Half an hour after the scene we have described, the same window in
Master Biscarros' hostelry which had been closed so suddenly was
cautiously re-opened, and a young man of some sixteen or eighteen
years, dressed in black, with sleeves puffed at the wrists, in the
fashion of that day, rested his elbows on the window-sill, after
carefully scrutinizing the road to right and left. A shirt of the
finest linen protruded proudly from his doublet, and fell in wavy
folds over his beribboned small-clothes. His small, slender hand, a
true thoroughbred hand, toyed impatiently with his buckskin gloves,
embroidered along the seams; a pearl-gray felt hat, surmounted by a
magnificent blue feather, shaded his long, golden-chestnut locks,
which formed a marvellously fitting frame for an oval face, with fair
complexion, rosy lips, and black eyebrows. But truth compels us to
state that this attractive ensemble, which was well adapted to make the
youth one of the most charming of cavaliers, was for the moment ever
so little clouded by an expression of ill-humor, caused no doubt by a
season of profitless waiting; for he gazed with dilated eye along the
road, which was already swimming in the evening mist.
In his impatience he struck his left hand with his gloves. At the
sound, the landlord, who was plucking his last partridge, raised his
head, and said, removing his cap,--
"At what hour will you sup, my young sir? We are only awaiting your
orders to serve you."
"You know that I do not sup alone, but am awaiting a friend; when you
see him coming, you may serve the supper."
"Ah, monsieur," rejoined Master Biscarros, "I wouldn't presume to
censure your friend, for he is certainly free to come or not; but it's
a very bad habit to keep people waiting."
"He has no such habit, and I am much surprised at his tardiness."
"I am something more than surprised, monsieur; I am deeply grieved, for
the joint will be burned."
"Take it off the spit."
"Then it will be cold."
"Put another to the fire."
"It won't be cooked."
"In that case, my friend, do as you please," said the youth, unable,
notwithstanding his ill-humor, to refrain from smiling at the
inn-keeper's despair: "I intrust the matter to your supreme wisdom."
"There is no wisdom, not even King Solomon's own, that would make a
warmed-over dinner eatable."
Having propounded that axiom, which Boileau was to express in verse
twenty years later, Master Biscarros, shaking his head sadly, entered
the inn.
Thereupon the youth, as if to cheat his impatience, drew back into the
chamber, and was heard for a moment or two stamping noisily back and
forth across the floor; but almost immediately, thinking that he heard
horses' footsteps in the distance, he rushed to the window again.
"At last!" he cried; "there he is! God be praised!"
As he spoke, the head of a mounted man appeared beyond the thicket
where the nightingale was singing, to whose melodious notes the young
man seemed to pay no attention, doubtless because of his intense
preoccupation. To his great astonishment, he waited in vain for the
horseman to come out upon the road, for he turned to the right and rode
in among the bushes, where his hat soon disappeared,--an unmistakable
indication that he had alighted. A moment later the watcher saw through
the branches, as they were cautiously put aside, a gray helmet, and the
last rays of the setting sun were reflected on a musket-barrel.
The young man remained at his window lost in thought; evidently the
man hiding in the thicket was not the friend he expected, and the
impatient expression which darkened his mobile features gave place to
an expression of curiosity.
Soon a second hat appeared beside the first, and the young man drew
back out of sight.
The same gray helmet, the same glistening musket-barrel, the same
manœuvring in the thicket. The new arrival addressed some words to the
other, which the watcher could not hear because of the distance; and,
in consequence doubtless of the information he received, he plunged
into the hedge which ran parallel to the thicket, crouched behind a
rock, and waited.
From his elevated position the young man could see his hat above the
rock. Beside the hat gleamed a luminous point,--it was the end of the
musket-barrel.
A feeling of terror took possession of the young gentleman's mind, and
he drew back farther and farther as he watched.
