HOW MADAME JACQUELINE WAS GRAVELY PUZZLED
I
Old Nicolle and the women had known how to hold their tongues, so had
Madame Jacqueline's torch-bearer. Indiscretion these days, where the
affairs of noble gentlemen were concerned, was apt to bring terrible
reprisals in its train. And above all, M. le Marquis de Landas was
not a gentleman to be trifled with. If he desired secrecy, secrecy
he would have, and woe betide the unfortunates who had not known how
to hold their tongue.
Nicolle, aided by Maria and Bertine--two of Madame's most trustworthy
serving-maids--had done their best to tend the wounds of the noble
seigneurs, while the torch-bearer was despatched to their respective
houses to summon immediate assistance. Messire de Borel was wealthy,
owned horses and had an army of servants; the Comte du Prêt lived in
a fine palace on the Place Verte, and the Seigneur de Maarege in the
Rue St. George.
It was all done very quickly and very discreetly. Monseigneur the
governor was never meant to know what had occurred in his Palace that
night; servants came and went on tiptoe; the night watchmen had
anyhow been bribed to secrecy. Martin et Martine at the Town Hall
had only chimed the second hour of the morning and already the six
young gallants had been conveyed back to their homes; the boudoir was
locked up and the key given in charge of the night watchmen, who
would see that order there was once more restored.
Jacqueline never deserted her self-appointed post until she was
satisfied that the last vestige of that awful scuffle had been
effectually obliterated. She helped Nicolle and her women to dress
the wounds of the young seigneurs; she remained by de Landas' side
until she saw him safely in the stalwart arms of his own henchmen.
It was amazing how a girl, so young and so inexperienced, was able to
give directions and to keep her head through this amazingly trying
time. She had broken down once, when Gilles had thrown the masks at
her feet; but directly he had gone she recovered herself, and from
that moment everything was done at her command. Nicolle and the
women, who were on the verge of losing their heads--of screaming and
falling into a panic, were soon restored to order and efficiency by
Madame's coolness and by her courage.
Jacqueline never flinched, nor did she ask any questions. She was
affectionate with de Landas and gentle to all, but evidently her one
care was to keep this miserable affair a secret from her guardian.
II
On the other hand, I, for one, am not going to say that Gilles de
Crohin was not a sick man on the following morning, when he managed
to crawl out of bed and to dress himself, inwardly cursing the
absence of his faithful Jehan. He made light of 'scratches,' but he
had no fewer than five about his body, and the flesh wound in his
thigh was exceedingly unpleasant. He had sat moodily in his narrow
room for some time, vaguely wondering what in the world he was to do
with himself, or whether Madame Jacqueline would ever care to set
eyes on him again.
He was smarting under the sense of injustice. What right had she to
look on him as a braggart who would pay a set of knaves to help him
in his quarrels? The feeling of insensate jealousy which was gnawing
at his heart was still more unpleasant to bear. He almost understood
de Landas' hatred of himself after the episode in the banqueting
hall, for he--Gilles--was at this moment experiencing just that same
torturing jealousy, which had caused de Landas to outrage every canon
of chivalry and honour for the sake of getting even with an execrated
rival.
In fact, neither his mental nor his physical condition was in an
enviable state when a runner arrived that morning at 'Les Trois Rois'
and asked for leave to speak with Messire Gilles de Crohin, equerry
to Monseigneur le Prince de Froidmont.
Gilles, a little bewildered by this unexpected occurrence, met the
runner in the taproom of the hostelry. Somewhat curtly, he told the
man that Monseigneur le Prince was sick, and that he--Gilles--was in
attendance on his master. But the messenger appeared in no way
disconcerted at the rebuff; he seemed to have received instructions
that would cover every eventuality.
'Monseigneur the governor,' he said, 'had heard a rumour that His
Magnificence was sick. Therefore he begged that Messire de Crohin
would forthwith come over to the Palace and reassure him as to the
condition of his master, Monseigneur le Prince de Froidmont.'
The runner had long disappeared down the Rue aux Juifs and Gilles de
Crohin was still standing in the middle of the taproom, clutching his
chin with his hand in a state of most unenviable perturbation. A
very severe test on his histrionic powers was about to be imposed
upon him. Monseigneur's desire--nay! his command--could not be
disregarded. He--Gilles--must present himself at the Palace just as
he was--playing no rôle this time, save that of striving to
obliterate all similarity between himself as he really was and would
be to-day, and himself as he had been in Monseigneur's sight during
the past five days.
