THE ARREST
There was no long delay. Passing Villon with a single, keen,
scrutinizing glance, a man, a stranger to them all, entered, pausing a
yard or two within the room. Four or five troopers showed behind him
in the doorway, but made no attempt to cross the threshold. All were
dusty, travel-stained, and with every sign of having ridden both far
and fast. Their leader alone was bareheaded, his sheathed sword caught
up in a gauntleted hand.
"In the King's name, Monseigneur," he said, turning to the Dauphin with
a salute which halted evenly between respect and contempt. But the
Dauphin only shrank closer to Ursula de Vesc and it was La Mothe who
answered.
"You are from Valmy?"
"By order of the King."
"With despatches?"
"With instructions, and," he paused, motioning to the open doorway
behind him, then added, "means to carry them out."
"What are your instructions?"
"To arrest Monsieur Stephen La Mothe----"
"Arrest Monsieur La Mothe? Why? On what ground--on what charge?"
Sweeping the Dauphin aside Ursula de Vesc moved forward as she spoke.
The instinct of protection had given way to something very like the
instinct of attack: her love for the boy was satisfied with a passivity
which could never content her love for the man.
"If I could tell you, I would," he replied courteously, "but I fear
Monsieur La Mothe must ask the King that question himself. I know
nothing beyond my instructions."
"Are your orders in writing?" It was Villon who spoke.
"Yes, but I do not recognize your right to see them."
"My right, then," said La Mothe, "since it is against me they are
directed."
"Certainly; no doubt you can identify the writing."
"I can," answered Ursula, stretching out her hand for the paper which
would have been Beaufoy's passport to promotion but for his unlucky
appetite. But it was withheld in obvious hesitation.
"Remember, mademoiselle, that if it is destroyed, I still have the
means behind me----"
"Oh, monsieur," she interrupted, striking at him with her tongue and
finding a relief in the contempt, "it is easy to see you come from
Valmy."
A sour smile crossed his face as the colour rose at the gibe, but he
only shrugged his shoulders with a little outward gesture of the hands.
"Yes, we grow suspicious in Valmy. There are my instructions,
mademoiselle; you will see they leave me no alternative."
"Yes, the writing is the King's throughout. 'Go to Amboise,'" she
read, "'Arrest Monsieur Stephen La Mothe, and bring him to Valmy
without delay. Tell him his orders are cancelled, and on your life let
him hold no communication with the Dauphin.--LOUIS.'" With every
sentence her voice hardened; spots of colour flecked the pallor of her
cheeks, grew and deepened. "It is vile, infamous, contemptible," she
said, "but it is like your King. Yes! You come from Valmy, there can
be no doubt you come from Valmy. Stephen, I shall speak. Useless?
Perhaps; but I shall speak all the same. Your King has hid spies in
Amboise, we know that, spies who can lie or tell the truth as it suits
their master. Through them the King knows that Monsieur La Mothe has
twice saved the Dauphin at the risk of his own life, and now--now!"
She paused, beating the paper with the back of her hand with a force
that lent her words power and meaning, "now he is to hold no
communication with the Dauphin! Monsieur La Mothe may set his own life
on the hazard to save the Dauphin but he may not speak with him! That
is Valmy gratitude and the King's miserable, jaundiced mind. And his
commission is cancelled! What that commission is I do not know, but,
thank God! Monsieur La Mothe, you are freed from it, whatever it is,
since it came out of Valmy."
"I thank God too," said La Mothe, his eyes meeting hers a moment and
travelling behind to where the Dauphin stood hugging the wall with
Diane and Lui-même at his feet. The significance of the glance was
unmistakable, and the girl paused, breathless, in the revelation. The
gifts were his commission, the mask which killed Charlot was his
commission, and the commission was cancelled. The King had repented,
had he not repented there would be no cancellation. "Yes," repeated La
Mothe, "very humbly I thank God, nor do I think the King can have heard
as yet of the Dauphin's second danger. Monsieur, I am at your service;
I was about to leave for Valmy to-night in any case."
"So much the better; but I regret you must go as my prisoner. You can
understand that I have no option."
"I quite understand, and here is my sword. Monseigneur--no, since you
permit it, Charles, my friend, I leave you in good keeping. You will
have Mademoiselle de Vesc, Father John, and Villon here, to watch over
you. Villon, beware of that third cast of the net. I think that is
now the one great danger."
"La Mothe, La Mothe, must you go? Is there no other way? Remember
Molembrais."
"What other way is possible? The King has my word, and if that were
not enough there are what Monsieur de Commines would call five good
reasons behind the door. Monsieur, you have my parole. Something
stronger than your five reasons holds me. Good-bye, Charles, my
friend----"
But somewhere in the boy's blood a dash of the Crusader's spirit he had
sneered at stirred. Brushing past Ursula de Vesc he ranged himself by
La Mothe's side, his coat-of-mail an undulating pool of light as when
the moon shines on a falling wave pitted by the wind.
"Monsieur from Valmy, Mademoiselle de Vesc is right. You may tell my
father that Monsieur La Mothe has twice saved my life and that all
Amboise knows it. That he saved me may not count for much in Valmy--it
may even be against him--but what all Amboise knows all France will
know. I think my father will understand. Monsieur La Mothe, good-bye,
and when you come back we shall play our games together again. I don't
think I care about the mask, but I shall not forget to be Roland.
Come, Father John, let us go and pray that Monsieur La Mothe will soon
come back to us."
"Monseigneur--Charles!" cried La Mothe, taking the stretched-out hand
in both his, "you are a gallant little gentleman. No; I do not think
you will forget to be Roland. God save the Dauphin!"
"Thank you, Monsieur La Mothe. Monsieur from Valmy, you have my leave
to go. Come, Father John." With a stiff little bow he hooked his arm
into the brown sleeve of the Franciscan, and the two left the room.
"I think, monsieur," said Ursula de Vesc, "the Dauphin speaks the
sentiments of us all. You have Monsieur La Mothe's parole: he will
follow you in five minutes."
But how spirit drew to spirit as lip to lip in these five minutes needs
not to be told. Whoso has seen love go out of life, uncertain of
return, will understand. But if that morning there had been a passing
behind the veil into the holy of holies where immortal love dwelleth,
then in these five minutes there was the very throbbing of the heart
which beats eternal even in these earthly walls of time.
Nor was Villon drier of eye as he waited under the stars.
"He knows too much," he said; "and when a man knows too much, not even
a ballad can save him."