"Oho!" he thought, "I wonder if they have designs on me and the
thousand louis I have with me. But no; for, even if Richon comes,
so that I can go on this evening, I am going to Libourne, and not to
Saint-André-de-Cubzac, and so shall not pass the spot where those
villains are in ambush. If my old Pompée were here, I would consult
him. But what's this? If I'm not mistaken--yes, on my word, there are
two more men! Gad! this has every appearance of an ambuscade in form."
He stepped still farther back, for it was true that at that moment
two other horsemen appeared at the same point; but only one of these
two wore the gray helmet. The other, astride a powerful black horse,
and wrapped in the folds of an ample cloak, wore a hat trimmed with
gold lace and adorned with a white feather; and beneath the cloak, as
the evening breeze blew it aside, could be seen an abundance of rich
embroidery upon a reddish doublet.
One would have said that the day was prolonging itself in order to
light this scene, for the sun's last rays, as the luminary came forth
from behind a bank of those dark clouds which sometimes stretch so
picturesquely along the horizon at sundown, suddenly set ablaze a
thousand rubies in the windows of a pretty little house, situated a
hundred yards or less from the river, and which the young man would
not otherwise have noticed, as it was in a great measure concealed by
trees. This additional supply of light enabled him to see in the first
place that the spies were watching the end of the village street and
the little house with the shining windows, looking from one to the
other; secondly, that the gray helmets seemed to have the greatest
respect for the white feather; and lastly, that one of the windows
in question was thrown open, and a woman appeared upon the balcony,
looked about for a moment, as if she too were expecting some one, then
re-entered the house as if she wished to avoid being seen.
As she disappeared, the sun sank behind the hill, and as it sank, the
ground-floor of the house was immersed in darkness, and the light,
gradually abandoning the windows, ascended to the slate roof, to
disappear at last, after playing for a moment with a weather-vane
consisting of a sheaf of golden arrows.
In the facts we have detailed there was ample material for any
intelligent mind to build up a structure of probabilities, if not of
certainties.
It was probable that the men were watching the isolated house, upon
the balcony of which a woman had shown herself for an instant; it
was probable that the woman and the men were expecting the arrival
of one and the same person, but with very different intentions; it
was probable that this person was to come from the village, and
consequently to pass the inn, which was about half-way between the
village and the thicket, as the thicket was about half-way between the
inn and the house; it was probable that the horseman with the white
feather was the leader of the horsemen with gray helmets, and, from
the eagerness with which he stood up in his stirrups, in order to see
farther, it was probable that he was jealous, and was watching in his
own interest.
Just as the young man was concluding this chain of reasoning, the links
of which fell naturally together in his mind, the door of his apartment
opened and Master Biscarros appeared.
"My dear host," said the young man, without giving him time to explain
the purpose of his visit,--a purpose which he guessed, however, "come
hither, and tell me, if my question is not impertinent, whose is the
small house which I see yonder,--a white speck among the poplars and
sycamores."
The landlord followed with his eyes the direction in which the
speaker's index finger pointed, and scratched his head.
"'Faith!" he replied, with a smile which he tried to render cunning,
"sometimes it belongs to one person, sometimes to another; it's yours,
if you have any reason for seeking solitude, whether you wish to
conceal yourself, or simply to conceal some one else."
The young man blushed.
"But who lives there to-day?" he asked.
"A young lady who passes herself off for a widow, and whom the ghost
of her first, and sometimes of her second husband, comes to visit from
time to time. But there's one remarkable thing about it, and that is
that the two ghosts seem to have an understanding with each other, and
never return at the same time."
"Since when," asked the young man, with a smile, "has the fair widow
occupied this house, which is so convenient for ghosts?"
"About two months. She keeps very much to herself, and no one, I
think, can boast of having seen her during that time, for she goes out
very rarely, and always heavily veiled. A little maid--a fascinating
creature, on my word!--comes here every morning to order the meals for
the day, and I send them to the house; she receives the dishes in the
vestibule, pays handsomely for them, and shuts the door in the waiter's
face. This evening, for example, there is a banquet on hand, and the
partridge and quail you saw me plucking are for her."
