Mario, thinking that he was angry with him, stood apart in a corner,

thoughtful and abashed. Fleurial, seeing his master's perplexity, gazed

steadfastly at him, followed his every step and whined from time to

time, wagging his tail, as if to say: "What is the matter, pray?"

At last Adamas ventured to put the question in words.

"Monsieur," he cried, "you have something in your mind which you are

concealing from your servant, and in that way you make your trouble

still more painful to him. Speak, monsieur, speak to old Adamas as you

would to your night-cap; he will no more repeat what you say than your

night-cap would, and it will relieve you so much."

"Adamas," replied Bois-Doré, "I greatly fear that I am mad; for there

is something about this child and the story he tells us that excites me

more than is natural. You must know that I had my fortune told by a

gypsy to-day, and that she used some very obscure words, which may

however be fully explained by the interest I feel for this poor little

fellow. I was told, among other strange things, that I should be a

father within three months, three weeks or three days. Now, as I swear

to you, Adamas, that I can look forward to no direct paternity within so

short a period, it is evident that I am to become a father by adoption.

But another part of that prediction perplexes me even more: my brother's

death was referred to as having taken place at exactly the same date

that the Moor assigns for the death of this child's father. How can that

be explained? The witch spoke in veiled, symbolical words, but she fixed

that date clearly, computing the years, months and days that have passed

since. And I made the same computation as I was riding home and I found

that it carried me back to the very day of our King Henri's death. Come

here, Mario; didn't you say that was the day?"

"But, monsieur," observed Adamas, "didn't you say yourself yesterday

that Monsieur Florimond's last letter was dated at Genoa on the

sixteenth of June?"

"True, my friend; but one may make a mistake in a date and put one month

instead of another; that has happened to everybody."

"But, monsieur, isn't the city of Genoa, in Italy, very far from the

place where this child puts his father's death?"

"Undoubtedly, my friend. I twist the probabilities in order to confirm

the fortune-teller's words, and that is a whim for which I give you

leave to rebuke me. But open the cupboard in which my brother's

cherished records are kept, including that last letter which I have read

so many times without fathoming its meaning."

"_Mon Dieu_! monsieur," said Adamas, opening the drawer and handing his

master the letter, "you divined and understood clearly enough at the

time everything that happened and was likely to happen. You heard from

Monsieur Florimond very seldom, because of the weighty secret

employments he had in the Italian courts, to which his master the Duc de

Savoie sent him. He wrote of his journeys without telling you of their

object, because he was forbidden to do that by the political party with

which he acted, which was not always yours. This last letter tells you

of other journeys to be undertaken after that from which he had just

returned, and this is what he says to you in his very words: 'If you do

not hear of me before autumn, do not be alarmed. My health is good and

my personal affairs are not in bad condition.'--The date is evidently

accurate, for he begins by saying: 'Monsieur and dear brother, doubtless

you received my letter of January last; in the past five months----'"

"I know all that, Adamas, I know it by heart; and, nevertheless, when I

went to Italy in 1611, to make personal inquiries for that poor brother

of mine, from whom I had never heard again, I was told that he had never

returned from a mission to Rome, on which he had set out fifteen months

before. And, when I went to Rome, he had not been seen there for more

than two years. I travelled all over Italy until late in 1612, without

finding any trace of him, so that I finally concluded that he must have

undertaken some long voyage, to the East or West Indies, on his own

account, and that I should see him again some day; but at last I made up

my mind that he had certainly been murdered by the brigands who infest

Italy, or had perished in a storm at sea. He had not acquired great

wealth in the Savoyard's service, although he never complained; and I

think that he seldom had companions in his journeys. In the end I lost

all hope of finding him, but not of learning his fate and avenging him

if he was slain by treachery."

While the marquis and Adamas were talking thus, Mario, whose presence

they had forgotten, had glided behind the marquis's chair.

He listened, and he looked closely at the letter Bois-Doré held in his

hands. He could read very well, as we have said, even manuscript; but he

was in dire perplexity, fearing lest he should make a mistake and should

be accused again of speaking at random.

At last he felt almost perfectly sure of his facts, not only because of

the handwriting, but because of the expressions used in the letter and

of the peculiar coincidences.

"What!" he cried.

And he ran from the room, his heart swelling with determination and joy,

scarcely heeded by the marquis, who was absorbed by his reflections.

Mario knew Master Jovelin's room, and he found his mother there, just

about to withdraw without exhibiting the articles of which she was so

jealous and distrustful a guardian.

Lucilio had been as profoundly impressed as the marquis by the

coincidence of the date fixed in the child's mind by Abbé Anjorrant

with that mentioned by the little gypsy as the date of Florimond's

death. He had not the slightest belief in magic; but, as he was also

struck by La Flèche's mention of the name of Mario, he feared that the

marquis was the dupe of some juggling scheme.

He began to suspect the Moorish woman herself, and his first act, on

returning to the château, was to send for her and question her in

writing, with much conciseness and severity. He insisted that she should

produce the ring and the letter from Monsieur Anjorrant of which she had

spoken; and, although she felt profound respect and sympathy for him, as

his persistence led her to fear the indirect intervention of D'Alvimar

in this examination she was undergoing, she had taken refuge in agonized

silence.

As soon as Mario appeared, her wounded heart gave vent in the complaint

which it dared not address directly to Lucilio.

"Come, my poor child," she said, "we must go away from here, for we are

accused of seeking to deceive and of having told a story that is not

true. Come, let us go at once, so that they may know that we seek aid

only from God and ourselves."

But Mario held her back.

"We have had enough of distrust," he said to her; "we must do what they

ask, mother. Give me the letter and the ring! They are mine; I want them

this moment!"

Lucilio was impressed by the child's vehemence, and the Moor, utterly

dumbfounded, said nothing for several moments.

Never before had Mario spoken so to her; never had she detected in him

the slightest tendency to independence; and now, in the most peremptory

way, he ordered her to do his bidding.

She was afraid; she thought that some miracle had happened; all her

strength of will vanished before the idea that fate had intervened. She

took from her belt the sheepskin bag in which she had sewn the precious

objects.

"That is not all, mother," said Mario; "I must have the knife too."

"You will not dare to touch it, boy! it is the knife that killed----"

"I know it; I have seen it before now. It is necessary that I should

touch it, and I will touch it. Give it to me!"

Mercedes handed him the knife, and said, clasping her hands:

"If it is the evil spirit that guides my son's hand and tongue, we are

lost, Mario!"

He did not listen to her, but, placing the little bag on Lucilio's

table, hastily ripped it open with the dagger. He took from it the ring,

which he placed on his thumb, and Abbé Anjorrant's letter to Monsieur

Sully, of which he burst the seal and silk thread, to Mercedes's dire

consternation.

[Illustration: _MARIO ESTABLISHES HIS IDENTITY._

_He darted into the hall, ran back to the marquis's chamber,

snatched unceremoniously from his hands the letter

over which he was still meditating, compared the handwritings_,...]

That done, he opened the letter, took out a stained and spotted paper,

kissed it and examined it carefully; then, shouting: "Come, mother!

Come, Monsieur Jovelin!" he darted into the hall, ran back to the

marquis's chamber, snatched unceremoniously from his hands the letter

over which he was still meditating, compared the handwritings, and,

thrusting everything that he held, letters, ring and dagger, into

Adamas's hand, leaped on the marquis's knees, threw his arms about his

neck, and hugged him so tight that the worthy man was almost suffocated

for a moment.

"Come, come!" said Bois-Doré at last, somewhat annoyed by this

familiarity, which he did not expect, and which had seriously deranged

his wig, "this is not the time for play of this sort, my young friend,

and you are taking liberties which--Whom is this you have brought here

and why?"

The marquis paused when he saw Mario burst into tears.

The child had acted in obedience to an inspiration, he had had faith;

but, as the minds of the others did not move so fast or so straight as

his, doubt, fear and shame returned to him. He had disobeyed Mercedes,

who was weeping and trembling.

Lucilio watched him so closely that he felt intimidated; the marquis

repelled his passionate embrace, and Adamas was dazed, and did not seem

to recognize unhesitatingly the similarity of the handwritings.

"Come, do not weep, my child," said the perturbed marquis, taking from

Adamas's hands his brother's letter and the worn and crumpled paper that

Mario had brought. "What is the matter, Adamas, and why are you

trembling so? What is that paper, all covered with black spots? _Vrai

Dieu_! those are blood-stains! Bring the candle nearer, Adamas, and let

me look! Why, my friends! O Lord God in Heaven! Jovelin! Adamas! Look at

this! I am not dreaming, am I? It is the handwriting of my darling

brother! every letter is his! And this blood----Ah! my friends! that is

a very cruel thing to see. But--where did you get this, Mario?"

"Read, read, monsieur," cried Adamas, "make sure that you are right."

"I cannot," said the marquis, turning deathly pale; "my heart fails me!

Whence comes this paper?"

"It was found on my father," said Mario, recovering his courage; "look,

see if it is not a letter for you that he intended to send you. Monsieur

Anjorrant made me read it many times; but your name was not on it, and

we never knew to whom to send it."

"Your father!" repeated the marquis, as if waking from a dream; "your

father!"

"Pray read it, monsieur!" cried Adamas; "make sure."

"No! not yet," said the marquis. "If I am dreaming, I do not desire to

be awakened. Let me fancy that this lovely child--Come here, boy, to my

arms.--And do you, Adamas, read it if you can! I could never do it!"

"I will read it," said Mario; "follow with your eyes." And he read as

follows:

"Monsieur and dear brother:

"Pay no heed to the letter you will receive after this, which I wrote at

Genoa, under date of the sixteenth of next month, in anticipation of a

long and dangerous journey, during which, as I feared that you would be

anxious on my account, I desired to allay your anxiety by a post-dated

letter, and thereby prevent your making inquiries for me in that

country, where I desired that my absence should not be noticed.

"As I have arrived here, thank God! more quickly and with less trouble

than I dared hope, and am now out of difficulty and danger, I propose to

tell you of my adventures, which I am at last able to do without

concealment or reserve, leaving the details, however, for the

approaching, eagerly anticipated moment when I shall be with you,

accompanied by my beloved and honored wife, and, God willing, by the

child of whom she will make me the father in a few days!

"It will suffice for you to know to-day, that, having been married

secretly last year, in Spain, to a beautiful lady of noble birth,

against the will of her parents, I was obliged to leave her on my

master's service, and to return to her, with the same secrecy, to rescue

her from the tyranny of her parents and take her to France, where we

have at last arrived to-day, under favor of our precautions and

disguises.

"We expect to stop at Pau, whence I shall forward this letter to you, to

be followed by another which will announce, if it be God's pleasure, my

wife's safe delivery, and in which I shall have the leisure that I have

not at this moment, to tell you----"

At this point the letter had been interrupted by some unexpected

occurrence. It had been folded and carried about in the traveller's

pocket, to be finished and sealed at Pau, in all probability, and there

entrusted to the carriers who, at that time, conducted the mail service,

with more or less despatch, between places of importance.

