We must now conduct the reader at once to the entrance of the castle of
Masseran. The gate itself was shut, though the drawbridge was down and
the portcullis was up. There was a little wicket, indeed, left ajar,
showing the long, dark perspective of the heavy archway under the gate
tower, gloomy and prison-like, and the large square court beyond, with
its white stones glistening in the sun; while the gray walls of the
castle and part of a window, as well as the door of the keep, appeared
at the opposite side. On either side, under the archway, but scarcely to
be seen in its gloomy shadow, was a long bench, and on the left hand a
low door leading up to the apartments in the gate tower. The right-hand
bench was occupied by one of the soldiers of the place, and at the door
was the warder's wife talking to him, while our friend, the jovial
priest, who had escaped without harm or hinderance, notwithstanding the
threats of the Count de Meyrand, was waiting at the wicket, from time to
time looking through into the court, and from time to time turning round
and gazing upon the mountains, humming an air which was certainly not a
canticle.
After a pause of some ten or fifteen minutes, the warder himself
appeared, a heavy man, past the middle age, and dressed in rusty gray.
"He won't see you, Father Willand," he said. "He's walking in the inner
court, and in a dangerous sort of mood. I would rather not be the man to
cross him now."
"Poh! nonsense," replied Father Willand, laughing. "Go in again to him,
good warder: tell him I have business of importance with him, and I know
that this refusal is only one of his sweet jokes. He will see me,
soft-hearted gentleman! Go and tell him--go and tell him, warder!"
"Faith, not I," replied the warder. "That business of last night seems
to have galled him sorely, and he is just in the humour to fire a man
out of a culverin, as we know his father once did; but in these days it
won't do: culverins make too loud a report, you know. I will not go near
him again."
"Then I will go myself," replied the priest. "He won't hurt me. Nay,
warder, you would not squeeze the Church in the wicket gateway! By
Heaven--or, as I should say less profanely, by the blessed rood--if you
pinch my stomach one moment more you will pinch forth an anathema, which
will leave you but a poor creature all your life."
"Well, be it on your head," cried the warder, with a grim smile; "though
a two-inch cudgel or a fall from the battlements is the best thing to be
hoped for you."
The priest was not to be deterred, however; and, making his way onward,
he crossed the outer court, turned to the right, and, passing through a
long stone passage, feeling damp and chilly after the bright sunshine,
he entered a colonnade or sort of cloister which surrounded the inner
court. It was a large, open space of ground, with tall buildings
overshadowing it on all sides. The sun seldom reached it; and there was
a coldness and stillness about its aspect altogether--its gray stones,
its small windows, its low-arched cloisters, its sunless air, and the
want of even the keen activity of the mountain wind--which made most
people shudder when they entered it.
But there was nothing the least chilly in the nature of Father Willand.
His heart was not easily depressed, his spirits not easily damped; and
when he entered the cloister, and saw the Lord of Masseran walking up
and down in the court, an irresistible inclination to laugh seized him,
notwithstanding all the warder had said of his lord's mood at that
moment.
It is true--although, from the description of the worthy officer of
bolts and bars, one would have expected to see the Lord of Masseran
acting some wild scene of passion--he was, on the contrary, walking
calmly and slowly backward and forward across the court, with his eyes
bent on the ground, indeed, but with his countenance perfectly tranquil.
It was nothing in his demeanour, however, that gave the priest a desire
to laugh, for he was very well aware that the passions of the Lord of
Masseran did not take the same appearances as those of other men, and he
saw clearly that he was at that moment in a state of sullen fury, which
might, very likely, have conducted any other man to some absurd excess.
