PASDELOUP.
I STRUCK the hand from my shoulder and wheeled sharp around, ready for
any violence.
“Go! monsieur,” he repeated. “Go! Do not tarry here.”
“Who are you?” I demanded, trying in vain to see his face, which was
only a dim blur in the darkness.
“No matter. You do not know me. Hasten!”
“Then you shall not enter!” I said, and braced myself for the attack I
thought must follow.
“You are wasting time,” he growled, and stamped with impatience. “On
your head be it!”
“Why do you seek to enter?”
“I tell you I am a friend. I tell you I come to warn M. le Comte----”
“You told me nothing of the sort,” I broke in. “Again, who are you?”
“My name is Pasdeloup, and I swear that if you do not stand aside I
will give you a taste of this knife.”
I breathed a sigh of relief.
“The gatekeeper?” I asked; and I remembered the glow of adoration which
had lighted his countenance as he gazed after his master.
“The same,” he said impatiently. “Will you stand aside?”
“No; I will precede you,” I retorted; and in a moment more we were both
inside the house.
As I turned to look at my companion I saw it was indeed the stocky
gatekeeper. Then my eyes were drawn to his right hand, which clasped a
knife--a knife red with blood.
“So it was you struck down the sentry?” I murmured, and shivered a
little at the recollection.
“With this knife,” he answered, and returned it to his belt. “If only
the blow had killed them all!”
I pulled myself together with an effort and glanced about the room. It
was empty. The candles were guttering in their holders.
“Blow out the lights,” I said, “and bar the windows. They may think we
are retiring and will wait till we have had time to get to bed. I will
warn M. le Comte.”
He nodded without replying, and as I sprang across the vestibule and
mounted the stair I saw him going from candle to candle with incredible
rapidity. I had intended sending a servant to assist him, but there was
no sign of any in either vestibule or corridor.
I sprang up the stair and found that the hall above was also strangely
empty. There was no time for hesitation. Beneath the third door to the
left I perceived a ray of light. I strode to it and knocked sharply.
“Who is there?” called a voice which thrilled me.
“It is I, Tavernay, mademoiselle,” I answered, trying to speak calmly.
“Dress yourself at once----”
“I have not yet undressed,” she said, and threw open the door. “What is
wrong, monsieur?”
“The house is being surrounded by the Blues,” I said rapidly. “But
mademoiselle you must put on a heavier gown than that and stouter
shoes. We may have to flee--to hide in the woods--and the night is
cold.”
“Very well, monsieur,” she answered; and my heart thrilled again at the
calmness of her tone. “I shall be ready in a moment.”
“When you have finished,” I said, “blow out your light as though you
were retiring. Then wait for me here at your door with your maid----”
“My maid has disappeared,” she interrupted.
“Disappeared?”
“At least I cannot find her. No one answers the bell.”
“So much the better,” I assured her, though my heart was heavy with
foreboding. “The smaller the party the greater our chance of escape.
Which is M. le Comte’s apartment?”
“At the end of the corridor.”
“I shall return at once,” I said, seized her hand, kissed it and passed
on.
M. le Comte opened his door instantly in answer to my knock, and at the
first glimpse of my face stepped out into the corridor and closed the
door behind him.
“What is it, Tavernay?” he asked. “What has happened?”
“The Blues have arrived,” I answered rapidly; “they are posting
sentries about the house. I recognized Dubosq, their leader--the same
fellow who tried to trap you this morning. This time he is making
certain that you shall not escape.”
“Nor is that all,” said a low voice behind me.
I turned quickly. It was Pasdeloup.
“Pasdeloup!” cried his master. “What do you here?”
“I come to warn M. le Comte.”
“Of what?”
“The _canaille_ of Dange are on their way to sack the château.”
“Nonsense!”
“It is to be turned over to them as soon as M. le Comte and the
women are taken prisoner,” continued Pasdeloup without noticing the
interruption. “Nor is that all. They are to be permitted to seize M. le
Comte and to use him as the mob of Paris has already used so many.”
“Nonsense, Pasdeloup!” repeated his master; but his face had paled a
little. “Where did you hear such absurdities?”
For answer, Pasdeloup pointed along the empty corridor.
“Where are your people, M. le Comte?” he asked. “None here--none
below--search the whole house and you will find not one. An hour ago
they stole away along the road to Dange. I alone could not be bribed or
frightened into joining them.”
His master stared at him for a moment, then down the empty corridor,
his face of a sudden gray and haggard, as the truth was borne in upon
him.
“All?” he repeated hoarsely. “All? Even Joseph? Even Marcelle?”
“Yes, monsieur,” said Pasdeloup, laughing grimly. “Even Joseph. Even
Marcelle. I do not say that they wished to go. I only know that they
were afraid to stay. Where it is a question of one’s life or another’s,
one saves oneself. That is human nature.”
M. le Comte stood yet a moment with bent head, as though struck by a
heavy blow.
“And you?” he asked at last, looking at Pasdeloup.
Again Pasdeloup laughed grimly.
“It is my nature, too,” he said. “Only I am not so easily frightened.
Permit me to remind you, M. le Comte,” he added, “that there is no time
to lose.”
His master controlled his emotion by a mighty effort.
“You are right,” he said. “We must get away.”
“There is a break in the line of sentries,” I suggested. “Perhaps we
can get through;” but my heart fell as I thought how nearly impossible
it was.
“At least we can try. Do you get Charlotte, monsieur. I will bring
madame.”