XXV

Bois-Doré wept copiously as he listened to this letter, which, being

read by Mario, penetrated the more deeply into his heart.

"Alas!" he said, "I often accused him of neglect, and he thought of me

on the very first day of his happiness and safety! He intended doubtless

to bring his wife and child to me, and place them in my care, and I

should not have passed my life alone, without a family! But rest in

peace in God's bosom, my poor boy! your son shall be my son, and in my

grief at having so cruelly lost you, I have at all events the

consolation of embracing your living image! for it is his very manner

and his charm, my dear Jovelin, and my heart was stirred at the first

glance I cast upon the child. And now, Mario, let us embrace as uncle

and nephew, which we are, or rather as father and son, which we are to

be from this moment."

The marquis worried little about his wig this time, but embraced his

adopted son with an affectionate warmth which changed to heartfelt joy

the painful memories evoked by the letter.

Meanwhile Mercedes, heartbroken by Lucilio's suspicions, had resolved to

make known the truth in all its details.

"Give them the ring," she said to Mario; "perhaps they will be able to

open it, and you will learn your mother's name."

The marquis took the heavy gold ring and turned it in every direction;

but, versed as he was in mechanical secrets, he could not succeed in

opening it.

Neither Jovelin nor Adamas was more adroit, and they were obliged to

abandon the project temporarily.

"Never mind!" said the marquis to Mario, "let us not worry about it. You

are my brother's son, I can entertain no doubt of that. Judging from his

letter, you descend from a family of higher rank than ours; but we have

no need to know your Spanish ancestors to cherish you and rejoice in

you!"

Meanwhile Mercedes continued to weep.

"What is the matter with that poor creature?" the marquis asked Adamas.

"I do not understand what she says to Master Jovelin, monsieur," was the

reply; "but I see plainly enough that she is afraid that she will not be

allowed to remain with her child."

"Who will prevent her, I wonder? Am I likely to do it, who owe her so

much gratitude and am indebted to her for so much joy? Come hither, my

excellent girl, and ask me whatever you will. If you want a house,

lands, flocks and servants, aye, and a good husband to your taste, you

shall have them all, or may I lose my name!"

The Moor, to whom Mario translated these words, replied that she desired

nothing except to work for her living, but somewhere where she could see

her dear Mario every day.

"Granted!" said the marquis, offering her both hands, which she covered

with kisses; "you shall remain in my house, and, if you are willing to

see my son every hour in the day, you will confer a great favor on me;

for, since you love him so dearly, no other woman than you shall take

care of him. And now, my friends, congratulate me on the great

consolation which has come to me, and which, as you know, Jovelin,

confirms in every point the gypsy's prediction."

Thereupon he embraced Lucilio, and also, for the first time in his life,

the faithful Adamas, who wrote that glorious fact in letters of gold on

his tablets.

Then the marquis took Mario in his arms, placed him on the table in the

middle of the room, and, walking a few steps away, began to gaze at him

as if he had not seen him at all as yet. He was his own, his heir, his

son, the greatest joy of his whole life.

He examined him from head to foot, smiling, with a blending of

affection, pride and childish delight, as if he were a superb picture or

piece of furniture; and as he already had the feelings of a father and

did not wish to make that noble child absurdly vain, he forced back his

exclamations and contented himself by rolling his great black eyes,

showing his great white teeth, and moving his head with a self-satisfied

air to the right and left, as if to say to Adamas and Lucilio; "Just

look! what a fine fellow, what a figure, what eyes, what a bearing, what

pretty ways, what a son!"

His two friends shared his delight, and Mario endured their scrutinizing

with a confident and affectionate air, which seemed to say to them: "You

can look at me, you will find no evil in me." But he seemed to say more

particularly to the old marquis: "You can love me with all your

strength, I will pay you back."

And when the scrutiny was at an end, they embraced again, as if they

would fain exchange in a kiss all the kisses of which the childhood of

the one and the others old age had been deprived.

"You see, my dear friend," the marquis in his joy said to Lucilio, "that

we must not make sport of soothsayers, when they predict our future by

the stars. You shake your dear old head? Yet you surely believe that our

planet----"

The worthy marquis would doubtless have attempted to elucidate some

theory of his own invention, wherein astronomy, to which he was devoted,

was in some measure confirmed by astrology, to which he was even more

devoted, had not Lucilio interrupted him by handing him a note in which

he urged a consultation as to the means of unmasking his brother's

murderer.

"You are quite right," said Bois-Doré; "and yet, on this day of

incomparable bliss, it hurts me to think of inflicting punishment. But I

must do it, and, if you please, we will discuss the matter

together.--Go, Adamas, and say to this Monsieur D'Alvimar that I beg him

to excuse a slight delay in serving supper; and above all, let us not

divulge a syllable of the great discovery we have made.--Go, my

friend.--What are you doing there?" he added, as he saw Adamas looking

into the great mirror, framed in gilt network, and making strange faces

at himself.

"Nothing, monsieur," replied Adamas; "I am just studying my smile."

"For what purpose, I pray to know?"

"Is it not fitting, monsieur, that I should make up a treacherous

expression to speak to that traitor?"

"No, my friend; for, before we adjudge him a traitor, we must examine

into the affair more carefully, and that is what we are about to do."

At that moment Clindor knocked at the door. He announced that Monsieur

de Villareal was indisposed and desired to keep his chamber.

"That is so much the better," said the marquis; "I will go to pay him a

visit. After which we will have a preliminary hearing in his case among

ourselves."

"You must not go alone, monsieur," said Adamas. "How can we be sure that

this indisposition is not feigned, and that the knave has not laid some

trap for you, being warned by his conscience?"

"You are talking nonsense, my dear Adamas. Even if he killed my brother,

he certainly never knew his name, since he remains under my roof without

uneasiness."

"But look at this dagger, my dear master! You have not yet looked at

this proof."

"Alas!" said Bois-Doré, "do you think that I can examine it

dispassionately?"

Lucilio advised the marquis to see his guest before pursuing his

investigations, so that he might be sure of being calm enough to conceal

his suspicions.

Adamas allowed the marquis to go; but he glided close on his heels to

the door of the Spaniard's apartment.

D'Alvimar was really ill. He was subject to nervous sick-headaches of

great violence, which were often brought on by paroxysms of anger, and

he had had more than one of the latter in the course of the day.

He thanked the marquis for his solicitude and begged him not to put

himself out on his account. He needed nothing more than careful diet,

silence and rest until the following day.

Bois-Doré withdrew, telling Bellinde, without obtruding, to see to it

that his guest lacked nothing; and he took advantage of this visit to

examine the features of old Sancho, to whom he had previously paid no

attention.

The former swineherd, tall, lean and sallow, but wiry and muscular, was

sitting in a deep window-recess, reading by the last rays of daylight a

religious book from which he never parted, and which he did not

understand. To spell out with his lips the words in that book and to

tell his beads mechanically, such was his principal occupation, and,

apparently, his only pleasure!

Bois-Doré glanced furtively from the master lying stretched out on the

bed, with an air of utter prostration, to the calm, stern, devout

servant, whose monkish profile was outlined against the window.

"These are not highwaymen," he thought. "What the devil! this fair,

slender young man, with an eye as soft as a girl's--To be sure, this

morning when he was angry with the gypsies, and yesterday when he

inveighed against the Moors, his expression was less benignant than

usual. But this old esquire with the Capuchin's beard, who is so

profoundly engrossed in his religious book--To be sure, there is nothing

so like an honest man as a knave who knows his business! No, my

penetration is insufficient in this matter, and we must weigh all the

facts."

He returned to the pavilion, the whole of which was given over to his

suite of apartments, each floor consisting of one large and one small

room: on the ground floor, the dining-room with a serving-room; on the

first floor, the salon and boudoir; on the second, the châtelain's

bedroom and another boudoir; on the third, the large, so-called _Salle

des Verdures_[21] which Adamas sometimes honored with the title of

_Salle de Justice_; on the fourth, an unfinished, vacant room.

In the later building attached to the side of this pavilion, were the

apartments of Adamas, Clindor and Jovelin, connecting with those in the

_grand'maison_, as the marquis's little pavilion was ingenuously and in

all seriousness called in the village.

He found his friends assembled in the _Salle des Verdures_, and not

until then did he remember that in the general excitement the Moorish

woman had been admitted to his chamber. He was grateful to Adamas for

having transferred the session to some place other than his sanctuary.

He saw that Jovelin was writing busily, and, not wishing to disturb him,

he sat down and perused the letter written by Abbé Anjorrant to

Monsieur de Sully, with the view of putting him on the track of Mario's

family.

That letter was written very soon after Florimond's death, before

Monsieur Anjorrant knew of the death of Henri IV. and Sully's fall from

power; it had not reached its destination. This was a copy, which the

abbé had retained and bequeathed to Mario with Florimond's unfinished

letter. The abbé's letter--it was more properly a memorial--contained

most precise details of the murder of the pretended peddler, as the

abbé had received them from Mercedes, and as they had been confirmed by

various incidents.

In it all there was nothing to fasten the guilt upon d'Alvimar and his

valet. The assassins had not been discovered. Both, it is true, were

minutely described in the Moorish woman's statement contained in the

memorial; but, although she declared now that she recognized them, she

might very well be mistaken, and her accusation was not sufficient to

condemn them.

The Catalan dagger, the instrument of murder, being placed beside the

one given by Lauriane to the marquis, was more convincing evidence. The

two weapons were, if not identical, so nearly alike that at the first

glance one had difficulty in distinguishing them. The initials and the

device were made with the same instrument, and the blades were of the

same make.

But Florimond might have been killed with a weapon stolen from Monsieur

de Villareal, or lost by him.

Nor was there any proof that the one given by Lauriane to the marquis

came from the Spaniard.

And, lastly, the initials seen by Mario, Mercedes and Adamas on his

other weapons could not be his, for he had been introduced by Guillaume

under the name of Antonio de Villareal.

[Footnote 21: The name Verdures d'Auvergne was given to the tapestry

hangings representing trees, foliage and birds, without figures, and

with no definite landscape. They were made, I believe, at Clermont.]

XXVI

The fair-minded Bois-Doré was making these observations aloud to

Adamas, when the mute handed him the sheet upon which he had just been

writing.

It was a brief narrative of what had taken place at La Motte-Seuilly in

the morning, between Lauriane, the Spaniard and himself: how Villareal

had hurled the knife again and again to frighten him and interrupt his

music, how he had plunged it into the entrails of the wolf, and lastly

how he had given it to Madame de Beuvre as a token of submission and

penitence before Jovelin's eyes.

"Oho! this is becoming serious!" said the marquis, lost in thought, "and

I see that this Villareal is a very bad man. However, it may be that

none of these weapons were in his possession ten years ago, and that he

has received them since by gift or by inheritance. In that case he must

have been the assassin's kinsman or friend; there are villains and

cowards in the best families. Like yourself, Master Jovelin, I have a

bad opinion of our guest; but I am certain that, like me, you still

hesitate to condemn him on this evidence."

Lucilio nodded assent and advised the marquis to try to make him confess

the truth by surprise or by stratagem.

