CHAPTER XII.
AT THE CHATEAU OF MAURY
Presently mademoiselle recovered from her faintness and went up to herchamber, supported by Jeannotte. Her eyes met mine as she was about togo, but she immediately dropped them, and seemed by an effort to represssome kind of emotion.
With a heart saddened by the sight of mademoiselle's distress, I thenmade arrangements for the night. I was to lie at the front door of theinn, Blaise at the rear door, Hugo and the gypsies in the horse sheds,Marianne in the chamber with mademoiselle and Jeannotte, old Godeau wherehe chose. It happened that he chose a place before the smouldering firein the kitchen.
Any further attempt to find Pierre that night was out of the question. Idared not leave the inn again, lest I should expose mademoiselle topossible molestation, or myself to an encounter with those from whom Ihad just escaped. Had mademoiselle's safety not depended on that ofmyself and Blaise, I might have invited such an encounter for myself orfor him or for both, but I would not have her undergo the slightest riskof losing her protectors.
I had little apprehension of seeing De Berquin or his men again thatnight. Not that he would probably remember his promise to give me my lifeand liberty in return for my bringing La Tournoire before him. Even thatpromise, if still respected by him, did not affect him in regard tomademoiselle. But he would consider that, though I was not accompanied byany of my own men except Blaise, mademoiselle's boy, Hugo, would wield astout arm on our side. Unless he knew something of Pierre'sdisappearance, he would count that active youth also with our forces. Hehad doubtless taken in at a glance the group composed of Godeau, thegypsies, and Marianne; and he would suppose that I could reckon onassistance of one kind or another from some or all of these. Thus, havingno odds in his favor, and knowing that we would be on the alert, he wouldbe little likely to make any kind of demonstration against us. Moreover,two of his men finding themselves without their weapons, and all of themangry at the manner of their awakening, they would probably receive verybadly the curses that he would heap on them for their failure to come upto his support. Their attitude would, for the rest of that night, be oneof mutiny. It was likely that he would retreat and meditate a new plan.He would not feel safe in the immediate vicinity of the inn, for itwould occur to him that I might send one of my allies to my men withorders to take him. So he would withdraw and either give up theenterprise entirely or form a new design.
Now that he knew that I was La Tournoire, what would he do? Abandon hismission, since my knowledge of him would put me on my guard against him,and forbid his winning my confidence and betraying me in the way which, Isupposed, Montignac had dictated to him? It was not likely that such aman, having found only one road by which he might regain the good thingshe had lost, would be turned aside from that road. He would follow it tosuccess or death. Such men are too indolent to go about seekingopportunities. Having found one, they will pursue it wherever it maylead. Their fortunes are so desperate that they have only their lives tolose, and they are so brave that they do not fear death. If they can gainthe stakes, so much the better. If not, little the worse. Meanwhile, theyare occupied in a way congenial to a man who loves adventure, who hasinherited the taste for danger, and finds a pleasurable excitement inrisking his life. Therefore I felt that De Berquin was not yet throughwith me, but he would have to change his plan, and, until he should havetime to compose new measures, he would not trouble us.
As I lay in the silence, my thoughts turned from De Berquin to Mlle. deVarion. Her demonstration on learning that I was La Tournoire was inharmony with the manner in which she had previously questioned meconcerning my friendship for the bearer of that name. Grieved at thethought that I was his friend, relieved at my assertion that I did not sohighly esteem him, she had shown the utmost horror on learning that I wasthe man himself. Could this be due entirely to the impression conveyed bya name to which the Catholics in Berry had attached so much dread? It wasnatural that one should regard with some terror a man whose deeds hadbeen so exaggerated by vulgar report; but this fact did not explain theintensity of mademoiselle's emotion at the moment of my disclosure. Yetshe had attributed that emotion entirely to surprise. Perhaps theextraordinary manifestation of that surprise was due to her fatigued anddejected condition. Or it might be, and I felt a delicious thrill at thethought, that it was her concern for me, her fear that my life might bethe more imperilled by my relations with this proscribed man, that hadcaused the distress accompanying her first inquiries. If this was true,the discovery that I was no other than the man proscribed, and all themore in danger, would naturally have profoundly affected her.
