D’ANCENIS TELLS THE STORY
I lay for some time without stirring, looking fixedly at the window in
front of me and wondering in a vague way what had happened. I could
see the sun shining brightly on some shrubbery outside the window. The
view was stopped by a wall, and a dull and monotonous roar, which I
recognized as belonging to the city, was in my ears. I perceived I was
in bed. A white, narrow bed. I turned my head slowly and gazed about
the room. It was small and plainly furnished, but seemed clean and
comfortable. The thought forced its way into my mind that I had never
before been in this room. How, then, did I get there?
I closed my eyes again, and for a long time my brain refused to grapple
with the problem. It seemed as though coming back from a country full
of mist, and clouds of the mist still clung to it. Finally, with
supreme effort of will, I opened my eyes again, and again looked
through the window and about the room. This time I could think more
clearly. No, I had never been here before, and the question repeated
itself, How, then, did I get here?
And still I could get no farther than the question. I heard a door
open, and some one tiptoed to the bedside. I found myself looking up
into a sweet, colorless face. It was surrounded by a black wimple,
and I remembered dimly that I had seen nuns wearing such. The eyes
looked down for a moment into mine and were then withdrawn. As I still
lay staring at the ceiling, another face appeared before me. It was
the face of a man whom I did not know. Or, wait a moment, I had seen
it before somewhere, but my brain seemed to recoil at the effort at
recollection.
“He is doing nicely,” I heard a voice say. “He will soon be quite well.
The danger was that he would never regain consciousness.”
Again the face was withdrawn, and I felt an arm under my head lifting
me up. A cup was pressed to my lips.
“Drink,” said a voice, the man’s voice, “it will do you good.”
I drank obediently, almost mechanically. Then I was lowered again, and
the arm was removed. A great heaviness oppressed my eyelids. I did not
struggle against it, but yielded to it gladly and drifted away into the
land of mist.
When I opened my eyes again the sun was still shining without the
window; nothing in the room was changed. But my head seemed quite
clear and I could think without weariness. What was this room in
which I found myself? I looked around and examined it attentively. A
small room, twelve feet square, perhaps, the bed, two chairs, a small
table, and a stove in one corner the only furniture. There were a
number of bottles and glasses on the table. I raised my hand to my
head, surprised at the effort it cost me, and was astonished to find a
bandage about my forehead. What had happened? Had I been injured?
And in a flash it all came back to me,--the arrest, the ride through
the night, the encounter with Cartouche, the flash of pistols and then
darkness. I must have been wounded in the head. But the regent,--was
he safe? Richelieu,--where was he? A thousand questions surged into my
brain at once. I raised myself upon my elbow and cried aloud. The door
opened in a moment, and a woman entered, the same woman whose face I
had already seen bending over me.
“Monsieur is awake, then,” she said, smiling at me kindly, but forcing
me gently back upon my pillow. “Monsieur is better.”
“Yes, yes, I am better,” I answered. “But what has happened? Where am
I? The regent, Richelieu, Madame du Maine----”
She laid her hand upon my lips.
“Have patience,” she said. “I will call the doctor.”
She left the room while I still lay overwhelmed by my thoughts. She
was soon back, and with her was the man who had accompanied her once
before, and this time I recognized him as Levau, the surgeon who had
bound up my shoulder at the Café Procope.
“Good-morning, M. de Brancas,” he cried, in a jovial voice, as he came
to my bedside. “I see you are doing famously and will soon be on your
feet again. How do you feel?”
“I feel no pain,” I answered, “but am very weak.”
“No pain in the head, eh? Well, that is good. Come, now, let me see
the wound,” and he untied the bandage from about my temples, held up
my head and apparently examined a wound at the back. “Upon my word,”
he said, after a moment, replacing the bandage, “I have never seen
anything prettier. Ah, monsieur, it is pure blood that tells, and you
are an ideal patient. Why, that stab you received in the shoulder the
other day has left nothing but a scar, and in a week from now this
little scratch will have ceased to trouble you.”
“But what is it?” I asked, scarcely able to restrain my impatience
while this examination was in progress. “I was shot, I know that; but
how did I get here, and where am I and what has been done with my
friends?”
