HOW THE QUARREL BEGAN
I
Monsieur le Baron D'Inchy took his seat at the head of the principal
table; beside him sat his ward, Madame Jacqueline de Broyart, who had
M. le Comte de Lalain on her left. Gilles sat some little way down
one of the side tables. Outwardly, he was a person of no
importance--a stranger, travelling incognito and enjoying for the
time being the hospitality of Monseigneur the governor. Maître
Jehan, watchful and silent, stood behind his master's chair. The
tables had been lavishly and sumptuously laden with good things: a
perpetual stream of butlers, pages and varlets had walked in and out
of the hall, bringing in dish after dish and placing them upon the
boards.
The company sat down amidst much laughter and facetious conversation,
and, we take it, every intention of enjoying their host's good cheer.
And, of a truth, it was a brilliant assembly, a veritable
kaleidoscope of colours, an almost dazzling sparkle of jewels. The
dark doublets worn by the men acted as foils to the vivid satins worn
by the ladies. The host and his principal guests had high-backed
chairs to sit on, but every one else sat on low stools, set very far
apart so as to give plenty of room for the display of the ladies'
dresses and their monstrous farthingales. Indeed, the men almost
disappeared between the billows of satin-covered hoops and the huge
lace collars, the points of which would tickle their nose or scratch
their ear or even get into their eye.
While the serving-men and wenches went the round of the tables with
serviettes over their shoulders and silver ewers and basins in their
hands, offering to the guests tepid water perfumed with orange
flower, with myrtle, lavender and rosemary, for washing their hands,
Gilles de Crohin was watching Jacqueline de Broyart. From where he
sat, he could see her dainty head above a forest of silver
dish-covers. She had not removed her mask; none of the ladies would
do that till, mayhap, after the banquet was over, when conviviality
and good cheer would breed closer intimacy. To Gilles' senses,
rendered supersensitive by his strangely adventurous position, it
seemed as if that piece of black satin, through which he could only
perceive from time to time the flash of glowing eyes, rendered
Jacqueline's personality both mysterious and desirable. He was
conscious of an acute tingling of all his nerves; his own mask felt
as if it were weighted with lead; the fumes of rich soups and sauces,
mingled with those of wine and heady Flemish ale, appeared to be
addling his brain. He felt as if he were in a dream--a dream such as
he had never experienced before save once, when, sick, footsore and
grievously wounded, he had gone on a brief excursion to Paradise.
Gilles did not know, could not explain it satisfactorily to himself,
why the remembrance of a far-off, half-forgotten dream-voice came,
with sweet persistency, between him and reality, a voice tender and
compassionate, even whilst a pair of eyes, blue as the firmament on
an April morning, seemed to be gazing on him through the slits in the
mask.
II
It would have been difficult for any stranger who happened to have
landed in Cambray, unacquainted with the political circumstances of
its province, to have realized, at sight of Monsieur le gouverneur's
table, that the Spanish armies were even then ravaging the Cambrésis,
and that provisions in the city were becoming scarce owing to the
difficulties which market-gardeners and farmers had of bringing in
their produce. Gilles, who had been in the service of a Royal prince
of France and who had oft risen from the latter's table with his
stomach only half filled, was left to marvel at the prodigality and
the sumptuousness of the repast. Indeed, one of the most interesting
documents preserved until recently in the archives of the city of
Cambray, is the account of this banquet which M. le Baron d'Inchy,
governor of the Cambrésis, gave ostensibly in honour of the
notabilities of the province, but which, I doubt not, was really in
honour of _Monsieur_ Duc d'Anjou et d'Alençon, brother of the King of
France, who we know was present on the occasion, under a
well-preserved incognito.
And the menu! Ye gods who preside over the arts of gastronomy, what
a menu! Eighty-two persons sat down to it, and of a truth their
appetite and their digestion must have been of the staunchest, else
they could never have grappled successfully with half the contents of
the dishes which were set before them. Three separate services, an'
it please you! and each service consisting of at least forty
different dishes all placed upon the three tables at once, with the
covers on; then, at a given signal, the covers removed, and the
guests ready to help themselves as they felt inclined, using their
knives for the purpose, or else those curiously shaped pronged tools
which Monseigneur d'Inchy had lately imported out of England, so the
town gossips said.
Ye gods, the menu! For the first service there were no fewer than
eight centre dishes, on each an _oille_--that most esteemed feat of
gastronomic art, in which several succulent meats, ducks, partridges,
pigeons, quails, capons, all had their part and swam in a rich sauce
flavoured with sundry aromatic substances, pepper and muscat, thyme,
ginger, basil and many sweet herbs. Oh, the _oille_, properly
cooked, was in itself a feast! But, grouped around these noble
dishes were tureens of partridges, stewed with cabbage; tureens of
fillets of duckling; several pigeon pies and capons in galantine;
fillets of beef with cucumbers and fricandeaus of lard; and such like
insignificant side dishes as quails in casserole and chickens baked
under hot cinders--excellent I believe!
After the platters and dishes had become empty, the first service was
removed, clean cloths spread upon the tables--for by this time the
first ones had become well spattered with grease--and perfumed water
once more handed round for the washing of hands. Knives were washed
too, as well as the forks--the few of them that were used. Then came
the second service. Breasts of veal this time, larded and braised,
formed the centre dishes and the minor adjuncts were fowls garnished
with spring chickens and hard-boiled eggs, capons, leverets, and
pheasants garnished with quails: there were sixteen different kinds
of salads and an equal number of different sauces.