In the morning she came down from her loft, pale and showing a calmnessthat seemed forced. To my greeting and my announcement that Pierre hadnot returned, she replied, quietly:
"He is a faithful and honest boy, and I have prayed that no harm mightbefall him. His disappearance must not be allowed to alter your plans, M.de la Tournoire."
"I shall leave orders with Marianne and Godeau to conduct him to Maury,should he return to this place, as he very probably will. If you do notwish otherwise, we shall ride on to Maury this morning."
"I do not wish otherwise," she replied. After a moment's pause, sheadded, "Alas, monsieur, your friend, M. de Launay, when he promised meyour guidance across the border, engaged you to a more tedious task thanyou might have wished to undertake. I fear that I must ask for a delay atMaury. You see what trouble your friend has brought you into,--waitinguntil a poor woman, who has been overcome by fatigue, recovers herenergies."
"Ah, mademoiselle," I said, with delight, "you will then hold me to thepromise made for me by my friend?"
"What else can a helpless woman do?" she asked, with a pretty smile,although there was a tremor in the voice.
I was overjoyed to be assured that she had accepted the situation. I hadpromised that, on her becoming acquainted with La Tournoire, she shouldhave no other protector. This had meant to her, at the time when it wasspoken, that I should go from her. To me it had meant, of course, that Ishould continue with her. I had feared that, on learning the truth, shewould banish me. She had said that we must part. But now, despite thefact that the same barrier existed between me and her, whether I was LaTournoire or De Launay, despite her horror on learning that I was theformer, she had abandoned her intention of parting from me. What hadcaused this change of mind? Had she, now that I was known to her as LaTournoire, ceased to entertain for me those feelings which she had, onaccount of our difference in religion, sought by an immediate separationto destroy? This was unlikely. La Tournoire or De Launay, I was the sameman. I chose a happier explanation,--none other than that, considering bynight, she had come to the conclusion that a religious difference was nottoo great a barrier to be removed, and that La Tournoire was not a personto be regarded with any horror. Though modesty might plead against hercontinuing in the company of a man with whom she exchanged such feelingsas had so rapidly grown up between us, yet circumstance, most imperativeof all dictators, showed her no other course than to remain under myguidance and protection. So I accounted for the decision which was tokeep us together for a few more days.
I was not sorry that she had asked for a delay at Maury. It relieved meof the necessity of making a pretext for retarding her flight while Ishould attempt the rescue of her father. The reason to be given for theabsence of myself and a party of my men need not be a strong one whenthere was no apparent haste to continue the flight. I was stilldetermined to keep the attempt in her father's behalf a secret from herif it should fail, and as a surprise for her if successful.
Inwardly jubilant with the hope inspired by her change of mind, Ihastened to give the innocent reasons for the concealment of my identityfrom her. She listened with a changeless smile, keeping her eyes on mine.Before she could answer, Marianne announced that breakfast was ready. Nofurther allusion was made to the matter, nor to her now abandoneddetermination that we should part.
After breakfast, our party of five mounted our horses, and,
led byBlaise, forced our way through the high bushes that marked the beginningof the hardly perceptible road to Maury. The two gypsies followed afoot,for, knowing that I could rely on their fidelity and secrecy, I had badethem come, that their music and tricks might amuse mademoiselle duringher stay at Maury.
It was a beautiful morning, and I considered that I had many reasons forjoy. Mademoiselle, too, seemed affected by the sweetness and jocundity ofthe early day. She had evidently nerved herself, too, against her griefs.She seemed to have summoned a large stock of resolution to the task offacing her troubles without a tear. It appeared that she had banisheddejection by an effort of the will. All the time it was evident that hermanner was the result of a vigilant determination. I was, nevertheless,glad to see a smile, a steadiness of look, a set lip, though they wereattained with premeditation. There was in her conversation, as we rode onour slow and difficult way, something of the woman of the world. As wehad to go in single file, and so to speak loudly in order to be heard byone another, our talk could not take on the themes and tones oftenderness that I would have gladly given to it.
