TO CLOCHONNE, AFTER MADEMOISELLE
On through the forest, on over the narrow path, the horse seeming to feel
my own impatience, his hoofs crushing the fallen twigs and the vegetation
that lay in the way, the branches of the trees striking me in forehead
and eyes, my heart on fire, my mind a turmoil, on to learn the truth, on
to see her! The moon was now overhead, and here and there it lighted up
the path. Close behind me came Frojac. I heard the footfalls and the
breathing of his horse.
Would we come up to her before she reached Clochonne? This depended on
the length of start she had. She would lose some time, perhaps, through
being less familiar with the road than we were, yet wherever the road lay
straight before her she would force her horse to its utmost, guessing
that her departure would be discovered and herself pursued.
My mind inclined this way and that as I rode. Now I saw how strong was
the evidence against her, yet I refused to be convinced by it before I
should hear what she might have to say. Now I conjured up her image
before me, and then all the evidence was naught. It was impossible that
this face, of all faces in the world, could have been a mask to conceal
falsehood and treachery, that this voice could have lied in its sweet and
sorrowful tones, that her appearance of grief could have been but a
pretence, that her seemingly unconscious signs of love could have been
simulation!
Yet had not the gypsy sung of the false flame of woman's love? It is
true, she had bade me heed these words. Would she have done so had her
own appearance of love been false? Perhaps it was this very thought, the
very improbability of a false woman's warning a man against woman's
treachery, that had made her do so, that I might the less readily on
occasion believe her false. Who can tell the resources and devices of a
subtle woman?
What? Was I doubting her? Was I believing the story? Was I, with my
closer knowledge of her, with my experience of the freaks of
circumstance, with my perception of her heart, to accept the first
apparent deduction from the few facts at hand, as blind, unthinking,
undiscriminating soldiers, Blaise and Frojac, had done? Did I not know of
what kind of woman she was? She was no Mlle. d'Arency.
Yet, who knows but that poor De Noyard had believed Mlle. d'Arency true?
Might he not, with the eyes of love, have seen in her as pure and
spotless a creature as I had seen in Mlle. de Varion? Do the eyes of
love, then, deceive? Is the confidence of lovers never to be relied on?
But I must have read her heart aright. Surely her heart had spoken to
mine. Surely its voice was that of truth. Surely I knew her. Were not her
eyes to be believed. Were not truth, goodness, gentleness, love, written
on her face?
Yet, how went the gypsy's song,--the one we had heard him sing at
Godeau's inn, by the forest road?
"But, ah, the sadness of the day
When woman shows her treason!
And, oh, the price we have to pay
For joys that have their season!
Her look of love is but a mask
For plots that she is weaving.
Alas, for those who fondly bask
In smiles that are deceiving!"
Might this, then, be true of any woman? So many men had found it out. The
eyes of so many had been opened at last. Was I still a fool, had I
learned so little of women, had my experience with Mlle. d'Arency taught
me only to beware of women outwardly like her, did I need a separate
lesson for each different woman on whom I might set my heart? Was it my
peculiar lot to be twice deceived in the same way?
And yet, how her eyes had moistened in dwelling on mine, how they had
dropped before my look, how she had yielded to my embrace, how she had
stood still and unresisting in my arms! No, no, they were wrong! De
Berquin had lied, Blaise and Frojac were stolid fools, capable of making
only the most obvious inference, and I was a contemptible wretch to
falter in my faith in her for an instant! She was the victim of a set of
circumstances. She had reason for her hasty departure, she would make all
clear in a few words. On, on, my horse, that I may hear those words, that
my heart may rejoice! How soon shall we come up to her? How far ahead is
she? How near to Clochonne? On! She is true, I know it. On! It may be
even for my sake that she is endangering herself. On, that I may be at
her side to shield her! On, for of late I have passed all the hours of
the day with her, all the nights near her, her presence has been the
breath of life to me, it is a new and unwonted and intolerable thing to
be away from her, and I madly thirst and hunger for the sight of her! On,
good horse!