"We will deliberate with care thereupon," replied Bois-Doré, "and you

will assist us, my dear friend. For the moment, we must go to supper,

and since we have no guests, we will give ourselves the pleasure of

eating with our little marquis that is to be, who no more belongs in the

servants' quarters than you do yourself."

"Still, monsieur, if you take my advice," said Adamas, "you will leave

things as they are for to-day. Bellinde is a wicked creature and a

plague, and to my mind she is on much too friendly terms with the

rectory, which is a sink of slanderous remarks against all of us."

"Hoity-toity! Adamas, what in God's name is the trouble between you and

the rectory?"

"The trouble is, monsieur, that I have been consulting a magician too.

You had hardly gone away this morning, when a certain La Flèche, the

same gypsy, doubtless, whom you saw later in the day at La Motte, came

prowling around the château and offered to tell my fortune. I refused;

I am too much afraid of prophecies, and I hold that any harm that is

destined to happen to us happens twice over when we know it beforehand.

I contented myself by asking him who had stolen the key of the wine

closet, and he answered without hesitation:

"'The one you suspect!'

"'Tell me her name,' I replied, knowing well enough that it was

Bellinde, but wishing to test the clever rascal's skill.

"'The stars forbid me,' he said; 'but I can tell what the person is

doing at this moment. She is at the rector's, where she is chattering

about you, saying that you put it into the head of the lord of this

château to marry young Madame----"

"Hush, hush, Adamas!" cried the marquis modesty; "you should not repeat

such nonsense."

"No, monsieur, no! I will say nothing; but, as I was determined to know

whether the sorcerer told the truth, I went out as if for a walk, as

soon as he had gone; and as I passed the rectory I saw Bellinde at a

window with the housekeeper, and both of them began to laugh and to mock

at me behind my back."

Jovelin asked if the gypsy had entered the château.

"He would have liked to right well," said Adamas, "but Mercedes, who

watched him from the kitchen without letting him see her, begged me not

to admit him, saying that he was likely to steal; so I did not let him

into the courtyard. He gazed at the door with much emotion, and, when I

asked him what he saw there, he answered:

"'I see great events about to take place in this house; so great and so

surprising that it is my duty to warn your master. Let me speak to him.'

"'You cannot,' said, 'he is not within.'

"'I know where he is,' said he; 'he is at La Motte-Seuilly, where I will

try to see him; but if I am not able to speak with him there without

witnesses, I will come back here, and I assure you that if you refuse me

admission again, you will live to regret it, for many destinies are in

my hands.'"

"All this is very remarkable," said the marquis, artlessly. "It is a

fact that he predicted all that has happened, and I regret now that I

did not question him further. If he returns, Adamas, you must bring him

to me. Did not you say, my dear Mario, that he was an intelligent

fellow?"

"He is very amusing," replied Mario, "but my Mercedes doesn't like him.

She thinks it was he who stole my father's seal. I don't think so,

because he helped us to look for it and to ask the other gypsies about

it. He seemed to be very fond of us, and he did all we asked him to."

"And what was there on the seal, my dear boy?"

"A crest. Wait! Monsieur l'Abbé Anjorrant looked at it with a glass and

it looked big, for it was so small--so small that you couldn't make it

out; and he said to me:

"'Remember this: _Argent with a tree sinople_.'"

"That is right," said the marquis; "that is my father's crest! It would

be mine if King Henri had not composed another for me to suit himself."

"Both are carved on the courtyard door," wrote Lucilio. "Ask the child

if he did not see them when he came here."

"How could he have seen them?" said Adamas, who read Lucilio's words

simultaneously with his master. "The masons who were repairing the arch

had their scaffolding in front of them."

"Could the gypsy see the escutcheons this morning," said Lucilio with

his pencil, "when he looked at the gate?"

"Yes," replied Adamas, "the stagings had been taken down, and the masons

were at work elsewhere. The escutcheons were made over--But now I think

of it, Master Jovelin, this La Flèche must know something of our dear

child's story, as they had travelled together?"

"I don't think so," said Mario. "We never mentioned it to anyone."

"But you and Mercedes talked about it?" wrote Lucilio. "Does La Flèche

understand Arabic?"

"No, he understands Spanish; but I always talked Arabic with Mercedes."

"Were there no other Moors in that band of gypsies?"

"There was little Pilar, who understands Arabic because she is the child

of a Moor and a _gitana_."

"In that case," wrote Lucilio to the marquis, "abandon your belief in

the supernatural. La Flèche attempted to make money out of what he had

learned. He knew Mario's story down to a certain point; he learned yours

in the neighborhood, and the fact of your brother's having disappeared

ten years ago. He had stolen the seal. He recognized the coat-of-arms on

the door. He remembered the dates. He divined or imagined the whole

truth. He hurried to La Motte to make his prediction, which he taught

the little _gitana_ by heart. To-night or to-morrow he will bring you

the seal, expecting to solve for you the mystery which you have already

solved, and to receive a handsome reward. He is a thief and a schemer;

nothing more."

It cost the marquis a pang to assent to this reasonable and probable

explanation. However, he did so.

Adamas still held out.

"How can you explain what he told me about Bellinde and the rectory?" he

asked Lucilio.

Lucilio replied that that was very easy. Bellinde had listened at the

door of the marquis's apartment the night before; La Flèche had

listened in the morning at the door or under the windows of the rectory.

"You state the case very sensibly," cried the marquis, "and I see

plainly enough that there is no other magic in all this than the magic

of Divine Providence, which has brought truth and joy into my house with

this child. Let us go to supper! our minds will be clearer afterward."

The marquis supped hastily and without enjoyment. He felt that he was

being spied upon by Bellinde, who was no longer able to listen in the

secret passages; for Adamas, while the masons were on the spot, had had

that passage closed; but the prying and malevolent creature had observed

the long interviews of the marquis and Jovelin with Mercedes and the

child, behind closed doors, and, above all, the self-important and

triumphant airs of Adamas, whose every glance seemed to say to her: "You

shall know nothing!"

She was not intelligent enough to divine anything. She imagined that the

marquis, following up the project of marriage, was arranging an

entertainment for the young widow, with the assistance of the

"Egyptians."

There was nothing in that which she could use against Adamas, her

personal enemy; but she was consumed with a jealousy of him and of the

Moorish woman which sought only an opportunity for revenge.

When Bois-Doré was alone with Jovelin, they concerted and agreed upon a

plan of action for the following day with respect to D'Alvimar.

They reread Monsieur Anjorrant's letter carefully and analyzed it. Then,

honest Sylvain, who was not fond of giving his mind to serious and

depressing subjects, sent for his heir and passed the evening chatting

and playing with him. Therein he showed a marked resemblance to his dear

master, Henri IV., although he did not think of imitating him. He adored

the charms of childhood, and, except for the stiffness of his old bones,

would gladly have played horse for him around the room.

"Now," he said to Adamas, when he saw Mario's silky eyelashes drooping

with sleep, "we must give him to the Moor, so that she may take care of

him one night more. But to-morrow, when we have settled this Villareal

business, there will be no further occasion to conceal the truth, and I

propose that my heir shall have his bed in the boudoir adjoining my own

bedroom.--See, my child," he said to Mario, "look at this little nest,

all silk and gold, which has long been waiting for a noble fellow like

you! Do you like the pink silk hangings, and this low furniture inlaid

with mother-of-pearl? Doesn't it seem as if it were made for a young man

of your height? We shall have to arrange a bed for him that will be a

genuine chef-d'œuvre, Adamas. What say you to twisted columns of ivory,

with a great bunch of red plumes at each corner?"

"As soon as our minds are at rest, monsieur," said Adamas, "I will turn

my attention to the question, in order to gratify you, for nothing is

too fine for your heir. We will consider the matter of clothes too,

which must be suited to his rank."

"I will think about it, I will think about it, Adamas!" cried the

marquis, "and I propose that his wardrobe shall be just like mine. You

will send for the best tailors, linen-drapers, shoemakers, hatters and

plumemakers in the province, and for a whole month, if necessary, they

shall work day and night, under my eye, preparing my nephew's outfit."

"And my Mercedes," said Mario, leaping for joy, "will you give her

beautiful dresses too, like Bellinde's?"

"Mercedes shall have beautiful dresses, dresses of gold and silver, if

such is her whim. And that reminds me--Look you, my dear Jovelin, this

woman is lovely, so it seems to me, and still young. Would you not think

it well to allow her to resume the Moorish costume, which is very

pretty, except the veil, which is altogether too Mohammedan? As the

excellent creature is a sincere Christian now, and we live in a

neighborhood where the common people never saw a Moor, that costume will

offend nobody and will gratify our eyes. What is your wisdom's opinion?"

Lucilio's wisdom had much ado to reconcile the warm affection which the

marquis really deserved with the feelings naturally aroused by his

childishness. But, hopeless of correcting so old a child, reason advised

him to make the best of him and to love him as he was.

The philosopher would have preferred that Mario should not be

overwhelmed with splendor and finery at the outset of his new career,

but rather that he should be told something of the new duties he had to

fulfil. He found some consolation in the fact that the child was less

intoxicated by the possession of all those things, than overjoyed and

touched by the affection and endearments of which he found himself the

object.

On the following day D'Alvimar, who had passed a sleepless night,

requested through Bellinde, who obligingly acted as his nurse,

permission to keep his room until afternoon.

The marquis paid him another brief visit, and was struck by the

alteration of his features. He had had ghastly visions, under the spell

of the sinister prophecies that had been hurled at him.

Daylight had finally revived hope in his heart, and he slept part of the

day.

XXVII

The marquis took advantage of this respite to recur to the subject of

dress.

He went up with Mario and Adamas to the vacant room on the fourth floor,

that is to say, immediately over the _Salle des Verdures_.

That unfinished apartment was strewn with innumerable chests and

cupboards; and Mario, as soon as the padlocks were removed, and the lids

raised and doors thrown open, fancied that he was in fairyland. There

was a bewildering mass of magnificent stuffs, dazzling gold lace,

ribbons, laces, feathers and jewels, rich hangings, cordovan leather,

furniture in parts, all new and ready to be put together, reliquaries

heavy with precious stones, beautiful paintings on glass which needed

only to be assembled, lovely enamelled mosaics, arranged in piles and

numbered, whole pieces of fine linen, enormous guipure curtains, with

gold and silver stripes; in a word, a hoard of plunder, which smelt of

the partisan warrior a league away, and which the marquis considered to

have been legally acquired at the sword's point.

This receptacle of rich spoil was known in the household as the

store-room, the garret. It was supposed to contain spare articles of

furniture, together with what was broken or discarded.

Adamas alone was aware of the contents of those wonderful chests, and

under his breath he called that room the _treasure_ or the _abbey_.

There were no fashionable gewgaws, as in the marquis's apartments, but

artistic objects and fabrics of great value and great beauty, some of

great antiquity, and the more valuable on that account: stuffs

manufactured by processes no longer known, weapons of all sizes and of

all nations, many excellent pictures, valuable manuscripts, etc.

