A YOUNG MAN WHO WENT SINGING
It was about five o'clock when we rode into La Flèche, and the feeling
of ill foreboding still possessed me. Partly considering this, and
partly as it was improbable I should find the best accommodations
anywhere else short of Le Mans, I decided to put up here for the night.
As I rode into the central square of the town, I saw an inn there: it
had a prosperous and honest look, so I said, "This is the place for my
money," and made for it. The square was empty and silent when I entered
it, but just as I reached the archway of the inn, I heard a voice
singing, whereupon I looked around and saw a young man riding into the
square from another street than that I had come from. He was followed by
a servant on horseback, and was bound for the same inn. It seems strange
in the telling, that a gentleman should ride singing into a public
square, as if he were a mountebank or street-singer, yet it appeared
quite natural as this young fellow did it. The song was something about
brave soldiers and the smiles of ladies--just such a gay song as so
handsome a young cavalier ought to sing. I looked at him a moment, then
rode on into the inn-yard. This little act, done in all thoughtlessness,
and with perfect right, was the cause of momentous things in my life. If
I had waited to greet that young gentleman at the archway, I believe my
history would have gone very differently. As it was, I am convinced that
my carelessly dropping him from my regard, as if he were a person of no
interest, was the beginning of what grew between us. For, as he rode in
while I was dismounting, he threw at me a look of resentment for which
there was nothing to account but the possible wound to his vanity. His
countenance, symmetrically and somewhat boldly formed, showed great
self-esteem and a fondness for attention. His singing had suddenly
stopped. I could feel his anger, which was probably the greater for
having no real cause, I having been under no obligation to notice him or
offer him precedence.
He called loudly for an ostler, and, when one came out of the stables,
he coolly gave his orders without waiting for me, though I had been
first in the yard. He bade his own servant see their horses well fed,
and then made for the inn-door, casting a scornful glance at me, and
resuming his song in a lower voice. It was now my turn to be angry, and
justly, but I kept silence. I knew not exactly how to take this sort of
demonstration: whether it was a usual thing among travellers and to be
paid back only in kind, or whether for the sake of my reputation I ought
to treat it as a serious affront. It is, of course, childish to take
offence at a trifle. In my ignorance of what the world expects of a man
upon receipt of hostile and disparaging looks, I could only act as one
always must who cannot make up his mind--do nothing. After seeing my
horse and mule attended to, I bade Nicolas follow with the baggage, and
entered the inn.
The landlord was talking with my young singing gentleman, but made to
approach me as I came in. The young gentleman, however, speaking in a
peremptory manner, detained him with questions about the roads, the town
of La Flèche, and such matters. As I advanced, the young gentleman got
between me and the host, and continued his talk. I waited awkwardly
enough for the landlord's attention, and began to feel hot within. A
wench now placed on a table some wine that the young man had ordered,
and the landlord finally got rid of him by directing his attention to
it. As he went to sit down, he bestowed on me the faintest smile of
ridicule. I was too busy to think much of it at the moment, in ordering
a room for the night and sending Nicolas thither with my bag. I then
called for supper and sat down as far as possible from the other guest.
He and I were the only occupants of the room, but from the kitchen
adjoining came the noise of a number of the commonalty at food and
drink.
"Always politeness," thought I, when my wine had come, and so, in spite
of his rudeness and his own neglect of the courtesy, as I raised my
glass I said to him, "Your health, Monsieur."
He turned red at the reproach implied in my observance, then very
reluctantly lifted his own glass and said, "And yours," in a surly,
grudging manner.
"It has been a pleasant day," I went on, resolved not to be churlish, at
all hazards.
"Do you think so?" he replied contemptuously, and then turned to look
out of the window, and hummed the tune he had been singing before.
I thought if such were the companions my journey was to throw me in
with, it would be a sorry time till I got home again. But my young
gentleman, for all his temporary sullenness, was really of a talkative
nature, as these vain young fellows are apt to be, and when he had
warmed himself a little with wine even his dislike of me could not
restrain his tongue any longer.
"You are staying here to-night, then?" he suddenly asked.
"Yes, and you?"
"I shall ride on after supper. There will be starlight."
"I have used my horse enough to-day."
"And I mine, for that matter. But there are times when horses can't be
considered."
"You are travelling on important business, then?"
"On business of haste. I must put ground behind me."
"I drink to the success of your business, then."
"Thank you, I am always successful. There is another toast, that should
have first place. The ladies, Monsieur."
"With all my heart."
"That's a toast I never permit myself to defer. Mon dieu, I owe them
favours enough!"
"You are fortunate," said I.
"I don't complain. And you?"
"Even if I were fortunate in that respect, I shouldn't boast of it."
He coloured; but laughed shortly, and said, "It's not boasting to tell
the mere truth."
"I was thinking of myself, not of you, Monsieur." This was true enough.
"I can readily believe you've had no great luck that way," he said
spitefully, pretending to take stock of my looks. I knew his remark was
sheer malice, for my appearance was good enough--well-figured and
slender, with a pleasant, thoughtful face.
