MATHILDE
Well, there was no indication to be found in the Countess's apartments
as to where she had removed to, and I thought it best not to risk being
seen there. So I went down to the hall again. As I glanced through the
court-yard to the outer gates, I thought of trying to leave the chateau,
to see if my new liberty went so far as to permit that. But I reflected
that if I were once let out I might not be let in again, and my chance
of learning what had become of the Countess lay, I supposed, inside the
chateau. So I resolved to stay there and await the turn that matters
might take. And certainly never was any man a guest in stranger
circumstances of guestship. I hated and feared my host, and was loth to
accept his hospitality, yet stayed of my own will, though I knew not
certainly whether I was free to go. My host hated me, yet tolerated my
presence--if indeed he would not have enforced it--for the sake of
having me at hand if he thought fit to crush me. When he appeared that
morning, I thanked him ironically for restoring me to liberty. He only
uttered his harsh crackling laugh in reply, and regarded me with a
pretended disdain which failed to conceal his hatred and his longing to
penetrate my mind and learn what indeed was between me and his Countess.
In such men, especially when they have an evil suggester like the
Captain at their ear, jealousy is a madness, and no assurances--nay, not
even oaths--of innocence will be taken by them as truth. But his pride
made him feign contempt for me, and he had nothing to say to me that
day. Neither had the Captain, whose manner toward me merely reverted to
what it had been at first. I saw my former place made ready at the
table, and took it. The Count and his friend talked of their sports and
the affairs of the estate, and not one word of the Countess was spoken.
Having eaten, they went off to ride, leaving me to amuse myself as I
might. The air of the chateau seemed the freer for their absence, but
still it was to me a sinister place, and an irreligious place too, for,
though the Count and his friend were Catholics, I had not seen the sign
of a chaplain or of any religious observance since I had crossed the
drawbridge. So I prepared myself for a dull yet anxious day, and lounged
about the hall and court-yard as the places where I might best hope to
find out something from the domestics of the house.
As I paced the stones of the court-yard, I became aware that a certain
maidservant had been obtruding upon my view with a persistency that
might be intentional. I now regarded her, as she stood in a small
doorway leading to the kitchen. She was a plump, well-made thing, with a
wholesome, honest face, but the sluttishness of her loose frock, and of
a great cap that hung over her eyes, were too suggestive of the
scullery. As soon as she saw I noticed her, she put one finger on her
lip, and swiftly beckoned me with another.
I strolled carelessly over, and stopped within a foot of her, pretending
to readjust my sword-belt.
"Monsieur," she said in an undertone, "you are desired to be in your
chamber this afternoon at four o'clock."
I glanced at the girl in wonder.
"That is all at present," she whispered. I had the discretion to move
on. There were, as usual, several armed fellows idling about the
court-yard, but none seemed to have observed that any word had passed
between the kitchen-maid and me.
Here was matter for astonishment and conjecture for the next few hours.
In some manner or other, those hours passed, and at four I was seated in
my chamber, having left the door open an inch or so. The turret clock
had scarce done striking when the door was pushed wide; somebody entered
and instantly closed it. I had a brief feeling of disappointment as I
saw the slovenly frock and overhanging cap of the kitchen-maid. Was it
she, then, who paid me the compliment of this clandestine visit?
No; for the cap was swiftly flung back from the brow, and there was the
bright and comely face of Mathilde. I uttered her name in pleased
surprise.
"Yes," she said quickly, "Mathilde in the guise of Brigitte. I have come
from Madame the Countess."
"And where is she?" I asked eagerly.
"In the great tower."
"A prisoner?"
"Yes, and I with her. Fortunately there was nothing else to do with me,
unless they killed me. So I am able to attend her."
"Faithful Mathilde! But why is this?"
"It is the fulfilment of the Count's threat in case Madame could not
clear herself of that false charge."
"But the Count knew that Monsieur de Merri was coming here. I told him."
"Yes, Monsieur, but the Count would believe as much of your story as
Captain Ferragant would choose to let him. Your very interest in
Madame's fate has been new food for his jealousy."
