OBEDIENCE AND TRUST
Some two hours ago the porter had opened the small door in the high
wall, and before he could prevent her, or ask her business, a woman,
heavily cloaked, had stepped hastily in, and bade him close the door
again. He obeyed her command almost unconsciously, and then recovered
himself sufficiently to ask the meaning of this sudden intrusion.
The woman laughed as she let the cloak, which she had held lightly
across her, fall apart.
"Your wits move slowly, my friend. An enemy might enter while you were
making up your mind to ask his business. Go and tell your mistress
that Mademoiselle de Liancourt would speak with her."
Countess Elisabeth met her with a smiling welcome and outstretched
arms, yet Lucille, who was with her when the message was brought, had
seen an expression in her face which was certainly not one of
pleasure, and was surprised at the sudden change as the door opened
and Christine entered.
"Forgive me coming to you in this fashion, Elisabeth," Christine said.
"I knew I should find a safe retreat here."
"Retreat?"
"Yes, or hiding-place if you will, for that is the true meaning of my
coming. I would not have it known that I am in Vayenne for a while."
"Take the cloak, Lucille," said the Countess, lifting it from
Christine's shoulders.
"Thank you; and Lucille, although it is a well-worn one, see that it
is not thrown away, for it is borrowed," laughed Christine; and then
when the girl had gone she went on. "I am travel-stained altogether,
Elisabeth, and look strangely out of keeping with the comfort of this
room. You will give me food presently, and perhaps lend me a gown; we
are sufficiently of a size for that, I think. I have not had my
clothes off for three nights."
"I do not understand," said Elisabeth.
"How should you? But you know that I went to Passey?"
"I have heard of that disaster and the death of the Duke," said
Elisabeth.
"All Vayenne has heard of that, I suppose," said Christine.
"Such ill news travels quickly," was the answer; "if it is ill news
altogether. Perhaps for the country's sake the death is not such an
unfortunate one."
"You did not know Maurice," said Christine quietly.
"You must not be angry with me," the Countess went on. "I am thinking
of the country, not of the individual, and I am sorry for the poor
boy. But I do not understand why you should want to be in Vayenne
secretly."
"A duke is not murdered without some upheaval in the state," said
Christine. "The Duke's partisans may be the next victims."
"Is your life in jeopardy, Christine?"
"For three days I have been hiding in a charcoal-burner's hut. I
should hardly have done so without good reason. Captain Lemasle saved
me when we were attacked in the woods, and only to-night have I
ventured to the city. I came by the North Gate, since it was nearest
to your house, entering in the company of some market women, borrowing
one of their cloaks to conceal myself as much as possible. How Captain
Lemasle has fared, I know not. Let me see him if he comes, Elisabeth.
He knows where I was bent on seeking sanctuary."
"But Felix----"
"I know. He will be Duke," said Christine, interrupting her.
"And powerful to shield you," said Elisabeth.
"He sent an escort to shield Maurice. It failed miserably in its
purpose. Maybe Felix thinks, as you do, that Maurice's death happened
fortunately for Montvilliers."
"Even then, I do not understand your position, Christine. Is not Felix
to know that you are in Vayenne?"
"Not yet. He will know presently. As you love me, Elisabeth, let my
being here remain a secret at present."
"But why?"
"Have you never heard that Felix wishes to marry me?" Christine asked.
"Yes; I have heard so. I know nothing of the truth of the story," said
the Countess.
"It is true enough. Oh, there is no romance in it, Elisabeth. I have
some power and wealth in the state. It might be a good marriage for
Felix. There you have the whole truth of it."
"And you do not love him?"
"I do not think so. How can I tell? I have lived all these years on
the earth without knowing what love is. Love, perhaps, finds no easy
road into the Castle of Vayenne."
"Still, without love, you would marry him?" said the Countess.
"For the good of the country, perhaps; but if I do, he will probably
live to wish that he had found another wife, even if she cost him a
crown."
"Surely, Christine, if you have not learnt to love, you have learnt
how to hate."
"Time enough for that when Felix and I are married. Will you keep me
here for a while, and let it be a secret?"
"Yes; I promise. I will, even at the risk of Felix's anger. Am I not
brave?" And she laughed lightheartedly.
"Then come and pick me out a gown, the prettiest you have, Elisabeth.
I long to shake off the charcoal dust and the dirt of the highway. I
want to feel just a woman, and look pretty again."
"Surely this Captain Lemasle-- Did you not say he might come
to-night?" said the Countess.
Christine laughed.