Again the service was removed and clean cloths laid for the third
service. A kind of dessert--little things to pick at, for those who
had not been satisfied. Such little things as boars' heads--twelve
of them--which must have looked magnificent towering along the centre
of the table; omelettes à la Noailles--the recipe of which, given in
a cookery book which was printed in the beginning of the sixteenth
century, does suggest something very succulent--dishes of baked
custards, fritters of peaches, stewed truffles, artichokes and green
peas, and even lobsters, sweetbreads and tongues!
Such abundance is almost unbelievable, and where all the delicacies
came from I, for one, do not pretend to say. They were there, so
much we know, and eighty-two ladies and gentlemen must have consumed
them all. No wonder that, after the first few moments of formal
ceremonies--of bowings and scrapings and polite speeches--tongues
quickly became loosened and moods became hilarious; wine too and
heady Flemish ales were copiously drunk--not a little of both was
spilled over the fine linen cloths and the rich dresses of the
ladies. But these little accidents were not much thought of these
days; fastidiousness at meals had not yet come to be regarded as a
sign of good breeding, and a high-born gentleman was not thought any
the worse of for vulgar and riotous gorging.
A very little while ago, M. d'Inchy himself--a man of vast wealth and
great importance--would have been quite content to help himself with
his fingers out of his well-filled platters and to see his guests
around his board doing the same. But ever since the alliance with
France had been discussed by his Council, he had desired to bring
French manners and customs, French fashions in dress, French modes of
deportment, into this remote Belgian province. Indeed, he was even
now warmly congratulating himself that he had quite recently imported
from England for his own use some of those pronged tools which served
to convey food to the mouth in a manner which still appeared strange
to some of his guests. The civic dignitaries of Cambray and more
than one of the Flemish nobles assembled here this night looked with
grave puzzlement, even with disapproval, at those awkward tools which
had so ostentatiously, they thought, been placed beside their
platter: French innovations, some of them murmured contemptuously, of
which they certainly did not approve; whereupon they scrambled
unabashed with their fingers in the dishes for their favourite
morsels.
III
Jacqueline, silent at first, began after awhile to chatter merrily.
Monsieur de Landas, who sat opposite to her, having lately come from
Paris, she begged earnestly for all the latest gossip from the Court.
Madame la Reyne de Navarre? What was she like? Jacqueline had heard
such marvels of her grace and of her intellect. And the Duc d'Anjou?
Was he as handsome as women averred? And was he--was he really such
a rogue as irate husbands and brothers would have every one believe?
Then she wanted to know about the fashions. Were hoops really
growing in size or had a revulsion of feeling set in against them,
and what was the latest mode for dressing the hair? Was it true that
the new green dye specially invented by _Monsieur_ Duc d'Anjou was so
unhealthy to the wearer that many mysterious deaths had already
followed its introduction?
And all the while that she talked she affected to eat heartily; but
Gilles, who was watching her, saw that she scarce touched a morsel,
only played with her fork, the use of which was evidently still
unfamiliar to her. From time to time she seemed to pause in her
chatter in order to gaze across the table in the direction where he
sat silent and absorbed, somewhat isolated, as if shunned by the rest
of the company; and whenever she did so it seemed to him as if her
eyes called to him through the slits of that mysterious mask. After
awhile, that call seemed so insistent that Gilles had the greatest
difficulty in the world to force himself to sit still. He wanted to
jump up and to go and sit near her, force her to remove that
forbidding mask and let him see just what kind of a face was
concealed behind it.
By now, you see, his imagination had once more veered right round and
he had quite made up his mind that she was fair to look upon. The
length of the table which separated him from her obsessed his mood,
till he felt a perfect fever of desire and impotence coursing through
his veins. And with this tingling of the nerves came a sense of
jealousy. He could not see the man with whom Jacqueline was
conversing so animatedly, had only given passing attention to
Monsieur de Landas when the latter had spoken with him. But gossip
had already reached his indifferent ear that M. le Marquis de Landas
had--at any rate at one time--been an approved suitor for the hand of
the rich heiress, whereupon Messire Gilles became satisfied within
himself that that unpleasant feeling of dislike, which he was feeling
toward the other man, was solely on account of _Monsieur_ Duc
d'Anjou, his master, over whose interests vis-à-vis that same
heiress, he--Gilles--was set here to watch.
Still Jacqueline chattered away, and quite ten minutes had gone by
since she had cast a glance in Gilles' direction. So he felt curious
as well as angered and leaned forward in order to get a better view
of Monsieur de Landas. He let his eyes travel along the line of
faces which he saw for the most part only in profile: men and women,
some old, some young, some grave and sober, others frivolous, rowdy,
not a little vulgar, thought the fastidious Sire de Froidmont, who
had Valois blood in his veins and had seen a good deal of the
super-civilization of Paris. All of them appeared intent on
devouring huge slabs of meat, and licking their fingers for the last
drops of sauce. All, that is, except one--the man with whom
Jacqueline was conversing so gaily; a young man, with masses of wavy
black hair, a blue chin and an oval face, which he kept resolutely
turned toward Madame Jacqueline.
'The favoured lover,' mused Gilles. 'The possibly dangerous enemy of
_Monsieur_ Duc d'Anjou, and spoiler of Madame la Reyne's best laid
schemes.'
The young man ate very little, but he drank copiously. When he was
not looking at Jacqueline he appeared to be staring moodily before
him and bit furiously at his nails.
