A YOUNG KNIGHT-ERRANT.
I would gladly have left the two together, and gone straight into the
house. I was eager now to discharge the errand on which I had come so
far; and apart from this I had no liking for the priest or wish to
overhear his talk. His anger, however, was so patent, and the rudeness
with which he treated Madame d'O so pronounced that I felt I could not
leave her with him unless she should dismiss me. So I stood patiently
enough--and awkwardly enough too, I daresay--by the door while they
talked on in subdued tones. Nevertheless, I felt heartily glad when at
length, the discussion ending Madame came back to me. I offered her my
arm to help her over the wooden foot of the side gate. She laid her
hand on it, but she stood still.
"M. de Caylus," she said; and at that stopped. Naturally I looked at
her, and our eyes met. Hers brown and beautiful, shining in the light
of the lamp overhead looked into mine. Her lips were half parted, and
one fair tress of hair had escaped from her hood. "M. de Caylus, will
you do me a favour," she resumed, softly, "a favour for which I shall
always be grateful?"
I sighed. "Madame," I said earnestly, for I felt the solemnity of the
occasion, "I swear that in ten minutes, if the task I now have in hand
be finished I will devote my life to your service. For the present--"
"Well, for the present? But it is the present I want, Master
Discretion."
"I must see M. de Pavannes! I am pledged to it," I ejaculated.
"To see M. de Pavannes?"
"Yes."
I was conscious that she was looking at me with eyes of doubt, almost
of suspicion.
"Why? Why?" she asked with evident surprise. "You have restored--and
nearly frightened me to death in doing it--his wife to her home; what
more do you want with him, most valiant knight-errant?"
"I must see him," I said firmly. I would have told her all and been
thankful, but the priest was within hearing--or barely out of it; and I
had seen too much pass between him and Bezers to be willing to say
anything before him.
"You must see M. de Pavannes?" she repeated, gazing at me.
"I must," I replied with decision.
"Then you shall. That is exactly what I am going to help you to do,"
she exclaimed. "He is not here. That is what is the matter. He went
out at nightfall seeking news of his wife, and crossed the river, the
Coadjutor says, to the Faubourg St. Germain. Now it is of the utmost
importance that he should return before morning--return here."
"But is he not here?" I said, finding all my calculations at fault.
"You are sure of it, Madame?"
"Quite sure," she answered rapidly. "Your brothers will have by this
time discovered the fact. Now, M. de Caylus, Pavannes must be brought
here before morning, not only for his wife's sake--though she will be
wild with anxiety--but also--"
"I know," I said, eagerly interrupting her, "for his own too! There is
a danger threatening him."
She turned swiftly, as if startled, and I turned, and we looked at the
priest. I thought we understood one another. "There is," she answered
softly, "and I would save him from that danger; but he will only be
safe, as I happen to know, here! Here, you understand! He must be
brought here before daybreak, M. de Caylus. He must! He must!" she
exclaimed, her beautiful features hardening with the earnestness of her
feelings. "And the Coadjutor cannot go. I cannot go. There is only
one man who can save him, and that is yourself. There is, above all,
not a moment to be lost."
My thoughts were in a whirl. Even as she spoke she began to walk back
the way we had come, her hand on my arm; and I, doubtful, and in a
confused way unwilling, went with her. I did not clearly understand
the position. I would have wished to go in and confer with Marie and
Croisette; but the juncture had occurred so quickly, and it might be
that time was as valuable as she said, and--well, it was hard for me, a
lad, to refuse her anything when she looked at me with appeal in her
eyes. I did manage to stammer, "But I do not know Paris. I could not
find my way, I am afraid, and it is night, Madame."
She released my arm and stopped. "Night!" she cried, with a scornful
ring in her voice. "Night! I thought you were a man, not a boy! You
are afraid!"
"Afraid," I said hotly; "we Cayluses are never afraid."
