De Soyecourt sounded the gong beside him. "In that event, it is uncommonly
convenient to have you in hand. Your return, to Bellegarde I regard
as opportune, even though I am compelled to attribute it to insanity;
personally, I disapprove of this match with Milor Ormskirk, but as Gaston
is bent upon it, you will understand that in reason my only course is to
make Claire a widow as soon as may be possible."
"It is intended, then," John Bulmer queried, "that I am to follow Achon?"
"I can but trust," said the Marquis, politely, "that your course of life
has qualified you for a superior flight, since Achon's departing, I
apprehend, is not unakin to a descent."
"No!" the Duchess cried, suddenly; "Monsieur de Soyecourt, can you not
see the man is out of his senses? Let Claire be sent for. There is some
mistake."
De Soyecourt shrugged. "Yen know that I can refuse you nothing. Jacques,"
he called, to the appearing lackey, "request Mademoiselle de Puysange to
honor us, if it be convenient, with her presence. Nay, I pray you, do not
rise, Mr. Bulmer; I am of a nervous disposition, startled by the least
movement, and my finger, as you may note, is immediately upon the trigger."
So they sat thus, John Bulmer beginning to feel rather foolish as time wore
on, though actually it was not a long while before Claire had appeared in
the doorway and had paused there. You saw a great wave of color flood her
countenance, then swiftly ebb. John Bulmer observed, with a thrill, that
she made no sound, but simply waited, composed and alert, to find out how
much de Soyecourt knew before she spoke.
The little Marquis said, "Claire, this gentleman informs us that you
married him yesterday."
Tranquilly she inspected her claimant. "I did not see Monsieur Bulmer at
all yesterday, so far as I remember. Why, surely, Louis, you did not take
my nonsense of last night in earnest?" she demanded, and gave a mellow
ripple of laughter. "Yes, you actually believed it; you actually believed
that I walked into the forest and married the first man I met there, and
that this is he. As it happens I did not; so please let Monsieur Bulmer go
at once, and put away that absurd pistol--at once, Louis, do you hear?"
The Duchess shook her head. "She is lying, Monsieur de Soyecourt, and
undoubtedly this is the man."
John Bulmer went to the girl and took her hand. "You are trying to save me,
I know. But need I warn you that the reward of Ananias was never a synonym
for felicity?"
"Jean Bulmer! Jean Bulmer!" the girl asked, and her voice was tender; "why
did you return to Bellegarde, Jean Bulmer?"
"I came," he answered, "for the absurd reason that I cannot live without
you."
They stood thus for a while, both her hands clasped in his, "I believe
you," she said at last, "even though I do not understand at all, Jean
Bulmer." And then she wheeled upon the Marquis, "Yes, yes!" Claire
said; "the man is my husband. And I will not have him harmed. Do you
comprehend?--you shall not touch him, because you are not fit to touch him,
Louis, and also because I do not wish it."
De Soyecourt looked toward the Duchess as if for advice. "It is a nuisance,
but evidently she cannot marry Milor Ormskirk so long as Mr. Bulmer is
alive. I suppose it would be better to hang him out-of-hand?"
"Monsieur de Puysange would prefer it, I imagine," said the Duchess;
"nevertheless, it appears a great pity."
"In nature," the Marquis assented, "we deplore the loss of Mr. Bulmer's
company. Yet as matters stand--"
"But they are in love with each other," the Duchess pointed out, with a
sorry little laugh. "Can you not see that, my friend?"
"Hein?" said the Marquis; "why, then, it is doubly important that Mr.
Bulmer be hanged as soon as possible." He reached for the gong, but Claire
had begun to speak.
"I am not at all in love with him! You are of a profound imbecility,
Hélène. I think he is a detestable person, because he always looks at you
as if he saw something extremely ridiculous, but was too polite to notice
it. He is invariably making me suspect I have a smut on my nose. But in
spite of that, I consider him a very pleasant old gentleman, and I will not
have him hanged!" With which ultimatum she stamped her foot.
"Yes, madame," said the Marquis, critically; "after all, she is in love
with him. That is unfortunate, is it not, for Milor Ormskirk,--and even for
Achille Cazaio," he added, with a shrug.
"I fail to see," a dignified young lady stated, "what Cazaio, at least, has
to do with your galimatias."
"Simply that I received this morning a letter demanding you be surrendered
to Cazaio," de Soyecourt answered as he sounded the gong. "Otherwise, our
amiable friend of the Taunenfels announces he will attack Bellegarde. I,
of course, hanged his herald and despatched messengers to Gaston, whom I
look for to-morrow. If Gaston indeed arrive to-morrow morning, Mr. Bulmer,
I shall relinquish you to him; in other circumstances will be laid upon
me the deplorable necessity of summoning a Protestant minister from
Manneville, and, after your spiritual affairs are put in order, of hanging
you--suppose we say at noon?"
