Within the room Chatellerault and I faced each other in silence. And how
vastly changed were the circumstances since our last meeting!
The disorder that had stamped itself upon his countenance when first he
had beheld me still prevailed. There was a lowering, sullen look in his
eyes and a certain displacement of their symmetry which was peculiar to
them when troubled.
Although a cunning plotter and a scheming intriguer in his own
interests, Chatellerault, as I have said before, was not by nature a
quick man. His wits worked slowly, and he needed leisure to consider
a situation and his actions therein ere he was in a position to engage
with it.
“Monsieur le Comte,” quoth I ironically, “I make you my compliments upon
your astuteness and the depth of your schemes, and my condolences upon
the little accident owing to which I am here, and in consequence of
which your pretty plans are likely to miscarry.”
He threw back his great head like a horse that feels the curb, and
his smouldering eyes looked up at me balefully. Then his sensuous lips
parted in scorn.
“How much do you know?” he demanded with sullen contempt.
“I have been in that room for the half of an hour,” I answered, rapping
the partition with my knuckles.
“The dividing wall, as you will observe, is thin, and I heard everything
that passed between you and Mademoiselle de Lavedan.”
“So that Bardelys, known as the Magnificent; Bardelys the mirror of
chivalry; Bardelys the arbiter elegantiarum of the Court of France, is
no better, it seems, than a vulgar spy.”
If he sought by that word to anger me, he failed.
“Lord Count,” I answered him very quietly, “you are of an age to know
that the truth alone has power to wound. I was in that room by accident,
and when the first words of your conversation reached me I had not been
human had I not remained and strained my ears to catch every syllable
you uttered. For the rest, let me ask you, my dear Chatellerault, since
when have you become so nice that you dare cast it at a man that he has
been eavesdropping?”
“You are obscure, monsieur. What is it that you suggest?”
“I am signifying that when a man stands unmasked for a cheat, a liar,
and a thief, his own character should give him concern enough to
restrain him from strictures upon that of another.”
A red flush showed through the tan of his skin, then faded and left him
livid--a very evil sight, as God lives. He flung his heavily-feathered
hat upon the table, and carried his hand to his hilt.
“God's blood!” he cried. “You shall answer me for this.”
I shook my head and smiled; but I made no sign of drawing.
“Monsieur, we must talk a while. I think that you had better.”
He raised his sullen eyes to mine. Perhaps the earnest impressiveness of
my tones prevailed. Be that as it may, his half-drawn sword was thrust
back with a click, and “What have you to say?” he asked.
“Be seated.” I motioned him to a chair by the table and when he had
taken it I sat down opposite to him. Taking up a quill, I dipped it in
the ink-horn that stood by, and drew towards me a sheet of paper.
“When you lured me into the wager touching Mademoiselle de Lavedan,”
said I calmly, “you did so, counting upon certain circumstances, of
which you alone had knowledge, that should render impossible the urging
of my suit. That, Monsieur le Comte, was undeniably the action of a
cheat. Was it not?”
“Damnation!” he roared, and would have risen, but, my hand upon his arm,
I restrained him and pressed him back into his chair.
“By a sequence of fortuitous circumstances,” I pursued, “it became
possible for me to circumvent the obstacle upon which you had based your
calculations. Those same circumstances led later to my being arrested in
error and in place of another man. You discovered how I had contravened
the influence upon which you counted; you trembled to see how the
unexpected had befriended me, and you began to fear for your wager.
“What did you do? Seeing me arraigned before you in your quality as
King's Commissioner, you pretended to no knowledge of me; you became
blind to my being any but Lesperon the rebel, and you sentenced me to
death in his place, so that being thus definitely removed I should be
unable to carry out my undertaking, and my lands should consequently
pass into your possession. That, monsieur, was at once the act of a
thief and a murderer. Wait, monsieur; restrain yourself until I shall
have done. To-day again fortune comes to my rescue. Again you see me
slipping from your grasp, and you are in despair. Then, in the eleventh
hour, Mademoiselle de Lavedan comes to you to plead for my life. By that
act she gives you the most ample proof that your wager is lost. What
would a gentleman, a man of honour, have done under these circumstances?
What did you do? You seized that last chance; you turned it to the best
account; you made this poor girl buy something from you; you made her
sell herself to you for nothing--pretending that your nothing was a
something of great value. What term shall we apply to that? To say that
you cheated again seems hardly adequate.”
“By God, Bardelys!”
