FATHER BERTRAND JUSTIFIES HIMSELF
Even the busier streets of Vayenne were quieter now after nightfall
than they were wont to be. Those who were abroad went quickly and
direct to their destination, for to loiter, or appear to have no
particular object in view, was to be suspected. The new Duke was
ruling the city with a heavy hand, and those who passed in and out of
the gates were closely questioned. A few there were who approved this
caution; it was temporary only, and justified by the rumors of
disturbance on the frontier; but others, and they were the majority,
were discontented and sullen. Had they not helped to place a tyrant at
the head of the state? Would there have been any trouble on the
frontier if Count Felix had become their Duke?
Few people passed along the dimly lighted Rue St. Romain even in the
daytime, and at night it was practically deserted. Those who went to
visit Father Bertrand were fewer now than formerly. He was heart and
soul for Duke Roger, had evidently been privy to the sudden and
unexpected claim to the throne, and many began to mistrust him. They
waited, expecting to hear that great honors had been showered upon him
for his services. He was surely a politician seeking place and power
rather than a priest.
Father Bertrand sat at his table in the well-appointed room where he
had received Herrick. He was busy with his papers, some of which
required careful study and deciphering, for to the casual reader they
would have been meaningless. Opposite to him sat Mercier, watching him
and waiting for him to speak.
"He who plots sets out on a thorny path," said the priest presently,
looking suddenly at his companion.
"He turns enemies into distrustful friends, and his friends into
bitter enemies. I sometimes wish I could steal quietly out of Vayenne
in the night, and never return."
"Have you bad news there, father?" Mercier asked, pointing to the
papers.
"No. On paper all is plausible and easy, but few know the resource of
the man we have to reckon with. The Duke is a strong man, Mercier, a
worthy successor to the old Duke. I thought to smooth my road when I
helped to raise him to the throne; I have instead set a thousand new
difficulties in the way."
"The hand that made can unmake, and surely the people----"
"Hist!" said Father Bertrand sharply, as he raised a warning finger.
There were steps in the passage without, and then, after a knock and a
pause, the door was thrown open, and a man and woman, closely muffled
up, entered the room.
The priest rose to welcome them, and Mercier drew chairs to the table
for them.
"You came through the city safely?" said Father Bertrand.
"Ay; hurrying like a couple of bourgeois bent on doing their marketing
cheaply and expeditiously," said Count Felix, undoing his cloak; and
turning to his companion, he helped her to loosen her wraps. It was
the Countess Elisabeth.
"Since you came to the Place Beauvoisin the other night you have been
constantly in my thoughts, Father Bertrand," Felix went on. "Your
reason for supporting this traitor puzzles me more and more."
"And why do you now plot against him?" said the Countess. It was clear
that she distrusted the priest. It was her love for Felix which had
brought her to the Rue St. Romain to-night. If treachery were intended
she would be there to defend him or die with him.
The priest had not expected to see her, but he did not show his
surprise in any way. He knew that the Count was everything to her,
knew that she was prepared to make any sacrifice for him. There was no
danger in her presence; indeed, she might prove a useful tool ready to
his hand.
"Are we not here to talk of the future rather than the past?" he said.
"If I must defend myself," and he turned to the Countess, "it must be
remembered that I was not in Count Felix's confidence. Had I known
everything, I might have acted differently."
"We will not quarrel, father," Felix returned. "The past is past for
all of us, and many a man's future has served to obliterate the past
from the remembrance of his generation. You shall not find us
ungrateful."
"To obliterate the past we all have to make sacrifices," answered the
priest.
Again there were heavy steps in the passage, and after a knock and a
pause the door was opened, and Gerard de Bornais entered. He too had
been closely muffled up, but had unfastened his cloak on his way to
the room. It seemed certain that he knew who he was to meet there. He
saluted Felix and bowed to the Countess. Father Bertrand welcomed him
with cordiality, and himself drew forward a chair to the table for his
guest.
