THE DILEMMA.
Sheer amazement held the Vicomte silent. The Countess of Rochechouart,
of the proud house of Longueville, that in those days yielded place to
scarce a house in France--the Countess of Rochechouart to be seeking
admittance at his door! And at this hour of the night! She, who was of
the greatest heiresses of France, whose hand was weighted with a
hundred manors, and of whose acquaintance the Abbess had lately
boasted as a thing of which even a Villeneuve might be proud, she to
be knocking at his gate in the dark hours! And seeking help! The
Countess--his head went round. He was still gazing speechless with
surprise when the short dark man who had entered with her fell on his
knees before the girl, and seizing her hand mumbled upon it, wept on
it, babbled over it, heedless alike of the crowd of gazers who pressed
upon him, and of the master of the house, who stared aghast.
The Vicomte's amazement began at that to give place to perplexity. The
Abbess, had she been here, would have known how to entertain such a
guest. But Bonne and Roger--they were naught. Yet he must do
something. He found his voice. "If I have, indeed," he said, for he
was still suspicious of a trick, so forlorn and childish seemed the
figure before him--"if I have indeed the honour," he repeated stiffly,
"to address the Countess of Rochechouart, I--I bid her welcome to my
poor house."
"I am Mademoiselle de Rochechouart," the girl murmured, speaking
faintly. "I thank you."
It was apparent that she could say no more. Her face was scratched and
bleeding, her hair was loose, her riding-dress, stained to the throat
with dirt, was torn in more places than one. There were other signs
that, frail as she was, she had ridden hard and desperately; ridden to
the end of her strength.
But the Vicomte thought, not of her, but of himself, as was his
custom; not of her plight, but of the figure he was making before his
people, who stared open-mouthed at the unwonted scene. "Time was,
mademoiselle," he replied, drawing himself up, "before Coutras, when I
could have offered you"--with a bow--"a more fitting hospitality. Time
was when the house of Villeneuve, which has entertained four kings,
could have afforded a more fitting reception to--hem--to beauty in
distress. But that was before Coutras. Since Coutras, destined to be
the grave of the nobility of France--I---- What is it?"
"I think she is faint, sir," Bonne murmured timidly. She, with a
woman's eye, saw that the Countess was swaying, and she sprang forward
to support her. "She is ill, sir," she continued hurriedly and with
greater boldness. "Permit me, I beg you, sir, to take her to my room.
She will be better there--until we can arrange a chamber." Already the
child, half-fainting, was clinging to her, and but for her must have
fallen.
The Vicomte, taken aback by his daughter's presumption, could only
stare. "If this be so," he said grudgingly, "certainly! But I don't
understand. How comes all this about? Eh? How----" But he found that
the girl did not heed him, and he turned and addressed the attendant.
"How, you, sir, comes your mistress here? And in this plight?"
But the dark man, as deaf as his mistress to the question, had turned
to follow her. He seemed indeed to have no more notion of being parted
from her than a dog which finds itself alone with its master among
strangers. Bonne at the door discovered his presence at her elbow, and
paused in some embarrassment. The Vicomte saw the pause, and glad to
do something--he had just ordered off the women with fleas in their
ears--he called loudly to the man to stand back. "Stand back, fellow,"
he repeated. "The Countess will be well tended. Let two of the women
be sent to her to do what is needful--as is becoming."
But the Countess, faint as she was, heard and spoke. "He is my
foster-father," she murmured without turning her head. "If he may lie
at my door he will heed no one."
Bonne, whose arm was round her, nodded a cheerful assent, and,
followed by two of the women, the three disappeared in the direction
of the girl's chamber. The Vicomte, left to digest the matter, sniffed
once or twice with a face of amazement, and then awoke to the fact
that Roger and his guest were still absent. Fortunately, before he had
done more than give vent to peevish complaints, they entered.
He waited, with his eyes on the door. To his surprise no one followed
them--no steward, no attendant. "Well?" he cried, withering them with
his glance. "What does this mean? Where are the others? Is there no
one in the Countess's train of a condition to be presented to me?
Or how comes it that you have not brought him, booby,"--this to
Roger--"to give me some account of these strange proceedings? Am
I the last to be told who come into my house? But God knows, since
Coutras----"
"There is no one, M. le Vicomte," the Lieutenant answered.
The Vicomte glared at him. "How? No one?" he retorted pompously.
