AN EMPTY ROOM.
Desiring to start as early as possible, that we might reach Rosny on
the second evening, I roused Simon Fleix before it was light, and
learning from him where the horses were stabled, went out to attend to
them; preferring to do this myself, that I might have an opportunity
of seeking out a tailor, and providing myself with clothes better
suited to my rank than those to which I had been reduced of late. I
found that I still had ninety crowns left of the sum which the King of
Navarre had given me, and twelve of these I laid out on a doublet of
black cloth with russet points and ribands, a dark cloak lined with
the same sober colour, and a new cap and feather. The tradesman would
fain have provided me with a new scabbard also, seeing my old one was
worn-out at the heel; but this I declined, having a fancy to go with
my point bare until I should have punished the scoundrel who had made
my mother's failing days a misery to her; a business which, the King
of Navarre's once done, I promised myself to pursue with energy and at
all costs.
The choice of my clothes, and a few alterations which it was necessary
to make in them, detained me some time, so that it was later than I
could have wished when I turned my face towards the house again, bent
on getting my party to horse as speedily as possible. The morning, I
remember, was bright, frosty, and cold; the kennels were dry, the
streets comparatively clean. Here and there a ray of early sunshine,
darting between the overhanging eaves, gave promise of glorious
travelling-weather. But the faces, I remarked in my walk, did not
reflect the surrounding cheerfulness. Moody looks met me everywhere
and on every side; and while courier after courier galloped by me
bound for the castle, the townsfolk stood aloof in doorways listless
and inactive, or, gathering in groups in corners, talked what I took
to be treason under the breath. The queen-mother still lived, but
Orleans had revolted, and Sens and Mans, Chartres and Melun. Rouen was
said to be wavering, Lyons in arms, while Paris had deposed her king,
and cursed him daily from a hundred altars. In fine, the great
rebellion which followed the death of Guise, and lasted so many years,
was already in progress; so that on this first day of the new year the
king's writ scarce ran farther than he could see, peering anxiously
out from the towers above my head.
Reaching the house, I climbed the long staircase hastily, abusing its
darkness and foulness, and planning as I went how my mother might most
easily and quickly be moved to a better lodging. Gaining the top of
the last flight, I saw that mademoiselle's door on the left of the
landing was open, and concluding from this that she was up, and ready
to start, I entered my mother's room with a brisk step and spirits
reinforced by the crisp morning air.
But on the threshold. I stopped, and stood silent and amazed. At first
I thought the room was empty. Then, at a second glance, I saw the
student. He was on his knees beside the bed in the alcove, from which
the curtain had been partially dragged away. The curtain before the
window had been torn down also, and the cold light of day, pouring in
on the unsightly bareness of the room, struck a chill to my heart. A
stool lay overturned by the fire, and above it a grey cat, which I had
not hitherto noticed, crouched on a beam and eyed me with stealthy
fierceness. Mademoiselle was not to be seen, nor was Fanchette, and
Simon Fleix did not hear me. He was doing something at the bed--for my
mother it seemed.
'What is it, man?' I cried softly, advancing on tiptoe to the bedside.
'Where are the others?'
The student looked round and saw me. His face was pale and gloomy. His
eyes burned, and yet there were tears in them, and on his cheeks. He
did not speak, but the chilliness, the bareness, the emptiness of the
room spoke for him, and my heart sank.
I took him by the shoulders. 'Find your tongue, man!' I said angrily.
'Where are they?'
He rose from his knees and stood staring at me. 'They are gone!' he
said stupidly.
'Gone?' I exclaimed. 'Impossible! When? Whither?'
'Half an hour ago. Whither--I do not know.'
Confounded and amazed, I glared at him between fear and rage. 'You do
not know?' I cried. 'They are gone, and you do not know?'
He turned suddenly on me and gripped my arm. 'No, I do not know! I do
not know!' he cried, with a complete change of manner and in a tone of
fierce excitement. 'Only, may the fiend go with them! But I do know
this. I know this, M. de Marsac, with whom they went, these friends of
yours! A fop came, a dolt, a fine spark, and gave them fine words and
fine speeches and a gold token, and, hey presto! they went, and forgot
you!'
