CHAPTER XXVI
THE CHURCH UNDER THE GROUND
The wicket gate near the riding-school was used almost exclusively bythe servants of the palace, to whom it gave access to that maze ofnameless streets, dingy, tumble-down houses, and squalid shops that wasknown as the Magasins. Here it was that the waiting-woman and thelackey stole forth to meet their lovers. Through this filtered all thebackstairs' gossip of the Louvre, and more besides, for the smallshopkeepers of the Magasins upheld a reputation as evil as the place inwhich they plied their trade.
At the mouth of one of these streets, only a few yards away from thewicket, was a small eating-house. It was here that I repaired atsunset, and calling for a basin of lentil soup sat me down at a roughtable near the door, which commanded a view of the gate. It had rainedthat afternoon, a summer shower that passed as quickly as it came, butthe eaves were still dripping, and the water was trickling inglistening lines down the walls and bubbling in the gutters. Therewere three other clients in the house besides myself. One contentedhimself, as I had, with some lentil soup, and the other two, sittingnear a great spit, impatiently watched a leg of kid they had broughtwith them for their supper being turned thereon by a small dog, now andthen exchanging a word or so with the bare-armed hostess who wassupervising the process. Whilst this was going on my fellow-companionwith the lentil soup kept casting envious glances at the spit, sniffingthe savoury odour of the roasting meat as he slowly ate pieces of blackbread sopped in the thick soup.
The wicket was open, for until compline ingress and egress was free;nevertheless, there was a sentry on duty, an arquebusier, who pacedslowly up and down whistling the "Rappel d'Aunis," stopping only toexchange some barrack-room badinage with every serving-wench who, asshe went out or came in, found a moment or so to spare for him. It wasa lax enough watch, and it was clear that guard duty at the wicket wasnot so dull a matter as one might have imagined.
One of these passing affairs was rather longer and more interestingthan usual, and he of the lentil soup was chuckling to himself over it,when we heard the clattering of horses at a trot coming up the roadlying between us and the gate. The girl uttered a little cry and fleddown the walk towards the Louvre, whilst the sentry drew himself upstiffly.
In another minute a party of about half a dozen horsemen filed up, aspare horse with them, and judge of my surprise and fear when I saw itwas Simon himself who led them. As the sentry saluted the Vidame herode close up to the man, and, bending down from the saddle, saidsomething in a quick, low voice, but it was too far off for me to hear.The sentry saluted again, and began a steady pacing backwards andforwards; whilst Simon, dismounting three of his men, had the horsestaken towards the riding-school, he remaining at the gate on foot withhis three followers.
"An arrest!" exclaimed my unknown companion, and the words brought thetwo others from their kid, which they were just sitting down todemolish, to the door, where they were joined by the landlady and theturnspit dog.
The worst suspicions crowded upon me, and from where I sat I watchedSimon anxiously, for all depended on his object in being here. He tookno notice of the little group observing him, however, but, drawing hismen up against the wall, leaned against a buttress, moodily pulling athis long moustache.
"We are going to see pretty things," said the hostess; "that tallcrookback is the Vidame d'Orrain himself, and 'twas just the same waylast year that he took poor Monsieur de Mailly."
For about ten minutes we waited impatiently, but with no result, and sothe owners of the kid went back to their repast, and the man with thelentil soup called for another basin. The suspense, however, was notto be for long. Presently a man came down the walk towards the wicket,coming slowly, keeping as much as possible in the shadow of the trees,now and again stopping and looking around him as though he feared beingfollowed. Finally, as he neared the gate, he put a bold face on thematter, and with an air of unconcern stepped towards the sentry. Hishat was pulled over his eyes; but there was no mistaking De Ganache,and I watched with breathless interest. As he came up the arquebusierbegan to whistle his eternal "Rappel d'Aunis" once more, and thefigures near the wall closed in around the buttress. In five paces DeGanache had passed the sentry and was at the gate. In another step hefreed the wicket, and came face to face with the Vidame. De Ganachestarted, retreated a half pace, and then, recovering himself, said withaffected gaiety:
"Well met, Orrain! I----" And then he stopped as he met the Vidame'ssombre look and saw drawn swords on either side of him.
