CHAPTER XXIV
A PROPHET WITHOUT HONOUR
At the appeal La Mothe's grip upon the chair grew more tense, and hishand so shook that the whole chair was shaken as he felt the girlstiffen against his knuckles. What his hopes were he did not dareadmit, though the foundations of his faith were never shaken. Bettereven than the girl he understood how great was the issue Comminesplayed for in his effort to move her from her silence. Was it anhonest appeal or was it a trap? Would the love of a father accept ahinted repentance, a veiled regret as sufficient? or did Commines,astute and unscrupulous in his master's service, invite a contritionthat he might triumphantly declare, Here is proof? A single wordspoken in reversal of her afternoon's denial would justify---- Butswiftly as thought grew from thought Ursula de Vesc was yet swifter inher reply.
"I think you mean to be kind, Monsieur d'Argenton, and for that I amgrateful. Saxe, we are waiting."
"Two days ago Hugues came to me again. I was in the stables----"
"Where Hugues flung you into the horse-trough last month for speakingdisrespectfully of the Dauphin?"
"Mademoiselle, you must not interrupt; later you can question Saxe ifyou wish."
"I wished to show you what good friends they were, these two. Huguescannot speak for himself."
"He had need of me," said Saxe sullenly, "and that was the reason hecame to me as I say. I was grooming Grey Roland. 'He saved a King forFrance,' said Hugues, with his hand on his neck, 'and what a King hewill make, so grateful, so generous. Not a man who helps him will beforgotten. And it won't be long now. Saxe,' he said, 'you should joinus while there is time.' 'Who are us?' said I. But he wouldn't answerthat. 'You could hang us all if you knew,' he said. So I told himthat unless I had at least one name I wouldn't listen to him. What washe but a servant? So he stood rubbing his chin awhile, then he said,'We need you, Saxe, for you have the horses we want and you know Valmy,so I'll tell you who is the brain of it all and the keenest next to theDauphin himself--Mademoiselle de Vesc.'"
"A lie," said La Mothe, "the damnedest lie that ever came out of hell.Finish your lies, Saxe."
Sternly Commines turned upon him. "You are here only on sufferance;either leave the room or be silent."
"Monsieur d'Argenton, it is every man's right----" began La Mothe; butUrsula de Vesc, turning in her chair, laid a hand upon his arm.
"Wait," she said, smiling up at him bravely; "but I am grateful to youall the same. So I am the brain of it all, Saxe?"
"I only know what Hugues told me," answered Saxe, looking straightbefore him. Of the two he was the more disturbed. His scalp tingled,and again the little points of perspiration were glistening on hisforehead. Her quietness frightened him. To have shouted down apassion of protest, a passion of terrified, angry denial, would havebeen more natural. "He said you sent him on both days, you andMonseigneur. You were both afraid the King would suspect the truth----"
"The truth!" repeated the girl, and for the first time her voice shook;"but it is all a lie, as Monsieur La Mothe says, a clumsy lie, and yetI see that it may serve its purpose. It is not the truth the Kingrequires. Monsieur d'Argenton, I tell you formally that what Saxe hassaid is absolutely untrue."
"Saxe is explicit, you can question him when he has finished," answeredCommines coldly. For him the King stood behind Jean Saxe, and no meredenial would content Louis or set his fears at rest. "Go on, Saxe.The King would suspect the truth?"
"So he said, monseigneur, and so there was need for haste," said Saxe.
"Then why wait two days before telling Monsieur d'Argenton? Why waittwo days before warning the King? Why wait until Hugues was dead?"
"There was a courier from Valmy to-day," said Villon, speaking for thefirst time, and, as it seemed, irrelevantly.
Commines turned upon him sharply. "What has that to do with it? Hebrought letters from the King addressed to me. Monsieur La Mothe knowstheir contents."
"And for Jean Saxe," retorted Villon; "letters from the King for JeanSaxe and Monsieur d'Argenton!"
"Ah!" said mademoiselle the second time, "so that is why Monsieurd'Argenton is in Amboise."
"That is why," answered Commines, his hand stretched out indenunciation. "At Valmy we more than guessed your treason. But it washard to believe that a woman could so corrupt a boy, that a son couldso conspire against a father, and I came to Amboise probing the truth.And every day proof has piled upon proof, presumptive proof I grant,but proof damning and conclusive nevertheless. Every day the King hasbeen held up to loathing and contempt. Every day the woman--you,Mademoiselle de Vesc, you--egged on the boy to worse than disaffection.Every day the son reviled the father, even to telling God's own priestthat his one thought was hate--everlasting hate. The spirit to hurtand the accursed will were there, more shameless every day, moreshameless and more insolent; but until to-day, until Jean Saxe spoke,there was no proof that the courage to act, the courage to carry outthe evident ill desire was callously plotting to set France shudderingwith horror. But Saxe has spoken. That he should have spoken earlieris beside the point. He has spoken at last and the truth is strippedbare."