All this rarely saw the light, the marquis fearing lest he might arouse

the cupidity of some of his neighbors, and producing his treasures only

one at a time and in the guise of a recent purchase.

However, it was very rarely the case that the pillaging heroes of those

days were compelled to make restitution; but it might well happen that

some powerful individual, acting on his own account, but claiming to act

in the name of the Church or the State, would calmly appropriate an

article in dispute.

It was thus that Catherine de Médicis, to reward Jean de Hangest--called

Capitaine d'Yvoi--for treacherously surrendering Bourges to her, seized

the superb chalice, decorated with precious stones, which he had taken

from the treasure-chest of Sainte-Chapelle in that city, and had put

aside as his share of the plunder.

From all these marvels the marquis selected what was required for

Mario's outfit, calling upon him to make known his taste with regard to

the colors.

One would but imperfectly understand the manners of that period, who

should assume that it was necessary, as it is to-day, to go to Paris to

learn the fashions and to find skilled workmen in the art of dress and

decoration. It was not until the reign of Louis XIV. that the

civilization of luxury and fashion made of Paris the school of good

taste and the arbiter of refinement. Richelieu began this work of

centralization by destroying the power of the nobles. Before his time,

the princes held court in the great provincial centres, and the artisans

of the smallest places supplied the needs of the nobility with

traditional skill. A rich châtelain had artisans among his vassals;

and, even in bourgeois houses, furniture, clothes, boots and shoes were

made at home.

Bois-Doré therefore had only to select the materials and order the

articles that Adamas was to have made under his own eyes.

In the matter of dress Adamas was beyond praise. He could safely be

trusted, and, at need, he could put his own hand to the work with

success.

The ivory columns and cornices destined for the child's bed were found

after some searching.

"I knew that there was something here like that," said the marquis

smiling. "They are of beautiful workmanship; they came from a state

canopy taken from the chapel of the Abbey of Fontgombaud, of which I was

abbot, that is to say, lord by right of conquest, for a whole fortnight.

When I took possession of it, I remember saying to myself: 'If the new

Abbot of Fontgombaud could become a father soon, this would be a fitting

canopy for his first-born son!'--But, alas! my friend, I did not inherit

all the monkish virtues, and in order to have a son, I was obliged to

find one by a miracle long after I came to maturity. Never mind! he will

be none the less dear, and he will none the less sleep his angel's sleep

under the canopy of the Virgin of Fontgombaud."

The marquis was interrupted in his reminiscences by the arrival of La

Flèche, who asked to speak with him.

The chests and the door of the treasury were carefully locked, and the

vagabond was received in the barnyard.

It was beautiful weather, and Jovelin was of opinion that a trickster of

that sort should not be admitted to the house.

What he had foreseen actually happened. La Flèche brought with him the

seal, which he claimed to have found in little Pilar's possession; he

also assumed to reveal the mystery of Mario's birth and of the murder of

Florimond by Monsieur de Villareal.

The marquis allowed him to say all that he had to say, then dismissed

him, with a crown, for the trouble he had taken to bring back the seal;

but he pretended not to understand the story he had told, to place no

faith in it, and to be much shocked that he should dare to accuse

Monsieur de Villareal, against whom he had no other proof than the

Moorish woman's excitement and her exclamation when she thought that she

recognized him on the moor of Champillé.

Herein the marquis, advised by Lucilio, acted wisely. If he had seemed

to credit the accusation, La Flèche would have been quite capable of

giving the Spaniard warning, in order to have two strings to his bow.

La Flèche, bitterly disappointed by his fiasco, sheepishly withdrew,

and was walking along the outer wall of Galatée's garden, when he

heard a soft voice calling his name.

It was Mario, whom the marquis had not chosen to admit to the interview,

desiring that all relations between his heir and gypsydom should be

severed irrevocably. But as he had not explained his wishes in that

respect, the child did not know that he was acting in opposition to them

when he glided through the labyrinth and watched for the gypsy to pass,

through a little loophole looking toward the village.

"Who calls me?" he said, looking about him.

"I," said Mario. "I want you to tell me about Pilar."

"What will you give for that?"

"I can't give you anything. I haven't anything!"

"Idiot! steal something!"

"No, never! Will you answer me?"

"In a minute; answer me first. What do you do in this château?"

"Play music."

"What else?--Aha! you don't choose to speak? All right. Adieu!"

"And you won't tell me where Pilar is?"

"She is dead," replied the gypsy brutally, and he walked away whistling.

Mario tried in vain to recall him. When he could no longer hear him, he

began to run about and play in the labyrinth, trying to convince himself

that La Flèche had made sport of him. But the idea of his little

companion's death caused a terrible shock to his vivid imagination.

"She used to say that La Flèche beat her," he thought; "but I didn't

believe her. He never beat her before us. But perhaps she didn't lie;

perhaps he beat her until he killed her."

And, as he reflected thus, the child shed a few tears. Pilar was not a

very amiable creature; but there was something of the Bois-Doré in dear

Mario; he was particularly sensitive to pity, and the Abbé Anjorrant

had brought him up to abhor violence and cruelty. But he concealed his

tears, fearing to pain his uncle, whom he already loved passionately.

D'Alvimar left his room at last.

The rest that he had taken, a lovely sunset and the joyous song of the

thrushes dispelled the black presentiments by which he had been besieged

for several days.

Having dressed and perfumed himself, he sought the marquis and thanked

him for the interest he had shown and the care that had been taken of

him. Bois-Doré could not make up his mind to accuse even inwardly a

man, still so young, of a bearing so distinguished, and a countenance

whose habitual melancholy seemed to him genuinely touching; but when

they were seated at the supper table, Lucilio being there, as usual, to

furnish music, Bois-Doré remembered their agreement, and collected what

he called his siege-guns, to make a violent assault upon his guest's

conscience.

He had seen too much fighting and had had too many perilous adventures

not to be able to arrange his bearing and his features, without having,

like Adamas, to make preparatory studies before a mirror. Although his

life had long been so placid that he had not been obliged to depart from

his natural mildness of manner, he was too much the man of his time not

to be able to make his glance say, twenty times a day if need be:

"Vive le roi! Vive la Ligue!"

The sweet notes of the bagpipe relieved him from the necessity of

carrying on a commonplace conversation which would have seemed to him

very tedious.

The music which helped to produce the tranquillity that he needed, now

caused a feverish excitement in D'Alvimar.

He really hated Lucilio. He knew his baptismal name, which the marquis

had let fall in his presence, and Monsieur Poulain, who was thoroughly

posted in contemporary heresy, had divined from that circumstance that

_Jovelin_ was a free translation of Giovellino. The fact of his

mutilation confirmed him in that suspicion, and he was already

deliberating upon the means of making perfectly sure, and of stirring up

some new persecution against him.

D'Alvimar would readily have assisted him, if he had not been forced to

keep out of sight for some time, and the poor philosopher was the more

antipathetic to him because he could take no steps against him at

present. His beautiful music, by which he had been charmed at the first

hearing, seemed to him now intolerable bravado, and the ill-humor which

took possession of him did not dispose him to undergo patiently the

examination that was being prepared for him.

After the supper the marquis proposed a game of chess in the boudoir

adjoining his salon.

"I agree," the Spaniard replied, "on condition that we have no music

there. I cannot play with that to distract my attention."

"Nor I, most certainly," said the marquis.--"Put your sweet voice away

in its box, good Master Jovelin, and come to watch our peaceful battle.

I know that you enjoy a well-fought game."

They went into the boudoir, and found there a magnificent chess-board of

crystal with gold mountings, comfortable chairs, and many lighted

candles.

D'Alvimar had not as yet seen that small room, one of the most sumptuous

in the _grand'maison_; he cast a distraught glance at the trinkets with

which it was filled, then sat down, and the game began.

XXVIII

The marquis, exceedingly calm and courteous, seemed to give his whole

attention to his game. Lucilio, standing behind him, was able to watch

the slightest movement, the slightest change of expression on the

Spaniard's face, which was in a bright light.

D'Alvimar played promptly and with resolution. Bois-Doré, more moderate

in his play, made long pauses, during which the Spaniard gazed with some

impatience at the objects that surrounded him. His eyes naturally rested

more than once on a sort of what-not that stood against the wall at his

left, quite near him. Gradually the object that was most prominent among

the _bibelots_ with which the little piece of furniture was covered,

attracted and monopolized his attention, and Lucilio noticed that he

smiled satirically and angrily every time that his eyes fell upon that

object.

It was a naked, gleaming dagger, lying on a black velvet cushion with

gold fringe, and protected by a glass globe.

"What is it?" said the marquis at last. "You seem distraught. You are in

check, messire, and I do not wish to beat you so easily. Something

disturbs or annoys you. Are we too near that piece of furniture, would

you like to move the table away from it?"

"No," replied D'Alvimar, "I am very comfortable; but I confess that

there is something in that pretty stand which distracts my mind. Will

you answer a single question, if it be not impertinent?"

"You could ask no question which would be, messire. Speak, I beg you."

"Very well, I ask you, my dear marquis, how it happens that you have

here reposing triumphantly on a cushion, under glass, your humble

servant's travelling weapon?"

"Oh! you are mistaken, my guest! I did not obtain that knife from you."

"I know that I did not give it to you; but I know that it was given to

you by the one to whom I gave it, of which fact, perhaps, you may not be

ignorant. I understand that any gift from a fair hand is precious to

you; but it seems to me very hard upon those less fortunate to exhibit

thus the trophy of your victory before the eyes of a discarded rival."

"Your words are enigmas to me."

"What! surely my sight is not failing me! Will you allow me to raise the

glass and obtain a closer view?"

"Look and touch, messire; after which I will tell you, if you desire,

why this relic of love and sorrow is kept here among other souvenirs of

the past."

D'Alvimar took up the knife, examined it closely, handled it, and said,

suddenly replacing it on the cushion:

"I was mistaken, and I beg your pardon. It is not the weapon that I

thought."

Lucilio, who was watching him attentively, fancied that he saw his

mobile, delicate nostrils dilate with fear or surprise. But that slight

facial contraction was noticeable in him on the slightest pretext,

sometimes even without any pretext at all.

He resumed his game.

But Bois-Doré stopped him.

"Excuse me," he said; "but as you recognize that object it is my duty to

question you; you may be able perhaps to throw some light upon a

mysterious occurrence by which my life has been disturbed and made

wretched for many years. Be kind enough to tell me, Monsieur de

Villareal, if you know the device and initials engraved on this blade.

Do you wish to look at it again?"

"It is useless, monsieur le marquis, I do not recognize the weapon; it

never belonged to me."

"Do you feel any repugnance to making sure of that fact?"

"Repugnance? Why that question, messire?"

"I will explain. You may, perhaps, have recognized the weapon as having

belonged to someone whose compatriot you blush to be, but whose name you

would tell me none the less if I should appeal to your sense of honor."

"If you treat this as a serious matter," replied D'Alvimar, "although it

is my turn not to understand you, I will examine it again."

He took up the dagger, scrutinized it very calmly, and said:

"This is of Spanish workmanship, a weapon in very common use among us.

