I had not gone down half a dozen steps before I heard a man enter the
staircase from the street, and begin to ascend. It struck me at once
that this might be M. de Bruhl; and I realised that I had not left
madame’s apartment a moment too soon. The last thing I desired,
having so much on my hands, was to embroil myself with a stranger, and
accordingly I quickened my pace, hoping to meet him so near the foot
of the stairs as to leave him in doubt whether I had been visiting the
upper or lower part of the house. The staircase was dark, however, and
being familiar with it, he had the advantage over me. He came leaping up
two steps at a time, and turning the angle abruptly, surprised me before
I was clear of the upper flight.
On seeing me, he stopped short and stared; thinking at first, I fancy,
that he ought to recognise me. When he did not, he stood back a pace.
‘Umph!’ he said. ‘Have you been--have you any message for me, sir?’
‘No,’ I said, ‘I have not.’
He frowned. ‘I am M. de Bruhl,’ he said.
‘Indeed?’ I muttered, not knowing what else to say.
‘You have been--’
‘Up your stairs, sir? Yes. In error,’ I answered bluntly.
He gave a kind of grunt at that, and stood aside, incredulous and
dissatisfied, yet uncertain how to proceed. I met his black looks with
a steady countenance, and passed by him, becoming aware, however, as I
went on down the stairs that he had turned and was looking after me. He
was a tall, handsome man, dark, and somewhat ruddy of complexion, and
was dressed in the extreme of Court fashion, in a suit of myrtle-green
trimmed with sable. He carried also a cloak lined with the same on his
arm. Beyond looking back when I reached the street, to see that he did
not follow me, I thought no more of him. But we were to meet again, and
often. Nay, had I then known all that was to be known I would have gone
back and--But of that in another place.
The Rue de Valois, to which a tradesman, who was peering cautiously out
of his shop, directed me, proved to be one of the main streets of
the city, narrow and dirty, and darkened by overhanging eaves and
signboards, but full of noise and bustle. One end of it opened on the
PARVIS of the Cathedral; the other and quieter end appeared to abut on
the west gate of the town. Feeling the importance of avoiding notice in
the neighbourhood of the house I sought, I strolled into the open space
in front of the Cathedral, and accosting two men who stood talking
there, learned that the Ruelle d’Arcy was the third lane on the right
of the Rue de Valois, and some little distance along it. Armed with this
information I left them, and with my head bent down, and my cloak drawn
about the lower part of my face, as if I felt the east wind, I proceeded
down the street until I reached the opening of the lane. Without looking
up I turned briskly into it.
When I had gone ten paces past the turning, however, I stopped and,
gazing about me, began to take in my surroundings as fast as I could.
The lane, which seemed little frequented, was eight or nine feet wide,
unpaved, and full of ruts. The high blank wall of a garden rose on one
side of it, on the other the still higher wall of a house; and both
were completely devoid of windows, a feature which I recognised with the
utmost dismay. For it completely upset all my calculations. In vain
I measured with my eye the ten paces I had come; in vain I looked up,
looked this way and that. I was nonplussed. No window opened on the lane
at that point, nor, indeed, throughout its length. For it was bounded to
the end, as far as I could see, by dead-walls as of gardens.
Recognising, with a sinking heart, what this meant, I saw in a moment
that all the hopes I had raised on Simon Fleix’s discovery were
baseless. Mademoiselle had dropped the velvet bow, no doubt, but not
from a window. It was still a clue, but one so slight and vague as to be
virtually useless, proving only that she was in trouble and in need of
help; perhaps that she had passed through this lane on her way from one
place of confinement to another.
Thoroughly baffled and dispirited, I leant for awhile against the wall,
brooding over the ill-luck which seemed to attend me in this, as in
so many previous adventures. Nor was the low voice of conscience,
suggesting that such failures arose from mismanagement rather than
from ill-luck, slow to make itself heard. I reflected that if I had not
allowed myself to be robbed of the gold token, mademoiselle would have
trusted me; that if I had not brought her to so poor an abode as my
mother’s, she would not have been cajoled into following a stranger;
finally, that if I had remained with her, and sent Simon to attend to
the horses in my place, no stranger would have gained access to her.