"Impossible! Do you suppose that the Countess of Rochechouart travels
with no larger attendance than a poor gentleman of Brittany? You mean,
sir, I take it, that there is no one of condition, though that is so
contrary to rule that I can hardly believe it. A countess of
Rochechouart and no gentlemen in her train! She should travel with
four at the least!"
"I only know that there is no one, sir."
"I do not understand!"
"Neither do we," the Lieutenant of Perigord returned, somewhat out of
patience. "The matter is as dark to us as it is to you, sir. It is
plain that the Countess has experienced a serious adventure, but
beyond that we know nothing, since neither she nor her attendant has
spoken. He seems beside himself with joy and she with fatigue."
"But the spears?" his host retorted sharply. "The men on horse and
foot who alarmed the porter?"
"They vanished as soon as we opened. One I did delay a moment, and
learned--though he was in haste to be gone--that they fell in with the
lady a half mile from here. She was then in the plight in which you
have seen her, and it was at her attendant's prayer, who informed them
of her quality, that they escorted her to this house. They learned no
more from him than that the lady's train had been attacked in the
woods between this and Vlaye, and that the man got his mistress away
and hid with her, and was making for this house when the horsemen met
them."
"Incredible!" the Vicomte exclaimed, stalking across the hearth and
returning in excitement. "Since Coutras I have heard no such thing! A
Countess of Rochechouart attacked on the road and put to it like a
common herdgirl. It must be the work of those cursed--peasants! It
must be so! But, then, the men who brought her to the door and
vanished again, who are they? Travellers are not so common in these
parts. You might journey three days before you fell in with a body of
men-at-arms to protect you on your way."
"True," des Ageaux answered. "But I learned no more from them."
"And you, Master Booby?" the Vicomte said, addressing Roger with his
usual sarcasm. "You asked nothing, I suppose?"
"I was busied about the Countess," the lad muttered. "It was dark, and
I heard no more than their voices."
"Then it was only you who saw them?" the Vicomte exclaimed, turning
again to des Ageaux. "Did you not notice what manner of men they were,
sir, how many, and of what class? Strange that they should leave a
warm house-door at this hour! Did you form no opinion of them? Were
they"--he brought out the word with an effort--"Crocans, think you?"
The Lieutenant replied that he took them for the armed attendants of a
gentleman passing that way, and the Vicomte, though ill-content with
the answer, was obliged to put up with it. "Yet it seems passing
strange to me," he retorted, "that you did not think their drawing off
a little beside the ordinary. And who travels at this hour of the
night, I would like to know?"
The Lieutenant made no answer, and the Vicomte too fell silent. From
time to time serving-women had passed through the room--for, after the
awkward fashion of those days, the passage to the inner apartments was
through the dining-hall--some with lights, and some with fire in pans.
The draught from the closing doors had more than once threatened to
extinguish the flickering candles. Such flittings produced an air of
bustle and a hum of preparation long unknown in that house; but they
were certainly more to the taste of the menials than the master. At
each interruption the Vicomte pished and pshawed, glaring as if he
would slay the offender. But the women, emboldened by the event and
the presence of strangers, did not heed him, and after some minutes of
silent sufferance his patience came to an end.
"Go you," he cried to Roger, "and bid the girl come to me."
"The Countess, sir?" the lad exclaimed in astonishment.
The Vicomte swore. "No, fool!" he replied. "Your sister! Is she master
of the house, or am I? Bid her descend this instant and tell me what
is forward and what she has learned."
Roger, with secret reluctance, obeyed, and his father, sorely
fretting, awaited his return. Two minutes elapsed, and three. Seldom
stirring abroad, the Vicomte had, in spite of all his talk about
Coutras, an overweening sense of his own importance, and he was about
to break out in fury when Bonne at length entered. She was followed by
Roger.
It was clear at a glance that the girl was frightened; less clear that
mixed with her fear was another emotion. "Well," the Vicomte cried,
throwing himself back in his great chair and fixing her with his angry
eyes. "What is it? Am I to know nothing--in my own house?"
Bonne controlled herself by an effort. "On the contrary, sir, there is
that which I think you should know," she murmured. "The Countess has
told me the story. She was attacked on the road, some of her people
she fears were killed, and all were scattered. She herself escaped
barely with her life."
The Vicomte stared. "Where?" he said. "Where was it?"
"An hour from here, sir."
"Towards Vlaye?"
"Yes, sir."
"And she barely escaped?"
"You saw her, sir."
"And who--who does she say dared to commit this outrage?"
Bonne did not answer. Her eyes sought her brother's and sank again.
She trembled.
