A CHANGED MAN
The conviction that the new Duke had been too lenient was more firmly
impressed upon Gaspard Lemasle each day, each hour almost. In the
captain's conception of life and duty there was much that was
primitive; a blow for a blow, treachery for treachery, seemed to him
amongst the first laws of existence. Failure would have meant certain
death to the conspirators, success naturally ought to mean death to
those against whom they had conspired, to Count Felix and all who had
aided him.
"A man who holds his power at the hands of the mob cannot afford to be
lenient," he said to Jean.
"Is that friend Roger's case?" said the dwarf.
"At present, yes. The few soldiers we can command would hardly serve
to crush an organized rising in the Count's favor. I would he were
dead."
Lemasle did not speak without reason. The people had come together for
a purpose, but that purpose accomplished, the mob was not to be easily
dispersed. Such men in rebelling threw law and order behind them, the
thought of riot and plunder filled their hearts, yet at the very
outset restraint had been put upon them. Nobles had been allowed to
pass through the streets and leave the city, strict orders being given
that they were not to be molested. Some of the bolder spirits had
refused to obey these orders and immediately found themselves
confronted by soldiers, their carbines loaded, their swords drawn.
The sharp orders from the officers left no doubt in the mind of the
crowd what the result of disobedience would be. There had been some
looting of shops, and swift punishment had fallen upon the robbers.
The command to desist, if not instantly obeyed, was likely to mean
sudden death. The crowd was disappointed, and grew quarrelsome. What
had been gained by setting this Duke Roger on the throne? The question
once asked, there were many quite as ready to fight against Duke Roger
as they had been to fight for him, and the mob was split up into
factions. Serious street fighting became general, and had to be
suppressed with a strong hand. To the Count and his allies, Herrick
may have been too lenient, but it soon became evident in Vayenne that
the man who had been raised to power was capable of ruling with an
iron hand. His prompt action somewhat appeased Lemasle, but it was
evident to the captain that the dissatisfaction was not stamped out,
but lay hidden, smouldering, waiting its opportunity.
The seven days which Herrick had given the nobles to decide whether
they would serve him or not, had passed, and comparatively few of them
had submitted. Some asked for an extension of time, some would fain
have remained neutral, and others boldly declared their inability to
accept his claim as a just one. There was little doubt that Christine
de Liancourt's attitude, which had certainly become known in many
quarters, had something to do with the position taken up by the
nobility; and the people of Vayenne, whose idol Mademoiselle was, were
silently, if not openly, opposed to the new Duke in consequence. There
was another point which told against Herrick. He refused, for the
present, to be crowned in St. Etienne, and people were quick to
declare that he was afraid to go through such a ceremony because he
knew that his claim was an unjust one. Lemasle urged him to wear the
iron crown, pointing out how valuable an effect it would produce, but
Herrick remained obdurate.
"Not yet, Lemasle," he answered. "When the iron crown is placed on my
head the whole nation shall shout for joy, or the crown shall never
rest there."
"You occupy a thorny seat, sir," said the captain, who had easily
fallen into his place as a loyal subject of the Duke.
"I care not so long as such men as you, and those you command, love
me."
The overbearing and insulting manner of Barbier had proved of great
service to Herrick. The best soldiers and men-at-arms, who loved
Gaspard Lemasle, were for the new Duke to a man; and if Herrick did
not hold his power by the will of the people exactly, he certainly
could not have held it without Lemasle. The fact was not unrecognized
in the Place Beauvoisin, where Felix still remained, and elsewhere.
Lemasle might be bought presently, it was argued; for to men who are
not scrupulous themselves every man has his price. Those who hated
Roger Herrick could afford to wait.
Herrick issued his orders from the same room whence Count Felix had
issued his, and Jean squatted beside him as he had done beside Felix.
Herrick had wished to do away with the gaudy raiment and the cap and
bells, but the dwarf had pleaded that he might retain them.
"They have proved useful, they may prove so again," said Jean.