Presently from a bush at the side of the path a man sprang up, saluted,and stood respectfully while we passed him. It was one of my men,Maugert, on duty as sentry, for I kept men watching every approach to ourhiding-place night and day. They lay secreted among the brushwood, andwould observe an intruder long before the intruder could be aware oftheir presence. A few minutes later we passed another of these faithfulsentinels, who rose out of his concealment to give me a look of welcome,and soon afterward we rode through the ruined gate into the oldcourtyard itself.
"Welcome to Maury!" said I to mademoiselle.
She looked up at the broken facade of the chateau, around at the treesthat environed the walls and in some places pushed their branches throughopenings, then at some of my men, who had been mending their clothes ortinkering at their weapons.
"I shall feel safe at Maury, monsieur," she said, quietly.
Thus Mlle. de Varion became my guest in that wilderness fastness. I gaveher the two chambers in best preservation, one of them being immediatelyover the chief entrance and overlooking the courtyard. My own abode wasin the northern turret, looking down the steep wooded declivity that fellto the road from Clochonne to Narjec. Hugo was to sleep outside her door.My own men made their beds in the great hall and in certain shelteredportions of the wings and outbuildings. They usually ate in this hall,receiving their food on platters from the cook (happily the kitchen hadremained fit for use), and bearing it thither. It was arranged that Hugoshould carry the meals of mademoiselle and Jeannotte to mademoiselle'sapartments.
It was more after our arrival than during our ride to Maury thatmademoiselle showed the fatigue of which she had spoken. It was evidentthat she had reached a resting-place none too soon. Weakness wasmanifest in all her movements as well as in the pallor of her cheeks.Yet, though she languished thus, she did not keep all the time to herchamber. Each morning she came down to walk about the courtyard, sayingthat the air and sunshine--as much as found its way through theoverspreading branches of the trees--strengthened her. There was in onecorner of the yard an old stone bench, which, in good weather, was for agreat part of the afternoon half in sun and half in shade. Here she wouldsit by the hour, changing her position as sunlight or shade becamepreferable for the moment.
Morning or afternoon, I was never far from her. For I had had to deferfrom day to day the first steps towards the projected deliverance of M.de Varion. On our arrival I had found that some of the men on whose aid Iwould most depend were away on a foraging expedition. Each hour I lookedfor their return, but in vain. Their absence had now become so prolongedas to be a cause of alarm. My anxiety about them, and my concern overother matters, took up so much of my mind that little was left in whichto devise a plan for the rescue of the prisoner, and I would not make thefirst move until the whole design should be complete.
As days passed, and mademoiselle's missing boy, Pierre, did not come, Iceased to hope that we should ever see him again. Had he found his wayto the inn where he had left us, Marianne or Godeau would have broughthim to Maury immediately. It was useless to speculate as to what mighthave become of him. He might have perished in the forest, or found hisway to Clochonne, or fallen in with De Berquin and suffered for havingbeen of our party. When his disappearance was mentioned, Jeannotte wouldlook at mademoiselle, and mademoiselle would say:
"Poor boy! I pray that no evil may have befallen him. He was fidelityitself. He would die for me!"
But she did not give herself up to poignant sorrow on his account, or,indeed, since the night at Godeau's inn, on account of anything. Sheseemed to have set herself to bear her troubles in Spartan manner, and tofind in herself, perhaps with surprise, the strength to do so.
So the days passed, and still my plans in regard to her father remainedunformed, the men on whom I relied did not appear, and mademoiselle didnot speak of resuming her flight southward. There came no further sign ofthe existence of De Berquin. From or of the outside world we heardnothing, save occasionally, when the wind was in the right direction, thefaint sound of the bell of Clochonne. We seemed to dwell apart, in aregion of our own, an enchanted forest which none other might enter, aplace where we were forever safe from the strife of humanity, the touchof war, the reach of the King's edicts, the power of provincialgovernors, the vengeance of the great. The gypsies remained with us, andsweetened the time with their songs and the music of their instruments.My men treated mademoiselle with the utmost respect. I had caused them toknow that she was a refugee, a lady most precious in my esteem, one forwhose safety and happiness any other consideration must, should occasionarise, be sacrificed. The weather was dry, sunny, and, for the time ofyear, mild. It was like a sweet dream, and I, for one, had no premonitionof the awakening that was to come.