“One question at a time, M. de Brancas,” and Levau stood smiling down
at me. “You were brought back to Paris from the place on the roadside
where the bullet which struck you in the head laid you. This is the
Hotel Dieu, and you have to thank the nursing of Sister Angelica here
that you are alive to-day. The bullet did not enter the skull, but
simply stunned you,--a glance blow. It looked for a time, however, as
though you were never going to open your eyes again. You had also a
bullet in your shoulder, but that was a mere nothing.”
“How long have I been here, then?” I asked.
“Six days, monsieur,” and Levau still smiled.
“Six days!” I gasped. “But tell me, monsieur, what has become of
Richelieu, of Madame du Maine, and of all the others.”
“Now there, M. de Brancas, you are getting beyond me,” and Levau waved
his hands deprecatingly. “I do not meddle with politics. When you ask
me concerning your injury I have my answers ready on my lips, but when
you go into politics I am all at sea. But wait a moment,” he added,
kindly; “I think I can bring you some one who has inquired after you
every day and who can answer all these questions,” and he left the
room. In a moment he returned, bringing with him a man, who rushed
towards my bed, his face alight with pleasure.
“D’Ancenis!” I cried.
“Yes, de Brancas, it is I,” and the marquis took my hand with the
heartiest of clasps. “I cannot tell how pleased I am to hear that you
will soon be well again. I had just come to inquire after you when
Levau was summoned by the nurse, and I was imagining the most horrible
things when he returned with the news that you are so much better.”
“Thank you, monsieur,” I answered, more moved than I cared to show by
his evident concern. “But tell me, where are my friends?”
D’Ancenis glanced questioningly at Levau.
The latter nodded encouragingly.
“Tell him, monsieur,” he said. “It will do him no harm to talk, and
worry might retard his recovery, although the effects of the injury are
almost passed. You will excuse me, gentlemen,” and, followed by the
nurse, he left the room.
“Very well, then,” said d’Ancenis, drawing a chair to the bedside and
again taking my hand. “Proceed with your questions, de Brancas.”
“First,” I said, after a moment’s pause to enable me to marshal my
thoughts in some kind of order, “is the regent safe?”
“Quite safe,” and d’Ancenis smiled more than ever. “That night ride of
yours, my friend, did not deserve to be otherwise than successful. I
have heard the regent tell the story a dozen times. He and his party
heard first the rapid beat of horses’ hoofs. They paused to listen,
when from the wood in front of them came a rider, clinging to his
horse’s neck and fired a pistol into the air. There was a volley of
shots behind him and he was seen to reel and almost fall. He caught
himself by a supreme effort, clung to the saddle until ten paces from
the regent, cried to him to save himself, and dropped senseless from
his horse and rolled to the side of the road. It was over in a moment,
the scoundrels who had shot him remaining concealed in the shelter
of the trees. The regent, suspecting some treachery, immediately
drew his pistols, as did the gentlemen with him, and retreated until
some distance from the wood, so that surprise was impossible. Then a
courier from Paris, who had reached him a few moments before, was sent
back half a league to St. Cloud for re-enforcements. As soon as these
arrived the wood was entered, but no one was found. The regent examined
the body by the road, and at once recognized you, my friend. He knew
not what to make of it, but ordered you picked up and brought back to
Paris. There he heard from the commandant of the Versailles gate how
you had got through. A little later, he learned from me how you had
escaped from the hall and of the efforts made by Madame du Maine to
stop you, for she was not so circumspect in this affair as is usual
with her, and betrayed herself completely. The regent can put two and
two together as well as any man, and he was not long in arriving at
a conclusion. This conclusion became a certainty when a confession
was secured from one of Cartouche’s rogues, who attempted to re-enter
Paris the next morning and was captured. He told all of the details of
the ambuscade, and how Cartouche himself, with his companions, was to
have attacked the regent should he get past the wood alive. Cartouche
has left Paris and is across the frontier by this time. Really, de
Brancas,” and d’Ancenis paused a moment to look at me, “you are a devil
of a fellow. This was quite in line with your escape from the Bastille.”
“And Richelieu?” I asked.
“Is still in prison, and likely to remain there for some time to come,
to say no worse. His offence is nothing less than treason, monsieur,
and the regent has sworn to have his head.”
I groaned aloud.
“’Tis what I feared,” I said. “I must get up,” and I raised myself on
one elbow.