No wonder that at the prospect he too--like Jehan last night--felt
cold drops of sweat rising to the roots of his hair. I will not say
that the thought of seeing Madame Jacqueline again, if he went to the
Palace, did not in a measure give him courage; but even that courage
was only fictitious, because in all probability she would scarce
vouchsafe to look on the servant, seeing that her heart was filled
with hatred and contempt for the master.
Nevertheless, he was at the Palace less than an hour later.
Monseigneur was very gracious, and apparently not the least
suspicious. He only expressed regret that it had not been his good
fortune to meet Messire Gilles de Crohin ere this. On the other
hand, his apologies for what had occurred the night before inside his
own Palace were both profuse and humble--almost abject.
'I beg you, Messire,' he said earnestly, at the close of the
interview, 'to assure Monseigneur le Duc d'Anjou that I would give
ten years of my life--and I have not many left to give--to undo the
mischief wrought by a few young nincompoops. I can but hope that His
Highness will exonerate me from any negligence or want of
understanding in the matter.'
By this time Gilles was mentally quite at his ease. If his thigh was
painful, he had nevertheless managed to walk into Monseigneur's
presence without a limp, and to all appearances his host was at this
hour very far from suspecting the slightest fraud.
'His Highness,' he said lightly, 'will recover from his scratches
within the next day or two. The whole matter is unworthy of
Monseigneur's anxiety.'
After which assurance, and mutual protestations of esteem and
good-will, Gilles was allowed to take his leave.
III
Being a personage of no consequence, Messire Gilles de Crohin,
equerry to Monseigneur le Prince de Froidmont, was not escorted to
the gates by an army of ushers; rather was he allowed to find his way
out as best he could. The interview with Monseigneur had taken place
in a room on a floor above, and he was walking slowly along one of
the wide corridors which, if memory served him, would lead him to the
grand staircase. On his right the tall, deep-embrasured windows gave
on the magnificent park which, with its stately trees still dressed
in winter garb, lay bathed in the sunlight of this early spring day.
He paused just for a moment, looking over the park at the rich
panorama of the city. The window nearest to him was slightly open,
and the south-westerly breeze was apparently stirring the heavy
curtains in front of it. From somewhere close by there came gently
wafted the delicious penetrating fragrance of lilies. Was it a
wonder that Gilles' thoughts should at once have flown to Jacqueline?
and that an uncontrollable ache should suddenly grip his heart?
Throughout his long adventurous life he had seen so many women--had
kissed a few, and loved none; and now Fate had placed in his path
just the one woman in the whole wide world whom at first sight he had
loved with unbounded passion, and who was as far removed from him as
was the gold-crowned steeple of St. Géry far away, and infinitely
more unattainable. For the first time in his life Gilles had looked
into a woman's eyes, felt that they held in their depths a promise of
paradise, only to realize that that promise could never be made to
him.
The scent of the lilies brought with it a murmur of spring, of
awakening nature, of twitter of birds, and the man who listened to
that murmur, who thrilled at its insistent call, knew that he must
for ever remain lonely, that the call of springtide for him must for
ever remain unsatisfied.
Standing there alone, he was not ashamed of his emotion, not ashamed
that hot tears welled up involuntarily to his eyes. But with a
half-impatient gesture and a smile at his own folly, he brushed these
with his hand resolutely away.
When the mist of tears was cleared from his eyes, he suddenly saw
her--his dream--standing before him. She was in the window
embrasure, with the flood of sunshine wrapping her like a mantle of
gold. On the window sill beside her lay a bunch of white lilies.
Her little hand--Gilles thought he had never seen such an exquisite
little hand--held back the curtain, behind which she had apparently
been sitting. A soft breeze blew in through the half-open window and
stirred with its delicate breath the soft tendrils of her ardent
hair. Her face against the light was in a tender, grey shadow,
through which her eyes shone like a peep of azure sky, and on her
cheek that tiny mole was provocatively asking for a kiss.
The apparition had come upon Gilles so suddenly, the transition from
dark melancholy to joy was so abrupt, that he--poor man!--weak, sick,
unnerved by weariness and constant strain, not only found nothing to
say, but he clean forgot all the amenities of social life which the
equerry of a prince of the House of Valois should have had at his
finger-tips.
