolishly, and from the fardistance there came through the night the sound of a horn.
"It is Aramon returning," exclaimed Simon; "we have them yet." Andleaving La Marmotte where she stood he followed on our footsteps, hisdagger in his unwounded hand.
On he went, with uncertain, wavering footsteps, and fury in his heart.He meant to kill if he could. It was in Simon's mind to make a sudden,desperate attack. An unexpected stroke from his poniard might free himfrom me, and his prize might yet be his. As for the varlet--Simon gavePierrebon not a thought. But as he went on his wounded arm began tosting and bleed afresh. A faintness came upon him, and, overcome bythe pain and loss of blood, he sank down all dizzy behind the highprivet, a cold sweat o
n his forehead. In impotent fury he struck hisdagger to the hilt in the soft turf at his side, and, still holding thehaft, leaned forward and peered through the hedge. Then as he crouchedhe heard quick voices, and then three mounted figures rode across theparterres to the gate. Again the sound of the horn rang out, and Simonheard Pierrebon's voice.
"The other wasps come back, monsieur! Hasten! Let us be off!"
"But not before I have struck a blow," answered Simon, as, heartened bythe sound of the horn, he gathered himself together and made for thegate, only to see us pass through it ere he had gone ten paces.
He reached the gate somehow, and stared into the night. We were gone.We had turned to the right in the direction of the river, and werealready hidden from view by the woods.
Twice Simon heard the beat of hoofs as the horses dashed over the hardground, and after that all was still.
"If Aramon would but come!" he groaned; and then, through the moonlithaze on the left, where the moorland stretched long and brown, came thesound of hoarse voices, and a loud laugh, and upon this a line of abouthalf-a-dozen horsemen appeared riding slowly towards the house.
"Aramon! Aramon! Here! To me!"
At his call they put spurs to their beasts, and were soon besidehim--an evil-looking set of knaves, mounted on horses foam-flecked andweary with hard going. Simon gave them no time for speech, but shouted:
"After them! After them! Else they escape!"
"After whom, monseigneur?" asked he who appeared to be their leader ashe went on: "We have chased the air all day; are we to ride afterphantoms by night?"
"Fool! It is Mademoiselle de Paradis and her lover. He has woundedme, and killed Trotto and Piero and Malsain, and escaped with her tenminutes ago. They cannot have gone far, and the river must stop them.After them!" And, panting with excitement, he ceased.
From the height of his saddle Aramon looked down on Simon, and whistledlow to himself.
"So monseigneur is wounded, which is bad for you, monseigneur; andPiero is dead, which is good; and Malsain is dead, which is bad, for hewas my own man; and the captain Trotto is dead, which is goodagain--for me, monseigneur."
"Fool! Will you waste time? Every moment is precious."
"Softly, monseigneur! There is plenty of time for me. Trotto is dead,you say, and I sit here in my saddle captain of the wolves ofFontevrault; and," he continued with a chuckle, "with a new king comesa new policy, as you are aware, monseigneur."
"What do you mean?" asked Simon, with an uneasy note in his voice.
"I mean, monseigneur, that of late you have not played fair with us. Imean that a sword that can slay as the one you describe is not one tobe meddled with by weary men; and I mean that I, Aramon, being captainof these brave fellows now, intend to be my own captain for the future.Is it not so, my wolves?"
There were gruff murmurs of assent, and Simon drew back a space. Itwas not, however, from fear--Simon of Orrain never suffered from thepoltroon fever; he but drew back to strike hard, and to sell his lifedearly. They ringed him in--his own men who had turned againsthim--and he stood with his back to the gate. He did not flinch, andmeant to fight, hopeless as it was, for all around him were white,shining swords, that needed but a word from Aramon to be red with hisblood. But the new captain did not want this.
"Bah!" he said, "throw down your dagger, monseigneur. We want not yourlife. For the present you will be the guest of Aramon--that is, untilyou have paid me, and these gentlemen here, two thousand goldHenris--fat gold Henris--for all our trouble. Come!--throw down thedagger! Put a good face on it!"