“Gently, gently, de Brancas,” and d’Ancenis pushed me back again, nor
did I resist him greatly, for I was weaker than I had thought. “Do you
think one man, already half dead, would be able to liberate Richelieu?
You propose to take the Bastille by storm, I suppose, single-handed and
alone. I should not be surprised to see you undertake such an exploit.”
I remained for a moment silent.
“Tell me the rest,” I said, finally. “Madame du Maine, Cellamare, Mlle.
de Launay,--what has happened to them?”
“Cellamare was conducted out of Paris and started for Spain under a
strong escort the morning after his arrest,” answered d’Ancenis. “He
protested, of course, but it was of no use. The papers which were
found in his possession exposed all the details of the plot, which
was marvellously well arranged, and which almost makes one admire the
duchess. Madame du Maine submitted very quietly until she found she was
to be taken to the citadel of Dijon, when she fought like a tigress,
but it was to no avail, and she was safely lodged in the dungeon,
vowing a hundred kinds of vengeance against her jailers. Mlle. de
Launay wished to accompany her mistress, but the regent was afraid to
allow those two women to remain together, so mademoiselle was given a
cell in the Bastille, as were all the other prisoners arrested at the
Tuileries. We found Polignac lying senseless on the floor, and he was
quite hysterical for a time, protesting his innocence. De Mesmes did
the same, but both were silenced when they were confronted by their own
statements of their share in the conspiracy. The Duc du Maine was also
arrested.”
“The Duc du Maine?” I cried; “but he knew nothing about it. I have
never even seen him.”
“I can well believe it,” and d’Ancenis smiled. “I was deputed to
arrest him, and I found him very harmlessly engaged in looking over
his collection of snuffboxes at Sceaux. He was astounded when I gave
him an intimation of what the duchess had been doing, and was very
indignant that she had caused him to be sent to prison. He was taken to
the Château de Dourleans, stopping at every shrine along the road to
pray, for he was firmly convinced that the regent was going to have him
killed. The regent has little cause to love him, and will doubtless try
to make a case against him.”
“But he cannot succeed,” I said, confidently. “There will be a hundred
persons ready to testify in the duke’s behalf.”
“That is all the news,” concluded d’Ancenis. “Paris has been talking of
it for a week and the topic is not yet exhausted. Shall I tell you, my
friend, of what they talk most? It is of your ride, and there are fifty
pretty women ready to worship you. There has been one in particular who
has made it a point to inquire of me every day how you are getting on.”
“And who is she?” I asked, with leaping heart.
D’Ancenis looked down at me quizzically.
“’Tis more serious than I had thought,” he said, laughing. “There will
be many to envy you your good fortune, de Brancas.”
“But her name?” I asked again.
“What, man,” cried my tormentor, gayly, “would you have me be
indiscreet? No, no. You must find out the name for yourself. Ask the
lady of whom you are thinking and see what she says.”
I caught at his hand, but he eluded me, and laughed merrily as he
looked back from the door.
“Get well quickly, my friend,” he said. “Do not keep her waiting,” and
he was gone.
But I did not for a moment question the reply my heart had given me,
and when Levau looked in on me again a short time later, he found me
looking so contented that he laughed with pleasure.
“In faith, monsieur,” he cried, “I begin to believe that Captain
d’Ancenis is a better physician than I. What magic did he use?”
I merely smiled.
“When can I get out of this?” I asked.
“Oh, we will see about that,” he answered, his professional air back
upon him in an instant. “Three or four days will tell the story.”
“Three or four days? Nonsense!” I exclaimed. “Why, I am strong enough
to get out of bed this moment,” and I started as if to rise.
“Patience, patience, monsieur,” and Levau held me back. “Suppose I say
to-morrow, provided that you pass a good night and are as much stronger
in the morning as I expect you to be?”
“Agreed. And now cannot I have something to eat? I am marvellously
hungry.”
“As much as you like,” cried Levau, heartily, and he hurried away to
send my supper to me. I did it ample justice and enjoyed it greatly,
then lay for a long time thinking over all that d’Ancenis had told me,
but more particularly of Louise, and finally dropped asleep.