"Let us talk of something else," I answered coldly, though I was far
from cool in reality.
"Certainly. What do you think of the last conspiracy?"
"That it was very rash and utterly without reason. We have the best king
France ever knew."
"Yes, long live Henri IV.! They say there are still some of the
malcontents to be gathered in. Have you heard of any fresh arrests?"
"Nothing within two weeks. I don't understand how these affairs can
possibly arise, after that of Biron. Men must be complete fools."
"Oh, there are always malcontents who still count on Spain, and some
think even the League may be revived."
"But why should they not be contented? I can't imagine any grievances."
"Faith, my child, where have you been hiding yourself? Don't you know
the talk? Do you suppose everybody is pleased with this Dutch alliance?
And the way in which the King's old Huguenot comrades are again to be
seen around him?"
"And why not? Through everything, the King's heart has always been with
the protestants."
"Oho! So you are one of the psalm-singers, then?" His insulting tone and
jeering smile were intolerable.
"I have sung no psalms here, at least," I replied trembling with anger;
"or anything else, to annoy the ears of my neighbours."
"So you don't like my singing?" he cried, turning red again.
I had truly rather admired it, but I said, "I have heard better."
"Indeed? But how should you know. For your education in taste, I may
tell you that good judges have thought well of my singing."
"Ay, brag of it, as you do of your success with the ladies."
He stared at me in amazement, then cried. "Death of my life, young
fellow!--" But at that instant his servant brought in his supper, and he
went no further. My own meal was before me a minute later, and we both
devoted ourselves in angry silence to our food. I was still full of
resentment at his obtrusive scorn of myself and my religious party, and
I could see that he felt himself mightily outraged at my retorts. From
the rapid, heedless way in which he ate, I fancied his mind was busy
with all sorts of revenge upon me.
When he had finished, at the same time as I did, and our servants had
gone to eat their supper in the kitchen, he leaned against the wall, and
said, "I am going to sing, Monsieur, whether it pleases you or not." And
forthwith he began to do so.
My answer was to put on a look of pain, and walk hastily from the room,
as if the torture to my ears were too great for endurance.
I was not half-way across the court-yard before I heard him at my heels
though not singing.
"My friend," said he, as I turned around, "I don't know where you were
bred, but you should know this: it's not good manners to break from a
gentleman's company so unceremoniously."
It occurred to me that because I had taken his insults from the first,
through not knowing how much a sensible man should bear, he thought he
might safely hector me to the full satisfaction of his hurt vanity.
"So you do know something of good manners, after all?" I replied. "I
congratulate you."
His eyes flashed new wrath, but before he knew how to answer, and while
we were glaring at each other like two cocks, though at some distance
apart, out came Nicolas from the kitchen to ask if I wished my cloak
brought down, which he had taken up with the bag. In his rustic
innocence he stepped between my nagging gentleman and myself. The
gentleman at this ran forward in an access of rage, and threw Nicolas
aside, saying, "Out of the way, knave! You're as great a clown as your
master."
"Hands off! How dare you?" I cried, clapping my hand to my sword.
"If you come a step nearer, I'll kill you!" he replied, grasping his own
hilt.
I sent a swift glance around. There was no witness but Nicolas. Yet a
scuffle would draw people in ten seconds. Even at that moment, with my
heart beating madly, I thought of the edict against duelling: so I said,
as calmly as I could:
"If you dare draw that sword, I see trees beyond that gateway--a garden
or something. It will be quieter there." I pointed to a narrow exit at
the rear of the yard.
"I will show you whom you're dealing with, my lad!" he said,
breathlessly, and made at once for the gate. I followed. I could see now
that, though a bully, he was not a coward, and the discovery fell upon
me with a sense of how grave a matter I had been drawn into.
At the gate I looked around, and saw Nicolas following, his eyes wide
with alarm. "Stay where you are, and not a word to anybody," I ordered,
and closed the gate after me. My adversary led the way across a
neglected garden, and out through a postern in a large wall, to where
there was a thicker growth of trees. We passed among these to a little
open space near the river, from which it was partly veiled by a tangled
mass of bushes. The unworn state of the green sward showed that this was
a spot little visited by the townspeople.
"We have stumbled on the right place," said the young gentleman, with an
assumption of coolness. "It's a pity the thing can't be done properly,
with seconds and all that." And he proceeded to take off his doublet.
I was sobered by the time spent in walking to the place, so I said,
"It's not too late. Monsieur, if you are willing to apologize."
"I apologize! Death of my life! You pile insult on insult."
"I assure you, it is you who have been the insulter."
He laughed in a way that revived my heat, and asked, "Swords alone, or
swords and daggers?"
"As you please." By this time I had cast off my own doublet.
