WHAT BECAME OF THE LILIES
I
Gilles had spent four days at the hostelry of 'Les Trois Rois,' and
here he would have liked to remain indefinitely and to continue the
sentimental romance so happily begun beneath the casement-windows of
the Archiepiscopal Palace. With the light-heartedness peculiar to
most soldiers of fortune, he had during those four days succeeded in
putting his rôle out of his mind. Though he had not yet caught sight
of Madame's face at her window, he quite thought that he would do so
in time, and already he had received more than one indication that
his singing was not unwelcome. The casement had been deliberately
thrown open when he had scaled the courtyard wall, and had resumed
his song immediately beneath the window which he had ascertained
belonged to Madame's private apartment. He had felt, even though he
did not actually see, that some one was listening to him from up
there, for once he had perceived a shadow upon the casement curtain,
and once a hand, small and delicate, had rested upon the window-sill.
Gilles would have continued this wooing--aye! perhaps have brought it
to a happy conclusion, he thought--without being forced to assume
another personality than his own: a thing which became more and more
abhorrent to Messire Gilles' temper, now that the time for starting
the masquerade in earnest was drawing nigh.
'We could make ourselves very happy here, honest Jehan,' he had said
to the faithful companion of his many adventures. 'Waited on by that
silent and zealous youth, who of a truth looks like the very ghost of
silence and discretion. With judicious economy, the money which a
gracious Queen hath placed in our hands would last us a year. It
seems a pity to fritter it all away in a few weeks by playing a rôle
which is detestable and unworthy.'
'B-b-b-but----' stammered old Jehan.
'You are quite right,' broke in Gilles gravely. 'Your argument is
very sound. The money, my friend, was given unto us in order to play
a certain rôle, and that rôle we must now play whether we like it or
not, on pain of being branded as vagabonds and thieves.'
'V-v-v-very----' stammered poor Jehan.
'As you say,' remarked Gilles dryly, 'I have always found you of good
counsel, my friend. Very likely--that is what you would say, is it
not?--very likely, unless we played our parts as Madame la Reyne de
Navarre did direct, Monseigneur le Baron d'Inchy would discover the
fraud and have us both hanged for our pains. And if the hangman did
happen to miss us, Madame Marguerite would certainly see to it that a
gibbet was ready for us somewhere in France. So for this once, I
think, mine honest Jehan, we must take it that honesty will be the
best policy.'
'O-o-o-only th-th-th-that----'
'Quite so!' assented Gilles, 'only that in this case we cannot
contrive to remain honest without being dishonest, which is a
proposition that doth gravely disturb my mind.'
'Th-th-th-the o-o-o-only----'
'Hold your tongue, friend Jehan,' broke in Gilles impatiently.
'Verily, you talk a great deal too much!'
II
And now, at the very close of the fourth day, Messire Gilles made
noisy irruption into the tiny room which he occupied in the hostelry
of 'Les Trois Rois.' Maître Jehan--after the stormy episode outside
the postern gate wherein he had taken part--was in the room, waiting
for his master.
Gilles was in the rarest of good humour. As soon as he had closed
the door behind him, he threw his plumed toque and the lute upon the
table and, sitting down on the narrow paillasse which was his bed, he
fell to contemplating a bunch of white lilies which he had in his
hand. The stems of these lilies were carefully wrapped in an
embroidered handkerchief, but they hung their bruised, if still
fragrant, heads in a very doleful manner.
Gilles laughed softly to himself. Then he held the flowers out at
arm's length and called out gaily to Jehan:
'Congratulate me, honest Jehan!' he said. 'The first act of our
adventurous comedy is over. The curtain has rung down on a veritable
triumph! I have received a token! ... I have captured the first
bastion in the citadel of the fair one's heart! Give me a week, and
I hold the entire fortress for and on behalf of _Monsieur_ Duc
d'Anjou, our august master!'
'Th-th-th-then you h-h-h-have----'
'No, I have not seen her, my good man. All that fine fight outside
the walls, the complete discomfiture of our assailants, my perilous
position inside the courtyard, from whence a reinforcement of varlets
might easily have put me to flight, did not win for me even a glimpse
of the lady. But her window was wide open this time, and I could see
her shadow flitting past the casement. Then suddenly these lilies
were flung at me. They were crushed and bruised against the pavement
as they fell; but they are a token, friend Jehan, and you cannot deny
it! Madame Jacqueline's heart is already touched by the song of the
unknown troubadour, and he hath but to present himself before her to
be graciously received.'
