RIVALS.
"It is impossible!" I said slowly. "Froment! It is impossible!"
But even while I said it, I knew that I lied; and I turned to the
window that Benoit might not see my face. Froment! The name alone, now
that the hint was supplied, let in the light. Fellow-traveller,
fellow-conspirator, in turn protected and protector, his face as I had
seen it at the carriage door in the pass by Villeraugues, rose up
before me, and I marvelled that I had not guessed the secret earlier.
A bourgeois and ambitious, thrown into Mademoiselle's company, what
could be more certain than that, sooner or later, he would lift his
eyes to her? What more likely than that Madame St. Alais, impoverished
and embittered, afloat on the whirlpool of agitation, would be willing
to reward his daring even with her daughter's hand? Rich already,
success would ennoble him; for the rest I knew how the man, strong
where so many were weak, resolute where a hundred faltered, assured of
his purpose and steadfast in pursuing it, where others knew none, must
loom in a woman's eyes. And I gnashed my teeth.
I had my eyes fixed, as I thought these thoughts, on a little dingy,
well-like court that lay below his window, and on the farther side of
which, but far below me, a monastic-looking porch surmounted by a
carved figure, formed the centre of vision. Mechanically, though I
could have sworn that my whole mind was otherwise engaged, I watched
two men come into the court, and go to this porch. They did not knock
or call, but one of them struck his stick twice on the pavement; in a
second or two the door opened, as of itself, and the men disappeared.
I saw and noted this unconsciously; yet, in all probability, it was
the closing of the door roused me from my thoughts. "Froment!" I said,
"Froment!" And then I turned from the window. "Where is she?" I said
hoarsely.
Father Benoit shook his head.
"You must know!" I cried--indeed I saw that he did. "You must know!"
"I do know," he answered slowly, his eyes on mine. "But I cannot tell
you. I could not, were it to save your life, M. le Vicomte. I had it
in confession."
I stared at him baffled; and my heart sank at that answer, as it would
have sunk at no other. I knew that on this door, this iron door
without a key, I might beat my hands and spend my fury until the end
of time and go no farther. At length, "Then why--why have you told me
so much?" I cried, with a harsh laugh. "Why tell me anything?"
"Because I would have you leave Nimes," Father Benoit answered gently,
laying his hand on my arm, his eyes full of entreaty. "Mademoiselle is
contracted, and beyond your reach. Within a few hours, certainly as
soon as the elections come on, there will be a rising here. I know
you," he continued, "and your feelings, and I know that your
sympathies will be with neither party. Why stay then, M. le Vicomte?"
"Why?" I said, so quickly that his hand fell from my arm as if I had
struck him. "Because until Mademoiselle is married I follow her, if it
be to Turin! Because M. Froment is unwise to mingle love and war, and
my sympathies are now with one side, and it is not his! It is not his!
Why, you ask? Because--you cannot tell me, but there are those who
can, and I go to them!"
And without waiting to hear answer or remonstrance--though he cried to
me and tried to detain me--I caught up my hat, and flew down the
stairs; and once out of the house and in the street hastened back at
the top of my speed to the quarter of the town I had left. The streets
through which I passed were still crowded, but wore an air not so much
of disorder as of expectation, as if the procession I had followed had
left a trail behind it. Here and there I saw soldiers patrolling, and
warning the people to be quiet; and everywhere knots of townsmen,
whispering and scowling, who stared at me as I passed. Every tenth
male I saw was a monk, Dominican or Capuchin, and though my whole mind
was bent on finding M. de Geol and Buton, and learning from them what
they knew, as enemies, of Froment's plans and strength, I felt that
the city was in an abnormal state; and that if I would do anything
before the convulsion took place, I must act quickly.
I was fortunate enough to find M. de Geol and Buton at their lodgings.
The former, whom I had not seen since our arrival, and who doubtless
had his opinion of the cause of my sudden disappearance in the street,
greeted me with a scowl and a bitter sarcasm, but when I had put a few
questions, and he found that I was in earnest, his manner changed.
