He had not long to wait. In a few moments the window above him turned
softly on its hinges, and a head appeared in the open space. The chamber
from which the window opened was unilluminated, and the light in the moat
was so dim that Lagardere could only perceive the vague outline of a
woman's head and shoulders leaning forward into the darkness. Even in
that moment of tension he felt himself stirred by a sharp regret that he
should not be able to judge for himself as to the beauty of the lady whom
the world called Gabrielle de Caylus, but whom he knew to be the Duchess
de Nevers. A very low, sweet voice called to him through the darkness,
speaking the Christian name of Nevers.
"Louis!" the woman said, and Lagardere immediately answered, "I am here."
He spoke very low, that his voice might not be recognized, and because he
had the mimic's trick he made his voice as like as he could to the voice
of Nevers.
Evidently his voice was not recognized, evidently the lady took him for
her lord, for she immediately went on speaking very low and clear, her
words falling rapidly from above on the ears of the waiting Lagardere.
"Do not speak, Louis," she said; "do not linger. I am watched; I fear
danger. Take our dear Gabrielle."
As she spoke she leaned her body a little farther forward into the night
and extended her arms towards her hearer.
Lagardere tingled with a sudden thrill as he realized that this beautiful
woman was nearer to him, that she was seeking him, that she believed him
to be her lover. And he realized with a pang that he, impudent in his
libertinism, had entertained with a light heart the light hope in some
audacious way to take by storm the love of this unknown woman. It had
seemed, in Paris, an insolently boyishly possible, plausible adventure;
but now, in his new knowledge and in this distant, lonely place, his
enterprise, that, after all, was little more than an impish vision,
seemed no other than a tragi-comical impertinence. All that he had known
of Gabrielle de Caylus was that she was reported fair, and that she was
loved by his enemy. All that he knew of her now was that she was his
enemy's wife, that she had a gracious voice, and that she loved his enemy
very dearly; yet this was enough for Lagardere, this, and to know that
the woman was all unconsciously trusting to his honor, to his courage, to
his truth. And it was with an unfamiliar exaltation of the spirit that
Lagardere swore to himself that the unwitting confidence of Gabrielle de
Caylus should not be misplaced, and that all his hand, his heart, his
sword could do for her service should cheerfully and faithfully be done.
Lagardere could see that she was holding something in the nature of a
bundle in her out-stretched arms. This was the child, no doubt, of whom
the masked shadow had spoken. Lagardere took the bundle cautiously in his
hands and lowered it to a secure resting-place in his left arm. Then the
Duchess de Nevers spoke again, and he saw that she was holding another
and smaller object in her hand.
"This packet," she said, "contains the papers recording our marriage,
torn from the register of the chapel. I feared they would be destroyed if
I did not save them."
As she spoke she put the packet into Lagardere's extended right hand, and
as his fingers closed upon it the horn that he had heard before was wound
again in the distance, but this time it seemed to his keen ears that the
sound was nearer than before.
The woman in the window gave a shiver. "There is much to say," she
sighed, "but no time to say it now. That may be a signal. Go, go, Louis.
I love you."
In another moment her head was drawn back into the darkness of the
apartment, the window closed, and the old castle was as silent and
obscure as before. If it were not for the bundle in his left arm and the
packet in his right hand, Lagardere might well have been tempted to
believe that the whole episode was no more than the fancy of a dream. He
thrust the packet into his breast, and then moved slowly towards the
centre of the moat, tenderly cradling his precious charge. Peering
closely down at the bundle, he could dimly discern what seemed to be a
baby face among the encircling folds of silk which wrapped the child. It
was sleeping soundly; the transition from its mother's arms to the arms
of the soldier of fortune had not wakened it, and now, as Lagardere
gently rocked it in his arms, it continued to sleep.
The whimsicality of the adventure began to tickle Lagardere's fancy. He
seemed to be destined to play many parts that night. A few minutes back
he had masqueraded as a bravo to deceive the mysterious shadows. Then he
had pretended to be a husband to deceive the Duchess de Nevers. Now he
imitated a nurse in order that Nevers's child might sleep soundly. He
looked again at the quiet morsel of humanity, and his heart was stirred
with strange desires and melancholy imaginings. Raising his hand to his
hat, he uncovered solemnly and made the baby a sweeping salute.
"Mademoiselle de Nevers," he whispered, "your loyal servant salutes you!
Sleep in peace, pretty sweetheart."
Then he began to sing softly beneath his breath the burden of an old
French lullaby which he remembered from his childhood days, with its
burden of "Do, do, l'enfant do, l'enfant dormira tantôt," and as he sang
the horn again sounded the same dreary, prolonged note as before, but now
more clearly, and therefore plainly nearer.
"That must be the last signal," Lagardere thought, and on the moment he
heard the sound of footsteps on the bridge, and out of the darkness
beyond a man slowly descended into the darkness of the moat. In another
instant Lagardere heard the well-known voice of Nevers calling out:
"Halloo! Is any one here?"
Lagardere advanced to meet his appointed enemy. "This way, duke!" he
cried. Then he added, reprovingly: "You would have been wiser to carry a
lantern."
Nevers moved swiftly towards him along the kind of path that Lagardere
had made in the bundle of hay, and as he came he spoke, and his tone was
menacing and imperious. "Let me feel your blade. I can kill in the
dark."
Lagardere answered him, ironically: "Gifted gentleman! But I want a talk
first."
He had scarcely finished when a flash like lightning stabbed the darkness
and came very near to stabbing him. It was the sword of Nevers, who was
thrusting wildly before him into the gloom, while he cried: "Not a word!
You have insulted a woman!"
Lagardere beat a rapid retreat for a few paces, and called to him: "I
apologize humbly, abjectly. I kneel for forgiveness."
Nevers's only answer was to follow up and thrust rapidly at Lagardere's
retreating figure, while he cried, fiercely: "Too late."
There was nothing for Lagardere to do but to defend himself in order to
gain time with this passionate madman. Therefore, Lagardere drew his
sword and parried the attack which Nevers was now making at close
quarters. It was so dark in the moat that the two antagonists could
scarcely see each other, and even the brightness of the blades was with
difficulty distinguished. In a voice that was at once anxious and
mocking, Lagardere cried to the duke: "Unnatural parent, do you wish to
kill your child?"
The last word stopped Nevers like a blow. He lowered his sword and spoke
wonderingly: "My child! What do you mean?"
Lagardere answered him, gravely: "At this moment Mademoiselle de Nevers
is nestled in my arms."