Jacqueline, too, strangely enough, felt embarrassed for the moment,
angry with herself for being tongue-tied. What was there to be
confused about? Messire Gilles de Crohin could not possibly guess
that she had been sitting here in the window embrasure, waiting to
see him pass, just because she desired to have news of his master.
He could not guess that it had taken all her reserves of diplomacy to
so explain to Monseigneur when he questioned her, what she knew of
the events of the past night that, without being greatly angered
against M. de Landas, he should feel sufficient compunction to send
promptly for news of Messire le Prince de Froidmont. Certainly
Messire's equerry could not guess that Madame Jacqueline's heart had
been touched and her mind tickled when Monseigneur placed before her
the naïve effusion of Maître Jehan, and that her own common sense and
unerring feeling for justice had filled in the gaps which the worthy
servant's missive had left in his exposé of what had actually
occurred.
Therefore it was not the fear of what Messire de Crohin might think
or guess that kept Jacqueline momentarily speechless and shy, rather
was it a curious and undefinable sense of something strange--familiar
yet mysterious--about the personality of this man who stood, equally
silent, before her. It took her several seconds to free herself from
this spell which appeared to have been cast over her, several seconds
of fighting angrily with herself for the constraint which rendered
her tongue-tied and shy. Fortunately he appeared quite unaware of
her embarrassment, waited somewhat awkwardly, she thought, for her to
speak.
'You are Messire de Crohin?' she contrived to say at last.
'At your service, Madame,' he replied.
'Equerry to Monseigneur le Prince de Froidmont?'
He bowed in affirmative response.
'And ... I have no doubt ... devoted to his person?'
He smiled.
'Why should Madame conclude that?' he asked.
She gave a little start. Somehow his tone--that bantering smile, had
accentuated that feeling of familiarity which rendered his person so
strangely mysterious.
'Monseigneur le Prince de Froidmont,' she rejoined coldly, 'is sure
to command the devotion of those who serve him. He is brave and
chivalrous----'
'That was not Madame's opinion of him last night----' he broke in
dryly. Then, seeing that his tone had caused her to turn her eyes on
him with unfeigned surprise he added somewhat lamely: 'At least ...
that is ... that is what Monseigneur gave me to understand last
night----'
'It was all a misunderstanding,' she said gently. 'Will you say that
to Monseigneur?'
'If Madame desires.'
'I do desire it. And since you know all about the incident, Messire,
will you, I pray you, tell your master how deeply I regret the
erroneous judgment which I formed of his conduct? Those abominable
varlets all crowding round him----'
'Appearances were against Monseigneur, no doubt.'
'And I behaved like a vixen, Messire,' she said with a smile.
'Then give me an army of vixens!' he retorted impulsively.
'Why, Messire, you were not there to see----'
'No! But I imagine now that vixens must be adorable.'
'Do not jest, Messire,' she rejoined more earnestly. 'I was shrewish
last night and ill-tempered and unjust. Will you tell your master
that this morning----'
'I will tell him, Madame, that this morning you are perfect, whatever
you may have been last night.'
Poor Gilles by now would have given all that he possessed in the
world to be allowed to go. He felt that this interview, which he had
neither sought nor hoped for, was like a dangerous trap into which
Fate and his own temperament might hurl him headlong. Every minute
that he spent in this woman's company rendered her more desirable to
him, rendered him more completely a slave to her charm. But for some
strange and subtle reason she seemed disinclined to let him go just
yet, and even now when, remembering his best manners, Gilles started
on the preliminaries of a most elaborate farewell bow, she went on
with a quick catching of her breath and a slight hesitation, which
brought a soft glow to her cheeks:
'Messire Gilles----'
'At your service, Madame.'
'Was Monseigneur de Froidmont very angered with me?'
'He was,' Gilles admitted, 'last night.'
"But ... but....'
'His anger hath since melted like snow in the spring.'
'Even before you came hither at the bidding of my guardian?'
'Even before that, Madame.'
'Did he tell you so?'
'I guessed it.'
'Do you know his innermost thoughts, then?'
'Most of them--yes, Madame.'
'You are very intimate with Monseigneur le Prince de Froidmont?' she
asked, with a certain shy hesitancy which Gilles found adorable,
because it caused a delicate flush of pink to suffuse her cheeks.
This caused him, in his turn, to be confused and tongue-tied, staring
at her with eyes that seemed as if they would devour her loveliness.