'What!' I cried, beginning to understand, and snatching fiercely at
the one clue in his speech. 'A gold token? They have been decoyed away
then! There is no time to be lost. I must follow.'
'No, for that is not all!' he replied, interrupting me sternly, while
his grasp on my arm grew tighter and his eyes flashed as they looked
into mine. 'You have not heard all. They have gone with one who called
you an impostor, and a thief, and a beggar, and that to your mother's
face--and killed her! Killed her as surely as if he had taken a sword
to her, M. de Marsac! Will you, after that, leave her for them?'
He spoke plainly. And yet, God forgive me, it was some time before I
understood him: before I took in the meaning of his words, or could
transfer my thoughts from the absent to my mother lying on the bed
before me. When I did do so, and turned to her, and saw her still face
and thin hair straggling over the coarse pillow, then, indeed, the
sight overcame me. I thought no more of others--for I thought her
dead; and with a great and bitter cry I fell on my knees beside her
and hid my face. What, after all, was this headstrong girl to me? what
were even kings and king's commissions to me beside her--beside the
one human being who loved me still, the one being of my blood and name
left, the one ever-patient, ever-constant heart which for years had
beaten only for me? For a while, for a few moments, I was worthy of
her for I forgot all others.
Simon Fleix roused me at last from my stupor, making me understand
that she was not dead, but in a deep swoon, the result of the shock
she had undergone. A leech, for whom he had despatched a neighbour,
came in as I rose, and taking my place, presently restored her to
consciousness. But her extreme feebleness warned me not to hope for
more than a temporary recovery; nor had I sat by her long before I
discerned that this last blow, following on so many fears and
privations, had reached a vital part, and that she was even now dying.
She lay for a while with her hand in mine and her eyes closed, but
about noon, the student, contriving to give her some broth, she
revived, and, recognising me, lay for more than an hour gazing at me
with unspeakable content and satisfaction. At the end of that time,
and when I thought she was past speaking, she signed to me to bend
over her, and whispered something, which at first I could not catch.
Presently I made it out to be, 'She is gone--The girl you brought?'
Much troubled, I answered yes, begging her not to think about the
matter. I need not have feared, however, for when she spoke again she
did so without emotion, and rather as one seeing clearly something
before her.
'When you find her, Gaston,' she murmured, 'do not be angry with her.
It was not her fault. She--he deceived her. See!'
I followed the direction rather of her eyes than her hand, and found
beneath the pillow a length of gold chain. 'She left that?' I
murmured, a strange tumult of emotions in my breast.
'She laid it there,' my mother whispered. 'And she would have stopped
him saying what he did'--a shudder ran through my mother's frame at
the remembrance of the man's words, though her eyes still gazed into
mine with faith and confidence--'she would have stopped him, but she
could not, Gaston. And then he hurried her away.'
'He showed her a token, madame, did he not?' I could not for my life
repress the question, so much seemed to turn on the point.
'A bit of gold,' my mother whispered, smiling faintly. 'Now let me
sleep.' And, clinging always to my hand, she closed her eyes.
The student came back soon afterwards with some comforts for which I
had despatched him, and we sat by her until the evening fell, and far
into the night. It was a relief to me to learn from the leech that she
had been ailing for some time, and that in any case the end must have
come soon. She suffered no pain and felt no fears, but meeting my eyes
whenever she opened her own, or came out of the drowsiness which
possessed her, thanked God, I think, and was content. As for me, I
remember that room became, for the time, the world. Its stillness
swallowed up all the tumults which filled the cities of France, and
its one interest--the coming and going of a feeble breath--eclipsed
the ambitions and hopes of a lifetime.
Before it grew light Simon Fleix stole out to attend to the horses.
