The certainty, which this sound gave me, that I was in the right house,
and that it held also the villain to whom I owed all my misfortunes--for
who but Fresnoy could have furnished the broken coin which had deceived
mademoiselle?--had a singularly inspiriting effect upon me. I felt every
muscle in my body grow on the instant; hard as steel, my eyes more keen,
my ears sharper--all my senses more apt and vigorous. I stole off like
a cat from the balustrade, over which I had been looking, and without a
second’s delay began the search for mademoiselle’s room; reflecting that
though the garrison now amounted to four, I had no need to despair. If I
could release the prisoners without noise--which would be easy were the
key in the lock--we might hope to pass through the hall by a tour de
force of one kind or another. And a church-clock at this moment striking
Five, and reminding me that we had only half an hour in which to do all
and reach the horses, I was the more inclined to risk something.
The light which I had seen from below hung in a flat-bottomed lantern
just beyond the head of the stairs, and outside the entrance to one
of two passages which appeared to lead to the back part of the house.
Suspecting that M. de Bruhl’s business had lain with mademoiselle, I
guessed that the light had been placed for his convenience. With this
clue and the position of the window to guide me, I fixed on a door on
the right of this passage, and scarcely four paces from the head of the
stairs. Before I made any sign, however, I knelt down and ascertained
that there was a light in the room, and also that the key was not in the
lock.
So far satisfied, I scratched on the door with my finger-nails, at first
softly, then with greater force, and presently I heard someone in the
room rise. I felt sure that the person whoever it was had taken the
alarm and was listening, and putting my lips to the keyhole I whispered
mademoiselle’s name.
A footstep crossed the room sharply, and I heard muttering just within
the door. I thought I detected two voices. But I was impatient, and,
getting no answer, whispered in the same manner as before, ‘Mademoiselle
de la Vire, are you there?’
Still no answer. The muttering, too, had stopped, and all was still--in
the room, and in the silent house. I tried again. ‘It is I, Gaston de
Marsac,’ I said. ‘Do you hear? I am come to release you.’ I spoke as
loudly as I dared, but most of the sound seemed to come back on me and
wander in suspicious murmurings down the staircase.
This time, however, an exclamation of surprise rewarded me, and a voice,
which I recognised at once as mademoiselle’s, answered softly:
‘What is it? Who is there?’
‘Gaston de Marsac,’ I answered. ‘Do you need my help?’
The very brevity of her reply; the joyful sob which accompanied it,
and which I detected even through the door; the wild cry of
thankfulness--almost an oath--of her companion--all these assured me
at once that I was welcome--welcome as I had never been before--and, so
assuring me, braced me to the height of any occasion which might befall.
‘Can you open the door? I muttered. All the time I was on my knees, my
attention divided between the inside of the room and the stray sounds
which now and then came up to me from the hall below. ‘Have you the
key?’
‘No; we are locked in,’ mademoiselle answered.
I expected this. ‘If the door is bolted inside,’ I whispered, ‘unfasten
it, if you please!’
They answered that it was not, so bidding them stand back a little from
it, I rose and set my shoulder against it. I hoped to be able to burst
it in with only one crash, which by itself, a single sound, might not
alarm the men downstairs. But my weight made no impression upon the
lock, and the opposite wall being too far distant to allow me to get any
purchase for my feet, I presently desisted. The closeness of the door
to the jambs warned me that an attempt to prise it open would be equally
futile; and for a moment I stood gazing in perplexity at the solid
planks, which bid fair to baffle me to the end.
The position was, indeed, one of great difficulty, nor can I now think
of any way out of it better or other than that which I adopted. Against
the wall near the head of the stairs I had noticed, as I came up, a
stout wooden stool. I stole out and fetched this, and setting it against
the opposite wall, endeavoured in this way to get sufficient purchase
for my feet. The lock still held; but, as I threw my whole weight on the
door, the panel against which I leaned gave way and broke inwards with
a loud, crashing sound, which echoed through the empty house, and might
almost have been beard in the street outside.