"We meet again under strange circumstances," said Felix.
"We live in strange times, Count," answered de Bornais. "Shall we
listen to Father Bertrand? Under certain conditions we are likely to
be no longer enemies. Who is that man, father?" he asked shortly,
looking at Mercier.
"One we can trust; a useful ambassador who is with us to the death."
And then as the Countess shuddered a little, he added: "I speak of
possibilities and probabilities, madame, but when we defy a strong and
determined enemy there are always contingencies, and death is one of
them."
"True; and time presses, father," said de Bornais, and there was an
authority in his tone which caused Felix to set his teeth firmly
together. He could not afford to speak as he would.
"Twice lately I have seen Mademoiselle de Liancourt," the priest
began, leaning back in his chair, "and, as we know now, she does not
recognize the claim of this Roger Herrick to the throne. In helping
him we were under the impression that he had her support."
He looked at de Bornais, who nodded.
"Now Roger Herrick's claim is a valid one, since the descent of the
late Duke is open to question, and that under certain conditions the
heir in the female line can inherit. Mademoiselle de Liancourt
maintains, however, that her uncle's claim was a just one, that having
deposed an incompetent ruler, he was Duke by his birthright, besides
which he ascended the throne by the people's will. Therefore his son,
or, failing him, Count Felix, is the rightful heir. But Mademoiselle
goes further than this. Roger Herrick, she argues, is an alien, an
Englishman, and that any claim he may have is annulled by this fact.
In this argument she is likely to have the ear of the people, for it
is obvious, with an Englishman on the throne, England may at any time
become the overlord of Montvilliers."
"If this fellow has any right, which I do not admit, Christine's
argument is an excellent one," said Felix.
"It would appear, Count, that in Mademoiselle's opinion you are the
heir; indeed, Maurice being dead, there can be no two opinions on this
point; but the fact remains that you are not a _persona grata_ with
the people, and Herrick's damaging statement in the great hall that
night has seriously affected your position."
"Is a man's character to be ruined by a lie?" said Felix.
"It often is," Father Bertrand answered quietly; "and Mademoiselle
does not seem able to decide whether it was all a lie. How far this
doubt influences her in her determination, I am unable to say, but her
first thought, her only thought indeed, is her country. Do you follow
me?"
"You use over-many words, it seems to me," said the Count irritably.
"The position is simple. Those who deny my right to the throne are
traitors. An ocean of words cannot alter that fact."
"Nor the fact that without help you are at this moment as powerless as
any man in Vayenne," said de Bornais.
There was a pause, during which the Countess laid her hand gently on
Felix's arm to keep him silent.
"We now come to Mademoiselle's last argument," said the priest. "That
the people have shown themselves ready to admit a claim through the
female line, a claim which has never been put forward until now in
the whole history of Montvilliers, seems to her a proof that the claim
of a woman herself will be recognized, and under certain conditions,
seeing that the country is in jeopardy, she is determined to make that
claim."
"Become Duchess!" Felix exclaimed. "I----"
"Would it not be well to hear the conditions, Count?" said Father
Bertrand.
"Pardon. I appear to be in the hands of my friends," Felix answered
sneeringly.
"Believing that your coming to the throne would be the cause of
further difficulties and dissensions," the priest went on, "believing
also that she is beloved by the people, Mademoiselle agrees to marry
you, and reign with you, equal to you in authority in all things. The
state shall have, in fact, two heads instead of one, and no order or
paper shall be valid without the signature of the Duchess as well as
that of the Duke."
"The Duchess being the more powerful," said Countess Elisabeth
quietly.
"Your decision must not be delayed, Count," said de Bornais. "I would
as soon Mademoiselle had taken the throne without any reference to
you, but on a point of law she has her scruples."
"In these days you have become a maker of dukes, de Bornais, and
appear little satisfied with your own work," said Felix.