"You may tell him," he said, nodding to Buton.
Then I saw that they too were excited, though they would fain hide it.
"What is it?" I asked.
"Froment's party rose at Avignon yesterday," he answered eagerly.
"Prematurely; and were crushed--crushed with heavy loss. The news has
just arrived. It may hasten his plans."
"I saw soldiers in the street," I said.
"Yes, the Calvinists have asked for protection. But, that, and the
patrols," De Geol answered with a grim smile, "are equally a farce.
The regiment of Guienne, which is patriotic and would assist us, and
even be some protection, is kept within barracks by its officers; the
mayor and municipals are red, and whatever happens will not hoist the
flag or call out the troops. The Catholic cabarets are alive with
armed men; in a word, my friend, if Froment succeeds in mastering the
town, and holding it three days, M. d'Artois, governor of Montpellier,
will be here with his garrison, and----"
"Yes!"
"And what was a riot will be a revolt," he said pithily. "But there is
many a slip between the cup and the lip, and there are more than sheep
in the Cevennes Mountains!"
The words had scarcely passed from his lips, when a man ran into the
room, looked at us, and raised his hand in a peculiar way. "Pardon
me," said M. de Geol quickly; and with a muttered word he followed the
man out. Buton was not a whit behind. In a moment I was alone.
I supposed they would return, and I waited impatiently; but a minute
or two passed, and they did not appear. At length, tired of waiting,
and wondering what was afoot, I went into the yard of the inn, and
thence into the street. Still I did not find them; but collected
before the inn I found a group of servants and others belonging to the
place. They were all standing silent, listening, and as I joined them
one looked round peevishly, and raised his hand as a warning to me to
be quiet.
Before I could ask what it meant, the distant report of a gun,
followed quickly by a second and a third, made my heart beat. A dull
sound, made, it might be, by men shouting, or the passage of a heavy
waggon over pavement, ensued; then more firing, each report short,
sharp, and decisive. While we listened, and as the last red glow of
sunset faded on the eaves above us, leaving the street cold and grey,
a bell somewhere began to toll hurriedly, stroke upon stroke; and a
man, dashing round a corner not far away, made towards us.
But the landlord of the Ecu did not wait for him. "All in!" he cried
to his people, "and close the great gates! And do you, Pierre, bar the
shutters. And you, Monsieur," he continued hurriedly, turning to me,
"will do well to come in also. The town is up, and the streets will
not be safe for strangers."
But I was already half-way down the street. I met the fugitive, and he
cried to me, as I passed, that the mob were coming. I met a
frightened, riderless horse, galloping madly along the kennel; it
swerved from me, and almost fell on the slippery pavement. But I took
no heed of either. I ran on until two hundred paces before me I saw
smoke and dust, and dimly through it a row of soldiers, who, with
their backs to me, were slowly giving way before a dense crowd that
pressed upon them. Even as I came in sight of them, they seemed to
break and melt away, and with a roar of triumph the mob swept over the
place on which they had stood.
I had the wit to see that to force my way past the crowd was
impossible; and I darted aside into a narrow passage darkened by wide
flat eaves that almost hid the pale evening sky. This brought me to a
lane, full of women, standing listening with scared faces. I hurried
through them, and when I had gone, as I judged, far enough to outflank
the mob, chose a lane that appeared to lead in the direction of Father
Benoit's house. Fortunately, the crowd was engaged in the main
streets, the byways were comparatively deserted, and without accident
I reached the little square by the gate.
Probably the attack on the soldiers had begun there, or in that
neighbourhood, for a broken musket lay in two pieces on the pavement,
and pale faces at upper windows followed me in a strange unwinking
silence as I crossed the square. But no man was to be seen, and
unmolested I reached the door of Father Benoit's staircase, and
entered.
In the open the light was still good, but within doors it was dusk,
and I had not taken two steps before I tripped and fell headlong over
some object that lay in my way. I struck the foot of the stairs
heavily, and got up groaning; but ceased to groan and held my breath,
as peering through the half light of the entry, I saw over what I had
fallen. It was a man's body.