"God forbid!"
"It is not your fault, Monsieur; it is the Count's madness. He locks his
wife up, as much that she may be inaccessible to you and all other men,
as because of anything concerning Monsieur de Merri."
"You may well call it his madness."
"Yes; for, whatever other ladies may have deserved who have been treated
thus, the Countess is the most virtuous of wives. Her regard for her
marriage vows--in spite of the husband she has--is a part of her
religion. But his mind is poisoned. He naturally believes that a young
and beautiful woman would not be faithful to an old wolf like him. And
he is almost right, for there is only one young and beautiful woman in
France who would be, and that is the Countess."
"Surely not because she loves him?"
"Oh, no. It is because of her religion. She was brought up at a convent
school, and when the Count offered to marry her, the Mother Superior
made her think it her duty and heaven's will that she should accept the
high position, where her piety would shine so much further: and having
become his wife, she would die rather than violate a wife's duties by a
hair's breadth. But what is her reward? Not because he loves
her--there's more love in a stone!--but because he can't endure the
thought of any trespass on what is his--because he dreads being made a
jeer of--he goes mad with jealousy and suspicion. He imitates the Prince
of Condé by locking his wife up in a tower."
"But this cannot last forever."
"No, Monsieur, and for a very good reason--the Countess's life cannot
last forever under this treatment--even if the Count, in some wild
imagining of her guilt, conjured up by Captain Ferragant, does not
murder her. It's that thought which makes me shudder. It could be done
so quietly in that lonely cell, and any account of her death could be
given out to avoid scandal."
"Horrible, Mathilde! He would not go to that length."
"Men have done so. You are a stranger, and have not seen the frenzies
into which the Count sometimes works himself, torturing his mind by
imagining actions of infidelity on her part."
"But that disease of his mind will wear itself out; then he will see
matters more sanely."
"Will he grow better, do you think, as he grows older, and drinks more
wine, and falls more under the influence of the red Captain?"
To say truth, I thought as Mathilde did, though I had spoken otherwise
for mere form of reassurance.
"What is her prison like?" I asked.
"A gloomy room no larger that this, with a single small window. There is
no panelling nor tapestry nor plaster--nothing but the bare stones.
There are a bed for Madame, a cot for me, a table, and two chairs:
nothing else to make it look like a human habitation, save our
crucifixes, an image of the Virgin, a trunk, and Madame's book of
Hours."
"A small window, you say. Is it barred?"
"No; but our room is very high up in the tower."
"Still, if one got through the window--is it large enough for that?"
"One might get through; but the moat is beneath--far beneath."
"The window looks toward Montoire, then, if the moat is beneath."
"Yes; we can see the sunset."
"At all events, a person dropping from the window would alight outside
the walls of the chateau?"
"Yes, Monsieur,--in the moat, as I said. It would be a long drop, too. I
don't know how high up the room is. It seems a great many steps up the
winding stairs before one comes to the landing before the door."
"Is it at the top of the tower, then?"
"No; for beyond our door the stairs begin again, and they seem to wind
more steeply."
"You noticed the sunset. Then you must have been there yesterday
evening."
"Yes; we were taken there shortly after noon yesterday. That was the
limit to the time given the Countess in which to prove her innocence.
She was summoned to the picture gallery by the Count himself, and nobody
else was there but Captain Ferragant. The door was closed against me,
and what passed between that saint and those two devils I know not; but
after a little the door was opened, and there she was, very pale and
with her eyes raised in prayer. The Count, who was blue with
vindictiveness, told me to get together what things Madame should order;
and when that was done, he bade us follow, and led the way down to the
court-yard and to the tower, the Captain walking behind. As we climbed
those narrow winding steps, I wished the Count might trip in the
half-darkness and break his neck, but alas, it was only poor Madame who
stumbled now and then. The Count showed us into the room, already
furnished for us, and waited till a man had brought the trunk in which I
had put some of Madame's clothes. The Count left without a word, and we
heard the door locked outside. At first I thought we were to be left to
starve, but after some hours the door was unlocked by a man on guard
outside, and Brigitte appeared with our supper. She told us she was to
come twice a day with our food, and for other necessary services. And
when she came again this morning, I had planned how I should manage to
see you."
