The Ladies Leave Paris.
We could still hear the hoarse shouts of the people, but the streets in
the direction of St. Denis were quiet, and the darkness prevented us
from being observed. As Marie had recovered her strength we walked
quickly, and finally arrived at the gate, where the Duke of Orleans had
stationed a double guard. The officer on duty regarded us with
suspicion, but I showed him the order, which he dared not disobey.
"You may pass, monsieur," said he with mocking politeness, "it is not
for me to disapprove of the Duke's friends."
The fellow's words roused my anger, and my face burned, but time was
too precious for me to quarrel with him. We had saved our lives, it is
true, but our plight was still miserable enough.
"We must find somewhere to sleep," said Madame Coutance, "and in the
morning we can hire a carriage. Marie is too tired to walk farther."
This was the best plan, but I knew nothing of St. Denis, and it was
only after a weary search that I secured accommodation for them in a
small inn. The place was dirty, and the landlord ugly enough to
frighten one, but Marie and her aunt behaved very bravely, making no
complaint. They retired to their room at once, while I kept guard
outside the door with loaded pistols and naked sword.
The next morning I learned the lesson that it is not always well to
judge by appearances. Touched by the ladies' distress, the innkeeper
did all he could to help me, and, through his assistance, I succeeded
in hiring a wretched cart to carry us a stage on our journey.
"I am sorry it is such a poor affair," said the man, "but there is not
a carriage in the place. It is strange how many people have left Paris
during the last few days. One would think the plague had broken out."
"The plague would have been less harmful," said I, remembering the
scene in the Rue Crillon.
In view of Le Tellier's note all this delay was extremely awkward, but
there was no help for it; I could not leave Marie and her aunt stranded
at St. Denis.
Madame Coutance laughed merrily at sight of the clumsy vehicle, and she
joked on my taste in choosing such an elegant equipage. However, we
made the inside fairly comfortable with rugs and cushions, and, having
paid the inn-keeper, I assisted the ladies to their seats and clambered
in after them. The driver, a stolid, thick-headed fellow, cracked his
whip, and we started off at a brisk trot, which, however, the horses
did not keep up long.
Hitherto there had been no opportunity to speak of my cousin's death,
but now I informed my companions of what had happened. Both were
deeply grieved at the news, Madame Coutance especially showing more
feeling than I should have expected.
"Did he die of his wound?" she asked.
"In a measure; but chiefly from the hardships endured through hiding
from Conde."
"The prince would have forgiven him!"
"On conditions; and Henri would have refused them. My cousin was not
the best of men, but he was loyal to his friends."
"You are right," exclaimed Madame Coutance warmly; "in many ways Henri
de Lalande was a gallant gentleman. And now, what are you going to do?"
"As soon as you reach Aunay I shall join the King's friends."
"Ah!" she exclaimed with a smile, "I know you are against the prince,
but I wish you success for yourself, and if you fall, well, the
battlefield is a fit resting-place for a gentleman of France."
"I shall pray for you, Albert," whispered Marie, "that you may come
safely through every danger. I hate all this fighting and bloodshed,
and wish the country could be at peace."
"It will be soon," I answered, and then for a while we journeyed in
silence.
About four o'clock in the afternoon we reached a large village, and the
driver pulled up at the principal inn. This was the end of his stage,
and though we offered him a handsome sum of money he refused to go a
yard farther. He declared that his horses required rest, which was
true enough, and that his master had ordered him to return to St. Denis
in the morning.
"We must make the best of it," exclaimed Madame Coutance; "I daresay we
can obtain some sort of accommodation for the night."
Our reception was far from encouraging, but when the innkeeper
discovered that we were not penniless, his manner changed. The ladies
were shown into the best room, a chamber was made ready for them, and
the servants received orders to prepare a good meal. All this was
extremely pleasant, but there was a greater slice of luck to follow.
As soon as I had explained the situation he offered to solve our
difficulty. A carriage? Certainly, he had the very thing, and a team
of beautiful horses as well. Of course it would be expensive, but
then, no doubt, monsieur would be willing to pay for the privilege.