It reached the ears, at any rate, of the men sitting below, and I heard
them troop noisily out and stand in the hall, now talking loudly, and
now listening. A minute of breathless suspense followed--it seemed a
long minute; and then, to my relief, they tramped back again, and I
was free to return to my task. Another thrust, directed a little lower,
would, I hoped, do the business; but to make this the more certain I
knelt down and secured the stool firmly against the wall. As I rose
after settling it, something else, without sound or warning, rose also,
taking me completely by surprise--a man’s head above the top stair,
which, as it happened, faced me. His eyes met mine, and I knew I was
discovered.
He turned and bundled downstairs again with a scared face, going so
quickly that I could not have caught him if I would, or had had the wit
to try. Of silence there was so longer need. In a few seconds the alarm
would be raised. I had small time for thought. Laying myself bodily
against the door, I heaved and pressed with all my strength; but whether
I was careless in my haste, or the cause was other, the lock did not
give. Instead the stool slipped, and I fell with a crash on the floor at
the very moment the alarm reached the men below.
I remember that the crash of my unlucky fall seemed to release all the
prisoned noises of the house. A faint scream within the room was but
a prelude, lost the next moment in the roar of dismay, the clatter of
weapons, and volley of oaths and cries and curses which, rolling up from
below, echoed hollowly about me, as the startled knaves rushed to their
weapons, and charged across the flags and up the staircase. I had space
for one desperate effort. Picking myself up, I seized the stool by two
of its legs and dashed it twice against the door, driving in the panel
I had before splintered. But that was all. The lock held, and I had no
time for a third blow. The men were already halfway up the stairs. In a
breath almost they would be upon me. I flung down the useless stool and
snatched up my sword, which lay unsheathed beside me. So far the matter
had gone against us, but it was time for a change of weapons now, and
the end was not yet. I sprang to the head of the stairs and stood there,
my arm by my side and my point resting on the floor, in such an attitude
of preparedness as I could compass at the moment.
For I had not been in the house all this time, as may well be supposed,
without deciding what I would do in case of surprise, and exactly where
I could best stand on the defensive. The flat bottom of the lamp which
hung outside the passage threw a deep shadow on the spot immediately
below it, while the light fell brightly on the steps beyond. Standing in
the shadow I could reach the edge of the stairs with my point, and swing
the blade freely, without fear of the balustrade; and here I posted
myself with a certain grim satisfaction as Fresnoy, with his three
comrades behind him, came bounding up the last flight.
They were four to one, but I laughed to see how, not abruptly, but
shamefacedly and by degrees, they came to a stand halfway up the flight,
and looked at me, measuring the steps and the advantage which the light
shining in their eyes gave me. Fresnoy’s ugly face was rendered uglier
by a great strip of plaister which marked the place where the hilt of
my sword had struck him in our last encounter at Chize; and this and the
hatred he bore to me gave a peculiar malevolence to his look. The deaf
man Matthew, whose savage stolidity had more than once excited my anger
on our journey, came next to him, the two strangers whom I had seen in
the hall bringing up the rear. Of the four, these last seemed the most
anxious to come to blows, and had Fresnoy not barred the way with his
hand we should have crossed swords without parley.
‘Halt, will you!’ he cried, with an oath, thrusting one of them back.
And then to me he said, ‘So, so, my friend! It is you, is it?’
I looked at him in silence, with a scorn which knew no bounds, and did
not so much as honour him by raising my sword, though I watched him
heedfully.
‘What are you doing here? he continued, with an attempt at bluster.
Still I would not answer him, or move, but stood looking down at him.
After a moment of this, he grew restive, his temper being churlish and
impatient at the best. Besides, I think he retained just so much of a
gentleman’s feelings as enabled him to understand my contempt and smart
under it. He moved a step upward, his brow dark with passion.
