THE PACKET OF LETTERS
We were left alone together, the bronze satyr leering down upon us as
if in mockery. La Valentinois stood at the other end of the Terrace
surrounded by her Court, and ever and again there were whisperings
amongst them, and strange glances bent towards us. We might have been
plague-stricken, in such manner did all shrink from us.
"Mademoiselle," I said, "you have been too rash. Look!" And I glanced
at the group around Diane de Poitiers. She followed my eyes, and a
little smile played upon her lips.
"I care not, nor do I fear her."
"But, mademoiselle, there are others who fear for you, and that has
happened which you must hear. Not here! Come away from this, where we
will be secure from prying eyes."
For a little she seemed to hesitate, and then: "Very well, monsieur;
the air will, perhaps, be purer away from here."
So, side by side, we went down the steps together, and I felt, rather
than heard or saw, the mutterings and the glances that followed us.
On the other side of the lawn, facing the Ladies' Terrace and leading
towards the riding-school, is a walk hedged in with high shrubbery on
either hand. We followed this about half way up its length, and then
passing through a narrow wicket found ourselves in a part of the
gardens to which few, if any, of the Court ever went. Here, amidst a
bewildering maze of rose bushes running almost wild, stood an old oak.
There was a little clearing at its base, around which a rough seat was
placed; and here, sitting by her side, I told mademoiselle what I knew,
and of the crisis that had arrived.
Invisible ourselves, we could from where we were see the Gallery of
Apollo and the council hall; and as I ended a figure appeared at one of
the windows and waved a 'kerchief in the direction of the Ladies'
Terrace. It was the King.
"See!" and I pointed to the window, "there is the King, and you can
guess to whom he signals. Whilst we talk here the council is over, and
the peril is at hand."
She did not flinch nor change colour, for she was brave, but she rose
and looked steadily at the council room, where we could now see other
figures moving in the shadow behind the King. Then she turned to me.
I had risen too, and was standing beside her.
"Do you think they will begin at once?" she asked.
"I cannot say. They will undoubtedly begin as soon as they can."
"It is horrible! Can nothing be done? Oh! why am I so helpless? Why
was I not born a man?"
"Mademoiselle, the game is not lost yet. There is still safety before
you. I have told the Queen, and she knows of this plot, but is
powerless to stay the course of these vampires. She can and will, I
know, help you to fly. Leave this place, to-night if possible, and I
will see you to the Palatinate, or the Swiss cantons. They cannot
touch you there. Mademoiselle, you trusted me once before, trust me
again; I will not fail you."
Without a word she held out her hand, and I took it in mine. So we
stood for a little, neither speaking, and then she said:
"But I know not how to leave this place; it has a thousand eyes, a
thousand ears----"
"We must blind those eyes and make those ears deaf. This evening at
dusk come to this spot. I will arrange that either Le Brusquet or De
Lorgnac will meet you here and take you to the gate behind the
riding-school. I shall be in waiting there with horses, and we will be
free of the gates before even they know we are gone. We have more than
four hours yet before it grows dark. Think of it! Four hours to
prepare! We will beat them."
I spoke cheerily, though I well knew that all was hanging by a hair.
My words had their effect, and I saw the light of hope in her eyes; but
all at once she shrank from me and, covering her face with her hands,
sank back upon the seat.
I confess that I knew not what to do, or which way to turn, for if
mademoiselle's courage failed now it was fatal.
"Come," I said, "be brave. In a few hours you will be safe." And I
placed my hand on her shoulder. At my touch she collected herself, and
rose once again, her face pale, her eyes wet.
"Monsieur," she said, "I cannot take your offer. It is impossible."
"But why?" And I looked at her in blank astonishment.
"Listen!" And she spoke in low but quick accents. "Were I to avail
myself of this chance I know I should be safe, for the bravest heart in
France would be protecting me. But, monsieur, I should be saving
myself and leaving the others--my people, those of my own faith--to
die. I am a woman, and a woman may be forgiven weakness in this--for
death, and such a death, is horrible--but could I forgive myself? I
who knew, and fled, and left my people to die! Do you know who all are
in Paris? There are scores of them. There is kind old De Mouy, there
is Rochambeau, there is D'Albain, there are fifty more. Are they to
die? Besides these there are the poorer brethren, rich in nothing but
their faith. Are they to die? Can I leave them, without a word of
warning, to the torture, to the rack, to the slow death of the
estrapade?"
