MADEMOISELLE ST. CLAIR
Sharp hammering at the door, long continued, finally brought an end to
Barrington's nightmare hours and Seth's deep slumbers. The sun was
streaming in through the little window, revealing the dust and the
dilapidation of this lodging. Seth went to the door.
"Ma foi, I thought you had started on your last long journey," said the
proprietor of the house. "My knuckles are sore with knocking. Monsieur
le Comte bid me give you this card. You would understand and pay, he
said."
"How much?"
"Six louis. It was arranged, he said, and I gave him the money before he
went this morning."
"He has gone?" called Barrington from his bed.
"Madame la Marquise heard of his arrival, Monsieur, and sent to fetch
him to lodgings in the castle. You will doubtless meet him in Beauvais
during the day."
"Six louis for this card?" questioned Seth. "It is a long price."
"If you were not a stranger in Beauvais you would know that it was very
cheap," answered the proprietor.
"Pay it," said Barrington.
Seth did so with a grumble, and wondered how much the proprietor was
making out of the deal.
"We have fallen among thieves, Master Richard," he said as he shut the
door. "I shouldn't wonder if any one could slip into this ball without
payment of any sort. We've made a long night of it."
"Weariness and wine," answered Barrington. "The wine was strong, or this
mountain air added to the potency of its effects upon us."
"Maybe. I never slept so soundly since I was a youngster."
"And I never had such horrible dreams," said Barrington.
"I've been thinking, Master Richard, that there may be worse than
thieves in Beauvais," said Seth, after a pause. "We're rather like men
at sea without the knowledge of how to handle ropes and set sail--an
extra puff of wind, and we risk being overturned. There's something to
learn about the methods of these Frenchmen, especially when every man
sees a possible enemy in his neighbor. The gentlemen at Trémont did not
much please me, nor was I greatly taken with Monsieur le Comte."
"We shall have plenty of time to learn their methods, Seth."
"But in the meanwhile the puff of wind may come, Master Richard. I don't
like this masked ball."
"You may trust me to be careful."
"Your idea of precaution and mine may differ a little," Seth answered.
"You don't see danger so far ahead as I do."
"That may be in my favor," laughed Richard. "Be at ease, Seth; I shall
do nothing rash. Neither our blatant friend Sabatier, nor our courteous
acquaintance of last night, shall catch me sleeping. I do not trust men
very easily, nor women either, for that matter."
"Ay, Master Richard, it's a weight off my mind to know that this
Mademoiselle St. Clair has so little attraction about her. I've been
young myself and know the power of women. You've not been through that
fire yet."
"A strange thing at my age, Seth. I have thought that no woman is likely
to plague me much."
"Get well into your grave before you think that," was the answer. "I'm
no hater of women, far from it, and I know a man's never safe. Why, a
chit of twenty may make a fool of a veteran, and set his tired old heart
trying to beat like that of a lad just out of his school days. Only last
year there was a girl in Virginia sent me panting along this road of
folly, and I'm not sure it wasn't Providence which sent me with you to
France."
Beauvais presented a lively scene that day, but it was in vain that
Barrington kept a sharp lookout for Monsieur le Comte and his friend.
Many people came and went from the château, but they were not among
them. Barrington did not particularly want to meet them, but he realized
that circumstances might arise which would make them useful, and he
would have liked to find out what position they held among the other
exiles in Beauvais. A prominent one, surely, since the Marquise had
fetched them to lodgings in the château, and therefore it was possible
that Barrington's arrival had puzzled them. They might reasonably doubt
whether he had any right to pose as an aristocrat and an exile,
suspicion would certainly follow, and sharp eyes might be upon him at
the ball to-night. Even as a go-between in a love affair there might be
some danger for him, but was his mission only that?
When he left his lodgings that evening he had disguised himself as much
as possible. He wore a cloak which his acquaintances of last night had
not seen, he had procured a mask which hid as much of his face as
possible. He went armed, and fastened in the lining of his coat was the
little gold star he had taken from the dead man's coat. He fingered it
through the cloth to make sure that it was safe as he crossed the,
square and went toward the château. Seth may have been right, and the
six louis thrown away, for no one took any notice of Barrington as he
passed into the castle. Although he gave up his card of invitation, he
was convinced that with a little diplomacy and a bold front he could
have got in without one.
Exteriorly the castle retained much of its mediæval appearance, and
within the new had been cleverly and lovingly grafted onto the old.