But it has never been my way to accept defeat at the first offer, and
though I felt these self-reproaches to be well deserved, a moment’s
reflection persuaded me that in the singular and especial providence
which had brought the velvet knot safe to my hands I ought to find
encouragement. Had Madame de Bruhl not picked it up it would have
continued to lie in this by-path, through which neither I nor Simon
Fleix would have been likely to pass. Again, had madame not dropped it
in her turn, we should have sought in vain for any, even the slightest,
clue to Mademoiselle de la Vire’s fate or position.
Cheered afresh by this thought, I determined to walk to the end of the
lane; and forthwith did so, looking sharply about me as I went, but
meeting no one. The bare upper branches of a tree rose here and there
above the walls, which were pierced at intervals by low, strong doors.
These doors I carefully examined, but without making any discovery;
all were securely fastened, and many seemed to have been rarely opened.
Emerging at last and without result on the inner side of the city
ramparts, I turned, and moodily retraced my steps through the lane,
proceeding more slowly as I drew near to the Rue de Valois. This time,
being a little farther from the street, I made a discovery.
The corner house, which had its front on the Rue Valois, presented, as
I have said, a dead, windowless wall to the lane; but from my present
standpoint I could see the upper part of the back of this house--that
part of the back, I mean, which rose above the lower garden-wall that
abutted on it--and in this there were several windows. The whole of two
and a part of a third were within the range of my eyes; and suddenly in
one of these I discovered something which made my heart beat high with
hope and expectation. The window in question was heavily grated; that
which I saw was tied to one of the bars. It was a small knot of some
white stuff--linen apparently--and it seemed a trifle to the eye; but
it was looped, as far as I could see from a distance, after the same
fashion as the scrap of velvet I had in my pouch.
The conclusion was obvious, at the same time that it inspired me with
the liveliest admiration of mademoiselle’s wit and resources. She was
confined in that room; the odds were that she was behind those bars. A
bow dropped thence would fall, the wind being favourable, into the lane,
not ten, but twenty paces from the street. I ought to have been prepared
for a slight inaccuracy in a woman’s estimate of distance.
It may be imagined with what eagerness I now scanned the house, with
what minuteness I sought for a weak place. The longer I looked, however,
the less comfort I derived from my inspection. I saw before me a gloomy
stronghold of brick, four-square, and built in the old Italian manner,
with battlements at the top, and a small machicolation, little more than
a string-course, above each story; this serving at once to lessen the
monotony of the dead-walls, and to add to the frowning weight of the
upper part. The windows were few and small, and the house looked
damp and mouldy; lichens clotted the bricks, and moss filled the
string-courses. A low door opening from the lane into the garden
naturally attracted my attention; but it proved to be of abnormal
strength, and bolted both at the top and bottom.
Assured that nothing could be done on that side, and being unwilling to
remain longer in the neighbourhood, lest I should attract attention, I
returned to the street, and twice walked past the front of the house,
seeing all I could with as little appearance of seeing anything as I
could compass. The front retreated somewhat from the line of the street,
and was flanked on the farther side by stables. Only one chimney smoked,
and that sparely. Three steps led up to imposing double doors, which
stood half open, and afforded a glimpse of a spacious hall and a state
staircase. Two men, apparently servants, lounged on the steps, eating
chestnuts, and jesting with one another; and above the door were three
shields blazoned in colours. I saw with satisfaction, as I passed the
second time, that the middle coat was that of Turenne impaling one which
I could not read--which thoroughly satisfied me that the bow of velvet
had not lied; so that, without more ado, I turned homewards, formulating
my plans as I went.