Often during that time I spoke of my love for her. I told her that, tome, at least, religion was not so much as to drive me from the woman whomI had so long sought in vain among the beauties of our Henri's court,whom I had so long worshipped in the ideal, whom I had instantlyrecognized as being the embodiment of that ideal, of whose presence Icould not endure to be deprived even in thought.
She would sit looking in my eyes while I told her these things. Sometimesshe would seem to yield to a kind of bliss in hearing them, to forget allelse than ourselves and my words. Then suddenly a look of anguish wouldcome on her features, she would rise and press her hands to her eyes, asif to blot out the memory of my look, and say:
"Monsieur, you must not! You must not! You do not know! Oh, if you knew!"
And she would quickly glide away into the chateau, keeping her faceturned from me until she had disappeared.
I began to think that there might be another obstacle than that of ourdifference in religion. Perhaps a promise to another or some vow! But Iswore to myself that, whatever the obstacle might be, I would removeit. The only matter for present disposition was to get her consent tomy doing so.
She would soon return, composed and smiling, with no sign of wishing toelude me. For the life of me, I could not long refrain from the subjectthat had before so strangely put her to flight.
Sometimes when I talked in the strain of love, joy and pain would succeedeach other on her face, sometimes they would seem to be present at thesame moment. From the look of complete abandonment to happiness thatsometimes, though never for long, shone on her features, I felt that sheloved me, and that eventually her love would gain the victory. Icontinually tried to elicit an expression of her feelings in words. Sweetto me as was the frequent confession of her looks, I sought a confessionin speech also.
One afternoon, as we stood on a little spur that rose from the declivitybelow the chateau, and whence through a small opening between trees couldbe seen the river, the smiling plain, and afar the high-perched chateauof Clochonne, I asked her:
"Why is it that when I speak of what most occupies my heart you becomesilent or sorrowful, or go suddenly from me?"
br /> With assumed lightness she replied:
"Can a woman explain her capricious doings any more than a man canunderstand them? It is well known that we do unaccountable things."
Not heeding this evasion, I went on:
"I sometimes fear that you imagine some other barrier between us than theone of religion. Is it that some other gentleman--?"
"Oh, no, monsieur!" she answered, quickly and earnestly, before I hadtime to finish the question.
"Is there, then, some vow or girlish resolution?"
She shook her head negatively in reply, but would not give me any moresatisfaction.
At last I said, abruptly, "Do you, then, wish me not to love you?"
She looked at me first as if she would answer yes, and then as if shewould answer no, and finally, after a sigh, she said:
"Can we cause things by wishing?"
Finally, as a last means of trying her, I said:
"Mademoiselle, I have been thinking that it might be better if I were togo on alone to Guienne, and leave Blaise and my men to conduct you whenyou are able to follow."
She regarded me strangely, first as if the suggestion were a welcome one,then,--while her brow darkened, and a kind of mental anguish forceditself into her expression,--as if the plan were not at all acceptable.
"But you will not do that, monsieur?" was all that she said.
I could but sigh in puzzlement, and abandon my attempt to make her tellher feelings.
Sometimes I would suddenly turn my eyes towards her, and catch herlooking at me with mingled tenderness and pity, as a man condemned to diemight be looked on by the woman who loved him. At those times I thoughtthat she had some fear or foreboding that I might yet fall a victim tothe vengeance of those whom I had offended. Sometimes her look quitestartled me, for it contained, besides a world of grief and pity,something of self-reproach. I then supposed that she blamed herself forallowing her fatigue to delay me in my departure from the province.
But these demonstrations did not often escape her. She oftenest showedthe forced cheerfulness that I have already mentioned. The moments whenany kind of distress showed itself were exceptional, and many of themwere caused by the persistence with which I sought a response in words tomy declarations of love.