I sped along the corridor, pausing only an instant at my room to snatch
up sword and pistols and ammunition-pouch. Mlle. de Chambray was
awaiting me, wrapped to the chin in a dark cloak, more beautiful than
ever.
“I am ready, monsieur,” she murmured, her eyes shining like twin stars.
“There is yet a chance,” I said. “Come;” and I took her hand. “I love
you!” I whispered as we sped down the corridor together. “Whatever
happens to me to-night, remember--I love you!”
She replied with a pressure of the fingers and a little tremulous smile.
“I shall remember,” she said softly. “Is our case, then, so very
desperate?”
“It could not well be more so.”
“My friend,” she whispered, still more softly, “tell me that you
forgive me----”
From the garden came the shrill cry of an owl, thrice repeated.
“Too late!” I groaned. “Too late!”
We were at M. le Comte’s door. Pasdeloup was leaning against the wall,
his arms folded, his face very grim. My companion shrank back with a
little gasp of dismay at sight of him.
“He is a friend,” I said. “Where is M. le Comte?”
As though in answer to the question, the door opened and M. le Comte
appeared on the threshold, his wife at his side.
“We are too late!” I cried. “The signal has been given--the sentries
are closing in. A moment more----”
A great crash echoed through the house, a sound of breaking glass, a
clamor of muskets beating against door and shutter.
“To the tower!” cried M. le Comte. “This way!”
We followed him around a turn in the corridor, down a short flight
of steps and along another corridor so dark that, trembling at my
temerity, I passed my arm about my companion and pressed her to me in
order that she might not fall.
“We shall escape!” I whispered. “We shall escape! God will not permit
us to be killed like this!”
I fancied that she drew closer to me, but I could not see her face.
“Here we are,” said M. le Comte. Then there came the click of a latch,
the creaking of rusty hinges, and a gust of cold air rushed out upon
us. We pressed forward into the black pit beyond. The door clanged shut
behind us, and at the same instant a shot rang out and I heard the pang
of a bullet as it struck the iron.
“Just a breath too late!” said M. le Comte with a grim laugh and
dropped the great bars into place. “They will not soon get past this
door,” he added, as we stopped to take breath. “It is as solid as the
wall itself. We are safe for a time at least.”
“You are there, Charlotte?” asked madame’s voice. “You are safe?”
“Yes, madame,” answered my companion. “M. de Tavernay has taken good
care of me.”
She gently drew away from me, but left her hand in mine.
“I hope you will leave her in my care, madame,” I said. “It is a
welcome trust.”
“So your spirits survive even this misfortune, monsieur?”
“Oh, madame,” I answered, “they would survive much greater ones if--if
only----”
“Well?” she prompted, “if?--continue, monsieur.”
“If only I might choose the persons with whom to endure them,” I said
boldly.
“You are right, Tavernay!” cried M. le Comte. “So long as a man has
beside him the woman he loves he can face the world with a cheerful
heart. But come, let us ascend to the platform.”
We mounted after him, stumbling up the stairs, one flight, two flights,
three. To guide her steps in the darkness I ventured again to slip my
arm about my companion’s waist.
“You heard?” I whispered. “You are not angry that I permitted them to
guess?”
“No,” she answered softly, and with a strange little laugh. “Perhaps
they had already guessed. Besides, I do not think I shall ever be angry
with you again, M. de Tavernay.”
“Ah, you love me!--you love me, then!” I whispered, rapturously, and
drew her still closer to me.
“Not now, my friend!” she protested, tremulously. “I beg of you, not
now! Do not forget your promise.”
“I shall not,” I assured her; and we mounted in silence.
Only when we came out into the moonlight at the top did she draw away
from me and fling herself into the arms of madame, who embraced her
tenderly and kissed her again and again.
The tower was battlemented, so that we could look down upon the château
and the grounds surrounding it without danger of being seen by any
one below. As M. le Comte and I peered down together I was suddenly
conscious of some one else beside me, and turned to see that it was
Pasdeloup. In the stress of flight I had quite forgotten him. With a
little feeling of remorse I held out my hand and gripped his great
rough one silently, then turned again to a contemplation of the scene
below.
But down there all was dark and silent. Not a candle gleamed from the
windows; not a sound disturbed the silence of the night. It seemed
almost that there had been no attack--that it was all a dream--a
fancy--that we had fled from shadows.
“Can they have gone?” I asked. “Is it possible that not finding us they
have returned to Dange?”
“You forget,” said M. le Comte, grimly, “that single musket shot which
almost reached one of us. Depend upon it, they know that we are here.”
“For what are they waiting, then?”
“They are preparing a plan of attack no doubt. They are trying to
devise a way to get past that iron door down yonder. They know they
have no cause to hurry.”
Pasdeloup suddenly held up his hand.
“Listen!” he said.
For a moment I heard nothing--only the insect noises of the night; then
from afar off came a sound as of bees swarming--a faint hum, vague,
threatening, incomprehensible. Louder it grew and louder, swelling
into a kind of roar, as though a great flood were sweeping toward us
down the valley of the river. Then suddenly the roar burst forth in
overpowering volume; it grew strident, articulate. Lights danced among
the trees, and in a moment more a shrieking, cursing mob poured out
upon the road, through the gates and over the lawn.
“They have come,” said Pasdeloup, “the _canaille_ of Dange.”
And he folded his arms calmly as he stared moodily down at them.