"Then I can tell you the way, if that be your only difficulty. We turn
here. Now, come in with me a moment," she continued, "and I will give
you something you will need--and your directions."
She had stopped at the door of a tall, narrow house, standing between
larger ones in a street which appeared to me to be more airy and
important than any I had yet seen. As she spoke, she rang the bell
once, twice, thrice. The silvery tinkle had scarcely died away the
third time before the door opened silently; I saw no one, but she drew
me into a narrow hall or passage. A taper in an embossed holder was
burning on a chest. She took it up, and telling me to follow her led
the way lightly up the stairs, and into a room, half-parlour,
half-bedroom--such a room as I had never seen before. It was richly
hung from ceiling to floor with blue silk, and lighted by the soft rays
of lamps shaded by Venetian globes of delicate hues. The scent of
cedar wood was in the air, and on the hearth in a velvet tray were some
tiny puppies. A dainty disorder reigned everywhere. On one table a
jewel-case stood open, on another lay some lace garments, two or three
masks and a fan. A gemmed riding-whip and a silver-hilted poniard hung
on the same peg. And, strangest of all, huddled away behind the door,
I espied a plain, black-sheathed sword, and a man's gauntlets.
She did not wait a moment, but went at once to the jewel-case. She took
from it a gold ring--a heavy seal ring. She held this out to me in the
most matter-of-fact way--scarcely turning, in fact. "Put it on your
finger," she said hurriedly. "If you are stopped by soldiers, or if
they will not give you a boat to cross the river, say boldly that you
are on the king's service. Call for the officer and show that ring.
Play the man. Bid him stop you at his peril!"
I hastily muttered my thanks, and she as hastily took something from a
drawer, and tore it into strips. Before I knew what she was doing she
was on her knees by me, fastening a white band of linen round my left
sleeve. Then she took my cap, and with the same precipitation fixed a
fragment of the stuff in it, in the form of a rough cross.
"There," she said. "Now, listen, M. de Caylus. There is more afoot
to-night than you know of. Those badges will help you across to St.
Germain, but the moment you land tear them off: Tear them off,
remember. They will help you no longer. You will come back by the
same boat, and will not need them. If you are seen to wear them as you
return, they will command no respect, but on the contrary will bring
you--and perhaps me into trouble."
"I understand," I said, "but--"
"You must ask no questions," she retorted, waving one snowy finger
before my eyes. "My knight-errant must have faith in me, as I have in
him; or he would not be here at this time of night, and alone with me.
But remember this also. When you meet Pavannes do not say you come
from me. Keep that in your mind; I will explain the reason afterwards.
Say merely that his wife is found, and is wild with anxiety about him.
If you say anything as to his danger he may refuse to come. Men are
obstinate."
I nodded a smiling assent, thinking I understood. At the same time I
permitted myself in my own mind a little discretion. Pavannes was not a
fool, and the name of the Vidame--but, however, I should see. I had
more to say to him than she knew of. Meanwhile she explained very
carefully the three turnings I had to take to reach the river, and the
wharf where boats most commonly lay, and the name of the house in which
I should find M. de Pavannes.
"He is at the Hotel de Bailli," she said. "And there, I think that is
all."
"No, not all," I said hardily. "There is one thing I have not got.
And that is a sword!"
She followed the direction of my eyes, started, and laughed--a little
oddly. But she fetched the weapon. "Take it, and do not," she urged,
"do not lose time. Do not mention me to Pavannes. Do not let the
white badges be seen as you return. That is really all. And now good
luck!" She gave me her hand to kiss. "Good luck, my knight-errant,
good luck--and come back to me soon!"
She smiled divinely, as it seemed to me, as she said these last words,
and the same smile followed me down stairs: for she leaned over the
stair-head with one of the lamps in her hand, and directed me how to
draw the bolts. I took one backward glance as I did so at the fair
stooping figure above me, the shining eyes, and tiny outstretched hand,
and then darting into the gloom I hurried on my way.