“Wait!” I thundered, looking him straight between the eyes, so that
again he sank back cowed. Then resuming the calm with which hitherto I
had addressed him, “Your cupidity,” said I, “your greed for the estates
of Bardelys, and your jealousy and thirst to see me impoverished and so
ousted from my position at Court, to leave you supreme in His Majesty's
favour, have put you to strange shifts for a gentleman, Chatellerault.
Yet, wait.”
And, dipping my pen in the ink-horn, I began to write. I was conscious
of his eyes upon me, and I could imagine his surmisings and bewildered
speculations as my pen scratched rapidly across the paper. In a few
moments it was done, and I tossed the pen aside. I took up the sandbox.
“When a man cheats, Monsieur le Comte, and is detected, he is invariably
adjudged the loser of his stakes. On that count alone everything that
you have is now mine by rights.” Again I had to quell an interruption.
“But if we wave that point, and proceed upon the supposition that you
have dealt fairly and honourably with me, why, then, monsieur, you
have still sufficient evidence--the word of Mademoiselle, herself,
in fact--that I have won my wager. And so, if we take this, the most
lenient view of the case”--I paused to sprinkle the sand over my
writing--“your estates are still lost to you, and pass to be my
property.”
“Do they, by God?” he roared, unable longer to restrain himself, and
leaping to his feet. “You have done, have you not? You have said all
that you can call to mind? You have flung insults and epithets at me
enough to earn the cutting of a dozen throats. You have dubbed me cheat
and thief”--he choked in his passion--“until you have had your fill--is
it not so? Now, listen to me, Master Bardelys, master spy, master
buffoon, master masquerader! What manner of proceeding was yours to go
to Lavedan under a false name? How call you that? Was that, perhaps, not
cheating?”
“No, monsieur, it was not,” I answered quietly. “It was in the terms of
your challenge that I was free to go to Lavedan in what guise I listed,
employing what wiles I pleased. But let that be,” I ended, and, creasing
the paper, I poured the sand back into the box, and dusted the document.
“The point is hardly worth discussing at this time of day. If not one
way, why, then, in another, your wager is lost.”
“Is it?” He set his arms akimbo and eyed me derisively, his thick-set
frame planted squarely before me. “You are satisfied that it is so?
Quite satisfied, eh?” He leered in my face. “Why, then, Monsieur le
Marquis, we will see whether a few inches of steel will win it back for
me.” And once more his hand flew to his hilt.
Rising, I flung the document I had accomplished upon the table. “Glance
first at that,” said I.
He stopped to look at me in inquiry, my manner sowing so great a
curiosity in him that his passion was all scattered before it. Then
he stepped up to the table and lifted the paper. As he read, his hand
shook, amazement dilated his eyes and furrowed his brow.
“What--what does it signify?” he gasped.
“It signifies that, although fully conscious of having won, I prefer
to acknowledge that I have lost. I make over to you thus my estates of
Bardelys, because, monsieur, I have come to realize that that wager was
an infamous one--one in which a gentleman should have had no part--and
the only atonement I can make to myself, my honour, and the lady whom we
insulted--is that.”
“I do not understand,” he complained.
“I apprehend your difficulty, Comte. The point is a nice one. But
understand at least that my Picardy estates are yours. Only, monsieur,
you will be well advised to make your will forthwith, for you are not
destined, yourself, to enjoy them.”
He looked at me, his glance charged with inquiry.
“His Majesty,” I continued, in answer to his glance, “is ordering your
arrest for betraying the trust he had reposed in you and for perverting
the ends of justice to do your own private murdering.”
“Mon Dieu!” he cried, falling of a sudden unto a most pitiful affright.
“The King knows?”
“Knows?” I laughed. “In the excitement of these other matters you have
forgotten to ask how I come to be at liberty. I have been to the King,
monsieur, and I have told him what has taken place here at Toulouse, and
how I was to have gone to the block tomorrow!”
“Scelerat!” he cried. “You have ruined me!” Rage and grief were blent in
his accents. He stood before me, livid of face and with hands clenching
and unclenching at his sides.
“Did you expect me to keep such a matter silent? Even had I been so
inclined it had not been easy, for His Majesty had questions to ask
me. From what the King said, monsieur, you may count upon mounting the
scaffold in my stead. So be advised, and make your will without delay,
if you would have your heirs enjoy my Picardy chateau.”
I have seen terror and anger distort men's countenances, but never
have I seen aught to compare with the disorder of Chatellerault at
that moment. He stamped and raved and fumed. He poured forth a
thousand ordures of speech in his frenzy; he heaped insults upon me and
imprecations upon the King, whose lapdog he pronounced me. His short,
stout frame was quivering with passion and fear, his broad face
distorted by his hideous grimaces of rage. And then, while yet his
ravings were in full flow, the door opened, and in stepped the airy
Chevalier de Saint-Eustache.