"Is this a jest or an outrage? What does this mean, monsieur?" And,hand to his sword, he faced Simon, who answered coldly:
"It means, monsieur, that you are my prisoner. Your sword, in theKing's name!"
"I! Arrested! It is impossible! What foolery is this?"
But the Vidame simply held out a paper. "You may read this if youdoubt."
Almost mechanically De Ganache took the paper and ran his eyes over it.As he did so his fingers seemed to lose power, for the paper slippedfrom his hand and fluttered to the ground. The Vidame picked it up,and said again:
"Your sword, monsieur!" And then, with a bitter scorn in his voice: "Atraitor's game is a losing game, Monsieur le Vicomte, and the Kingknows you at last."
What the words meant I was to find out later, but they took all heartfrom De Ganache. He put his hand to his head as one dazed, and then,dropping it again, unbuckled his sword, and handed it to the Vidamewithout a word. There was a sharp whistle. The horses came up. DeGanache, who seemed utterly broken, was mounted on the spare horse.The troopers surrounded him, and then came the quick order:
"The Chatelet!" And they were gone.
"_Harnibleu_!" exclaimed the hostess, "that was not how Monsieur deMailly allowed himself to be taken. He swore like the Constable, andfought right across the road, up to this very door, and might haveescaped had he not tripped up. As for that hare there--pouf!" Andwith an expressive shrug of her shoulders and a snap of her fingers shewent back to her spit.
I sat still, wondering, but with a great relief in my heart. There wasa little talk, as will be when things of this kind occur, and thenmatters settled down. A few more customers came in. The twilightbegan to fall, and then, all at once, I saw two figures at the gate.They were mademoiselle and De Lorgnac. In a moment I had joined them,and together we went on towards the river face.
At the corner of the Rue St. Thomas, De Lorgnac bade us farewell, butas he left us I took the opportunity to whisper to him the news of DeGanache's arrest.
"Then put wings to your business," he said, and pressing my hand wentoff, and mademoiselle and I were alone. Silently she took the arm Ioffered, and we hastened towards the river.
It was the fall of the evening, and the moon, almost in its full, hadalready arisen, dividing the sky with the last lights of sunset. Wehad turned to the left on reaching the river, our faces towards theChatelet, whose square grey walls frowned over the Pont au Change.Here and there the cloud edges still flamed in gold, that slowly fadedto a fleecy silver-white before the moonlight. To our left was thelong row of gabled houses, some of them seven storeys or more inheight, that stretched, a jagged outline of pointed roofs andoverhanging turrets, to the Rue St. Denis, there to be split up in thelabyrinth of streets between St. Denis, St. Martin, and the purlieus ofthe Marais and the Temple. Above the houses peered the square tower ofSt. Jacques de la Boucherie, and in the weird half light the riverdroned along to our right. A grey, creeping mist was slowly coveringthe faubourgs and the Ile de la Cite. Through this, as it quiveredonwards, one saw a limitless sea of roofs; and sharp and clear, forthey were still in light, stood out the lofty campaniles of Ste.Chapelle and St. Severin. But what caught the eye and arrested theglance was that which rose from the very heart of the great city; forthere, looming vast and immense, the stately pile of Notre Dame broodedover Paris.
Mademoiselle shivered on my arm. "Oh, monsieur, these streets, thesehouses, this immense city, they oppr
ess me like a very spirit of evil!"
"Courage!" I answered. "In two hours we will have left the spirit ofevil behind."
And she sighed to herself as we pressed forward. We had passed theVallee de Misere and the Gloriette, and had now come to the fishmarket. It was here, amidst the raucous cries of buyers and sellers,that the crowd forced us to stop for a little. I drew my companioninto the shadow of a booth, and as I did so I heard a fragment of talkbetween two men a little to one side of us.
"You think it will be successful?"
"Not one will escape. They are like rats in a trap."
The speaker laughed, and I would have sworn I knew the voice.
Mademoiselle had heard too, and her eyes were shining like stars.
"Do you hear that?" she whispered quickly. "Quick! Let us hasten!"