"Rapiers and daggers, then," he said, and flung away his scabbard and
sheath. I saw the flash of my own weapons a moment later, and ere I had
time for a second thought on the seriousness of this event--my first
fight in earnest--he was keeping me busy to parry his point and watch
his dagger at the same time. I was half-surprised at my own success in
turning away his blade, but after I had guarded myself from three or
four thrusts, I took to mind that offence is the best defence, and
ventured a lunge, which he stopped with his dagger only in the nick of
time to save his breast. His look of being almost caught gave me
encouragement, making me realize I had received good enough lessons from
my father and Blaise Tripault to enable me to practise with confidence.
So I pushed the attack, but never lost control of myself nor became
reckless. It was an inspiriting revelation to me to find that I could
indeed use my head intelligently, and command my motions so well, at a
time of such excitement. We grew hot, perspired, breathed fast and loud,
kept our muscles tense, and held each other with glittering eyes as we
moved about on firm but springy feet. We must have fought very swiftly,
for the ring of the steel sounded afterward in my ears as if it had been
almost continuous. How long we kept it up, I do not exactly know. We
came to panting more deeply, and I felt a little tired, and once or
twice a mist was before my eyes. At last he gave me a great start by
running his point through my shirt sleeve above the elbow. Feeling
myself so nearly stung, I instinctively made a long swift thrust: up
went his dagger, but too late: my blade passed clear of it, sank into
his left breast. He gave a sharp little cry, and fell, and the hole I
had made in his shirt was quickly circled with crimson.
"Victory!" thought I, with an exultant sense of prowess. I had fleshed
my sword and brought low my man! But, as I looked down at him and he lay
perfectly still, another feeling arose. I knelt and felt for his heart:
my new fear was realized. With bitter regret I gazed at him. All the
anger and scorn had gone out of his face: it was now merely the handsome
boyish face of a youth like myself, expressing only a manly pride and
the pain and surprise of his last moment. It was horrible to think that
I had stopped this life for ever, reduced this energy and beauty to
eternal silence and nothingness. A weakness overwhelmed me, a profound
pity and self-reproach.
I heard a low ejaculation behind me, which made me start. But I saw it
was only Nicolas, who, in spite of my orders, had stolen after me, in
terror of what might happen.
"Oh, heaven!" he groaned, as he stared with pale face and scared eyes at
the prostrate form. "You have killed him, Monsieur Henri."
"Yes. It is a great pity. After all, he merely thought a little too well
of himself and was a little inconsiderate of other people's feelings.
But who is not so, more or less? Poor young man!"
"Ah, but think of us, Monsieur Henri--think of yourself, I mean! We had
better be going, or you will have to answer for this."
"That is so. We must settle with the landlord and get away from this
town before this gentleman is missed."
"And alas! you arranged to stay all night. The landlord will be sure to
smell something. Come, I beg of you: there's not a moment to lose. Think
what there's to do--the bag to fetch down, the horse and mule to saddle.
We shall be lucky if the officers aren't after us before we're out of
the town."
"You are right.--Poor young man! At least I will cover his face with his
doublet before I go."
"I'll do that, Monsieur. You put on your own doublet, and save time."
I did so. As Nicolas ran past me with the slain man's doublet, something
fell out of the pocket of it. This proved to be a folded piece of paper,
like a letter, but with no name outside. I picked it up. Fancying it
might give a clue to my victim's identity, and as the seal was broken, I
opened it. There was some writing, in the hand of a woman,--two lines
only:
"_For heaven's sake and pity's, come to me at once. My life and honour
depend on you alone._"
As the missive was without address, so was it without signature. It must
have been delivered by some confidential messenger who knew the
recipient, and yet by whom a verbal message was either not thought
expedient, or required to be confirmed by the written appeal. The
recipient must be familiar with the sender's handwriting. The note
looked fresh and clean, and therefore must have been very lately
received.
"Come, Monsieur Henri," called Nicolas, breaking in upon my whirling
thoughts. "Why do you wait?--What is the matter? What do you see on that
paper?"
"And this," I answered, though of course Nicolas could not understand
me, "is the business he was on! This is why he had need to put ground
behind him. He was going on to-night. He must have stopped only to
refresh his horses."
"Yes, certainly, but what of that? What has his business to do with us?"
"I have prevented his carrying it out. My God!--a woman's life and
honour--a woman who relies on him--and now she will wait for him in
vain! At this very moment she may be counting the hours till he should
arrive!--What have I done?"
[Illustration: "'AND NOW SHE WILL WAIT FOR HIM IN VAIN!'"]
"You, Monsieur? It's not your fault if he chose to get into a quarrel
with you. He must have valued his business highly if he dared risk it in
a fight."
"Of course he thought from my manner that he could have his own way with
me. There would be no loss of time--his horses needed rest, for greater
speed in the long run. He knew what he was about--there's no doubt of
his haste. 'Come to me at once. My life and honour depend on you alone.'
And while she waits and trusts, I step in and cut off her only
hope!--not this poor young fellow's life alone, but hers also, Nicolas!
It mustn't be so--not if I can any way help it. I see now what I am
called upon to do."
"What is that, Monsieur Henri?" asked Nicolas despairingly.
"To carry out this gentleman's task which I have interrupted--to go in
his stead to the assistance of this lady, whoever and wherever she may
be!"