There is no man of noble birth--I may say no free man--who does not

carry a similar one in his belt or his sleeve. The device is one of the

most common and most widely used: _I serve God_, or _I serve my master_,

or _I serve honor_. We find something of that sort on the majority of

our arms, whether rapiers, pistols or cutlasses."

"Very good; but these two letters S. A., which seem to be a private

cipher?"

"You can find them on my own weapons, as well as this device; they are

the private marks of the Salamanca factory."

Bois-Doré felt his suspicions fade away in face of such a natural

explanation.

Lucilio's suspicions, on the contrary, increased in force. He considered

that D'Alvimar was altogether too eager to anticipate the explanation he

might be asked to give concerning his own motto and his own initials,

which they were supposed not to know.

He touched the marquis's knee while pretending to pat Fleurial, and thus

warned him not to abandon his investigation.

D'Alvimar seemed desirous to forward it himself, for he asked with an

air of wounded pride the reason of this interrogatory.

"You might also ask me," Bois-Doré replied, "for what reason an object

which is horrible for me to look upon lies there before my eyes every

hour. Let me tell you, monsieur, that that accursed weapon is the one

that killed my brother, and I have made it a point of not putting it out

of sight solely that I might constantly be reminded that I have to

discover his murderer and avenge his death."

D'Alvimar's face expressed deep emotion, but it might well be

sympathetic and magnanimous emotion.

"You do well to call it a relic of sorrow," he said, pushing the dagger

away. "Was it your brother to whom you referred yesterday morning, when

you consulted those gypsies as to the time and manner of some person's

death?"

"Yes; I asked for something which I knew perfectly well, wishing to test

their knowledge, and, upon my word, that little demon of a girl answered

me so accurately that I had good reason to be astonished. Did you not

notice, messire, that she gave me figures which fixed the date of the

occurrence as the tenth day of May in the year 1610?"

"I did not follow the calculation. Was that actually the day when your

brother was killed?"

"That was the day. I see that you are much surprised!"

"Surprised, I? Why should I be? I fancy that soothsayers reveal only so

much of the past as they know. But tell me, I beg you, how that sad

affair came to pass. Have you never known the authors of the crime?"

"You are right in saying the authors, for there were two of them--two

men whom I would like right well to find. But you cannot help me, I see,

since that accusing weapon bears no private mark."

"So there were no witnesses of the deed?"

"Pardon me, there were."

"Who could give you no information as to the perpetrators?"

"They could describe them, but not tell their names. If this painful

story interests you, I can tell it to you in all its details."

"Most certainly I am interested in your sorrows, and I am pleased to

listen."

"Very well," said the marquis, pushing the chessboard away and drawing

his chair nearer to the table, "I will tell you all that I learned from

an investigation communicated to me by the curé of Urdoz."

"Urdoz? Where is Urdoz? I do not remember."

"It is a place that you must have passed through, if you have ever been

to Pau."

"No, I came into France by way of Toulouse."

"In that case you don't know it. I will describe it to you directly.

First let me tell you that my brother, being a simple gentleman and only

moderately rich, but of an honorable name, noble in feature, of an

amiable disposition, and a fine fellow if ever there was one, while

sojourning in some Spanish city, which I cannot name, won the heart of a

lady or maiden of quality, whom he married secretly against the will of

her family."

"Her name was----?"

"I do not know. All this was an affair of the heart, as to which I never

received his full confidence, and which I could not afterwards unravel.

I found out simply that he eloped with his wife, and that they made

their way into France by way of the Urdoz road, disguised as poor

people. The lady was near her time. They were travelling in a small

vehicle of shabby aspect, a sort of peddler's cart, drawn by a single

horse, purchased on the road, whose gait hardly kept time with their

impatience. However, they reached without hindrance the last Spanish

settlement, and, after passing the night in a wretched tavern, my

brother was imprudent enough to try to exchange Spanish for French gold,

and to ask a soi-disant nobleman who was in the house, attended by an

old servant, and who offered to assist him, if he could procure French

money for a thousand pistoles.

"The individual in question was able to offer him only a trifling sum,

and when my brother mounted his wagon again with his cloaked and veiled

companion, the people at the inn noticed that the two strangers, as they

bade him farewell, gazed earnestly at the two boxes which he himself

loaded, one containing his money, the other his wife's jewels, and that

they started off at once on his track, although they had previously

announced their purpose to go in the opposite direction. The villains

were described in such a way as to leave no manner of doubt as to their

identity when a description of my brother's murderers was furnished."

"Ah!" said D'Alvimar, "so you had a description of them?"

"Exact. One had a handsome face and was so young that he seemed little

more than a boy. He was of medium height but well proportioned. His hand

was as white and slender as a woman's, he had an incipient beard, very

black, silky hair, a noble bearing, a rich travelling costume, but

little else, for his valise weighed nothing; a good Andalusian horse,

and yonder infernal knife, which he used for eating and killing. The

other----"

"No matter, messire. Your brother----?"

"I must describe the other miscreant, as he was described to me. He was

a man in middle life, who had something of the monk and something of the

hired bravo in his appearance. A long nose overhanging a gray moustache,

a shifty eye, a callous hand, and of a taciturn humor; a genuine Spanish

brute----"

"I beg pardon, messire?"

"A brute of the sort that we find in all countries where men are taught

that they can save their souls from hell by reciting paternosters. The

brigands followed my poor brother as two fierce, cowardly wolves follow

the victim they dare not attack, and pounced upon him--What is it,

messire? Are you too warm in this small room?"

"Perhaps so, messire," replied D'Alvimar excitedly. "I feel difficulty

in breathing the air of a house where the name of Spaniard seems to be

held in such contempt as by yourself."

"Not at all, monsieur. Let me reassure you on that point. I do not hold

your nation responsible for the degradation of a few. There are infamous

villains everywhere. If I speak bitterly of those who robbed me of a

brother, you must pardon me."

D'Alvimar apologized in his turn for his sensitiveness, and begged the

marquis to continue his narrative.

"It was about a league from the hamlet of Urdoz that my brother and his

wife found themselves entirely alone on a rocky road skirting a very

deep precipice. The road was winding and the ascent so steep, that the

horse balked for a moment, and my brother, fearing that he would back

into the ravine, hastily alighted and lifted his wife out of the wagon.

It was very warm, so he pointed out a grove of firs ahead of them where

she could find shelter from the sun, and she walked thither slowly while

he gave the horse an opportunity to breathe."

"Did the lady see her husband killed?"

"No! she had just turned a little shoulder of the mountain when the

disaster occurred. It was God's will that the child she bore should be

saved; for, if the assassins had seen her they would not have spared

her."

"In that case who can say how your brother died?"

"Another woman whom chance had brought thither, who was hidden behind a

rock, and who had no time to call for aid, the horrible crime was

committed so quickly. My brother was trying to urge the horse forward

when the assassins overtook him. The youngest dismounted, saying with

hypocritical courtesy:

"'Why, your horse is foundered, my poor man! Don't you need help?'

"The old cutthroat who followed him also dismounted, and they both

approached my brother as if they really intended to put their shoulders

to the wheel; he had no suspicion of them, and at the same instant the

witness whom heaven had placed there saw him totter and fall at full

length between the wheels, without a cry to indicate that he had been

struck. That dagger had been buried in his heart up to the hilt, by a

hand too well skilled in its use."

"Then you do not know which of the two, whether the master or the

servant, dealt the blow? You say that the master was very young; it is

hardly conceivable that it was he."

"It matters little, messire. I deem them equally vile; for the gentleman

behaved exactly as the servant did. He jumped into the wagon without

taking time to remove the knife, he was in such frantic haste to steal

the two boxes. He tossed them to his companion, who put them under his

cloak, and they both fled, retracing their steps, spurred on, not by

remorse and shame, human sentiments which they were incapable of

feeling, but by fear of the scourge and the rack, which are the just

reward and the end of such villainy!"

"You lie, monsieur!" cried D'Alvimar, springing to his feet, beside

himself and deathly pale with rage. "The scourge and the rack--You lie

in your throat! and you shall give me satisfaction!"

He fell back upon his chair, suffocated, strangled by the confession

that wrath had extorted from him at last.

XXIX

The marquis was thunderstruck by this outbreak, for which he was

entirely unprepared, the culprit had up to that moment put so bold a

face on the matter, and made his frequent interruptions with so natural

an air.

He recovered first, as may be imagined, and grasping D'Alvimar's

convulsively twitching wrist with his long, sinewy hand:

"Miserable wretch!" he exclaimed with crushing contempt, "you should

thank Heaven for making you my guest; for, were it not for the promise I

have given to protect you, a promise which protects you from myself, I

would beat out your brains against the wall of this room!"

Lucilio, fearing a struggle, had seized the knife which lay on the

table. D'Alvimar saw his movement and was afraid. He threw off the

marquis's hands and grasped the hilt of his sword.

"Let your mind be at rest, fear nothing in this house," said Bois-Doré,

calmly. "_We_ are not assassins!"

"Nor am I, monsieur," rejoined D'Alvimar, seemingly overcome by this

dignified procedure, "and since you do not propose to disregard the laws

of honor, I will attempt to justify myself."

"Justify yourself? Nonsense! you are convicted and doomed by your

contradiction of me, and that is why I disdain to notice it!"

"Keep your disdain for those who endure insult in silence. If I had done

so, you would not have suspected me! I repelled the insult! I repel it

again!"

"Ah! you propose to deny the act now, do you?"

"No! I killed your brother--or somebody else. I do not know the name of

the man I killed--or allowed to be killed! But what do you know of the

reasons that impelled me to that murder? How do you know that I was not

wreaking a just vengeance? How do you know that that woman--whose name

you do not know--was not my sister, and that while avenging the honor of

my family, I did not take back the gold and jewels stolen by a seducer?"

"Hold your peace, monsieur! do not insult my brother's memory."

"You have yourself admitted that he was not rich; where did he obtain a

thousand pistoles with which to elope with a woman?"

Bois-Doré was shaken. His brother, because of the difference in their

political opinions, would never consent to accept from him the smallest

portion of a fortune which he rightly considered as derived from the

despoiling of his own party. He was obliged to fall back on the

allegation that his brother's wife was entitled to carry off what

belonged to her. But D'Alvimar retorted that the family was entitled to

consider that it belonged to it. Therefore he vehemently denied the

charge of robbery.

"You are a traitor none the less," said the marquis, "for having stabbed

a gentleman like a coward instead of demanding satisfaction from him."

"Charge it to your brother's disguise," retorted D'Alvimar, warmly. "Say

to yourself that, seeing him in the garb of a serf, I may well have

thought that I had the right to bid my servant kill him like a serf."

"Why did you not have him detained at that tavern, where you must have

recognized your sister, instead of following and taking him in a trap?"

"Presumably," replied D'Alvimar, still proud and animated, "because I

did not choose to create a scandal, and compromise my sister before the

populace."

"And why, instead of hurrying after her to take her back to her family,

did you leave her on that lonely road, where she died in agony an hour

later, no one having come in search of her meanwhile?"

