THE SIGNAL
CHOIN had been too well instructed by Péron to express any surprise at
finding the door of the tall house unfastened, and he and one of his
men entered, and lighted some tapers they had brought with them, in two
of the lower rooms. But before he assisted mademoiselle to dismount,
Péron went into the house also, and finding his way to the stairs,
began the ascent; he could not be satisfied until he knew whether
Richelieu’s men were there or not. On this point, however, he was soon
reassured, for he had scarcely taken three steps up before he was
softly challenged, and giving the cardinal’s watchword, received the
reply. He found five of monsignor’s picked men sitting cross-legged on
the floor, around a rushlight, playing cards with perfect nonchalance.
The tightly shuttered windows hid this faint illumination from the
outside, and the soldiers played piquet in such absolute silence that
their presence was not easily detected even by any one on the lower
floor. Péron only stayed long enough to exchange a few words with
the leader, a quiet man of middle age, who understood his business.
Neither he nor Péron had any distinct idea of how large a party might
be expected to follow the appearance of Mademoiselle de Nançay; but the
advantage was with those in the house, and it seemed that they might
be equal to twice their numbers. After a brief exchange of views on
the best means of securing a large body of prisoners, Péron quietly
descended the stairs once more and went out to assist mademoiselle to
dismount. But he found that she and her woman were already standing on
the step, a broad, flat stone at the entrance, and she was in no very
good humor at being compelled to wait in the cold. He apologized for
the delay and invited her to enter the room at the rear, a small one,
which he had selected as being near enough to the stairs for him to be
able to get her to a place of safety in the event of a fight. But he
forgot her wayward temper; she would have none of the back room.
“I should die here!” she announced, shivering at the chill and the
bleak aspect of the place, for the house was only partially furnished,
and that with the plainest of furniture; “I will go into the front
room; there I can have a fire, and at least two tapers.”
“But, mademoiselle,” remonstrated Péron, “I chose this room for serious
reasons. I--”
“But, monsieur,” she retorted tartly, “I choose the other for serious
reasons. Sirrah, get some fagots and build me a fire,” she added
sharply, addressing one of Choin’s troopers who was lounging on a
settle in the larger room, which she had now entered.
The man roused himself at her words, and stumbled awkwardly to his
feet, but he looked to Péron for orders. Mademoiselle de Nançay stamped
her foot on the floor.
“I tell you I will have a fire,” she said angrily.
Choin had entered as she spoke, and her peremptory manner angered the
maître d’armes.
“Mademoiselle shall have a fire if our leader orders it; otherwise
not,” he said bluntly.
Renée stared at the stout Italian, her great eyes flashing in the
loopholes of her mask, but she was quick to recognize honest courage
even of the lower sort, and in her heart she forgave Choin for his
brusque manner. But before there was a clash between the two, Péron
interfered and ordered the soldier to build a fire if he could find
fuel enough in the house. Fortunately there was a small supply, the
place having been recently occupied, and mademoiselle sat down, still
cloaked and masked, to watch the building of the fire, while Péron
sent the horses away in the charge of another trooper to the stables
of the Golden Pigeon, to be fed and watered that they might be in
condition for future use. He then gave his thoughts to the disposition
of his men; Choin he posted at the rear entrance to the house, which he
had reconnoitered and found opened into a deserted garden surrounded
by a low wall. For the time being he allowed the other men to rest in
the room which mademoiselle had refused to occupy, and for himself
retained the place at the front door, which he believed to be the point
of danger. There was a small grille in the upper half of this door, and
through this he could dimly see the black outline of the houses across
the lane, and above, the far-off glimmer of the stars. It was too dark
to see twenty yards away, and the night was very still though it was
not yet eight o’clock. The man in command above stairs had told him
that the cardinal’s orders were that all shutters should remain tightly
closed and no light be shown. This being the case, Péron could not
divine how mademoiselle’s presence in the house could be discovered or
serve as a decoy for the conspirators. He was sorry that on this point
he had not asked for more precise instructions, but remembered that
she was not to appear at the window, and he could only suppose that
their spies had seen her arrival and would report it. But even on this
head he was not satisfied; he thought of her determination to pass in
full view of the Golden Pigeon, and he did not know what significance
might be attached to that, or if it had any beyond the wilfulness
of a spoiled beauty. He had, too, a quick sympathy for her in her
unpleasant situation,--her father in the hands of his worst enemy, and
she compelled to play the rôle of a traitress to her own party. He
could understand and even pardon the bitterness of her mood when he
remembered all that she had to undergo. What to do with her, and how
to protect her, was a problem which troubled him much; for to try to
control her motions was like trying to handle a thistle. He had every
expectation of a sharp affray, and it was hardly probable that any
number of desperate men would allow themselves to be entrapped without
much bloodshed, and he did not know how near or dear some of them might
be to Renée de Nançay. What she would do under such circumstances was
a perplexing problem. Unless he used force, he could scarcely hope to
keep her out of the reach of danger. He had no personal anxieties about
the result of the struggle, but what should he do with mademoiselle?
Her woman, too, he regarded as mischievous, and she belonged to that
heroic build of womanhood which can strike as stiff a blow as most men
and better than some. Her stubborn loyalty to her mistress recommended
her to him, but he recognized an additional danger in the fire of her
fierce black eyes. That she was equal to stabbing one or more of his
men in the back while they were engaged with her friends in front, he
did not doubt. Yet to lock Ninon and her mistress in a room overhead
was a measure which he could not view with favor. He had had no
previous dealings with women, and he had a profound dislike of using
strong measures toward the weaker sex.