I felt like a new man the next morning. Save for a little soreness
at the back of my head and in my shoulder, and a slight weakness in
my legs when I tried to walk, I was as well as ever. My clothing was
brought me, and I walked around the room leaning on Levau’s arm. He
seemed indefatigable in his attentions, and after ten minutes of this
exercise he pronounced himself satisfied with my condition. Breakfast
never tasted better than did that one, which Levau ate with me, and as
soon as I had swallowed it I was anxious to depart, for Richelieu’s
danger weighed heavily upon me, and I knew not how soon the regent
might take action. Cartouche’s flight from Paris had cut off all hope
of a rescue at the last moment, even had the scoundrel been inclined to
aid me, which was now exceeding doubtful, and whatever was to be done
must be done by me alone.
After a little demur Levau consented to my departure, provided I would
take his carriage and not attempt to walk. I agreed, of course, and was
surprised when he prepared to accompany me.
“Is it that I am under arrest?” I asked, an explanation for his
extreme attentiveness coming to me suddenly.
“Not at all, monsieur,” he answered, readily. “It is only that I have
sworn you shall recover and that my reputation is at stake. I am not
going to take any chance of failure.”
“I hope that some day I shall be able to repay you for your kindness,
monsieur,” I said, moved by the evident sincerity of the man. “At
present I am not able to do so, nor to more than thank the nurse to
whom you say I owe my life.”
“Think no more of it, M. de Brancas, I pray you,” he protested, with
his familiar gesture. “Let there be no talk of payment. Indeed, I have
already been more than paid by the persons who have taken an interest
in your case.”
“And who were they, monsieur?” I asked, with some surprise.
But he merely waved his hand again and led me down to the coach, which
was waiting. The drive across Paris, the fresh air of the morning,
and the sight of the busy city were to me like a tonic, and I felt my
strength returning with every moment. Levau looked at me with evident
satisfaction.
“You will do,” he said. “With that color in your cheeks I have no
longer any fear for the result.”
We soon reached the Hotel de Richelieu, and the joy of Jacques, who ran
down the steps to welcome me, was touching to see. He would have had me
carried into the house, but I would have none of it, and insisted on
walking in myself. Levau left me at the door, admonishing me to rest
as much as possible for a day or two, and to summon him if there were
any unfavorable symptoms. Jacques led the way to the room on the first
floor where I had so often dined. He arranged a chair for me, brought
me a glass of wine, set a stool under my feet, and would have kissed my
hand had I permitted it.
“There, there, Jacques,” I protested, as he asked me for the hundredth
time if there was anything else he could do for me. “I am not going to
die, my good friend. In a day or two I shall be well as ever and then
we will see what can be done for Richelieu.”
“I knew you would say that, monsieur!” he cried. “I have heard of your
wonderful exploit of the other evening. Who in Paris has not heard of
it? Nothing seems to stop you, monsieur, when once you get started.”
I thought to myself that the walls of the Bastille were likely to stop
me very effectually, but I did not want to damp his confidence, so I
merely smiled, and after a time he left me alone while he went to give
orders for dinner.
An hour passed, during which he looked in upon me once or twice, and I
was dozing before the fire when I heard the door open again. Supposing
it to be Jacques I did not turn, but in an instant I was startled by a
hand upon my shoulder.
“Richelieu!” I cried, springing from my chair, my weakness vanishing as
if by magic, and I caught his hand. “But what miracle is this? Have you
escaped, man, and in broad daylight? You must not remain here. Come, a
horse, and in an hour you will be safe.”
“Ah, do not fear, de Brancas!” he exclaimed, bitterly, dropping into
a chair as though utterly weary. “I am quite safe. I have no need to
leave Paris.”
I gazed at him a moment in amazement. Never had I seen that pleasant
face so wretched. His hair was disordered, his eyes bloodshot, his
clothing disarranged.
“What is it?” I asked, with a sudden fear at my heart. “What has
happened?”
“You do not know, then?” and he turned his eyes wearily towards me.
“On my honor, no.”
“It was the regent who released me,” and he paused as one pauses at the
brink of a chasm which must be crossed.
“The regent?” I was too astonished to say more.
“Yes, the regent. But he had his price. It was not out of kindness of
heart. It was because he knew that it was worse than death. Do you know
what his price was, de Brancas? I will tell you. His price was his
daughter. To save me Charlotte has agreed to marry the Duc de Modena.
The marriage takes place to-morrow morning at the Palais Royal, and she
sets out at once for Italy.”