THE HOUSE IN THE RUE VILLEDOT
Paris, with its ever-changing crowds, its narrow, clamorous streets,
its towering, tottering, dingy buildings, its contrasts of wealth and
poverty, light and shade, had not yet ceased to astonish me. It was
a wonderful place,--wonderful, at least, to me, who had known only
Poitiers,--and I, who had sat in the chimney corner at home with mouth
agape listening to the tales my grandfather--God rest his soul--was
wont to tell of it, had during the first few days hastened from place
to place,--from Notre Dame to the Place de Greve, from the Porte St.
Denis to the Great Chatelet,--constructing anew the scenes which had
made them all so famous, and delighted to find that they had remained
unchanged with the changing years. For half a century the city had
stood stagnant, the king choosing to lavish his money on his wars or
his pleasures rather than in beautifying his capital, or sinking into
his grave, his coffers empty, his subjects estranged, under the severe
dominion of Madame de Maintenon. But I found it beautiful, and in the
romance with which I clothed it forgot the uneven streets, the stenches
of the ill-kept gutters, the danger from the tottering walls. It was
to me a dream city, and, as in dreams, I used only one faculty in
regarding it,--the imagination.
I awoke with its uproar in my ears, and gazed with interest from my
window at the hurrying torrent of carriages and vehicles of every kind
which filled the street from side to side and constantly threatened to
engulf and overwhelm the foot passengers, hurled hither and thither
by the ceaseless crush. I watched with apprehension the attempts of
a pretty woman to cross the crowded roadway, and breathed a sigh of
relief when I saw her safely over. A tap at the door brought me from
the window, and I opened it to find Jacques bowing on the threshold.
“Good-morning, monsieur,” he said. “Is there anything you wish?”
“Nothing but breakfast, my dear Jacques,” I answered, heartily, for I
had taken a liking to his pleasant face and admired the unquestioning
way in which he carried out his master’s orders. “It will be served
soon, I trust.”
“It is awaiting monsieur,” he said, and he led the way to the lower
floor.
“Have you heard anything further from Richelieu?” I asked, when I had
seated myself at the table and he was stationed behind my chair.
“Only a message from him this morning, asking if monsieur had arrived
home safely, and stating that he himself had reached Limours without
misadventure and would be at Blois to-night, where he would consider
his future course.”
“Pray heaven that it take him on to Bayonne!” I said, fervently. “He is
better away from Paris for a time.” But I had little hope that he would
think of caution. “If you send a message to him,” I added, “tell him
that I am quite safe and that he need have no concern on my account.”
Yet I knew very well that it was not I but Mlle. de Valois who would
bring him back to Paris.
The day was bright and warm and I left the house with a light heart.
I reflected that I could do nothing better than call at the salon of
Madame du Maine and renew my offer of service, but the day was not yet
far advanced, and I lingered upon the quays, where a thousand noises
mingled in one indescribable uproar which fascinated me. Boats were
discharging their cargoes at the landing-places, a row of boys sat upon
the piers fishing, the crowd eddied ceaselessly back and forth, and
above all the din arose the cries of the street venders of vegetables,
fruit, fish, milk, and I know not what, for their incomprehensible
jargon, which I vainly endeavored to understand, gave me no clue to
the wares they were selling. At every step there was a beggar, a blind
man, or a street musician. The water-carriers, of whom I was told there
were not less than twenty thousand in Paris, carried bells, which they
rang with an ardor nothing seemed to diminish. Here was a woman selling
oysters, which she carried in a huge hamper on her back; another was
bent almost double under a great bundle of brooms; a third was selling
flowers, which were displayed on a broad shallow basket strapped to
her hips. Men were crying the most impossible things,--toy windmills,
boot-laces, buckets, bellows, prints, and even rat-traps. Here was a
tinker, carrying with him his fire of charcoal, his anvil, and all
his tools; there a cobbler, who was sitting against the wall, in a
corner out of harm’s way, mending a shoe. One fellow with a loud voice
and a very red face endeavored to sell me a ticket in some lottery,
and another offered me a bottle of magic ink, which would fade after
a certain time and leave no trace behind it. He told me it was of
especial value and in great demand for love-letters, since, after the
second day, the writing would entirely disappear and so compromise no
one. I laughed at him, and told him I had no use for his ink, since I
had never in my life written a love-letter, whereat he showed me, with
a great air of mystery, a wizard’s ring, which he was willing to part
with for a pistole, and which he assured me would win me the love of
any woman whose hand I might touch while I wore it. I inquired why it
was that he was willing to sell so great a treasure, and he answered
that it had made his life a burden to him, so closely and constantly
was he pursued by the women who had fallen victims to the talisman.