His personal appearance, also, had nothing in it to excite mirth in any
degree. He was a tall, thin, graceful-looking man of the middle age,
with a nose slightly aquiline, eyes calm and mild, lips somewhat thin
and pale, and a complexion, very common in the northern part of Italy,
of a sort of clear, pale olive. His dress was handsome, but not
ostentatious; and, on the whole, he looked very much the nobleman and
the man of the world of those times. The priest, however, laughed when
he saw him; and, though he tried to smother it under the merry
affectation of a cough, yet the effects were too evident upon his
countenance to escape the eye of the Lord of Masseran as he approached.
"Ha! Father Willand," said the marquis, as their eyes met, "I told the
warder to say that I did not wish to see you to-day."
"Ah, but, my excellent good lord," replied the priest, bowing his head
low, with an air of mock humility and reverence, "it was I who wanted to
see your lordship; so I e'en ventured to make my way in, though the
warder--foul fall the villain--has so squeezed my stomach in the wicket,
that, like a bruised tin pot, it will never again hold so much as it did
before."
"You are somewhat of a bold man," said the marquis, with a cold, bitter,
sidelong look at the priest; "you are somewhat of a bold man to make
your way in here when I bid you stay out. You may come in once too
often, Father Willand."
"Heaven forbid, my lord," replied the priest; "I shall never think it
too often to serve your lordship, even though it should be at your
funeral: a sad duty that, my lord, which we must perform very often for
our best friends."
"I should imagine, priest," replied the marquis, somewhat sternly, "you
would laugh at the funeral of your best friends."
"I will promise your lordship one thing," replied the priest, "to laugh
at my own, if death will but let me. But surely, my lord, this is a time
for merriment and gayety! Why, I came to congratulate your lordship upon
your escape from those who attacked you last night--Ugh! ugh! ugh!"
While the priest, unable to restrain himself, thus laughed aloud, the
marquis bit his lip, and eyed him askance, with a look which certainly
boded no great good to the merry ecclesiastic. They were at that moment
close to a spot where a door opened from one of the masses of building
into the cloister, and the Lord of Masseran, raising his voice a little,
exclaimed, in a sweet Italian tone, "Geronimo!"
For a moment the priest laughed more heartily than before; but, seeing
the marquis about to repeat his call, he recovered himself, and, laying
his finger on the nobleman's arm, said, "Stay a moment, my lord, stay a
moment before you call him. First, because the sweet youth must not
exercise his ministry upon me. It would make too much noise, you know,
and every one in the valley is aware that I have come hither. Next,
because there are certain friends of mine looking for me at the bottom
of the slope, and expecting me within half an hour, so that I cannot
enjoy your Geronimo's conversation--"
"It is, in general, very short," said the marquis.
"And, thirdly," continued the priest, "because I have come up to tell
you two or three things which require no witnesses. I am here upon a
friendly errand, my good lord, and you are such a niggard that you
refuse me my laugh. However, I must have it, be it at you, at myself, or
at any one else; and now, if you behave well and civilly, I will tell
you tidings that you may like well to hear. If you don't want to hear
them, I will take myself away again, and then neither priest nor warder
is much to blame. Shall I go?"
He spoke seriously now, and the Lord of Masseran replied, in a somewhat
more placable tone, a moment's reflection showing him that the priest,
in all probability, would not have come thither except upon some
important errand: "No, do not go," he said, "but speak to me, at least,
seriously." He looked down upon the ground for a moment, and then added,
"You may well think that I am angry, after all that took place last
night; for you, who hear everything, have doubtless heard of that also."
As he spoke, he suddenly raised his keen dark eyes to the countenance of
the priest, as if inquiring how much he really did know of the matter in
question.
"Oh yes," replied Father Willand, "I do hear everything, my good lord,
and I knew all that had happened to you last night before I sat down to
my breakfast this morning: I heard of your happy deliverance, too, from
the hands of the daring villains who captured you, for which gracious
interposition I trust that you will keep a candle burning perpetually
before the shrine of Saint Maurice."