I found all as I had left it; and my mother still lying in a
half-conscious state, I was spared the pain of making excuses for past
absence, or explaining that which I designed. I communicated the plan
I had formed to Simon Fleix, who saw no difficulty in procuring a
respectable person to stay with Madame de Bonne. But for some time he
would come no farther into the business. He listened, his mouth open
and his eyes glittering, to my plan until I came to his share in it; and
then he fell into a violent fit of trembling.
‘You want me to fight, monsieur,’ he cried reproachfully, shaking all
over like one in the palsy. ‘You said so the other night. You want to
get me killed! That’s it.’
‘Nonsense!’ I answered sharply. ‘I want you to hold the horses!’
He looked at me wildly, with a kind of resentment in his face, and yet
as if he were fascinated.
‘You will drag me into it!’ he persisted. ‘You will!’
‘I won’t,’ I said.
‘You will! You will! And the end I know. I shall have no chance. I am
a clerk, and not bred to fighting. You want to be the death of me!’ he
cried excitedly.
‘I don’t want you to fight,’ I answered with some contempt. ‘I would
rather that you kept out of it for my mother’s sake. I only want you to
stay in the lane and hold the horses. You will run little more risk than
you do sitting by the hearth here.’
And in the end I persuaded him to do what I wished; though still,
whenever he thought of what was in front of him, he fell a-trembling
again, and many times during the afternoon got up and walked to and
fro between the window and the hearth, his face working and his hands
clenched like those of a man in a fever. I put this down at first to
sheer chicken-heartedness, and thought it augured ill for my enterprise;
but presently remarking that he made no attempt to draw back, and that
though the sweat stood on his brow he set about such preparations as
were necessary--remembering also how long and kindly, and without pay or
guerdon, he had served my mother, I began to see that here was something
phenomenal; a man strange and beyond the ordinary, of whom it was
impossible to predicate what he would do when he came to be tried.
For myself, I passed the afternoon in a state almost of apathy. I
thought it my duty to make this attempt to free mademoiselle, and to
make it at once, since it was impossible to say what harm might come of
delay, were she in such hands as Fresnoy’s; but I had so little hope of
success that I regarded the enterprise as desperate. The certain loss
of my mother, however, and the low ebb of my fortunes, with the
ever-present sense of failure, contributed to render me indifferent to
risks; and even when we were on our way, through by-streets known to
Simon, to the farther end of the Ruelle d’Arcy, and the red and frosty
sunset shone in our faces, and gilded for a moment the dull eaves and
grey towers above us, I felt no softening. Whatever the end, there was
but one in the world whom I should regret, or who would regret me; and
she hung, herself, on the verge of eternity.
So that I was able to give Simon Fleix his last directions with as
much coolness as I ever felt in my life. I stationed him with the three
horses in the lane--which seemed as quiet and little frequented as in
the morning--near the end of it, and about a hundred paces or more from
the house.
‘Turn their heads towards the ramparts,’ I said, wheeling them round
myself, ‘and then they will be ready to start. They are all quiet
enough. You can let the Cid loose. And now listen to me, Simon,’ I
continued. ‘Wait here until you see me return, or until you see you are
going to be attacked. In the first case, stay for me, of course; in the
second, save yourself as you please. Lastly, if neither event occurs
before half-past five--you will hear the convent-bell yonder ring at
the half-hour--begone, and take the horses; they are yours, And one
word more,’ I added hurriedly. ‘If you can only get away with one horse,
Simon, take the Cid. It is worth more than most men, and will not fail
you at a pinch.’
As I turned away, I gave him one look to see if he understood. It was
not without hesitation that after that look I left him. The lad’s
face was flushed, he was breathing hard, his eyes seemed to be almost
starting from his head. He sat his horse shaking in every limb, and had
all the air of a man in a fit. I expected him to call me back; but he
did not, and reflecting that I must trust him, or give up the attempt,
I went up the lane with my sword under my arm, and my cloak loose on my
shoulders. I met a man driving a donkey laden with faggots. I saw no one
else. It was already dusk between the walls, though light enough in the
open country; but that was in my favour, my only regret; being that as
the town gates closed shortly after half-past five, I could not defer my
attempt until a still later hour.