Herrick was busy, and the dwarf had not spoken for nearly an hour,
when the door opened, and two men were ushered into the room. In an
instant the dwarf's fingers were upon a revolver which he carried
underneath his fool's garment, for Jean had constituted himself the
Duke's special body-guard. His eyes were ever keenly watching those
with whom the Duke conversed. An unfortunate movement might easily
have cost a man his life.
Herrick signed to the men who had remained near the door to come
forward.
"Do you recognize me?" he asked.
"No, my lord; but I know you are the Duke," answered one.
The other was not so certain.
"One of you helped to cut my bonds one night when I was bound by
robbers to a tree in the forest near your hut," said Herrick.
The men remembered at once.
"You little thought your services were given to the Duke of
Montvilliers, who does not forget them. We would find you better
service in the Castle of Vayenne; but not at once. We have other work
for you to do. You remember our speaking of an old, toothless hag who
was with those robbers?"
"Yes, my lord."
"She must be found. Can you find her?"
"We can try," was the answer. "We are more likely to be able to trace
her than anyone else perhaps."
Herrick struck a gong, and sent for Pierre Briant, who was instructed
to take half a dozen men and go with the charcoal-burners.
"This hag must be brought to Vayenne," he said. "Tie her up as you
will, but do not injure her. She has a secret, and we shall find means
here to make her tell it."
Jean looked at Herrick as the men left the room.
"This mission is a secret, Jean; I would have no one told of it."
The dwarf nodded.
"Vayenne would be alive with rumor in an hour, and that we cannot
afford."
"Will you tell Mademoiselle?" Jean asked.
"Why should I tell my enemy?"
"To make her a friend," was the answer.
Herrick laughed, but there was no mirth in his laughter.
"You have changed a good deal, friend Roger," said the dwarf after a
pause.
"Is that wonderful? Does a man become a duke without changing? To be
nobody particular is the happiest condition, Jean. When you climb up
into the seats of the mighty, you get a wider view of the world and
the men and women in it. The sight is not pleasant, and the heart and
head grow quickly sick of it all."
"Why climb then?" asked Jean.
"We are children of circumstances, and our own inclinations count for
little," Herrick returned.
"Twice, at least, you might have ridden to the frontier and left
Montvilliers to settle its own quarrels. Why didn't you?"
"Ah! Why didn't I?" said Herrick, asking himself a question rather
than making a reply to the dwarf.
There was a long silence, and presently Jean rose to his feet, and
going to Herrick, touched him on the arm with his fool's bauble
sharply enough to make the bells jingle.
"I alone wear the uniform, friend Roger, but maybe I am not the only
fool. There are different kinds of fools. Dukes may be of the
brotherhood, and perchance women like Mademoiselle de Liancourt. You
might find the world a less disagreeable place if you deigned to
explain yourself and tried to understand others. Men have become wise
before now by following the advice of a fool."
Herrick laughed again, still mirthlessly, as he passed out of the
room. His days were full of arduous business. A few stanch friends he
had, but mostly enemies surrounded him, enemies who were silent
because they feared him. Was it a marvel that he had changed? A man
forced to hold his position by inspiring fear must necessarily live
apart and take care to show no weaknesses. Sentiment is not for him,
and any kindness he may do must be begged for, not given freely. Such
a man must own to no mistakes, cannot confess to an ill-judged action,
theoretically he must be incapable of doing wrong.
From her window Christine saw Herrick cross the court-yard, and drew
back as he glanced up. He had made no attempt to see her, had sent her
no message, since that night in the great hall, and not wishing to
meet him she had remained in her rooms, although she was at liberty to
wander anywhere in the castle. Lucille was her constant companion, and
although she was not allowed to go abroad in the city, she did go
about in the castle, and from her Christine learned much of what was
happening. She heard that many nobles had refused to submit to the new
Duke; that rioting had been suppressed with a quick and heavy hand;
that the coming and going to and from the castle and the city were
under strict supervision.