‘You beggarly son of a scarecrow!’ he broke out on a sudden, adding a
string of foul imprecations, ‘will you speak, or are you going to wait
to be spitted where you stand? If we once begin, my bantam, we shall not
stop until we have done your business! If you have anything to say, say
it, and--’ But I omit the rest of his speech, which was foul beyond the
ordinary.
Still I did not move or speak, but looked at him unwavering, though it
pained me to think the women heard. He made a last attempt.’ Come, old
friend,’ he said, swallowing his anger again, or pretending to do so,
and speaking with a vile bonhomie which I knew to be treacherous, ‘if
we come to blows we shall give you no quarter. But one chance you shall
have, for the sake of old days when we followed Conde. Go! Take the
chance, and go. We will let you pass, and that broken door shall be the
worst of it. That is more,’ he added with a curse, ‘than I would do for
any other man in your place, M. de Marsac.’
A sudden movement and a low exclamation in the room behind me showed
that his words were heard there; and these sounds being followed
immediately by a noise as of riving wood, mingled with the quick
breathing of someone hard at work, I judged that the women were striving
with the door--enlarging the opening it might be. I dared not look
round, however, to see what progress they made, nor did I answer
Fresnoy, save by the same silent contempt, but stood watching the men
before me with the eye of a fencer about to engage. And I know nothing
more keen, more vigilant, more steadfast than that.
It was well I did, for without signal or warning the group wavered a
moment, as though retreating, and the next instant precipitated itself
upon me. Fortunately, only two could engage me at once, and Fresnoy, I
noticed, was not of the two who dashed forward up the steps. One of the
strangers forced himself to the front, and, taking the lead, pressed me
briskly, Matthew seconding him in appearance, while really watching
for an opportunity of running in and stabbing me at close quarters, a
manoeuvre I was not slow to detect.
That first bout lasted half a minute only. A fierce exultant joy ran
through me as the steel rang and grated, and I found that I had not
mistaken the strength of wrist or position. The men were mine. They
hampered one another on the stairs, and fought in fetters, being unable
to advance or retreat, to lunge with freedom, or give back without fear.
I apprehended greater danger from Matthew than from my actual opponent,
and presently, watching my opportunity, disarmed the latter by a strong
parade, and sweeping Matthew’s sword aside by the same movement, slashed
him across the forehead; then, drawing back a step, gave my first
opponent the point. He fell in a heap on the floor, as good as dead,
and Matthew, dropping his sword, staggered backwards and downwards into
Fresnoy’s arms.
‘Bonne Foi! France et Bonne Foi!’ It seemed to me that I bad not spoken,
that I had plied steel in grimmest silence; and yet the cry still rang
and echoed in the roof as I lowered my point, and stood looking grimly
down at them. Fresnoy’s face was disfigured with rage and chagrin. They
were now but two to one, for Matthew, though his wound was slight, was
disabled by the blood which ran down into his eyes and blinded him.
‘France et Bonne Foi!’
‘Bonne Foi and good sword!’ cried a voice behind me. And looking swiftly
round, I saw mademoiselle’s face thrust through the hole in the door.
Her eyes sparkled with a fierce light, her lips were red beyond the
ordinary, and her hair, loosened and thrown into disorder by her
exertions, fell in thick masses about her white cheeks, and gave her the
aspect of a war-witch, such as they tell of in my country of Brittany.
‘Good sword!’ she cried again, and clapped her hands.
‘But better board, mademoiselle!’ I answered gaily. Like most of the
men of my province, I am commonly melancholic, but I have the habit of
growing witty at such times as these. ‘Now, M. Fresnoy,’ I continued,
‘I am waiting your convenience. Must I put on my cloak to keep myself
warm?’
He answered by a curse, and stood looking at me irresolutely. ‘If you
will come down,’ he said.
‘Send your man away and I will come,’ I answered briskly. ‘There
is space on the landing, and a moderate light. But I must be quick.
Mademoiselle and I are due elsewhere, and we are late already.’
