CHAPTER XXI
THE HOUSE IN THE PASSAGE OF PITY
The next day, about the time appointed by La Marmotte, I presentedmyself at Maitre Barou, the armourer's, store. There was no one thereexcept the old proprietor himself, and it was hard to say if he wereJew or Gentile as he stood behind the counter in the midst of hiswares. I had sufficient excuse for my visit, and that was to purchasea breastplate of the pattern worn by the Queen's guards, in which I hadbeen formally enrolled early in the day.
"_Bien_!" he said when I inquired for one, "I have one that will fityou, I think. It was bespoke by M. de Montorgueil----"
"But, perhaps, monsieur may have a voice in the matter."
"Probably; but as monsieur has not paid for it, and is at presentlodged in the Chatelet on account of his escapade with Mademoiselled'Estanay, we may let that objection pass." And Maitre Barou chuckled.
"In that case, let me see the corselet."
"Here it is, monsieur."
I tried it on, and finding it would suit, and that the workmanship wasof rare excellency, demanded the price.
Barou hummed as he tapped the shining steel with his finger and glancedat me from under his bushy brows.
"Monsieur must have but lately joined the guards?" he asked, ignoringmy question.
"A matter of a few hours."
"Ah! I thought so. I know them all, monsieur. First there is MessireBlaise de Lorgnac, the lieutenant----"
"Maitre Barou, it will take till to-morrow to go over the names. Whatis your price?"
"Ho! ho! messire, you grow impatient. 'Tis Aranguez plate this, as youmay see--the best work of Spain, down to the buckles. Ho! ho! messire,only two good things ever came from Spain: one is good armour, and theother pretty women----"
"And I presume, Maitre Barou, they are both expensive things; but theprice of your corselet, for my time is short."
"Fifty pistoles, then."
"'Tis a long sum, and I am not sure of the proof."
Maitre Barou looked at me reproachfully. Seizing a poniard he glancedat the blade for a moment, touched the point with the tip of hisfinger, and then raising the weapon brought it down with his full forceon the corselet. The dagger glanced off from the mirror-like surfaceand buried itself deep in the hard wood of the counter.
"There, monsieur!" And Barou looked at me triumphantly. It was ashrewd enough test, and I closed the bargain, paying him his money thenand there, and bidding him send the mail to De Lorgnac's house.
"And the name, monsieur?"
"The Chevalier d'Orrain."
As Barou was making an entry on a slate I heard a step behind me, andturning saw it was La Marmotte. She made no sign of recognition,however, but went straight up to Barou, to whom she handed a smallpackage, giving him some instructions in a low tone. Taking the hint Igave a casual glance or so at the things around me, and then strolledout of the shop. I walked very slowly up the street in the directionopposite De Lorgnac's house, and I had scarce gone a hundred paces whenLa Marmotte caught me up, and asked me somewhat abruptly if I knew of aplace called the Passage of Pity. I replied that I did, and she thentold me to meet her there in an hour's time, and to be sure I was wellarmed. For answer I touched the hilt of my sword; and, with a nod tome, she crossed the street and disappeared up a narrow, winding alley.I kept on at the leisurely pace I was going at, wondering to myself ifI were walking into a snare or not. But, although caution is a verygood thing, still there are times when one should be prepared to takerisks, and I held this was such an occasion. Having now reached thehead of the Rue Tiquetonne I quickened my pace, and was soon in theVallee de Misere. I avoided the bridge, and, crossing the river by aferry boat, was soon in the purlieus of the Sorbonne. Every inch ofthis locality was familiar to me, and at last I reached the cloistersof the Mathurins, a few yards from which lay the narrow by-street whichthe quaint wit of the Parisian _badaud_ had christened the Passage ofPity. It was dark and short--so short, indeed, that an active boy,standing at one end of it, might easily have thrown a stone against thehigh wall of a house built athwart the other end of the road,apparently barring all progress beyond. This was not the case,however, for the narrow arch, that was to all appearance the entranceto the house, gave access to a small flight of steps, worn with age,that led towards a gallery opening upon the Rue de la Harpe.
In the wall towards the right of this arch, about a man's height fromthe ground, was a small niche containing a figure of the Virgin, andbeneath was that which, perhaps, had given its name to the street, forsomeone had traced in shaky characters upon the wall the words: "_Avezpitie_!"
Beneath these words, written in blood long since browned with age,could still be seen the impress of a hand that had been red too, as ifthe unfortunate writer had supported himself thus whilst tracing hismiserable words.
The steps leading to the gallery beyond the archway were known as "TheLittle Steps of Mercy," and to get at the entrance door of the houseitself, which was in part built over the passage, it was necessary togo along the gallery, in the side of which it was placed, in an almostinvisible gloom, that added not a little to the mystery surrounding theplace. Another curious thing about this little by-street was thatevery house, and there were not many, appeared deserted. Hardly a soulever passed by day along its dim length, which was always in shadow,except at high noon, when the sunlight forced its way in a line ofwhite light along the forbidding passage. By night no one was everseen, and, indeed, there were few who would have ventured along thePassage of Pity when the sun went down.
Here, then, I stood at the appointed time, staring at the surly row ofhouses on either side of me and at the dead wall in my face. Twice Ipaced up and down the length of the street; but there was no sign of LaMarmotte. On the second occasion, however, as I came back, the door ofthe house on the right-hand side nearest the arch opened slightly, andI heard her voice.