When he returned he came to me and whispered in my ear that he had
something to tell me; and my mother lying in a quiet sleep at the
time, I disengaged my hand, and, rising softly, went with him to the
hearth.
Instead of speaking, he held his fist before me and suddenly unclosed
the fingers. 'Do you know it?' he said, glancing at me abruptly.
I took what he held, and looking at it, nodded. It was a knot of
velvet of a peculiar dark red colour, and had formed, as I knew the
moment I set eyes on it, part of the fastening of mademoiselle's mask.
'Where did you find it?' I muttered, supposing that he had picked it
up on the stairs.
'Look at it!' he answered impatiently. 'You have not looked.'
I turned it over, and then saw something which had escaped me at
first--that the wider part of the velvet was disfigured by a fantastic
stitching, done very roughly and rudely with a thread of white silk.
The stitches formed letters, the letters words. With a start I read,
'_A moi!_' and saw in a corner, in smaller stitches, the initials 'C.
d. l. V.'
I looked eagerly at the student. 'Where did you find this?' I said.
'I picked it up in the street,' he answered quietly, 'not three
hundred paces from here.'
I thought a moment. 'In the gutter, or near the wall?' I asked.
'Near the wall, to be sure.'
'Under a window?'
'Precisely,' he said. 'You may be easy; I am not a fool. I marked the
place, M. de Marsac, and shall not forget it.'
Even the sorrow and solicitude I felt on my mother's behalf--feelings
which had seemed a minute before to secure me against all other cares
or anxieties whatever--were not proof against this discovery. For I
found myself placed in a strait so cruel I must suffer either way. On
the one hand, I could not leave my mother; I were a heartless ingrate
to do that. On the other, I could not, without grievous pain, stand
still and inactive while Mademoiselle de la Vire, whom I had sworn to
protect, and who was now suffering through my laches and mischance,
appealed to me for help. For I could not doubt that this was what the
bow of velvet meant; still less that it was intended for me, since few
save myself would be likely to recognise it, and she would naturally
expect me to make some attempt at pursuit.
And I could not think little of the sign. Remembering mademoiselle's
proud and fearless spirit, and the light in which she had always
regarded me, I augured the worst from it. I felt assured that no
imaginary danger and no emergency save the last would have induced her
to stoop so low; and this consideration, taken with the fear I felt
that she had fallen into the hands of Fresnoy, whom I believed to be
the person who had robbed me of the gold coin, filled me with a
horrible doubt which way my duty lay. I was pulled, as it were, both
ways. I felt my honour engaged both to go and to stay, and while my
hand went to my hilt, and my feet trembled to be gone, my eyes sought
my mother, and my ears listened for her gentle breathing.
Perplexed and distracted, I looked at the student, and he at me. 'You
saw the man who took her away,' I muttered. Hitherto, in my absorption
on my mother's account, I had put few questions, and let the matter
pass as though it moved me little and concerned me less. 'What was he
like? Was he a big, bloated man, Simon, with his head bandaged, or
perhaps a wound on his face?'
'The gentleman who went away with mademoiselle, do you mean?' he
asked.
'Yes, yes, gentleman if you like!'
'Not at all,' the student answered. 'He was a tall young gallant, very
gaily dressed, dark-haired, and with a rich complexion. I heard him
tell her that he came from a friend of hers too high to be named in
public or in Blois. He added that he brought a token from him; and
when mademoiselle mentioned you--she had just entered madame's room
with her woman when he appeared----'
'He had watched me out, of course.'
'Just so. Well, when she mentioned you, he swore you were an
adventurer, and a beggarly impostor, and what not, and bade her say
whether she thought it likely that her friend would have entrusted
such a mission, to such a man.'
'And then she went with him?'
The student nodded.
'Readily? Of her own free-will?'
'Certainly,' he answered. 'It seemed so to me. She tried to prevent
him speaking before your mother, but that was all.'
On the impulse of the moment I took a step towards the door;
recollecting my position, I turned back with a groan. Almost beside
myself, and longing for any vent for my feelings, I caught the lad by
the shoulder, where he stood on the hearth, and shook him to and fro.