"This old house gives you romantic notions, my dear. Let us call
Lucille, and bid her help to choose the gown, for with such ideas in
your head you may be jealous of me, and foist upon me some cast-off
garment that no girl could possibly look charming in. You are so
pretty yourself, Elisabeth, that I am inclined not to trust you in
this affair." And with their arms about each other, they went out of
the room, calling for Lucille.
Captain Lemasle did not come, and only the porter heard any
disturbance in the square. It woke him from a doze, but not
sufficiently to send him out to see what the cause of the noise might
be. He was a sleepy old man at the best of times, and if there were
any breaking of heads being done, he argued that he was safer in his
little lodge on the inside of the wall.
They talked no more of politics that night. For one thing, Lucille was
present, and this was a relief, for both Christine and the Countess
were busy with their own thoughts. Countess Elisabeth had told Felix
that they had come to the parting of the ways. She loved him, of that
she made no secret, but she had been unselfish enough to urge his
marriage with Christine. His good came before her desire. With the
death of Maurice, it seemed to her that all reason why Felix should
marry Christine vanished; and since circumstances had thus been kind
to her, she looked for the reward of her great unselfishness. When
Felix had come to her the other day, she had fully expected him to
rejoice that all barriers between them were now cast down. He had not
done so; he still saw a necessity for marrying Christine; and although
too proud to question him closely, she had made him understand that
for the future things must be different between them. Perhaps she
understood his character more thoroughly, at this moment, than she had
ever done; but she loved him. Hers was not that love which lies close
to the borderland of hatred; wounded, it yet found excuses for him.
To-night she had learned something of Christine's feelings toward him.
She might marry him, but time could never bring love into that union.
Christine had declared that it would bring hatred. Felix must be saved
from this, and the Countess tried to persuade herself that she thought
only of him in this matter. She would keep Christine's secret. Felix
should not know that she was in Vayenne; more, if necessary, she would
keep Christine a prisoner for a time, so that Felix might understand
how easily he could do without her, that he was free to marry where he
would. This Lemasle was Christine's lover, surely, since she had not
denied it. Elisabeth might presently betray this secret to Felix.
"Yes, I may do that," she said as she came to this climax of her
thoughts in her room that night, and the expression on the fair face
which her mirror reflected almost startled her. For an instant she saw
deeper into her own soul than she dared to look as a rule. She was
frightened, but not repentant.
And Christine had been silent that evening, too. She knew nothing of
Felix's visits to the Place Beauvoisin. She knew that he did not
really love her; she believed that he did not love any woman. She had
come to Countess Elisabeth for refuge and with the intention of
telling her the whole truth of the attack in the forest; but
Elisabeth's evident partisanship of Felix had stopped the tale.
Christine had to give some other reason for her desire to remain
concealed. The fact that Felix wished to make her his wife, and her
reluctance to such a union, seemed a reason that would be most likely
to appeal to another woman, and the introduction of Lemasle's name
added force to the argument; so Christine laughed and spoke no words
of denial. But there was little laughter in her heart as she locked
herself in her room. Lemasle had not come. He had said he would, and
she knew him well enough to understand that he was unable to keep his
promise. He had not succeeded in entering Vayenne without being seen,
and she dreaded to think what his fate might be, once he fell into the
hands of Felix. There was something strange about Elisabeth. Her
welcome had been forced. She had been under some restraint all the
evening. It was doubtful if this house was a safe refuge after all.
What had Roger Herrick done? How had he fared? Brave man as he was,
what could he hope to accomplish against Felix? Herrick and Lemasle
might both be taken, and they would both die a speedy death. Felix
could not afford to let such men live, for they knew the truth.
"God grant he does not silence me before I have called him traitor!"
she cried passionately; and then her mood changed suddenly, and a soft
look came into her eyes. "I was wrong to let him ride back to
Vayenne," she murmured; and for a little while she sat thinking, her
mental vision reaching far beyond the four walls of her chamber,
seeing the rough hut, the smouldering peat fire, and a man kneeling to
her, swearing to serve her to the death.
Suddenly she shook herself free of such dreams. This was no time for
visions. Even now Felix might be planning the death of this man--and
of Lemasle. They must be saved. She would go to the castle to-night.
The room seemed to have grown hot and stifling, and she threw open the
window to fill her lungs with the cool night air.
Below her, the garden was in darkness. The night was overcast, but the
trees were whispering together, and from the distance came the faint
music of the carillon.
"I will go," she said, turning quickly from the window. "In some
dungeon that music may penetrate to him as he counts the hours to
dawn--and death. Felix shall listen to me."
