A BETTER MAN THAN I.
I OPENED my eyes to find the tower still standing and my love clinging
to me, her face tear-stained and white.
“We are safe!” she cried. “We are safe! It was not the end!”
Then the bonds of bewilderment were struck away, for the mob with a
wild yell charged toward the tower as one man.
“A mine!” cried M. le Comte. “A mine!” And putting his wife gently from
him, he hurled himself toward the stair.
Blindly I bent and kissed the red lips still raised to mine, put away
the clinging hands--with what aching of the heart may be imagined--and
followed M. le Comte without daring to look back. Down we flew, half
smothered by the fumes of sulphur and clouds of dust--down into that
black pit which yawned to swallow us--one flight, two--then M. le Comte
held me back.
“Wait,” he said--“wait;” and he descended cautiously some few steps. He
was back beside me in a moment. “They have made a breach,” he said. “I
could see the glint of their torches through it. But they must clear
away the debris before they can enter. We have perhaps five minutes.”
“We can hold the stair.” I said. “It is steep and narrow. Two swords
can keep an army back.”
“But once they gain entrance below us they can burn us out. No, we must
escape, Tavernay--or make a dash for it. Better death by the sword than
by fire.”
“And the women?”
“For them,” he said with set teeth, “the same death as for us--it is
the only way. For me, my wife; for you, Charlotte. Are you brave enough
to thrust your sword into her heart, my friend?”
A cold sweat broke out upon me, head to foot.
“God in heaven, no!” I cried, hoarsely. “Not that--anything but that!”
“As for me,” said my companion, with a terrible calmness, “I prefer to
kill my wife rather than abandon her to the mercies of Goujon. Come,
Tavernay, be a man! You love her and yet you hesitate!”
“Love her! Oh, God!” I groaned.
“Come! We have but a moment. They are almost through!” and indeed I
could hear the frantic blows with which the debris was being swept
aside, could see the reflection of the torches’ glare. By a supreme
effort I controlled the trembling which shook me.
“Very well, monsieur,” I said, as calmly as I could, “I am ready. What
is it you propose?”
By the dim glare of the torches I could see his white face poised like
a phantom’s in the air before me.
“Spoken like a man!” he said, and gripped my hand. “What I propose
is this--we will hold this stair until they find they cannot carry it
by assault; then, as they prepare their fire, we will ascend to the
platform, bid the women good-by--God of Heaven!--what is that?”
I, too, heard the blood-curdling sound which came suddenly from one
corner of the room. It was a sort of snarling whine, which rose and
fell and rose again, mixed with a hideous panting which never stopped.
There was something bestial about it--something appalling, inhuman--yet
what beast could produce a sound like that?
Cautiously we approached the corner, sword in hand. Whatever it was,
however formidable, we must have it out--we could run no risk of being
taken in the rear. The great, draped bed loomed through the darkness,
sinister and threatening. The sounds came from within it. As I stared
with starting eyes I fancied I could see the curtains quiver, as though
the Thing behind them was trembling with eagerness to spring upon us.
“A light! We must have a light!” cried M. le Comte, stamping his feet
in an agony of impatience. “God’s blood! What is it, Tavernay?”
Gripping my teeth to restrain their chattering, I advanced to the bed
and jerked down the rotting curtains. They fell in a suffocating shower
of dust; yet even then I could see nothing of what lay behind. But the
noise had ceased.
Then suddenly beside me rose a phantom, which, even as I drew back my
arm to strike, seized my wrist and held it in a grip of steel.
“Not so fast, monsieur,” said a hoarse voice.
“Pasdeloup!” I cried. “Pasdeloup! Was it you, then?”
But Pasdeloup had already turned to his master.
“I have a rope, M. le Comte,” he said simply.
“A rope! A rope! But where did you get it, Pasdeloup?”
“From the bed. Oh, I had trouble enough loosening those knots! They had
been tightened by I know not what weight! The people who lay in that
bed were giants! And at the end I thought it would be too late. But it
is not--it is not! Come--there is yet a chance!”
He started for the stair, and at the same instant there came from below
a crash of falling stone and a chorus of exultant yells.
“They have broken through!” said M. le Comte. “They will be upon us in
a moment! Tavernay, to you I confide my wife, and to you, Pasdeloup!
Hasten! Hasten! I will keep them back;” and he took his station at the
stair-head.
Without a word Pasdeloup threw the rope to me, sprang to the corner
where the bed stood, and with a single jerk ripped off one of the heavy
posts, tipped with iron; then pushing his master aside, roughly and yet
tenderly, he seized for himself the post of danger from which there
could be no retreat.
“Go, messieurs!” he cried. “Go quickly! There is yet time!”
We stood uncertain. It seemed such a cowardly thing to run away,
leaving this man to face that frenzied mob--to abandon him, to permit
him to lay down his life for us--such a cowardly thing!
He glanced around to see us still standing there.
“Not gone!” he cried furiously. “Body of God! Are we all to die,
then--and the women, too? Fools! Cowards!”
“He is right,” said M. le Comte hoarsely. “He is right, Tavernay--it
is cowardice holds us here! We must go if we would save the women.
Pasdeloup,” he said, “I thank thee. I honor thee. Thou art a better man
than I!”
“Go, monsieur!--go!” urged Pasdeloup. “I am paying my debt. My life has
been yours any time these twenty years. It is nothing. Go!”
Without a word, M. le Comte turned and started up the stair. I followed
him, my eyes blurred with tears. And as we went we heard a rush of feet
behind us, then a chorus of groans and yells which told us that the
attack had begun and that Pasdeloup stood firm.
And M. le Comte’s words were ringing in my head.
Pasdeloup, Pasdeloup! A better man than I! A better man than I!