"Vigo, you said you were here to guard Monsieur's interests-his house,
his goods, his moneys. Do you desert your trust?"
Mademoiselle turned quickly to him:
"Vigo, you must not let me take you from your rightful post. Félix and
your man here will care for me--"
"The boy talks silliness, mademoiselle," Vigo returned tranquilly.
"Mademoiselle is worth a dozen hôtels. I go with her."
He walked beside her across the court, I following with Gilles, laughing
to myself. Only yesterday had Vigo declared that never would he give aid
and comfort to Mlle. de Montluc. It was no marvel she had conquered M.
Étienne, for he must needs have been in love with some one, but in
bringing Vigo to her feet she had won a triumph indeed.
We had to go out by the great gate, because the key of the postern was
in the Bastille. But as if by magic every guardsman and hanger-about had
disappeared--there was not one to stare at the lady; though when we had
passed some one locked the gates behind us. Vigo called me up to
mademoiselle's left. Gilles was to loiter behind, far enough to seem
not to belong to us, near enough to come up at need. Thus, at a good
pace, mademoiselle stepping out as brave as any of us, we set out across
the city for the Porte St. Denis.
Our quarter was very quiet; we scarce met a soul. But afterward, as we
reached the neighbourhood of the markets, the streets grew livelier. Now
were we gladder than ever of Vigo's escort; for whenever we approached a
band of roisterers or of gentlemen with lights, mademoiselle sheltered
herself behind the equery's broad back, hidden as behind a tower. Once
the gallant M. de Champfleury, he who in pink silk had adorned Mme. de
Mayenne's salon, passed close enough to touch her. She heaved a sigh of
relief when he was by. For her own sake she had no fear; the midnight
streets, the open road to St. Denis, had no power to daunt her: but the
dread of being recognized and turned back rode her like a nightmare.
Close by the gate, Vigo bade us pause in the door of a shop while he
went forward to reconnoiter. Before long he returned.
"Bad luck, mademoiselle. Brissac's not on. I don't know the officer, but
he knows me, that's the worst of it. He told me this was not St. Quentin
night. Well, we must try the Porte Neuve."
But mademoiselle demurred:
"That will be out of our way, will it not, Vigo? It is a longer road
from the Porte Neuve to St. Denis?"
"Yes; but what to do? We must get through the walls."
"Suppose we fare no better at the Porte Neuve? If your Brissac is
suspected, he'll not be on at night. Vigo, I propose that we part
company here. They will not know Gilles and Félix at the gate, will
they?"
"No," Vigo said doubtfully; "but--"
"Then can we get through!" she cried. "They will not stop us, such
humble folk! We are going to the bedside of our dying mother at St.
Denis. Your name, Gilles?"
"Forestier, mademoiselle," he stammered, startled.
"Then are we all Forestiers--Gilles, Félix, and Jeanne. We can pass out,
Vigo; I am sure we can pass out. I am loath to part with you, but I fear
to go through the city to the Porte Neuve. My absence may be
discovered--I must place myself without the walls speedily.
"Well, mademoiselle may try it," Vigo gave reluctant consent. "If you
are refused, we can fall back on the Porte Neuve. If you succeed--Listen
to me, you fellows. You will deliver mademoiselle into Monsieur's hands,
or answer to me for it. If any one touches her little finger--well,
trust me!"
"That's understood," we answered, saluting together.
"Mademoiselle need have no doubts of them," Vigo said. "Félix is M. le
Comte's own henchman. And Gilles is the best man in the household, next
to me. God speed you, my lady. I am here, if they turn you back."
We went boldly round the corner and up the street to the gate. The
sentry walking his beat ordered us away without so much as looking at
us. Then Gilles, appointed our spokesman, demanded to see the captain of
the watch. His errand was urgent.
But the sentry showed no disposition to budge. Had we a passport? No, we
had no passport. Then we could go about our business. There was no
leaving Paris to-night for us. Call the captain? No; he would do nothing
of the kind. Be off, then!
But at this moment, hearing the altercation, the officer himself came
out of the guard-room in the tower, and to him Gilles at once began his
story. Our mother at St. Denis had sent for us to come to her dying bed.
