A RIDE THROUGH THE NIGHT
The streets were still filled with people, kept abroad apparently by
rumors of the Spanish plot, and I was compelled to draw rein and go
at a slower gait as I turned into the Rue St. Louis. Skirting the
quays and crossing the river, I was soon in the suburbs of Paris and
comparatively safe from pursuit. Here the extreme darkness delayed
me as the crowds had in the busier portion of the city, but I knew
that the distance to St. Cloud was only about six miles and that the
regent could not reach the trap that had been set for him for an hour
at least. So I gave the horse his head, confident that I should yet be
able to defeat this last resort of the duchess. As I went I wondered
who it was to whom she had committed this desperate mission, and to
this question I could find no answer. It seemed to me an enterprise
which no gentleman would undertake, and at which even a rogue would
pause unless he were already without the pale of the law and so with
little to lose. But that Madame du Maine would stoop to use such an
instrument, even in her extremity, I could not believe. So I put the
problem behind me and addressed myself to the question in hand, that of
reaching St. Cloud in time.
I had one morning during my first week in Paris amused myself by
loitering about the barrier and watching the arrival and departure of
carriages on the Versailles road, and though I had never been over this
road, I had little doubt that I should be able to find the way without
difficulty. So my heart was light as I passed through the gloomy
faubourgs, seemingly inhabited only by shadows, which slunk along under
the walls of the houses. It was not until this moment that I realized
what the failure of the plot meant to Richelieu, but even upon this
point I soon felt more at ease, for perchance if I succeeded in saving
the regent’s life he might be more inclined to listen to me.
The flare of a torch at the end of the street brought me from my
revery, and I pulled my horse to a sudden halt and peered through the
darkness ahead. I could dimly discern the barrier, and my heart seemed
to stop as I saw that the gates were closed and that two sentries were
pacing up and down in front of them. It would seem that I myself was in
a trap.
I slid from my horse, led him to a side street, tied him, and then
moved cautiously forward to examine the situation. Owing to the
darkness I drew quite close to the gates without being discovered, and
concealed myself behind a flight of steps which projected from one of
the houses. As I had seen before, two sentries were guarding the gates,
and had they been alone I might have had some chance of overpowering
them. But from the guard-house at the side came the sound of laughter
and the click of dice, and I knew that there were others there, who,
at the first cry of alarm, would rush to the rescue of their comrades.
Force, then, was not to be thought of and strategy was necessary. But
by what strategy could I hope to persuade these men to allow myself
and my horse to pass unquestioned, when they had doubtless received
strict orders to allow no one to leave the city without close scrutiny?
Here was an obstacle upon which I had not counted. In times of peace
the gates were never shut, and I had thought to pass them without
difficulty, but the discovery of the plot must have alarmed the
authorities. At any rate, the gates were closed, and I did not doubt
that some pass-word was necessary to open them.
As I was cudgelling my brains over this problem, which seemed on its
face to baffle solution, I heard the rapid beat of a horse’s hoofs
from the direction of the city, and a moment later a horse and rider
came into view. He was riding with a fine disregard of the dangers of
the loose and uneven pavement, and the sound of his rapid approach,
which awoke a thousand echoes along the gloomy street, drew five or six
guards from the sentry-house.
“Who goes there?” cried one of the men at the gate. “Stand, monsieur.”
“Who is in command here?” asked the new-comer, reining up his horse
just in time to escape running down one of the sentries. “Quick! I have
no time to lose.”
“I am, monsieur,” answered another voice from the direction of the
house, and an officer hurried into the light cast by the torches over
the gate. “What is it?”
“Orders for you, monsieur. You will read them at once. And now, open
the gate. I have further advices for the regent, who is at Versailles.”
“The pass-word, monsieur?” said the commandant of the post.
“Rocroy,” answered the courier. “Quickly, let me pass.”
The gates were opened on the instant, and the rider put spurs to his
horse and disappeared into the darkness of the road without. The gates
were shut again, and the commandant retired to the guard-house to read
his orders.
In an instant I saw my opportunity. I crept along the street until I
reached my horse. Quickly mounting, I turned him down a side street,
and came out again a little distance away on the road by which the
courier had come. With a touch of the spur I urged my horse into a
gallop, and approached the gate precisely as the first courier had done.
“Open!” I cried. “On the king’s service.”
“Pardieu,” growled the sentry, “it seems to me there are many couriers
passing here to-night. Something must be afoot. The pass-word, if you
please.”
“Rocroy,” I answered.
“All right, my friend, wait a moment,” and he placed his hand on one of
the gates and half opened it as the commandant came running from the
house, his orders still in his hand.