The Vicomte, though not the keenest of observers, detected her
embarrassment. He fancied that he knew its origin, and the cause of
her hesitation. In a voice of triumph, "Ay, who?" he replied. "You
don't wish to say. But I can tell you. I read it in your face. I can
tell you, disobedient wench, who alone would be guilty of such an
outrage. Those gutter-sweepings"--his face swelled with rage--"made up
of broken lacqueys and ploughboys, whom they call Crocans! Eh, girl,
is it not so?" he continued savagely. "Am I not right?"
"No, sir," she murmured without daring to look up.
His face fell. "No?" he repeated. "No? But I don't believe you! Who
then? Don't lie to me! Who then?" He rapped the table before him.
"The Captain of Vlaye," she whispered.
The Vicomte sank back in his chair. "Impossible!" he cried. Then in a
much lower tone: "Impossible!" he repeated. "You dream, girl. M. de
Vlaye has done some things not quite--not regular. But--but in cases
perfectly different. To people of--of no consequence! This cannot be!"
"I fear it is so, sir," she whispered, without raising her eyes. "Nor
is that--the worst."
The Vicomte clenched his fingers about the arms of his chair and
nodded the question he could not frame.
"It was with the Abbess, sir--with my sister," Bonne continued in a
low tone, "that the Countess was to stay the night. I fear that it was
from her that he learned where and how to beset her."
The Vicomte looked as if he was about to have a fit.
"What?" he cried. "Do you dare, unnatural girl, to assert that your
sister was privy to this outrage?"
"Heaven forbid, sir!" Bonne answered fervently. "She knew naught of
it. But----"
"Then why----"
"But it was from her, I fear, that he learned where the child--she is
little more--could be surprised."
The Vicomte glared at her without speaking. The Lieutenant, who had
listened, not without admiration of the girl's sense and firmness,
seized the opening to intervene. "Were it not well, sir," he said, his
matter-of-fact tone calming the Vicomte's temper, "if mademoiselle
told us as nearly as possible what she has heard? And, as she has been
somewhat shaken, perhaps you will permit her to sit down! She will
then, I think, be able to tell us more quickly what we want."
The Vicomte gave a surly assent, and the Lieutenant himself placed a
stool for the girl where she could lean upon the table. Her father
opened his eyes at the attention, but something in des Ageaux's face
silenced the sneer on his lips, and he waited until Bonne began.
"The Countess lay at Pons last night, sir," she said in a low tone.
"There the lady who was formerly her _gouvernante_, and still rules
her household, fell ill. The plague is in Western Poitou, and though
the Countess would have stayed, her physician insisted that she should
proceed. Accordingly she left the invalid in his charge and that of
some of her people, while she herself pursued her way through Jonsac
and Barbesieux with a train reduced to fourteen persons, of whom eight
were well armed."
"This is what comes of travelling in such a fashion," the Vicomte said
contemptuously. "I remember when I never passed the gates without--but
go on!"
"She now thinks that the _gouvernante's_ food was tampered with. Be
that as it may, her company passed our ford in the afternoon, and an
hour later reached the ascent a league this side of Vlaye. They were
midway on the ascent, when half a dozen shots were fired. Several of
their horses were struck, and the rest seized by a number of men who
sprang from the undergrowth. In the panic those who were at the rear
attempted to turn, but found their retreat cut off. The Countess
alone, who rode in the middle with her steward, escaped through the
devotion of a servant, who thrust his horse before the leader of the
bandits and brought him down. Fulbert, her steward, saw the
opportunity, seized her rein, and, plunging into the undergrowth,
reached by good luck the bottom of the hill, and, hidden by the wood,
gained a start. He knew, however, that her strength would not hold
out, and at the first sound of pursuit he alighted in a coppice, drove
on the horses, and crept away with her through the underwood. He hoped
to take shelter here, but passed the entrance in the darkness and
walked into the midst of a party of men encamped at the ford. Then
he thought all lost, deeming them the band that had waylaid the
Countess----"
"And who were they, if they were not?" the Vicomte asked, unable to
restrain his curiosity. "Eh? They were camping at the ford?"
"Some riders belonging to the household of the Lieutenant of Perigord,
sir, on their way to join him in his government. They were so honest
as to guard the Countess hither----"
"And go again? The good Lord!" the Vicomte cried irritably. "Why?"
"I do not know, sir."
"Go on, then. Why do you break off? But--enough!" The Vicomte looked
at the other listeners with an air of triumph. "Where is Vlaye in
this? Because it was within a league of his castle, you put it on him,
you baggage?"