'Attention, friend Gilles!' Messire said to himself. 'There's the
rock against which you may well bruise your head presently if you are
not careful. Madame Jacqueline may, for aught I know, have a fancy
for that amorous, olive-complexioned swain, who, as soon as I begin
to take the centre of the stage--as take it I must--will become, a
fierce and cunning enemy. I shall have to see to it that Madame's
fancy for him turns to indifference. After that, beware, friend
Gilles! Satan hath no finer henchman than a rejected lover.'
IV
As the banquet drew to its close there was little gravity or decorum
left around the festive board. Even the oldest and the gravest had
yielded to the delights of untrammelled gorging. The food was
excellent, the wines beyond praise; every one knew every one else;
they were all friends, companions together, allied by political or
business interests--in many cases by blood. The veneer of
civilization as shown by sober manners had not yet come to be thought
more necessary than good cheer and conviviality.
The heat in the room had become oppressive. The smoke from
innumerable wax candles made a blue haze overhead, a veil of mist
which hid the high, vaulted ceiling and caused the lights to flicker
dimly. The men had cast aside their mantles and loosened their
sword-belts; the ladies used their plumed fans vigorously. There was
little left on the table even of the elaborate dishes pertaining to
the third service: platters and silver épergnes were for the most
part empty; only now and again some one would lean over and
desultorily pick at a piece of lobster or a truffle--an excuse,
mayhap, for washing down the highly-spiced food with another bumper
of wine.
Conversation, loud jests--some of them both ribald and coarse--flew
over and across the tables, loud calls were made to friends who sat
far away. The time had come for casting off the last shred of
ceremonial decorum which stood in the way of unbridled hilarity. The
ladies, at the instance of their respective cavaliers, had cast aside
their masks one by one, and their comely faces appeared, crimson and
steaming even beneath the thick layers of cosmetics.
Jacqueline was one of the few who remained quite calm and cool. She
plied her fan with lazy grace and kept on her mask--despite the
earnest, whispered entreaties of M. de Landas and of a group of young
gallants who had gathered round her.
Gilles had already made up his mind to go. He felt stifled under his
mask and the heat of the room, the heady fumes of wine and food
rendered him stupid and dizzy. There appeared to be no chance of his
being able to approach Jacqueline again, short of provoking a quarrel
with her Spanish watch-dog, which Gilles would have thought impolitic
to do. On the whole, he thought that it would be best to retire for
the nonce from the scene. His day had not been altogether
unsuccessful: it was the fifth since his arrival in Cambray, and
surely Madame la Reyne de Navarre would by now be on the track of her
truant brother. Gilles' probation could not last many days longer,
and in the meanwhile he had definitely made up his mind that
_Monsieur's_ future bride was adorable, and that she already evinced
a more than passing interest in the masked stranger who had serenaded
her so boldly from beneath her casement-window.
Not a bad beginning, thought Messire, as he gave a wink to Jehan to
follow him and rose from his seat. The moment which he chose
appeared a favourable one: the etiquette of the supper table was
considerably relaxed; those of Monseigneur's guests who wished to do
so had taken to moving about from place to place, according as they
desired to speak with friends; whilst some who wished to hold private
converse together, or who were on the point of leaving, actually
walked out of the room.
This was Gilles' opportunity. Just then Monseigneur d'Inchy rose
also. Monsieur le Prince d'Eremberghe and his lady were about to
take their leave. They were personages of vast importance and the
host desired to do them special honour. Accompanied by de Lalain, he
escorted his departing guests to the door, and thence, having the
Princess on his arm, he went out into the antechamber, followed by de
Lalain and the Prince. He had not noticed Gilles, and the latter
stood for a moment or two in the centre of the room, alone with
Jehan, and momentarily undecided. He surveyed the group at the head
of the table with a critical frown: the young gallants--there were
six of them--were crowding round Madame, some leaning across the
table, others pressing close to her chair. She may have been amused
at the platitudes wherewith they were regaling her; she may have
enjoyed their conversation and M. de Landas' ardent glances--she may
have done all that, I say, and thought no more of the man standing
there alone in the middle of the room than if he had been one of her
lacqueys. But, as chance would have it--or was it indeed Gilles'
compelling look which drew her own?--certain it is that she turned
her head in his direction and that he _felt_ that she was regarding
him quizzically, searchingly, through the eye-slits of her mask.
Quickly he gave a few whispered instructions to his faithful Jehan;
then he calmly strode across the room.
Monseigneur the governor was still absent: his seat beside Madame
Jacqueline was empty. Gilles walked up the length of the table--no
one heeded him--and before any one--least of all M. de Landas--was
aware of his intention, sat down quite coolly on M. d'Inchy's vacant
chair, immediately next to Jacqueline.
V
If you can imagine a cannon ball exploding in the very centre of that
festive board, you will have some dim idea of the effect produced
upon M. d'Inchy's guests by this manoeuvre. Every head was at once
turned in that direction, for M. de Landas and his friends had
uttered an exclamation that was almost ludicrous in its bewildered
wrath.