He was a street-porter; the messenger had had trouble to find him. His
young brother and sister were in service, kept to their duties till
late. Our mother might even now be yielding up the ghost! It was a
pitiful case, M. le Capitaine; might we not be permitted to pass?
The young officer appeared less interested in this moving tale than in
the face of mademoiselle, lighted up by the flambeau on the tower wall.
"I should be glad to oblige your charming sister," he returned, smiling,
"but none goes out of the city without a passport. Perhaps you have one,
though, from my Lord Mayenne?"
"Would our kind be carrying a passport from the Duke of Mayenne?" quoth
Gilles.
"It seems improbable," the officer smiled, pleased with his wit. "Sorry
to discommode you, my dear. But perhaps, lacking a passport, you can yet
oblige me with the countersign, which does as well. Just one little
word, now, and I'll let you through."
[Illustration: "IT DESOLATES ME TO HEAR OF HER EXTREMITY."]
"If monsieur will tell me the little word?" she asked innocently.
He burst into laughter.
"No, no; I am not to be caught so easy as that, my girl."
"Oh, come, monsieur captain," Gilles urged, "many and many a fellow goes
in and out of Paris without a passport. The rules are a net to stop big
fish and let the small fry go. What harm will it do to my Lord Mayenne,
or you, or anybody, if you have the gentleness to let three poor
servants through to their dying mother?"
"It desolates me to hear of her extremity," the captain answered, with a
fine irony, "but I am here to do my duty. I am thinking, my dear, that
you are some great lady's maid?"
He was eying her sharply, suspiciously; she made haste to protest:
"Oh, no, monsieur; I am servant to Mme. Mesnier, the grocer's wife."
"And perhaps you serve in the shop?"
"No, monsieur," she said, not seeing his drift, but on guard against a
trap. "No, monsieur; I am never in the shop. I am far too busy with my
work. Monsieur does not seem to understand what a servant-lass has to
do."
For answer, he took her hand and lifted it to the light, revealing all
its smooth whiteness, its dainty, polished nails.
"I think mademoiselle does not understand it, either."
With a little cry, she snatched her hand from him, hiding it in the
folds of her kirtle, regarding him with open terror. He softened
somewhat at sight of her distress.
"Well, it's none of my business if a lady chooses to be masquerading
round the streets at night with a porter and a lackey. I don't know what
your purpose is--I don't ask to know. But I'm here to keep my gate, and
I'll keep it. Go try to wheedle the officer at the Porte Neuve."
In helpless obedience, glad of even so much leniency, we turned away--to
face a tall, grizzled veteran in a colonel's shoulder-straps. With a
dragoon at his back, he had come so softly out of a side alley that not
even the captain had marked him.
"What's this, Guilbert?" he demanded.
"Some folks seeking to get through the gates, sir. I've just turned them
away."
"What were you saying about the Porte Neuve?"
"I said they could go see how that gate is kept. I showed them how this
is."
"Why must you pass through at this time of night?" said the commanding
officer, civilly. Gilles once again bemoaned the dying mother. The young
captain, eager to prove his fidelity, interrupted him:
"I believe that's a fairy-tale, sir. There's something queer about these
people. The girl says she is a grocer's servant, and has hands like a
duchess's."
The colonel looked at us sharply, neither friendly nor unfriendly. He
said in a perfectly neutral manner:
"It is of no consequence whether she be a servant or a duchess--has a
mother or not. The point is whether these people have the countersign.
If they have it, they can pass, whoever they are."
"They have not," the captain answered at once. "I think you would do
well, sir, to demand the lady's name."
Mademoiselle started forward for a bold stroke just as the superior
officer demanded of her, "The countersign?" As he said the word, she
pronounced distinctly her name:
"Lorance--"
"Enough!" the colonel said instantly. "Pass them through, Guilbert."
The young captain stood in a mull, but no more bewildered than we.
"Mighty queer!" he muttered. "Why didn't she give it to me?"
"Stir yourself, sir!" his superior gave sharp command. "They have the
countersign; pass them through."