There came at last the afternoon--how well I remember it!--when we sattogether on the stone bench in the sunlit part of the old courtyard.Through the interstices of the overspreading branches we could see aperfectly clear blue sky. The slightest movement of air made the leavesrustle sleepily, dreamily. Save the chirping of the birds, no other soundemanated from the forest. The murmur of the river at the foot of thewooded steep came up to us. In a corner of the yard the two gypsies layasleep. Some of my men were off on various employments. A few had gonefor game; others to fish. One of them, Frojac, was in Clochonne disguisedas a peasant, to keep a watch on the garrison there. The party offoragers had not returned. Of the men at the chateau, those who were noton guard were with Blaise Tripault in the great hall, where they had justfinished eating and drinking, Hugo had gone to the stables to feedmademoiselle's horses. Jeannotte was asleep in her chamber. Mademoiselleand I sat in silence, in the midst of a solitude, a remote tranquillity,a dreamy repose that it was difficult to imagine as ever to be broken.
She seemed to yield to the benign influence of this enchanted place. Sheleaned back restfully, closed her eyes, and smiled.
Suddenly there came from within the chateau the sound of my men singing.Their rude, strong voices were low at first, but they rose in pitch andvolume as their song progressed. Mademoiselle ceased to smile, opened hereyes, again took on the look of dark foreboding. The song had an ominousring. It was one of the Huguenot war hymns sung in the army of our Henri:
"With pricking of steel Our foe we have sped, We've peppered his heel With pellets of lead, And the battles we win are the gifts of the Lord, Who pointeth our cannon and guideth our sword. We fire and we charge and there's nothing can bar When we fight in the track of the King of Navarre. Then down, down, down with the Duke of Guise! Death, death, death to our enemies! And glory, we sing, to God and our King, And death to the foes of Navarre!"
The melody was grim and stirring. The men's voices vibrated with war-likewrath. They were impatient for battles, charges, the kind of fightingthat is done between great armies on the open field, when there is theroar and smoke of cannon, the rattle of small firearms, the clash ofsteel, the cries of captains, the shrieks and groans of wounded, theplenteous spilling of blood. They were hungry for carnage.
"There is no cause to shudder, mademoiselle," said I, perceiving theeffect that the song had on her; "we are far away from fighting. There isno danger here."
"There may be dangers of which you do not guess," she answered.
As if to verify her words, a sudden, sharp cry broke the stillness. Itcame from the forest path by which we had arrived at the chateau. It wasthe voice of one of my sentinels challenging a newcomer.
"It is I," came the reply. "I have important news for the captain."
"Oh, it is you, Marianne?" replied the man on guard. "I didn't know youfor an instant, you appeared so suddenly, without any noise."
I hastened to the gate and called, "Come, Marianne, what is it?"
She came up puffing and perspiring. So breathless was she that she had tosit down on a bench in the courtyard before she could answer me.
"Oh, monsieur!" she said, when she had recovered some breath. "Look toyourself! The governor of the province is at Clochonne!"
"The devil!" I said, and turned to see the effect of this news onmademoiselle.
She was standing, trembling, as white as death, her one hand on the backof the bench for support.
"Be not alarmed, mademoiselle," I said, "Clochonne is not Maury! They donot know our hiding-place. How did you learn, Marianne, and what else doyou know?"
Mademoiselle stood perfectly still and fixed her eyes on Marianne,awaiting the latter's answers with apparently as much interest as Imyself felt.
"Godeau went to Clochonne this morning with some eggs to sell, andlearned that the governor arrived last night and occupies the chateau,"said Marianne.
"With how many men?" I asked.
"Godeau said that the courtyard of the chateau and the market-place ofthe town were full of men-at-arms, but he did not wait to find out howmany there were. He knew what he would catch from me if he did notimmediately bring me the news, that I might let you know. So he came homeat once, and as soon as I had heard it I started for this place."
"I thank you, Marianne. You are the best of women. Yet it may not be onour account that M. de la Chatre honors Clochonne with a visit."