The ladies round the supper tables could not do more than utter
shrill little screams of disapproval, and many of the men were, alas!
too deep in their cups to do aught save mutter bibulous imprecations
against the malapert. A few rose and ran to give the weight of their
moral and social support to de Landas, who had already jumped to his
feet and appeared ready to make of this incident a quarrel--and that
quarrel, his own. Of a truth, it was de Landas who had been most
grievously insulted. The vacant chair beside Madame Jacqueline could
only be taken by an intimate friend such as he. Already his hand was
on his sword-hilt; his eyes, somewhat dimmed by the effect of copious
libations, were rolling with unbridled fury; beneath his mask a hot
flush had risen to his forehead, whilst below the curly masses of his
dark hair his ears appeared white and shiny like wax. Unfortunately,
he, like several other gentlemen present here this night, had drunk a
vast quantity of Burgundy and Rhenish wine, not to mention several
bumpers of excellent Flemish ale, and when choler came to mingle with
the fumes of so much heady liquor, M. de Landas on rising, turned
very giddy and had to steady himself for a moment or two against the
table.
Just at that moment a veritable pandemonium reigned in the stately
banqueting hall.
'The insolence!' said some of the ladies to the accompaniment of
piercing little shrieks.
'A stranger!'
'A prince from Nowhere at all!'
'Bah! A Prince!'
'A mere fortune hunter!'
'Probably a Spanish spy!'
'Only a Spaniard would have such insolence!'
'Such impudence passes belief!'
The men--those who could speak coherently--sent encouraging calls to
de Landas:
'Seize him by the collar, M. le Marquis!'
'Throw him out!'
'Have him kicked out by the varlets!'
Enough noise, in fact, to break the drum of a sensitive ear. But
Gilles appeared superbly unconscious of the storm which was brewing
round him. He had his back to M. de Landas, leaned an elbow on the
table and faced Madame Jacqueline as coolly as if he had been invited
by every one here to pay her his respects.
Jacqueline, demure and silent, was smiling beneath her mask. To look
at her, you would have sworn that she was stone-deaf and heard
nothing of the tumult around her.
It soon raged furiously. M. de Landas had quickly recovered himself.
His towering rage helped to dissipate the fumes of wine and ale which
had somewhat addled his brain, and backed by all his friends he made
preparation to throw the malapert to the tender mercies of M.
d'Inchy's varlets, and as a preface to the more forcible proceeding,
he turned in order to smite the impudent stranger in the
face--turned, and found himself confronted by a short,
square-shouldered man, with a round head and fists held clenched on a
level with a singularly broad chest.
The man stood between Gilles and M. de Landas; he had the table on
his right and the monumental mantelpiece on his left, and behind him
was the tall carved oak back of the chair on which Gilles was
sitting--all equally strong barriers to the young Marquis' bellicose
intentions.
'Out of the way, lout!' shouted de Landas furiously, and would have
seized Maître Jehan by the collar but for the fact that it was a very
difficult thing indeed to seize Maître Jehan by any portion of his
squat person unless he chose to allow so unceremonious a proceeding,
and just now he was standing guard between a number of enraged
gentlemen and the back of his master's chair--a trying position,
forsooth, for any man of Maître Jehan's prowess, for ... well! he
would not have dared to lay hands on such a great gentleman as was M.
le Marquis; but, against that, M. le Marquis had no chance of laying
hands on Maître Jehan either.
VI
And all the while, Gilles sat so near to Jacqueline that his knees
touched the hoops of her skirt. Instinctively she drew her own chair
back with that same little demure air which was apparent in every one
of her movements, even though her face was concealed by the mask.
'An' you move an inch further, fair one,' he said boldly, 'I vow that
I shall be ready to commit a crime.'
'You are committing one now, Messire,' retorted Jacqueline. 'A crime
against decorum, by sitting in my guardian's place.'
'Then I'll no longer sit--I'll kneel at your feet,' he riposted, and
made a movement as if to push away his chair.
'Heaven forbid!' she exclaimed lightly. 'M. de Landas would kill
you!'
'I am not so easily killed,' he rejoined. 'And M. de Landas is, for
the moment, engaged with my man.'
'Who is getting sorely pressed, Messire!' cried Jacqueline with
sudden, eager excitement. 'Will you not go to his aid?'
She had caught sight of Jehan, standing with his back to his master's
chair, fists levelled, shoulders squared, defying not only M. de
Landas but a crowd of other gentlemen, who had rushed forward to
support their friend.
'Not before you have promised to unmask, fair one,' Gilles said
calmly.
'I?' she exclaimed, now really staggered by his cool impudence. 'You
are dreaming, Messire!'
'I think I am, Madame,' he replied; 'therefore I must have your
promise ere I wake.'
'You are presumptuous!'
'Just now you said that I was dreaming. A man who dreams is a man
asleep--and a man asleep is too helpless to be presumptuous.'
'That is sophistry, Messire,' she retorted. 'And while you parley
thus idly, your man is in serious danger through the wrath of these
gentlemen.'
'My good Jehan's danger is not so pressing as mine. He hath my
orders to hold these gentlemen at arm's length until I give the word,
whilst Monseigneur d'Inchy may be back any moment before I wake up
from my dream.'
'Oh!' she urged now with well-feigned alarm. 'But your poor man
cannot stand long before these gentlemen, and you, Messire, will
surely not allow him to receive all those knocks which are intended
for you!'
'I have received many a score which were intended for him,' retorted
Gilles with a laugh. 'Jehan and I have long ceased to reckon up
accounts. Your promise, fair one,' he pleaded; 'ere Monseigneur
return to place a spoke in my wheel!'
She felt now as if she were trapped, no longer combated his desire,
but merely appeared anxious to gain time until her guardian came to
release her from the strange, compelling power of this man, who was
arrogating unto himself rights which could only be claimed by a
friend or lover.