She had to repeat her question.
'Oh!--ah!--er!' he stammered vaguely. 'That is--yes! Yes, Madame!
I am on ultimate terms with Monseigneur.'
'And--do tell me, Messire--is Monseigneur handsome?'
'No, by the Lord!' exclaimed Gilles with a loud laugh. Then he
caught her look: it was not one of surprise, rather of amusement not
unmixed with quaint, roguish mischief. He could not interpret that
look rightly, and began to stammer, worse confused than before.
'Madame--I--that is----'
'You are no judge of your master's looks, shall we say?' she retorted
with an enigmatic little smile. 'But you must remember that, though
I found Monseigneur of noble bearing, I have no notion how he looks,
for I have never seen him without a mask--that is----'
This time Gilles was quite sure that she was doing her best to
suppress a laugh.
'Do you think,' she said, 'that you could persuade His Magnificence
to pay his respects to me unmasked?'
'Monseigneur will, I feel sure,' he rejoined stiffly, 'be honoured by
the command, but----'
'But what, Messire?'
'He is strangely ill-favoured, Madame.'
'Oh! a woman is the best judge of that. Some of the ugliest men have
proved most attractive.'
'But--but Monseigneur is scarred--badly scarred. He----'
'What matter? There is naught so glorious as scars on a soldier's
face. When I was a child I once saw the Duc de Guise--le Balafré!
With that great cut across his cheek, he was still the most notable
man in a room filled to overflowing with clever, brave and handsome
men!'
'But--but, Madame, Monseigneur is also pock-marked. Yes, that's it!
Pock-marked! An illness contracted in early childhood--Madame
understands?'
'I do,' she replied with a little sigh of sympathy, and looked with
those enchanting blue eyes of hers straight on poor Gilles. 'I do.
It is very sad.'
'Very sad indeed, Madame.'
'Scarred and pock-marked. No wonder Monseigneur is shy to show his
face. But no matter,' she continued gaily. 'He hath such a lovely
voice, and oh! such beautiful hands! Slender and full of nerve and
power! I always take note of hands, Messire,' she said with
well-feigned ingenuousness. 'They indicate a man's character almost
more than his face. Do you not think, so too?'
'I--Madame--that is----'
Gilles had, quite instinctively, drawn the lace of his sleeve over
his left hand, even while Madame still looked at him with that
tantalizing glance which had the effect of turning his brain to putty
and his knees to pulp. Now she laughed--that merry, rippling laugh
of hers--and I do verily assure you that the poor man was on the
verge of making a complete fool of himself. Indeed, it were
difficult to say whether or no the next second would have witnessed
his complete surrender to Jacqueline's magic charm, his total loss of
self-control and the complete downfall of Madame la Reyne de
Navarre's cherished plan, for poor Gilles had lost consciousness of
every other feeling and thought save that of a wild longing to fall
on his knees and to kiss the tiny foot which peeped beneath the hem
of that exquisite woman's gown, a wild longing, too, to hold out his
arms and to fold her to his breast, to kiss her hair, her eyes, her
lips, that tiny mole which had wrought the whole mischief with his
soul. For the moment he forgot his past life, his present position,
the Duc d'Anjou and Madame la Reyne: he had forgotten that he was a
penniless adventurer, paid to play an unworthy trick upon this
innocent girl, sworn to infamy on pain of greater infamy still! He
had forgotten everything save that she was adorable and that an
altogether new and ardent love had taken possession of his soul.
Of a truth it is impossible for a prosy chronicler to state
definitely what might have happened then, if Monseigneur the governor
had not chosen that very moment for coming out of his room and
walking down the corridor, at one end of which Gilles was standing
spell-bound before the living presentment of his dream of long ago.
He heard Monseigneur's heavy footstep, pulled himself vigorously
together, and with an impatient gesture which was habitual to him, he
passed his left hand slowly across his forehead.
When he looked on Jacqueline again she was staring at him with an
expression that appeared almost scared and wholly bewildered, and
with a strange, puzzled frown upon her smooth forehead. For the
space of a second or two it seemed as if she wanted to say something,
then held back the words. After a slight hesitation, however, she
finally went forward a step or two to meet her guardian, without
looking again on Gilles.
'I was glad,' she said quietly to d'Inchy, 'to have had an
opportunity of seeing Messire de Crohin and of begging him to offer
to Monseigneur le Prince de Froidmont, his master, my sincere regrets
for what occurred last night.'
