The Helmet of Navarre

  XIX

  _To the Hotel de Lorraine._

  I found M. Etienne sitting on the steps before the house. He had doffedhis rusty black for a suit of azure and silver; his sword and poniardwere heavy with silver chasings. His blue hat, its white plume pinned ina silver buckle, lay on the stone beside him. He had discarded his slingand was engaged in tuning a lute.

  Evidently he was struck by some change in my appearance; for he asked atonce:

  "What has happened, Felix?"

  "Such a lark!" I cried.

  "What! did old Menard share the crowns with you for your trouble?"

  "No; he pocketed them all. That was not it."

  I was so choked with laughter as to make it hard work to explain whatwas it, while his first bewilderment changed to an amazed interest,which in its turn gave way, not to delight, but to distress.

  "Mordieu!" he cried, starting up, his face ablaze, "if I resemble thatdirt--"

  "As chalk and cheese," I said. "No one seeing you both could possiblymistake you for two of the same race. But there was nothing in hiscatalogue that did not fit him. It mentioned, to be sure, the right armin a sling; his was not, but he had his wrist bandaged. I think he cuthimself last night when he was after me and I flung the door in hisface, for afterward he held his hand behind his back. At any rate, therewas the bandage; that was enough to satisfy the captain."

  "And they took him off?"

  "Truly. They gagged him because he protested so much, and lugged himoff."

  "To the Bastille?" he demanded, as if he could scarcely realize theevent.

  "To the Bastille. In a big travelling-coach, between the officer and hismen. He may be there by this time."

  He looked at me as if he were still not quite able to believe the thing.

  "It is true, monsieur. If I were inventing it I could not inventanything better; but it is true."

  "Certes, you could not invent anything better! Nor anything half sogood. If ever there was a case of the biter bit--" he broke off,laughing.

  "Monsieur, you know not half how funny it was. Had you seen theirfaces--the more Lucas swore he was not Comte de Mar, the more theofficer was sure he was."

  "Felix, you have all the luck. I said this morning you should go aboutno more without me. Then I send you off on a stupid errand, and see whatyou get into!"

  "Monsieur, I put it to you: Had you been there, how could Lucas havebeen arrested for Comte de Mar?"

  "He won't stay arrested long--more's the pity."

  "No," I said regretfully; "but they may keep him overnight."

  "Aye, he may be out of mischief overnight. I am happy to say that myface is not known at the Bastille."

  "Nor his, I take it. I thought from what I heard last night that he hadnever been in Paris save for a while in the spring, when he lay perdu.At the Bastille they may know nothing of the existence of a Paul deLorraine. But, monsieur, if Mayenne has broken his word already, if theyare arresting you on this trumped-up charge, you must get out of thegates to-night."

  "Impossible," he answered, smiling; "I have an engagement in Paris."

  "But monsieur may not keep it. He must go to St. Denis."

  "I must go nowhere but to the Hotel Lorraine."

  "Monsieur!"

  "Why, look you, Felix; it is the safest spot for me in all Paris; it isthe last place where they will look for me. Besides, now that they thinkme behind bars, they will not be looking for me at all. I shall be assafe as the hottest Leaguer in the camp."

  "But in the hotel-"

  "Be comforted; I shall not enter the hotel. There is a limit to mymadness. No; I shall go softly around to a window in the side streetunder which I have often stood in the old days. She used to contrive tobe in her chamber after supper."

  "But, monsieur, how long is it since you were there last?"

  "I think it must be two months. I had little heart for it after myfather--So, you see, no one will be on the lookout for me to-night."

  "Neither will mademoiselle," I made my point.

  "I hope she may," he answered. "She will know I must see her to-night.And I think she will be at the window."

  The reasoning seemed satisfactory to him. And I thought one wet blanketin the house was enough.

  "Very well, monsieur. I am ready for anything you propose."

  "Then I propose supper."

  Afterward we played shovel-board, I risking the pistoles mademoisellehad given me. I won five more, for he paid little heed to what he wasabout, but was ever fidgeting over to the window to see if it was darkenough to start. At length, when it was still between dog and wolf, heannounced that he would delay no longer.

  "Very well, monsieur," I said with all alacrity.

  "But you are not to come!"

  "Monsieur!"

  "Certainly not. I must go alone to-night."

  "But, monsieur, you will need me. You will need some one to watch thestreet while you speak with mademoiselle."

  "I can have no listener to-night," he replied immovably.

  "But I will not listen, monsieur! I shall stand out of ear-shot. But youmust have some one to give you warning should the guard set on you."

  "I can manage my own affairs," he retorted haughtily; "I desire neitheryour advice nor your company."

  "Monsieur!" I cried, almost in tears.

  "Enough!" he bade sharply. "Go send me Vigo."

  I went like one in whose face the doors of heaven had shut.

  Vigo came at once from the guard-room at my summons. It was on my tongueto tell him of M. le Comte's mad resolve to fare forth alone; to beg himto stop it. But I remembered how blameworthy I myself had held theequery for interfering with M. Etienne, and I made up my mind that noword of cavil at my lord should ever pass my lips. I lagged across thecourt at Vigo's heels, silent.

  M. Etienne was standing in the doorway.

  "Vigo," he said, without a change of countenance, "get Felix a rapier,which he can use prettily enough. I cannot take him out to-nightunarmed."

  Vigo hesitated a moment, saluted, and went.

  "Monsieur," I cried out, "you meant all the time to take me!"

  He gazed down on my heated visage and laughed and laughed.

  "Felix," he gasped, "you had your sport over there at the inn. But Ihave seen nothing this summer as funny as _your_ face."

  Vigo came back with a sword and baldric for me, and a horse-pistolbesides, but M. Etienne would not let me have it.

  "Circumstances are such, Vigo, that I want no noisy weapons."