'Oh, mon Dieu!' she exclaimed agitatedly, half rising from her chair
in her eagerness to catch sight of Jehan. 'He cannot long parry the
attack----'
'Your promise, fair one,' he insisted quietly, 'to let me see your
sweet face to-night! I swore it to myself just now, when you threw
me a glance across the room, that I would look into your eyes
untrammelled. Your promise!--or I vow that I'll do something
desperate!'
'Heavens above!' she exclaimed, keeping her attention deliberately
fixed on Maître Jehan. 'If he should strike one of these
gentlemen--he--a mere servant!...'
'If he does,' riposted Gilles lightly, 'I will take up his quarrel,
with this token tied to my sword-hilt.' And from the inner pocket of
his doublet he drew a tiny, perfumed rag, held it in his hand and
waved it with an ostentatious flourish for her to see.
She gave a quick, involuntary little cry of alarm: 'My handkerchief!'
'Undoubtedly, fair one!' he said coolly. 'It hath your initials and
crown embroidered in the corner! Think you Messire de Landas' choler
will cool at sight of it?'
Her forehead, her tiny ears, her neck and chin, everything that he
could see of her dainty face, had become suffused with a warm blush.
'Messire!' she said firmly, 'I command you to give me back that
handkerchief, which you stole unawares.'
'It was flung at me with a sheaf of lilies, which, alas! have
withered. 'Tis my right hand which shall wither ere I part from the
handkerchief.'
'My handkerchief!' she reiterated impatiently.
'Only with my life! But it shall lie for ever hidden against my
heart if you will promise...'
'Messire, you are committing a base and unworthy act!'
'I know it,' he said with a smile. 'But I must have that promise.'
'Promise of what?' she asked breathlessly, driven into a corner by
his obstinacy.
'To let me look straight into your eyes to-night,' he said,
'unfettered by that hideous mask.'
He leaned forward so that his face now was quite close to hers, and
he could feel her quick breath against his cheek.
'No, no!' she said with a little gasp. 'My guardian--and--and M. de
Landas----'
'Very well!' he said dryly, and began quietly winding the little rag
around his sword-hilt.
'Messire!' she said in a peremptory tone, through which a note of
appeal, if not of genuine alarm this time, could be distinctly
perceived.
'Promise!' he reiterated relentlessly.
Just then she caught sight of de Landas, who, flushed with choler,
was thrusting somewhat wildly at Maître Jehan. She thought that his
eyes were constantly wandering in her direction and that he was
vainly trying to get near her, past his sturdy opponent, who was
guarding the approach to his master's chair with all the fierceness
of a Cerberus. Somehow, at sight of de Landas thus fighting with
almost savage violence, she lost her head for the moment. Of a
truth, the matter of the handkerchief might lead to a very bitter
quarrel between her lover and this stranger. A very bitter
quarrel--and worse! De Landas was wont to lose all self-control when
jealous rage had hold of him, was as quick with his dagger as with
his rapier! And here was this tantalizing troubadour calmly
preparing to flaunt upon his sword-hilt the handkerchief which bore
her name and coronet. He looked up and caught the sparkle of her
eyes.
'Promise!' he insisted quite coolly.
And she--very reluctantly--murmured: 'Very well; I promise!'
'To-night!' he insisted.
'No!--no!' she protested. 'Not to-night!'
'To-night!' he reiterated firmly, smiled at her too beneath his mask
as if in triumph--Oh, the insolence of him!--and continued to toy
with the compromising bit of white rag.
If only Monseigneur would return! There was nothing for it but to
acquiesce. De Landas even then looked the very image of wild and
unreasoning fury. Jacqueline shuddered and murmured a quick: 'Very
well! To-night! I promise!'
Gilles gave an equally quick sigh of satisfaction.
'When?' he asked.
But before she could reply, there came a loud curse from Jehan. He
had been seized round the legs by two varlets, even while he was
engaged in warding off the blows which were aimed at his head by half
a dozen gallants. It was when he came down with a dull thud upon his
knees and felt that he could no longer stand between his master and
these evil-intentioned gentlemen that he gave forth a prolonged and
uproarious stutter:
'The d-d-d-d-d----'
Gilles jumped to his feet. In less than three completed seconds he
was round by the side of Jehan, had kicked the two varlets out of the
way and interposed his massive person between his faithful henchman
and the seething group of bellicose gallants.
'Silence, chatterbox!' he said coolly to Jehan. 'These seigneurs are
not here to listen to your perorations. Anything that must be said
can be referred to me.'
He had one hand on the elegant hilt of his Spanish rapier; the other
rested on the shoulder of Maître Jehan, who had struggled very
quickly to his feet. His mocking glance, veiled by the black satin
mask, swept coolly over de Landas and his friends.
'Insolent!' exclaimed one of the men.
'Unmask the spy!' cried out another.
'Leave the rogue to me!' quoth de Landas, who was getting beside
himself with rage.
Already half a dozen swords were drawn. Every one who had been drunk
before became sobered in the instant; those who had remained sober
felt suddenly drunk with choler. Some of the ladies thought it best
to scream or to feign a swoon, others made a rush for the door. No
one dared to come nigh, for de Landas was a man who was not good to
trifle with when his ire was aroused. But those who were not taking
part in the quarrel were certainly not eyeing the stranger with any
degree of benevolence, and Jacqueline felt more than she actually
heard the adverse comments made upon this Prince de Froidmont--so he
was styled, it appeared--who had come no one knew whence and who
seemed to arrogate unto himself privileges which only pertained to
favoured friends.