'Tell me, man, what am I to do?' I said between my teeth. 'Speak!
think! invent something!'
But he shook his head.
I let him go with a muttered oath, and sat down on a stool by the bed
and took my head between my hands. At that very moment, however,
relief came--came from an unexpected quarter. The door opened and the
leech entered. He was a skilful man, and, though much employed about
the Court, a Huguenot--a fact which had emboldened Simon Fleix to
apply to him through the landlord of the 'Bleeding Heart,' the secret
rendezvous of the Religion in Blois. When he had made his examination
he was for leaving, being a grave and silent man, and full of
business, but at the door I stopped him.
'Well, sir?' I said in a low tone, my hand on his cloak.
'She has rallied, and may live three days,' he answered quietly.
'Four, it may be, and as many more as God wills.'
Pressing two crowns into his hand, I begged him to call daily, which
he promised to do; and then he went. My mother was still dozing
peacefully, and I turned to Simon Fleix, my doubts resolved and my
mind made up.
'Listen,' I said, 'and answer me shortly. We cannot both leave; that
is certain. Yet I must go, and at once, to the place where you found
the velvet knot. Do you describe the spot exactly, so that I may find
it, and make no mistake.'
He nodded, and after a moment's reflection answered,
'You know the Rue St. Denys, M. de Marsac? Well, go down it, keeping
the "Bleeding Heart" on your left. Take the second turning on the same
side after passing the inn. The third house from the corner, on the
left again, consists of a gateway leading to the Hospital of the Holy
Cross. Above the gateway are two windows in the lower story, and above
them two more. The knot lay below the first window you come to. Do you
understand?'
'Perfectly,' I said. 'It is something to be a clerk, Simon.'
He looked at me thoughtfully, but added nothing; and I was busy
tightening my sword-hilt, and disposing my cloak about the lower part
of my face. When I had arranged this to my satisfaction, I took out
and counted over the sum of thirty-five crowns, which I gave to him,
impressing on him the necessity of staying beside my mother should I
not return; for though I proposed to reconnoitre only, and learn if
possible whether mademoiselle was still in Blois, the future was
uncertain, and whereas I was known to my enemies, they were strangers
to me.
Having enjoined this duty upon him, I bade my mother a silent
farewell, and, leaving the room, went slowly down the stairs, the
picture of her worn and patient face going with me, and seeming, I
remember, to hallow the purpose I had in my mind.
The clocks were striking the hour before noon as I stepped from the
doorway, and, standing a moment in the lane, looked this way and that
for any sign of espionage. I could detect none, however. The lane was
deserted; and feeling assured that any attempt to mislead my
opponents, who probably knew Blois better than I did, must fail, I
made none, but deliberately took my way towards the 'Bleeding Heart,'
in the Rue St. Denys. The streets presented the same appearance of
gloomy suspense which I had noticed on the previous day. The same
groups stood about in the same corners, the same suspicious glances
met me in common with all other strangers who showed themselves; the
same listless inaction characterised the townsfolk, the same anxious
hurry those who came and went with news. I saw that even here, under
the walls of the palace, the bonds of law and order were strained
almost to bursting, and judged that if there ever was a time in France
when right counted for little, and the strong hand for much, it was
this. Such a state of things was not unfavourable to my present
design, and caring little for suspicious looks, I went resolutely on
my way.
I had no difficulty in finding the gateway of which Simon had spoken,
or in identifying the window beneath which he had picked up the velvet
knot. An alley opening almost opposite, I took advantage of this to
examine the house at my leisure, and remarked at once, that whereas
the lower window was guarded only by strong shutters, now open, that
in the story above was heavily barred. Naturally I concentrated my
attention on the latter. The house, an old building of stone, seemed
sufficiently reputable, nor could I discern anything about it which
would have aroused my distrust had the knot been found elsewhere. It
bore the arms of a religious brotherhood, and had probably at one time
formed the principal entrance to the hospital, which still stood
behind it, but it had now come, as I judged, to be used as a dwelling
of the better class. Whether the two floors were separately inhabited
or not I failed to decide.