A crowd had gathered around us as we talked, and when I turned away,
still laughing, he appealed to other of the listeners, and I doubt not
managed to strike a bargain with one of them. I did not wait to see the
conclusion of the matter, but struggled through the crowd, and with
considerable effort gained the other side of the river, where I finally
paused to take breath in the Rue des Poulies.
Nothing had astonished me so much in Paris as the height of the
buildings, and I looked with interest at those about me. They
straggled into the air six, seven, or eight stories, as though each
successive generation, prohibited by the royal edict from building
without the walls, had at last found a home by adding an extra story
to the ancestral domiciles. The flood of houses, which had long before
overwhelmed the walls of the old city, was fast piling up within the
new walls as within a great reservoir, and another inundation of the
surrounding country could not be far distant. Each house had its sign,
projecting far into the street, and from every story protruded a spout,
which, in rainy weather, precipitated torrents of dirty water upon the
passers-by. The fronts of the houses were for the most part of wood
and plaster and, where not concealed by bills, indescribably dirty.
Many of them seemed on the point of falling down, and were saved from
that fate only by leaning against their more fortunate neighbors. Bills
and flaring posters were everywhere, bearing some piece of political
satire or morsel of scandalous gossip.
I turned into the Rue St. Honoré, and was soon again in the midst of a
tumult as great as that upon the quays, only here the crowd was more
fashionable, and there were in consequence more beggars. I knew no one
in it, so, unconsciously catching the spirit of the place, I hurried on
past the Palais Royal, at which I cast a lingering glance, wondering if
it would ever be my good fortune to join the throng of gayly dressed
courtiers and enter boldly with them. Turning down the Rue St. Louis,
I soon gained the Tuileries. The entrance to that portion of the
palace, the Pavilion Marsan, occupied by Madame du Maine was almost
deserted, but a lacquey who was lounging in the vestibule took in my
name, and, returning in a moment, informed me that I was to enter.
He led me to a small room at the left, where I found the duchess and
Mlle. de Launay together, busily occupied in examining a vast number of
formidable-looking papers.
“Enter, M. de Brancas,” cried the duchess, seeing me pause upon the
threshold. “You are not intruding. In fact, you come most fortunately
and just at the moment when Mlle. de Launay and I were wishing for
some one like yourself, who could be trusted.”
“Thank you, madame,” I said. “I shall try to merit your trust,” and I
entered and bowed to both the ladies. “I had scarcely expected to find
you at work so early.”
“Ah! it seems to me that we never have time for repose,” exclaimed the
duchess. “There is so much to be done and so few whom I can trust to
do it. But tell me, monsieur, what has become of Richelieu? I have not
seen him for an age.”
I related briefly the adventures of the duke and myself, taking care to
say nothing of my last conversation with the regent, and adding that
as Richelieu was _en route_ for Bayonne, I believed it best for him to
remain there for a time.
“Yes,” said the duchess, thoughtfully, when I had finished, “I believe
so myself. The match will soon be applied here, and then he would have
to be at Bayonne in any case. But this morning, M. de Brancas, I wish
to ask your company for Mlle. de Launay, who has an errand to do which
will not permit the use of a carriage and who finds it impossible to
thread these crowded streets without an escort.”
“I shall be only too happy to be of service,” I answered, and at a sign
from the duchess her companion withdrew to make ready for the street.
“You can judge to what straits we are reduced, monsieur,” continued
madame, with a note of sadness and discouragement in her voice, the
first I had ever heard there, “when I tell you that Mlle. de Launay
is the only one there is to whom I can intrust missions which require
a certain courage and finesse. There are many, it is true, who offer
their services, but none upon whom I can rely as upon this girl.”
I could think of nothing to say that would not be mere banality, and
as she busied herself carefully tying up a bundle of papers, I looked
at her more attentively. I was not surprised to find her face pale and
careworn, and I did not doubt that she was passing sleepless nights
and harassing days in the endeavor to get all the threads of this
conspiracy straightened out and properly arranged,--that she worked
while others merely talked. Mlle. de Launay soon returned, and the
duchess handed her the packet of papers which I had seen her arrange.