The priest spoke in a serious tone, but still there was an expressive
grin upon his countenance; and, after pausing for a moment or two more,
he added, as the marquis was about to reply, "You think I am jesting, or
that I do not understand what I am talking about; but I know the whole
business as well as you do yourself, and somewhat better. I tell you,
therefore, that it is a great deliverance that you have met with, though
perhaps you think it less a deliverance than an interruption."
The priest paused as if for the marquis to reply; but the Lord of
Masseran was silent also, regarding his companion with a quiet, sly,
inquiring air, which, perhaps, could be assumed by no other countenance
upon earth than that of an Italian. It might be interpreted to say, "You
are more in my secrets than I thought. A new bond of fellowship is
established between us."
As he remained actually silent, however, the priest went on to say,
"What I come to talk to you about is this very matter; for you may
chance be outwitted, my good lord, even where you are putting some
trust. But what I have to say," he continued, "had better not be said
among so many windows and doors."
"Come with me! come with me!" said the Lord of Masseran; and leading the
way through the cloisters, he thridded several long and intricate
passages, none of them more than dimly lighted, and many of them
profoundly dark. He was followed by the priest, who kept his hand in the
bosom of his robe, and, if the truth must be said, grasped somewhat
firmly the hilt of a dagger, never feeling perfectly sure what was to be
the next of the Marquis of Masseran's sweet courtesies. Nothing
occurred, however, to interrupt him in his course, and at length the
lord of the castle stopped opposite to a doorway, over which a
glimmering light found its way. As soon as it was opened, the bright
beams of the day rushed in, and the marquis led the way into a wide
garden, which sloped down the side of the hill, and lay between the
walls of the castle itself and an outwork thrown forward to command one
of the passes of the mountain. It was walled on all sides, and nothing
could be seen beyond it; but in itself it offered a beautiful contrast
to the wild scenery round, being cultivated with great care and
neatness, and arranged in the Italian style of gardening, which was then
very little known in France, where it had been first introduced some
years before by Catharine de Medicis. Long and broad terraces, connected
together by flights of steps, formed the part of the garden nearest to
the chateau, while below appeared many a formal walk, sheltered, even in
that mountain scene, by rows of tall cypresses and hedges of other
evergreen plants.
"Here we can speak undisturbed," said the marquis, as soon as he had
taken a few steps in advance. "Now what is it you have to tell me,
priest?"
"Did you ever hear of such a person as Bernard de Rohan?" demanded the
priest, fixing his eyes upon the countenance of the Lord of Masseran.
"I have--I have heard of him," replied the marquis, turning somewhat
pale. "What of him? what of him? Is he not still beyond the Alps?"
"He is within a few leagues of your dwelling," answered the priest.
"I thought so, I thought so," exclaimed the Lord of Masseran, striking
his brow with his hand. "But he shall find he has come too soon."
"You must take heed what you do," replied the priest, grinning. "Did you
ever hear how the fox vowed vengeance against the lion, and was wroth,
and forgot his cunning, and flew at the lion's muzzle, and the lion put
his paw upon him, and squeezed the breath out of the poor fox's body? My
very good lord, you do not know that this Bernard de Rohan has
men-at-arms at his back, and despatches to you from the Marechal de
Brissac, which may not be pleasant for you to receive; and, moreover, he
is a great friend of a certain Count de Meyrand, and they have been
conferring earnestly together both last night and this morning, and the
name of the Lord of Masseran was more than once mentioned. So now, my
son, you see what is going forward, and must take your measures
accordingly."
The wily Piedmontese sunk back into himself as he heard the unpalatable
tidings communicated to him. From the few significant words which the
priest had spoken, it was evident enough to the Lord of Masseran that,
by some means or another, all the plans and purposes in which he was
engaged in at the time were nearly as well known to the personage with
whom he was then conversing as to himself, and yet he could not bring
himself to speak with him freely thereupon. He wanted advice. He wanted
assistance. The priest appeared to know more than he said; and, to
arrive at certainty upon that point, the Marquis of Masseran now applied
himself with all the skill and shrewdness of which he was master; but in
good Father Willand he met with more than his match; for, with equal
dexterity and shrewdness, the ecclesiastic had resources which the Lord
of Masseran himself had not. He could evade a question by a laugh, or a
jest, or a figure, or a pun, and never did diplomatist more skilfully
turn and double in a conference than he did in his conversation with the
Marquis of Masseran.