'B-b-b-b-but----' said Jehan with grave solemnity.
'That's just it!' broke in Gilles with a laugh. 'You have a way, my
friend, of hitting the right nail on the head. As you say, the four
days' respite which have been granted to us have now expired, and we
have not yet seen the future Duchesse d'Anjou face to face.'
'N-n-n-not yet! Th-th-th-that----'
'That is the trouble, I grant you. There is that infernal
masquerade; and of a truth, I am more convinced than ever that the
reason why those noble mynheers are so determined that Madame shall
not show her face ere I have irrevocably committed myself--I--that
is, the Duc d'Anjou--that is---- Oh, my God!' he exclaimed. 'What a
tangle!! Well, as I was saying.... By the way, what was I saying
just now?'
'Th-th-th-that----'
'Of course! You incorrigible chatterbox! I would have explained my
meaning before now if you had not talked nineteen to the dozen all
the time! I mean that I have completely changed my mind, and that I
have become convinced that Madame Jacqueline is as ugly as sin, else
those wily Dutchmen would not be so anxious to cover up her face.'
'Th-th-th-therefore----' asserted Jehan stoutly.
'Therefore, my good man, good fortune is in our debt. She did not
favour me with a sight of the lady ere I meet her in my official
capacity. But Madame Jacqueline hath given me a token: she is
prepared to love me, and I am still in the dark as to whether she
squints or is pitted with pock-marks. A terrible position for any
man to be in!' he sighed dolefully, 'even though he is out a-courting
for a friend.'
'B-b-b-but----'
'You mean well, my friend,' quoth Gilles, who fell to contemplating
the bunch of faded lilies with a rueful expression of face. 'You
mean well, but you talk too much, and thus I am thrown on mine own
resources for counsel in an emergency. As for arguments! Why, you
would argue the devil's horns from off his head! Still,' he added,
as he finally flung the lilies away from him with a careless gesture
of indifference, 'still, in spite of what you say, I must stick to my
bargain. Those mulish mynheers will not grant us any further delay,
and to-morrow I am pledged to appear at the governor's banquet--yes,
even I!--_Monsieur_ Duc d'Anjou et d'Alençon, own brother to the King
of France, and you as my faithful servitor.'
'N-n-n-not a m-m-minute t-t-too soon,' Maître Jehan managed to blurt
out quickly whilst Gilles had paused for breath.
'Ah! there you are wrong, my friend,' retorted Gilles. 'For my
taste, the dénouement is coming along at far too rapid a pace.
To-morrow, already our troubles will begin--peace will know us no
more. I for one will never rightly know who I am; nor will I know
who it is who will know who I am not. Oh, my Lord!' he added in mock
despair, as he rested his elbows on his knees and buried his head in
his hands. 'My head will split ere I have done! Tell me, Jehan, who
I shall be to-morrow.'
'T-t-t-to-morrow,' stammered Jehan with painful earnestness,
'you--you--you----you will b-b-b-b-be----'
'Own brother to His Majesty the King of France,' said Gilles, 'and as
great blackguard as ever disgraced a Royal house. To Monseigneur the
governor, and maybe also to some of his friends, I shall be a Royal
prince. To others, and notably to Madame Jacqueline de Broyart, I
shall be the Prince de Froidmont--an insignificant and penniless
seigneur who only dares approach the far-famed heiress under cover of
a mask, having fallen desperately in love with her. Ah, Jehan!
Jehan!' he added with mock solemnity, 'thou art of a truth a lucky
devil! Thou canst keep thine own name, thine own rank, even thine
own ludicrous stutter: whereas I,--what shall I be? A mime! A
buffoon! And what's more, a fraudulent varlet, pledged to deceive an
innocent wench into the belief that her future lord is both
sentimental and amorous and can sing the love ditties writ by Messire
de Ronsard with passable tunefulness.... Ye gods, Jehan, hast ever
heard _Monsieur_ Duc d'Anjou--the real one, I mean--sing?'
'N-n-n-no!' objected Jehan in pious horror, for he did not like to
hear so exalted a personage derided.