There were still dungeons enclosed in these massive walls, chambers
wherein misery and pain had cried aloud to no effect. There were narrow
passages down which tortured men must once have been carried, or at the
end of which some oubliette opened to sudden destruction. Many horrible
things must be in the knowledge of this massive masonry. The great hall,
where men at arms, after a foray or raid upon some neighboring
stronghold, must have caroused times without number, making the roof
ring with their rude rejoicing, was alive to-night with men and women,
exiles forgetting their exile for a while or exchanging news which might
mean a speedy return to their homeland. All were masked, although it was
apparent that many had no difficulty in recognizing their neighbors
under the disguise, but although there were a few brilliant costumes
and occasional flashes of jewels, the general impression of dress was
sombre and makeshift. How could it be otherwise when the flight from
Paris, or from the provinces, had been so sudden, no preparation
possible?
At one side of the hall, the center of a little group, stood a
white-haired woman of commanding presence. Jewels flashed in her dress,
and there was laughter about her. Evidently this was the Marquise de
Rovère, and she was busy welcoming her guests. With some it was more
than a passing word of greeting, there was news to be imparted by one
lately in communication with Austria or Prussia, or perchance with
England; there was the latest news from Paris to be had from one who had
just escaped from his enemies; there was news, too, of friends who had
not been so fortunate, or who had willingly stayed to face the storm;
there were rumors which had been gathered from all sources to be
whispered. This château of Beauvais was a meeting place, a center for
much scheming; and for a while the hours must be made to pass as
pleasantly as possible.
These men and women were different from those he had come in contact
with, of a different world altogether; yet his youth responded to the
music and verve of it all. Because it was different, new and unfamiliar
to him, that was no proof that what he had known was right, and this was
wrong. His blood was pulsating, the atmosphere was exhilarating.
Pleasure flung him her gauge, why should he not pick it up? A woman was
beside him, dark eyes flashing through her mask, red lips wreathed into
a smile. The next moment reserve had broken down and he was dancing with
her, acquitting himself with sufficient grace to pass muster, and
almost as ready with his compliment as she was to receive it.
"We shall dance again, monsieur," she said presently, when another
partner carried her away.
"Until then I shall count the moments," Barrington answered, and it was
perhaps this suggestion of the future which brought to his mind the real
reason for his presence there.
A large woman, with raven hair, and of such a figure that it shook when
she walked; among the dancers there were many who might pass for large
women, the hair of one or two might be considered raven, but there was
not one who completed the full description he had had of Mademoiselle
St. Clair. Certainly she was not among those who stood near the
Marquise, and Barrington went from vantage point to vantage point in
search of her. Neither could he discover Monsieur le Comte or his
friend. Lodged in the château, they had possibly obtained richer
garments, and would be difficult to identify. The fulfillment of his
mission was not to be so easy as he had imagined.
He had been watching from a corner near the entrance to the ballroom,
partially concealed by a little knot of people who were standing before
him. He could have overheard their conversation, but he was not
listening. He was wondering how he could find mademoiselle. There was
surely some other apartment where guests were, for his eyes were keen,
and he had certainly not seen her yet.
"Monsieur does not dance?"
Barrington turned quickly. The little crowd which had stood in front of
him had gone, and near him was a woman. It was difficult to know whether
her words were a statement of fact, question or invitation.
"I have danced, mademoiselle."
"And are now waiting for some one?"
"No. If mademoiselle will honor me I--"
"I also have danced many times, monsieur, and am inclined to rest a
little."
Barrington looked at her, and a pair of violet eyes met his glance
through her mask, deep, almost unfathomable eyes, difficult to read and
filled with the light that lures men on to strange and wonderful things.
Her auburn hair had brown and darker shadows in it, the color one may
see in a distant wood in late autumn when the sun touches it; her
transparent skin was delicately tinted, such a tint as may be seen in
rare china. Her small, well-shaped mouth seemed made for smiles, yet
there was a line of firmness in it suggestive of determination. There
was a cadence in her voice, a musical rise and fall which held an
appeal. The lines of her figure were graceful, there was youth and vigor
in every movement, and without being above the medium height, the pose
of her head on her shapely shoulders gave her a certain air of
stateliness, natural and becoming to her it seemed. She was a woman
designed for happiness and laughter, Barrington thought, and he felt she
was not happy. He wondered if there were not tears in those violet eyes,
and he had a sudden longing to behold her without a mask. It would have
been easy for her to make him again forget his mission, and why he was
in the château of Beauvais. Youth recognized youth, and that indefinite
longing which is a part of youth seemed to enfold them for an instant.
Perhaps the woman felt it as much as he did, for she broke the silence
rather abruptly.
"I have noticed that monsieur has not entered much into the gayety."
Barrington was on his guard in a moment. He could not afford to be
questioned too closely.
"I am greatly honored by mademoiselle's notice."
"That is nothing," she returned as though the implied compliment
displeased her. "It seemed to me you were a stranger in Beauvais, and
strangers here may have sad memories behind them."
"They do their best to forget, mademoiselle," he answered. The laughter
of a woman as she passed, dancing, gave point to the assertion. "It is
wonderful. I cannot understand it."