Thus a wide circle was formed at one end of the room, leaving at the
other, in splendid isolation, the group which was made up of half a
dozen young gallants standing in threatening attitudes in front of
the masked stranger, who now had his henchman on one side of him and
on the other the monumental mantelpiece, in which the fire had been
allowed to die down.
'Out of the way, malapert!' cried de Landas savagely to Gilles, as he
advanced towards him with sword clutched and eyes that glowed with a
fierce flame of unbridled wrath. His desire was to reach Jacqueline,
who stood a little way behind Gilles, near the table, watching in an
attitude of tense excitement the progress of this quarrel, and with
an eye on the door through which she hoped every moment to see her
guardian reappear.
But, quick as lightning, Gilles had barred the way. He appeared
highly amused and perfectly at his ease, laughed boldly in M. de
Landas' heated face; but would not let him pass.
It was easy to perceive that he was enjoying this quarrel, loved to
see the glint of those swords which threatened him even while they
promised to vary the monotony of this sentimental adventure. He had
not drawn his own. In France, fighting in the presence of ladies was
thought highly unseemly. These Flemings were different, very
uncouth, not a little brutal and abominably hot-headed. Well! the
quarrel once begun would of a surety not end here and now, even
though M. d'Inchy were to return and peremptorily order it to stop.
There was something in M. de Landas' sullen and defiant attitude
which delighted Gilles: and when half a dozen irate gentlemen shouted
hoarsely, 'Out of the way!' he laughed and said:
'Impossible, Messeigneurs! 'Tis for you to retire. Our gracious
hostess will grant me the favour of unmasking. An' I am much
mistaken, she will not do the same for you.'
'Madame Jacqueline,' retorted de Landas hotly, 'will not unmask
before the first jackanapes who dares to approach her unbidden.'
'Ah! but I am not unbidden,' riposted Gilles gaily. 'Have I not told
you that Madame will deign to unmask ere I bid her good-night?'
'Insolent coxcomb!' shouted the other excitedly.
'A spy!' cried one of the others.
'Tear off his mask, de Landas! Let us see the colour of his skin!'
'An impudent rogue!' added a third.
'M. le Marquis de Landas,' here interposed Jacqueline peremptorily,
'you forget that M. le Prince de Froidmont is our guest.'
'Oh!' retorted de Landas with a sneer, 'if he is under the protection
of the ladies...'
'Under no protection save that of my sword, Messire!' broke in Gilles
carelessly. 'And that will be entirely at your service as soon as I
have taken leave of our fair hostess.'
'Nay! that you shall not do!' riposted de Landas. 'Your impudent
assertion of awhile ago has put you outside the pale. You shall not
take your leave! 'Tis we who'll throw you out; unless you relieve us
of your company now--at once!'
'Well said, de Landas!' came in an approving chorus from the irate
group of de Landas' friends.
'We'll throw him out!' cried some of them. 'Leave him to us.'
'A spy!' came from others.
'Now, Messire--whoever you may be,' concluded de Landas with ironic
emphasis, 'will you go willingly or shall my friends and I----'
'For shame, Messire!' broke in Jacqueline loudly and firmly. 'You
are six against one----'
'So much the better!' riposted de Landas with a harsh laugh. 'At
him, friends!'
'Madame,' said Gilles, turning to Jacqueline with perfect calm, 'your
promise will remain for ever unredeemed if these gentlemen succeed in
throwing me out of the room; for this, I vow, they cannot do while I
am alive.'
'Jacqueline,' interposed de Landas impulsively, 'I forbid you to
unmask before this man.'
He had guessed her purpose, for already her hand was raised towards
her mask; and so enraged was he that she should thus yield to this
stranger whom already he had come to hate, that he forgot himself,
lost all self-control, and said just the one word which decided
Jacqueline. At the word 'forbid,' she drew herself up to her full
height and faced her lover with calm and hauteur.
'There is nothing,' she said coolly, 'that any one here has the right
to command or forbid.' Then she turned to Gilles: 'I'll bid you
good-night now, Messire, and can but offer to you--a stranger--my
humble apologies in mine and my guardian's name for the uncouth
behaviour of my countrymen.'
'Jacqueline!' exclaimed de Landas with a hoarse cry of rage.
But even before this final protest had reached her ear, she had
extended one hand to Gilles and with the other slowly detached the
mask from her face. He had stooped very low in order to kiss her
finger-tips; when he straightened out his tall figure once more he
was face to face with her.
He never spoke a word or made a sign. He did not look into her eyes
at first, though these were as blue as the skies in Southern France;
he did not gaze at the delicate mouth with the deep corners and the
roguish smile, or at the chiselled, slightly tip-tilted nose with the
sensitive nostrils that were quivering with excitement. No! all that
Messire Gilles gazed on at the moment was a tiny brown mole which
nestled tantalizingly on the velvety cheek, just below the left eye.
And for that moment he forgot where he was, forgot the storm of
enmity which was raging around him, the unworthy rôle which he had
set out to play for the deception of a confiding girl. He lost count
of time and of space and found himself once more lying on cool,
sweet-smelling straw, with a broken wrist and an aching head, and
with a vision as of an angel in white bending over his fevered brow
and murmuring in tones of exquisite compassion, 'Think you it will
heal?'
And as he gazed on that little mole, that veritable kissing-trap
which had tantalized him long ago, his lips murmured vaguely:
'My dream!'