Yet, torturing thought, how the story explained all that had seemed
strange! How it fitted so many facts! At the inn at Fleurier we had
overheard the plan suggested by Montignac for my capture, the employment
of a spy who was to find my hiding place, send word of it, then plan an
ambush for me. Then the lady had come to the inn. Perhaps she was one
who had already some kind of relations with the governor and had now come
purposely to meet him. What had passed between her and the governor we
had not overheard. It might easily have been the proposal by him, and the
acceptance by her, of the mission against me. Such a task might better be
entrusted to a woman. Catherine herself had employed women to entrap men
who would have been on their guard against men. Certain Huguenot
gentlemen had been especially susceptible to the charms of her
accomplished decoys. Then the governor and his secretary had gone, and
the latter had reappeared with De Berquin. It might really be that this
woman, whether she were Mlle. de Varion, or whether she merely took that
name in order to get my confidence without having to make the risky
pretence of being a Protestant, was desired by Montignac and yet disliked
him, and that De Berquin had been hired indeed to hold her forcibly for
the secretary after she had accomplished her mission. But her ingenuous
signs of a tender feeling for me? A device to blind me and win my trust,
and so, through me, get the confidence of my supposed friend, La
Tournoire. Her grief on the journey? Mere pretence, in order to bear out
her story and enlist my sympathy. Her periods of silence and meditation?
She was thinking out the details of her plot. Her questions about La
Tournoire? A means of learning what manner of man she would have to deal
with, and of finding out his hiding-place at a time when it would be
easiest to despatch her boy with a description of it to the governor. Her
desire to know how great was my friendship for La Tournoire? This arose
perhaps from a thought that I might be won over to her purpose, perhaps
from a fear that I might some day avenge his betrayal. The barrier that,
she said, lay between us? A pretext to get rid of me as soon as I might
be, not only useless to her, but also in the way of her designs against
La Tournoire. Her strange agitation? A mask to cover the real excitement
that one in her position must have felt. Her aspect of horror at the
disclosure that I was La Tournoire? This may have been real, coming from
a fear that she might have betrayed herself by the curiosity she had
shown about me, that the eyes of La Tournoire must be keener than those
of the light-hearted man she had taken me to be, that I had dissembled to
her as well as to De Berquin, that I had been playing with her from the
first. After she knew me to be La Tournoire, and was assured that I did
not suspect her, she no more spoke of my going from her. What was her
weakness of body at Maury but a pretext for delay, that the governor
might have time to come to Clochonne and the project of the ambush be
carried out? She had forged chains of love to hold me where she was. Her
coyness but kept those chains the stronger, her postponement of the
surrender made it the more impossible for me to leave her side. Who can
go from the woman he loves while his fate is uncertain? If she had made
no show of love, I could have left her. If she had confessed her love in
words, and promised to be my own, I could have endured to leave her for a
time. How well she knew men! How well she had maintained just that
appearance which kept my thoughts on her night and day, which made me
unwilling to lose sight of her, and which would have made me instantly
responsive to any summons that she might have sent me from any part of
the forest!
So, then, there were two sides, two appearances, to this woman. The one,
the good side, that which I had seen, that which had been the joy of my
life, was not real, was but a seeming, had no existence but in pretence.
The other, the wicked side, was the real one, was the actual woman. I had
never known her. What I had known was but an assumption; it had no being.
Was this credible? Could a bad woman so delude one with an angelic
pretence, so conceal her wicked self? If so, to what depths of vileness
might she not be capable of descending? Was it, then, not that I had lost
my beloved, but that she had never existed? At thought of it, I felt a
sickness within, a weakness, a choking, a giving way. And then her image
came before me again, as she had stood in the moonlit garden, and my
beloved was born again. The woman I had known was the real one. I had
done her incredible wrong to have thought otherwise. But whether good or
bad, whether or not my betrayer, I loved her; I longed for her; I would
see her face; I would clasp her in my arms; I would claim her as my own;
I would hold her against her own will and the world's. On, my horse, on!
Where is she now, what has befallen her, how soon shall my heart bound at
sight of her before me in the night? On! Whether she lead me to heaven or
to hell, I must be with her; I cannot wait!
Presently we came to the abode of Godeau and Marianne, where the forest
path runs into the old road across the mountains. We had to check our
speed here, on account of the thick growth of vegetation that served to
mask the forest path from travellers on the road. We emerged from this,
and turned the heads of our horses towards Clochonne.
The door of the inn opened, and Marianne came forth. She had been
watching.
"Monsieur," she said, "I did not know whether to come to you or
not. I have been keeping my eyes and ears open for any of the
governor's troops."
"But you have seen or heard none," I answered, impatiently.
"None, monsieur. But some one has ridden by, towards
Clochonne--the lady!"
I knew from her tone that she saw in Mademoiselle's flight alone
sufficient reason for suspicion of mademoiselle and for alarm on my own
part. She, too, thought mademoiselle guilty, myself duped. I first
thought to pretend that mademoiselle's departure was a thing agreed on by
her and me, but it was no time to value the opinion of a peasant.