"The hour suits me," said John Bulmer, "as well as another. But no better.
And I warn you it will not suit the Duke of Ormskirk, either, whose
relative--whose very near relative--" He posed for the astounding
revelation.
But little de Soyecourt had drawn closer to him. "Mr. Bulmer, I have
somehow omitted to mention that two years ago I was at Aix-la-Chapelle,
when the treaty was in progress, and there saw your great kinsman. I cut
no particular figure at the convocation, and it is unlikely he recalls my
features; but I remember his quite clearly."
"Indeed?" said John Bulmer, courteously; "it appears, then, that monsieur
is a physiognomist?"
"You flatter me," the Marquis returned. "My skill in that science enabled
me to deduce only the veriest truisms--such as that the man who for fifteen
years had beaten France, had hoodwinked France, would in France be not
oversafe could we conceive him fool enough to hazard a trip into this
country."
"Especially alone?" said John Bulmer.
"Especially," the Marquis assented, "if he came alone. But, ma foi! I am
discourteous. You were about to say--?"
"That a comic subject declines to be set forth in tragic verse," John
Bulmer answered, "and afterward to inquire the way to my dungeon."
X
But John Bulmer escaped a dungeon after all; for at parting de Soyecourt
graciously offered to accept Mr. Bulmer's parole, which he gave willingly
enough, and thereby obtained the liberty of a tiny enclosed garden, whence
a stairway led to his new apartment on the second floor of what had been
known as the Constable's Tower, since du Guesclin held it for six weeks
against Sir Robert Knollys. This was a part of the ancient fortress in
which, they say, Poictesme's most famous hero, Dom Manuel, dwelt and
performed such wonders, a long while before Bellegarde was remodeled by
Duke Florian.
The garden, gravel-pathed, was a trim place, all green and white. It
contained four poplars, and in the center was a fountain, where three
Nereids contended with a brawny Triton for the possession of a turtle whose
nostrils spurted water. A circle of attendant turtles, half-submerged, shot
inferior jets from their gaping mouths. It was an odd, and not unhandsome
piece, [Footnote: Designed by Simon Guillain. This fountain is still to be
seen at Bellegarde, though the exuberancy of Revolutionary patriotism has
bereft the Triton of his head and of the lifted arm.] and John Bulmer
inspected it with appreciation, and then the garden, and having found all
things satisfactory, sat down and chuckled sleepily and waited.
"De Soyecourt has been aware of my identity throughout the entire week!
Faith, then, I am a greater fool than even I suspected, since this fop of
the boulevards has been able to trick me so long. He has some card up his
sleeve, too, has our good Marquis--Eh, well! Gaston comes to-morrow, and
thenceforward all is plain sailing. Meantime I conjecture that the poor
captive will presently have visitors."
He had dinner first, though, and at this meal gave an excellent account of
himself. Shortly afterward, as he sat over his coffee, little de Soyecourt
unlocked the high and narrow gate which constituted the one entrance to the
garden, and sauntered forward, dapper and smiling.
"I entreat your pardon, Monsieur le Duc," de Soyecourt began, "that I have
not visited you sooner. But in unsettled times, you comprehend, the master
of a beleaguered fortress is kept busy. Cazaio, I now learn, means to
attack to-morrow, and I have been fortifying against him. However, I attach
no particular importance to the man's threats, as I have despatched three
couriers to Gaston, one of whom must in reason get to him; and in that
event Gaston should arrive early in the afternoon, accompanied by the
dragoons of Entréchat. And subsequently--eh bien! if Cazaio has stirred up
a hornets'-nest he has only himself to thank for it." The Marquis snapped
his fingers and hummed a merry air, being to all appearance in excellent
spirits.
"That is well," said John Bulmer,--"for, believe me, I shall be unfeignedly
glad to see Gaston once more."
"Decidedly," said the Marquis, sniffing, "they give my prisoners much
better coffee than they deign to afford me, I shall make bold to ask you
for a cup of it, while we converse sensibly." He sat down opposite John
Bulmer. "Oh, about Gaston," said the Marquis, as he added the sugar--"it
is deplorable that you will not see Gaston again, at least, not in this
naughty world of ours."
"I am the more grieved," said John Bulmer, gravely, "for I love the man."