  The equery regarded him with a troubled countenance.

  "I wish I knew, monsieur, whether I do right to let you go."

  "We will not discuss that, an it please you."

  "I do not, monsieur. I have no right to curtail M. le Comte's liberties.But I let you go with a heavy heart."

  He looked after us with foreboding eyes as we went out of the greatgate, alone, with not so much as a linkboy. But if his heart was heavy,our hearts were light. We paced along as merrily as though to a feast.M. Etienne hung his lute over his neck and strummed it; and whenever wepassed under a window whence leaned a pretty head, he sang snatches oflove-songs. We were alone in the dark streets of a hostile city, boundfor the house of a mighty foe; and one of us was wounded and one a tyro.Yet we laughed as we went; for there was Lucas languishing in prison,and here were we, free as air, steering our course for mademoiselle'swindow. One of us was in love, and the other wore a sword for the firsttime, and all the power of Mayenne daunted us not.

  We came at length within bow-shot of the Hotel de Lorraine, where M.Etienne was willing to abate somewhat his swagger. We left the Rue St.Antoine, creeping around behind the house through a narrow and twistingalley--it was pitch-black, but he knew the way well--into a littlestreet dim-lighted from the windows of the houses upon it. It was only afew rods long, running from the open square in front of the hotel to thenetwork of unpaved alleys behind. On the farther side stood a row ofhigh-gabled houses, their doors opening directl
y on the pavement; onthis side was but one big pile, the Hotel de Lorraine. The wall wasbroken by few windows, most of them dark; this was not the gay side ofthe house. The overhanging turret on the low second story, under whichM. Etienne halted, was as dark as the rest, nor, though the casement wasopen wide, could we tell whether any one was in the room. We could hearnothing but the breeze crackling in the silken curtains.

  "Take your station at the corner there," he bade, "and shout if theyseem to be coming for us. But I think we shall not be molested. Myfingers are so stiff they will hardly recognize my hand on the strings."

  I went to my post, and he began singing, scarce loud enough for any buthis lady above to mark him:

  _Fairest blossom ever grew Once she loosened from her breast. This I say, her eyes are blue.

  From her breast the rose she drew, Dole for me, her servant blest, Fairest blossom ever grew._

  The music paused, and I turned from my watch of the shadowy figurescrossing the square, in instant alarm lest something was wrong. Butwhatever startled him ceased, for in a moment he went on again, and ashe sang his voice rang fuller:

  _Of my love the guerdon true, 'Tis my bosom's only guest. This I say, her eyes are blue.

  Still to me 'tis bright of hue As when first my kisses prest Fairest blossom ever grew.

  Sweeter than when gathered new 'Twas the sign her love confest. This I say, her eyes are blue._

  He stopped again and stood gazing up into the window, but whether he sawsomething or heard something I could not tell. Apparently he was notsure himself, for presently, a little tremulous, he added the fourverses:

  _Askest thou of me a clue To that lady I love best? Fairest blossom ever grew! This I say, her eyes are blue._

  He doffed his hat, pushing back the hair from his brow, and waited,eager, hopeful. There was a little stir in the room that one thought wasnot the wind.

  I had come unconsciously half-way up the street to him in the ardour ofmy interest; but now I was startled back to my duty by the sound of menrunning round the corner behind me. One glance was enough; two abreast,swords in hand, they were charging us. I ran before them, drawing bladeas I went and shouting to M. Etienne. But even as I called an answeringshout came from the alley; two men of the Spanish guards shot out of thedarkness and at us.

  M. Etienne, with his extraordinary quickness, had got the lute off hisneck, and now, for want of a better use of it, flung it at the head ofhis nearest assailant, who received it full in the face, stopped,hesitated a moment, and ran back the way he had come. But three foesremained, with the whole Hotel de Lorraine behind them.

  We put our backs to the wall and set to. The remaining Spaniard engagedme; M. Etienne, protected somewhat in the embrasure of a doorway, heldat bay with his good left arm a pair of attackers. These were in thedress of gentlemen, and wore masks as if their cheeks blushed (well theymight) for the deeds of their hands.

  A broad window in the Hotel de Lorraine was flung open; a man leaned farout with a torch. The bright glare in our faces bewildered ourgloom-accustomed eyes; I could not see what I was about, and rammed mypoint against my Spaniard's hilt, snapping my blade.

  The sudden impact sent him stumbling back a pace, and M. Etienne, who,with the quick eye of the born fencer, saw everything, cried to me,"Here!"

  I darted back into the doorway beside him. His two assailants findingthat they gained nothing by their joint attack, but rather hampered eachother, one dropped back to watch his comrade, the cleverer swordsman.This was decidedly a man of talent, but he was shorter in the arm thanmy master and had the disadvantage of standing on the ground, whereas M.Etienne was up one step. He could not force home any of hisshrewd-planned thrusts; nor could he drive M. Etienne out of his coignto where in the open the two could make short work of him. The rapiersclashed and parted and twisted about each other and flew apart again;and then before I could see who was touched the attacker fell to hisknees, with M. Etienne's sword in his breast.

  M. Etienne wrenched the blade out; the wounded man sank backward, hismask-string breaking. He was the one whom I had thought him--Francois deBrie.

  M. Etienne was ready for the second gentleman, but neither he nor thesoldier attacked. The torch-bearer in the window, with a shout, wavedhis arm toward the square. A mob of armed men hurled itself around thecorner, a pikeman with lowered point in the van.

  This was not combat; it was butchery. M. Etienne, with a little moan,lifted his eyes for the first time from his assailant to the turretwindow. In the same instant I felt the door behind us give. Throwing mywhole weight upon it, I seized M. Etienne and pulled him over thethreshold. Some one inside slammed the door to, just as the Spaniardhurled himself against it.