While he was revolving all these matters in his mind, the man who had
taken the horses to the Golden Pigeon returned and reported that all
seemed quiet enough, though he had observed a number of men gathered
in the courtyard of the inn, and he had noticed that all wore knots
of pale blue ribbon somewhere about them, either on hat or cloak or
sword hilt. But for the rest there was nothing remarkable, and they
apparently took no heed of him, although he had noticed two knaves
stealing into the stable to stare at his horses. For the moment Péron
was uneasy with the thought that these might be stolen, but reflected
that the landlord of the Golden Pigeon was too prudent a man to take
any risk of having to make good the loss of seven horses with their
equipments.
Having disposed his sentinels to his satisfaction, Péron went to see
if all was well with his involuntary guests. He had no doubt of the
meaning of the pale blue ribbons now, and grew more alert and in better
spirits as the danger approached. He was a born fighter, and but for
the responsibility of mademoiselle’s presence, would have enjoyed the
prospect of a sharp skirmish; an adventure without peril was never to
his taste.
He found the two women alone in the room, where the fire was still
smoking, having been kindled with partially green wood. There was a
plain oaken settle in the room, and two or three stiff chairs; there
was no rug on the floor, but it was partly covered with rushes. It
was a bare enough place; and he noticed that they had extinguished
one of the tapers, leaving the other burning in a niche on the wall.
Ninon lay, half reclining, on the settle, her cloak rolled up into a
pillow under her head, while mademoiselle sat bolt upright in one of
the chairs by the fire, staring angrily into the flames. She had laid
aside cloak and mask and was revealed in her simple gray gown, her hair
disordered by the ride, lying in loose curls on her shoulders. She had
a brilliant color in her cheeks, and her eyes sparkled with anger; yet
she looked unusually beautiful, the very picture of a wilful, spoiled
child of fortune. Péron, standing at the door, bowed to her gravely and
asked if he could do anything more to make her comfortable.
“Ay, sir,” she said haughtily; “send for my horse and let me go on to
the Château de Nançay.”
“I would gladly, but for my orders, mademoiselle,” he replied, with
truth.
She shrugged her shoulders. “I am tired of your orders, M. de
Calvisson,” she remarked. “If I were a man, I would take orders from no
one but my own conscience.”
“Mademoiselle, if you owed monsignor as much as I do,” he replied
dryly, “you would serve him from love and not from fear.”
She elevated her eyebrows with an air of incredulity.
“Ciel!” she exclaimed; “is it possible that you love Cardinal de
Richelieu?”
“I should be an ingrate if I did not,” he retorted boldly. “It is
always possible, mademoiselle, for a statesman to make enemies; M. le
Cardinal has made many, but had he no other friend, I would be one
still.”
She smiled scornfully. “I admire your devotion, monsieur,” she said;
“it is doubtless worth the hire.”
“Mademoiselle,” Péron exclaimed hoarsely, “you take advantage of your
sex!”
“You forget, M. de Calvisson,” she replied, “that a prisoner has no
resource but her tongue. However, I beg your pardon, I spoke in anger.”
He bowed gravely, too deeply incensed to reply, and remembering the
cardinal’s instructions about the shutters, he walked across the room
toward the nearest of the two windows and began to make the fastenings
more secure. As he did so, mademoiselle rose deliberately, and taking
the taper in her hand, walked to the other window.
“Is this also secure, monsieur?” she asked, in a tone of propitiation.
“’Tis well to fasten the bolts, for we two women need a little
undisturbed rest.”
As she spoke she laid her hand on the bolt, and Péron, deceived by her
manner, turned to examine that shutter with no unusual haste. So it
happened that before he suspected her intention, she had flung open
the blind, and in an instant tossed the burning taper out into the
darkness of the night. He sprang forward and fastened the shutter in
a moment, but he fancied that the mischief was already done, for she
stood laughing and looking at him with shining eyes, the same look
of triumph on her face that it had worn on the day when she burned
the papers. What manner of signal it was, though, he was at loss to
divine, but he saw that he must watch her as closely as a cat watches
a mouse, or she would defeat every plan of the cardinal’s as easily as
she routed him at every point. But he had no wish to subject himself to
the sharp cuts of her tongue, nor did he wish to intrude on the little
privacy she had. Fortunately, he was relieved of either necessity by
seeing a hammer and some nails in the corner by the door. He called one
of the men and briefly directed him to nail up the shutters as quickly
as possible. This was an easy task, and when it was done, he sent the
man away.
“Mademoiselle,” he said gravely, “I regret to take this extreme
measure, but there is no alternative.”
She was again sitting by the fire, and she looked up with a roguish
face.
“I thank you for the greater security, monsieur,” she replied with a
smile. “There is a proverb about fastening the door of a house after
the thieves have gone.”
Péron bowed gravely. “I understand you, mademoiselle,” he replied;
“’tis evident that--in spite of Ruel--I was born a fool.”
With this, he went out and closed the door that the two might be
undisturbed, and resumed his place at the grille, angry and mortified,
but determined to make amends for past blunders by redoubled vigilance.