ONLY THE FOOL
Roger Herrick signed the last of the papers upon his table, and
leaning back in his chair looked at Lemasle, who had entered the room
a few moments before. Jean squatted in his favorite attitude on the
floor beside Herrick's chair.
"Yes, yes, Lemasle, all you say is true. While they live, some men
will plot and scheme, but to me this seems no reason why I should kill
them."
"Sir, once before I said you were too lenient; was I wrong?"
"No; you were right, yet I would be lenient again. Do I disappoint
you, Lemasle?"
"Only in this, sir. Justice and expediency demand that traitors should
pay the penalty of their treachery."
"There must be something wanting in my nature to make me an ideal
Duke."
"Sir, Montvilliers is proud of her Duke, and every day, every hour,
the people grow to love you better."
"Surely then we can afford to be lenient," said Herrick.
"Not to traitors," Lemasle answered promptly. "Count Felix despised
your leniency. De Bornais, whom you trusted, rebelled, and would have
sold his country."
"And Mademoiselle de Liancourt?" asked Herrick quietly.
"She is a woman, sir."
"And is a woman never a traitor?" asked Herrick.
"At least Mademoiselle loves her country, and perhaps----" The captain
paused, and looked at Herrick.
"Well, Lemasle?"
"The sentence is best left unfinished, but women's love finds strange
ways of revenging itself if it is scorned," said the Captain.
Herrick did not answer, but Jean, either of set purpose or by
accident, made his bells jingle for a moment.
"I would once more urge stringent measures, sir," Lemasle went on
after a pause. "The people expect it. They look for such measures to
bring peace to the country. You are reluctant to let justice take its
course, and it may be that I understand something of your mind in
this, but, if I may advise, why not postpone judgment? In a few days
the nobles will be assembled in Vayenne, let them decide against the
Count and de Bornais as they will. Have they not often in times past
been summoned to give decision in such a case? Why should you give
judgment to-day?"
"Because, Lemasle, I fear the justice of the nobles," Herrick
answered. "My orders must stand. See that the prisoners are brought
into the hall. And, captain, think presently of some honor you covet,
and it shall be yours. If we are slow to condemn, we would be quick in
our rewards."
"Sir, your trust, your friendship almost, leaves me covetous of little
else."
"Yet think, Lemasle. Dukes die, or are deposed, it is well to take
something off them while they have the power to give. We will talk of
this again."
Lemasle saluted, and withdrew.
"What would that good soldier say if he knew?" mused Herrick.
"I wonder," said Jean.
"I had forgotten you," said Herrick, with a start. "Did I put my
thought into words?"
"You spoke, friend Roger, and have still some secrets, it would seem."
"Many, Jean. I will tell you one. I am not fitted to be a Duke."
"In that matter, at least, I should leave others to be the judges,"
said the dwarf.
"None can judge a man so well as he can judge himself if he will only
be honest," Herrick returned. "I spoke inadvisedly, Jean, the other
day, and it has quickly resulted in tragedy. Would I had been in time
to save Father Bertrand."
"You avenged him," said Jean.
"And for my action stood reproved by one of my own soldiers. My own
words were quoted against me."
"Yet the priest was a rebel," said the dwarf slowly. "There is much in
what Captain Lemasle says."
"True, but there are always other points of view besides our own. Even
dukes have no monopoly in such a thing as truth. I have tried to do a
great deal, Jean, and I have succeeded in discovering how much better
I might have done."
"That's a complaint common to all honest men, friend Roger, and as a
wise man you will be thankful that you have done no worse. Have you
not saved this land from herself and from her enemies? Are not your
foes easily learning to become your friends? And love itself stands
without, only waiting for the opening of the door."
"Open it, Jean."
"That I cannot do," answered the dwarf. "You alone can do that, but I
can show you the way."
"Speak, my wise philosopher."
"Oh, it's no work for a philosopher. Even a fool finds it easy. You
have but to learn wisdom out of your own mouth, and remember that
there are other points of view beside your own, and that a woman
usually sees these points better than any one else. Would it surprise
you to learn that in you pride and self-will somewhat mar an otherwise
excellent man?"
