"I had not been afraid to try conclusions with him, pistols or not, were
I sure that he had the packet. I believe he has, yet there is the
chance that, after all, in this one particular he speaks truth. I cannot
take any chances; I must get those papers for Monsieur."
"Yes, we could not have done otherwise, M. Étienne. But, monsieur, will
you dare go to this inn? M. le Comte is a man in jeopardy; he may not
keep rendezvous of the enemy's choosing."
"I might not keep one of Lucas's choosing. Though," he added, with a
smile, "natheless, I think I should. But it is not likely this fellow
knows of the warrant against me. Paris is a big place; news does not
travel all over town as quickly as at St. Quentin. I think friend Peyrot
has more to gain by playing fair than playing false, and appointing the
cabaret of the Bonne Femme has a very open, pleasing sound. Did he mean
to brain me he would scarce have set that place."
"It was not Peyrot alone I meant. But monsieur is so well known. In the
streets, or at the dinner-hour, some one may see you who knows Mayenne
is after you."
"Oh, of that I must take my chance," he made answer, no whit troubled by
the warning. "I go home now for the ransom, and I will e'en be at the
pains to doff this gear for something darker."
"Monsieur," I pleaded, "why not stay at home to get your dues of sleep?
Vigo will bring the gold; he and I will put the matter through."
"I ask not your advice," he cried haughtily; then with instant
softening: "Nay, this is my affair, Félix. I have taken it upon myself
to recover Monsieur his papers. I must carry it through myself to the
very omega."
I said no more, partly because it would have done no good, partly
because, in spite of the strange word, I understood how he felt.
"Perhaps you should go home and sleep," he suggested tenderly.
"Nay," cried I. "I had a cat-nap in the lane; I'm game to see it
through."
"Then," he commanded, "you may stay here-abouts and watch that door. For
I have some curiosity to know whether he will need to fare forth after
the treasure. If he do as I guess, he will spend the next hours as you
counsel me, making up arrears of sleep, and you'll not see him till a
quarter or so before eleven. But whenever he comes out, follow him. Keep
your safe distance and dog him if you can."
"And if I lose him?"
"Come back home. Station yourself now where he won't notice you. That
arch there should serve."
We had been standing at the street corner, sheltered by a balcony over
our heads from the view of Peyrot's window.
"Monsieur," I said, "I do wish you would bring Vigo back with you."
"Félix," he laughed, "you are the worst courtier I ever saw."
I crossed the street as he told me, glancing up at the third story of
the house of the Gilded Shears. No watcher was visible. From the
archway, which was entrance to a court of tall houses, I could well
command Peyrot's door, myself in deep shadow M. Étienne nodded to me and
walked off whistling, staring full in the face every one he met.
I would fain have occupied myself as we guessed the knave Peyrot to be
doing, and shut mine aching eyes in sleep. But I was sternly determined
to be faithful to my trust, and though for my greater comfort--cold
enough comfort it was--I sat me down on the paving-stones, yet I kept my
eyelids propped open, my eyes on Peyrot's door. I was helped in carrying
out my virtuous resolve by the fact that the court was populous and my
carcass in the entrance much in the way of the busy passers-by, so that
full half of them swore at me, and the half of that half kicked me. The
hard part was that I could not fight them because of keeping my eyes on
Peyrot's door.
He delayed so long and so long that I feared with shamed misgiving I
must have let him slip, when at length, on the very stroke of eleven, he
sauntered forth. He was yawning prodigiously, but set off past my lair
at a smart pace. I followed at goodly distance, but never once did he
glance around. He led the way straight to the sign of the Bonne Femme.
[Illustration: AT THE "BONNE FEMME."]
I entered two minutes after him, passing from the cabaret, where my men
were not, to the dining-hall, where, to my relief, they were. At two
huge fireplaces savoury soups bubbled, juicy rabbits simmered, fat
capons roasted; the smell brought the tears to my eyes. A concourse of
people was about: gentles and burghers seated at table, or passing in
and out; waiters running back and forth from the fires, drawers from
the cabaret. I paused to scan the throng, jostled by one and another,
before I descried my master and my knave. M. Étienne, the prompter at
the rendezvous, had, like a philosopher, ordered dinner, but he had
deserted it now and stood with Peyrot, their backs to the company, their
elbows on the deep window-ledge, their heads close together. I came up
suddenly to Peyrot's side, making him jump.