Still he hesitated. Still he looked at the man lying at his feet--who
had stretched himself out and passed, quietly enough, a minute
before--and stood dubious, the most pitiable picture of cowardice
and malice--he being ordinarily a stout man--I ever saw. I called him
poltroon and white-feather, and was considering whether I had not better
go down to him, seeing that our time must be up, and Simon would be
quitting his post, when a cry behind me caused me to turn, and I saw
that mademoiselle was no longer looking through the opening in the door.
Alarmed on her behalf, as I reflected that there might be other doors to
the room, and the men have other accomplices in the house, I sprang to
the door to see, but had basely time to send a single glance round-the
interior--which showed me only that the room was still occupied--before
Fresnoy, taking advantage of my movement and of my back being turned,
dashed up the stairs, with his comrade at his heels, and succeeded in
pinning me into the narrow passage where I stood.
I had scarcely time, indeed, to turn and put myself on guard before he
thrust at me. Nor was that all. The superiority in position no longer
lay with me. I found myself fighting between walls close to the opening
in the door, through which the light fell athwart my eyes, baffling and
perplexing me. Fresnoy was not slow to see the aid this gave him, and
pressed me hard and desperately; so that we played for a full minute at
close quarters, thrusting and parrying, neither of us having room to use
the edge, or time to utter word or prayer.
At this game we were so evenly matched that for a time the end was hard
to tell. Presently, however, there came a change. My opponent’s habit
of wild living suited ill with a prolonged bout, and as his strength and
breath failed and he began to give ground I discerned I had only to wear
him out to have him at my mercy. He felt this himself, and even by that
light I saw the sweat spring in great drops to his forehead, saw the
terror grow in his eyes. Already I was counting him a dead man and the
victory mine, when something hashed behind his blade, and his comrade’s
poniard, whizzing past his shoulder, struck me fairly on the chin,
staggering me and hurling me back dizzy and half-stunned, uncertain what
had happened to me.
Sped an inch lower it, would have done its work and finished mine. Even
as it was, my hand going up as I reeled back gave Fresnoy an opening, of
which he was not slow to avail himself. He sprang forward, lunging at me
furiously, and would have run me through there and then, and ended the
matter, bad not his foot, as he advanced, caught in the stool, which
still lay against the wall. He stumbled, his point missed my hip by a
hair’s breadth, and he himself fell all his length on the floor, his
rapier breaking off short at the hilt.
His one remaining backer stayed to cast a look at him, and that was all.
The man fled, and I chased him as far as the head of the stairs; where
I left him, assured by the speed and agility he displayed in clearing
flight after flight that I had nothing to fear from him. Fresnoy lay,
apparently stunned, and completely at my mercy. I stood an instant
looking down at him, in two minds whether I should not run him through.
But the memory of old days, when he had played his part in more
honourable fashion and shown a coarse good-fellowship in the field, held
my hand; and flinging a curse at him, I turned in anxious haste to the
door, the centre of all this bloodshed and commotion. The light still
shone through the breach in the panel, but for some minutes--since
Fresnoy’s rush up the stairs, indeed--I had heard no sound from
this quarter. Now, looking in with apprehensions which grew with the
continuing silence, I learned the reason. The room was empty!
Such a disappointment in the moment of triumph was hard to bear. I saw
myself, after all done and won, on the point of being again outwitted,
distanced, it might be fooled. In frantic haste and excitement I
snatched up the stool beside me, and, dashing it twice against the lock,
forced it at last to yield. The door swung open, and I rushed into the
room, which, abandoned by those who had so lately occupied it, presented
nothing to detain me. I cast a single glance round, saw that it was
squalid, low-roofed, unfurnished, a mere prison; then swiftly crossing
the floor, I made for a door at the farther end, which my eye had marked
from the first. A candle stood flaring and guttering on a stool, and as
I passed I took it up.