VII
Of course the little interlude had all occurred within a very few
seconds: the kiss upon the soft, warm hand, the look upon that
roguish face, the swift and sudden rush of memory--it had all
happened whilst poor M. de Landas was recovering from the shock of
Jacqueline's cold rebuke. Her stern taunt had come down on him like
a hammer-blow upon the head; he felt dazed for a moment; speechless,
too, with a white rage which was too great at first for words. But
that kind of speechless fierceness seldom lasts more than a few
seconds. Even as Gilles de Crohin was quietly collecting his
scattered senses and Jacqueline, vaguely puzzled, was readjusting her
mask in order to be able to gaze on him unobserved, marvelling why he
should have murmured 'My dream!' and looked so strangely at her, de
Landas had recovered some measure of self-control. The anger which
he felt against the stranger was no longer impetuous and ebullient;
it had become cold and calculating, doubly dangerous and more certain
to abide.
He put up his sword, motioned to his friends to do likewise--which
they did, murmuring protestations. They were itching to get at the
stranger who had triumphed so signally over them all. But de Landas
was waiting with apparent calm whilst Gilles took leave of
Jacqueline. This Gilles did with all the ceremony which etiquette
demanded. He still felt dazed with the strange discovery which he
had just made, the knowledge that the dream which he had only
cherished as a vague memory was a living, breathing, exquisite
reality. Ye gods! how exquisite she was!
But he had no excuse for lingering--had, on the other hand, a wild
desire to be alone, in order to think, to remember and to dream. So,
having bowed his last farewell, he turned to go, and found de Landas
barring his way.
'You will pay for this outrage, Messire,' said the latter in a quick
whisper through his set teeth.
'Whenever you please,' replied Gilles imperturbably.
'To-night----'
'Surely not while ladies are present,' broke in Gilles quietly.
''Tis in Madame's presence,' retorted de Landas roughly, 'whom you
have insulted, that I and my friends----'
'Messire!' protested Jacqueline firmly.
'Ah! a valorous half-dozen then?' rejoined Gilles lightly. 'I see
that you--and your friends, Messire--have no intention of taking any
risks.'
'Our intention is to tear that mask off your impudent face and make
you lick the dust at Madame Jacqueline's feet.'
'And mine,' riposted Gilles gaily, 'is to collect a trophy of half a
dozen masks--yours, Messire, and those of your friends--on the point
of my sword and to place these with my homage at Madame Jacqueline's
feet.'
'Insolent!'
'I therefore am completely at your service, gentlemen,' concluded
Gilles, with an ironical bow directed at his opponents. 'Whenever,
wherever you please.'
'Here and now!' broke in de Landas, whose self-control--never of long
duration--had already given way. 'At him, friends! And, by Satan,
we'll teach this malapert a lesson!'
It was in vain that Jacqueline tried to interpose; in vain that the
ladies about the room screamed and swooned, that the men even began
loudly to protest. Neither de Landas nor his friends were in a state
to hear either commands or protests. All decorum, chivalry,
breeding, was thrown to the winds. Hatred had descended like an ugly
night-hawk upon these young gallants, and with her frowzy, sable
wings had enveloped their brain and hearts till they were deaf to the
most elementary dictates of honour. With de Landas, a wild,
insensate jealousy had fanned that hatred to a glowing brazier of
unreason and of madness. He saw--or thought he saw--that Jacqueline
displayed unwonted interest in this stranger, that her eyes followed
his movements with anxiety not unmixed with admiration. And de
Landas became conscious of a red veil before his eyes and of a
furious desire to humiliate that man first and to kill him after.
'At him, friends!' he called again hoarsely. 'We'll teach him a
lesson!'
It was most fortunately at this very moment, and when the tumult was
at its height, that Monseigneur d'Inchy re-entered the room. Just
for a second or two he did not pay much heed to the noise. In these
days, when political and religious controversies oft raged with
bitter acrimony, it was not very unusual that a hot quarrel marred
the close of a convivial gathering. D'Inchy at first did not do more
than glance round the room, to see if his interference was really
necessary. Then, to his horror, he realized what was happening, saw
_Monsieur_ Duc d'Anjou, own brother to the King of France and future
Sovereign Lord of the Netherlands, standing in the midst of a group
of young hotheads, who were actually threatening Monseigneur the
governor's exalted guest!
And de Landas, that impetuous quarrelsome young coxcomb, was talking
of giving _Monsieur_ a lesson! It was unbelievable! Appalling!
D'Inchy was a middle-aged man, but it was with a degree of vigour
which many young men might have envied that he pushed his way through
the jabbering and gesticulating throng of men and women, right across
the room to the top of the table, where he arrived just in time to
avert what would indeed have been a terrible calamity.
'By Heaven, M. de Landas,' he interposed stoutly, ''tis I will teach
you and these gentlemen a lesson which you are not like to forget!'
And, regardless of de Landas' and his friends' glowering looks, he
pushed his way to Gilles' side and stood facing that angry little
crowd who, suddenly abashed, drew back a step or two, muttering
wrathful expletives. Monseigneur, of course, was their host and an
old man; but why should he interfere and spoil what promised to be
really fine sport?
'M. le Prince de Froidmont is my guest,' M. d'Inchy went on calmly.
'Who quarrels with him, insults me and my house.'
A real sigh of relief came from Madame Jacqueline. Already, at sight
of her guardian, she had felt reassured, and now he had voiced just
what she had wished to say all along. She felt grateful to him for
this and for his dignified attitude, and with a pretty, clinging
gesture, sidled up to him and took hold of his arm.
