And so back to my room I went, my task accomplished, and so pleased was
I with what had passed that as I drew on my boots--preparing to set out
to Canaples--I laughed softly to myself.
St. Auban I would dispose of in the morning. As for the other members
of the cabal, I deemed neither Vilmorin nor Malpertuis sufficiently
formidable to inspire uneasiness. St. Auban gone, they too would vanish.
There remained then Eugène de Canaples. Him, however, methought no great
evil was to be feared from. In Paris he might be as loud-voiced as he
pleased, but in his father's château--from what I had learned--'t was
unlikely he would so much as show himself. Moreover, he was wounded, and
before he had sufficiently recovered to offer interference it was
more than probable that Andrea would have married one or the other of
Mesdemoiselles de Canaples--though I had a shrewd suspicion that it
would be the wrong one, and there again I feared trouble.
As I stood up, booted and ready to descend, there came a gentle tap
at my door, and, in answer to my “Enter,” there stood before me a very
dainty and foppish figure. I stared hard at the effeminate face and the
long fair locks of my visitor, thinking that I had become the dupe of my
eyes.
“M. de Vilmorin!” I murmured in astonishment, as he came forward, having
closed the door. “You here?”
In answer, he bowed and greeted me with cold ceremoniousness.
“I have been in Blois since yesterday, Monsieur.”
“In truth I might have guessed it, Vicomte. Your visit flatters me,
for, of course, I take it, you are come to pay me your respects,” I said
ironically. “A glass of wine, Vicomte?”
“A thousand thanks, Monsieur--no,” he answered coldly in his mincing
tones. “It is concerning your affair with M. le Marquis de St. Auban
that I am come.” And drawing forth a dainty kerchief, which filled the
room with the scent of ambregris, he tapped his lips with it affectedly.
“Do you come as friend or--in some other capacity?”
“I come as mediator.”
“Mediator!” I echoed, and my brow grew dark. “Sdeath! Has St. Auban's
courage lasted just so long as the sting of my whip?”
He raised his eyebrows after a supercilious fashion that made me thirst
to strike the chair from under him.
“You misapprehend me; M. de St. Auban has no desire to avert the duel.
On the contrary, he will not rest until the affront you have put upon
him be washed out--”
“It will be, I'll answer for it.”
“Your answer, sir, is characteristic of a fanfarron. He who promises
most does not always fulfil most.”
I stared at him in amazement.
“Shall I promise you something, Vicomte? Mortdieu! If you seek to pick a
quarrel with me--”
“God forbid!” he ejaculated, turning colour. And his suddenly awakened
apprehensions swept aside the affectation that hitherto had marked his
speech and manner.
“Then, Monsieur, be brief and state the sum of this mediation.”
“It is this, Monsieur. In the heat of the moment, M. le Marquis gave
you, in the hearing of half a score of people, an assignation for
to-morrow morning. News of the affair will spread rapidly through Blois,
and it is likely there will be no lack of spectators on the green to
witness the encounter. Therefore, as my friend thinks this will be as
unpalatable to you as it is to him, he has sent me to suggest a fresh
rendezvous.”
“Pooh, sir,” I answered lightly. “I care not, for myself, who comes.
I am accustomed to a crowd. Still, since M. de St. Auban finds it
discomposing, let us arrange otherwise.”
“There is yet another point. M. de St. Auban spoke to you, I believe, of
an officer who is coming hither charged with your arrest. It is probable
that he may reach Blois before morning, so that the Marquis thinks that
to make certain you might consent to meet him to-night.”
“Ma foi. St. Auban is indeed in earnest then! Convey to him my
expressions of admiration at this suddenly awakened courage. Be good
enough, Vicomte, to name the rendezvous.”
“Do you know the chapel of St. Sulpice des Reaux?”
“What! Beyond the Loire?”
“Precisely, Monsieur. About a league from Chambord by the river side.”
“I can find the place.”
“Will you meet us there at nine o'clock tonight?”
I looked askance at him.
“But why cross the river? This side affords many likely spots!”