"For what I conceive to be right I place myself a second time in
jeopardy," was the answer. "In Duke Roger we have a strong man to
contend with."
"I do not understand how it is you have so quickly learned to hate
him," said the Countess. "Such easy friendship as you seem able to
give is a dangerous thing for any man to accept. I should refuse to be
bound by such conditions as these, Felix."
"Madame, the Count is powerless without his friends," said the priest.
"And with them he becomes a tool, liable to be thrown away at any
moment and crushed underfoot. I have little faith in Mademoiselle or
her advisers. There is something under this conspiracy which you do
not speak of."
"The Count has until to-morrow to decide," said de Bornais. "If he
will not fulfil the conditions, he sinks into insignificance in
Montvilliers. By marrying Mademoiselle he will cement all parties in
the state. If you are with us, Count, success is certain, but without
you we have still a good hope of success. It is for you to choose."
"Wait. You have until to-morrow," whispered the Countess.
"The new Duke is strong in Vayenne," said Felix. "How do you propose
to outwit him?"
"When we have had your answer you shall know more of our schemes," de
Bornais answered.
"Success comes easiest through the sudden death of enemies," said the
Count. "Is there no rascal about the castle who for a reward can shoot
straight when he finds himself alone with the Duke?"
"We are not murderers, Count."
"Nor statesmen either, de Bornais, if you call such a thing murder. Is
it to you I send my answer to-morrow, Father Bertrand?"
"Yes, Count."
Felix helped the Countess with her cloak, and then wrapped his own
round him.
"I am inclined to doubt whether Montvilliers is worth all this
trouble," he said.
"It is for you to judge," said de Bornais as the Count and Countess
passed out.
De Bornais and Father Bertrand looked at each other as the door
closed.
"We plot against a man to serve a cur," said de Bornais.
"It is Mademoiselle we serve," said the priest.
"Truly we serve her badly to help the Count to marry her," was the
answer.
"But afterward." And the priest laid his hand on his shoulder. "The
fight has been a long one, de Bornais, but the end is in sight. The
labor of years is soon to be paid for. It will be a glorious triumph."
"Father Bertrand, all is yet to win, remember," was the answer.
"Whatever his faults, whatever his ambition, this Roger Herrick is a
man. You thought to make him a tool, and you find you cannot use him;
now you hope to put him aside, it is possible we shall not be able to
do so. He is an honest man, and if we overthrow him, in my heart I
shall feel a traitor to the end of my days."
"True, quite true, but our cause acquits our conscience," said the
priest.
"Do foul means justify even a good cause?" asked de Bornais.
"In this case, yes--a thousand times, yes. I speak not as a man, but
as a priest. Evil must sometimes be done that good may come. It is a
truth burnt into the record of all times and into the annals of every
nation."
"I would there were another way than this," de Bornais returned as he
fastened his cloak, "or that the work had fallen into other hands."
"But you are faithful?"
"To the death, father; and I almost hope that death may finish it."
The priest raised his hand in a silent blessing as de Bornais went
out.
Father Bertrand reseated himself at the table, and Mercier put back
the chairs into their places. Then he sat down on the opposite side of
the table, and watched the priest, who, taking up paper after paper,
seemed to do so half unconsciously, and merely to look at them, while
his thoughts were elsewhere. It was Mercier who broke the silence.
"You drive a strange and unruly team, father. I do not understand it."
The priest looked at him as though he had forgotten his presence
altogether until he spoke.
"True, Mercier. The goal I have struggled toward lies at the end of
crooked ways, but the ways are justified. The judgment of men would
condemn me, but for such judgment I care nothing." And he paused,
almost as if he doubted the truth of his own statement. Then he went
on hurriedly. "This you know, Mercier, that the end I strive for is
the Church's good, her triumph here, and throughout the world. Long
ago my superiors decided that it was not for the Church's good that
Montvilliers should remain a separate state. Their reasons were many
and complex, looking toward the future, and when I was chosen for the
work, I had only to obey. Duke Robert's position was too strong to be
assailed. I could no more than prepare the ground; but the future held
great possibilities. His son was a weakling, yet strongly supported by
Mademoiselle de Liancourt; Count Felix was feared, but he was strong
since he was unlikely to let any obstacle stand in his way to power.