"How could I run after her, when I did not know that she was there, so

near to me? Your witness could not hear all the questions I put to the

seducer, I had no need to shout them at the top of my voice. How do you

know that he did not tell me that my sister had remained at Urdoz, and

that what the witness took for flight on my part was not simply

eagerness to return to her?"

"And not finding her at Urdoz, you never learned of her deplorable

death? You did not even try to find the place where she was buried?"

"How do you know, monsieur, that I am not more familiar than you with

all the details of this painful story? Would you, in my place, being

unable to remedy the evil that was done, have made an outcry in a

country where no one could possibly divine your sister's name or the

dishonor of your family?"

The marquis, crushed by the reasonableness of these explanations, made

no reply.

He was so deeply absorbed in his reflections that he hardly heard the

announcement of a visitor. Guillaume D'Ars was ushered into the

adjoining salon.

Lucilio detected a gleam of joy in D'Alvimar's eyes, caused it may be by

the pleasure of meeting a friend, or by the hope of finding a means of

escape from a perilous situation.

D'Alvimar rushed from the boudoir, and the heavy folding door was closed

for an instant between him and his host.

Lucilio, seeing that the marquis was buried in painful thoughts, touched

him as if to question him.

"Ah! my friend!" cried Bois-Doré, "to think that I cannot make up my

mind what to do, and that I am in all likelihood the dupe of the most

infernal knave that ever lived! I have taken the wrong course. I have

exposed the good Mooress, and perhaps my child as well, to the vengeance

and the snares of a most dangerous foe; I have been clumsy; I have

furnished him with his grounds of defence by admitting that I did not

know the lady's name, and now, whether the murderer's excuse is false or

true, I no longer have the right to take his life. O God, Lord God! is

it possible that honest men are doomed to be gulled by knaves, and that,

in all sorts of war, the wicked are the most adroit and the strongest!"

As he spoke, the marquis, wroth with himself, struck the table a violent

blow with his fist; then he rose to go to receive Guillaume D'Ars, whose

jovial and untroubled voice he could hear in the next room.

But the mute hastily seized his arm with an inarticulate exclamation. He

had in his hand an object to which he called the other's attention with

a murmur of surprise and delight.

It was the ring, which the marquis had placed on his little finger, the

mysterious ring which he had been unable to open, and which, as a result

of the blow he had dealt the table, had separated into two hoops, one

within the other. There was nothing in the way of secret mechanism. The

parts fitted very closely, and a violent blow was necessary to separate

them--that was all.

To read the names engraved on the two circles was a matter of an

instant. They were the names of Florimond and his wife. Instantly they

realized that they held the key to the situation.

The marquis rapidly gave Lucilio his orders, and went, with a light

heart and smiling face, to press Guillaume's hand.

D'Alvimar and D'Ars had had barely time to exchange a few words

concerning the former's agreeable surprise and the latter's pleasant

journey. Guillaume, however, had noticed some alteration in his friend's

face, which the Spaniard attributed to his headache of the preceding

day.

The marquis, after exchanging greetings with his young kinsman, was

about to order supper for him.

"No, thanks!" said Guillaume; "I took a mouthful on the road, while my

horses were resting, for I must start again at once. You see I am

returning sooner than I intended. I was advised yesterday at

Saint-Armand, whither I had gone with a party of the young men of the

province, as an honorary escort to Monseigneur de Condé, that my

steward was very ill in my house. Fearing that he was going to die, the

honest fellow sent a messenger to me to urge me to return as soon as

possible, so that he might inform me as to the condition of my most

important affairs, of which I confess that I know nothing at all. I have

come here, however, in the first place, to ascertain if it will be

convenient for Monsieur D'Alvimar to accompany me to-night, or if he is

so attached to your gardens of Astrée, that he desires to pass another

night amid their fascinations."

"No!" replied D'Alvimar hastily; "I have imposed upon monsieur le

marquis's civility long enough. I am not well, and I might become

ill-humored. I prefer to go with you now, and I will go to order my

horses to be prepared as quickly as possible."

"That is unnecessary," said the marquis; "I will ring; I shall have the

pleasure of seeing you again soon, Monsieur de Villareal."

"I shall come to-morrow to learn your wishes, monsieur le marquis, and

to give you whatever satisfaction you desire--touching the game we were

playing just now."

"What game were you playing?" said Guillaume.

"A very scientific game of chess," replied the marquis.

Adamas answered the bell.

"Monsieur de Villareal's horses and luggage," said Bois-Doré.

While the order was being executed, the marquis, with a tranquillity

which led D'Alvimar to hope that everything was adjusted between them,

told Guillaume how they had employed their time at Briantes and La

Motte-Seuilly during his absence. Then he questioned him about the

splendid festivities at Bourges.

The young man asked nothing better than to talk about them: he described

the excitement of the target-shooting, or rather, as they said in those

days, "of the honorable sport of arquebus-shooting."

The targets had been set up in the Fichaux meadow's, and a great tent

decorated with tapestry and green boughs for the ladies, young and old.

The contestants were stationed on a stand, a hundred and fifty paces

from the tent. Six hundred and fifty-three arquebusiers entered the

competition. Triboudet of Sancerre alone had won the prize: but he w as

obliged to divide it with Boiron of Bourges, because he had taken a

false name in order to be nearer the head of the list; whereat the

people of Sancerre had made a great outcry, for they were bent upon

proving that their marksmen were the best in the kingdom, and they

considered the division of the prize very unfair. The unjust decision

had evidently been made to avoid displeasing the people of Bourges.

"After all," said Guillaume, telling his story with the fire of youth,

"Triboudet either won or lost. If he won, he is entitled to all the

honor and all the profit of the victory. I agree that he is blameworthy

for having taken a false name. Very good; for that lapse let them punish

him by a fine or a few days in prison, but let him none the less be

declared the winner of the prize; for the honor due to skill is a sacred

thing, and although we were not at all fond of the old Sancerre

sorcerers, there was not a gentleman who did not protest against the

trick played on Triboudet. But what can you expect? the large places

always consume the small ones, and the fat pettifoggers of Bourges

unceremoniously take precedence over all the bourgeoisie of the

province. They would gladly take precedence over the nobility, if they

were allowed! I am only surprised that Issoudun concurred. Argenton

abstained from voting, saying that the prize was awarded beforehand and

that no one except the champions of Bourges had any chance before the

judges of Bourges."

"And do you not believe that the prince had a hand in this injustice?"

asked the marquis.

"I would not dare swear that he did not! He is paying assiduous court to

the people of his good city; witness the fact that he has incurred

considerable expense, although he is not at all fond of spending his

money for the entertainment of other people. He is supporting at this

moment two troupes of players, one French, the other Italian, who

perform in the tennis-courts, beautifully decorated for the purpose."

"What!" said Bois-Doré, "did you see Monsieur de Belleroze's _tragic

actors_? They are as tiresome as forty days of rain!"

"No, no; this troupe is called Sieur de Lambour's _French Comedians_,

and there are some very clever people in it. But time flies, and here

comes the faithful Adamas to say that the horses are ready, does he not?

So let us be off, my dear Villareal, and as you have promised the

marquis to come to-morrow to thank him, I invite myself to come with

you."

"I rely upon seeing you," rejoined Bois-Doré.

"And you can also rely upon my furnishing you with proofs of all that I

have alleged," said D'Alvimar, bowing very low.

Bois-Doré replied only with a bow.

Guillaume, who was in great haste to start, did not notice that the

marquis, despite his apparent courtesy, refrained from offering his hand

to the Spaniard, who dared not ask leave to touch his.

XXX

No sooner were they in the saddle than the marquis, turning to Adamas,

said with much excitement:

"Quickly, my gorget, my helmet, my weapons, my horse and two men!"

"Everything is ready, monsieur," Adamas replied. "Master Jovelin advised

us to prepare everything, saying that if Monsieur d'Ars went away again

to-night, you would escort him. But for what purpose?"

"You shall know when I return," said the marquis, going up to his

chamber to don his armor. "Was care taken to saddle the horses in the

small stable, so that only the men who are to accompany me will know of

our departure?"

"Yes, monsieur, I myself looked to it."

"Are you going very far?" cried Mario, who had just supped with Mercedes

and was returning to his bedroom.

"No, my son, I am not going far. I shall return in two short hours. You

must sleep quietly. Come quickly and kiss me!"

"Oh! how handsome you are!" said Mario, artlessly. "Are you going to La

Motte-Seuilly again?"

"No, no, I am going to dance at a ball," the marquis replied with a

smile.

"Take me, so that I can see you dance," said the child.

"I cannot; but be patient, my little cupid, for after to-morrow I will

not take a step without you."

When the old nobleman had donned his little cap of yellow leather

striped with silver, with an inner lining of iron, and adorned with long

plumes drooping over his shoulder; when he was arrayed in his short

military cloak, his long sword, and his gorget of shining steel buckled

beneath his lace ruff, Adamas could vow, without flattery, that he had

an air of grandeur, especially as the excitement of the evening had

caused his paint to disappear, so that he wore almost his natural face,

by no means that of a popinjay.

"Now you are ready, monsieur," said Adamas. "But am I not to go with

you?"

"No, my friend; you will close all the doors of my pavilion and pass the

evening with my son. If he falls asleep, you will make up a camp-bed for

him with cushions. I desire to find him here when I return; and now,

hold a light for me, I want to talk with Master Jovelin in the salon."

He kissed Mario several times with deep emotion, and went down to the

lower floor.

"What have you determined upon and where are you going?" Lucilio's

expressive eyes inquired.

"I am going to Ars to finish the investigation. And after that, eh?

After that, if there is occasion to do so, I shall concert measures with

Guillaume to prevent the traitor's escape, and return and advise with

you as to our next move. _Au revoir_ for a time, my dear friend."

Lucilio sighed as he looked after the marquis. He seemed to him to be

intent upon some more serious project than he had admitted in his

programme.

While the marquis, without haste, was making his preparations for

departure, Guillaume and D'Alvimar, the latter attended by Sancho, the

other by his escort of four men-at-arms, were riding slowly toward the

château of Ars, by the lower road; that is to say, the road that leaves

the plateau of Le Chaumois on the right and passes quite near La

Châtre.

As the moon had not risen, and Guillaume's horses were very tired, they

could not travel very quickly.

D'Alvimar took advantage of this circumstance to ride a little in

advance with his squire, as if involuntarily, because their horses were

fresher. Then, slackening his pace, he said:

"Sancho, you did not leave anything belonging to me at Briantes?"

"I never forget anything, Antonio."

"Yes, you do; you forget daggers and leave them in the bodies of the

people you kill."

"That reproach again?"

"I have my reasons for making it to-day. My horse no longer goes lame,

but do you think he is in condition to take a long journey to-night?"

"Yes. What is there new?"

"Listen carefully and try to understand quickly. The _peddler_ was a

gentleman, the Marquis de Bois-Doré's brother. The knife that you used

is in that old man's possession. He has sworn vengeance, and he accuses

us on the testimony of some witness, I know not whom."

"The Moorish woman."