"No, sir, indeed!" Bonne cried anxiously. "But Fulbert the steward
knows M. de Vlaye well, and recognised him. He wore a mask, it seems,
but when his horse fell, the mask slipped, and Fulbert saw his face
and knew him. Moreover----"
"Well?"
"One of the band rode a bald-faced black horse, which the steward saw
in M. de Vlaye's troop at Angouleme two months back, and to which he
says he could swear among ten thousand."
The Vicomte swore as one among a large number. But at length, "And
what is this to do with me?" he fumed. "What is this to me? Time was,
before Coutras, when I might have been expected to--to keep the roads,
and stay such things! But now--body of Satan, what is it to me?"
No one spoke, and he looked about him angrily, resenting their
silence. "What is it?" he snarled. "What are you keeping back?"
"Nothing, sir," Bonne answered.
"Then what would you?"
"If," Bonne ventured desperately, "M. de Vlaye come to-morrow with my
sister--with the Abbess, sir, as is not unlikely--and find the
Countess here, will she be safe?"
The Vicomte's mouth opened, and slowly consternation settled upon his
features. "_Mon Dieu!_" he muttered. "I had not thought of that. But
here--no, no, he would not dare! He would not dare!"
"He went very far to-day, sir," Bonne objected, gaining courage from
his face. "So far that he must go farther to ensure himself from the
consequences."
The Vicomte was silent.
The Lieutenant coughed. "If his object," he said, "be to force a
marriage with the Countess----"
The Vicomte, with an oath, cut him short. "A marriage?" he said. "A
marriage? When he and my daughter the Abbess are--but who said aught
of the kind? Who said aught of a marriage?"
The Lieutenant did not answer, and the Vicomte, after growling in his
beard, turned to him. "Why," he demanded in a tone that, though
ungracious, was no longer violent, "why do you say that that was his
object?"
"Because," the Lieutenant answered, "I happen to know that M. de
Longueville, who is her guardian, has his hands full. His wife and
children are prisoners with the Spaniards, and he is moving heaven and
earth and the court to procure their release. He has no thought to
spare for the Countess, his cousin; and were she once married, however
violently, I doubt if he or any would venture to dispute her
possessions with a Vlaye, whose resources her wealth would treble.
Such knights-errant," he continued drily, "are not very common, M. le
Vicomte. Set M. de Vlaye's strength at three hundred men-at-arms----"
"Four!" the Vicomte muttered, despite himself.
"Then double the four--as such a marriage, however effected, would
double them--and I doubt," with a courteous bow, "if even a Villeneuve
would find it easy to avenge a wrong!"
The Vicomte fidgeted in his seat. "You seem to know a vast deal about
it, sir," he said, with ill-feigned contempt.
"I should feel it an honour," the Lieutenant answered politely, "to be
permitted to join in the defence."
"Defence!" the Vicomte exclaimed, staring at him in astonishment. "You
go fast, sir! Defence? What do you mean?"
"If M. de Vlaye learn that the Countess has taken refuge here--I fear
it will come to that."
"Pooh! Impossible! Defence, indeed! What are you dreaming of?"
But the guest continued to look grave, and the Vicomte, after
muttering incoherently, and drumming on the table with his fingers,
condescended to ask with a sneer what _he_ would do--in the
circumstances.
"I should keep her presence from him," des Ageaux answered. "I have no
right, I know," he continued, in a more conciliatory tone, "to give
counsel to one of your experience, M. le Vicomte. But I see no choice
save to do what I suggest, or to pull up the drawbridge."
The Vicomte sat up straight. Pull up the drawbridge? Was he
dreaming--he who had sat down to sup without a thought of misfortune?
He with four hundred yards of wall to guard, and some seven pikes to
hold it--to defy Vlaye and his four hundred ruffians? Body of Satan,
he was not mad! Defy Vlaye, whom he feared even while he sneered at
him as an adventurer? Vlaye, in whose star he believed even while he
sneered. Or would he have dreamed of giving him his daughter? Pull up
the drawbridge? Never!
"I am not mad," he said coldly. But his hands trembled.
"Then, M. le Vicomte, it remains to keep it from him."
"How? You talk at random," the exasperated man answered. "Can I close
the mouth of every gossip in the house? Can I cut out every woman's
tongue, beginning with that girl's? How can I keep out his men, or
stop their ears over the wine-pot?"
"Could you not admit him only?"
