THE ORDERS FOR RELEASE
On the terrace below the western tower the sentry slowly paced his
appointed round, looking down over the city at intervals, and once or
twice glancing up at the tower above him, where, clad in his motley of
scarlet and green, Jean sat perched upon the battlements. The dawn was
two hours old now, and for full two hours the dwarf had sat there, his
grave face sadly at variance with his gay dress, and grinning bauble
furnished with jingling bells, which he had stuck under his arm. From
this western tower was the widest view of Vayenne, and Jean looked
over the city and beyond it to the far hills as though he would
imprint the picture upon his memory. Only that morning he had put on
his motley for the first time. "The Duke's gift, Jean," Felix had said
last night. "Who hurts the fool shall henceforth have to reckon with
the Duke." And it would almost seem that the dwarf had come to this
exalted spot to show himself to the new day. The sentry smiled at the
fool's pride; and some sensation of showing himself to the earth and
sky of a new dawn may have passed through the dwarf's mind, but there
was no pride in it. He played a part; under the motley was the same
Jean, wise, cunning, and alert. He had climbed to the battlements for
a purpose, and thoughts had come into his mind as he sat there which
had made his face grave as he looked over the city, and to the distant
hills, which shut in all the world he had ever known.
It was the third day since Christine de Liancourt had come to the
castle, and twice Jean had had speech with her. She had questioned him
concerning Roger Herrick, but he could tell her nothing, because
Herrick had commanded silence. The hours had been busy for the dwarf,
and fortunately for Count Felix also. Jean had not been wanted, and
could go about his own affairs unmolested. His work lay in all
directions in Vayenne; in the smaller streets and alleys behind St.
Etienne, where men lived poorly and nursed discontent in their hearts;
in the network of narrow ways about the old markets; in mean cafes and
taverns; and in some houses of a better sort where grievances
sheltered. Some work, too, there was in the castle itself among the
soldiers, who found it unnatural to speak of Felix as the Duke, or who
were more than ordinarily superstitious and still marvelled who the
spy who had escaped might be, or were suspicious concerning the death
of the young scholar of Passey. For each there was different
treatment, wisdom here, cunning there; and hardly had Jean slept these
few nights past. Last night, indeed, many in Vayenne had not slept,
for all signs of mourning had to be folded away, and the city must be
decked with wreaths, and colored bunting, and flags, and prepare
itself to shout "Long life to the Duke!" So workmen were busy all
through the night, and the sounds of hammering faintly ascended to
Jean's ears now. He had been in and out among these workers last
night, and whatever else he told them, he whispered this in their
ears:
"To-morrow! To-morrow! Justice shall be born to-morrow, toward
evening, when the Duke mounts the steps of the throne. Then be ready
to shout what you have been bidden to shout. All else shall happen as
I have told you. I play my part, a mean part, the part of a fool, clad
in gaudy coloring with jingling cap and bells. Look for me at dawn at
the summit of the western tower. There shall you see me, and what
manner of part it is I play. It is the sign that all things are as I
have told you."
Thus it was that the dwarf sat long upon the battlements, knowing well
that many hundred eyes had turned to look in his direction since
daybreak. He had looked down into the streets to see men stop and
stare upward; he had looked to this side and that where he knew men
were waiting eagerly for light; he had looked toward the high-pitched
roof of the great hall of the castle, running lengthways to the great
square, and he pictured the scene that a few short hours must bring,
the climax to the work with which he had been busy night and day.
Still he sat there, looking now to the distant hills, which wrapped
themselves about the city, and instead of eager expectation in his
face, there was grave contemplation, even the look that he might have
worn when in St. Etienne he saw visions. The dawn would break again
to-morrow. The morning star would pale in the quivering, golden beams
up-springing from behind those sheltering hills. What would another
new day lighten in Vayenne?
"Failure," murmured Jean, "and then swift death for us all. Success,
and even that must mean rebellion and carnage in her streets once
more."