"You are as clever as you are true, Mathilde."
"Fortunately Brigitte looks such a simple, witless creature that the man
on guard on the landing has not thought to pry while she has been with
us, and has allowed the door to be shut. He cannot then see in, as the
grated opening has been closed, out of regard to Madame's sex. So this
morning I got Brigitte's consent to my plan, for the poor girl is the
softest-hearted creature in the world. And to make sure of finding you
immediately when I got out, I charged her to tell you to be in your room
at four o'clock."
"Which she did very adroitly."
"She is not such a fool as some take her for. Well, when she came to us
awhile ago, I transferred this frock and cap from her to me, and had her
call out to the guard that she had forgotten something and must return
to the kitchen for it. 'Very well, beauty,' said the guard ironically,
and I came out in a great hurry, and was on my way downstairs before he
could take a second look at me. The landing is a dark place, and my
figure so much like Brigitte's that her clothes make it look quite the
same. There is another man on guard, at the bottom of the stairs, but he
was as easily deceived as the one above. I ran across the two
court-yards, and through the kitchen passage to the servants' stairs,
and nobody glanced twice at me. Brigitte, of course, must stay with
Madame till I return,--and now, Monsieur, it is time I was back, and I
have said nothing of what I came to say."
"You have said much that is important. But 'tis true, you'd best say the
rest quickly,--your return may be dangerous enough."
"Oh, I shall go so fast that nobody will have time to suspect me. As for
the guards, it is their duty to keep me in. Should they see it is I who
was out, they will be very glad to have me in again, and to hold their
tongues, for the Count's punishments are not light. But as to Madame's
message--she would have tried to convey it by Brigitte, had I not
declared I would come at all hazards,--for the truth is, I have
something to say on my own responsibility, also."
"But Madame's message?" I demanded eagerly.
"She begs that you will go away while you can. So brave a young
gentleman should not stay here to risk the Count's vengeance."
I felt joy at this concern for my safety.
"If I am a brave man," I answered, "I can only stay and help her."
"I am glad you are of that mind, Monsieur, for it is what I think. That
is what _I_ had to say to you."
"Then the only question is, how can I be of use to the Countess? She
must be released from this imprisonment."
"There I agree with you again. She ought to be taken away--far out of
reach of the Count's vengeance--before he has time to make her plight
worse than it is, or carry out any design against her life. But even if
she remained as she is, her health would not long endure it."
"Now that matters have come to this pass, no doubt she is willing to run
away."
"Not yet, Monsieur. That is for me to persuade her. But if we form some
plan of escape now, I hope I can win her consent before the time comes
to carry it out."
"I trust so. When she repelled the idea of escape, the day I saw her in
the garden, things had not gone so far. And then she thought there was
no safe place of refuge for her. But I can find a place. And she thought
an attempt must be hopeless because the Count would be swift to pursue.
But if we got some hours' start, going at night--"
"Yes, certainly it will have to be at night, Monsieur. The Count has the
roads watched from the tower, for some purpose of his own--I think he
expects some enemy."
"You still have the key to the postern?"
"It must be where I left it--buried under the rose-bush nearest the
postern itself. But the first thing is, to get out of the room in the
tower."
"Certainly. It would not be possible for Madame to get out as you have
done--by a disguise, I mean?"
"No, Monsieur. Brigitte is the only one who comes to us, with whom she
might change clothes. And Madame is not at all of Brigitte's figure--nor
could she mimic Brigitte's walk as I can. She could not act a part in
the slightest degree. And I know that Madame would never consent to go
and leave me behind to bear the Count's wrath. We must all three go
together. Besides Brigitte comes and goes in the daytime, and Madame
must escape at night."
