Vayenne

  CHAPTER X

  THE SUPERSTITION OF COUNT FELIX

  Among those who found no sleep that night was Count Felix himself. Abold schemer of unbounded ambition, determined to allow no obstacle tostand in his way, he was at the same time both subtle and farsighted.For years he had been preparing for this hour. He had ingratiatedhimself with the old Duke, who by word had virtually appointed him hissuccessor. He had sought to draw to him all those who were prominentand powerful in the state. He had steadily besieged the affections ofChristine de Liancourt. Had she been his wife, or had she evenpromised to marry him, he would at once have seized the throne, andany rising in favor of the scholar of Passey would have had poorchance of success. She was so well loved that she would have bound tohim most of those who were at present his enemies. Christine, however,had persistently supported the claim of the Duke's son, in which Felixhad applauded her; and when the time came, had urged that she shouldgo to Passey herself to bring Maurice to Vayenne, since it was almostcertain that he would refuse the crown unless strong pressure werebrought to bear upon him. Such pressure Christine was certain to use,and not for an instant did Felix doubt that it would be usedsuccessfully. By supporting her in this way, Felix disarmed anysuspicion she might have, and felt convinced that presently she wouldconsent to marry him. In the meanwhile Maurice must not be allowed toenter Vayenne. To aid him in this set purpose Felix had found a toolready to his hand in Barbier, an adventurer who had enough crimes tohis credit to hang him ten times over, and possessed of the doubtfulvirtue of loyalty to his employer, no matter how great a scoundrelthat employer might be. It was Barbier who had chosen the men whoshould form the band of pretended robbers and those who should formMademoiselle de Liancourt's escort. It was his own scheme, he declaredto these men, but, as he explained to them, the Count would easilyforgive such an affair, and the reward, if not openly given, would beample. Some of the men may have had their suspicion that the Countknew of the plot, but it is certain that no one of them had a particleof evidence to justify any statement of the kind; nor had they anyknowledge that their names figured on the list which Count Felix socarefully preserved.

  To kill the young Duke on his journey from Passey to Vayenne seemedthe simplest matter possible. That Christine had insisted on GaspardLemasle accompanying her as captain of the escort was a pity; but whatcould one man do against such a combination of enemies? Felix rankedLemasle among his friends rather than his foes, and should the captainrecognize any of his adversaries it would be easy to hang suchtraitors. It would not be difficult quietly to compass the death ofBarbier himself if necessary.

  So the Count saw no flaw in his plans. He felt secure, felt certain ofgrasping his ambition. Now the hour had come, and the unexpected hadhappened. Lemasle and this priest had succeeded in defending the youngDuke. True, Maurice had been wounded, might indeed be dead, but therewas no certainty. A body, marred past recognition, might convince thepeople, and the court, who had seen little or nothing of Maurice; itwould be harder to convince Lemasle and Christine, but surely notimpossible. This priest was the difficulty; he knew what had become ofthe Duke. Barbier had declared he was no priest. Who was he? Who wasthere who could have betrayed this secret to Maurice, or Lemasle, orto Christine? What tale had been told them? Certainly not the trueone; only Barbier knew that. Count Felix still felt secure, but had hegrasped his ambition? His fingers seemed to touch it, yet could theynot grip it. Such success as this was worse than failure.

  It was no time for hesitation. The news that the young Duke was deadwas even now running through Vayenne like flame among dry sticks. In afew hours the people would have recognized fully that he, Felix, wasDuke. The coming hours were precious, and no doubt of the truth of thenews must be allowed to transpire. Lemasle and Christine wouldspeedily return, and Lemasle had been captain of the escort andresponsible for the young Duke's safety. Prompt orders were issued,therefore, that Captain Lemasle was to be arrested the moment heentered Vayenne, and orders were also given to arrest any priestentering the city, whether he came alone or in Lemasle's company.

  Early in the morning Father Bertrand came to the castle to protestagainst this second order.