What could the young gallants do? They were helpless for the moment,
even though still raging with choler. De Landas tried to look as if
nothing of importance had happened, even though from beneath his mask
he shot a last glance of hatred and menace at his unperturbed enemy.
The others quickly followed suit and for the moment the incident was
at an end. Fortunately it was not likely to have unpleasant
consequences, for already Gilles had interposed with his habitual
good-humour.
'Your pardon, Monseigneur,' he said. 'These--these gentlemen and I
had no intention of insulting one another. We were only having a
little argument, and as your hospitality hath been over-lavish, we
became somewhat heated; that is all!'
'Somewhat heated!' riposted d'Inchy gruffly. 'With mine own ears I
heard M. le Marquis Landas here...'
'Yes, that's just it!' broke in Gilles imperturbably. 'M. de Landas
and I were indulging in a friendly argument, which your presence,
Monseigneur, at once rendered futile.'
M. d'Inchy sighed with relief. Gilles' coolness was contagious; even
de Landas ceased to growl and the others to mutter. Thank Heaven!
the quarrel was fizzling out like an unfanned flame, and in any case
Monsieur was taking the situation with perfect good-humour. D'Inchy,
bent, as always, on conciliation, smiled with impartial blandness on
every one, whilst Jacqueline, silent and demure now as if nothing had
happened, was once more looking straight down her nose. D'Inchy took
hold of her hand, which still rested upon his arm, and patted it
gently with an indulgent, fatherly caress.
'Then all is for the best, Messeigneurs,' he said, 'and with your
leave my ward will now take her leave of you. I fear me that your
friendly argument has somewhat fatigued her. By the way,' he added
lightly, 'you have not yet told me what that argument was about.'
'Oh!' rejoined Gilles with a quiet smile, 'we only argued as to whose
should be the privilege of placing a trophy at the feet of our fair
hostess.'
'A trophy? What trophy?'
'Oh, something quite insignificant. A--a mask--or half a dozen----'
'Just like so many 'prentices a-quarrelling,' said d'Inchy with gruff
good-humour. 'A mask or half a dozen, forsooth! You'd far better
all be going to bed now. Madame cares nothing for your masks or your
trophies. She is too tired for any such nonsense. Eh, Jacqueline?'
'Not too tired, Monseigneur,' replied Jacqueline demurely, 'to forgo
the pleasure of bidding you good-night ere you go to rest.'
'There, you see, gentlemen,' rejoined d'Inchy gaily, 'that age has
certain privileges which youth seeks for in vain. Whilst you go
moodily, unsatisfied, to bed, the fairest of the fair will be sitting
with her old guardian in his living-room, prattling away on the
events of this night, quizzing you all, I'll warrant; laughing at
your quarrels and your trophies. Is that not so, my dear? ... One
mask or half a dozen! ... Are they not like children, these gallants,
with their senseless quarrels? But there, while women are beautiful,
men will quarrel for their favours--what?'
And he looked down with fatherly pride on the golden head which was
kept so resolutely bent.
'C'est entendu, Monseigneur,' replied Jacqueline softly. 'I'll come
to your living-room as usual and bid you good-night after all our
guests have departed.'
Far be it from me even to hint that, as she said this, Jacqueline
threw more than a cursory glance on Gilles or on M. de Landas, for
nothing could have looked more demure, more dignified and aloof than
she did at this moment, when, having spoken, she bowed with stiff
grace to the group of gentlemen before her. And even Maître Calviac
would have felt that he was a mere bungler in the matter of bowings
and scrapings if he could have seen these gallants responding to
Madame's salute; the right leg outstretched, the left foot kept back,
the hand almost touching the floor with a wide sweep of the arm, then
brought back to the lips as for an imaginary kiss.
The next moment Jacqueline had turned and presently could be seen,
still with that same stiff grace, receiving the adieux of her
guardian's guests. She held her small head very erect and with one
hand plied her fan with lazy nonchalance, whilst the other was
perpetually being extended to those whose privilege it was to kiss it.
As for the group of young gallants--well! they had the immediate
future to look forward to. True, that for the nonce they were
forbidden to continue the quarrel for fear of incurring their host's
displeasure; but it was only a matter of putting off the happy hour
when one could be even with that insolent stranger. De Landas turned
with a significant gesture and a knowing wink to his friends. After
that, the small group dispersed and ostentatiously mingled with the
rest of the departing crowd.
D'Inchy, before he left Gilles' side, managed to murmur fulsome
apologies.
'I do assure Monseigneur,' he whispered earnestly in Gilles' ear,
'that these young jackanapes will not be tempted to repeat their
impudence, and that I...'
'And that you, Messire,' broke in Gilles a little impatiently, 'are
entirely innocent of any intention of offending me. That is, of
course, understood. Believe me,' he added gaily, 'that the little
incident was more than welcome as far as I am concerned. Your lavish
hospitality had made us all drowsy. M. de Landas' aggressive temper
brought life and animation into the entertainment. I, for one, am
grateful to him for the episode.'
Five minutes later he too had taken leave of his host. Jacqueline he
did not see again. She was entirely surrounded by friends.
Nevertheless, he left the banqueting hall in a state of exhilaration,
and as he passed through the doors between the rows of Monseigneur's
obsequious serving-men, they all remarked that Monsieur le Prince de
Froidmont was humming a lively tune, the words of which appeared to
be:
'Les plis de sa robe pourprée
Et son teint au vostre pareil!'