I was in a strange mood. A few minutes before I had been at Pavannes'
door, at the end of our journey; on the verge of success. I had been
within an ace, as I supposed at least, of executing my errand. I had
held the cup of success in my hand. And it had slipped. Now the
conflict had to be fought over again; the danger to be faced. It would
have been no more than natural if I had felt the disappointment keenly:
if I had almost despaired.
But it was otherwise--far otherwise. Never had my heart beat higher or
more proudly than as I now hurried through the streets, avoiding such
groups as were abroad in them, and intent only on observing the proper
turnings. Never in any moment of triumph in after days, in love or
war, did anything like the exhilaration, the energy, the spirit, of
those minutes come back to me. I had a woman's badge in my cap--for
the first time--the music of her voice in my ears. I had a magic ring
on my finger: a talisman on my arm. My sword was at my side again.
All round me lay a misty city of adventures, of danger and romance,
full of the richest and most beautiful possibilities; a city of real
witchery, such as I had read of in stories, through which those fairy
gifts and my right hand should guide me safely. I did not even regret
my brothers, or our separation. I was the eldest. It was fitting that
the cream of the enterprise should be reserved for me, Anne de Caylus.
And to what might it not lead? In fancy I saw myself already a duke and
peer of France--already I held the baton.
Yet while I exulted boyishly, I did not forget what I was about. I kept
my eyes open, and soon remarked that the number of people passing to
and fro in the dark streets had much increased within the last half
hour. The silence in which in groups or singly these figures stole by
me was very striking. I heard no brawling, fighting or singing; yet if
it were too late for these things, why were so many people up and
about? I began to count presently, and found that at least half of
those I met wore badges in their hats and on their arms, similar to
mine, and that they all moved with a businesslike air, as if bound for
some rendezvous.
I was not a fool, though I was young, and in some matters less quick
than Croisette. The hints which had been dropped by so many had not
been lost on me. "There is more afoot to-night than you know of!"
Madame d'O had said. And having eyes as well as ears I fully believed
it. Something was afoot. Something was going to happen in Paris
before morning. But what, I wondered. Could it be that a rebellion was
about to break out? If so I was on the king's service, and all was
well. I might even be going--and only eighteen--to make history! Or
was it only a brawl on a great scale between two parties of nobles? I
had heard of such things happening in Paris. Then--well I did not see
how I could act in that case. I must be guided by events.
I did not imagine anything else which it could be. That is the truth,
though it may need explanation. I was accustomed only to the milder
religious differences, the more evenly balanced parties of Quercy,
where the peace between the Catholics and Huguenots had been welcome to
all save a very few. I could not gauge therefore the fanaticism of the
Parisian populace, and lost count of the factor, which made possible
that which was going to happen--was going to happen in Paris before
daylight as surely as the sun was going to rise! I knew that the
Huguenot nobles were present in the city in great numbers, but it did
not occur to me that they could as a body be in danger. They were many
and powerful, and as was said, in favour with the king. They were
under the protection of the King of Navarre--France's brother-in-law of
a week, and the Prince of Conde; and though these princes were young,
Coligny the sagacious admiral was old, and not much the worse I had
learned for his wound. He at least was high in royal favour, a trusted
counsellor. Had not the king visited him on his sick-bed and sat by
him for an hour together?
Surely, I thought, if there were danger, these men would know of it.
And then the Huguenots' main enemy, Henri le Balafre, the splendid Duke
of Guise, "our great man," and "Lorraine," as the crowd called him--he,
it was rumoured, was in disgrace at court. In a word these things, to
say nothing of the peaceful and joyous occasion which had brought the
Huguenots to Paris, and which seemed to put treachery out of the
question, were more than enough to prevent me forecasting the event.
If for a moment, indeed, as I hurried along towards the river, anything
like the truth occurred to me, I put it from me. I say with pride I
put it from me as a thing impossible. For God forbid--one may speak
out the truth these forty years back--God forbid, say I, that all
Frenchmen should bear the blood guiltiness which came of other than
French brains, though French were the hands that did the work.