“Very true, Monsieur. But the Marquis has business at Chambord
this evening, after which there will be no reason--indeed, it will
inconvenience him exceedingly--to return to Blois.”
“What!” I cried, more and more astonished. “St. Auban is leaving Blois?”
“This evening, sir.”
“But, voyons, Vicomte, why make an assignation in such a place and at
night, when at any hour of the day I can meet the Marquis on this side,
without suffering the inconvenience of crossing the river?”
“There will be a bright moon, well up by nine o'clock. Moreover,
remember that you cannot, as you say, meet St. Auban on this side at any
time he may appoint, since to-night or to-morrow the officer who is in
search of you will arrive.”
I pondered for a moment. Then:
“M. le Vicomte,” I said, “in this matter of ground 't is I who have the
first voice.”
“How so?”
“Because the Marquis is the affronted one.”
“Therefore he has a right to choose.”
“A right, yes. But that is not enough. The necessity to fight is on his
side. His honour is hurt, not mine; I have whipped him; I am content.
Now let him come to me.”
“Assuredly you will not be so ungenerous.”
“I do not care about journeying to Reaux to afford him satisfaction.”
“Does Monsieur fear anything?”
“Vicomte, you go too far!” I cried, my pride gaining the mastery. “Since
it is asked of me,--I will go.”
“M. le Marquis will be grateful to you.”
“A fig for his gratitude,” I answered, whereupon the Vicomte shrugged
his narrow shoulders, and, his errand done, took his leave of me.
When he was gone I called Michelot, to tell him of the journey I must go
that night, so that he might hold himself in readiness.
“Why--if Monsieur will pardon me,” quoth he, “do you go to meet the
Marquis de St. Auban at St. Sulpice des Reaux by night?”
“Precisely what I asked Vilmorin. The Marquis desires it, and--what will
you?--since I am going to kill the man, I can scarce do less than kill
him on a spot of his own choosing.”
Michelot screwed up his face and scratched at his grey beard with his
huge hand.
“Does no suspicion of foul play cross your mind, Monsieur?” he inquired
timidly.
“Shame on you, Michelot,” I returned with some heat. “You do not yet
understand the ways of gentlemen. Think you that M. de St. Auban would
stoop to such a deed as that? He would be shamed for ever! Pooh, I would
as soon suspect my Lord Cardinal of stealing the chalices from Nôtre
Dame. Go, see to my horse. I am riding to Canaples.”
As I rode out towards the château I fell to thinking, and my thoughts
turning to Vilmorin, I marvelled at the part he was playing in this
little comedy of a cabal against Andrea de Mancini. His tastes and
instincts were of the boudoir, the ante-chamber, and the table. He wore
a sword because it was so ordained by fashion, and because the hilt was
convenient for the display of a jewel or two. Certainly 't was not for
utility that it hung beside him, and no man had ever seen it drawn.
Nature had made him the most pitiable coward begotten. Why then should
he involve himself in an affair which promised bloodshed, and which must
be attended by many a risk for him? There was in all this some mystery
that I could not fathom.
From the course into which they had slipped, my thoughts were diverted,
when I was within half a mile of the château, by the sight of a horseman
stationed, motionless, among the trees that bordered the road.
It occurred to me that men take not such a position without
purpose--usually an evil one. I slackened speed somewhat and rode on,
watching him sharply. As I came up, he walked his horse forward to meet
me, and I beheld a man in the uniform of the gardes du corps, in whom
presently I recognised the little sparrow Malpertuis, with whom I had
exchanged witticisms at Choisy. He was the one man wanting to complete
the trinity that had come upon us at the inn of the Connétable.
It flashed across my mind that he might be the officer charged with my
arrest, and that he had arrived sooner than had been expected. If so,
it was likely to go ill with him, for I was not minded to be taken until
St. Auban's soul sped hellwards.
He hailed me as I advanced, and indeed rode forward to meet me.
“You are come at last, M. de Luynes,” was his greeting. “I have waited
for you this hour past.”
“How knew you I should ride this way?”