"Enter, monsieur."
For one little moment I hesitated, and then boldly slipped in. As Idid so the door was immediately shut, and I found myself in almosttotal darkness.
"A moment." Then I heard the striking of a tinderbox. There was asmall, bright glow, then the flame of some burning paper, that threwout the figure of La Marmotte as she lit a candle, and holding it outmotioned me up a rickety staircase that faced us.
I had drawn my poniard as I stepped in, so evil-looking was the place,and she caught the gleam of the steel.
"It is needless," she said coldly; "we are alone."
"Perhaps, madame," I replied, taking no notice of her remark, "you hadbetter lead the way; the place is known to you."
She did as I desired, and we soon found ourselves in a small room, inwhich there was some broken-down furniture. There was one window,which was closed, and being made entirely of wood all light was shutout except that which the candle gave.
"A strange place," I said, looking around me.
"When one is as I am, monsieur," was the bitter answer, "one getsfriends with strange places."
I looked at her more closely than I had done before. Even by the dimlight I could see how pale and sunken were her cheeks, and her ravenhair was streaked with grey. Her eyes had lost the brazen fire thathad shone in them once. Wretched and miserable indeed she looked. Butthis was not the La Marmotte of the past but another woman.
She put the candle down and turned to me.
"Monsieur, I have asked you to come here because we can be alone hereand uninterrupted, and that which I have to say to you concerns thelife, perhaps, of Mademoiselle de Paradis. Monsieur, you may notbelieve me, but from that dreadful night at Le Jaquemart I have becomea changed woman. I have learned, monsieur, how to pray, and, my God!the past--the past!" And she put her hands to her face and shuddered.
"Madame, there is always a future."
"But never for a woman! Oh, Monsieur d'Orrain--for I know your namenow--you know this as well as I."
I made no answer. What could I say? And she went on:
"Listen! After that night I brought him--Trotto--back to Paris as soonas he was able to move. He was badly hurt, but not so badly as wethought; and he lives for revenge. Your brother the Vidame is in ahouse in the Rue des Lavandieres, into which he has recently moved.There I brought Trotto. Here I found Malsain and some others; and,believing me to be what I was before, they spoke freely before me. Foryou, monsieur, I warn you to fear the bravo's knife; they will not faceyou openly."
"I will try and take care of myself. But what is it that concernsmademoiselle?"
"This much I know, monsieur: the Vidame wants her for himself, orrather her wealth. The plan he has conceived is as follows:--the edictagainst the heretics is to be revived suddenly, and mademoiselle is tobe accused. And you know what this means, with Dom Antoine de Mouchyas judge."
"But how will this gain the Vidame his wish?"
"To explain that, monsieur, is one of the reasons I have brought youhere." And moving towards the window she opened it cautiously. As shedid so there appeared, about three feet or more away, the grey andmottled surface of a blank wall.
"Look!" she said.
I looked out of the window. The walls of the two houses stood aboutthree feet apart. Below me was a deep, narrow space, shut in on allsides except from the top. In the opposite wall was a window partlyopen, below which ran a narrow ledge. This window faced the one I wasstanding at, but was placed about a yard or so higher, so that anyonestanding there could look into the room in which we were. All this Itook in, and then turned to La Marmotte.
"Monsieur," she said, "that house is where Antoine de Mouchy lives, andwhere, within an hour's time, he is to meet the Vidame and some othersto discuss their plan. If you would learn it you must learn it fromthere." And she pointed to the window above me.
I was about to speak, but she stopped me.
"Listen! I know that house from garret to cellar, for I lived thereonce. That window leads to an empty room. A door to the right leadsinto De Mouchy's study, which looks over the Rue de la Harpe, andstanding at that door you can hear every word that passes within. Willyou risk it?"
"The getting there is possible, but it is the retreat that I amdoubtful of."
"I have provided for that." And opening a box that lay near her shepulled out a short coil of stout rope with an iron hook fixed at eachend.
"Fasten one hook to the window there, and throw me the rope. I willfasten the other here, and you will have a passage back. I will waithere for you."
I glanced out of the window again. On the left was the Passage of Pitywith its dreary, deserted houses, on the right, above me, was a glimpseof sky. Now and again we heard the cooing of pigeons and the flutterof their wings amongst the eaves, but except for this there was nosound, and we were perfectly unobserved.
Removing my boots and discarding my sword I climbed out of the window,resting my feet on the ledge beneath it. Cautiously rising to astanding position I found I could see clearly into the room opposite.It was unoccupied, but, so far from being empty, was filled with booksand piles of documents. It looked, indeed, as if M. de Mouchy's studyhad overrun itself into this room. I had, however, made up my mind totake the risk of being present at this meeting whatever the cost mightbe, and so after another and careful look began the attempt. Betweenthe opposite window and myself was a gap of a little over three feet,so that it was impossible to reach there. Thanks, however, to theforethought of La Marmotte I was enabled to overcome this difficulty,and after a couple of tries, during which the noise made was such aswould have certainly aroused attention had anyone been at hand, Isucceeded in fixing one of the iron hooks attached to the rope to theledge of the window. Then, after a strain to test the rope, I letmyself swing across the chasm, and found foothold on the oppositeledge. Once there matters were easy, and in a trice I had passedthrough the window.