At length, driven to speak more clearly, the marquis paused suddenly on
the terrace across which they were walking, and, fronting the priest,
demanded abruptly and sternly, "Tell me, then--tell me what is this
situation in which you say I am placed, which you always allude to and
never explain. Tell me this, and tell me how I shall meet the danger,
or, by the powers of Heaven and hell, you shall never quit this place
alive."
"A pretty and a sweet persuasion," exclaimed the priest, laughing
heartily; "but, my dear son, I am not so easily killed, even if such
parricidal thoughts were anything more than a jest. You know not what a
tough morsel an old priest is: hard of mastication for even stronger
teeth than yours. Nay, nay, think of tenderer food! In other terms, ask
me pleasantly and civilly, my good son, and you may then chance to
receive an answer. If you were to kill me forty times over it would do
you no good. My secrets are like the goose's golden eggs: not to be got
at by slaughter."
"There is something that you want, priest," replied the marquis, in the
same abrupt tone. "Quick! tell me what it is; if it be anything in
reason, you shall have it."
The priest smiled with a meaning look, but thought for a moment or two
before he replied; for, to say the truth, he had not, in his own mind,
fixed upon that which he was to demand as his recompense. He had, it is
true, an object in view, and the chief means of attaining that object
was to persuade the Marquis of Masseran that he dealt with him truly and
sincerely. Now he well knew that the mind of the worthy lord was so
constituted that it could by no means be brought to conceive that any
man dealt honestly with another, unless he had some personal object to
gain by so doing, and, therefore, the priest determined to assign such
an object, although he was, in reality, without one. "Well," he said,
"well, you shall promise me, most solemnly, first, not to tell any one
what I reveal to you; and also, if you find that what I tell you is
true, and if the way that I point out to you prove successful, you shall
give the priest of the church of Saint John of Bonvoison a fat buck in
August every year when he chooses to send for it; you shall also give
him a barrel of wine of your best vintage, and five silver pieces for
alms to the poor, and this in perpetuity."
"Fy, now, fy!" replied the Lord of Masseran; "for your own life were
quite enough; but in perpetuity, that is more than I can engage for: it
is owning your vassalage, good father."
"It must be even so, though," replied the priest, "or you have not my
secret. I care not for venison, sinner that I am, it is the good of the
Church I think of."
"Well! well!" answered the Lord of Masseran, "most disinterested father,
I give my promise; and now be quick, for I expect a visiter full soon,
my dealings with whom may depend upon your words: what is it that I
should fear?"
"That Adrian, count of Meyrand," said the priest, "and Bernard, baron de
Rohan, laying their heads together for their own special purposes--"
"That can never be, that can never be," cried the marquis, with a scoff.
"They both love the same woman. They both seek her. They can as soon
unite as oil and water. No, no, that is all vain!" and he turned away
with a sneer.
"Suppose," said the priest, smiling in a way that again shook the
Marquis of Masseran's feelings of security, "suppose that the one should
love her money and the other herself, and they should agree to settle it
thus: We will prove to the King of France that the Lord of Masseran
holds secret communication with the Duke of Savoy and the Emperor
Ferdinand. Suppose this were the case, I say, do you think, my son, that
there would be any chance of their really proving it? Could the noble
Count of Meyrand say boldly that, to his knowledge, the Lord of Masseran
conspired secretly with some troops of Savoy, to carry off, as if by
force, himself, the Lord of Masseran, and Mademoiselle de Brienne, for
special purposes of his own, somewhat treasonable towards France, only
that the scheme was defeated by an accident? Could Bernard de Rohan say
that he had seen the Lord of Masseran in the hands of his captors, going
along with no great signs of unwillingness, and showing no great signs
of gratitude to those who set him free."