"On, Frojac!" I said, and on we went. We could make better speed now, for
the road, though little used and in bad condition, was continuous and,
unlike the forest path, comparatively free of intrusive vegetation. It
was hard, too, for the weather had been dry for a long time. The loud
clatter of the horses' hoofs was some relief to my eager heart.
There is a place where this road passes near the verge of a precipice,
which, like that at Maury, falls sheer to the road along the River Creuse
from Clochonne to Narjec. But, unlike that at Maury, this declivity is
bare of trees.
We were galloping steadily on and were approaching this place in the
road. Frojac was now riding at my side, as there was room for two
horsemen to go abreast.
"Hark!" said Frojac, suddenly. "Do you hear something?"
I heard the sounds made by our riding, but no other.
"Horsemen," he went on. "And men afoot, on the march!"
"Where?" I asked. We continued to gallop forward.
"Ahead," he answered. "Don't you hear, monsieur?"
I listened. Yes, there was the far-off sound of many shod feet striking
hard earth.
"It is ahead," said I.
"A body of troops," said Frojac.
"Then we may catch up with them."
"Or meet them. Perhaps they are coming this way."
"Troops on a night march!" said I.
Frojac looked at me. I saw written on his face the same thought that he
saw on mine.
"Whose else could they be?" he said. "And for what other purpose?"
Had Monsieur de la Chatre, then, chosen this night for a surprise and
attack on me at Maury? If he knew my hiding-place, why should he not have
done so? The idea of the ambush, then, had been abandoned? Perhaps,
indeed, the plan that I had overheard Montignac outline to La Chatre had
been greatly modified. Had mademoiselle, if she were in truth the
governor's agent, known of this night attack, if it were in truth a night
attack against me? Had she fled in order to avoid the shame or the danger
of being present at my capture? These and many other questions rushed
through my mind.
"What shall we do?" asked Frojac, after a time.
"Go on," said I.
"But if we meet them, and they are La Chatre's men, I fear that our
chances of catching up with the lady will be small."
"But, after all, we do not know who they are. If they are coming this
way, they must have met her by this time. Perhaps they have stopped her?
Who knows? I must follow her."
"But now it seems that the sound comes more from the north. They are
certainly coming nearer. They may be on the river road. We can see by
going to the edge of the precipice and looking down."
"We should lose time."
"'Tis but a little way out of the road. This is where the road is nearest
to the edge."
It might, indeed, be to my advantage to learn at once whether the troops
were in the road in front of us or in the road at the foot of the
mountain. So I fought down my impatience, and we turned from the road
towards the precipice. There was little underbrush here to hinder us,
and in a very short time we reined in our horses and looked down on the
vast stretch of moonlit country below.
At the very foot of the steep was the road that runs from Clochonne to
Narjec. And there, moving from the former towards the latter, went a
troop of horsemen, followed by a foot company of arquebusiers. They
trailed along, like a huge dark worm on the yellow way, following the
turns of the road. Seen from above, their figures were shortened and
looked squat.
I looked among the horsemen.
"I cannot see La Chatre," said I.
"But some of these are his men," said Frojac, "for I see my old comrade.
He knew nothing today of this march. I see most of the men of the
Clochonne garrison. I wonder what use they expect to make of their horses
if they intend to approach Maury from the river road."
I recalled now the exact words in which I had indicated to mademoiselle
the location of my hiding-place. I had said that it might be reached by
turning up the wooded hill from the river road, at the rock shaped like a
throne. Was it, indeed, in accordance with directions communicated to La
Chatre by her that they were now proceeding?
"If they are bound for Maury," said I, "they have hit on a good time.
Blaise and the men will have left there long before they arrive. Come,
Frojac, we lose precious minutes!"
"One thing is good, monsieur," said Frojac, as our horses resumed their
gallop towards Clochonne. "If we do have to follow the lady all the way
to Clochonne, we shall not find many soldiers there when we arrive.
Nearly all of La Chatre's men and the garrison troops are down there on
the river road, marching further from Clochonne every minute."
Alas, it was not then of troops to be encountered that I thought! It was
of what disclosure might be awaiting me concerning mademoiselle. Would
she admit her guilt or demonstrate her innocence? Would she prove to be
that other woman, or the one I had known? Would she laugh or weep, be
brazen or overwhelmed? How would she face me? That was my only thought.
Let me dare death a thousand times over, only to know the truth,--nay,
only to see her again!