I held her back for a little, until the two had passed before us. Asthe light from the booth fell on them I saw that I was right--the lastspeaker was Camus, but the other man I knew not.
"Now, across!" I said, as the two were lost in the crowd, and with thatI hurried mademoiselle to the other side of the road.
"Monsieur," she said, "these men were talking of us, of my people, Imean--I feel sure of it--and we are too late."
"Not yet!" And I tried to reassure her, but my heart was full ofmisgiving. In its wonderful way her woman's instinct had warned her,and I, knowing what I did know, feared the worst despite all myassurances to her to the contrary.
It was night when we reached the Rue des Mathurins, for the way waslong. Narrow and dark, the street wound before us. On one side theupper storeys of the houses were white with moonlight; but the oppositeside was in shadow, and all around us was a velvet darkness, exceptwhere, here and there, a lamp, hanging to a rope slung across thestreet, cast a feeble and uncertain glow. Some dim figures movedbefore us, and occasionally we heard a footfall behind. That was all.
We had come to the fifth door on our right. It lay in the blackdarkness, faced by the huge blank wall of the Mathurins, and not a raygleamed from any of the windows. All was silent as the grave.
"This is the place," I said, and we stopped.
"Are you sure?" whispered mademoiselle. "It looks deserted; perhapsthey have been warned."
But, even as she spoke, we heard faint voices singing. The soundseemed to rise from beneath our feet, and muffled and far distant rosethe sweet, solemn chant of the Huguenot hymn: "When Israel went forthfrom Egypt."
"They are there!" And mademoiselle's fingers tightened on my arm.
For answer I was about to step up to the door when hurrying feet cametowards us. I pulled mademoiselle back into the deepest shadow, and asI did so two dark figures appeared, and halted before the door. Likeus, all unknowing we were so near, they stopped too, listening to thehymn, and after a little one of the two began to sing.
"Hush!" said the other; but the singer answered fiercely:
"I care not, nor do I fear to give my testimony to the Lord."
But now the hymn ended, and the two went to the door. This was mychance, and so, with mademoiselle on my arm, I boldly stepped up andjoined them. They turned on us as we came; but I allayed their fears.
"Messieurs, we have come as you have. See! There is a lady with me."
"Then you are well come," answered one, and with that he tapped softlyat the door. A shutter opened, and a voice asked:
"Why come ye?"
"For the faith," was the reply.
"Enter, then!" With these words the door swung back, and one by one wepassed in, I being the last. The door was immediately closed andbarred after us, and we found ourselves in the presence of a small,pale-faced man, who peered at us with blinking eyes. The two strangerswent on at once, after a word of greeting; but, throwing back her hood,mademoiselle placed her hand on the arm of the little man, saying:
"Ferrieres, do you not know me?"
His dim eyes searched her through the dim light, and an exclamationbroke from him.
"Mademoiselle! You! There will be many a glad face to-night. Almostall of us are here."
"Hush!" she said. "I have come to warn you. There is danger at hand.The edicts are to be enforced again, and at once."
He looked at her, and shook his head.
"Nay, mademoiselle; we have the King's word."
"Tell him, then!" and she turned to me. "Monsieur, this is the Sieurde Ferrieres, who has known me from childhood, and who refuses tobelieve me--tell him what I say is true!"
I did so in ten words; but the King's word was the King's word to him,and the fool was blind in his folly.
"Then take us to others who will hear," burst out mademoiselle; "in anhour it may be too late; it may be too late even now."
"Surely," he replied, "I will take you to the meeting-place, for youare of the flock, and the Lord is with us to-night; but you aremistaken, that I know."
Mademoiselle glanced at me in despair as we followed him across thehall, and down a stair that led to an underground passage. Along thiswe went, and, our guide gently pushing open a door, we saw before us alarge room filled with people of both sexes. All were on their knees,absorbed in prayer. At the upper end of the room was a raisedplatform, and on this was a single figure, also kneeling, the facecovered by the hands.