"Why the Moorish woman?"

"Because those accursed creatures always bring misfortune."

"If you have no other reason----"

"I have others; I will tell you what they are."

"Yes, later. We must consider now how we are to leave this neighborhood

without any further explanation with that old idiot. I told him enough

to induce him to be patient. He expects me to-morrow."

"For a duel?"

"No; he is too old!"

"But he is very cunning; are you anxious to rot in some dungeon in his

château? No matter, I will go there with you, if you go."

"I shall not go. A certain prophecy makes me very prudent. When we are

within a short distance of that little town of which you see the lights

yonder, leave the escort, disappear, and return a quarter of an hour

later and say that someone in the town handed you a letter for me. I

will go to the château of Ars before reading it, but, as soon as I have

read it, I will say to Monsieur d'Ars that I must go away at once. Do

you understand?"

"I understand."

"Let us wait for Monsieur d'Ars then, and display no haste."

When honest Bois-Doré, armed to the teeth and firmly seated on the

stately Rosidor, had passed the confines of the village of Briantes, he

discovered Adamas, mounted on a little hackney of placid disposition,

ambling at his side.

"What! is that you, master rebel?" he said, in a tone which did not

succeed in being angry; "did I not forbid you to follow me and order you

to keep watch over my heir?"

"Your heir is well guarded, monsieur; Master Jovelin gave me his word

not to leave him, and, moreover, I do not see that he incurs any risk in

your château, now that the enemy has left it and we are charging upon

him."

"I know that we are the ones who are in danger now, Adamas, and that is

why I did not want you here, for you are old and broken, and besides,

you never were a great warrior."

"It is true, monsieur, that I am not overfond of receiving blows, but I

like to deal them when I can. I am no longer a young man; but if I am

not quick of foot, I have a sharp eye, and I propose to see that you

don't fall into any ambush. That is why I have brought two more men with

me, who will overtake us in three minutes. Besides, I should have gone

mad to have to wait for you, knowing nothing and doing nothing. By the

way, my dear master, where are we going and what are we going to do?"

"You will soon see, my friend, you will soon see! But let us make haste.

We have no time to lose if we would overtake them half way to Ars."

They urged their horses to a gallop, and in less than a quarter of an

hour came in sight of Guillaume and his escort, who were still riding

very slowly.

The moon was rising and shone on the weapons of the horsemen.

They had reached a spot then and now called La Rochaille, a spot not far

from numerous houses to-day, but in those days completely deserted and

barren.

The road was on a slope, with a small ravine on one side, and on the

other a hill-top strewn with great gray boulders, with an occasional

stunted chestnut tree growing among them. The place bore a bad name; the

peasants have always had superstitious ideas concerning the boulders,

perhaps because they vaguely attribute their presence to the efforts of

the demons of ancient Gaul, perhaps because they believe that they fell

from heaven to destroy the worship of those wicked demons.

The marquis ordered his little troop to halt before it had been

discovered by Guillaume and his men, and rode forward alone at full

speed, intending to bar his young kinsman's passage.

When they heard the noise of the galloping hoofs, Guillaume and

D'Alvimar turned, the former perfectly calm, supposing that it was some

frightened traveller, the latter sorely perturbed, and still dwelling on

the prediction which the events of that evening seemed to confirm and to

hasten to its fulfilment.

When Bois-Doré passed on the left of the escort, Guillaume did not

recognize him in his military costume; but D'Alvimar recognized him by

the throbbing of his agitated heart; and old Sancho, warned by a similar

sensation, rode nearer to him.

Their anxiety was dispelled when Bois-Doré rode on without speaking to

them. They concluded then that it was not he. But when he drew rein and

wheeled about with his horse's head almost touching theirs, they glanced

at each other and instinctively drew close together.

"What does this mean, monsieur?" said Guillaume, taking one of his

pistols from the holster at his saddlebow. "Who are you and what do you

want?"

But before Bois-Doré had time to reply, a pistol was discharged between

them, and the ball grazed the marquis's cap, as he, seeing Sancho's

movement to murder him, hastily stooped, crying:

"It is I, Guillaume!"

"Ten thousand devils!" cried Guillaume in dismay; "who fired on the

marquis? In heaven's name, marquis, are you hit?"

"Not a scratch," replied Bois-Doré; "but I must say that you have some

vile hounds in your party, to fire on a single man before they know

whether he is friend or foe!"

"You are right, and I will do justice on them instantly," rejoined the

wrathful young man. "Miserable knaves, which of you fired on the best

man in the realm?"

"Not I! nor I! nor I! nor I!" cried Monsieur d'Ars's four servants with

one voice.

"No, no!" said the marquis, "none of these honest fellows would have

done such a thing. I saw the man who fired the shot, and there he is!"

As he spoke, Bois-Doré, with a dexterity, agility and force worthy of

his best days, struck Sancho across the face with his whip, and, as the

assassin put his hands to his eyes, he seized him by the collar, and,

dragging him from his saddle, threw him to the ground and lashed his

horse, which galloped away and disappeared in the direction of Briantes.

At the same instant the marquis's four men, disregarding his orders to

await a summons from him, rode up at full speed, with Adamas, in whom

the report of the pistol and the sight of the flying horse had aroused

the keenest anxiety.

"Ah! here you are," said the marquis. "Very good; pick up yonder

unhorsed cavalier; he belongs to me, as I have the _droit d'épave_[22]

on this road. He is my prisoner. Bind him; there is reason to distrust

his hands."

[Footnote 22: That is to say, the right of the lord of the manor to

claim all property found on his domain, to which nobody can prove

title.]

XXXI

While the colossal charioteer, Aristandre, bound Sancho's hands--he was

still dazed by his fall--and stripped him of his arms, D'Alvimar emerged

at last from the stupor caused by this swiftly enacted scene.

For an instant he had thought of abandoning his ill-omened confederate

to Bois-Doré's wrath; but when he saw him treated so roughly because he

had once more risked his life for him, a remnant of pride and shame

compelled him to remonstrate.

"I can understand, messire," he said, "that you are angered by the

stupidity of that old man, who was asleep in his saddle, and being

awakened by a sudden shock, thought that he was attacked by a band of

robbers. He certainly deserves punishment, but not to be treated as a

prisoner within your seignioral jurisdiction; for he belongs to me, and

it is my prerogative and mine alone to punish him for the insult he

offered you."

"Do you call that an insult, Monsieur de Villareal?" retorted the

marquis in a tone of contempt. "But it is not with you that I have to

deal, but with my friend and kinsman Guillaume d'Ars."

"I will permit no explanation," rejoined D'Alvimar with feigned passion,

"until my servant is restored to me, and if you desire a duel----"

"Listen to me, Guillaume," said Bois-Doré.

"No, no one shall listen to you," shouted D'Alvimar, trying to release

his horse, which Guillaume, having taken his stand between him and

Bois-Doré, was holding in order to prevent a conflict. "Monsieur d'Ars,

I am your friend and your guest, you invited me to visit you and made me

welcome; you promised me loyal assistance on every occasion; you will

not allow me to be outraged, even by a member of your family. Under such

circumstances, I am the one to whom you owe support and fair play, even

against your own brother."

"I am aware of it," replied Guillaume, "and it shall be so. But calm

yourself first of all, and allow Monsieur de Bois-Doré to speak. I know

him well enough to be sure of his courtesy to you and his generous

treatment of your servant. Make due allowance for a moment of anger; it

is the first time I have ever seen him so wrathful, and, although he has

good reason, I am certain that I can pacify him. Come, come, be quiet,

my dear fellow! You are in a passion too; but you are the younger, and

my cousin is the insulted party. I will confess that, if he had received

the slightest scratch, I would have killed your servant on the spot,

though I had to give you satisfaction afterward."

"But what the devil, monsieur!" cried D'Alvimar, still hoping to avoid

the impending explanation by a quarrel, and, if necessary, by a scuffle,

"wherein was my servant at fault, I pray to know? What sort of a caprice

was it that induced monsieur le marquis to ride by us without making

himself known, and then to block our road, at the risk of being taken

for a lunatic? Did not you yourself seize your pistol and shout _qui

vive_?"

"To be sure; but I should not have fired without awaiting a reply, nor

would you, I imagine, and you cannot excuse your servant's stupid or

evil act. Come, be calm. If you wish me to succeed in arranging the

affair to your honor and satisfaction, do not make it impossible by your

violence."

While D'Alvimar continued to argue vehemently, and the marquis to listen

with entire tranquillity, Adamas, anxious concerning the result of the

affair, had spoken to Guillaume's men upon his own authority. He had

told them all that he knew, and they had sworn that in case Monsieur

d'Ars should feel compelled to order them to defend Monsieur D'Alvimar

against the Bois-Doré party, they would only pretend to fight, and

would leave the field clear for anybody whose right it was, to deal out

justice to the assassins.

All the men in both parties were relations or friends to one another,

and they were in no wise inclined to exchange blows for love of a

foreigner, whether guilty or under suspicion only.

Thus the time that D'Alvimar strove to gain by his remonstrances turned

against him; and when Guillaume, annoyed and disgusted by his obstinacy,

turned his back on him to go to talk with the marquis a few steps away,

D'Alvimar was at once surrounded by the servants of the latter, without

the slightest opposition on the part of Guillaume's men.

Thereupon he became very seriously alarmed and glanced about him,

estimating the slight chance that remained of successful flight, unless

he were resigned to risk the loss of honor or of life in the attempt.

But hope revived when he heard Guillaume, to whom Bois-Doré had briefly

recounted his grievances, refuse to believe that he was not misled by

deceptive appearances.

"Monsieur de Villareal?" he said. "That is utterly impossible, and I

should have had to see it with my own eyes to believe it. Now, as you

did not see it, and as you must have been deceived by false reports,

permit me to defend this gentleman's honor, and do not think, monsieur

and dear cousin, that, deeply as I respect you, I will allow a friend

who has placed himself under my protection to be insulted and outraged

without proofs. Moreover, you have not that right, for every gentleman

is subject to the king's justice alone. So calm your excited nerves, I

implore you, and allow me to return home, where you know that I am very

anxious to be."

"I am not excited," rejoined Bois-Doré, raising his voice and with an

air of dignity that Guillaume had never seen him assume, "and I

anticipated your reply, my good friend and cousin. It is such a reply as

I should make in your place, and I find no fault with it. Having

expected that you would act as you have done, I determined to make my

conduct conform to the consideration which I owe you, and that is why

you see me here, halfway between our respective abodes, on neutral,

public ground. To be sure I have some rights over this road; but three

steps away, among yonder old rocks, I am neither on your property nor

mine. Know therefore that I have determined to fight a duel to the death

with this traitor, who cannot refuse to fight with me, since I have

designedly assaulted and insulted him in the person of his servant, and

since I do at this moment insult and challenge him in his own person,

branding him before God, before you and before the honest fellows who

attend us, as a cowardly and despicable murderer! I do not think that

you can justly take it ill of me that I do what I am doing; for I beg

you to observe that, so long as you and he were in my house, I refrained

from anything approaching insult or bad temper, wherein I kept my

promise to be a loyal host to him; and I beg you to observe also that I

took my measures to meet you in the open fields, in order to avoid doing

violence under your roof, for I would not for anything in the world have

imposed upon you the necessity of bearing aid to this vile creature.