So we sped forward on the road, which, by its length and its windings,
makes a gradual descent of the northern slope of the wooded ridge. At
last we came to the foot of the steep, emerged from the forest, turned
northward, and then saw before us, a little to the right, the sleeping
town of Clochonne. At the further end of that, on an eminence commanding
the river, stood the château, looking inaccessible and impregnable.
I thought of the day when I had first seen the château, the day when we
had come over the mountains from the south, and Frojac had pointed out to
me where it stood in the distance. That was before I had met mademoiselle
or knew that she was in the world. Little had I thought that ever I
should be hastening madly towards that château in the night on such an
errand or in such turmoil of heart!
We came to the point where the road by which we had come converges with
two others. One of these, joining from the right, also comes from the
south, and is, in fact, the new road across the mountains. The other,
joining from the left, is the road from Narjec, the one which runs along
the river and the base of the hills. It is this one which passes the
throne-shaped rock beneath Maury, and on which we had seen the troops.
Had we, coming from the mountains, reached this spot before the troops
coming from Clochonne reached it, we should have met them; but they had
passed this spot long before we had seen them from the height.
Blaise and the men, whom I had ordered to follow me, would have left
Maury soon after I had. Certainly they would not be there when the
governor's troops should arrive. Coming by the road that I had used,
Blaise would not meet the governor's men on their way to Maury. But the
road by the river was much the shorter. The governor's men, on
discovering Maury deserted, might return immediately to Clochonne. They
might reach this spot before Blaise's men did, or about the same time.
Then there would be fighting.
These thoughts came into my mind at sight of the converging roads, not as
matters of concern to me, but as mere casual observations. There was
matter of greater moment to claim my anxiety. As to what might be the end
of this night, as to what might occur after my meeting with mademoiselle,
as to what might befall Blaise and my men, I had no thought.
And now, turning slightly northeastward, the road lay straight before us,
between the town wall and the river, up an incline, to the gate of the
château. This gate opens directly from the courtyard of the château to
the road outside the town wall. The château has a gate elsewhere, which
opens to the town, within the town wall.
The road ascended straight before us, I say, and on that road, making for
the château gate, was a horse, and on the horse a woman. She leaned
forward, urging the horse on. Over her shoulders was a mantle, a small
cap was on her head. Her hair streamed out behind her as she rode. My
heart gave a great bound.
"Look, Frojac! It is she!"
"We cannot catch her. She is too near the château."
"She will be detained at the gate."
"If she is the governor's agent, she will know what word to give the
guards. They will have orders to admit her, day or night. One who goes on
such business may be expected at any hour."
The manner of her reception at the gate, then, would disclose the truth.
If she were admitted without parley, it would be evident that she was in
the governor's service. My heart sank. Those who ride so fast towards
closed gates, at such an hour, expect the gates to let them in.
"Mademoiselle!" I called.
But my voice was hoarse. I had no command over it. I could not give it
volume. She made no sign. It was evident that she had not heard it. She
did not seem to know that she was pursued. She did not look back. Was she
so absorbed in her own thoughts, in her desire to reach her destination,
that she was conscious of nothing else?
Frojac was right. She was already too near the château for us to overtake
her before she arrived at the gate. We could but force our panting horses
to their best, and keep our eyes on her. The moon was now in the west,
and there was no object on the western side of the road to make a shadow.
So we did not once lose sight of her. She approached the château gate
without diminution of speed; it looked as if she heeded it not, or
expected the horse to leap it.
"Even if they do admit her promptly," said I, "it will take a little time
to lower the bridge over the ditch. We may then come up to her."
"Can you not see?" said Frojac. "The bridge is already down."
So it was. The troops had, doubtless, departed by this gate; the bridge,
let down for their departure, was still down, doubtless for their return.
The guards left at the château were, certainly, on the alert for this
return. In the event of any hostile force appearing in the meantime, they
could raise the bridge; but such an event was most unlikely. The only
hostile force in the vicinity was my own company. It is thus that I
accounted for the fact that the bridge was down.
Right up to the gate she rode, the horse coming to a quick stop on the
bridge at the moment when it looked as if he were about to dash his head
against the gate.
With straining ears I listened, as I rode on towards her.
She called out. I could hear her voice, but could not make out her
words. For some time she sat on her horse waiting, watching the gate
before her. I was surprised that she did not hear the clatter of our
horses and look around. Then she called again. I heard an answer from
the other side of the gate, and then the way was opened. She rode at
once into the courtyard.