"It is necessary, you conceive, that I hang you, at latest, before twelve
o'clock to-morrow, since Gaston is a little too fond of you to fall in with
my plans. His premature arrival would in effect admit the bull of equity
into the china-shop of my intentions. And day-dreams are fragile stuff,
Monsieur d'Ormskirk! Indeed, I am giving you this so brief reprieve only
because I am, unwilling to have upon my conscience the reproach of hanging
without due preparation a man whom of all politicians in the universe I
most unfeignedly like and respect. The Protestant minister has been sent
for, and will, I sincerely trust, be here at dawn. Otherwise--really, I am
desolated, Monsieur le Duc, but you surely comprehend that I cannot wait
upon his leisure."
John Bulmer cracked a filbert. "So I am to die to-morrow? I do not presume
to dictate, monsieur, but I would appreciate some explanation of your
motive."
"Which I freely render," the Marquis replied. "When I recognized you a week
ago--as I did at first glance,--I was astounded. That you, the man in all
the world most cordially hated by Frenchmen, should venture into France
quite unattended was a conception to confound belief. Still, here you were,
and I comprehended that such an opportunity would not rap twice upon
the door. So I despatched a letter post-haste to Madame de Pompadour at
Marly--"
"I begin to comprehend," John Bulmer said. "Old Tournehem's daughter
[Footnote: Mr. Bulmer here refers to a venerable scandal. The Pompadour
was, in the eyes of the law, at least, the daughter of François Poisson.]
hates me as she hates no other man alive. Frankly, monsieur, the little
strumpet has some cause to,--may I trouble you for the nut-crackers? a
thousand thanks,--since I have outwitted her more than once, both in
diplomacy and on the battle-field. With me out of the way, I comprehend
that France might attempt to renew the war, and our late treaty would be so
much wasted paper. Yes, I comprehend that the woman would give a deal for
me--But what the devil! France has no allies. She dare not provoke England
just at present; she has no allies, monsieur, for I can assure you that
Prussia is out of the game. Then what is the woman driving at?"
"Far be it from me," said the Marquis, with becoming modesty, "to meddle
with affairs of state. Nevertheless, madame is willing to purchase you--at
any price."
John Bulmer slapped his thigh, "Kaunitz! behold the key. Eh, eh, I have
it now; not long ago the Empress despatched a special ambassador to
Versailles,--one Anton Wenzel Kaunitz, a man I never heard of. Why, this
Moravian count is a genius of the first water. He will combine France and
Austria, implacable enemies since the Great Cardinal's time. Ah, I have
it now, monsieur,--Frederick of Prussia has published verses against the
Pompadour which she can never pardon--eh, against the Czaritza, too! Why,
what a thing it is to be a poet! now Russia will join the league. And
Sweden, of course, because she wants Pomerania, which King Frederick
claims. Monsieur de Soyecourt, I protest it will be one of the prettiest
messes ever stirred up in history! And to think that I am to miss it all!"
"I regret," de Soyecourt said, "to deny you the pleasure of participation.
In sober verity I regret it. But unluckily, Monsieur d'Ormskirk, your
dissolution is the sole security of my happiness; and in effect"--he
shrugged,--"you comprehend my unfortunate position."
"One of the prettiest messes ever stirred up in all history!" John Bulmer
lamented; "and I to miss it! The policy of centuries shrugged aside, and
the map of the world made over as lightly as if it were one of last year's
gowns! Decidedly I shall never again cast reflections upon the woman in
politics, for this is superb. Why, this coup is worthy of me! And what is
Petticoat the Second to give you, pray, for making all this possible?"
"She will give me," the Marquis retorted, "according to advices received
from her yesterday, a lettre-de-cachet for Gaston de Puysange. Gaston is a
man of ability, but he is also a man of unbridled tongue. He has expressed
his opinion concerning the Pompadour, to cite an instance, as freely as
ever did the Comte de Maurepas. You know what happened to de Maurepas. Ah,
yes, Gaston is undoubtedly a peer of France, but the Pompadour is queen
of that kingdom. And in consequence--on the day that Madame de Pompadour
learns of your death,--Gaston goes to the Bastile."
"Naturally," John Bulmer assented, "since imprisonment in the Bastile is by
ordinary the reward of common-sense when manifested by a Frenchman. What
the devil, monsieur! The Duchess' uncle, Maréchal de Richelieu, has been
there four times, and Gaston himself, if I am not mistaken, has sojourned
there twice. And neither is one whit the worse for it."
The Marquis sipped his coffee. "The Bastile is not a very healthy place.
Besides, I have a friend there,--a gaoler. He was formerly a chemist."