Pausing in the shadow of the house while a man might count ten, I
impressed on my memory the position of the particular window which bore
the knot; then I passed quickly into the street, which was still full of
movement, and for a second, feeling myself safe from observation in the
crowd, I stood looking at the front of the house. The door was shut. My
heart sank when I saw this, for I had looked to find it still open.
The feeling, however, that I could not wait, though time might present
more than one opportunity, spurred me on. What I could do I must do now,
at once. The sense that this was so being heavy upon me, I saw nothing
for it but to use the knocker and gain admission, by fraud if I could,
and if not, by force. Accordingly I stepped briskly across the kennel,
and made for the entrance.
When I was within two paces of the steps, however, someone abruptly
threw the door open and stepped out. The man did not notice me, and I
stood quickly aside, hoping that at the last minute my chance had come.
Two men, who had apparently attended this first person downstairs, stood
respectfully behind him, holding lights. He paused a moment on the steps
to adjust his cloak, and with more than a little surprise I recognised
my acquaintance of the morning, M. de Bruhl.
I had scarcely time to identify him before he walked down the steps
swinging his cane, brushed carelessly past me, and was gone. The two
men looked after him awhile, shading their lights from the wind, and one
saying something, the other laughed coarsely. The next moment they threw
the door to and went, as I saw by the passage of their light, into the
room on the left of the hall.
Now was my time. I could have hoped for, prayed for, expected no better
fortune than this. The door had rebounded slightly from the jamb, and
stood open an inch or more. In a second I pushed it from me gently, slid
into the hall, and closed it behind me.
The door of the room on the left was wide open, and the light which
shone through the doorway--otherwise the hall was dark--as well as the
voices of the two men I had seen, warned me to be careful. I stood,
scarcely daring to breathe, and looked about me. There was no matting
on the floor, no fire on the hearth. The hall felt cold, damp, and
uninhabited. The state staircase rose in front of me, and presently
bifurcating, formed a gallery round the place. I looked up, and up, and
far above me, in the dim heights of the second floor, I espied a faint
light--perhaps, the reflection of a light.
A movement in the room on my left warned me that I had no time to lose,
if I meant to act. At any minute one of the men might come out and
discover me. With the utmost care I started on my journey. I stole
across the stone floor of the hall easily and quietly enough, but I
found the real difficulty begin when I came to the stairs. They were of
wood, and creaked and groaned under me to such an extent that, with each
step I trod, I expected the men to take the alarm. Fortunately all went
well until I passed the first corner--I chose, of course, the left-hand
flight--then a board jumped under my foot with a crack which sounded in
the empty hall, and to my excited ears, as loud as a pistol-shot. I was
in two minds whether I should not on the instant make a rush for it, but
happily I stood still. One of the men came out and listened, and I heard
the other ask, with an oath, what it was. I leant against the wall,
holding my breath.
‘Only that wench in one of her tantrums!’ the man who had come out
answered, applying an epithet to her which I will not set down, but
which I carried to his account in the event of our coming face to face
presently. ‘She is quiet now. She may hammer and hammer, but--’
The rest I lost, as he passed through the doorway and went back to his
place by the fire. But in one way his words were of advantage to me.
I concluded that I need not be so very cautious now, seeing that they
would set down anything they heard to the same cause; and I sped on more
quickly, I had just gained the second floor landing when a loud noise
below--the opening of the street door and the heavy tread of feet in the
hall--brought me to a temporary standstill. I looked cautiously over the
balustrade, and saw two men go across to the room on the left. One
of them spoke as he entered, chiding the other knaves, I fancied, for
leaving the door unbarred; and the tone, though not the words, echoing
sullenly up the staircase, struck a familiar chord in my memory. The
voice was Fresnoy’s!