  "Many priests may enter Vayenne, coming and going about their duty,"he said; "are they all to be arrested?"

  "Yes, father, all," the Count answered. "They will easily clearthemselves; but there is reason to believe that some miscreant--not apriest, probably, but arrayed as one--has had a hand in the youngDuke's death."

  Father Bertrand continued to protest, but the Count was firm yetcourteous, and the priest returned thoughtfully to the Rue St.Romain. He, too, was a man of action, and the Count had raised hiscuriosity.

  Soon afterward Count Felix left the castle on foot, and walked quicklyto the Place Beauvoisin, which lay beyond the castle toward the NorthGate. Here in times past the nobles had lived, but in these days theold houses there had meaner tenants--Jews who were accounted rich, andshopkeepers who either had made or were making money. There was an airof prosperity in the Place Beauvoisin except in one corner of it,where a faded house stood sideways behind a high wall. The Countentered the square by a narrow way near this house, which was hisdestination. His summons at a small door in the wall was quicklyanswered, and he entered without a word to the porter. Every one inthe square knew that the beautiful Countess Elisabeth lived at thefaded house in the corner, but probably no one knew that Count Felixwas a constant visitor there.

  The Countess rose from her seat to welcome him, and turned hastily toa young girl with whom she had been talking and laughing the momentbefore, telling her to go.

  "I will send for you presently, Lucille," she said. Then when the doorhad closed she held out her hands to the Count. "I have been expectingyou."

  Felix bent over her hand for a moment.

  "I come to you with all my joys and sorrows," he said, "with all myambitions, my successes, and my failures."

  "Yes; and I am glad. You know that, Felix," she answered. "To-day youtouch your ambition."

  "You have heard the news then? I sometimes wonder how news, bad news,can come into this sweet retreat."

  "Bad news, Felix?"

  "Is it not bad, since Maurice is dead?"

  The woman looked at him for a moment, and then turned away.

  "Why attempt to deceive me?" she said.

  By common consent the Countess Elisabeth was pronounced beautiful. Asa rule the beauty of really beautiful women is so marked in certainparticulars that it excites criticism, and opinions will differconcerning it. But there is another kind of beauty, not so perfect,not comparable with any recognized standard, which nevertheless hassomething in it which appeals to all opinions. Countess Elisabeth wassuch a woman. She was fair, delicate-looking, and her coloring waswonderful; yet there was strength behind this seemingly fragilebeauty--strength of purpose, strength of endurance. No one consideredher of much importance in Vayenne. She seemed to live a retired lifein the faded house in the Place Beauvoisin, her chief companion beinga young girl, a distant relative, usually spoken of as MademoiselleLucille. Those who were inclined to be romantic gave the Countess alover, some one in the past who had died or perchance provedfaithless. They might have remodelled their ideas of her romance hadthey seen the color in her cheeks as she spoke to Felix.

  "Does not the news spell fortune for you?" she went on after a pause."All obstacles are removed by it."

  "Yes. It seems so."

  "Seems! What difficulty can remain?" And then she said suddenly, "Youhad no hand in his death, Felix?"

  "No," he answered; "and yet your very question should show yousomething of the difficulty which still surrounds me. Others inVayenne will ask that question, too, since the death occurs soopportunely for me."

  "Why manufacture troubles?" she said. "Did ever a man yet step to aplace of power without making enemies? I have always held that Mauricewas not the man to reign in Montvilliers. His own father delivered thekingdom to you. Have I not urged you to take it when the time
came,and chance a rising in Maurice's favor? It would never have come.Vayenne has looked upon you as the old Duke's successor too long."

  "The way has always seemed easy when you have pointed it out to me,"said Felix.

  "Yes. I have been strangely generous," the Countess answered. "Foryour sake I have made no complaint when prudence suggested yourmarriage with Christine de Liancourt."

  "You know, Elisabeth, that it is prudence alone which suggests it."