"Was he there?" exclaimed the Lord of Masseran, eagerly. "What, a youth
in a buff coat? By Heaven, his eyes have been haunting me all night. He
seemed to look through me."
"The same person," replied the priest, with a loud laugh; "and he did
see through you, my son. You have been very transparent lately. I ask no
questions, but put it to yourself whether these two gentlemen can say
these things to the King of France. Then may not the one say, 'Sire, I
love this girl, and have got her father's promise for her hand; here is
her brother, too, consents to our marriage: I claim as my reward your
good-will and approbation.' Then may not the other say, 'Sire, the Lord
of Masseran, as I have showed you, betrays your trust. He has fair
castles and fortresses, beautiful lands and lordships, vineyards,
olive-grounds, cornfields: I pray you, in return for having discovered
his dealings with the empire, put me in possession of his lands and his
lordships till your majesty shall think fit to conclude a peace.'"
The Lord of Masseran looked moodily down upon the ground; and though, to
say the truth, he did not yet put great faith in the priest's sincerity,
he asked briefly, "Well, what remedy? How is this to be avoided?"
"That," replied the priest, "for certain I cannot tell you; but I can
tell you what I would do were you Father Willand and I Marquis of
Masseran. I would order horses to be saddled and grooms to be prepared,
and by the most silent, secret, and sudden way, I would betake myself to
Paris, cast myself at the king's feet, accuse this Count of Meyrand of
seeking to corrupt me, tell him that Savoy had offered me bribes, and,
failing there, had striven to carry me off. I would do all this, and
then--"
"Hush!" said the Lord of Masseran, "hush! here is some one coming to
seek me:" and, leaving the priest, he advanced a few steps towards a
servant who now approached from the house. The marquis asked a question
in a low tone, to which the other replied, loud enough for Father
Willand to hear,
"He will not come within the gates, sir, but desires to speak with you
for a moment without: he says he is but in his hunting-garb, and
unfitted to enter your halls."
"How many men has he with him?" demanded the Lord of Masseran.
"No one but a page, my lord, near the gates," replied the man. "The rest
I saw gathered together about a mile down the road, on the other side of
the valley."
"I will come!" said the Lord of Masseran, "I will come!" and he added,
in a lower tone, some words which the priest did not hear, but which he
judged had reference to himself, from perceiving the eyes of the
speakers turned more than once shrewdly towards him. "I will be back
again in a few minutes, good father," the Lord of Masseran continued.
"Wait for me, for we have yet much to speak of."
"I will wait, I will wait," replied the priest; "only be not long, my
good son; for, though I have much to say to you, I have little time to
spare."
The Lord of Masseran gave him every assurance that he would return
speedily; and then left the garden, followed by the attendant who had
summoned him. The priest looked after them and listened; and, being
someway connected with the race of that gentleman called in history
Fine-ear, he distinctly heard the door by which he and the marquis had
entered the garden locked after the latter had quitted it. "There is
another door," he muttered to himself, with a smile, looking towards one
of the archways upon the terrace leading to the chateau.
The next instant, however, there was a sound from that quarter also, as
if somebody turned the key there likewise; but the priest continued to
smile notwithstanding, and, proceeding slowly along the terraces, as if
merely to amuse himself by a walk, he approached the thick wall of the
garden, and stopped at the entrance of one of those little guerites, or
watch-towers, with which the whole enclosure was studded from place to
place. Up the narrow staircase in the stone he made his way, and then
looked carefully out through the loophole which was turned towards the
chief entrance of the chateau. No living object, however, was to be seen
in the immediate neighbourhood of the castle itself; though, as the
attendant had said, about a mile down the road which passed through the
valley was a group of men, and horses, and dogs gathered together in
various listless attitudes, while two large eagles were seen whirling in
immense circles high up above the tops of the mountains, upon the lower
part of whose tall sides a flock of sheep appeared feeding in peaceful
tranquillity.