I was not greatly troubled by my forebodings therefore: and the state
of exaltation to which Madame d'O's confidence had raised my spirits
lasted until one of the narrow streets by the Louvre brought me
suddenly within sight of the river. Here faint moonlight bursting
momentarily through the clouds was shining on the placid surface of the
water. The fresh air played upon, and cooled my temples. And this
with the quiet scene so abruptly presented to me, gave check to my
thoughts, and somewhat sobered me.
At some distance to my left I could distinguish in the middle of the
river the pile of buildings which crowd the Ile de la Cite, and could
follow the nearer arm of the stream as it swept landwards of these,
closely hemmed in by houses, but unbroken as yet by the arches of the
Pont Neuf which I have lived to see built. Not far from me on my
right--indeed within a stone's throw--the bulky mass of the Louvre rose
dark and shapeless against the sky. Only a narrow open space--the
foreshore--separated me from the water; beyond which I could see an
irregular line of buildings, that no doubt formed the Faubourg St.
Germain.
I had been told that I should find stairs leading down to the water,
and boats moored at the foot of them, at this point. Accordingly I
walked quickly across the open space to a spot, where I made out a
couple of posts set up on the brink--doubtless to mark the landing
place.
I had not gone ten paces, however, out of the shadow, before I chanced
to look round, and discerned with an unpleasant eerie feeling three
figures detach themselves from it, and advance in a row behind me, so
as the better to cut off my retreat. I was not to succeed in my
enterprise too easily then. That was clear. Still I thought it better
to act as if I had not seen my followers, and collecting myself, I
walked as quickly as I could down to the steps. The three were by that
time close upon me--within striking distance almost. I turned abruptly
and confronted them.
"Who are you, and what do you want?" I said, eyeing them warily, my
hand on my sword.
They did not answer, but separated more widely so as to form a
half-circle: and one of them whistled. On the instant a knot of men
started out of the line of houses, and came quickly across the strip of
light towards us.
The position seemed serious. If I could have run indeed--but I glanced
round, and found escape in that fashion impossible. There were men
crouching on the steps behind me, between me and the river. I had
fallen into a trap. Indeed, there was nothing for it now but to do as
Madame had bidden me, and play the man boldly. I had the words still
ringing in my ears. I had enough of the excitement I had lately felt
still bounding in my veins to give nerve and daring. I folded my arms
and drew myself up.
"Knaves!" I said, with as much quiet contempt as I could muster, "you
mistake me. You do not know whom you have to deal with. Get me a boat,
and let two of you row me across. Hinder me, and your necks shall
answer for it--or your backs!"
A laugh and an oath of derision formed the only response, and before I
could add more, the larger group arrived, and joined the three.
"Who is it, Pierre?" asked one of these in a matter-of-fact way, which
showed I had not fallen amongst mere thieves.
The speaker seemed to be the leader of the band. He had a feather in
his bonnet, and I saw a steel corslet gleam under his cloak, when some
one held up a lanthorn to examine me the better. His trunk-hose were
striped with black, white, and green--the livery as I learned
afterwards of Monsieur the King's brother, the Duke of Anjou,
afterwards Henry the Third; then a close friend of the Duke of Guise,
and later his murderer. The captain spoke with a foreign accent, and
his complexion was dark to swarthiness. His eyes sparkled and flashed
like black beads. It was easy to see that he was an Italian.
"A gallant young cock enough," the soldier who had whistled answered;
"and not quite of the breed we expected." He held his lanthorn towards
me and pointed to the white badge on my sleeve. "It strikes me we have
caught a crow instead of a pigeon!"
"How comes this?" the Italian asked harshly, addressing me. "Who are
you? And why do you wish to cross the river at this time of night,
young sir?"