  "Yes; I have vanity enough to believe that." And there was thesuspicion of a long sigh in her answer.

  "Advise me, my dearest lady," he said, leaning toward her. "You are mystrength, my living talisman. Shall I strike now or delay?"

  "Delay! For what?"

  "I have not seen Maurice dead. He may have escaped. There is alwaysthe possibility. If he were to return now, he would come wearing ahalo of romance. Shall I strike or wait?"

  "Strike, Felix."

  "And Christine?"

  "Is it necessary--now?" she asked.

  "I fear so."

  "Still I say strike, Felix."

  "You give me courage," he said. "You give me hope. So it has everbeen. An hour ago I was beset with doubts. They are gone. Love mocksat them."

  He held out his arms to her, but she only gave him her hand.

  "Nothing more at such a moment?" he said.

  "It is a moment that there can be nothing more," she answered."Remember, I do not urge your marriage with Christine now."

  "It is necessary; believe me, I would not marry her if I could helpit."

  "So we come to the parting ways."

  "But you have always known that such a marriage was inevitable if Iwould possess the throne in peace."

  "Circumstances are changed, Felix; I do not know it now. My Lord Dukehas chosen his Duchess. He may come to me for advice if he will; hemust go to her for love."

  "It is sacrifice. My love is here with you."

  "Think so if it helps you, but it is my hand only, Felix."

  "And for the first time in my life I find it hard and cruel," heanswered, raising it to his lips.

  She laughed, an unexpected laugh, as one may laugh at a grim jestwhich cuts deep into the very soul.

  "I do not understand you," he said.

  "Did ever a man understand a woman yet? Let it suffice that I havedeeper learning, and understand you perfectly. Go, Felix. This is notime for such riddles as trying to understand a woman. Your stronghand is wanted at the helm of affairs now."

  "Good advice again, but nothing more."

  "Can a man have everything for the asking?" she answered, and,laughing again, she passed from the room.

  Felix went back to the castle, her advice ringing in his ears, allelse forgotten for the moment. There was a subtle affinity betweenthis woman and himself; he felt it, recognized it, bowed to it. Sheunderstood him, perhaps, better than any one else did. He felt betterin her company, yet while he told her of his ambitions, there was muchin his scheming which he dared not tell her. She was a good woman, andhe had perception enough to think it strange that she should love him.Beyond that, his thoughts concerning her touched chaos, touched allthat was most selfish in himself. He called it love, but there weremoments when he understood himself well enough to know that such loveas his, could she fully know it, might breed hate in her; and he wouldalmost as soon have lost the crown as her good-will. Something ofsuperstition there may have been in this; he had called her his livingtalisman, and the term had real meaning for him; perhaps deep down inhis nature there were good inspirations which had never been grantedan opportunity of rising to the surface.

  To-day it was her advice that filled his thoughts. She, too, hadcalled him my Lord Duke, even as Jean the dwarf had done. Was thespirit of prophecy in them both? Why had the dwarf called him so?Truly he was a fool, but might there not be method in such folly? Hewould see the dwarf and question him. So as soon as he returned to thecastle, he gave orders that Jean was to be found without delay andbrought to him.

  The dwarf was sought for in the castle, in the Church of St. Etienne,and in the streets, but was nowhere to be found. He had been seen inthe city during the morning, but no one could tell where he had gone.He was quite a public character in Vayenne, everybody knew him, buthow he lived, or where he was to be found at any given moment, nobodyknew. It was agreed, however, that there were times when he was notseen at all for days together. The failure to find him now only madethe Count more eager to see him, and a diligent search went onthroughout the day.