"They say everywhere that the new Duke is a strong man," said Lucille.
"Has he captured your fancy?" asked Christine.
"Do you see in him the prince who, passing all others, was to come and
kneel at your feet?"
"Oh, mademoiselle, of course not," the girl answered, blushing. "I
have passed through such excitement since I told you my dream that I
had almost forgotten it. Besides----"
"Well, child?"
"Ah, you will be angry, but I thought--I really thought you loved the
Duke."
"You have strange fancies. Am I likely to have any feeling but hatred
for a tyrant and a usurper?"
And then Christine had wished to be left alone, and Lucille wondered
whether her anger was as great as it seemed.
Who shall understand the heart of a woman? Truly, not even her lover.
Christine told herself that she was glad Roger Herrick had not been to
see her, yet she watched from her window at those times she expected
to see him in the court-yard. As Duke he might be nothing more than an
ambitious tyrant, but she could not altogether forget what manner of
man he had been in the charcoal-burners' hut and at the house in the
Place Beauvoisin.
She was alone, and Roger Herrick filled her thoughts, when the door
opened, and Herrick entered. He came unannounced, the door was closed
behind him, and they were alone. Jean's advice had not passed
unheeded. Herrick had come determined to make an explanation. A slight
color stole into Christine's face. Perhaps she was glad he had come,
yet she resented the manner of his coming; and face to face with her,
the memory of her scorn the other night rose vividly in Herrick's
mind. In the short pause which ensued, Fate seemed to draw barriers
between them.
"Am I denied privacy then?" she asked.
"Had I sent to ask you to see me, you would probably have refused,"
said Herrick.
"Probably."
"Therefore I use the only way open to me," he answered.
"At present you are master. A prisoner complains of insult in vain."
"You are free to go where you will in the castle, mademoiselle. I
thought you understood that."
"I wish to leave the castle," she answered.
"At present that is impossible," he replied. "I have too many enemies
abroad as it is."
"Why not crush them while you have the opportunity?" she said. "Kill
the Count, kill me. Why do you hesitate?"
"Count Felix certainly merits death," Herrick returned, "but I fear
others more than I do the Count."
"Is it Maurice you fear? Your ambition hadn't fully blossomed that day
in the forest, or you would not have saved him."
"You are unjust, mademoiselle."
"Do you suppose your action the other night would have been possible
had you spoken the whole truth, and declared that Maurice was alive,
that you were the one man who knew that he was alive?"
"I took the throne by right of birth, mademoiselle, you forget that.
Why should I trouble to explain away Maurice's claim when his cousin
Felix had had him buried in St. Etienne?"
"You know Maurice was not buried there?"
"But I do not know for certain that he is alive. Surely I am a better
Duke than Felix?"
"You? An Englishman! A mere adventurer!"
"You used kinder language, mademoiselle, when you chose to accept my
service."
"Like others I have played into your hands," she answered. "I fail to
see the use in prolonging this interview."
"Mademoiselle, I came to explain certain things to you."
"You can force me to listen to you, but there is no explanation I will
willingly hear."
"Trust me, there shall be no explanation that you do not willingly
listen to," said Herrick. "You compel me to silence, you drive me to
harsh measures. Your enmity lends strength to these nobles who refuse
to submit to my rule. They await their opportunity to rebel, but alone
they are powerless. Their only hope of success is to bring a foreign
nation into Montvilliers to help them, and already there are rumors
that such negotiations are taking place. I may fall, but with me falls
the independence of Montvilliers, and the fault will lie at the door
of the woman who has so loudly professed her love for her
country--your door, mademoiselle."
"Montvilliers is in the hands of a foreigner now," she answered
quietly.
"If you believe that, you know little of your country's history,"
Herrick answered; "but you do not believe it. I have a claim, and you
know it, whether it is a good one in your eyes or not. If there is one
man necessary to the state at the present moment, I am that man; and
if there is one person who has it in her power to ruin the state, you
are that person; therefore you are confined to the castle. Some day,
mademoiselle, you may understand that I have given you a lesson in
patriotism."