We pressed on, Frojac and I, myself knowing not what was to come, he
content to follow me and face whatever might arise. The immediate thing
was to reach the château, as mademoiselle had done. Some means must be
found for getting entrance, for now that mademoiselle was inside, I
looked to see the gate fall into place at once.
But we beheld the unexpected. The gate remained open. No guard appeared
in the opening. We galloped up the hill, over the bridge, into the
courtyard. Nothing hindered us. What did it mean?
We stopped our horses and dismounted. There in the courtyard stood
mademoiselle's horse, trembling and panting, but mademoiselle herself had
disappeared. Before us was an open door, doubtless the principal entrance
to the château. Mademoiselle had probably gone that way.
"Come, Frojac!" said I, and started for this door.
But at that instant we heard rough exclamations and hasty steps behind
us. We turned and drew sword. From the guard-house by the gate, where
they must have been gambling or drinking or sleeping, or otherwise
neglecting their duty, came four men, who seemed utterly astonished at
sight of us.
"Name of the Virgin!" cried one. "The gate open! Where is Lavigue? He has
left his post! Who are you?"
"Enemies! Down with La Chatre!" I answered, seeing in a flash that an
attempt to fool them might be vain and would take time. A quick fight was
the thing to serve me best, for these men had been taken by surprise, and
two of them had only halberds, one had a sword, the fourth had an
arquebus but his match was out.
It was the man with the sword who had spoken. He it was who now
spoke again:
"Enemies? Prisoners, then! Yield!"
And he rushed up to us, accompanied by the halberdiers, while the
arquebusier ran to light his match at a torch in the guard-house.
Never was anything so expeditiously done. The leader knew nothing of fine
sword work. I had my point through his lungs before the halberdiers came
up. While I was pulling it out, one of the halberdiers aimed a blow at
me, and the other threatened Frojac. My follower dodged the thrust meant
for him, and at the same instant laid low, with a wound in the side, the
fellow who was aiming at me. Thus one of the halberdiers followed the
swordsman to earth instantly. The second halberdier recovered himself,
and made to attack Frojac again, but I caught his weapon in my left hand,
and so held it, while Frojac ran towards the arquebusier, who was now
coming from the guard-house with lighted match. The halberdier, whose
weapon I now grasped in one hand, while I held my sword in the other,
took fright, let his weapon go, and ran from the courtyard through the
open gateway. The arquebusier tried to bring his weapon to bear on
Frojac, but Frojac dropped on his knees and, thrusting from below, ran
his sword into the man's belly. The man fell with a groan, dropping his
weapon and his match.
I looked around. The courtyard was empty. Were these four, then, the only
soldiers that had been left to guard the château? No, for these four had
been surprised to find the gate open. Some one else must have opened the
gate for mademoiselle. Moreover, the swordsman had spoken of a Lavigue.
"Take the arquebus and the match, Frojac," said I, "and come. There is
nothing to be done here at present."
He obeyed me, and we returned to the door of the château. Just as we were
about to enter, I heard steps as of one coming down a staircase within.
Then a man came out. He was a common soldier and he carried a halberd. At
sight of us he stopped, and stood in the greatest astonishment. Then he
looked towards the gate. His expression became one of the utmost
consternation.
A thought came to me. I recalled what the swordsman said.
"You are Lavigue?" said I to the soldier.
"Yes," he said, bewildered.
"You were on duty at that gate, but you left your post."
"Yes, but--"
"But you first opened the gate for a lady."
"It was not I, monsieur," he answered, as if anxious to exonerate
himself, although he knew not to whom he was talking. "It was my comrade.
He said he knew the woman, and that the governor would wish her instantly
admitted, and he opened the gate. When she came in, I would have had her
wait at the gate till M. de la Chatre had been informed, but she ran into
the château, and my comrade with her. There must be something wrong, I
thought, if my comrade would leave his post to go in with the lady. So I
ran after them to get her to come back. It was my thought of my duty that
made me forget the gate. Indeed it was so, monsieur."
He evidently thought that we were friends of the governor's who had
happened to arrive at the château at this hour.
So he, at least, had not received orders to admit mademoiselle. Joyful
hope! Perhaps there had been no understanding between her and the
governor, after all! But his comrade had let her in, had said that the
governor would wish the gate opened to her at once. Then there was an
understanding.
"Where is your comrade?" I asked.
"I left him with the lady, in the chamber at the head of the staircase.
Ah, I hear him coming down the stairs!"