"Better laugh and live than die weeping," she said. "Those who live
shall live to repay."
"And perchance some good shall come out of the evil."
She looked at him quickly.
"In Beauvais it is somewhat dangerous to be a philosopher, monsieur. We
cling to one idea which by brutal force has been driven into our
souls--revenge. It is not safe to preach anything short of that, we have
suffered too much."
"There was not such a deep meaning in my words," he said.
"Still, the warning may not be out of place," and she turned to leave
him.
"Before I go, mademoiselle, you may help me. Can you tell me where I
shall find Mademoiselle St. Clair?"
[Illustration: "Can you tell me where I shall find Mademoiselle St.
Clair?"]
"You know her?"
"Only by the description I have had of her."
"I wonder almost it was not sufficient to help you," and a smile played
at the corners of her mouth.
"Indeed, mademoiselle, I marvel at it, too, for I assure you the
description was most complete," laughed Barrington.
"From whom did you have it?"
"Pardon me if I am reticent on that point. It was given in confidence."
"You pique my curiosity."
"But you know her, mademoiselle?"
"Oh, yes."
"Cannot you guess how a man might describe her, with a desire perhaps to
be a little witty at her expense, and inclined to exaggerate?"
"Indeed, I cannot. Have you some message for her which I may deliver?"
"Again pardon, but I must speak to the lady myself."
"So far I can help you. If you will follow me, not too closely lest we
cause comment, I will bring you to her. I am supposing that you wish to
see her alone, that what you have to tell her is a secret."
"It is a secret, mademoiselle."
"Follow me, then. And monsieur will do well to note if any one shows
interest in our movements. We did not leave all intrigue and scandal
behind us."
It was easy to follow her. She was a woman apart from all the other
women about him, Barrington thought. Although he had only seen her
masked he would know her again, he believed, no matter in how crowded a
world of women he might meet her, no matter how long a time should pass
before such a meeting. Obeying her, he glanced swiftly to right and left
as he went. Eyes certainly turned to look after the woman, once or twice
indeed she stopped to speak a few words to some friend, but Barrington
could not discover that any one took the slightest notice of him.
A few paces separating them they crossed the great hall, and she
leisurely passed into the corridor without. When Barrington stepped
slowly into the corridor, he found that she had quickened her pace, and
at the end of it she had paused a moment that he might see which way she
turned. He followed more quickly, and found her in a small vestibule,
part of the old château. A lamp was hanging from the corner of a wall,
and on an oak settle were two or three lanterns with candles in them,
such as a servant carries to guide his master or mistress on a dark
night.
"Will monsieur light one from the lamp," she said hurriedly.
"I am to wait here while you fetch mademoiselle?" he asked. "Truly this
is a secret place for delivering a message."
"Not too secret," she answered. "I am Mademoiselle St. Clair."
"You!"
The exclamation was a whispered one. A confusion of thoughts was in his
brain. Already almost unconsciously he had laid the foundations of a
dream fabric, and these were destroyed suddenly, burying him for a
moment in the collapse.
"May I see monsieur unmasked?" she said.
Mechanically he removed the mask, and she looked into his face
earnestly. She gave no sign whether she expected to recognize him, but
it would seem that his face satisfied her, for she undid her mask and
stood before him. She was a woman, and beauty must ever be the keenest
weapon in woman's armory; there was a little glad triumph in her heart
as she realized that this man bowed before her beauty. Barrington was
startled that a mask could hide so much.
"Monsieur has been somewhat misled, it would seem, by his friend who
was witty at my expense and inclined to exaggerate."
"I have been deceived, and I shall punish him for the lie," Barrington
answered.
"I am at a loss to understand the deceit," she answered. "You have a
message for me. I may find some explanation in it."
"Upon the roadside as I--" Barrington began, and then stopped.
"Mademoiselle, forgive me, but such deceit makes a man suspicious. I was
told to seek Mademoiselle St. Clair in a fat, ugly, simpering woman, and
I find her in--in you. How can I be certain that you are Mademoiselle
St. Clair?"
"I see your difficulty. Your doubt does not anger me. Let me think. Will
it help you if I speak the name Lucien?"
"It seems convincing. Heaven grant, mademoiselle, that you are as
honorable as you are beautiful. I must needs believe so and trust you.
To you I can prove that I am an honest messenger," and Barrington tore
from the lining of his coat a tiny packet of tissue paper. "I have to
give you this little golden star, your gift to Lucien."
She took the packet with quick, trembling fingers, turned to the table,
and by the light of the lantern unfolded the paper. With a little clink
the star fell upon the table.
"This? This?" she said, starting back and pointing at it.
Barrington made a step forward at her sudden question, and then stood
still, staring at the token.
It was no star of gold which lay in the circle of the lantern light, but
a common thing of iron, roughly made, rusted and worthless.