He stood still, amazed, beneath the lintel--marvelling to see all this
anger, and abashed at beholding me. His sudden appearance reminded me
that I had last seen him at Grenade in the Count's company, on the day
of my arrest. The surprise it had occasioned me now returned upon seeing
him so obviously and intimately seeking Chatellerault.
The Count turned on him in his anger.
“Well, popinjay?” he roared. “What do you want with me?”
“Monsieur le Comte!” cried the other, in blent indignation and reproach.
“You will perceive that you are come inopportunely,” I put in. “Monsieur
de Chatellerault is not quite himself.”
But my speech again drew his attention to my presence; and the wonder
grew in his eyes at finding me there, for to him I was still Lesperon
the rebel, and he marvelled naturally that I should be at large.
Then in the corridor there was a sound of steps and voices, and as I
turned I beheld in the doorway, behind Saint-Eustache, the faces
of Castelroux, Mironsac, and my old acquaintance, the babbling,
irresponsible buffoon, La Fosse. From Mironsac he had heard of my
presence in Toulouse, and, piloted by Castelroux, they were both come to
seek me out. I'll swear it was not thus they had looked to find me.
They pushed their way into the room, impelling Saint-Eustache
forward, and there were greetings exchanged and felicitations, whilst
Chatellerault, curbing his disorder, drew the Chevalier into a corner of
the room, and stood there listening to him.
At length I heard the Count exclaim--
“Do as you please, Chevalier. If you have interests of your own to
serve, serve them. As for myself--I am past being interested.”
“But why, monsieur?” the chevalier inquired.
“Why?” echoed Chatellerault, his ferocity welling up again. Then,
swinging round, he came straight at me, as a bull makes a charge.
“Monsieur de Bardelys!” he blazed.
“Bardelys!” gasped Saint-Eustache in the background.
“What now?” I inquired coldly, turning from my friends.
“All that you said may be true, and I may be doomed, but I swear before
God that you shall not go unpunished.”
“I think, monsieur, that you run a grave risk of perjuring yourself!” I
laughed.
“You shall render me satisfaction ere we part!” he cried.
“If you do not deem that paper satisfaction enough, then, monsieur,
forgive me, but your greed transcends all possibility of being ever
satisfied.”
“The devil take your paper and your estates! What shall they profit me
when I am dead?”
“They may profit your heirs,” I suggested.
“How shall that profit me?”
“That is a riddle that I cannot pretend to elucidate.”
“You laugh, you knave!” he snorted. Then, with an abrupt change of
manner, “You do not lack for friends,” said he. “Beg one of these
gentlemen to act for you, and if you are a man of honour let us step out
into the yard and settle the matter.”
I shook my head.
“I am so much a man of honour as to be careful with whom I cross steel.
I prefer to leave you to His Majesty's vengeance; his headsman may be
less particular than am I. No, monsieur, on the whole, I do not think
that I can fight you.”
His face grew a shade paler. It became grey; the jaw was set, and the
eyes were more out of symmetry than I had ever seen them. Their glance
approached what is known in Italy as the mal'occhio, and to protect
themselves against the baneful influences of which men carry charms. A
moment he stood so, eyeing me. Then, coming a step nearer--
“You do not think that you can fight me, eh? You do not think it?
Pardieu! How shall I make you change your mind? To the insult of words
you appear impervious. You imagine your courage above dispute because by
a lucky accident you killed La Vertoile some years ago and the fame of
it has attached to you.” In the intensity of his anger he was breathing
heavily, like a man overburdened. “You have been living ever since by
the reputation which that accident gave you. Let us see if you can die
by it, Monsieur de Bardelys.” And, leaning forward, he struck me on
the breast, so suddenly and so powerfully--for he was a man of abnormal
strength--that I must have fallen but that La Fosse caught me in his
arms.
“Kill him!” lisped the classic-minded fool. “Play Theseus to this bull
of Marathon.”
Chatellerault stood back, his hands on his hips, his head inclined
towards his right shoulder, and an insolent leer of expectancy upon his
face.
“Will that resolve you?” he sneered.
“I will meet you,” I answered, when I had recovered breath. “But I swear
that I shall not help you to escape the headsman.”
He laughed harshly.
“Do I not know it?” he mocked. “How shall killing you help me to escape?
Come, messieurs, sortons. At once!”
“Sor,” I answered shortly; and thereupon we crowded from the room, and
went pele-mele down the passage to the courtyard at the back.