He rose suddenly, and with an impassioned gesture spread wide his arms
as if he blessed the city that he loved, a strange, uncouth little
figure, ugly as an ancient gargoyle of some great Gothic church. Who
shall chronicle all the thoughts that were in him as he stood there?
Then he swung himself from the battlement to the roof of the tower,
and slowly descended to the court-yard, where busy men greeted him
with roars of laughter.
"Your commands, my Lord Fool! Your will, Sir Jester!" they shouted.
"You shall know through your captains, my good fellows," said Jean
grandiloquently as he passed on his way to Count Felix.
There was much coming and going in the corridors of the castle, and
the dwarf had to run the gauntlet of much chaff, good-natured banter
for the most part; and for every one he had an answer, which if not
witty passed for such and drew its measure of laughter. It is easy to
see humor even in the commonplaces of a licensed jester. No one
questioned Jean's right to go where he would, and he passed through
the ante-rooms, where many were awaiting an audience, and entered the
Count's private apartment unannounced.
Felix looked up, and then burst out laughing, the first time he had
laughed since he had returned from the Place Beauvoisin with his hand
bound up; and Barbier, who was standing by the Count's table, arrayed
in his new uniform as Captain of the Duke's Guard, laughed too.
"So we are three gossips, but only two of us are dressed in our new
clothes yet," said Jean. "Haven't they sent yours home yet, friend
Felix? Grant they may not come too late."
"Little fear of that now," said Felix, but he became solemn again, and
turned to Barbier. "There is nothing more, captain. See that the
sentries are doubled everywhere. See that a special guard of honor is
given Mademoiselle de Liancourt to-night, and make it clear that
neither she nor any of her suite has permission to leave the castle.
And remember no priest may enter the Castle of Vayenne but Father
Bertrand."
"Had I my will, I would keep him out, too," said Barbier.
"That is impossible," Felix answered. "Every detail of ancient custom
must be observed. Go, Barbier, I depend upon you."
"We trust you, Barbier," said Jean. "You are earning your new dress
very creditably."
The captain shrugged his shoulders contemptuously at the dwarf as he
went out. Barbier had little appreciation of such humor, and perhaps
he was not so comfortable in his new uniform as he pretended to be.
The Count's wounded hand troubled the Captain of the Guard. Somewhere,
undetected, in their midst was a man who knew their secrets.
The wounded hand also troubled the Count. Who was his adversary? What
had he to do with Christine de Liancourt?
"No more visions, Jean?" he said, turning to the dwarf, who had seated
himself on the floor beside his chair.
"None."
"We travel swiftly to the goal."
"Ay; straight to the goal," Jean answered. "I saw carpenters and
servants putting the final touches to the great hall as I passed. It
will be a grand spectacle."
"I would it were over," said Felix, "or that we could do without it."
"Why so? The Duke is dead, young Maurice is dead, and Montvilliers
must have a duke."
"I have enemies, Jean, and they trouble me. What can I do with them?"
"Bury them quickly, just as we buried the old Duke and his son," the
dwarf answered.
"That would be easy could I find these enemies," answered Felix, "but
they are secret foes, striking in the dark."
"At your hand," was the quick retort; "your heart is whole. It puzzles
me why your enemy did not run you through the heart the other night."
"It puzzles me, too, Jean."
"It would have saved a lot of trouble," the dwarf went on in a musing
manner, "and you would have gone to your account proclaimed as a
martyr. There would have been pilgrimages to your tomb in St Etienne,
and Vayenne would have become famous."
"Since he did not kill me, he must mean other mischief," murmured
Felix, following his own train of thoughts and paying little attention
to the dwarf.
"Ay; you will lose much by being a duke instead of a martyr," said
Jean.