“Hold, Batard!” he cried to the sentry, “I wish to see this gentleman.”
The man paused, still holding the gate half open.
“Let me see,” he continued, holding the paper up to the light and
scanning it closely. “About twenty--gray suit--gray cloak--light
moustache--light hair--mounted on black horse--” he looked at me for a
moment keenly. “You cannot pass, monsieur,” he said. “It seems to me
that you are Monsieur de Brancas, whom I have just received an order to
arrest and hold at all hazard. Close the gate, Batard.”
But I had understood before he finished. I drove my spurs deep into
the horse’s flanks, and with one bound upset the fellow who was still
holding the half-opened gate. At the same instant the horse struck
the gate, the force of the shock swinging it still farther open. We
were through the opening before the guards had time to realize that
I was escaping and plunged into the darkness without the walls. For
the third time that night I knew that I should receive a volley in the
rear, and I bent low in my saddle as the shots rang out behind me.
Luckily, the rascals were too astonished to aim accurately, and the
bullets whistled harmlessly over me. But there might be a pursuit, and
I did not allow my horse to slacken his pace until the barrier was far
behind.
As I rode I reflected upon this new perfidy of the duchess, for that
she had furnished Hérault the description which had been sent to the
Versailles gate I did not doubt, and was amazed anew at the daring
and ingenuity of this woman, who knew how to use even her enemies in
accomplishing her ends. At last, believing myself safe from pursuit,
I drew up and looked about me. It was lighter here than in the narrow
streets of the city, and the moon was just peeping over the horizon,
but still I could see little. I had been delayed not less than half an
hour at the barrier and knew that I had no time to lose, so I put spurs
to my horse again and continued rapidly onward. In a few moments I came
to a place where the road forked. Which was the road to Versailles, the
right or the left? I did not know, and seeing no way of finding out,
chose the left at a hazard and continued on. I had not ridden far when
I saw at the side of the road ahead of me a dim light. As I drew nearer
I perceived that it came from the window of a low and squalid hut.
Here, perhaps, I might be able to gain the information I sought. I rode
my horse up to the door, and, drawing a pistol from the holster, rapped
with its butt.
There was silence for a moment within the house, and then the door
slowly opened. As it did so, I was astonished to see that the candle
which had been burning a moment before had been extinguished.
“What is it, monsieur?” asked a voice from the darkness within.
“Is this the road to Versailles?” I questioned.
“No, monsieur,” answered the voice, without hesitation; “you doubtless
took the wrong road at the forks a mile back. Return there, monsieur,
and take the right-hand road. Follow it straight ahead and it will lead
you to Versailles.”
“Many thanks,” I answered, and turned my horse’s head. As I did so, I
heard the click of a pistol within the room.
“Who goes to Versailles at this hour and for what?” cried another
voice, which I seemed to recognize and yet could not place. “Hold,
monsieur,” it continued; “do not move. I have you covered with my
pistol and I never miss.”
There was a note of braggartry in the voice which refreshed my memory.
“Ah, it is Cartouche,” I said. “I wish you good-evening, monsieur.”
“And who may you be?” he asked. “You have the best of me, monsieur?”
“Doubtless,” I laughed. “You meet so many people, and usually in the
dark. But you may, perhaps, remember an encounter some nights back with
a man who was lost in Paris, and who was saved from your rascals only
by the timely arrival of the Duc de Richelieu.”
“By my soul, yes,” he answered. “I have cause to remember it, since I
lost three sturdy rogues. Are you that man?”
“I am he,” and I smiled down at the invisible form within the doorway,
for I could imagine the expression which must be upon his face, “and
I am glad of the opportunity of a word with you. You do not know,
perhaps, that Richelieu is a prisoner in the Bastille and that his
head is in great danger?”
“No, I did not know it.”
“It is so, nevertheless. He told me that he did you a service once and
that you have not forgotten it.”
“That is so, monsieur,” said Cartouche.
“Perhaps you will now have opportunity to repay that kindness.”
“Perhaps,” he assented. “If the worst comes to the worst a rescue in
the Place de Greve is not impossible. It has been done before.”
“And may be done again,” I cried, “if you can muster fifty rogues who
are not afraid of steel.”
“Trust me for that,” answered Cartouche, quietly. “I can muster a
hundred such if necessary. But why is M. de Richelieu imprisoned,
monsieur?”
“Simply because the regent wishes it,” I said. “Richelieu has done
nothing.”
“Ah!” and Cartouche remained for a moment thoughtful. “Well, monsieur,”
he said, at last, in a tone full of significance, “I do not believe we
shall need to have recourse to a rescue of that character. The matter
will soon adjust itself.”