"I may as well go," said the priest to himself, as he gazed out upon
this quiet scene. "I have said all that it is necessary to say, and this
sweet lord may not have done all that he may think it necessary to do. I
like not his whisperings, so I may as well go."
But, as the priest thus murmured to himself, he looked out again in the
same direction, when two persons came slowly forth from behind an angle
of one of the towers, and, taking their way under the garden wall,
approached the very spot where Father Willand stood. There was no
difficulty in recognising the Lord of Masseran and the Count de Meyrand.
"Now what would I give," murmured the priest to himself, "for one of
those famous inventions--those ear-trumpets--those sound-catchers--which
we read about in old histories."
The good priest, however, possessed none such; and though his ears, as
we have said, were very sharp; though he thrust his head as far as he
could into the loophole; though the count and his companion, thinking
that no one observed them, spoke loudly and vehemently; and though they
passed directly under the turret where the priest stood, nevertheless,
the words that he could catch were very few. "Well, my good lord, well,"
said the Lord of Masseran, "you blame me without cause. I have done my
best, and am as disappointed as you are."
"I do not blame you," replied the other; "I only tell you what must be
the result if the plans you have proposed cannot be carried through
immediately."
"Not that I have proposed, not that I have proposed," replied the other;
"the suggestion was your own."
"Indeed!" said the Count de Meyrand, "this is something new to me. All I
know is, that I have got the whole of your scheme drawn out in your own
hand; the names false, indeed, or written in cipher, but for that we
will soon find a key. What I asked was this, either that you should pay
me the large debt you owe, or that you should give me such assistance in
my suit to Mademoiselle de Brienne as would enable me to call her my
wife within two months. Those two months have now wellnigh expired, and
I will be trifled with no more."
The latter part of this sentence was lost to the ear of the priest; but
he guessed what it must be; and certainly the slight portion that he had
heard gave him a very strong inclination to hear more. He paused, then,
to consider whether this could be accomplished by any possible means,
but it was evident that such could not be the case; for, even while he
turned the matter in his mind, the little path along which the Marquis
de Masseran and his companion walked led them farther and farther from
the wall of the garden. We must now, however, follow the two noblemen,
and leave the priest to his fate, which we shall very speedily see.
"Well, well, my good friend," replied the Marquis de Masseran, in answer
to the last observation of the count, "the time has not yet fully
expired, and it shall be your own fault if my promise is not completely
fulfilled."
"How can it be my fault?" said the count. "I have nothing to do with the
fulfilment of your promise."
"Yes, you have," answered the Marquis of Masseran: "I will give you the
means; but if any pitiful scruple, any lady-like hesitation upon your
part, prevents you from employing them, the fault is your own."
"Mark me now, my good lord," replied the count: "it was understood
between us that I was to have no share in anything contrary to my
allegiance to the crown of France. With your own plans I had nothing to
do. If you chose to give the agents of the empire an opportunity of
making you a prisoner, and taking possession of your fortresses for
reasons and with purposes best known to yourself, I had nothing to do
with that: that was your own affair; I would be in no degree implicated
with it; I would receive no bribes from Savoy or Austria," he continued,
with a sneer; "all I agreed to do was to rescue the lady, if, on any
occasion, I were informed that she was travelling as a prisoner between
Fort Covert and Brianzone. This I promised to do, and I should have had
no scruple then to use my opportunities to the best advantage."
The Lord of Masseran smiled with a meaning look, which his companion
easily interpreted. The count added with a frown, "You mistake me: I
would have done her no wrong, sir! Though I would have taken care to
keep her so long with me that she could give her hand to no one else, I
would have treated her with all honour."