I acted on the inspiration of the moment. "Play the man boldly!"
Madame had said. I would: and I did with a vengeance. I sprang
forward and seizing the captain by the clasp of his cloak, shook him
violently, and flung him off with all my force, so that he reeled.
"Dog!" I exclaimed, advancing, as if I would seize him again. "Learn
how to speak to your betters! Am I to be stopped by such sweepings as
you? Hark ye, I am on the King's service!"
He fairly spluttered with rage. "More like the devil's!" he
exclaimed, pronouncing his words abominably, and fumbling vainly for
his weapon. "King's service or no service you do not insult Andrea
Pallavicini!"
I could only vindicate my daring by greater daring, and I saw this even
as, death staring me in the face, my heart seemed to stop. The man had
his mouth open and his hand raised to give an order which would
certainly have sent Anne de Caylus from the world, when I cried
passionately--it was my last chance, and I never wished to live more
strongly than at that moment--I cried passionately, "Andrea
Pallavicini, if such be your name, look at that! Look at that!" I
repeated, shaking my open hand with the ring on it before his face,
"and then hinder me if you dare! To-morrow if you have quarterings
enough, I will see to your quarrel! Now send me on my way, or your
fate be on your own head! Disobey--ay, do but hesitate--and I will
call on these very men of yours to cut you down!"
It was a bold throw, for I staked all on a talisman of which I did not
know the value! To me it was the turn of a die, for I had had no
leisure to look at the ring, and knew no more than a babe whose it was.
But the venture was as happy as desperate.
Andrea Pallavicini's expression--no pleasant one at the best of
times--changed on the instant. His face fell as he seized my hand, and
peered at the ring long and intently. Then he cast a quick glance of
suspicion at his men, of hatred at me. But I cared nothing for his
glance, or his hatred. I saw already that he had made up his mind to
obey the charm: and that for me was everything. "If you had shown
that to me a little earlier, young sir, it would, maybe, have been
better for both of us," he said, a surly menace in his voice. And
cursing his men for their stupidity he ordered two of them to unmoor a
boat.
Apparently the craft had been secured with more care than skill, for to
loosen it seemed to be a work of time. Meanwhile I stood waiting in
the midst of the group, anxious and yet exultant; an object of
curiosity, and yet curious myself. I heard the guards whisper
together, and caught such phrases as "It is the Duc d'Aumale."
"No, it is not D'Aumale. It is nothing like him."
"Well, he has the Duke's ring, fool!"
"The Duke's?"
"Ay."
"Then it is all right, God bless him!" This last was uttered with
extreme fervour.
I was conscious too of being the object of many respectful glances; and
had just bidden the men on the steps below me to be quick, when I
discovered with alarm three figures moving across the open space
towards us, and coming apparently from the same point from which
Pallavicini and his men had emerged.
In a moment I foresaw danger. "Now be quick there!" I cried again.
But scarcely had I spoken before I saw that it was impossible to get
afloat before these others came up, and I prepared to stand my ground
resolutely.
The first words, however, with which Pallavicini saluted the new-comers
scattered my fears. "Well, what the foul fiend do you want?" he
exclaimed rudely; and he rapped out half-a-dozen CORPOS before they
could answer him. "What have you brought him here for, when I left him
in the guard-house? Imbeciles!"
"Captain Pallavicini," interposed the midmost of the three, speaking
with patience--he was a man of about thirty, dressed with some
richness, though his clothes were now disordered as though by a
struggle--"I have induced these good men to bring me down--"
"Then," cried the captain, brutally interrupting him, "you have lost
your labour, Monsieur."
"You do not know me," replied the prisoner with sternness--a prisoner
he seemed to be. "You do not understand that I am a friend of the
Prince of Conde, and that--"
He would have said more, but the Italian again cut him short. "A fig
for the Prince of Conde!" he cried; "I understand my duty. You may as
well take things easily. You cannot cross, and you cannot go home, and
you cannot have any explanation; except that it is the King's will!