"Whom does she entertain to-night?"
"One of the two ghosts I told you of, no doubt."
"Have you ever seen these ghosts?"
"Yes; but only passing along the road, after sunset, or before
daylight."
"Nevertheless, I am sure that you have noticed them, dear Monsieur
Biscarros; for, from the first word you spoke, I could see that you are
a close observer. Come, what have you noticed in their appearance?"
"One is the ghost of a man of some sixty to sixty-five years; and that
one I take to be the first husband, for it goes and comes like a ghost
sure of the priority of its rights. The other is the ghost of a young
man of twenty-six or twenty-eight, and this one is more timid, and has
the appearance of a soul in torment; so I would swear that it's the
ghost of the second husband."
"At what hour is the supper to be served to-night?"
"Eight o'clock."
"It is half after seven," said the young man, drawing from his fob a
dainty little watch which he had already consulted several times; "you
have no time to lose."
"Oh! it will be ready, never fear; but I came up to speak about your
own, and to tell you that I have begun it all anew. So try, now, as
your friend has delayed so long, to keep him away for another hour."
"Look you, my dear host," said the young gentleman, with the air of
a man to whom the important question of a meal served at the proper
moment was a secondary matter, "don't be disturbed about our supper,
whenever the person whom I expect arrives, for we have much to talk
about. If the supper isn't ready we will talk first; if it is ready, we
will talk afterward."
"In good sooth, monsieur, you are a very accommodating gentleman, and
since you are content to leave the matter in my hands, you shall not be
disappointed; make your mind easy on that score."
Whereupon Master Biscarros made a low bow, to which the young man
replied with a nod, and left the room.
"Now," said the young man to himself, resuming his station at the
window with renewed interest, "I understand the whole affair. The lady
is expecting somebody who is to come from Libourne, and the men in the
bushes propose to accost him before he has time to knock at her door."
At that instant, as if to confirm the supposition of our sagacious
observer, he heard the hoof-beats of a horse at his left. His eye
instantly sought the thicket to observe the attitude of the men in
ambush there. Although the darkness was beginning to obscure the
different objects, it seemed to him that some of the men put aside
the branches, while the others stood up to look over the rock, all
alike preparing for a movement, which had every appearance of being an
aggressive one. At the same time a sharp click, like the cocking of a
musket, reached his ear thrice, and made him shudder. He at once turned
in the opposite direction, to try and discern the person whose safety
was menaced by that murderous sound, and spied a young man trotting
briskly along upon a graceful, well-shaped horse. A handsome fellow he
was, head erect, nose in air, and hand on hip, wearing a short cloak,
lined with white satin, thrown gracefully over his right shoulder.
Seen from a distance, he seemed to have a refined, poetic, joyous
face. At closer quarters, it was seen to be a face with pure outlines,
bright, clear complexion, keen eyes, lips slightly parted by the habit
of smiling, a soft, black moustache, and fine, white teeth. A lordly
way of twirling his switch, accompanied by a soft whistle, like that
affected by the dandies of the epoch, following the fashion set by
Monsieur Gaston d'Orléans, was not lacking, to make of the new-comer a
perfect cavalier, according to the laws of good form then in vogue at
the court of France, which was beginning to set the fashion for all the
courts of Europe.
Fifty paces behind him, mounted upon a horse whose gait he regulated by
that of his master's, rode an extremely consequential, high and mighty
valet, who seemed to occupy a no less distinguished station among
servants than his master among gentlemen.
The comely youth watching from the window of the inn, too young,
doubtless, to look on in cold blood at such a scene as seemed imminent,
could not restrain a shudder as he reflected that the two paragons
who were approaching, with such absolute indifference and sense of
security, would, in all probability, be shot down when they reached the
spot where their foes were lying in ambush. A decisive conflict seemed
to take place between the timidity natural at his age and his love for
his neighbor. At last the generous sentiment carried the day, and as
the gallant cavalier was riding by in front of the inn, without even
looking toward it, the young man obeyed a sudden, irresistible impulse,
leaned from the window, and cried,--
"Holé! monsieur, stop a moment, please, for I have something of
importance to say to you."