Finally it was agreed that we should start at dawn, and I went to sleep
that night with a feeling of relief. It was barely light when we sat
down to breakfast, and the ladies shivered on going into the cold air,
but the carriage was comfortable, and, when the leathern coverings were
drawn down, warm.
"Decidedly an improvement on the open cart," exclaimed Madame Coutance,
as she leaned back against the cushions. "We ought to reach Aunay
before nightfall."
I earnestly hoped we should, as I was becoming uneasy concerning Le
Tellier's note. However, as nothing could be done until the ladies
were placed in safety, I endeavoured to dismiss the subject from my
mind, and to appear as pleasant as possible. There is no need to
linger over the details of the journey. We stopped two or three times
for food and rest, and at one place to change the horses, but we met
with no adventure of any kind, and arrived at the chateau about three
o'clock, quite two hours sooner than I had dared to hope.
"Home again," said Marie softly, as we entered the hall, "and I hope it
will be long before we leave it."
"Not until the prince rides triumphantly into Paris!" exclaimed her
aunt. "Why do you smile, M. de Lalande? The prince has already beaten
Mazarin, and he will make short work of the rest."
"Very likely, madame," I said, not wishing to be drawn into an
argument, but, remembering the note in my pocket, I greatly doubted if
the Cardinal were as completely overcome as his enemies believed.
It was a difficult matter to get away from Aunay that evening. The
ladies declared I was tired, and begged me to stay until the next day,
but this, though they were not aware of it, was out of the question.
Finding at last that I was resolved to depart, Madame Coutance insisted
on my wearing a plumed hat which had belonged to her husband, and told
me to choose the best saddle-horse in her stables.
"True," said she, with a charming smile, "you are an enemy to the
prince, but I do not forget that you are also one of my best friends."
[Transcriber's note: illustration missing from book]
The scene of my departure from the chateau is still very vivid in my
memory. It was evening, and the sky flushed red with the glories of
the setting sun. From afar came the tinkling of bells, the lowing of
kine, and the chatter of the serving-men. The ladies stood on the
terrace overlooking the fine park, and as I rode off they waved their
hands in farewell, and wished me God-speed on the journey.
I was half sorry to plunge again into the strife, but the beautiful
evening and the brisk ride soon restored my spirits. I wished Pillot
had been with me, not alone for the sake of his company, but for his
help also. However, I was young and strong, and having a certain
amount of confidence in myself rode on cheerily enough.
On the third evening after leaving the chateau I arrived at Rheims,
passing into the town just before the closing of the gates. The
streets were filled with people who wore an air of excitement as if
something was going forward. A number of soldiers loitered about in
groups, but whether they were the King's friends or Conde's I could not
determine, as they wore no distinguishing colours.
Riding slowly down one of the less frequented streets, I discovered an
inn which had every appearance of being clean and comfortable.
"This is the place to suit me," I said half aloud, and was proceeding
to dismount, when I caught sight of a man staring hard in my direction
from the window of the opposite house, and while I was talking to the
ostler the stranger had run down and clapped me on the back in the
heartiest manner. He looked rather like a soldier of fortune who had
fallen on evil times. His finery was distinctly faded, but he carried
a good sword, and seemed capable of using it. His face was tanned by
exposure to the weather, both cheeks bore the marks of sword-cuts, and
there was a scar on his forehead just above the left eye. Altogether
he appeared a far from desirable acquaintance.
"Henri, my boy," he cried, giving me another tremendous thwack, "how
came you here? Ah, you are a sly rascal! Plotting more mischief, eh?
Well, well, you are safe for me, though I am for the King."
The speaker rattled on at such a rate that I could scarcely manage to
put in, "Pardon me, monsieur, but you have made a mistake."
"A mistake?" he exclaimed. "_Peste!_ I must be growing old. My
eyesight is failing. Aren't you Henri de Lalande? You are very much
like him. Ah, no, I perceive now you are younger. He is an old
friend, but we see little of each other. I am in the King's service
and he is a Frondeur. But in private life, you know, eh?" and he gave
me a vigorous dig in the ribs, following it up by saying, "Perhaps
monsieur is a relative?"