A whispered "Stay here!" to me, and mademoiselle stepped forward,gliding softly past the bowed figures to the right and left of heruntil she came to the edge of the platform; and there, unable tointerrupt that silent prayer, she too knelt. So for a space, until atlast the pastor rose, and stood surveying the worshippers. For amoment my glance rested curiously on the thin, ascetic face, full oflofty resolve, and then with a rush memory came back to me, and I stoodas if lightning-struck. As he looked around my mind went back with aleap to the days gone by, to that hideous morning when my hot hand hadstruck a death-blow at my friend. It could not be he? And yet! Istared and stared. Yes; it was Godefroy de la Mothe, the friend of myyouth, whom I had thought I had slain. There was never a doubt of it!And there, as I stood, the mercy of God came to me, and the weight of agreat sin was lifted from my soul. For moments that seemed years allwas a dream, and there was a haze before my eyes. Through this I sawmademoiselle arise and face the preacher; but I could not hear herwords, though I saw that she spoke quickly and eagerly. And as shespoke there were whisperings and strange glancings amongst the people,and they pressed forward to listen too, but La Mothe lifted his hand.
"Brethren," he said in deep, sonorous accents, "we have believed theword of a prince, and the tyrant has lied to us. The edicts arerenewed. But, brethren, He lives that delivered His people from Egypt.He lives that defended His Church against Caesars, kings, andprofligate princes. His shield is over us, before whose footstool wekneel. Fear not, and be brave! And now, friends, we must part; but,ere we part--some of us, perhaps, never to meet again--let us pray."
He knelt once more, and the people with him, and there was a deepsilence, broken at last by La Mothe's solemn voice as he began to prayaloud. And as he prayed there came to us from without the muffledtramp of feet, and the murmuring of many voices rising and falling likethe swell of the sea, whilst now and again a tongue, shriller and morehigh-pitched than those of its fellows, would ring out a sharp,menacing bark. Still La Mothe went on unmoved, though uneasy lookswere beginning to be exchanged; but at last he too stopped, for themurmurs had swelled to one long roar of savage fury, and the words ofthe mob reached us distinctly.
"To the fire with them! Death to the Christaudins!"
There was an instant of scared, blanched silence, and then a girl burstinto hysterical sobbing, and her voice broke the tension. In a momentall was confusion and terror unspeakable, through which I forced my wayto mademoiselle's side. Men shouted and raved, women screamed andprayed. Some flew to the doors, others, again, huddled together likesheep; and from outside rose higher and higher the dreadful voice ofthe mob, mad with blood lust, and ever above all rang out the harshclang of th
e tocsin of the Mathurins.
I looked at mademoiselle; her face was white and her eyes were shining,but she held herself bravely. I drew my sword as La Mothe, the oldsoldier spirit awake within him, called out in a loud voice:
"The women in the centre, gentlemen! Draw swords, and make for thedoor, else we die here like rats."
His voice rang out clear and strong. The few who retained their headsseconded him well, and in less time that I take to tell this we hadringed in the women, and stood around them with drawn swords.
La Mothe was near the door, his spare figure erect, his look high. Healone carried no arms. I was a few feet from him, with Diane by myside.
In this formation we left the meeting-room, and reached the hall, wherethe huge iron-studded door was already yielding to the battering fromoutside.
"Throw open the door," La Mothe called out. Someone, I think it wasFerrieres, stepped forward and undid the bar, springing back quickly asthe door flew open; and for an instant we heard a hoarse roar, and bythe light of many torches, and a huge fire lit in the street, saw acountless swarm of cruel faces. Out we rushed, striking to the rightand left, splitting them before us as a plank is split by a wedge. Soimpetuous was the sally that the crowd gave way on all hands. But oursuccess was only for a moment. They rallied, and surged back, savage,furious, thirsting for blood. I shall never forget that night: thetall, dark houses, the flare-lit street, and that devoted few, aroundwhom the howling mob raged like the sea about some desolate isle.
Still we pushed them back, for they seemed to have no leaders; but nowone appeared, a man mounted on a tall white horse, and we began to feelthe difference.