At the sound of the voice, and the words which it uttered, the horseman
raised his head, and seeing the young man at the window, stopped his
horse with a movement of his hand which would have done honor to the
best of squires.
"Don't stop your horse, monsieur, but ride toward me unconcernedly, as
if you knew me."
The traveller hesitated a second; but realizing that he had to do with
a gentleman of engaging countenance and pleasant manners, he removed
his hat, and rode forward, smiling.
"Here I am, at your service, monsieur," he said; "what can I do for
you?"
"Come still nearer, monsieur," continued he at the window; "or what I
have to tell you cannot be told aloud. Put on your hat, for we must
make them think that we are old acquaintances, and that you were coming
to this inn to see me."
"But I don't understand, monsieur," said the traveller.
"You will understand directly; meanwhile put on your hat--good! Now
come near, nearer! Give me your hand! That's it! Delighted to see you!
Now listen; do not ride on beyond this inn, or you are lost!"
"What's the matter? Really, you terrify me," said the traveller, with a
smile.
"The matter is that you are on your way to yonder little house where we
see the light, are you not?"
The horseman started.
"Well, on the road to that house, at the bend in the road, in yonder
dark thicket, four men are lying in wait for you."
"Oho!" exclaimed the traveller, gazing with all his eyes at the young
man, who was quite pale. "Indeed! you are sure?"
"I saw them ride up, one after another, get down from their horses, and
hide,--some behind the trees, others behind rocks. Lastly, when you
rode out of the village just now, I heard them cock their muskets."
"The devil!" exclaimed the traveller, beginning to take alarm.
"Yes, monsieur, it's just as I tell you," continued the young man at
the window; "if it were only not quite so dark you could see them, and
perhaps recognize them."
"Oh! I have no need to see them; I know perfectly well who they are.
But who told you that I was going to that house, monsieur, and that it
is I they are watching for?"
"I guessed it."
"You are a very charming Œdipus; thanks! Ah! they propose to shoot me;
how many of them are assembled for that praiseworthy purpose?"
"Four; one of whom seemed the leader."
"He is older than the others, isn't he?"
"Yes, as well as I could judge from here."
"Does he stoop?"
"He is round-shouldered, wears an embroidered doublet, white plume,
brown cloak; his gestures are infrequent but imperative."
"As I thought; it's the Duc d'Épernon."
"The Duc d'Épernon!"
"Well, well, here I am telling you my business," said the traveller
with a laugh. "I never do so with others; but no matter, you have done
me so great a service that I don't care so much what I say to you. How
are the men dressed who are with him?"
"Gray helmets."
"Just so; they are his staff-bearers."
"Become musket-bearers for to-day."
"In my honor; thanks! Now, do you know what you ought to do, my young
gentleman?"
"No; but tell me your opinion, and if what I ought to do can be of any
service to you, I am ready in advance to undertake it."
"You have weapons?"
"Why--yes; I have a sword."
"You have your servant?"
"Of course; but he is not here; I sent him to meet some one whom I
expect."
"Very well; you ought to lend me a hand."
"To do what?"
"To charge the villains, and make them and their leader beg for mercy."
"Are you mad, monsieur?" cried the young man, in a tone which showed
that he was not in the least inclined for such an expedition.
"Indeed, I ask your pardon," said the traveller; "I forgot that the
affair had no interest for you."
Turning to his servant, who had halted when his master halted, he
said,--
"Come here, Castorin!"
At the same time he put his hand to his holsters, as if to make sure
that his pistols were in good condition.
"Ah, monsieur!" cried the young man at the window, putting out his arms
as if to stop him, "monsieur, in Heaven's name do not risk your life in
such an adventure! Rather come into the inn, and thereby avoid arousing
the suspicion of the men who are waiting for you; consider that the
honor of a woman is at stake."