'Then hast ever heard the barn-door rooster calling to his favourite
hen?'
'S-s-s-s-sometimes!'
'Well!' quoth Gilles lightly, 'so have I. And I prefer the barn-door
rooster! And now to bed, friend Jehan,' he added as he jumped to his
feet. 'To-morrow is the great day! Didst take my letter to the
governor's palace?'
'I d-d-d-did.'
'And didst see Monseigneur the governor himself?'
Jehan nodded affirmatively.
'Gave him my letter?'
Another nod from Jehan.
'Did he look pleased?'
A shrug of the shoulders this time.
'Said he would be honoured to see Monseigneur le Duc d'Alençon et
d'Anjou at the banquet to-morrow?'
Once again a nod.
'Then to bed, chatterbox!' concluded Gilles gaily, 'for to-morrow I
begin my career as a low, deceitful hound, fit only for the gibbet,
which I dare swear is already prepared for me!'
III
Jehan helped his master to undress. He pulled off the heavy boots
and laid aside the cloth jerkin, the kerseymere trunks and worsted
hose. Then, when Messire Gilles lay stretched out upon the hard
paillasse, honest Jehan bade him a quiet good night and went off
carrying the guttering candle. For one candle had to do duty for two
customers, or even at times for three, at the hostel of 'Les Trois
Rois.' These were not days of luxurious caravanserai: eight square
feet of floor space, a tiny leaded window, a straw paillasse, perhaps
a table and a rickety chair, made up the sum total of a furnished
bedroom, if destined for a person of quality. Men like Maître Jehan
had to be content with the bare boards and a horse-blanket outside
their master's door, or behind a wooden partition set up inside the
latter's room.
Jehan went off, then, with the candle, and Gilles de Crohin remained
in almost total darkness, for the light of the moon failed to
penetrate through the narrow aperture which went by the name of
window. For a long time Messire Gilles lay motionless, staring into
the gloom. Vague pictures seemed to flit before his gaze: the
unknown girl whom he was pledged to woo appeared and disappeared
before him, now walking across his line of vision with stately
dignity, now dancing a wild rigadoon like some unruly country wench;
but always, and with irritating persistence, wearing a mask which he
longed to drag away from her face. Then he saw pictures of fair
Marguerite of Navarre, imperious yet appealing, and of his own
cross-hilted sword, upon the sacred emblem of which he had pledged
himself to an ugly deception; Monsieur Duc d'Anjou, indolent and
vapid, dressed in that ludicrous green satin suit, came and mocked
him through the darkness.
Gilles de Crohin, wearied with all these phantasmagoria, began
tossing restlessly upon his hard bed, and as he did so he flung his
arm out over the coverlet and his hand came in rough contact with the
floor. And there, close to his touch, was something soft and
velvety, the drooping, fading lilies which an unknown lady of high
degree had flung out to him and which he had so carelessly tossed
aside. His hand closed tightly upon the flowers, crushing the last
spark of life out of the fragrant blossoms, and even as he did
so--quite unconsciously and mechanically--an unpleasant pang of
remorse shot right through his heart. Was this unconscious act of
his a presage of the cruel rôle which he had set out to play? Would
the young soul of an innocent girl droop and wither beneath his
careless touch?
Very gently now Gilles, turning on his side, gathered the flowers
together and drew them towards him. Something of their fragrance
still lingered in the bruised petals. Gilles got out of bed. His
eyes had become accustomed to the darkness, or perhaps something of
the radiance of the moonlit night had penetrated into the narrow
room. Gilles could see his way about, and he remembered that in the
further corner there had stood a pitcher filled with fresh water.
With infinite precaution he unwound the handkerchief from around the
stems and then dropped the flowers one by one into the pitcher.
After awhile he picked up the handkerchief. It was nothing now but a
damp and sodden little ball, but it smelt sweetly of lilies and of
lavender. Gilles marvelled if the lady's initials and coronet were
embroidered in the-corner. He felt with his fingers in order to make
sure; but he was too inexperienced in such matters to arrive at any
definite conclusion, so with a sudden impulse which he would not have
cared to analyse, he searched the darkness for his doublet, and
having found it he thrust the damp little rag into its breast-pocket.
Then, with a laugh at his own folly and a light shrug of the
shoulders, he went back to bed. This time he fell at once into a
dreamless sleep.