“Adjust itself? But how?” I questioned, in amazement.
“No matter,” and Cartouche laughed, a short dry laugh. “Only, monsieur,
should a rescue become necessary, you may count upon me.”
“Very well,” I said. “I shall see you again, then, if there is need,”
and I turned my horse back in the direction from which I had come.
“Wait a moment, monsieur,” he called, with a good-humored chuckle,
coming out of the house and putting up his pistol. “You are already on
the road to Versailles. It is one of the principles of our business
never to tell the truth if it can be avoided. Continue straight ahead
and you will reach St. Cloud. Ten leagues farther is Versailles.”
I turned my horse about with a jerk.
“Does the road run through a wood near here?” I asked, as I took a new
hold on the bridle.
“Not half a league farther on, monsieur,” he answered, in a surprised
voice, and I was off before he could say more. As I glanced back over
my shoulder I saw him standing there still staring after me, and then,
as though struck by a sudden idea, turn and vanish within the cabin. I
had need of haste, for eleven o’clock could not be far distant. But
the horse Madame du Maine had provided was a good one, and I laughed as
I pictured to myself how she must be tearing her hair at the thought
that it was she who had given me the means of saving the regent. The
moon had risen clear of the trees while I was parleying with Cartouche
and flooded the country with noonday brightness. Fearing no pitfalls
in this wide and level road, I spurred onward, peering ahead for the
wood of which Cartouche had spoken, but of which I could see no sign.
Once I thought I heard the beat of horses’ hoofs behind me, but when I
turned in my saddle I saw no one, and concluded that they were merely
the echo of my own. The minutes passed, and finally, to my great
relief, away before me I saw that the white road seemed to disappear
in the darkness, as though cut off at the entrance to a tunnel. This,
then, was the wood, and with new ardor, for I had begun to fear that
Cartouche had misled me, I galloped towards it. The road flew past
under my horse like some gigantic ribbon, and in a moment I was in the
shadow of the trees.
Here I paused. I did not know how far the wood extended, nor did I
know at what point the ambush had been prepared. The only thing to
be done, evidently, was to ride to the other side and stop the regent
and his party before they entered it. I proceeded cautiously, the dust
deadening the hoofbeats of my horse, for I did not know at what moment
I myself might be greeted by a volley from the roadside. At last, far
down the avenue ahead, I saw the road opening out into the plain,
and at the same moment I again heard the sound of swiftly galloping
horses in my rear. This time there was no mistaking the sound, and as
I turned, I saw a troop of three or four just entering the wood. As I
looked at them the mysterious words of Cartouche flashed into my head.
Could it be that it was to him the duchess had confided the task of
assassinating the regent, and that he had not suspected my purpose
until too late to stop me? The thought made me drive the spurs once
more into the flanks of my horse, and as I did so I heard again that
clear, sharp whistle which Cartouche had used once before to summon his
men to attack me. Almost before the sound had died away under the trees
there came a flash of fire from the roadside, a ringing report, and my
horse stumbled and nearly fell, then continued slowly onward, limping
badly. I heard the horses of my pursuers rapidly drawing nearer, and
even at that moment I saw ahead of me down the road another little
troop approaching from the direction of Versailles, and knew it was the
regent and three or four companions. Would I be in time? Would my horse
carry me out of the forest? The troop behind me was dangerously near.
“Stop, monsieur!” cried a voice, which I knew to be that of Cartouche.
“Stop or we fire!”
Without answering, I threw myself forward upon my horse’s neck and
again drove in the spurs. I could hear the poor brute’s breath coming
in gasps, and from the trembling of his body I knew he was almost done.
But it was no time to spare him, and the white road gleaming in the
moonlight just ahead was so near--so near.
Again Cartouche cried out for me to halt, and again I did not answer.
I glanced ahead and saw that the regent’s party had apparently heard
the tramp of our horses, for they had stopped to listen. In an instant
I had seized a pistol from the holster and fired it in the air. They
would hear the report and at least be prepared to face the danger which
threatened them. As my shot rang out through the still night air I
heard a savage oath behind me. There came a crash of pistols and a
great blow seemed to strike me in the head. I reeled in the saddle,
caught myself as I was falling, and held on. The earth seemed whirling
under me, strange lights danced before my eyes. I shook them from
me with clenched teeth; I was out in the moonlight; my horse still
staggered on. And then, as in a dream, I saw the regent, sitting on his
horse calmly in the middle of the road.
“Save yourself, monsieur!” I cried. “Save yourself! They would kill
you!”
I felt the horse slipping from under me, the sky grew black, something
in my head seemed to burst, and I knew no more.