"Or come in to make my true character, my real self," said Herrick.
"Put it so if you will; mine was a gentler way," said Jean. "I would
save you from yourself."
Herrick remained thoughtful for some considerable time, and Jean did
not interrupt his reverie.
"I have staked out my course, Jean; I must run to the finish of it,"
he said, suddenly standing up, and giving the impression that he shook
himself free from his thoughts as a dog shakes the water from him when
he scrambles upon the bank after his swim.
"It may be a good course," said the dwarf, rising from his
cross-legged position.
"And if not?"
"Disaster perhaps, but whatever comes I shall always love you."
"Love me, Jean?"
"Why not? Love's a big word, I know, but it is the right one. Trust
came when I sent my knife skimming across the stone floor to your feet
that night in the South Tower. We've travelled far since then, friend
Roger. There has been friendship between us, different though we are,
and on your side a little pity perhaps for these twisted limbs of
mine. I have gone a step farther. Yes, love is the right word."
"I think it is, Jean," said Herrick, putting his hand on the dwarf's
shoulder.
The next moment Jean had caught Herrick's hand, and kissed it as he
fell upon his knee.
"Sir, I thank you for the greatest honor it is even in your power to
bestow."
"And, Jean, I do not like the fool's motley for you," said Herrick,
bending over him. "You shall change it presently."
"As you will," said the dwarf, rising, "yet it seems to fit this queer
body of mine."
"And outrages the great heart that it holds. Come. These prisoners
must be judged."
"For the present I still sport the scarlet and green," said Jean,
making his bells jingle. "We are both public characters. The Duke and
his fool. Bother gossips."
Three days had passed since Herrick returned to Vayenne, and in this
time order had been restored in the city, and the Duke was a popular
hero. With the return of the soldiers, definite news of what had taken
place upon the frontier began to be known. The people were proud of
their Duke, and were ready to cry confusion to all his enemies. Father
Bertrand had paid the penalty of his treachery, and they were glad of
it. They fully expected that a like justice would be meted out to both
Count Felix and de Bornais, but they were in no mood to dispute the
Duke's will. He could do no wrong.
There was no uncertain sound in the cheers which greeted Herrick as he
entered the hall with the dwarf. A few of the nobles had already come
to the city, and were near the dais. Many officials about the castle
and in the city were in the hall, and a strong force of soldiers.
Count Felix and de Bornais stood at a little distance from the dais,
and near them sat Christine de Liancourt. Only the fact that Lemasle
and the guard were with drawn swords showed that they were prisoners.
As Herrick seated himself upon the dais, Jean sank cross-legged on the
lowest step, his bauble lying across his knees.
"There has been bloodshed upon the frontier, there has been bloodshed
in the city," said Herrick, breaking the silence which had fallen upon
the assembly. "The responsibility rests in varying degree with the
prisoners, and with Father Bertrand, who has already been slain by the
people. I say the responsibility is in varying degree because I have
learned the truth from one Mercier, a tool of Father Bertrand's and
himself a schemer. Montvilliers is not his native land, however, and
therefore the basest of treachery is not his crime. It was not his own
country he betrayed, therefore he has his freedom. Nor would we omit
the fact that our presence in Vayenne has fallen hardly upon two of
the prisoners. We have sought to weigh every circumstance in arriving
at our judgment."
There was a pause, and not a sound stirred in the hall.
"Christine de Liancourt."
As Herrick spoke her name she stood up almost involuntarily, and
looked fixedly at him. Her head was held erect, but the defiance that
had so often been in her bearing was not there to-day. Perhaps it was
Roger Herrick she saw rather than the Duke.