It was, indeed, true that the governor would naturally visit his bordertowns at a time when war might be expected soon to enter his province.Yet I could not help thinking that his coming at this particular time hadsomething to do with his plan to capture me. I remembered what courseMontignac had advised him to take: to wait until his spy should havelocated me and sent him word of my hiding-place, then to come toClochonne, whither the spy, on learning of his presence, should send himthe information that would enable him to lay an ambuscade for me. Thiswas a good plan, for a premature arrival of the governor at Clochonnemight give me time to flee before my whereabouts should be known to thespy; but, knowing my exact whereabouts, La Chatre could first takemeasures for cutting off my flight, and then risk nothing by coming toClochonne. Moreover, should the spy fail as to the ambush, the governor'sacquaintance with my whereabouts would serve him in a chase that he mightmake with his soldiers. The ambush was but a device more likely tosucceed than an open search and attack. It was, if at all possible,easier, and would cost the governor no lives.
Now, if the plan suggested by Montignac was being carried out, thegovernor's arrival at Clochonne meant that his spy had sent him word ofmy hiding-place. But could De Berquin have done so? He had previouslyshown some skill in secret pursuit. Had he eluded the vigilance of my
sentinels, learned that we were at Maury, and sent one of his men to thegovernor with the information? It was improbable, yet nothing occurs moreoften than the improbable. So I asked Marianne:
"Have you seen anything of the five men who drank with me the night youcarried wine to us from the inn?"
"Not since that night, monsieur."
"And you have no more news than you have told me?"
"Nothing more, monsieur; so, if you please, I will hurry back, formy old man is sure to have fallen asleep, and it would be a pity ifthe governor's men should come by the forest road without beingseen. Be sure, if they come after I reach home, you shall know of itin good time."
I bade her go, and turned to mademoiselle.
She was as pale as a white lily. As soon as my eye met hers, she said, ina faint voice:
"I am going in, monsieur. I am tired. No, I can go alone. Do not beconcerned about me. I shall soon feel better."
And she went rapidly into the chateau, giving me no time in which toassure her that there was no reason for immediate alarm.
I wished to consider Marianne's news before communicating it to any of mymen. I had to inquire of myself whether it called for any immediateaction on my part. So that my meditations might not be interrupted, Ileft the chateau and walked into the forest.
For hours I considered the possible relations of the governor's arrivalto mademoiselle's safety and my own, to that of my men and our cause, andto my intention of delivering M. de Varion from prison. But I couldarrive at no conclusion, for I knew neither the governor's intentions,nor what information he had concerning me. There were so manyprobabilities and so many possible combinations of them, that at last Ithrew the whole matter from my mind, determining to await events. On theway back to the chateau I reproached myself for having wasted so muchtime in making useless guesses, for when I found myself at the gate itwas night, and the moon had risen.
I stopped at the entrance and stood still to listen to the voice ofBlaise, which rose in the courtyard in the words of a psalm. He sang itwith a gentleness the very reverse of the feeling his voice had expressedin the war hymn a few hours earlier. From a sound that came between thewords now and then, I knew that he was engaged in one of his favoriteoccupations, that of polishing his weapons.
Pleased to hear him singing in the moonlight, I stood at the gate, lestby entering I might interrupt the psalm.
Presently, at the end of the stanza, I heard another voice from thedoorway of the chateau.
"Ah, Blaise," said Jeannotte, "it is the spirit of your mother thatcontrols you now."
He made no answer, nor did he resume his singing. Then I recalled thatfor the past few days he had not shown his former susceptibility to themaid's charms; he had, indeed, exhibited towards her a kind ofdisapproving shyness. I had not attached any importance to this.
"Why do you not go on singing your psalm?" Jeannotte asked, comingnearer to him.
His answer was a strange one. It was spoken with a kind of contemptuousirony and searching interrogation. The words were:
"Mademoiselle's boy Pierre has not yet come back to us."
"What has that to do with your singing?" said Jeannotte. "We all know itvery well. Poor Pierre! To think that he may have been taken by Monsieurde Berquin!"