"Yes, that is certain. It is hard to devise a plan in a moment. If I
could think of it over night, and you come to me again to-morrow--but
no, you may not be able to play this same trick again--the guards may
detect you going back."
"That is true, and I have thought of one plan, though it may be
difficult."
"Let me hear it, nevertheless."
"Then listen, Monsieur. First, as to the door of our cell. It is locked
with a key, which the Count himself retains, except when he goes out, as
this afternoon,--it is then entrusted to the seneschal. I know this from
Brigitte, for the key is given to her when she comes to us. She hands it
to the guard on the landing, who opens the door and keeps the key while
she is within. When she leaves us, he locks the door, and she takes the
key back to the Count or seneschal. But in order to release Madame, you
must have that key."
"And how am I to get it?"
"After Brigitte's last visit to us before the night we select, she will
give the Count or seneschal, not the real key to our cell, but another
of the same size and general shape--she has access to unimportant keys
about the house. Then she will bring the real key to you."
"But poor Brigitte!--when the Count investigates in the morning, he will
find she has given him the wrong key."
Mathilde thought a moment. "No; he will rather suppose you robbed him of
the right key during the night and substituted the other to delay
discovery. He will suspect anything rather than Brigitte, whom he thinks
too great a fool for the least craft; and even if she is accused, she
can play the innocent. I assure you."
"So much for that, then. There is yet the door of entrance to the
tower."
"At present it has an old broken key in the lock, which is therefore
useless. But no doubt that will be remedied--so we must act soon.
Meanwhile, that door is guarded by the man at the foot of the stairs."
"But are the two guards on duty at night also? There is no Brigitte to
be let in and out then. And surely the Count doesn't think you can break
your lock."
"There are guards on duty, nevertheless. Last night I heard one call
down the stairs to another, asking the time. They are there, no doubt,
not for fear of our breaking out, but for fear of somebody breaking in
to help Madame. I don't suppose there are ever more than two. If the
rule has not been changed, the rest of the household sleeps, except a
porter in the gate-house and a man on top of the tower. But this man
watches the roads, as well as he can in the darkness, and the porter too
is more concerned about people who might want to enter the chateau than
about what goes on inside. So in the dead of night you can go silently
downstairs and let yourself out of the hall--"
"But is not the hall door locked with a key?"
"Yes; but the key is left always in the lock. You have then only to
cross the two court-yards to the lower, without making any noise to
alarm the porter at the gate-house or to warn the guard at the tower
entrance."
"Will he be inside or outside the tower door, I wonder?"
"Probably inside, where there is a bench just at the foot of the stairs.
He and his comrade above will be your only real difficulty, Monsieur. If
you can take them by surprise, one at a time--"
"One at a time, or two at a time," said I, beginning to walk up and down
the chamber, and grasping my sword and dagger. "But the trouble will be,
the noise that may be made when I encounter them,--it may arouse the
chateau and spoil all."
"But heaven may grant that you will surprise the men inside the tower,
one at the foot of the stairs, the other on our landing, as they must
have been last night. In that case, if you can keep the fighting inside
the tower, till--"
"Till they are dead. Yes, in that case, if I am expeditious, no noise
may be heard outside. That is a thing to aim for. If they, or one,
should be outside, I can rush in and so draw them after me. Well, and
when I have done for them--?"
"Then you have but to unlock our door, and Madame and I will join
you.--You will know our door by there being a stool in the landing
before it--the guard sits there.--Well, then we must fly silently
through the court-yards and the hall, let ourselves out to the
terrace--there are two or three ways I know,--and run through the garden
to the postern. Once out of these walls, we must hurry across the fields
to the house of a certain miller--"
"Hugues? Yes."
"Yes, Monsieur. The watchman on the tower will not see us in the fields,
for we shall keep close to the woods till we are at a distance. Hugues
can supply two horses, at least, and you and Madame must be as far away
as possible by daylight."
"And you, Mathilde?"
"Unless we can get three horses, I will lie hid at Hugues's mill till
Madame finds time to send for me. It will be suitable enough--Hugues and
I are to be married some day."