Explanation?" he grumbled, in a lower tone, "you will get it soon
enough, I warrant! Before you want it!"
"But there is a boat going to cross," said the other, controlling his
temper by an effort and speaking with dignity. "You told me that by
the King's order no one could cross; and you arrested me because,
having urgent need to visit St. Germain, I persisted. Now what does
this mean, Captain Pallavicini? Others are crossing. I ask what this
means?"
"Whatever you please, M. de Pavannes," the Italian retorted
contemptuously. "Explain it for yourself!"
I started as the name struck my ear, and at once cried out in surprise,
"M. de Pavannes!" Had I heard aright?
Apparently I had, for the prisoner turned to me with a bow. "Yes, sir,"
he said with dignity, "I am M. de Pavannes. I have not the honour of
knowing you, but you seem to be a gentleman." He cast a withering
glance at the captain as he said this. "Perhaps you will explain to me
why this violence has been done to me. If you can, I shall consider it
a favour; if not, pardon me."
I did not answer him at once, for a good reason--that every faculty I
had was bent on a close scrutiny of the man himself. He was fair, and
of a ruddy complexion. His beard was cut in the short pointed fashion
of the court; and in these respects he bore a kind of likeness, a
curious likeness, to Louis de Pavannes. But his figure was shorter and
stouter. He was less martial in bearing, with more of the air of a
scholar than a soldier. "You are related to M. Louis de Pavannes?" I
said, my heart beginning to beat with an odd excitement. I think I
foresaw already what was coming.
"I am Louis de Pavannes," he replied with impatience.
I stared at him in silence: thinking--thinking--thinking. And then I
said slowly, "You have a cousin of the same name?"
"I have."
"He fell prisoner to the Vicomte de Caylus at Moncontour?"
"He did," he answered curtly. "But what of that, sir?"
Again I did not answer--at once. The murder was out. I remembered, in
the dim fashion in which one remembers such things after the event,
that I had heard Louis de Pavannes, when we first became acquainted
with him, mention this cousin of the same name; the head of a younger
branch. But our Louis living in Provence and the other in Normandy,
the distance between their homes, and the troubles of the times had
loosened a tie which their common religion might have strengthened.
They had scarcely ever seen one another. As Louis had spoken of his
namesake but once during his long stay with us, and I had not then
foreseen the connection to be formed between our families, it was no
wonder that in the course of months the chance word had passed out of
my head, and I had clean forgotten the subject of it. Here however, he
was before my eyes, and seeing him; I saw too what the discovery meant.
It meant a most joyful thing! a most wonderful thing which I longed to
tell Croisette and Marie. It meant that our Louis de Pavannes--my
cheek burned for my want of faith in him--was no villain after all, but
such a noble gentleman as we had always till this day thought him! It
meant that he was no court gallant bent on breaking a country heart for
sport, but Kit's own true lover! And--and it meant more--it meant that
he was yet in danger, and still ignorant of the vow that unchained
fiend Bezers had taken to have his life! In pursuing his namesake we
had been led astray, how sadly I only knew now! And had indeed lost
most precious time.
"Your wife, M. de Pavannes"--I began in haste, seeing the necessity of
explaining matters with the utmost quickness. "Your wife is--"
"Ah, my wife!" he cried interrupting me, with anxiety in his tone.
"What of her? You have seen her!"
"I have. She is safe at your house in the Rue de St. Merri."
"Thank Heaven for that!" he replied fervently. Before he could say
more Captain Andrea interrupted us. I could see that his suspicions
were aroused afresh. He pushed rudely between us, and addressing me
said, "Now, young sir, your boat is ready."
"My boat?" I answered, while I rapidly considered the situation. Of
course I did not want to cross the river now. No doubt Pavannes--this
Pavannes--could guide me to Louis' address. "My boat?"
"Yes, it is waiting," the Italian replied, his black eyes roving from
one to the other of us.