The man was a monk, in the black and white robe of his order; and he
was quite dead. It took me an instant to overcome the horror of the
discovery, but that done, I saw easily enough how the corpse came to
be there. Doubtless the man had been shot in the street at the
beginning of the riot--perhaps he had been the first to attack the
patrol; and the body had been dragged into shelter here, while his
party swept on to vengeance.
I stooped and reverently adjusted the cowl which my foot had dragged
away; and that done--it was no time for sentiment--I turned from him,
and hurried up the stairs. Alas, when I reached Father Benoit's room
it was empty.
Wondering what I should do next, I stood a moment in the failing
light. What could I do? Then I walked aimlessly to the casement and
looked out. In the dull, almost blind wall which met my eyes across
the court, was one window on a level with that at which I stood, but a
little to the side. On a sudden, as I stared stupidly at the wall near
it, a bright light shone out in this window. A lamp had been kindled
in the room; and darkly outlined against the glow I saw the head and
shoulders of a woman.
I almost screamed a name. It was Denise!
Even while I held my breath she moved from the window, a curtain was
drawn and all was dark. Only the plain lines of the window--and those
fast fading in the gloom--remained; only those and the gloomy,
well-like court, that separated me from her.
I leaned a moment on the sill, my heart bounding quickly, my thoughts
working with inconceivable rapidity. She was there, in the house
opposite! It seemed too wonderful; it seemed inexplicable. Then I
reflected that the house stood next to the old gate I had seen from
the street; and had not some one told me that Froment lived in the
Port d'Auguste?
Doubtless this was it; and she lay in his power in this house that
adjoined it and was one with it. I leaned farther out, partly that I
might cool my burning face, partly to see more; my eyes, greedily
scanning the front of the house, traced the line of arrow-slits that
marked the ascent of the staircase. I followed the line downwards; it
ended beside the porch surmounted by a little statue, at which I had
seen the two men enter.
They were still fighting in the town. I could hear the dull sound of
distant volleys, and the tolling of bells, and now and then a wave of
noise, of screams and yells, that rose and sank on the evening air.
But my eyes were on the porch below; and suddenly I had a thought. I
followed the line of arrow-slits up again--it was too dark in the
sombre court to see them well--and marked the position of the window
at which Denise had appeared. Then I turned, and passing through the
room, I groped my way downstairs.
I had no light, and I had to go carefully with one hand on the grimy
wall; but I knew now where the monk's body lay, and I stepped over it
safely, and to the door, and putting out my head, looked up and down.
Two men, as I did so, passed hurriedly through the little square, and,
before reaching the gate, dived into an entry on the right, and
disappeared. About the eaves of the highest house, that towered high
and black above me, a faint ruddy light was beginning to dance. I
heard voices, that came, I thought, from the tower of the gateway; and
there, too, I thought that I saw a figure outlined against the sky.
But otherwise, all was quiet in the neighbourhood; and I went in
again.
No matter what I did in the darkness at the foot of the stairs; I hate
to recall it. But in a minute or two I came out a monk in cowl and
girdle. Then I, too, dived into the entry, and in a trice found myself
in the court. Before me was the porch, and with the barrel of the
broken musket, which I had snatched up as I passed, I struck twice on
the pavement.
I had no time to think what would happen next, or what I was going to
confront. The door opened instantly, and I went in; as by magic the
door closed silently behind me.
I found myself in a long, bare hall or corridor, plain and
unfurnished, that had once perhaps been a cloister. A lighted lamp
hung against a wall, and opposite me, on a stone seat sat two persons
talking; three or four others were walking up and down. All paused at
my entrance, however, and looked at me eagerly. "Whence are you,
brother?" said one of them, advancing to me.
"The Cabaret Vierge," I answered at a venture. The light dazzled me,
and I raised my hand to ward it off.
"For the Chief?"
"Yes."