“I learnt that you would visit Canaples before noon. Be good enough to
quit the road, and pass under those trees with me. I have something to
say to you, but it were not well that we should be seen together.”
“For the sake of your character or mine, M. Malappris?”
“Malpertuis!” he snapped.
“Malpertuis,” I corrected. “You were saying that we should not be seen
together.”
“St. Auban might hear of it.”
“Ah! And therefore?”
“You shall learn.” We were now under the trees, which albeit leafless
yet screened us partly from the road. He drew rein, and I followed his
example.
“M. de Luynes,” he began, “I am or was a member of the cabal formed
against Mazarin's aims in the matter of the marriage of Mademoiselle
de Canaples to his nephew. I joined hands with St. Auban, lured by his
protestations that it is not meet that such an heiress as Yvonne de
Canaples should be forced to marry a foreigner of no birth and less
distinction, whilst France holds so many noble suitors to her hand. This
motive, by which I know that even Eugène de Canaples was actuated, was,
St. Auban gave me to understand, his only one for embarking upon this
business, as it was also Vilmorin's. Now, M. de Luynes, I have today
discovered that I had been duped by St. Auban and his dupe, Vilmorin.
St. Auban lied to me; another motive brings him into the affair. He
seeks himself, by any means that may present themselves, to marry
Yvonne--and her estates; whilst the girl, I am told, loathes him beyond
expression. Vilmorin again is actuated by no less a purpose. And so,
what think you these two knaves--this master knave and his dupe--have
determined? To carry off Mademoiselle by force!”
“Sangdieu!” I burst out, and would have added more, but his gesture
silenced me, and he continued:
“Vilmorin believes that St. Auban is helping him in this, whereas St.
Auban is but fooling him with ambiguous speeches until they have the
lady safe. Then might will assert itself, and St. Auban need but show
his fangs to drive the sneaking coward away from the prize he fondly
dreams is to be his.”
“When do these gentlemen propose to carry out their plan? Have they
determined that?” I inquired breathlessly.
“Aye, they have. They hope to accomplish it this very day. Mademoiselle
de Canaples has received a letter wherein she is asked to meet her
anonymous writer in the coppice yonder, at the Angelus this evening, if
she would learn news of great importance to her touching a conspiracy
against her father.”
“Faugh!” I sneered. “'T is too poor a bait to lure her with.”
“Say you so? Believe me that unless she be dissuaded she will comply
with the invitation, so cunningly was the letter couched. A closed
carriage will be waiting at this very spot. Into this St. Auban,
Vilmorin, and their bravos will thrust the girl, then away through Blois
and beyond it, for a mile or so, in the direction of Meung, thereby
misleading any chance pursuers. There they will quit the coach and take
a boat that is to be in waiting for them and which will bear them back
with the stream to Chambord. Thereafter, God pity the poor lady if they
get thus far without mishap.”
“Mort de ma vie!” I cried, slapping my thigh, “I understand!” And to
myself I thought of the assignation at St. Sulpice des Reaux, and the
reason for this, as also St. Auban's resolution to so suddenly quit
Blois, grew of a sudden clear to me. Also did I recall the riddle
touching Vilmorin's conduct which a few moments ago I had puzzled over,
and of which methought that I now held the solution.
“What do you understand?” asked Malpertuis.
“Something that was told me this morning,” I made answer, then spoke of
gratitude, wherein he cut me short.
“I ask no thanks,” he said curtly. “You owe me none. What I have done
is not for love of you or Mancini--for I love neither of you. It is done
because noblesse m'oblige. I told St. Auban that I would have no part in
this outrage. But that is not enough; I owe it to my honour to attempt
the frustration of so dastardly a plan. You, M. de Luynes, appear to
be the most likely person to encompass this, in the interests of your
friend Mancini; I leave the matter, therefore, in your hands. Goodday!”
And with this abrupt leave-taking, the little fellow doffed his hat
to me, and wheeling his horse he set spurs in its flanks, and was gone
before a word of mine could have stayed him.