"Mademoiselle de Liancourt, you have had the opportunity of knowing
most of the circumstances which led to our ascending this throne. You
have misjudged those actions from the first, and have proclaimed
yourself our enemy. You warned us that those who plotted should find
an easy tool in you, and they have. You were to marry Count Felix, you
were to reign with him as Duchess, equal to him in power. Your
country's good may have been in your mind, but it was a less incentive
perhaps than your hatred to us. But when Father Bertrand schemed with
you he had other ends in view. This Mercier was dispatched to the
frontier, where long since the enemy have been waiting to strike at
this country. A religious fanatic, this priest was selling
Montvilliers to her enemies, and using your marriage, your coronation,
to stir up further civil strife, and thus render the project easier of
accomplishment. This has been his scheming for years. The weaker the
power of the Duke, the less resistance to the enemy."
Both Christine and Felix had started at the mention of Father
Bertrand's schemes.
"It is evident that you were innocent of all knowledge of such a
betrayal," Herrick went on, "but the state must guard against the
danger of such unconsidered actions as yours. Three days hence you
will depart under escort to the Chateau of Passey, there to remain
until it is our pleasure that you return to Vayenne. Those in Passey
have our orders to see to your welfare and safe keeping."
Christine bowed her head, and spoke no word. Retirement to the Chateau
of Passey was no great punishment, but there was bitterness in her
heart that she had played into the hands of her country's enemies. In
thwarting her this man had saved Montvilliers. Surely he was a worthy
Duke, and he was Roger Herrick.
"Count Felix, to you also the news of this scheming comes as a
surprise," said Herrick, "and truly for plotting against us you have
much excuse. The plot against your cousin was of another kind, and
were you justly heir to this throne, your own subjects have decided
against you. You possess an estate in the south of Montvilliers. To
that estate you are confined. You may win ultimate pardon, but I warn
you that any attempt to escape will mean death."
The Count did not speak. Neither by look nor gesture did he show that
he had heard what had been said to him.
"You, de Bornais, have been guilty of a greater crime--treachery to
your country," Herrick went on, and a low murmur like a sullen growl
sounded through the hall. "How far religious fervor prompted you, I
cannot judge, but this I am sure of, that no religion can serve as
excuse for betrayal of country."
The growl became articulate.
"Down with de Bornais! Death to him!"
"Yet we cannot forget that even in the middle of your plotting you
hated the part you felt called upon to play." And Herrick raised his
voice almost as if he were pleading the prisoner's cause to those who
had shouted for his death. "This also has Mercier told us; and more,
we do not forget that the other day before St. Etienne you refused to
speak the word that would have meant almost certain death to us."
"Long, long live the Duke!" was the enthusiastic cry. "Repentance had
come to you, and pardon ever runs at the heels of repentance. Yet
cannot the crime be forgotten or go unpunished. Within three days you
must cross the frontier and never return. The whole world is free to
you save only this State of Montvilliers."
"Sir, I am leniently dealt with," de Bornais answered. "My life will
be one long regret."
It was over. Judgment had been given. The tension was relaxed. It was
the moment one man had waited for. Herrick had descended two steps of
the dais, when Count Felix sprang from his guards.
"Death rather than submission to this adventurer!" he cried, and with
one bound had rushed upon Herrick. The dagger he had concealed was in
his hand. The attack was so sudden and unexpected that Herrick slipped
upon the steps. The dagger flashed down, but there rose to meet it a
mass of scarlet and green, a mass that hurled itself upward at the
weapon, and there was a jingling sound of bells.
The next moment Felix was dragged backward and thrown to the floor. A
dozen sword points were at his throat, and even at Herrick's quick
command, were scarcely stayed.
"Jean!" cried Christine, throwing herself on her knees beside the
dwarf.
"Mademoiselle!" came the answer, and how faint it was. The dagger had
done its work only too well.
Herrick was kneeling beside him too, and the heads of the man and
woman almost touched over the dwarf. "Love," Jean said faintly. "It
was the right word, friend Roger." And then he sighed, and lay quite
still.
"Oh, he's dead," whispered Christine, "and to save you!"
The crowd were pressing round the dais now. The Duke was alive. They
had seen him fall, had feared the worst, and a great wave of relief
came as they knew the truth. The shout went up and echoed along the
corridors, gladness in it, for the Duke was alive.
"Thank God! It's only the fool!"