Martin Grille looked at Armand Chauvin, and Armand Chauvin at Martin
Grille, but neither spoke; for Armand was by nature somewhat taciturn,
and the other, though he did not venture in the presence of the
_chevaucheur_ to put his ear or his eye to the keyhole, remained
listening as near the door as possible, with a good deal of
apprehension it is true, but still more curiosity. The conversation,
however, between Jean Charost and the stranger commenced in a low
tone, and gave nothing to the hall but an indistinct murmur of voices.
Very speedily, however, the tones began to be raised; Jean Charost
himself spoke angrily; but another voice almost drowned his, pouring
forth a torrent of invectives, not upon him, it would seem; for the
only sentence completely heard showed that some other person was
referred to. "There is every sort of villain in the world," cried the
voice; "and he is a villain of the damnedest and the blackest dye. The
cut-throat and the thief, the swindler, the traitor, are all
scoundrels of their kind; but what is he who--"
The voice fell again; and Martin Grille, turning to his companion,
grasped his arm, saying, "Go in--go in. He will do him some mischief,
I am very much afraid."
"I am not so much accustomed to be afraid, either for myself or for
other people," answered Chauvin. "The young gentleman will call out if
he wants me."
Almost at the same moment, without the sound of any opening door from
the street, the astrologer entered the room with a hurried step and
somewhat disturbed look. "Ha! my friend," he said, as his eyes fell on
Martin Grille. "Where is your young master?"
"Within there," replied Martin, "with that other devil of a man. Don't
you hear how loud they are talking?"
Without reply or ceremony, the astrologer opened the door leading into
the other room, entered and closed it again; but during the brief
moment of his passing in both Martin and Chauvin caught a sight of the
figures within. Jean Charost was standing with his arms crossed upon
his chest, in an attitude of stern and manly dignity which neither of
them had ever before seen him assume, while the stranger, as if
exhausted by the burst of passion to which he had given way, was cast
negligently on a seat, his arm resting on a table, and his head bowed
down with the gray locks falling loose upon his forehead. Martin
Grille felt sure he perceived large tear drops rolling over his
cheeks; but the door was closed in an instant, and he saw no more.
From the moment of the astrologer's entrance the conversation was
carried on in a low tone; but it lasted nearly three quarters of an
hour, and at the end of that time the door again opened, and the three
who were in the inner chamber came out into the hall.
"Now I am ready to go," said Jean Charost. "Unfasten the horses,
Martin Grille."
"I thought we were to stay here all night, sir," replied Chauvin,
"and I think, sir, you had better consider what you do. I may tell you
now, what I did not mention before, that the bearing on my cap very
soon betrayed that I belonged to the Duke of Orleans, and I heard bets
made among the Burgundy people that we should not go five miles before
we were brought back. There was a great deal of talk about it that I
don't remember, as to whether his highness would keep you or let you
go at all; but all agreed that if he did let you go, you would not go
far without being stopped and searched. I took no notice, and
pretended not to hear; but I slipped out quietly and saddled the
horses."
"You did well, Chauvin," replied the young secretary. "But I must not
delay when there is a possibility of going forward. This gentleman
agrees to show us a less dangerous way than the high-road, and I am
determined to put myself under his guidance. The responsibility be
upon my head."
"Well, sir, I have nothing to do but obey," replied the _chevaucheur_,
and took a step toward the door.
"Stay a moment," said the astrologer. "I have ordered you some
refreshment, and I have two words to write to the noble duke, Monsieur
De Brecy. Tell him I am his faithful servant ever, and that I greatly
regret to have to warn him of such impending danger."
"I beseech you, my good friend," replied Jean Charost, "send your
warning by some other messenger; first, because I may be long upon the
way, and tidings of such importance should reach his highness soon;
secondly, because I would fain not be a bird of evil omen. Great men
love not those who bring them bad tidings. But the first reason is the
best. I will take your letter, however unwillingly, but eight-and-forty
hours must elapse ere I can reach Blois. I shall then have to wait the
pleasure of the duchess, and then return, probably, by slow journeys;
valuable time will be lost, and your intelligence may come too late."
"So be it," said the astrologer; "although--"
But before he could finish the sentence, a tawny colored man, dressed
somewhat fantastically, in a white tunic and large turban, entered the
room bearing in bottles and silver cups. "You have seldom tasted such
wine as this," said the astrologer, offering the first cup he poured
out to the tall gaunt stranger. "Take it, my lord. You are my early
friend and patron; and you must not depart without drinking wine in my
house. It will do you good, and raise your spirits."
"I would not have them raised," replied the stranger, putting aside
the cup. "False happiness is not what I desire. I have had too much of
that already. My misery is pure, if it be bitter. I would not mingle
it with a fouler thing."
Those were the only words he spoke from that moment till the whole
party reached the neighborhood of Chilleurs aux Rois.
Martin Grille drank his cup of wine, and hastened to bring out the
horses. Armand Chauvin drank likewise, and followed him in silence,
and when the astrologer accompanied his two noble guests to the
court-yard, they found a tall, powerful gray horse held ready by the
Moor. Jean Charost took leave of his host with a few courteous words;
but the stranger mounted in silence, rode out as soon as the gates
were open, and turning at once to the right, led the way quite round
the town, crossed a small stream, and then, by paths with which he
seemed perfectly well acquainted, dashed on at a quick pace to the
westward, leaving the others to come after as best they could, much to
the inconvenience, be it said, of poor Martin Grille, whose horse
stumbled continually, as horses will do with bad riders.
Jean Charost kept generally by the stranger's side, and once or twice
spoke a few words to him; but he received no answer, and through the
long night they rode on, even after the moon had gone down, without
drawing a rein till, just at the gray of the morning, they
distinguished a church steeple, at the distance of about half a mile
on the right. There the stranger pulled up his horse suddenly, and
said, "Chilleurs aux Rois."
"Here, I suppose, we are safe," said Jean Charost.
"Quite safe," was the brief reply. "Fare you well--remember!"
"I always remember my given word," replied Jean Charost; "where can I
see or hear from you in case of need?"
The stranger gazed at him with a grim dark smile; turned his horse's
head and galloped away.