Somewhat to my surprise the door yielded to my touch. In trembling
haste--for what might not befall the women while I fumbled with doors
or wandered in passages?--I flung it wide, and passing through it, found
myself at the head of a narrow, mean staircase, leading, doubtless, to
the servants’ offices. At this, and seeing no hindrance before me, I
took heart of grace, reflecting that mademoiselle might have escaped
from the house this way. Though it would now be too late to quit the
city, I might still overtake her, and all end well. Accordingly I
hurried down the stairs, shading my candle as I went from a cold draught
of air which met me, and grew stronger as I descended; until reaching
the bottom at last, I came abruptly upon an open door, and an old,
wrinkled, shrivelled woman.
The hag screamed at sight of me, and crouched down on the floor; and
doubtless, with my drawn sword, and the blood dripping from my chin
and staining all the front of my doublet, I looked fierce and uncanny
enough. But I felt it was no time for sensibility--I was panting to be
away--and I demanded of her sternly where they were. She seemed to have
lost her voice--through fear, perhaps--and for answer only stared at me
stupidly; but on my handling my weapon with some readiness she so far
recovered her senses as to utter two loud screams, one after the other,
and point to the door beside her. I doubted her; and yet I thought in
her terror she must be telling the truth, the more as I saw no other
door. In any case I must risk it, so, setting the candle down on the
step beside her, I passed out.
For a moment the darkness was so intense that I felt my way with my
sword before me, in absolute ignorance where I was or on what my foot
might next rest. I was at the mercy of anyone who chanced to be lying
in wait for me; and I shivered as the cold damp wind struck my cheek and
stirred my hair. But by-and-by, when I had taken two or three steps, my
eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, and I made, out the naked boughs of
trees between myself and the sky, and guessed that I was in a garden. My
left hand, touching a shrub, confirmed me in this belief, and in another
moment I distinguished something like the outline of a path stretching
away before me. Following it rapidly--as rapidly as I dared--I came to
a corner, as it seemed to me, turned it blindly, and stopped short,
peeping into a curtain of solid blackness which barred my path, and
overhead mingled confusedly with the dark shapes of trees. But this,
too, after a brief hesitation, I made out to be a wall. Advancing to
it with outstretched hands, I felt the woodwork of a door, and, groping
about, lit presently on a loop of cord. I pulled at this, the door
yielded, and I went out.
I found myself in a narrow, dark lane, and looking up and down
discovered, what I might have guessed before, that it, was the Ruelle
d’Arcy. But mademoiselle? Fanchette? Simon? Where were they? No one was
to be seen, Tormented by doubts, I lifted up my voice and called on them
in turn; first on mademoiselle, then on Simon Fleix. In vain; I got no
answer. High up above me I saw, as I stood back a little, lights moving
in the house I had left; and the suspicion that, after all, the enemy
had foiled me grew upon me. Somehow they had decoyed mademoiselle to
another part of the house, and then the old woman had misled me!
I turned fiercely to the door, which I had left ajar, resolved to
re-enter by the way I had come, and have an explanation whether or no.
To my surprise--for I had not moved six paces from the door nor heard
the slightest sound--I found it not; only closed but bolted--bolted both
at top and bottom, as I discovered on trying it.
I fell on that to kicking it furiously, desperately; partly in a tempest
of rage and chagrin, partly in the hope that I might frighten the old
woman, if it was she who had closed it, into opening it again. In vain,
of course; and presently I saw this and desisted, and, still in a whirl
of haste and excitement, set off running towards the place where I had
left Simon Fleix and the horses. It was fully six o’clock as I judged;
but some faint hope that I might find him there with mademoiselle and
her woman still lingered in my mind. I reached the end of the lane, I
ran to the very foot; of the ramparts, I looked right and left. In vain.
The place was dark, silent, deserted.
I called ‘Simon! Simon! Simon Fleix!’ but my only answer was
the soughing of the wind in the eaves, and the slow tones of the
convent-bell striking Six.