After watching it for some time without seeing anyone pass in or out,
or anything occurring to enlighten me one way or the other, I resolved
to venture in, the street being quiet and the house giving no sign of
being strongly garrisoned. The entrance lay under the archway, through
a door on the right side. I judged from what I saw that the porter was
probably absent, busying himself with his gossips in matters of State.
And this proved to be the case, for when I had made the passage of the
street with success, and slipped quietly in through the half-open
door, I found only his staff and charcoal-pan there to represent him.
A single look satisfied me on that point; forthwith, without
hesitation, I turned to the stairs and began to mount, assured that if
I would effect anything single-handed I must trust to audacity and
surprise rather than to caution or forethought.
The staircase was poorly lighted by loopholes looking towards the
rear, but it was clean and well-kept. Silence, broken only by the
sound of my footsteps, prevailed throughout the house, and all seemed
so regular and decent and orderly that the higher I rose the lower
fell my hopes of success. Still, I held resolutely on until I reached
the second floor and stood before a closed door. The moment had come
to put all to the touch. I listened for a few seconds, but hearing
nothing, cautiously lifted the latch. Somewhat to my surprise the door
yielded to my hand, and I entered.
A high settle stood inside, interrupting my view of the room, which
seemed to be spacious and full of rich stuffs and furniture, but low
in the roof, and somewhat dimly lighted by two windows rather wide
than high. The warm glow of a fire shone on the woodwork of the
ceiling, and as I softly closed the door a log on the hearth gave way,
with a crackling of sparks, which pleasantly broke the luxurious
silence. The next moment a low, sweet voice asked, 'Alphonse, is that
you?'
I walked round the settle and came face to face with a beautiful woman
reclining on a couch. On hearing the door open she had raised herself
on her elbow. Now, seeing a stranger before her, she sprang up with a
low cry, and stood gazing at me, her face expressing both astonishment
and anger. She was of middling height, her features regular though
somewhat childlike, her complexion singularly fair. A profusion of
golden hair hung in disorder about her neck, and matched the deep blue
of her eyes, wherein it seemed to me, there lurked more spirit and
fire than the general cast of her features led one to expect.
After a moment's silence, during which she scanned me from head to
foot with great haughtiness--and I her with curiosity and wonder--she
spoke, 'Sir!' she said slowly, 'to what am I to attribute
this--visit?'
For the moment I was so taken aback by her appearance and
extraordinary beauty, as well as by the absence of any sign of those I
sought, that I could not gather my thoughts to reply, but stood
looking vaguely at her. I had expected, when I entered the room,
something so different from this!
'Well, sir?' she said again, speaking sharply, and tapping her foot on
the floor.
'This visit, madame?' I stammered.
'Call it intrusion, sir, if you please!' she cried imperiously. 'Only
explain it, or begone.'
'I crave leave to do both, madame,' I answered, collecting myself
by an effort. 'I ascended these stairs and opened your door in
error--that is the simple fact--hoping to find a friend of mine here.
I was mistaken, it seems, and it only remains for me to withdraw,
offering at the same time the humblest apologies.' And as I spoke I
bowed low and prepared to retire.
'One moment, sir!' she said quickly, and in an altered tone. 'You are,
perhaps, a friend of M. de Bruhl--of my husband. In that case, if you
desire to leave any message I will--I shall be glad to deliver it.'
She looked so charming that, despite the tumult of my feelings, I
could not but regard her with admiration. 'Alas! madame, I cannot
plead that excuse,' I answered. 'I regret that I have not the honour
of his acquaintance.'
She eyed me with some surprise. 'Yet still, sir,' she answered,
smiling a little, and toying with a gold brooch which clasped her
habit, 'you must have had some ground, some reason, for supposing you
would find a friend here?'
'True, madame,' I answered, 'but I was mistaken.'