She stopped, her eyes all alight, her breath coming fast; but I made no
answer, and stood before her in silence.
"You have nothing to say," she went on--"nothing! Orrain, were you in
my place what would you do?"
"I am a man."
"And is honour less dear to a woman than to a man?"
I knew she was brave, but never before had I realised how brave and
strong; and, yielding to an impulse I could not resist, I bent down and
touched her hand with my lips.
"Mademoiselle," I said, "you have taught me what is right. You cannot
go thus. Your friends must be warned."
"I knew you would say that," she burst in; "I knew that nothing else
would come from you. Yes; they must be warned! A word here and there
would be enough if there were time; but there is not, and there is only
one way left."
"And that is?"
"I will tell you. Close to the Sorbonne, in a little street called the
Rue des Mathurins, which leads into the Rue St. Jacques, is a house
where my people meet to pray, and to-night all, if not, most of them,
will be there. This much I know. But where the house is exactly I do
not know, for I have never been to it. If we could get there we would
be in time to warn them."
"From whom did you hear this? It is necessary for me to know."
"From Montgomery de Lorges."
"The captain of the Archer Guard?"
"Yes; he is of us, and always has been."
"Then, mademoiselle, there is light in the black sky. I will warn your
friends; more we cannot do. And, since there are so many, I feel
confident that the plotters will not strike for a day or so. Our
warning will give those who can time to escape, and you and I will have
done all that can be done. In the meantime our original plan must be
carried out; but it is to a friend that I must trust you for a few
hours until I have given the warning and can join you----"
She stayed me with a gesture of her hands.
"Monsieur, why should I not go with you?"
For a moment I hesitated, and then it flashed upon me that it was the
best possible thing. After giving the warning there was nothing to
prevent our escaping at once.
"Very well, mademoiselle. Then meet me here at dusk. And now perhaps
it is time to go back."
We did not return as we came, but making for the Lime Walk, went along
it slowly, talking and planning many things. In the shade, on a seat
under one of the lime-trees, was a merry party of five or six people,
and as we came opposite them young De Lorges the page, who was of their
number, called out to us to join them; but, pointing at the Louvre, I
shook my head, and as we passed on I heard Mademoiselle Davila's voice
singing:
"J'aime mieux m'amie
O gai!
J'aime mieux m'aime
O gai!"
and a girlish voice, I know not whose it was, broke into a merry peal
of laughter. In spite of what was in my mind I could not help glancing
at my companion; but she was walking by my side as though she had not
seen or heard, and, perhaps, this was the case.
At the Ladies' Terrace we parted, and I hastened at once to seek Le
Brusquet. As luck would have it, I met both him and De Lorgnac face to
face as I was crossing the inner courtyard, and drawing them aside
explained matters to them in a few brief words. My chagrin may be
imagined when I heard that Montgomery de Lorges, from whom I hoped to
get further particulars of the house in the Mathurins, had left the
Louvre that afternoon for Fontainebleau to help in the arrangements for
a hunt there for the King. But Le Brusquet put heart into me.
"_Eh bien_," said he, "you cannot miss finding the house, as the
Mathurins is not a bowshot in length; but, in any case, whilst you go
and prepare for your departure I will try and find the secret of the
house out, and warn some who, I know, are of the new faith. To think
of a _prêche_ in the very shadow of the Sorbonne!" And he laughed to
himself.
"Le Brusquet is right," said De Lorgnac. "I too have some friends whom
I must warn. Have no fear that Mademoiselle de Paradis will have any
difficulty in keeping her tryst; I will see to that. Go now at once to
the Rue Tire Boudin and make you ready; we will stand by you to the
end."
I thanked these brave friends, and was about to turn away, when Le
Brusquet called out:
"Stay! I have one thing to ask you, Orrain."
"And that is?"
"You have still with you, I hope, a certain ring?"
"Vendôme's ring, or rather the ring of the King of Navarre, as we must
call him now. Yes; it is beneath this glove." And I held out my left
hand.
"May I see it for a moment?"
"Certainly!" And removing the glove I slipped off the ring and handed
it to him. He looked at it curiously, and said:
"I think its time has come."
"Is there anything you are holding back from me?"
"No; but I have a warning in my heart that you will need it. I am
superstitious enough never to neglect such a warning. Lend it to me
for to-day."
