“I crave Monsieur's pardon, but there is a gentleman below who desires
to speak with you immediately.”
“How does this gentleman call himself, M. l'Hote?”
“M. le Marquis de St. Auban,” answered the landlord, still standing in
the doorway.
It wanted an hour or so to noon on the day following that of St. Auban's
arrival at Blois, and I was on the point of setting out for the château
on an errand of warning.
It occurred to me to refuse to see the Marquis, but remembering betimes
that from your enemy's speech you may sometimes learn where to look for
his next attack, I thought better of it and bade my host admit him.
I strode over to the fire, and stirring the burning logs, I put my back
to the blaze, and waited.
Steps sounded on the stairs; there was the shuffling of the landlord's
slippered feet and the firm tread of my visitor, accompanied by
the jingle of spurs and the clank of his scabbard as it struck the
balustrade. Then my door was again opened, and St. Auban, as superbly
dressed as ever, was admitted.
We bowed formally, as men bow who are about to cross swords, and whilst
I waited for him to speak, I noted that his face was pale and bore the
impress of suppressed anger.
“So, M. de Luynes, again we meet.”
“By your seeking, M. le Marquis.”
“You are not polite.”
“You are not opportune.”
He smiled dangerously.
“I learn, Monsieur, that you are a daily visitor at the Château de
Canaples.”
“Well, sir, what of it?”
“This. I have been to Canaples this morning and, knowing that you will
learn anon, from that old dotard, what passed between us, I prefer that
you shall hear it first from me.”
I bowed to conceal a smile.
“Thanks to you, M. de Luynes, I was ordered from the house. I--César
de St. Auban--have been ordered from the house of a provincial upstart!
Thanks to the calumnies which you poured into his ears.”
“Calumnies! Was that the word?”
“I choose the word that suits me best,” he answered, and the rage that
was in him at the affront he had suffered at the hands of the Chevalier
de Canaples was fast rising to the surface. “I warned you at Choisy of
what would befall. Your opposition and your alliance with M. de Mancini
are futile. You think to have gained a victory by winning over to your
side an old fool who will sacrifice his honour to see his daughter a
duchess, but I tell you, sir--”
“That you hope to see her a marchioness,” I put in calmly. “You see, M.
de St. Auban, I have learned something since I came to Blois.”
He grew livid with passion.
“You shall learn more ere you quit it, you meddler! You shall be taught
to keep that long nose of yours out of matters that concern you not.”
I laughed.
“Loud threats!” I answered jeeringly.
“Never fear,” he cried, “there is more to follow. To your cost shall
you learn it. By God, sir! do you think that I am to suffer a Sicilian
adventurer and a broken tavern ruffler to interfere with my designs?”
Still I kept my temper.
“So!” I said in a bantering tone. “You confess that you have designs.
Good! But what says the lady, eh? I am told that she is not yet
outrageously enamoured of you, for all your beauty!”
Beside himself with passion, his hand sought his sword. But the gesture
was spasmodic.
“Knave!” he snarled.
“Knave to me? Have a care, St. Auban, or I'll find you a shroud for a
wedding garment.”
“Knave!” he repeated with a snarl. “What price are you paid by that
boy?”
“Pardieu, St. Auban! You shall answer to me for this.”
“Answer for it? To you!” And he laughed harshly. “You are mad, my
master. When did a St. Auban cross swords with a man of your stamp?”
“M. le Marquis,” I said, with a calmness that came of a stupendous
effort, “at Choisy you sought my friendship with high-sounding talk of
principles that opposed you to the proposed alliance, twixt the houses
of Mancini and Canaples. Since then I have learned that your motives
were purely personal. From my discovery I hold you to be a liar.”
“Monsieur!”
“I have not yet done. You refuse to cross swords with me on the pretext
that you do not fight men of my stamp. I am no saint, sir, I confess.
But my sins cannot wash out my name--the name of a family accounted as
good as that of St. Auban, and one from which a Constable of France
has sprung, whereas yours has never yet bred aught but profligates and
debauchees. You are little better than I am, Marquis; indeed, you do
many things that I would not do, that I have never done. For instance,
whilst refusing to cross blades with me, who am a soldier and a man
of the sword, you seek to pick a fight with a beardless boy who hardly
knows the use of a rapier, and who--wittingly at least--has done you no
wrong. Now, my master, you may call me profligate, ruffler, gamester,
duellist--what you will; but there are two viler things you cannot dub
me, and which, methinks, I have proven you to be--liar and craven.”
And as I spoke the burning words, I stood close up to him and tapped his
breast as if to drive the epithets into his very heart.
Rage he felt, indeed, and his distorted countenance was a sight fearful
to behold.
“Now, my master,” I added, setting my arms akimbo and laughing brutally
in his face, “will you fight?”
For a moment he wavered, and surely meseemed that I had drawn him. Then:
“No,” he cried passionately. “I will not do dishonour to my sword.” And
turning he made for the door, leaving me baffled.
“Go, sir,” I shouted, “but fame shall stalk fast behind you. Liar and
craven will I dub you throughout the whole of France.”
He stopped 'neath the lintel, and faced me again.
“Fool,” he sneered. “You'll need dispatch to spread my fame so far. By
this time to-morrow you'll be arrested. In three days you will be in the
Bastille, and there shall you lie until you rot to carrion.”
“Loud threats again!” I laughed, hoping by the taunt to learn more.
“Loud perchance, but not empty. Learn that the Cardinal has knowledge of
your association with Mancini, and means to separate you. An officer
of the guards is on his way to Blois. He is at Meung by now. He bears
a warrant for your arrest and delivery to the governor of the Bastille.
Thereafter, none may say what will betide.” And with a coarse burst of
laughter he left me, banging the door as he passed out.
For a moment I stood there stricken by his parting words. He had sought
to wound me, and in this he had succeeded. But at what cost to himself?
In his blind rage, the fool had shown me that which he should have
zealously concealed, and what to him was but a stinging threat was to me
a timely warning. I saw the necessity for immediate action. Two things
must I do; kill St. Auban first, then fly the Cardinal's warrant as
best I could. I cast about me for means to carry out the first of these
intentions. My eye fell upon my riding-whip, lying on a chair close to
my hand, and the sight of it brought me the idea I sought. Seizing it, I
bounded out of the room and down the stairs, three steps at a stride.
Along the corridor I sped and into the common-room, which at the moment
was tolerably full. As I entered by one door, the Marquis was within
three paces of the other, leading to the courtyard.
My whip in the air, I sprang after him; and he, hearing the rush of
my onslaught, turned, then uttered a cry of pain as I brought the lash
caressingly about his shoulders.
“Now, master craven,” I shouted, “will that change your mind?”
With an almost inarticulate cry, he sought to draw there and then, but
those about flung themselves upon us, and held us apart--I, passive
and unresisting; the Marquis, bellowing, struggling, and foaming at the
mouth.
“To meet you now would be to murder you, Marquis,” I said coolly. “Send
your friends to me to appoint the time.”
“Soit!” he cried, his eyes blazing with a hate unspeakable. “At eight
to-morrow morning I shall await you on the green behind the castle of
Blois.”
“At eight o'clock I shall be there,” I answered. “And now, gentlemen, if
you will unhand me, I will return to my apartments.”
They let me go, but with many a growl and angry look, for in their eyes
I was no more than a coarse aggressor, whilst their sympathy was all for
St. Auban.