  And all the while Jean sat in the corner of a room in the empty houseby the wall, his legs doubled under him, his arms folded in his loosetunic, his head dropped forward upon his breast. He was as motionlessas a squatting idol, and any one who had ever seen him thus might wellbelieve that there was something mysterious about him. Jean was nothiding from the Count, he had no idea that he was being looked for; hehad a problem to consider, and he had come into this solitude to solveit. He had heard of the death of the young Duke, had seen Barbier ashe rode to and from the castle yesterday. He had heard of the Count'sorders to arrest Captain Lemasle and any priest who entered Vayenne.Was the Duke really dead? How was friend Roger to be warned? Theproblem was evidently a difficult one to solve, for the dwarf sat forhours in the corner, never changing his position, scarcely making amovement the whole time.

  Toward dusk, when the lights had begun to blink from windows, and thetaverns and cafes were filling with men eager to discuss the news, heclimbed to the roof, and clambered down the face of the wall to hisboat hidden in the sunken archway. With a few vigorous strokes he sentit out into the stream, landing presently at the same spot where hehad landed Herrick. He made fast the boat, and went quickly to thehouse among the trees.

  "Farmer Jacques at home?" he said as he pushed open the door.

  "'Tis the limb of Satan," the farmer cried. "Come in. Art hungry?Here's provender."

  "You call me a devil and give me the welcome of an angel," said Jean."There are great things afoot, Farmer Jacques."

  "To dreamers like thou art there always are."

  "And the river yonder separates you from the world," said Jean. "Whenwere you in the city last?"

  "A week ago."

  "That's an eternity when things are afoot," said the dwarf.

  "True. I was minded to go the other day," said Jacques, "for thingshave happened on this side of the river too. My horse was stolen inthe night."

  "Stolen!"

  "Ay; saddle and all; and next day, toward evening, came trotting homeagain. What he'd done with the thief I know not."

  "I'm glad he came back," said the dwarf thoughtfully.

  "He'd been ridden hard, I could tell that," said the farmer.

  "And not by a thief, perhaps," said Jean. "The young Duke, they say,is dead, Farmer Jacques."

  "What, the Passey scholar?"

  "So they say yonder." And the dwarf nodded his head in the directionof the city. "It is said that some tried to rescue him and failed; andthere are some who would arrest these men if they could. That's newsfor you, farmer."

  "Bad news, Jean."

  "It's good news to hear you call it so," said the dwarf, leaningtoward his companion. "One of these rescuers was a priest, who willperchance come again to Vayenne. He might pass this way. If he does,Farmer Jacques, stop him, and say: 'All priests entering Vayenne areto be arrested.'"

  "I'll do it. I don't hold with hangings over the castle gates. Wouldthey hang a priest, think you?"

  "This one they would; and for that matter all priests have necks asother men have," the dwarf returned.

  "That's ribald talk," said Jacques, who was a religious man and had noliking for jests concerning priests.

  "Crooked as my limbs, but a fact for all that, just as they are. Imeant no jest. I've said what I came to say, and I'll get back. Theywatch the gate carefully to-night, and were I too late they mightquestion me."

  Jean's friendship with the farmer was not one of full confidence.Jacques k
new nothing of the flat-bottomed boat and the dwarf's privateentrance into Vayenne. So Jean started briskly along the road, and notuntil he was well out of sight did he turn aside and make his way backto his hidden landing-place. There he waited until near the dawn,listening for footsteps, or the beating hoofs of a horse, in thesilence of the night.

  They came some hours afterward, but Jean had recrossed the river then.Herrick drew up in the shelter of the trees by the landing-place, andlooked across the river toward the city. He was bare-headed, and nolonger wore the priest's robe. He had thrown that aside before heemerged from the forest. It would mark him to those he had fought withthere, some of whom had doubtless returned to Vayenne. How was he toenter the city? The sound of a heavy wagon crunching its way slowlyalong the road gave him inspiration. Dismounting quickly, he led hishorse round to the back of the shed Jean had plundered the othernight. There was no one about, and he fastened the bridle to a staplein the woodwork.

  "You're as good an animal as the one we stole, so that debt is paid,"he said; and then he hastened after the wagon going in the directionof Vayenne.