"But I have a horse at the inn at Montoire. If I can get it out at that
hour, you can come with us--to whatever place we may decide upon."
"As to that place, you may consider in the meanwhile. There will be time
to discuss the matter with Madame when she is escaping with you. The
first thing is, to get as far from Lavardin as possible. And now when is
all this to be done?"
"The sooner the better, for who knows when the Count may take into his
head some new idea?"
"Yes, of harm to Madame or to yourself."
"Why should we not choose this very night?"
"I see no reason against it--except that I may not be able to persuade
Madame. But yet there will be several hours--and surely heaven will help
me!--Yes, to-night! There is nothing for me to do but persuade Madame,
and see that we are dressed as suitably for travel as the clothes at
hand will permit. But first, before Brigitte comes away, I must instruct
her about the key. At what hour will you come, Monsieur?"
"As soon as the house is asleep."
"Fortunately, early hours are kept here, as there is never any company.
But the Count and the Captain stay at their cups till ten or eleven
o'clock."
"Then by that time they must have drunk enough to make them fall asleep
as soon as they are in bed."
"And sometimes before they are in bed, I have heard the servants say."
"Then I will leave my room at half-past eleven, but will make sure that
the hall is dark and empty before I proceed."
"And may the saints aid you, Monsieur, when you have to do with the men
at the tower!"
"The men will not be expecting me, that is one advantage," said I,
trying to seem calm, but trembling with excitement. "If all goes well,
we should be out of the chateau soon after midnight."
"And at Hugues's house before one o'clock. You should be on
horseback--the Countess and you--by half-past one. Have you money,
Monsieur?"
"Yes,--this purse is nearly as full as when I left home."
"That is well, for Madame has none, and I don't know how much Hugues
could get together in ten minutes. I have ten crowns in his strong-box,
which Madame shall have."
"They shall stay in Hugues's strong-box, and his own money too. I have
enough."
"Then I believe that is all, Monsieur, and I'd better be going back. Be
on the watch for Brigitte with the key. Do you think of anything else?"
We went hurriedly over the various details of the plan, and then she
took her leave, darting along the passage as swiftly as a greyhound and
as silently as a ghost. I sat down to think upon what I had undertaken,
but my mind was in a whirl. Strangely enough, I, the victor of a single
duel, did not shrink from the idea of killing the two guards--or as many
as there might be. Perhaps this was because they were sure to be rascals
whose lives one could not value very highly, especially as against that
of the Countess. Nor did I feel greatly the odds against me, in regard
both to their number and to my inexperience in such business. Perhaps
the apparent confidence of Mathilde in my ability to dispose of them--a
confidence based on my being a gentleman and they underlings--infected
me. And yet I chose not to go too deeply into the probabilities. My
safest course, for my courage, was not to think too much, but to wait
for the moment and then do my best.
It seemed but a short time till there was a tap at my door, and in came
the real Brigitte.
"Mathilde got back safe, Monsieur; she was not detected," she said, and
handed me a large key.
Ere more could pass, she was gone. I put the key in my breast pocket. It
was now time I should show myself to the Count and his friend at table;
which I proceeded to do, as boldly as if I had entertained no design
against them. They were just back from their ride. It was strange with
what outward coolness I was able to carry myself, by dint of not
thinking too closely on what I had undertaken. For observe that, besides
the immediate task of the night, there was Madame's whole future
involved. And how precipitately Mathilde and I had settled upon our
course, without pausing to consider if some more prudent measures might
not be taken to the same end! But I was hurried by my feeling that I
ought to save Madame, the more because no one could say how far the
present situation was due to my having killed De Merri, and to my advent
at the chateau. Even though she might choose not to escape, it was for
me to give her the opportunity, at least. And to tell the truth, I
longed to see her again, at any cost. As for Mathilde, there were her
pressing fears of a worse fate for her mistress, to excuse her haste.
And we were both young, and thought that any project which goes straight
and smoothly in the telling must go straight and smoothly in the doing;
and we looked not far ahead.