An hour after I had quitted the Hôtel de Luynes, Michelot and I left
Paris by the barrier St. Michel and took the Orleans road. How different
it looked in the bright June sunshine, to the picture which it had
presented to our eyes on that February evening, four months ago, when
last we had set out upon that same journey!
Not only in nature had a change been wrought, but in my very self. My
journey then had been aimless, and I had scarcely known whither I was
bound nor had I fostered any great concern thereon. Now I rode in hot
haste with a determined purpose, a man of altered fortunes and altered
character.
Into Choisy we clattered at a brisk pace, but at the sight of the inn
of the Connétable such memories surged up that I was forced to draw rein
and call for a cup of Anjou, which I drank in the saddle. Thereafter we
rode without interruption through Longjumeau, Arpajon, and Etrechy, and
so well did we use our horses that as night fell we reached Étampes.
From inquiries that Michelot had made on the road, we learned that no
troop such as that which rode with St. Auban had lately passed that way,
so that 't was clear we were in front of them.
But scarce had we finished supper in the little room which I had hired
at the Gros Paon, when, from below, a stamping of hoofs, the jangle of
arms, and the shouts of many men told me that we were overtaken.
Clearly I did not burn with a desire to linger, but rather it seemed to
me that although night had closed in, black and moonless, we must set
out again, and push on to Monnerville, albeit our beasts were worn and
the distance a good three leagues.
With due precaution we effected our departure, and thereafter had a spur
been needed to speed us on our way that spur we had in the knowledge
that St. Auban came close upon our heels. At Monnerville we slept, and
next morning we were early afoot; by four o'clock in the afternoon we
had reached Orleans, whence--with fresh horses--we pursued our journey
as far as Meung, where we lay that night.
There we were joined by a sturdy rascal whom Michelot enlisted into my
service, seeing that not only did my means allow, but the enterprise
upon which I went might perchance demand another body servant. This
recruit was a swart, powerfully built man of about my own age; trusty,
and a lover of hard knocks, as Michelot--who had long counted him among
his friends--assured me. He owned the euphonious name of Abdon.
I spent twenty pistoles in suitable raiment and a horse for him, and as
we left Meung next day the knave cut a brave enough figure that added
not a little to my importance to have at my heels.
This, however, so retarded our departure, that night had fallen by the
time we reached Blois. Still our journey had been a passing swift one.
We had left Paris on a Monday, the fourth of June--I have good cause to
remember, since on that day I entered both upon my thirty-second year
and my altered fortunes; on the evening of Wednesday we reached Blois,
having covered a distance of forty-three leagues in less than three
days.
Bidding Michelot carry my valise to the hostelry of the Vigne d'Or,
and there await my coming, I called to Abdon to attend me, and rode on,
jaded and travel-stained though I was, to Canaples, realising fully that
there was no time to lose.
Old Guilbert, who came in answer to my knock at the door of the
château, looked askance when he beheld me, and when I bade him carry my
compliments to the Chevalier, with the message that I desired immediate
speech of him on a matter of the gravest moment, he shook his grey head
and protested that it would be futile to obey me. Yet, in the end,
when I had insisted, he went upon my errand, but only to return with a
disturbed countenance, to tell me that the Chevalier refused to see me.
“But I must speak to him, Guilbert,” I exclaimed, setting foot upon the
top step. “I have travelled expressly from Paris.”
The man stood firm and again shook his head.
“I beseech you not to insist, Monsieur. M. le Chevalier has sworn to
dismiss me if I permit you to set foot within the château.”
“Mille diables! This is madness! I seek to serve him,” I cried, my
temper rising fast. “At least, Guilbert, will you tell Mademoiselle that
I am here, and that I--”
“I may carry no more messages for you, Monsieur,” he broke in. “Listen!
There is M. le Chevalier.”
In reality I could hear the old knight's voice, loud and shrill with
anger, and a moment later Louis, his intendant, came across the hall.
“Guilbert,” he commanded harshly, “close the door. The night air is
keen.”
My cheeks aflame with anger, I still made one last attempt to gain an
audience.
“Master Louis,” I exclaimed, “will you do me the favour to tell M. de
Canaples--”
“You are wasting time, Monsieur,” he interrupted. “M. de Canaples will
not see you. He bids you close the door, Guilbert.”
“Pardieu! he shall see me!”
“The door, Guilbert!”
I took a step forward, but before I could gain the threshold, the door
was slammed in my face, and as I stood there, quivering with anger and
disappointment, I heard the bolts being shot within.
I turned with an oath.
“Come, Abdon,” I growled, as I climbed once more into the saddle, “let
us leave the fool to the fate he has chosen.”