"Look to this man, Frojac," said I, and then hastened into the château.
The moonlight through the open door showed a large vestibule, from which
the staircase ascended towards the right. The man coming down this
staircase was at the bottom step when I entered the vestibule. He stopped
there, taken by surprise. I saw that he was of short stature and slight
figure. I caught him by the back of the neck with my left hand, and
brought him to his knees before me.
"Where is the lady who but now entered the château?" I said. "Why are you
silent, knave?"
He trembled in my grasp, and I turned his face up towards mine. It was
the face of mademoiselle's boy, Pierre, who had left us in the forest!
"You here?" I cried. "It was you, then, who opened the gate to her! How
came you here? Speak, if ever you would see the blue sky again!"
I pressed my fingers into his throat, until he choked and the fear of
death showed in his starting eyes; then I released my clasp, that he
might speak.
"Oh, monsieur, have mercy!" he gasped. "Do not kill me!"
I saw that he was thoroughly frightened for his life. He was but a
boy, and to a boy the imminent prospect of closing one's eyes forever
is not pleasant.
"Speak, then! Tell the truth!" I said, still holding him by the neck,
ready to tighten my clasp at any moment.
"I will, I will!" he said. "I went from Mlle. de Varion to M. de la
Chatre, with a message, and he kept me in his service."
"What message? The truth, boy! I shall see in your eyes whether or not it
be truth you tell me, and if you lie your eyes shall never look on the
world again. Quick, what message?"
"That I came from Mlle. de Varion to the governor," he answered, huskily,
"and that at the top of the hill that rises from the throne-shaped rock
by the river road to Narjec is the burrow of the Huguenot fox!"
The last doubt, the last hope, was gone!
"My God!" I cried, and cast the boy away from me. What now to me was he
or anything that he might do or say? He cowered for a moment on the
ground, looking up at me, and then, seeing that I no longer heeded him,
ran out to the courtyard.
For a moment I stood alone in the vestibule, crushed by the terrible
certainty. All women, then, were as bad as Mlle. d'Arency. The sweet and
tender girl who had filled my heart was as the worst of them. To be
betrayed was deplorable, but to be betrayed by her! To find her a
traitress was terrible, but that I should be her dupe! And that I should
still love her, love her, love her!
What, she was in the château, under this roof, and I tarried here
deploring her treason when I might be at her side, clasping her, looking
into her eyes! "In the chamber at the head of the staircase," the guard
had said. I forgot Frojac, the guard, Pierre. But one thought, one
desire, one impulse, possessed me. With my dripping sword in my hand, I
bounded up the stairs. They led me to a narrow gallery, which had windows
on the side next the courtyard. There were doors on the other side. A
single light burned. No one was in the gallery. The door nearest the
staircase landing was slightly open. I ran to it and into the chamber to
which it gave entrance.
As in the gallery, so in the chamber, I found no one. I stood just within
the threshold and looked around. The walls of the apartment were hung
with tapestry. At the right was first a window, then a chimney-place,
beside which stood a sword, then a _prieu-dieu._ Before the fireplace was
a table, on which were a lamp burning, paper, ink, pens, and a large bowl
of fruit. At the left of the chamber was a large bed, its curtains drawn
aside. Beside this was another table, on which was an empty tray. There
was a door, slightly ajar, in that side of the room, and another in the
side that faced me. On the back of a chair near the fireplace was slung a
hunting-horn. On a stool near the door by which I had entered lay a belt
with a dagger in sheath. The bed looked as if some one had recently lain
on it. The presence of the fruit, writing materials, and other things
seemed to indicate that this was the chamber of M. de la Chatre. But why
was he not in his bed? Probably he could not sleep while he awaited the
result of this midnight enterprise of his troops. Certainly the servants
in the château were asleep. It was apparent that the six guards, four of
whom we had disposed of, were the only soldiers left at the château, for,
if there had been any others in the guard-house, they would have been
awakened by the fight in the courtyard. How many troops were left in the
town, I could not know, but they would not come to the château during the
night unless brought by an alarm. So there would not be many to interpose
themselves between mademoiselle and me. But where was she? Whither
should I first turn to seek her.
I had well-nigh chosen to try the room at the left, when the door
opposite me opened without noise, and a figure glided into the chamber,
swiftly and silently. The movement was that of a person who rapidly
traverses a place in search of some one.
"Mademoiselle!"
She heard me, saw me, stopped, and stood with parted lips, astounded
face, and terror-stricken eyes.
So we stood, the width of the room between us, regarding each other.