The borrowed cloak was lying on a chair. She hastily wrapped it round
her, and her hand was upon the key in the door when she stopped and
turned round sharply.
"Mademoiselle!"
There was a face at the open window, a shaggy head that might well
startle any woman, and two knotted hands grasped the window-frame,
the muscles straining as the man drew himself slowly in.
"Pardon, mademoiselle. I have waited a long time. I knew no other way
to get to you."
"Jean!"
"At your service, mademoiselle," said the dwarf as he got into the
room and fell on his knee before her, a strangely grotesque figure,
yet surely an honest man.
"What do you want with me?" Christine asked.
"I have a message from friend Roger. You are to remain in hiding until
he sends to you again. Count Felix must believe that Duke Maurice is
dead. Since leaving you in the forest, friend Roger has learnt strange
things."
"What has he learnt?"
"That Count Felix will never be Duke of Montvilliers," Jean answered.
"But tell me why? What makes him say this? Come, Jean, tell me
quickly. I have no wit to-night to think of questions to drag out your
story."
"There is no story to be dragged out, mademoiselle. That is all the
message, all I have to tell."
"I must know more," said Christine.
"I know no more," the dwarf answered. "Friend Roger was mysterious. He
would tell me more presently, he said, but to-night there was work to
do; and I have done it, although 'tis a marvel I am here at all. I
have been hunted half over the city like a rabbit, and for longer than
I care to remember have lain on my stomach on the wall of yonder
garden, so still that a cat climbed over me and found nothing strange
with the wall."
"Where is Roger Herrick?" asked Christine.
"That he bade me not tell you. He said you would not understand. I do
not understand either. It is a place I should not choose to hide in.
But there, it's a good thing all animals do not make for the same
hole."
"Is he in danger?"
"He doesn't seem to think so."
"Has he been to the castle?"
"No. Friend Roger would hardly be such a fool as that."
"He spoke truly; I do not understand," said Christine.
"So far then he is wise, for he said you would not," Jean answered. "I
had a message for Captain Lemasle, but he is not here. He also was to
wait until friend Roger sent for him."
"You have seen Captain Lemasle?"
"Yes; but had no word with him. First one man followed me to-night,
and I lost him; then presently half a dozen soldiers pounced on me,
saying Count Felix had need of me. I was in a strait how to break
loose and deliver my message. I said I was willing to go to the Count,
but why should we not drink first; and as we went I got free. It was a
long chase, mademoiselle, and presently I turned into the square here,
and leaped on to the wall, and lay there. The crowd rushed by, and
fell upon another man in the square--the captain."
"And took him?" said Christine.
"He fought as a man should, but there were fifty against him. Then he
asked who they had been hunting, and when they told him, he shouted
out that I might tell his friends. He guessed I was not far off, and I
understood."
"They will hang him before to-morrow," said Christine.
"There are many hours yet before to-morrow," Jean answered. "I
dropped into the garden, and have waited a long time. I did not want
to climb to the wrong window. I was just going to break into the
house, and bring my message, though I had to wake you from sleep to
give it, when you looked down. In that moment the garden grew light,
mademoiselle. You have your cloak on. Were you thinking of going out
to-night?"
"Yes. To the castle to beg life for----"
"For Lemasle? I will do that."
"You! Who will listen to you?"
"Few know the castle as I do, mademoiselle. Friend Roger escaped from
the South Tower, and the Captain shall not hang to-morrow, or, if he
does, I will hang with him."
"That would be of small use to him," Christine said. "It would be
company. Shall I take word to friend Roger that you will obey him?"
"Obey?"
"Indeed, he sent the message as though it were a command."
Christine slowly let the cloak slip from her shoulders. "Yes. I will
obey. He sent no other message?"
The dwarf looked at her.
"No, mademoiselle. He was full of business to-night, he had no thought
for anything else. Is your--your obedience all the message I carry
back?"
"Yes. And tell him of Gaspard Lemasle."
"I will tell him. The captain shall not hang." And Jean began to get
out of the window. "The creepers are strongly grown here; where a
friend can enter an enemy may. Shut the window fast, mademoiselle."
Christine, stood by the window as the dwarf let himself hang by the
creeper.
"A still tongue, mademoiselle, will make this place safer than it
otherwise might be."
"I know, Jean."
"Good-night, mademoiselle."
"Good-night, Jean."
The dwarf paused in his descent, and Christine leaned from the window.
"Jean," she whispered, "you may say to Roger Herrick that I trust
him."
"Obedience and trust," murmured the dwarf as he dropped into the
garden, and the ghost of a laugh floated up to Christine as she closed
the window.