Count Felix roused himself with a sudden effort. This was not the time
for fears or dismal forebodings, and he struck the gong upon his
table. He had much to do, many persons to see, many things to arrange;
and Jean sat there while all this business was transacted, welcoming
and dismissing each person with a little musical shake of his fool's
bauble. Most of them laughed at him, a few were angry, but it made no
difference to the dwarf.
Presently the Count rose.
"Play the fool where you will, Jean, until evening; I go to see the
Countess Elisabeth, and I will not take you with me."
"Are you jealous?" asked the dwarf.
"No."
"I'll go and see Christine de Liancourt," said Jean. "I warrant I
shall have a hearty welcome. Art jealous now?"
"A little, perhaps."
"She might have liked you as a martyr," chuckled the dwarf. "Oh, I
grant you, being a fool has its advantages." And he shook his bauble
as the Count passed out of the room.
Then Jean seated himself thoughtfully on the corner of the Count's
table, and for a few moments was busy with his seals and wax.
"Since the sentries are doubled, we must take double precaution," he
murmured. "Chance is a very useful mistress sometimes, but it does not
pay to leave too much to her."
Count Felix went quickly to the suite of rooms Countess Elisabeth
occupied for the time being in the castle. He had requested her not to
return to the Place Beauvoisin until after he was crowned Duke. He
wanted his talisman beside him, he said; and the Countess, perhaps
hoping that she would never permanently return to the Place
Beauvoisin, remained.
She received him now, as she always did, with a smile of welcome, and
he bent over her hand in silence before seating himself beside her.
"I would it were well over, Elisabeth."
"To-morrow at this time it will be," she answered.
"Had I dared to do so, I would have altered the ceremony," he went on;
"I would have curtailed some of these absurd customs, and made my
coronation far more simple and direct. It should have been swiftly
done, and I would have had the reins firmly in my hands before any had
time to question me."
"Who can question you?"
"I fear even the voice of one starveling about the court, or even of
some soldier who mayhap has begun his revelling too early."
"Your fears are groundless, Felix."
"Are they?" And he held out his bound-up hand to her.
"That was but the stroke of a lover mad with jealousy," Elisabeth
answered. "When I sent you to Christine that night I little thought
you would find her lover there."
"Who is this lover?"
"Indeed, I cannot tell; but being a woman I read another woman easily.
As I told you, I thought she loved this Captain Lemasle; in that I was
mistaken, but I was not at fault when I said she was in love. That you
must know now."
Felix was silent. A lover of Christine's this sham priest might well
be, but he was something more--he was the man who knew his secret.
This he could not tell to the Countess without betraying himself.
"Would you still marry her, Felix?" she asked.
"Only for the good of Montvilliers," he answered.
"She will hate you, Felix, even though she be your wife. They are her
own words."
"I must risk even that for the good of Montvilliers."
"Ah, your love is a small thing beside your ambition," she said,
turning away from him.
"Your love is the dearest thing I have in life, Elisabeth," he said
quickly. "Do not turn from me, even for a moment, in such a time as
this. I am like a child stepping in the dark who holds out its hands
for guidance and protection. After to-morrow, who can tell what action
of mine may be best for Montvilliers? If Christine hates me so much,
she may show it now, and give strength to my enemies; she has that
power, I cannot rob her of it. Let me once feel that I am firm without
her, and then----"
"Well, Felix?"
Her face was raised to his, and he bent and kissed her lips.
"For the present know that I love you," he whispered, "and give me
strength for the ordeal through which I have to pass."
"You ask so much and give so little."
"Wait," he answered. "After to-morrow, I may give all."
"Yours are, indeed, a child's fears," she said. "Come, tell me them
one by one, and like some good nurse I will try and show you how
foolish they are."
All his fears he could not tell her, perhaps she recognized that he
did not, but many he could talk to her about, and she comforted and
strengthened him. All the ghosts that conscience sent to harass him
were powerless to annul the Countess Elisabeth's work altogether, and
it was with firm step and steady eye that presently the Count met his
friends and foes.