"In words you are indeed a bold man," she said.
"My deeds speak for themselves. They have saved Montvilliers from
Count Felix; with your help they should save the land from invasion
and conquest. Will you ask me to explain all I came to say to you
to-day?"
"Is it necessary?" she asked. "You are afraid of me, I want no
explanation to understand that."
"You once said that for your country's good you would marry Count
Felix. Were they words merely, or did you mean it?"
"I meant it."
"And you hated him?"
"It would have been a sacrifice."
"Are you still prepared to make such a sacrifice?" Herrick asked. "It
is in your power to save the country from the double peril of civil
war and invasion. Will you do it?"
"Marry Felix? Now?"
"Why not, if your country demands it, or a worse than Felix if
necessary. To-day Felix is nothing, he holds no power. The power is
with me. Make the sacrifice, mademoiselle; trust me to fulfil my
part--marry me."
"Marry you!" she said, shrinking back from him.
"That you hate me does not count, that is altogether beside the
bargain. It is the country you have to consider; you make the
sacrifice for your country."
"Enough. I refuse to make such a sacrifice as this," she answered.
"That I love you counts for nothing, I suppose?" said Herrick after a
pause.
She did not answer at once. She saw again the man kneeling to her in
the hut, and again that night when Felix had broken in upon them.
Had he kneeled to her now, she might have relented.
[Illustration: _She sank into a chair._]
"Less than nothing," she said slowly after a pause.
Herrick's face hardened. In his heart was love, passionate longing,
and the madness of desire, but he suppressed all outward sign of the
tempest that raged within him.
"I had built much on your friendship, mademoiselle," he said quietly,
"I had even dared to hope that my love had touched an answering chord
in your heart. I little thought to stand alone in my love for this
land of ours."
"Ours!"
"Truly its ruin cannot hurt you much since you care for it so little.
Could I leave it, and all that belongs to it, I would do so, for I
have learned hard lessons in it."
"You have reached your ambition," she said.
"Have I? I believed in a woman's trust, and I have awakened from a
dream. I will trouble you no more. The times demand the Duke; Roger
Herrick ceases to exist. The Duke lives to hold Montvilliers against
her enemies. Roger Herrick was a poor fool who loved and trusted you,
mademoiselle."
He turned, and left her, the door closing heavily behind him. For a
moment Christine stood where she was, angry, defiant, then she sank
into a chair, and sobbed. Wounded pride, disappointment, loneliness,
and love were in her tears.
"If he were only Roger Herrick and no Duke," she said, "I could have
loved, I would have done all that he-- But he shall suffer. I have
power, and right is on my side. He has defied the law, why should not
I? The people would make me Duchess. Why should I not wear the crown?"
And then she rose quickly, stepping back into the shadows, as the
door opened again. She thought Herrick was returning, and she would
not have him see her tears. It was not Herrick, it was Father
Bertrand.
"Did your master send you to me?" she asked.
"Mademoiselle, I have no masters but the Church and my conscience."
She laughed, dashing the last tears from her eyes.
"The Duke you have helped to make should reward you well."
"Even a priest may be mistaken, mademoiselle," Father Bertrand said
slowly. "I came to talk to you about the Duke. Already they do not
love him in Vayenne."
"And you, father?"
The priest went to the door, opened it quickly to surprise any
listener there might be, then closed it again, and stepped to
Christine's side.
"His friends were chiefly his friends because of you, mademoiselle.
They thought you believed in Roger Herrick, that he had your support.
At your word Vayenne would rise to-morrow."
Christine did not answer for a moment. Her power suddenly frightened
her. Then she said slowly:
"I will listen attentively to all you have to say, Father Bertrand.
You find me a prisoner and in the mood to be rebellious."
And the room grew dark as the priest talked, yet she did not call for
lights.