"Then let it wait!" I answered haughtily, speaking with an assumption
of anger. "Plague upon you for interrupting us! I shall not cross the
river now. This gentleman can give me the information I want. I shall
take him back with me."
"To whom?"
"To whom? To those who sent me, sirrah!"
I thundered. "You do not seem to be much in the Duke's confidence,
captain," I went on; "now take a word of advice from me! There is
nothing: so easily cast off as an over-officious servant! He goes too
far--and he goes like an old glove! An old glove," I repeated grimly,
sneering in his face, "which saves the hand and suffers itself. Beware
of too much zeal, Captain Pallavicini! It is a dangerous thing!"
He turned pale with anger at being thus treated by a beardless boy.
But he faltered all the same. What I said was unpleasant, but the
bravo knew it was true.
I saw the impression I had made, and I turned to the soldiers standing
round.
"Bring here, my friends," I said, "M. de Pavannes' sword!"
One ran up to the guard house and brought it at once. They were
townsfolk, burgher guards or such like, and for some reason betrayed so
evident a respect for me, that I soberly believe they would have turned
on their temporary leader at my bidding. Pavannes took his sword, and
placed it under his arm. We both bowed ceremoniously to Pallavicini,
who scowled in response; and slowly, for I was afraid to show any signs
of haste, we walked across the moonlit space to the bottom of the
street by which I had come. There the gloom swallowed us up at once.
Pavannes touched my sleeve and stopped in the darkness.
"I beg to be allowed to thank you for your aid," he said with emotion,
turning and facing me. "Whom have I the honour of addressing?"
"M. Anne de Caylus, a friend of your cousin," I replied.
"Indeed?" he said "well, I thank you most heartily," and we embraced
with warmth.
"But I could have done little," I answered modestly, "on your behalf,
if it had not been for this ring."
"And the virtue of the ring lies in--"
"In--I am sure I cannot say in what!" I confessed. And then, in the
sympathy which the scene had naturally created between us, I forgot one
portion of my lady's commands and I added impulsively, "All I know is
that Madame d'O gave it me; and that it has done all, and more than all
she said it would."
"Who gave it to you?" he asked, grasping my arm so tightly as to hurt
me.
"Madame d'O," I repeated. It was too late to draw back now.
"That woman!" he ejaculated in a strange low whisper. "Is it
possible? That woman gave it you?"
I wandered what on earth he meant, surprise, scorn and dislike were so
blended in his tone. It even seemed to me that he drew off from me
somewhat. "Yes, M. de Pavannes," I replied, offended and indignant,
"It is so far possible that it is the truth; and more, I think you
would not so speak of this lady if you knew all; and that it was
through her your wife was to-day freed from those who were detaining
her, and taken safely home!"
"Ha!" he cried eagerly. "Then where has my wife been?"
"At the house of Mirepoix, the glover," I answered coldly, "in the Rue
Platriere. Do you know him? You do. Well, she was kept there a
prisoner, until we helped her to escape an hour or so ago."
He did not seem to comprehend even then. I could see little of his
face, but there was doubt and wonder in his tone when he spoke.
"Mirepoix the glover," he murmured. "He is an honest man enough,
though a Catholic. She was kept there! Who kept her there?"
"The Abbess of the Ursulines seems to have been at the bottom of it," I
explained, fretting with impatience. This wonder was misplaced, I
thought; and time was passing. "Madame d'O found out where she was," I
continued, "and took her home, and then sent me to fetch you, hearing
you had crossed the river. That is the story in brief."
"That woman sent you to fetch me?" he repeated again.
"Yes," I answered angrily. "She did, M. de Pavannes."
"Then," he said slowly, and with an air of solemn conviction which
could not but impress me, "there is a trap laid for me! She is the
worst, the most wicked, the vilest of women! If she sent you, this is
a trap! And my wife has fallen into it already! Heaven help her--and
me--if it be so!"