"With pleasure! But is the ring of any avail? Vendôme has forgotten
me. He hardly ever returns my salute when we meet----"
"The King of Navarre will at any rate pay this debt of the Duc de
Vendôme--I swear it," said Le Brusquet solemnly as he slipped the ring
on to his finger, and with that I left them.
On arrival at the Rue Tire Boudin I summoned Pierrebon, and informing
him of the state of affairs told him to have all in readiness for our
departure that night. This being over, and finding that I had still
over two hours before me, I retraced my steps to the Louvre. I went to
the tennis courts, where the King was playing a match against Monsieur
d'Aumale, and mingling amongst the onlookers sought to pick up as much
information as I could glean about the proceedings of the council held
that day. M. de Tolendal, who had been on guard in the council room,
said that there were only four there, and that amongst the four were De
Mouchy and Caraffa the Legate.
"It is not war they talked about, I am sure," he went on, "as neither
the Constable nor Vieilleville was present. I dare swear it was all
about those cursed Huguenots; but we will hear soon--ha! good stroke!"
And he turned from me towards the game.
Seeing that there was nothing to be picked up here I took myself off,
and after a little found myself upon the Ladies' Terrace. The
afternoon was hot, and the Terrace was deserted, but in the shade of
the hedgerow on the opposite side of the lawn a solitary figure was
seated looking over a small packet of letters. I looked, and saw it
was De Ganache himself. He had changed much from the day we first met.
His face was thin and sunken; there was a red spot on each cheek and a
fierce light in his hollow eyes. For a moment I stood watching him,
and then, having made up my mind, stepped up to him. As I approached
he stared at me with his livid glance and then rose slowly to his feet.
So deadly a hate shone on his face that for a second it came to me to
turn away and leave him to his fate; but, fallen as he was, I could not
let him go to his death without a word or a sign. So I walked straight
up to him.
"Monsieur, a word with you."
He simply looked at me. I saw his forehead flush hot, and he passed
his tongue over dry lips, and then, as if controlling himself with an
effort, he turned from me. But I called out:
"M. de Ganache, this is life and death. I have come to warn----"
He flung round on his heel and faced me once more, his hand on the hilt
of his poniard.
"Begone!" he said, "begone! else I may slay you where you stand!
I----" And his voice failed him, but his eyes glared like those of a
boar at bay.
"Monsieur," I said calmly, "fifty windows look down upon us, and there
may be a hundred eyes watching us. If you wish it, I will cross swords
with you with pleasure, but listen to what I say first. Your life, and
the lives of your friends of your faith, hang on a hair. The council
to-day has applied anew the edicts. As you value your life, get your
fastest horse and leave Paris at once."
"In what tavern have you heard this?" he sneered.
"Monsieur," I answered gravely, "this is no jest. If you care not to
take the warning yourself, give it to others. I myself will warn those
of your faith who meet to-night in the Rue des Mathurins. There may be
others you know of; give them at least a chance. As for yourself, you
have had yours."
What answer he would have made I know not, but at this moment a sharp
voice cut in upon us.
"_Eh bien_, Monsieur de Ganache! but it seems to me that Madame de
Valentinois signals to you from the window yonder."
There was a little rustling in the bushes, and Le Brusquet stepped out,
his ape perched upon his shoulder.
"Behold!" he said, "the crescent moon is already out." And he pointed
to a window overlooking the lawn, where a group of ladies stood
watching us.
"It must be to you, Monsieur le Vicomte, that madame signals," Le
Brusquet went on. "Orrain here is too ugly, and as for me, she loves
me no better than my ape."
With an oath De Ganache pushed past Le Brusquet and hurried across the
lawn, leaving us staring after him.
"He had his warning," said Le Brusquet. "I heard every word, and
thought it was time to step in ere he drew his poniard. The man is
mad! But what is this?" And stepping towards the seat he picked up
the small packet of letters that De Ganache was reading.
"They belong to De Ganache," I said; "he was reading them as I came up."
"In that case I will return them to monsieur with my own hands." And
Le Brusquet slipped the packet into his pocket. Then turning he took
me by the arm and led me off, telling me some absurd story, and
laughing loudly, until we had passed out of sight of the windows. Then
he stopped.
"Do not forget this," he said: "the fifth house on the right-hand side
of the Rue des Mathurins as you enter from the Rue St. Jacques."
"Thanks; I will not forget. However did you find out?"
"It is too long to tell, and I must return these papers to De Ganache."
So saying, he went off.