“You will find all the needed information there,” she said, “and
remember that you cannot urge too strongly the need of haste. Every
moment I fear that something will happen to render all our work
useless. There, hasten,” she continued, dismissing us with a gesture,
“and do not keep me waiting longer than necessary for your report.”
“We will not make ourselves unnecessarily conspicuous, monsieur,” said
my companion, as we left the room, and she led the way along a wide
hall running to the rear of the building. We descended into a small
court, bounded on one side by a high wall and on the other by a row of
buildings, and passed across this to a gate in the wall at the end.
She opened the gate with a key she took from her pocket, and locked it
after us. We found ourselves in a narrow little street which opened
into the Rue de l’Echelle.
“Our mission is, then, a secret one?” I asked, as we entered this
street.
“No, not just that,” answered the girl, smiling at me, “and yet it is
well to be cautious. We are going to see a gentleman who lives in the
Rue Villedot. I have been there many times. But there are always a
dozen police spies hanging about the entrance to the Tuileries, and I
avoid them when I can.”
“Mademoiselle,” I asked, suddenly, “the police department is well
organized, is it not?”
“Splendidly,” she answered. “This man, Hérault, who is at the head of
it, has a genius for the work, and no one is safe from him.”
“Do you think, then,” I continued, “that the plans of Madame du Maine
are altogether unknown to him?”
“I can only hope so,” she said, and her face grew lined with anxiety.
“Yet, even if he did suspect, that would not be enough. He cannot
know the details of our plans, and without something more definite
than suspicion even the regent would not dare raise his hand against
a princess of the blood. We are hurrying our preparations forward as
rapidly as we can, and hope to be the ones to strike the first blow.
Everything depends upon that,” she added. “We have gone too far and the
end is now too near to turn back, monsieur, or we might, perhaps, await
a better time.”
“But success,--can you win success?” I persisted.
“It is certain,” and her face was alight with enthusiasm, “provided
only we are undisturbed a single week longer.”
We had again reached the busy portion of the city, and the uproar
drowned our voices. Besides, I had sufficient to think about in
protecting my companion from the crowd of passing carriages.
“We must hasten,” she cried, suddenly, “or we shall be caught in the
rain.”
I glanced at the sky and saw that she was right, for a bank of clouds
from which came rumblings of distant thunder was every moment growing
more threatening. We turned hurriedly down the Rue des Frondeurs,
and in a moment had plunged into one of the irregular and squalid
quarters of the city. But the girl went forward without hesitation and
as though well acquainted with the road. We passed through a maze of
short streets running in all directions, apparently at haphazard, and
suddenly my companion paused at a corner house.
“This is the place,” she said. “The man I have come to see lives on the
second floor. That is his window you see up there. Do you await me
here, M. de Brancas. I will be back in a moment,” and without waiting
for me to answer, she plunged into the dark and narrow entrance.
I glanced up and down the street apprehensively, for her statement
as to the efficiency of the police department, added to my own vague
fears, had filled me with alarm, but we were seemingly unobserved. A
crowd of poorly dressed people was passing in either direction, and
a rabble of children was playing in the gutter in the middle of the
street, but no one paused to cast a second glance at me. The darkened
sky had thrown the street into a gloom which rendered the sagging
houses threatening and terrible, an effect which an occasional flash
of lightning served to heighten. The moments passed, and I paced
impatiently up and down before the door, wondering what had detained
the girl. I had just determined to mount the stairs and find out for
myself when I heard a crash of glass above me and a scream for help in
a woman’s voice, which I recognized only too plainly.
In an instant I was through the doorway and stumbling up the dirty
staircase with drawn sword, cursing the darkness which delayed my
progress, I arrived at the first landing and paused a moment to listen,
but heard nothing. I reflected that the window she had shown me was on
the floor above, and mounted cautiously, not knowing what the danger
might be towards which I was advancing. Again I paused to listen,
but still heard nothing. I strained my ears, and in a moment fancied
I heard a moan. I felt before me and found a door. I applied my ear
to the keyhole and heard a second moan, which could not this time be
mistaken. With a bound I flung my body against the door. It gave way
with a crash and I was precipitated into the room beyond. By an effort
I kept my feet, and at a glance I saw in one corner a man bending over
the prostrate form of my companion.
He turned a startled face towards me as I entered and half started to
rise, but I was upon him ere he could draw his weapon, and ran him
through by the mere force of my onslaught. He fell like a log, but at
the moment I turned to the prostrate girl I heard hurrying feet upon
the stair without, and I sprang towards the door, my sword gleaming red
in my hand, to meet this new danger.