I saw her colour suddenly. With a smile and a faint twinkle of the eye
she said, 'It is not possible, sir, I suppose--you have not come here,
I mean, out of any reason connected with a--a knot of velvet, for
instance?'
I started, and involuntarily advanced a step towards her. 'A knot of
velvet!' I exclaimed, with emotion. 'Mon Dieu! Then I was not
mistaken! I have come to the right house, and you--you know something
of this! Madame,' I continued impulsively, 'that knot of velvet? Tell
me what it means, I implore you!'
She seemed alarmed by my violence, retreating a step or two, and
looking at me haughtily, yet with a kind of shamefacedness. 'Believe
me, it means nothing,' she said hurriedly. 'I beg you to understand
that, sir. It was a foolish jest.'
'A jest?' I said. 'It fell from this window.'
'It was a jest, sir,' she answered stubbornly. But I could see that,
with all her pride, she was alarmed; her face was troubled, and there
were tears in her eyes. And this rendered me under the circumstances
only the more persistent.
'I have the velvet here, madame,' I said. 'You must tell me more about
it.'
She looked at me with a weightier impulse of anger than she had yet
exhibited. 'I do not think you know to whom you are speaking,' she
said, breathing fast. 'Leave the room, sir, and at once! I have told
you it was a jest. If you are a gentleman you will believe me, and
go.' And she pointed to the door.
But I held my ground, with an obstinate determination to pierce the
mystery. 'I am a gentleman, madame,' I said, 'and yet I must know
more. Until I know more I cannot go.'
'Oh, this is insufferable!' she cried, looking round as if for a way
of escape; but; I was between her and the only door. 'This is
unbearable! The knot was never intended for you, sir. And what is
more, if M. de Bruhl come and find you here, you will repent it
bitterly.'
I saw that she was at least as much concerned on her own account as on
mine, and thought myself justified under the circumstances in taking
advantage of her fears. I deliberately laid my cap on the table which
stood beside me. 'I will go, madame,' I said, looking at her fixedly,
'when I know all that you know about this knot I hold, and not before.
If you are unwilling to tell me, I must wait for M. de Bruhl, and ask
him.'
She cried out 'Insolent!' and looked at me as if in her rage and
dismay she would gladly have killed me; being, I could see, a
passionate woman. But I held my ground, and after a moment she spoke.
'What do you want to know?' she said, frowning darkly.
'This knot--how did it come to lie in the street below your window? I
want to know that first.'
'I dropped it,' she answered sullenly.
'Why?' I said.
'Because----' And then she stopped and looked at me, and then again
looked down, her face crimson. 'Because, if you must know,' she
continued hurriedly, tracing a pattern on the table with her finger,
'I saw it bore the words "_A moi_." I have been married only two
months, and I thought my husband might find it--and bring it to me. It
was a silly fancy.'
'But where did you get it? 'I asked, and I stared at her in growing
wonder and perplexity. For the more questions I put, the further, it
seemed to me, I strayed from my object.
'I picked it up in the Ruelle d'Arcy,' she answered, tapping her foot
on the floor resentfully. 'It was the silly thing put it into my head
to--to do what I did. And now, have you any more questions, sir?'
'One only,' I said, seeing it all clearly enough. 'Will you tell me,
please, exactly where you found it?'
'I have told you. In the Ruelle d'Arcy, ten paces from the Rue de
Valois. Now, sir, will you go?'
'One word, madame. Did----'
But she cried, 'Go, sir, go! go!' so violently, that after making one
more attempt to express my thanks, I thought it better to obey her. I
had learned all she knew; I had solved the puzzle. But, solving it, I
found myself no nearer to the end I had in view, no nearer to
mademoiselle. I closed the door with a silent bow, and began to
descend the stairs, my mind full of anxious doubts and calculations.
The velvet knot was the only clue I possessed, but was I right in
placing any dependence on it? I knew now that, wherever it had
originally lain, it had been removed once. If once, why not twice? why
not three times?