"Oh, it's you, my little gentleman!" he exclaimed, smiling to show all
his firm teeth, as white and even as a court beauty's. He looked in the
best of humours, as was not wonderful, considering that he was engaged
in fastening up in the breast of his doublet something hard and lumpy.
M. Étienne held up a packet for me to see, before Peyrot's shielding
body; it was tied with red cord and sealed with a spread falcon over the
tiny letters, _Je reviendrai_. In the corner was written very small,
_St. Q._ Smiling, he put it into the breast of his doublet.
"Monsieur," my scamp said to him with close lips that the room might not
hear, "you are a gentleman. If there ever comes a day when You-know-who
is down and you are up, I shall be pleased to serve you as well as I
have served him."
"I hanker not for such service as you have given him," M. Étienne
answered. Peyrot's eyes twinkled brighter than ever.
"I have said it. I will serve you as vigourously as I have served him.
Bear me in mind, monsieur."
"Come, Félix," was all my lord's answer.
Peyrot sprang forward to detain us.
"Monsieur, will you not dine with me? Both of you, I beg. I will have
every wine the cellar affords."
"No," said M. Étienne, carelessly, not deigning to anger; "but there is
my dinner for you, an you like. I have paid for it, but I have other
business than to eat it."
Bidding a waiter serve M. Peyrot, he walked from the room without other
glance at him. A slight shade fell over the reckless, scampish face; he
was a moment vexed that we scorned him. Merely vexed, I think; shamed
not at all; he knew not the feel of it. Even in the brief space I
watched him, as I passed to the door, his visage cleared, and he sat him
down contentedly to finish M. Étienne's veal broth.
My lord paced along rapidly and gladly, on fire to be before Monsieur
with the packet. But one little cloud, transient as Peyrot's, passed
across his lightsome countenance.
"I would that knave were of my rank," he said. "I had not left him
without slapping a glove in his face."
That Peyrot had come off scot-free put me out of patience, too, but I
regretted the gold we had given him more than the wounds we had not. The
money, on the contrary, troubled M. Étienne no whit; what he had never
toiled for he parted with lightly.
We came to our gates and went straightway up the stairs to Monsieur's
cabinet. He sprang to meet us at the door, snatching the packet from
his son's eager hand.
"Well done, Étienne, my champion! An you brought me the crown of France
I were not so pleased!"
The flush of joy at generous praise of good work kindled on M. Étienne's
cheek; it were hard to say which of the two messieurs beamed the more
delightedly on the other.
"My son, you have brought me back my honour," spoke Monsieur, more
quietly, the exuberance of his delight abating, but leaving him none the
less happy. "If you had sinned against me--which I do not admit, dear
lad--it were more than made up for now."
"Ah, Monsieur, I have often asked myself of late what I was born for.
Now I know it was for this morning."
"For this and many more mornings, Étienne," Monsieur made gay answer,
laying a hand on his son's shoulder. "Courage, comrade. We'll have our
lady yet."
He smiled at him hearteningly and turned away to his writing-table. For
all his sympathy, he was, as was natural, more interested in his papers
than in Mlle. de Montluc.
"I'll get this off my hands at once," he went on, with the effect of
talking to himself rather than to us. "It shall go straight off to
Lemaître. You'd better go to bed, both of you. My faith, you've made a
night of it!"
"Won't you take me for your messenger, Monsieur? You need a trusty
one."
"A kindly offer, Étienne. But you have earned your rest. And you, true
as you are, are yet not the only staunch servant I have, God be thanked.
Gilles will take this straight from my hand to Lemaître's."
He had inclosed the packet in a clean wrapper, but now, a thought
striking him, he took it out again.
"I'd best break off the royal seal, lest it be spied among the
president's papers. I'll scratch out my initial, too. The cipher tells
nothing."
"He is not likely to leave it about, Monsieur."
"No, but this time we'll provide for every chance. We'll take all the
precautions ingenuity can devise or patience execute."
He crushed the seal in his fingers, and took the knife-point to scrape
the wax away. It slipped and severed the cords. Of its own accord the
stiff paper of the flap unfolded.
"The cipher seems as determined to show itself to me again as if I were
in danger of forgetting it," Monsieur said idly. "The truth is--"
He stopped in the middle of a word, snatching up the packet, slapping it
wide open, tearing it sheet from sheet. Each was absolutely blank!