"Down with them," he called out; "down with the devil's brood." Andthe light of a torch falling on his face I saw it was Simon. His wordsgave courage to the mob. He himself led them on, and then there wasfierce, desperate work. We were fighting for our lives--and men fighthard then--and so we beat them off once more, though one or two hadfallen, and there was scarcely one of us who was not wounded somewhere.But they had only gone back to breathe, and came on again in suchnumbers that those in front could not go back if they would, and Ibegan to think the end was not far. This time they divided us intotwo, and I found myself in a little group near the wall of theMathurins, whilst the crowd closed over the rest. Diane was stillsafe, but there was death all around us, and my heart sank, not formyself but for her whom I loved.
"Leave me, Orrain," she gasped. "Save yourself!"
And for answer I drew her closer to me, and fought as I had neverfought before.
The place had become a shambles, though here and there were littleknots of Christaudins fighting for their lives. Again and again Istrove to cut a way through, but it was impossible. For a moment,however, we found a breathing space. For one little moment the mobgave way and left us, and it was then that I saw Ferrieres. He hadbecome detached from us, and was alone. Simon was near him, and with aface white with terror he seized my brother's stirrup and begged formercy. I saw the cruel hand go up; there was a flash of steel, andFerrieres fell, his grey hairs dabbled in blood, and the white horsetrampled over him as Simon turned towards us. The light of fiftytorches was on us, and he knew us at once. With a cry like that of ananimal he pointed at us.
"There! Those two. A hundred--nay, two hundred gold crowns to him whotakes them. On! on!"
And he strove to reach us; but even he, mounted as he was, found thepress too great.
But his words were heard, and they came on howling, a ring of snarlingfaces, of hearts more pitiless than wolves'. Twice they rushed in andtwice they fell back, and my sword was red to the hilt. They waveredfor a moment, and then came on a third time. One man went down, butsomeone sprang to my sword arm and pulled me forward. I tripped oversomething, and came to my knees, and as I did so the mob went over melike a wave, and I heard Diane's voice and its shrill note of agony.God knows how I managed it, but I rose to my feet once more--the verythickness of the press perhaps saved me then--but I could see nothingof Diane.
"Diane," I called out, "I am here--here!"
And they laughed at me, and one raising a poniard made a sudden, swiftthrust, that would have found my heart, but that a shining blade camebetween us, and the ruffian fell with a horrid cry. The next moment Iheard De Lorgnac's voice. He seemed to have dropped from the clouds.
"Behind me! Your back to the wall till you get breath." And his tallfigure faced the crowd; and then I saw what the best sword in Francecould do, and even I shuddered. They backed before him in a crescent,snarling, growling, and cursing, but never an one dared to come withinreach of that long red blade.
Where was Diane? Dizzy and faint I leaned against the wall behind me,my eyes searching here, there, and everywhere. But she was gone; and Icursed my arm that had failed me in my need.
Simon was still some distance away, striving to reach me, and our eyesmet. It was enough for me. I sprang at him, past De Lorgnac; and themob gave, only to wedge me in and bear me backwards, for at this momentthere rose a cry:
"The archers! The guards! Fly! Fly!"
Ay! They had come at last! When it was too late, with Martines, thelieutenant of the Chatelet, at their head. They drove the mob beforethem, striking them down, riding them over, and surrounded the few ofus who were left.
In my confusion, as I strove to reach Simon, the hand of some fallenwretch clutched me by the ankle, and I stumbled forward. In a trice Iwas down, and seized; and struggling desperately, but in vain, wasdragged into safety, but a prisoner.
The mob driven off, though not defeated yet, came on again, refusing tobe balked of their prey; but disciplined strength was too much forthem, and once more they gave way, howling around the few prisoners,whom they were only kept from tearing in pieces by the guards.
By the flare of the torches I saw Martines and Simon riding side byside talking eagerly. Suddenly the latter reined in, sprang from hishorse, and lifted something in his arms. It was a woman's figure, limpand lifeless. He placed her on the saddle before him, and mountedagain, whilst the mob hooted and jeered, and as the light fell on thewhite face I saw it was Diane.
Martines leaned forward and looked at her, with pity in his glance; butSimon laughed out:
"_Corbleu_, monsieur! this is the worst Christaudin of them all."
The words roused me to madness, and with a mighty effort I shook myselffree and sprang forward, but the butt of a lance brought me down, andonce more I was seized.