"It is well that he did not know the place of our destination when hewent away," said Blaise, in the same insignificant tone, "else M. deBerquin might torture the secret out of him, and carry it to the governorof the province, for M. de Berquin knows now that my master is LaTournoire. It would not be well for the boy, or any one else, to be themeans of the governor's learning La Tournoire's hiding-place!"
After which words, spoken with a kind of ominous menace, Blaise abruptlyleft the girl, and strode around the corner of the chateau. The maidstood still a few moments, then went into the chateau.
Completely mystified, I crossed the courtyard and called Blaise.
"M. de la Chatre is at Clochonne," I said, abruptly, as soon as he wasbefore me.
He stood still, returning my gaze. Presently he said:
"Do you think that he has learned where you are?"
"Through M. de Berquin?" I said, as if completing his question.
"Or any one else?" he said, in a low voice. "There was the boy whodisappeared, for instance."
"But he did not know our hiding-place when he left. He did not know hownear we then were to it. He did not then know that I was La Tournoire."
"But there was much talk of La Tournoire on the journey. Did you at anytime drop any hint of this place, and how it might be reached?"
"None that could have reached his ears. I told only Mlle. de Varion, andwe were quite alone when I did so."
Blaise looked at the ground in silence. After some time he gave a heavysigh, and, raising his eyes, said:
"Monsieur, I have been thinking of many things of late. Certain mattershave had a strange appearance. But,--well, perhaps my thoughts have beenabsurd, and, in short, I have nothing to say about them except this,monsieur, it is well to be on one's guard always against every one!"
I was about to ask him whether he meant that the boy Pierre had beenguilty of eavesdropping and treachery, and to reprove him for thatunworthy suspicion, when there was a noise at the gate. Looking thither,I saw two of my men, Sabray and Roquelin, conducting into the courtyardthree starved-looking persons, who leaned wearily on one another'sshoulders, and seemed ready to drop with fatigue.
"We found these wretches in the woods," explained Sabray. "They areCatholics, although that one tried to hide his cross and shouted, 'Downwith the mass!' when we told them to surrender in the name of the Sieurde la Tournoire."
"It is true that I was a Catholic," whined the bedraggled fop who hadbelonged to De Berquin's band of four; "but I was just about to abjurewhen these men came up."
"I will abjure twice over, if it pleases monsieur," put in the tallSpanish-looking ruffian. "Nothing would delight me more than to be aHuguenot. By the windpipe of the Pope, for a flagon of wine I wouldbe a Jew!"
"And I a damned infidel Turk," wearily added their fat comrade, "for aroast fowl, and a place to lay my miserable body!"
At this moment the fop's eyes fell on Blaise.
"Saint Marie!" he cried, falling to his knees. "We are dead men. It isthe big fellow we trussed up at the inn!"
"Belly of Beelzebub, so it is!" bellowed Blaise, pulling out his sword.Turning to Jeannotte, who had just reappeared in the courtyard, heroared: "It is now my father's spirit that controls me!"
Whereupon he fell to belaboring the three poor, weary, hungry, thirstyrascals with the flat of his sword, till all of them yelled in concert.They were too limp to resist or even to run, and he had his way with themuntil Sabray and Roquelin howled with laughter. At last I ordered him tostop, and to confine the men in a chamber, where they should be fed andquestioned. So they limped away moaning, driven like cattle by Blaise,who promised them as they went that they should not be put to the troubleof tying up honest people in the dark for some time to come. Jeannottefollowed, out of curiosity, as did Sabray and Roquelin.
Left alone in the courtyard, I sat on the stone bench, which was now inpart yellow with moonlight, and began to ponder. I could doubtless learnfrom the three captives whether De Berquin had had any hand in the comingof La Chatre to Clochonne. Anxious as I was to inform myself, I was yetin no mood to question the men at that moment, preferring to wait andhear the result of Blaise's interrogations.
While I was thinking, my arms folded and my eyes turned to the ground atmy feet, I suddenly heard a deep sigh very near me.
I looked up and saw Mademoiselle de Varion standing before me in themoonlight. My gaze met hers, and in the delicious glow that her presencesent through me I forgot all in the world but her.