Lastly, my cousin, I beg you to consider this, which is the greatest

sacrifice I can make to you: instead of having him beaten to death by my

servants, as he deserves, I myself, a nobleman, deserving of my rank,

stoop to measure swords with a cutthroat of the vilest sort. Were it not

for the friendship with which you honor me, I would have thrown him into

an underground dungeon; but, desirous to show my respect for you, even

in the error into which you have fallen with regard to him, I renounce

all my honorable privileges, to fight him, a vile, degraded creature,

with the weapons of men of honor.--I have said what I have to say, and

you can make no further objection. Be his second, unworthy as he is of

your kindness; Adamas will be mine. I will content myself with the aid

of that honest man, since in such an affair there can be no question of

a combat between the seconds."

"Assuredly," cried Guillaume, deeply moved by the old man's greatness of

heart, "conduct more loyal than yours cannot be imagined, my cousin,

and, in view of the suspicions you entertain, you display such

generosity as is rarely seen. But those suspicions being unfounded----"

"It is no longer a question of suspicions," replied the marquis, "since

you do not choose to listen to them; I insult one of your friends, and I

fancy that you would not consider as a friend a man capable of shrinking

from a combat."

"Surely not!" cried Guillaume; "but I will not permit this duel, which

does not befit your years, my cousin! I would prefer to fight in your

stead. Come, will you accept my promise? I promise to avenge your

brother's death with my own hand if you succeed in proving incontestably

that Monsieur D'Alvimar was the dastardly and wicked author thereof.

Wait until to-morrow, and I will constitute myself justiciary of my

family, as my duty to you demands."

Guillaume's impulse was worthy of the marquis's noble heart; but, by

letting slip an allusion to his years, Guillaume had mortified him

exceedingly.

"My cousin," he said, recurring to that puerility of mind which

contrasted so strongly with the nobility of his instincts, "you take me

for an old _Signor Pantaleone_, with a rusty sword and a trembling hand.

Before consigning me to crutches, remember, I beg, the consideration I

have shown you, which does not deserve the affront you put upon me by

offering to avenge my dearest brother's execrable murder in my stead.

Come, it seems to me that we have had words enough, and my patience is

exhausted. Your Monsieur de Villareal has more than I, for he listens to

all this without finding a word to say."

Guillaume saw that matters had gone so far that any reconciliation was

impossible; and, as he agreed with the marquis that D'Alvimar had

suddenly become much too patient, he turned to him and said sharply:

"Come, my dear fellow, why do you not answer, I will not say this

challenge, which has no just foundation, but a charge which you surely

cannot deserve?"

D'Alvimar had reflected during the discussion. He affected a disdainful

and satirical calmness.

"I accept the challenge, monsieur," he replied, "and I do not think that

I deserve great credit for so doing, being, as you know, most expert in

the use of all weapons. As for the accusation, it is so absurd and

unjust that I am waiting for you yourself to explain it to me before

disproving it; for I do not know as yet what the marquis has said to you

about me, as he whispered it in your ear, and I desire him to repeat it

aloud."

"I am quite willing, and it will not take long," retorted Bois-Doré. "I

said that you were a brigand, an assassin and a thief. You desire more,

but I can find nothing worse to say of you than the bare truth."

"You pay me strange compliments, monsieur le marquis!" said the Spaniard

coolly. "You have already regaled me, under your own roof, with a

lugubrious tale wherein you were pleased to represent me as the slayer

of your brother. Whether I am or not, I do not know, as I told you; I

simply know that I bade my servant kill a man dressed as a peddler, who

was carrying away by force a lady whose defence I took upon myself, as I

told you, and whose honor I avenged."

"Oho!" cried the marquis, "that is your text now, is it? The lady who

was flying with my brother was abducted against her will, and you don't

remember saying that she was your----"

"Lower, monsieur, I beg you. If Monsieur d'Ars will kindly listen to me

a few steps away from here, I will tell him who that woman was, unless

you prefer to vilify and besmirch her name before your servants."

"My servants are better men than you and yours, monsieur! No matter! I

am exceedingly desirous that you should impart your secret to Monsieur

d'Ars, but in my presence, as you have already given me one version of

it."

The three walked away from the group, and the marquis spoke first.

"Come," he said, "explain yourself! You allege as your defence that that

woman was your sister!"

"And do you, monsieur," retorted D'Alvimar, "propose to vent your

factitious rage by giving me the lie again?"

"By no means, monsieur. I ask you to tell us your sister's name; for it

seems that your own name is not Villareal."

"Why so, monsieur?"

"Because I know it now. Dare to contradict me before Monsieur d'Ars,

whom you are also deceiving by an assumed name!"

"No, no!" said Guillaume; "monsieur is concealing his identity under one

of his family names, and I know perfectly well the name he usually

bears."

"In that case, cousin, let him say what it is, and I swear that, if it

proves to be the same as my deceased sister-in-law's, I will retire with

apologies to both of you."

"And I refuse to tell it," said D'Alvimar. "I supposed that between

gentlemen a simple assertion should suffice; but you insult me without

pause or prudence. A duel is what you seek, and your wish shall be

gratified."

"No! a hundred times no!" cried Guillaume. "Let us have done with this;

and as nothing more is necessary than to tell the marquis your name to

induce him to withdraw in peace, I----"

"I beg you not to forget," interposed D'Alvimar, "that you expose

me----"

"No! my cousin is too honorable a man to betray you to your enemies.

Understand, marquis, and I place this information under the safeguard of

your honor, that monsieur's name is Sciarra d'Alvimar."

"Oho!" rejoined the marquis with a sneer. "So monsieur's initials happen

to be identical with those of the stamp of the Salamanca factory?"

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing! I am simply nailing another of monsieur's lies as I pass; but

this one is so trifling compared with the others----"

"What others? Come, come, marquis, you are too persistent!"

"Hush, Guillaume!" said D'Alvimar, still affecting a disdainful

attitude. "This must end in a sword thrust. We are simply wasting time."

"Ah! but I am not in so much haste now," rejoined the marquis. "I insist

upon knowing the baptismal name and the family name of the sister of

Monsieur de Villareal, de Sciarra and d'Alvimar. I know that the

Spaniards have many names; but if he will tell me simply that lady's

real name, her family name----"

"If you know it," retorted D'Alvimar, "your persistence in making me

tell it is an additional insult."

"Oh! do not take it so, D'Alvimar," cried Guillaume testily. "Give her

your own name, unless you propose that we shall pass the night here!"

"Nay, cousin," said the marquis; "I myself will supply this mysterious

name. Monsieur de Villareal's alleged sister was called Julie de

Sandoval."

"Well, why not, monsieur?" said D'Alvimar, seizing eagerly upon what he

believed to be a monstrous blunder on the old man's part. "I did not

wish to mention that name. It was not becoming in me to reveal it, and

I thought that you did not know it. Since you yourself, by asserting

that to be the fact, have been guilty of one of those falsehoods which

you rebuke so sharply in others, let me tell you, monsieur, that Julie

de Sandoval was my mother's daughter, by her first husband."

"In that case, monsieur," replied Bois-Doré uncovering, "I am ready to

withdraw, and to apologize for my violence, if you will swear to me on

your honor that you recognized your half-sister, Julie de Sandoval,

under her veil, at the tavern of----"

"I swear it to satisfy you. Indeed, I saw her without her veil in that

tavern."

"For the third time--pardon my persistence, I owe it to my brother's

memory--for the third time, it was really your sister, Julie de

Sandoval? The ring which she wore on her finger and is now on mine, and

which bears that name in full, can have belonged to no other than her?

You swear it?"

"I swear it! Are you satisfied?"

"Stay! there is a crest on the bezel of this ring; _a shield azure with

a head or_. Are those the arms of the Sandovals of your family?"

"Yes, monsieur, the very same."

"Then, monsieur," said Bois-Doré, replacing his cap, "I declare once

more that you have lied like the impudent dastard that you are; for I

have been making sport of you: your alleged sister's ring bears the name

of Maria de Merida, and the arms are simple with a cross argent. I can

prove it."

XXXII

Guillaume was shaken; but D'Alvimar reflected rapidly.

The moon, even though it had been much brighter, would not have enabled

one to see the tiny letters and microscopic crest engraved in a ring,

and in those times people had not, as they have to-day, a light all

ready in the pocket.

It was necessary therefore to postpone to some other time the

examination of this evidence. The only course for the culprit to adopt

was to seek, not to avoid, a duel. What he dreaded was that they would

deny him that honorable chance of escape, and that he would be made a

prisoner of the marquis or of the provincial authorities.

He hurriedly led Guillaume aside and said to him, with a forced laugh:

"I am fairly caught. I attempted to be good-natured, as you requested,

in order to put an end to the discussion and to get rid of this old

lunatic. I said everything that he tried to make me say, and now his

caprice is taking another flight, in which I cannot follow it. It is all

my fault; I ought to have told you, immediately on leaving his house,

that he has been mad for two days; witness the fact that he asked for

Madame de Beuvre's hand yesterday, as others can tell you, and that all

this day he has been inventing the most extraordinary fables concerning

his brother's death, taking sometimes me, sometimes his mute, sometimes

his little dog for the murderer. I was unable to avoid coming to blows

with him except by inventing tales which served as small change for his;

but he did not calm down until you arrived."

"Why didn't you tell me all this?" exclaimed Guillaume.

"I did not wish to complain of the vexations I had endured in his

company; you would have thought that I meant to reproach you for leaving

me there. Now, there is only one way to have done with it. Let me fight

With him."

"With an old man and a madman? I cannot permit it."

"Come, come, Guillaume," exclaimed Bois-Doré, impatiently, "are you

ready now to let me avenge my wrongs, and must I do Monsieur d'Alvimar

the honor of striking him, in order to rouse him?"

"We are at your service, monsieur," replied D'Alvimar, shrugging his

shoulders. "Come, my dear fellow," he said in a low tone to Guillaume,

"you see that it must be! Don't be afraid! I will soon bring this old

automaton to reason, and I promise you to strike his sword out of his

hand as many times as you please. I will undertake to tire him out so

effectually that he will want to hurry home and go to bed, and to-morrow

we will laugh over the adventure."

Guillaume was reassured by his merriment.

"I am glad to find you in the proper mood," he said in an undertone,

"and I warn you that in putting forth your skill with yonder old man,

you would not act a gallant part, and would cause me great pain. I

believe that he is mad, but that is an additional reason for using your

science with moderation and sending him home with no greater hurt than

lame muscles."

Guillaume knew, however, that Bois-Doré was very strong in fencing, But

his was an antiquated method which younger men disdained, and he knew,

also, that while the marquis's wrist was still supple, he was not firm

enough on his legs to hold out more than two or three minutes. Moreover,

D'Alvimar was exceedingly expert; so he constantly exhorted him to

magnanimity.