"Doubtless, doubtless," replied the Lord of Masseran; "but what I mean
now, my lord count, is, that if I again, at a great risk to myself, give
you good opportunity, you will have no hesitation in using a little
gentle force to compel this lady's union with yourself. We have priests
enough who will perform the ceremony with a deaf ear to the
remonstrances that her reluctance and maiden modesty may suggest; but
when we have carried the matter so far as that, remember that my safety,
nay, my life itself, may be compromised if you yield to any weak
supplications. Once commit ourselves, and our only safety is in her
being your wife! Then she will be silent for her own sake."
"By Heavens," said the count, in a deep, low tone, "she shall be my wife
if it be but in revenge for the scorn with which she treated me in
Paris. If it costs the lives of her and me, and all our kin, she shall
be mine, Lord of Masseran."
"So be it, then," replied the marquis; "but, to accomplish my new
scheme, I must be absent some few days."
The count gazed upon him somewhat suspiciously. "Some few days?" he
said. "What! long enough, marquis, to go to Paris or Vienna?"
"Neither," replied the Marquis of Masseran, coolly. "Three days will
suffice, if well used. In three days I will be back again."
"And in those three days," replied the count, "this Bernard de Rohan,
whom we were talking about just now, will have fair opportunity of
visiting the bright lady, and even, perhaps, by the connivance of her
fair mother, may carry her within the French frontier, and plead her
father's promise at the court of the king."
"Not by her mother's connivance," replied the marquis. "Her mother loves
him as little as you do; and, even were he at the court of France
to-morrow, her protest against the marriage would be sufficient to stop
it. But, to guard against all danger, and, if possible, to put the mind
of a suspicious man at ease, I will tell you that one great cause of my
going hence is to prevent this Bernard de Rohan from setting foot within
my walls. I know his coming: I know why he comes far better than you do.
I have heard his motives and his views within this hour from one who is
well acquainted with them, and, if he present himself at my gates, he
will find a stern refusal till I return. Then I must see him, but I
shall then be prepared. Will this satisfy you? If it do so, tell me at
once; for it is high time that I should mount my horse, and quit this
place without delay."
Though, in reality, anything but satisfied, the Count de Meyrand
expressed his consent to the proposal, determined in his own mind to
watch all the proceedings of a confederate whom he could so little
trust, even in the dark and tortuous schemes in which their interests
were combined. He tried, as he parted from the marquis, to conceal his
doubts lest they should betray his purposes; but that worthy gentleman
was far too practised a reader of the human heart and human countenance
to be so deceived; and when they separated, it was with the full
conviction that each would endeavour to deceive and circumvent the
other, unless some strong necessity continued to bind them together.
"Now," thought the Marquis de Masseran, as he paused for a moment
looking after the Count de Meyrand, "now for this priest. I must have
more information from him: more full, more complete. Then what is to be
done with him? It might be dangerous to confine him; and yet it were
easy to say that he had held treasonable discourses. A fall from the
walls might be as good as anything. I will speak with Geronimo about
it."
He had been standing with his back towards the castle and his eyes fixed
upon the ground while he thus held parley with himself. On the other
side of the valley, which was there profound, rose up the mountain, with
the road into Piedmont winding along it, at the distance of perhaps a
quarter of a mile, to use the ordinary expression, as the crow flies,
but fully a mile by the road; and, as he ended his murmuring soliloquy,
the Marquis of Masseran looked up in that direction. To his utter
surprise and consternation when he did so, he beheld the figure of the
priest walking quietly along the highway towards the lower ground of
Savoy.
He hastened back to the castle; but he was assured at the gates by all
the several persons who were standing there that no one had passed. On
examining the doors of the garden, every one of them was found to be
closed; and the Marquis of Masseran came to a conclusion, which was not
pleasant for a man engaged in his peculiar pursuits, namely, that he was
deceived and betrayed by some one of his own household.