"You are right," rejoined the horseman; "although, in this case, it's
not her honor, precisely, but her material welfare. Castorin, my good
fellow," he added, addressing his servant, who had joined him; "we will
go no farther just now."
"What!" cried Castorin, almost as disappointed as his master, "what
does monsieur say?"
"I say that Mademoiselle Francinette will have to do without the
pleasure of seeing you this evening, as we shall pass the night at the
Golden Calf; go in, therefore, order supper for me, and a bed to be got
ready."
As he doubtless saw that Monsieur Castorin proposed to make some
rejoinder, he accompanied his last words with a movement of the head
which effectually precluded any more extended discussion. Castorin at
once passed through the gate, crestfallen, and without venturing to say
another word.
The traveller looked after him for an instant; then, after reflecting
for another instant, seemed to have made up his mind what course to
adopt. He alighted from his horse, passed through the gate on the
heels of his lackey, over whose arm he threw his rein, entered the
inn, and in two bounds was at the door of the room occupied by the
young gentleman, who, when his door was suddenly thrown open, made
an involuntary movement of surprise mingled with alarm, which the
new-comer could not detect because of the darkness.
"And so," said the latter, approaching the young man with a jovial
air, and cordially pressing a hand which was not offered him, "it's a
settled fact that I owe you my life."
"Oh, monsieur, you exaggerate the service I have done you," said the
young man, stepping back.
"No, no! no modesty; it's as I say. I know the duke, and he's an
infernally brutal fellow. As for you, you are a model of perspicacity,
a perfect phœnix of Christian charity. But tell me, my obliging and
sympathetic friend, if you carried your thoughtfulness so far as to
send word to the house."
"To what house?"
"_Pardieu!_ to the house where I was going,--the house where I am
expected."
"No," said the young man, "I did not think of it, I confess; and had I
thought of it I had no way to do it. I have been here barely two hours
myself, and I know no one in the house."
"The devil!" exclaimed the traveller with an anxious expression. "Poor
Nanon! if only nothing happens to her."
"Nanon! Nanon de Lartigues!" exclaimed the young man in amazement.
"Upon my word! are you a sorcerer?" said the traveller. "You see men
lying in wait by the roadside, and you divine whom they are waiting
for; I mention a Christian name, and you divine the family name.
Explain yourself at once, or I denounce you, and have you condemned to
death at the stake by the parliament of Bordeaux!"
"Ah! but you surely will agree that one need not be very cunning to
have solved that problem; once you had named the Duc d'Épernon as your
rival, it was plain enough that if you named any Nanon whatsoever,
it must be the beautiful, wealthy, and clever Nanon de Lartigues, by
whom the duke is bewitched, so they say, and who really governs in his
province; the result being that throughout Guyenne she is almost as
bitterly detested as he is himself. And you were on your way to visit
that woman?" the young man added, reproachfully.
"'Faith, yes, I confess it; and as I have called her name, I won't deny
her. Besides, Nanon is misunderstood and slandered. She is a charming
girl, faithful to her promises so long as she finds it agreeable to
keep them, and devoted to the man she loves, so long as she loves
him. I was to sup with her this evening, but the duke has upset the
saucepan. Would you like me to present you to her to-morrow? Deuce
take it! the duke must return to Agen sooner or later."
"Thanks," returned the young gentleman, dryly. "I know Mademoiselle
de Lartigues by name only, and I have no desire for any further
acquaintance with her."
"Well, you are wrong, _morbleu!_ Nanon is a good person to know in
every way."
The young man's brows contracted.
"Oho! I beg your pardon," said the astonished traveller; "but I thought
that at your age--"
"I know that I am of an age at which such suggestions are ordinarily
accepted," replied the other, noticing the bad effect his prudery
seemed to have produced, "and I would gladly accept, were it not that
I am simply a bird of passage here, and am compelled to continue my
journey to-night."
"_Pardieu!_ surely you will not go until I know the name of the gentle
knight who so courteously saved my life?"