I cannot say what my answer would have been, but just then I received
another shock. A few yards farther along, standing well back against
the wall, was a little man, evidently endeavouring to attract my
attention. Directly his attempt succeeded he placed a finger on his
closed lips, held it there a second or two, and vanished.
It was Pillot, and in my amazement I almost spoke the name aloud. How
did he get there? What mystery was afoot now?
Presently the stranger, who had been trying to account for the new
expression in my face, exclaimed, "Monsieur then is not a relative?"
"A relative," I answered vaguely, for the unexpected appearance of
Pillot had put the soldier's remarks out of my head altogether; "I wish
you would not pester me with your questions. I am tired and hungry,
and do not understand what you mean."
"I am sorry, monsieur," he said humbly; "I have few friends, and seeing
one of them, as I fancied, was carried away. Well, there, let it pass.
Time was when Captain Courcy could ruffle it with the best."
He really seemed so downhearted that I was ashamed of my brusque
behaviour, and exclaimed, "It is I who should ask pardon, monsieur, but
indeed, I am badly in want of food and rest: I have ridden far. Later,
perhaps, we shall meet again, when I am in better condition for
talking."
"It may be so, monsieur," and, saluting me with a courtly bow, he
turned and re-crossed the street, while I entered the inn and was
ushered into a private room.
"A good supper, landlord," I said, "the best you have in the house, and
while it is being prepared I will see to my horse."
"The servants will attend to the animal, monsieur," he answered; but it
has always been a fancy of mine that every rider should see that his
horse is made comfortable.
By the time I returned supper was ready, and I sat down to an ample
meal, which reminded me strangely of the one I had eaten in La Boule
d'Or on the night of my arrival in Paris. At that time, my purse was
nearly empty; now it was full almost to bursting--a welcome difference.
After supper I leaned back in my chair, musing over the strange event
that had occurred outside. But for one thing I should soon have
banished all thoughts of Captain Courcy from my mind. He was, I
imagined, a gentleman who, either through ill-luck or his own folly,
had come to grief in the world, and was at present reduced to borrowing
money from his acquaintances.
But if this were so, why had Pillot acted in such a strange manner?
Why, indeed, was he in Rheims at all? I had ordered him to proceed to
Aunay, which it was certain he had not done. I was still turning these
things over in my mind when the door was pushed open softly, and Pillot
himself entered. He glanced round the room cautiously, and finding me
alone closed the door behind him.
"Monsieur is in danger," said he quietly, and without wasting any time
in greeting; "his errand is known, and Conde's friends are tracking
him."
I gave a start of surprise, and thought instantly of the man who had
accosted me outside the inn; but Pillot, not allowing me time to speak,
continued, "You were unlucky in choosing this street, monsieur.
Captain Courcy with two others have ridden straight from Paris
expecting to overtake you on the road. They were unaware that you had
gone to Aunay, disguised in a blue over-all and a workman's cap."
"If Mazarin ever returns to power, Pillot, I will ask him to put you at
the head of police. How did you discover that secret?"
"It was whispered to me just after the funeral of monsieur's cousin.
Monsieur will be pleased to hear that the Abbe himself performed the
last rites."
"He could do little less, considering what my cousin had done for him.
But now, about this other business! Has Captain Courcy recognised me?"
"Yes, and he is at present informing his friends of the discovery. But
I had better begin at the beginning. After you had received the
note--oh, it is well known, monsieur!--this Courcy and two others of
his stamp were sent in pursuit. Concluding that you had gone straight
to Bruhl, they rode day and night, changing horses on the road, through
Rheims and almost as far as Mezieres. Naturally they were
unsuccessful, and, not knowing what else to do, they returned here."
"And you followed them?"
"As far as Rheims, but no farther. Knowing you had gone to Aunay, I
felt confident you could not be in front of us."