"Come, quickly then," the man said, "he is on the roof. It goes well?"
he continued, looking with a smile at my weapon.
"It goes," I answered, holding my head low, so that my face was lost
in the cowl.
"They are beginning to light up, I am told?"
"Yes."
He took up a small lamp, and opening a door in a kind of buttress that
strengthened one of the arches, he led the way through it, and up a
narrow winding staircase made in the thickness of the wall. Presently
we passed an open door, and I ticked it off in my mind. It led to the
rooms on the first floor from the ground. Twenty steps higher we
passed another door--closed this time. Again fifteen steps and we came
to a third. That floor held my heart, and I looked round greedily,
desperately, for some way of evading my guide and so reaching it. But
I saw only the smooth stones of the wall; and he continued to climb.
I halted half a dozen steps higher. "What is it?" he asked, looking
down at me.
"I have dropped a note," I said; and I began to grope about the steps.
"For the Chief?"
"Yes."
"Here, take the light!" he answered impatiently. "And be quick! if
your news is worth the telling, it is worth telling quickly. _Sacre!_
man, what have you done?"
I had let the lamp fall on the steps, extinguishing it; and we were in
darkness. In the moment of silence which followed, before he recovered
from his surprise, I could hear the voices of men above us, and the
tramp of their feet on the roof; and a cold draught of air met me. He
swore another oath. "Get down, get down!" he cried angrily, "and let
me pass you! You are a pretty messenger to--there wait; wait until I
fetch another light."
He squeezed by me, and left me standing in the very place I would have
chosen, in the angle of the doorway we had just passed; before he had
clattered down half a dozen steps I had my finger on the latch. To my
joy the door--which might so easily have been locked--yielded to my
knee, and passing through it, I closed it behind me. Then turning to
the right--all was still dark--I groped my way along the wall through
which I had entered. I knew it to be the outside wall, and dimly in
front I discerned the faint radiance of a window. Now that the moment
had come to put all to the test I was as calm as I could wish to be. I
counted ten paces, and came, as I expected, to the window; ten paces
farther and I felt my way barred by a door. This should be the
room--the last that way; listening intently for the first sounds of
pursuit or alarm, I felt about for a latch, found it, and tried the
door. Again fortune favoured me, it came to my hand; but instead of
light I found all dark as before; and then understood, as I struck
with some violence against a second door.
A stifled cry in a woman's voice came from beyond it: and some one
asked sharply, "Who is that?"
I gave no answer, but searched for the latch, found it, and in a
moment the door was opened. The light which poured out dazzled me for
a second or two; but while I stood blinking, under the lamp I had a
vision of two girls standing at bay, one behind the other, and the
nearer was Denise!
I stepped towards her with a cry of joy; she retreated with terror
written on her face. "What do you want?" she stammered as she
retreated. "You have made some mistake. We----"
Then I remembered the guise in which I stood, and the gun-barrel in my
hand, and I dashed back the cowl from my face; and in a moment--it was
of all surprises the most joyous, for I had not seen her since we sat
opposite one another in the carriage, and then only a word had passed
between us--in a moment she was in my arms, on my breast, and sobbing
with her head hidden, and my lips on her hair.
"They told me you were dead!" she cried. "They told me you were dead!"
Then I understood; and I held her to me, held her to me more and more
closely, and said--God knows what I said. And for the moment she let
me, and we forgot all else, our danger, the dark future, even the
woman who stood by. We had been plighted before, and it had been
nothing to us; now, with my lips on hers, and her arms clinging, I
knew that it was once for all, and that only death, if death, could
part us.
Alas! that was not so far from us that we could long ignore it. In a
minute or two she freed herself, and thrust me from her, her face pale
and red by turns, her eyes soft and shining in the lamplight. "How do
you come here, Monsieur?" she cried. "And in that dress?"
"To see you," I answered. And at the word, I stepped forward and would
have taken her in my arms again.
But she waved me back. "Oh, no, no!" she cried, shuddering. "Not now!
Do you know that they will kill you? Do you know that they will kill
you if they find you here? Go! Go! I beg of you, while you can."