Here lay all the elements of a civil war, and with such a war would
come the opportunity of the neighboring nations. They were ready to
strike when the word was given, are awaiting at this moment as you
know, Mercier."
Mercier nodded.
"I espoused the cause of the scholar of Passey--Mademoiselle's cause.
A weak man in power would inevitably have brought rebellion. In the
midst of my plotting, on the night of the Duke's death, I saw Roger
Herrick at the Croix Verte, and recognized that his face was strangely
like the face of the picture yonder. It was not so wonderful that I
should do so, for in seeking for means to bring about the desired end,
I had often wondered whether a further element of discord might not be
introduced through this branch of the family. You know our attempt to
secure him."
"I am unlikely to forget it," Mercier answered, "and poor Pigou will
go crippled to the end of his days."
"He has suffered in a good cause," said Father Bertrand. "Then came
the death of Maurice. The way was open to Count Felix; all my schemes
had come suddenly to the ground. This Roger Herrick was the only hope.
He had a claim--a good one. The success of my scheme was only too
complete. It is true rebellion smoulders in Vayenne, but it is also
true that we have raised a strong man to the throne, a worthy
successor to the old Duke. Left alone, he is capable of turning his
enemies into friends, of strengthening Montvilliers, of annulling all
my work of years. That Mademoiselle de Liancourt now plays into our
hands, that de Bornais is for the Church before all else, these things
constitute our last hope. Duke Roger has not had time to win the
hearts of the people, but he will fight to the end. We strike without
delay, Mercier; the hour is at hand."
Mercier did not answer.
"Does your silence accuse me?" said the priest, rising and standing by
the table, and the inspiration of enthusiasm was in his face. "It is
naught to me who rules, so that the Church triumphs. Am I seeking
rewards for myself? Would not high place be mine if I threw in my lot
with the Duke? It is along that road that riches and honor await me;
yet I choose the other, which may lead by a quick descent to death.
There is nothing of self in this--nothing, nothing."
"My silence did not accuse you," said Mercier. "I have served you,
Father Bertrand, and shall serve you. If I take reward for my services
that does not alter your position. I am a worldly man. After my
fashion I am honest, too, for I do not pretend that self does not
enter into the bargain. I only claim to keep my word to those to whom
it is given. I am satisfied, father. It has paid me well."
"We have worked together so long, Mercier, that, almost unconsciously,
I have been justifying my actions to you," said Father Bertrand, with
a smile. "For all my boasting I suppose, like others, I do care
something for what men--for what my friends think of me. Something of
the world must cling to the cassock of even the saintliest priest, and
Heaven knows, I claim no such exalted rank for myself. For you,
Mercier, there are greater rewards in store. These papers are ready.
At dawn to-morrow, Mercier, you must leave Vayenne, and make all speed
for the frontier. There is no suspicion that we are not heart and soul
with the Duke. There will be no difficulty at the gates. But every
moment counts, Mercier. Already the Duke has cleverly appealed to the
nobles who will not submit. The country is in danger of invasion, he
has told them, and has urged that internal enmity should be set aside
until the common foe is driven back. Afterward he has pledged himself
to retain the throne only at the call of three-fourths of the nation.
Oh, he is a man, a great man. I have not dared to tell de Bornais
this; he is too much fascinated with him as it is. To return
successful would win for Duke Roger the applause of the whole nation,
so there is no time to lose. Start at dawn, Mercier, at dawn."
"I shall not fail." And as Mercier went out, Father Bertrand lay back
in his chair pale and exhausted. When the dawn crept into the room it
found him sleeping there.