I sat drumming idly on the table, and wondering what was best to be
done. The most simple plan was to give Pillot the note, but then I had
faithfully promised Le Tellier that it should not go out of my
possession. I was in a hobble. This Courcy was evidently an old
campaigner, equally ready with his brain or sword. It would be hard to
outwit him, and I guessed that he was more than my match in a fight.
Suddenly Pillot astonished me by asking where I had hidden the note.
Perhaps it was foolish to trust one who had worked so hard for my
enemies, but somehow I felt no fear that he would play me false. He
had plotted willingly against Mazarin, but on the other hand he did not
love Conde, and was hardly likely to assist him. Remembering these
things, I answered without hesitation, "In my doublet."
"A poor hiding-place, monsieur," said he; "one always looks there
first. Stay here a few minutes and I will show you a trick."
With that he stole out of the room, and closed the door, leaving me in
a state of wondering excitement. He could certainly show me a trick
now if he pleased, and an ugly one too, by returning with Captain
Courcy. I confess that the idea did cross my mind, but I would not
heed it, and in less than half-an-hour the dwarf returned alone.
"Now, monsieur," said he, "take off one of your riding-boots. Quick,
we may be interrupted. Is it a large packet?"
"No," I answered, giving him the boot, "it is nothing more than a slip
of paper."
With a sharp instrument he made a tiny slit at the back of the boot on
the inside, just large enough to allow of the paper being inserted, and
then with some shoemaker's implements sewed the edges together so
neatly that one could hardly detect the joinings.
"There, monsieur," he exclaimed chuckling; "I doubt if Captain Courcy
will be clever enough to discover that. Now, listen to me, monsieur.
Your only plan is boldness. It is known you are in Rheims, and without
a doubt the gates will be watched, while the captain will keep an eye
on this inn."
"Well?" I exclaimed rather impatiently.
"Go into the common room, and show yourself as if you had nothing to
fear. Do not hurry in the morning, but about ten o'clock ride out of
the town. The others will follow, but they are not likely to attempt
anything till nightfall. By keeping along the highroad to Mezieres,
you will reach a village called Verdu. By that time, your horse will
be tired, and you must ask the innkeeper if he knows of a horse for
sale. Should he request you to go to the stables, invite your friends
to accompany you."
"My friends?"
"Why, yes," exclaimed Pillot, "by then you will probably have three
friends."
"Oh," said I, beginning to understand, "go on."
"The animal will not be worth buying, and you will return to your room.
Since monsieur cannot leave Verdu without a horse, he may as well sit
up late; there will be agreeable company."
"Now I am puzzled again."
Pillot laughed. "It is a child's trick, monsieur. When it is getting
very late a man from the village will arrive with a fresh horse. After
some delay you will go out and instruct him to call in the morning."
"Yes," said I, still wondering.
"Monsieur will go out, but he will not return, and when his friends
hurry to the stable they will find only two horses which cannot run a
mile. Now I must slip away without being seen, and I trust you will
remember not to start before ten o'clock."
After waiting a few minutes in order to let him get clear, I strolled
into the common room, and sat a while talking with the people on the
state of the country. Rather to my surprise very few of them spoke in
favour of Conde, the majority exclaiming against him as a traitor, and
saying he ought to be executed.
"He is a fine general, though," remarked the inn-keeper; "I fought
under him at Rocroi."
"He has brought the Spaniards into the country," cried a stout-looking
fellow, hotly, "and I will never forgive that. What say you, monsieur?"
"Why, I am of your opinion. The Frenchman who bargains with Spaniards
to shoot down his own countrymen, is not deserving of much pity."
"Bravo, monsieur! Well said! I would have helped him fight Mazarin or
any of these squabblers in Paris, but to raise arms against the King is
a different matter. Perhaps monsieur belongs to the royal army?"
"You are not far from the mark," said I laughing; "you evidently have
sharp eyes, my friend."
I looked about for Courcy, half expecting he would enter, but there was
no sign of him, so at last I went to the chamber which had been
prepared for me.