"And leave you?"
"Yes, and leave me," she answered, with a gesture of despair. "I
implore you to do so."
"And leave you to Froment?" I cried again.
She looked at me in a different way, and with a little start. "You
know that?" she said.
"Yes," I answered.
"Then know this too, Monsieur," she replied, raising her head, and
meeting my eyes with the bravest look. "Know this too: that whatever
betide, I shall not, after this, marry him, nor any man but you!"
I would have fallen on my knees and kissed the hem of her gown for
that word, but she drew back, and passionately begged me to begone.
"This house is not safe for you," she said. "It is death, it is death,
Monsieur! My mother is merciless, my brother is here; and _he_--the
house is full of his sworn creatures. You escaped him hardly before;
if he finds you here now he will kill you."
"But if I need fear him so," I answered grimly,--for I saw, now that
she had ceased to blush, how pale and wan she was, and what dark marks
fear had painted under her eyes--child's eyes no longer, but a
woman's--"if I need fear him so, what of you? What of you,
Mademoiselle? Am I to leave you at his mercy?"
She looked at me with a strange gravity in her face; and answered me
so that I never forgot her answer. "Monsieur," she said, "was I afraid
on the roof of the house at St. Alais? And I have more to guard now.
Have no fear. There is a roof here, too, and I walk on it; nor shall
my husband ever have cause to blush for me."
"But I was there," I said quickly. Heaven knows why; it was a strange
thing to say. Yet she did not find it so.
"Yes," she said--and smiled; and with the smile, her face burned again
and her eyes grew soft, and all her dignity fled in a moment, and she
looked at me, drooping. And in an instant she was in my arms.
But only for a few seconds. Then she tore herself away almost in
anger. "Oh, go, go!" she cried. "If you love me, go, Monsieur."
"Swear," I said, "to put a handkerchief in your window if you want
help!"
"In my window?"
"I can see it from Father Benoit's."
A gleam of joy lit up her face. "I will," she said. "Oh, God be
thanked that you are so near! I will. But I have Francoise, too, and
she is true to me. As long as I have her----"
She stopped with her lips apart, and the blood gone suddenly from her
cheeks; and we looked at one another. Alas, I had stayed too long!
There was a noise of feet coming along the passage, and a hubbub of
voices outside, and the clatter of a door hastily closed. I think for
a moment we scarcely breathed; and even after that it was her woman
who was the first to move. She sprang to the door and softly locked
it.
"It is vain!" Denise said in a harsh whisper; she leaned against the
table, her face as white as snow. "They will fetch my mother, and they
will kill you."
"There is no other door?" I muttered, staring round with hunted eyes,
and feeling for the first time the full danger of the course I had
taken.
She shook her head.
"What is that?" I cried, pointing to the farther end of the chamber,
where a bed stood in the alcove.
"A closet," the woman answered, almost with a sob. "Yes, yes,
Monsieur, they may not search. Quick, and I can lock it."
In such a case man acts on instinct. I heard the latch of the door
tried, and then some one knocked peremptorily; and so long I
hesitated. But a second knock followed on the first, and a voice I
knew cried imperatively: "Open, open, Francoise!" and I moved towards
the closet. The girl, distracted by the repeated summons and her
terror, hung a moment between me and the door of the room; but in the
end had to go to the latter, so that I drew the closet door upon
myself.
Then in a moment it came upon me that if, hiding there, I was found, I
should shame Denise; it darted through my brain that if, lurking there
behind the closed doors among her woman's things, I was caught, I
should harm her a hundred times more than if I stood out in the middle
of the floor and faced the worst. And with my face on fire at the mere
thought, I opened the door again, and stepped out; and was just in
time. For as the door of the room flew open, and M. de St. Alais
strode in and looked round, I was the first person he saw.
There were three or four men behind him; and among them the man whom I
had cheated on the stairs. But M. St. Alais' eyes blazing with wrath
caught mine, and held them; and the others were nothing to me.