Meanwhile Jean went about his work, but it did not include a visit to
Mademoiselle de Liancourt. He passed slowly through the ante-rooms,
where men were still waiting.
"The audience is at an end," he said. "We have too much to attend to
to-day to see any more of you. The Count is tired; and has gone to
rest a little."
"My Lord Misshapen, won't you attend to us?" said one.
"My unique limbs also require rest; still, what would you have? We
know nothing against you."
"A high place at court, to which my love for you entitles me," said
the man.
"What say you to a rope over the great gate?" said Jean. "It is the
most prominent place I can think of."
The man's hand went suddenly to his sword hilt.
"If you draw sword on me," said Jean, tapping him on the arm with his
bauble, making the bells jingle, "you are likely to earn your high
place rather easily."
The laugh was turned against the man, and the dwarf passed on.
"It is very well to jest," mused Jean as he crossed the court-yard,
"but I'm likely to hang yonder over the gate myself if anything goes
wrong in the next few hours."
He entered a low doorway, and going slowly along a dark passage, was
challenged at the end of it by a sentry. There were two sentries
standing there.
"I have come to see the prisoner."
"We have no orders," answered the sentry.
"I go everywhere under a general order," said Jean. "You should know
that, blockhead; it has been shouted loud enough in every corner of
the castle."
"It does not apply to-day, Jean."
"Who has been telling you fairy tales, that cocksparrow Barbier?"
The sentry smiled. The new Captain of the Guard was no great friend of
his.
"We shall have to cut his feathers," said the dwarf. "Did he tell you
that all prisoners were likely to be released to-morrow in honor of
the Duke's coronation?"
"No; he did not tell us that."
"And I'm a fool," said the dwarf, "for I was told to keep it secret
when I was ordered to bring this release to one of the prisoners
to-day." And Jean held out to the sentry a paper, an order of release
forthwith, signed and sealed by Count Felix. "You see the name,
Pierre Briant, the jailer who let the spy escape. Now, blockheads, are
you going to let me pass?"
There was no disputing that order, the sentries stood aside, and one
of them proceeded to unlock the cell door.
Pierre Briant looked at the paper and then at the dwarf.
"You are free, jailer Briant," said Jean, "but you are dismissed the
Duke's service. You'll have to turn 'prentice to some pedler in the
town."
"I'm sorry for that," said the sentry.
"I'll see you on your way to the gate," said the dwarf, and then, when
they were out of hearing of the sentries, he went on quickly: "All
goes well. Those in the square to-night will follow you. You know what
you have to do. Here, put this order of your release in your pocket,
walk boldly to the gate, you will not be questioned. Say 'Obedience
and trust,' that's your password, and make all speed you can to the
Cheval Noir in the Rue de la Grosse Horloge. You will find friends
there."
He stood watching the retreating figure across the court-yard, and saw
the jailer pass safely through the postern by the great gates.
"That's one deed that would serve to hang me," he muttered. "Barbier
is no fool; it is well I had the papers."
He entered the castle again, taking a different direction this time,
but again before the door of Gaspard Lemasle's cell two sentries
barred his way. Not until he had produced another order of release
would they let him pass.
Lemasle walked away with the dwarf in silence.
"What now, Jean?" he whispered when they had passed out of earshot of
the sentries.
"Lie low until dark. Then make for guard-room C. They will be all
friends there, stout men, captain, that wait their stout leader.
'Obedience and trust' is our password to-night. You understand what
you have to do?"
"Never fear, Jean; and grant there's a skirmish of some sort, for I
have several scores outstanding."
"We had better both hasten to cover then."
"I know a likely hole," Lemasle answered, and he turned quickly into a
side passage, and was gone.
"I'll hide, too," muttered the dwarf. "I have no great desire to meet
Barbier until I see him to-night in the great hall." And he, too,
turned into a dark corridor and silently disappeared.