"And proclaim from the housetop," the Vicomte retorted with contempt,
"that I have something to hide?"
The Lieutenant did not reply at once, and it was plain that he was
puzzled by this view of the position. "Certainly that has to be borne
in mind," he said. "You are quite right."
"To be sure it has!" the Vicomte answered brusquely, glad to have the
opportunity of putting this overzealous adviser in his right place.
But the satisfaction of triumph faded quickly, and left him face to
face with the situation. He cursed Vlaye for placing him in the
dilemma. He cursed the Countess--why could she not have taken refuge
elsewhere? Last of all, he cursed his guest, who, after showing
himself offensively able to teach him his duty, failed the moment it
came to finding an expedient.
The solution of the riddle came from a quarter whence--at any rate by
the Vicomte--it was least expected. "May I say something?" Roger
ventured timidly.
His father glared at him. "You?" he exclaimed. And then ungraciously,
"Say on!" he growled.
"We have cut half the grass in the long meadow," the lad answered.
"And to-morrow we ought to be both cutting and making, while it is
fine. Last year, as we were short-handed, the women helped. If you
were to order all but Solomon to the hay-field to-morrow--it is the
farthest from here, beside the river--there would be no one to talk or
tell, sir."
Des Ageaux struck his leg in approbation. "The lad has it!" he said.
"With your permission, M. le Vicomte, what could be better?"
"Better?" the Vicomte retorted, throwing himself back in his chair.
"What? I am to open my gate with my own hands?"
"Solomon would open. And he can be trusted."
"Receive my daughter without man or maid?" the Vicomte cried. "Show
myself to strangers without my people? Appear like one of the
base-born beggarly ploughmen with mud in their veins, with whom you
love to mix? What mean you, sirrah, by such a suggestion? Shame on
you, unnatural fool!"
"But, M. le Vicomte," the Lieutenant remonstrated, "if you will not do
that----"
"Never! Never!"
"Then," des Ageaux answered, more stiffly, "it remains only to pull up
the drawbridge. Since, I presume," he continued, his tone taking
insensibly a note of disdain, "you do not propose to give up the young
lady, or to turn her from your door."
"Turn her from my door?"
"That being at once to help M. de Vlaye to this marriage, and to drag
the name of Villeneuve in the mud! But"--breaking off with a bow--"I
am sure that the honour of the family is safe in your hands, M. le
Vicomte."
"It is well you said that!" the Vicomte cried, his face purple, his
hands palsied with rage. "It is well you broke off, sir, or I would
have proved to you that my honour is safe with me. Body of Satan, am I
to be preached to by everybody--every brainless lad," he continued,
prudently diverting his tirade to the head of the unlucky Roger,
"who chooses to prate before his elders! _Mon Dieu!_ There was a time
when children sat mute instead of preaching. But that was before
Coutras!"--bitterly--"when most things came to an end."
This time des Ageaux had the shrewdness to be silent, and he garnered
the reward of his reticence. The Vicomte, rant as wildly as he might,
was no fool, though vanity was hourly putting foolish things into his
mouth. He was not blind--had he not "since Coutras" always on his
lips?--to the changes which time had wrought in the world, and he knew
that face to face with his formidable neighbour he was helpless. Nor
was he in the dark on Vlaye's character. So far the adventurer had
respected him, and in presence, and at a distance, had maintained an
observance and a regard that was flattering to the decayed gentleman.
But the Vicomte had seen the fate of others who crossed the Captain of
Vlaye. He knew how impotent the law had proved to save them, how slack
their friends--in a word, how quickly the waters had rolled over them.
And he was astute enough to see, with all his conceit, that as it had
been with them, it might be with him, if he stood in M. de Vlaye's
way.
On the other hand, had he been mean enough to deliver up the Countess,
he dared not. In the first place, to do so would, at the best, be
hazardous; she had powerful friends, and whether she escaped or
married her captor she might not forgive him. In the second place, he
did not lightly resign the plan, which he had conceived, of uniting
his favourite daughter to the rising adventurer. True, M. de Vlaye's
position was anomalous, was precarious. But a day, a bribe, a turn of
the cards might legalise it and place him high in Court favour. And
then----
The Vicomte's train of thought ran no farther in silence. With an oath
and an ill grace he bade them do as they would. "Things," he cried,
"are come to a pass indeed when guests----"
"A thousand pardons, M. le Vicomte!"
"And children dictate what is to be done and what to be left undone!"
He looked older as he spoke; more broken and more peevish. "But since
Coutras the devil has all, I think."