"No truth," said mademoiselle, "no truth; before God, no truth." Shewas rigidly upright in her chair, her eyes blazing like cold stars, herface very pale. Every limb, every muscle, was trembling, her handpressed under her breast as when La Mothe had seen her for the firsttime. "No truth except that the Dauphin has said unwise things attimes and I also. To that I confess."
"You confess because you cannot deny," answered Commines, "and hadHugues not tampered with Saxe the truth might never have been knownuntil all France stood aghast at the tragedy. That Hugues is deadmatters nothing. His death does not affect the issue. He would havedenied it had he lived. But now we know without a doubt that you andhe, and that unhappy boy, the Dauphin--Villon, who is that fumbling atthe latch? Let no one in, and bid whoever knocks begone whence hecame."
But instead of obeying Villon flung the door wide. The Dauphin was onthe threshold, half dressed, his shoes unbuckled, his laces awry, hisface cadaverous in its pallor. He had been crying, and the traces ofthe unwiped tears lined his cheeks. Underneath the dull eyes, dullerthan common, were livid hollows, and he shook from head to foot in anervous terror.
"Hugues," he said, his voice a-quaver. "How am I to do without Hugues?He always slept at my door, and now I have no one--no one at all.Ursula, what has happened? What are they saying to you?"
Mechanically obedient to the dominant power of custom rather than toany conscious will, Ursula de Vesc had risen at the boy's entrance.But the strain of an enforced calmness is greater than that of anypassionate outburst, and only the support of the table kept her on herfeet. Against this she leaned, her open hand flat upon it.
"Monseigneur--Charles--oh! why did you come just now?" Her voice brokeas it had not broken when confronting Saxe or braving the bitterdenunciation Commines had poured upon her. But the boy's presencefretted her realization to the quick. It was not she alone beforewhose feet the gulf had opened so suddenly. "Go back to your room.Some one will take Hugues' place,--good, brave, loyal Hugues."
"Sleep in peace, Monseigneur," said La Mothe, "I will take Hugues'place to-night."
But Commines thought he saw his way to end a scene which had grownembarrassing, and at the same time take the first step along a pathwhich could have but one end.
"There is no need for that. One of my men will guard the Dauphin."
"Your man? A man from Valmy sleep at my door? Thank you, Monseigneurd'Argenton, but I do not wish to sleep so soundly as that."
"And yet you wished your father to sleep sound?"
"My quarrel with my father is between the King and the Dauphin,"answered the boy with one of those sudden accessions of dignity whichwere as characteristic as they were disconcerting. "Do you, sir, knowyour place and keep it. Ursula, what is Saxe doing here at this timeof night?"
Though he addressed Mademoiselle de Vesc by name,
Charles looked roundhim as he spoke. The question was for the room at large. But no oneanswered him. It was no part of Commines' plan to make a public chargeagainst the Dauphin. There was no need to make such a charge, it couldonly provoke a scene of violence, of denial, of protest, ofrecrimination, and raise a storm whose echoes might pass beyond thewalls of Amboise. Not that way would he earn the King's thanks, so heheld his peace. But the Dauphin was not to be cowed by silence.
"Ursula, what have they been saying to you? All these men against onewoman is cowardly. If I were a man like Monsieur La Mothe----"
"Hush, Charles; Monsieur La Mothe is our friend."
"I know. He saved us both to-day, me for the second time. Monsieur LaMothe, when I am king, I won't forget. But why is Saxe here? Villon,you are his friend, why is Saxe here?"
Villon had closed the door behind the Dauphin, resting his back againstit as before. His shrewd clear eyes had watched every phase of thescene from its beginning. Twice he had spoken, twice or thrice he hadlaughed his soft unctuous chuckle as if his thoughts pleased him. Now,directly addressed, he came forward a step, and his bearing was that ofthe actor who hears his cue.
"No friend, Monseigneur; the honour would be too great. Who am I tocall myself the friend of a prophet? Or perhaps it was Hugues who wasthe prophet; Hugues who is dead and cannot speak for himself."
"Speak no evil of Hugues," said Charles, "he--he----" and the boy'slips quivered, the tears starting afresh under his swollen lids as thememory of his loss came home to him, "he loved me, he died for me, andoh, Ursula! will they take you from me too?"
"No, Charles; surely not. But I think Monsieur Villon has somethingmore to say. Why do you call Hugues a prophet?"
"Because he foretold Guy de Molembrais' death three days before itoccurred--or was it four? You should know, Saxe?"
"I only know what he told me," answered Saxe doggedly, but the freshruddiness of his face had faded, and he sucked at his lips as if theyhad grown suddenly dry. He knew Villon and Villon's ways of old, knewhis bitter tongue, knew his shrewdness, and feared both.