'Messire has already assured me,' rejoined d'Inchy suavely, 'that
Monseigneur harbours no resentment against any of us. Is that not
so, Messire?'
'Indeed it is, Monseigneur,' replied Gilles stiffly. 'Whatever
Monseigneur may have felt last night, I in his name do assure you
that at this hour the incident of last night hath faded from his
memory.'
He bowed now, ready to take his leave. But Jacqueline was apparently
not yet ready to dismiss him. Something had gravely puzzled her,
that was clear; and it was that something which seemingly made her
loth to let him go.
'What, think you, Messire,' she said abruptly, 'caused Monseigneur to
forget his resentment so quickly?'
'A journey, Madame,' he replied, looking her boldly between the eyes
this time, 'which his thoughts took skywards, astride upon a sunbeam.'
She smiled.
'And did Monseigneur's thoughts wander far on that perilous journey?'
'As far as the unknown, Madame.'
'The unknown? Where is that?'
'There where we sow our dreams.'
'Where we sow our dreams? You speak in metaphors, Messire. If, as
you say, we sow our dreams, what do we reap?'
'A perfect being such as you, Madame, can only reap joy and
happiness.'
'But you, Messire?'
'Oh, I, Madame!' he replied with a shrug of his broad shoulders.
'What can a poor soldier of fortune garner from a crop of dreams save
a bunch of memories?'
'Happy memories, I trust,' she said gently, as she finally extended
her dainty hand for his kiss.
'Happiness is such an ephemeral flower, Madame: memory is its lasting
perfume.'
For one brief moment her exquisite little hand, white, soft and
tensely alive, like the petals of a fragrant lily, lay upon his own:
for one brief moment of unalloyed happiness his lips rested upon her
finger-tips, and he felt them quivering beneath his kiss, as if
something of the passion which was searing his heart had been
communicated to her through that kiss.
The moment went by like a flash: the next, Monsieur le Baron d'Inchy
was already bidding him farewell with many an unctuous word, which
Gilles never even heard. He had eyes and ears only for
Jacqueline--Jacqueline, whom he had seen and loved at first sight,
when she had been alternately proud and dignified, demure and arch,
reproachful and contemptuous; but before whom he could now bend the
knee in adoration when a softened mood filled her eyes with tears and
caused her perfect lips to quiver with unexpressed sympathy.
'I entreat you, Messire,' she said finally, 'when you return to your
master, to urge upon him the necessity of extreme prudence.
Strangers are none too welcome in Cambray these days, and Monseigneur
de Froidmont hath already made many enemies, some of whom are
unscrupulous, others merely hot-headed; but all, alas! dangerous.
Guard him with your life, Messire,' she urged, with a quaint little
catch in her throat. 'And, above all, I pray you to assure him that
Jacqueline de Broyart would give much to undo the miserable work of
the past night.'
She bowed her head in token that he was dismissed at last, and
he--poor wretch!--could not at that moment have uttered a single word
in response, for his throat was choked and his very sinews ached with
the effort to appear calm and unconcerned before Monseigneur the
governor.
So, I fear me, that Gilles de Crohin defied every social rule laid
down by the aforesaid Maître Calviac, and that Monseigneur the
governor was seriously shocked when he saw a mere equerry taking an
unduly hasty leave from himself and from Madame Jacqueline de
Broyart, who was Duchesse et Princesse de Ramèse, in rank far above
any Sire de Crohin.
Monseigneur d'Inchy gave a quick sigh of impatience. The comedy
invented by the Queen of Navarre was beginning to tax his powers of
endurance heavily. Were it not for the great issues at stake, he
would never have humbled himself before any man as he had done before
a profligate Valois prince who was not worthy to lick the dust that
stained Madame Jacqueline's velvet shoes. He looked down with
conscious pride on his beautiful ward, more beautiful at this moment,
he thought, than she had ever looked before. She was gazing straight
down the length of the corridor; her lips were parted in an enigmatic
smile which greatly puzzled her old guardian, a soft blush mantled
over her cheeks and throat, and as she gazed--on nothing
seemingly--her blue eyes shone with a strange, inward excitement.
And yet, all that there was to see down the corridor was the
retreating figure of that somewhat ill-mannered equerry, Messire
Gilles de Crohin.