"Just so," said Villon cheerfully, "and a week before Monsieurd'Argenton came to Amboise he told you no one was safe from the King'ssick suspicions, not even if he carried a safe-conduct, andinstanced----"
"Villon is right!" cried La Mothe. "Monsieur d'Argenton--Uncle--thankGod, Villon is right. Guy de Molembrais was alive a week before weleft Valmy. Saxe has lied, lied, lied. Do you see it, Uncle? I knewhe lied. Oh, you hound! you hound! And you had a letter from Valmythis afternoon? That accounts----"
"Hush, Monsieur La Mothe, hush." Rising from her chair Ursula de Vescalmost put her hand over La Mothe's mouth in her efforts to silencehim. "You have said enough; do not say too much--too much foryourself. Charles, Charles, let us thank God together," and, turningfrom La Mothe, she caught the boy in her arms, drawing him to herbreast in a passion of relief. It was not difficult to see what herchief anxiety had been. "Monsieur d'Argenton, surely you are satisfiednow?"
Was he satisfied? By no means. But Commines was spared theembarrassment of an immediate reply. The door, which Villon had justquitted, was thrown hastily open and a servant entered, a sealedenvelope in his hand. Ignoring the Dauphin utterly--and it wasindicative of the estimate in which the boy was held--he turned toCommines.
"From Valmy, for Monsieur d'Argenton, in great haste. The messengerhas left a horse foundered on the road."
"From Valmy? But this is not the King's--there! you can go. See thatthe messenger is well cared for."
With his thumb under the silk thread which, passing through the seal,secured the envelope, Commines paused and, in spite of all his trainedself-control, his face changed. Of all the emotions, fear is, perhaps,the most difficult to conceal because of its widely varied shades ofexpression. With some it is a tightening of the nostrils, with othersa compression of the lips, a change of colour, or a line between thebrows. It may even be the laugh of an assumed carelessness, a pretenceat jest, but upon one and all it leaves some sign. The seal was notthe King's seal, and the handwriting was strange to him.
"Saxe, if you have lied, it will go hard with you, understand that.No, I can hear nothing now; tomorrow, perhaps, or next day. MonsieurVillon, place him in safety for to-night, he must not be allowed toleave the Chateau."
"But, monsieur--monseigneur, I mean--it was the King--"
"Hold your tongue, you fool," said Villon, hustling him through thedoorway; "would you make bad worse, or do you want to hang twice over?"
But even when the door was shut behind them Commines stood irresolute.There are times when to be alone is the instinct of nature, and thiswas one of them. He felt intuitively that some blow threatened, somereverse, a disaster even. Louis' last letter, received that very day,had been harsh in tone, curt to severity, its few words full of apersonal complaint which his pride had concealed from Stephen La Mothe.It had been more than a rebuke, it had been a warning, almost a threat.Now upon its heels came this, and he knew that of the three who watchedhim curiously two were his open enemies. If it was his dismissal, hisdownfall, there would be no pity. But to be alone was impossible. Thesituation had to be faced there and then. "With your permission.Monseigneur?" he said, and tore the envelope open.
It was a short letter, as many fateful letters are, and Commines readit in a glance, then a second time. "My God!" they heard him say twiceover, drawing in his breath as if an old wound had hurt him suddenly.Half unconsciously his hands crumpled up the paper, then asunconsciously smoothed it out again. The instinct to be alone hadpossessed him like a prayer, and at times our prayers have a trick offinding an answer in a way we do not expect. The solitariness hedesired had come upon him. He forgot he was not alone, and the truestsolitude is the isolation of the spirit when the material world slipsfrom us, and in the presence of the eternal a man is set face to facewith his own soul. So he stood, the paper shaking in his shakinghands, his lips moving soundlessly. Then he shifted his eyes, and asthey fell upon the Dauphin, caught in Ursula de Vesc's arms, the skirtof the white robe half wrapped round him, his head almost upon herbreast, he straightened himself with an effort.
"Monseigneur," he began, "the King----" but the words choked in histhroat. His coarse, healthy face had gone wan and grey, now it flushedand a rush of tears filled his eyes. But with an impatient jerk of thehead he shook them from his cheeks and La Mothe saw him struggling forself-control. "The King is dead," he said hoarsely. "God have mercyon us all; the King is dead--dead."
From the boy his eyes had travelled upwards, following the protectingarm which lay across the slender shoulders, and it was Ursula de Vescwho answered. Charles had caught her hand in both his and held itpressed against his breast. It was clear that he did not understand,but the full meaning of the tragedy of death is not comprehensible in asingle moment, nor was the girl's answer much more than an exclamation.
"Monsieur d'Argenton! The King? The King dead?"
"Dead," he said dully, "the greatest King that France has ever known,the greatest mind that was alive in France. In France? In Europe!There was none like him--none. A great King, great in his foresight,great in his wisdom, great in his love for France; a great King, and heis dead. But yesterday, this very day even, he held the peace ofnations in the hollow of his hand, now---- Why, how poor a thing isman. Dead! dead! But his monument is a great nation, a new France;and who shall hold France in her pride of place amongst the nationswhere his dead hand raised her? Dead; the Great King and my friend."