WHERE HONOR WINS
I pressed more closely into my corner and held my breath in suspense,
fearing lest even the beating of my heart would betray my presence.
The new-comer paused for a moment to set down the lantern, and in that
moment the voice of Richelieu penetrated to the closet.
“You are surprised to see me, Charlotte?” he was saying. “Did you think
for an instant that I would permit you to be delivered to this fate
which has been prepared for you?”
“Oh, M. le Duc!” cried the voice of the princess, broken by sobs, “I
do but save you from one danger to find you braving another. You do
not comprehend my father’s hatred. Go, I beseech you, before it is too
late.”
“Yes, I shall go in a moment, Charlotte,” answered Richelieu, in a
milder tone, “and you are going with me. At the back of the gardens
there is a carriage waiting, with four of the fastest horses in the
kingdom. In an hour we shall be far from Paris. Another day will find
us safe in the Netherlands and free to live our lives together.”
There was a moment’s silence, and I could hear the deep, agitated
breathing of the person who stood beside me. My hands began to
tremble under the strain, and I clasped them behind me to keep them
still. An increasing giddiness reminded me of my wound. The closet
was insufferably close, and my face grew wet with perspiration as I
realized my weakness.
“And whose plan is this?” asked Mlle. de Valois, at last.
“Can you not guess?” cried Richelieu. “It could be only one man,--the
one who found a way out of the Bastille,--who has stood between me and
danger a dozen times,--who even at this moment is awaiting me in the
closet there.”
I crouched for a spring, expecting an instant attack from my companion
in the closet, and determined to throttle him at any cost before an
alarm could be given. Even as I steeled myself for the struggle I heard
a startled exclamation at my side.
“Are you indeed here, M. de Brancas?” whispered a sweet voice.
“Louise, oh, Louise! is it you?” I cried, forgetting caution in the joy
and great reaction of this discovery, and I stretched out my arms and
drew her to me. “I was just about to spring upon you to prevent your
escape,” I added, laughing out of the sheer rapture of my heart.
She did not resist my arms, but, with a long sigh, laid her head upon
my breast. My blood was surging in my ears as I stooped and kissed her
hair, and I felt that she was sobbing.
“What is it, my love?” I whispered.
“Oh, do you not know?” she sobbed. “Surely you have heard of the
wedding to-morrow?”
“Yes,” I answered, “but that wedding will never take place. By
to-morrow Richelieu and Mlle. de Valois will be far from here, speeding
towards the north of France.”
“I wish so with all my heart,” and Louise drew back a little, “but it
will never be, M. de Brancas.”
“What! never be?” I cried. “But I tell you that everything is prepared,
that all that remains to be done is for them to descend, enter the
carriage, and give the word to the driver.”
“And that is just what Charlotte d’Orleans will never do,” and though
her voice was sad, it had a certain pride and dignity.
I was too astonished to reply.
“M. de Brancas,” she continued, “I know her better than do you, far
better even than Richelieu. A woman has her ideals no less than a man.
But listen, she herself is telling him.”
In the tumult of my own emotion I had no longer heeded what was
happening in the outer room, but at this moment I heard Richelieu’s
voice raised in impatient protest.
“What do you say, mademoiselle,” he cried, “that you will not go with
me? And why, may I ask? Is it that you no longer love me?”
“M. le Duc,” answered the clear voice of the princess, who seemed to
have recovered her composure, “it appears to me that it can no longer
be a question of my love, since to save your head I have agreed to this
hateful marriage. The reason is, monsieur, that I have given my word to
my father, and I do not choose to break it. He might have distrusted
me; he might have insisted that this marriage take place before you
were released, and I should have consented without an instant’s
hesitation, because I should have known that he would keep faith
with me. But he chose to trust me; you were free again an hour after
I had given my word. It is to his generosity you owe your presence
here to-night, monsieur. My sacrifice may be the greater, but I do not
choose to fall below my father.”
Richelieu remained for a moment speechless. I felt the tears starting
to my eyes.
“That is grand; that is noble,” I murmured.
Louise answered by a pressure of the hand, and I knew that she also was
affected no less than I.
It was Richelieu who broke the silence.
“Give me a moment for thought, mademoiselle,” he said, and we heard him
pacing up and down the room.
As for me, I felt a great reverence for this woman spring to life in my
heart. As I had told Madame du Maine, a woman may do anything but break
her word; no woman can do that with honor, no more than any man, and
my heart trembled with emotion as I heard the princess take the same
high ground,--with her so far above anything of which I had conceived.
I prayed that Richelieu might not fall below her. Louise was crying
softly.
“Charlotte,” said Richelieu, at last, “you are tearing my heart to
pieces, and yet I would not have you other than you are. I was a fool
to think you would consent. But,” he continued, in a clearer voice, “I
have given no promise, my honor is not engaged. I have already refused
to accept this sacrifice. What is there to prevent my taking you up in
my arms, opening the door of yonder closet, and with de Brancas at my
back running with you to the carriage and starting for the frontier?”
Again there was a moment’s silence.
“Ah, no, no!” she cried, at last. “Do not tempt me further, Louis. What
I am doing is for my own honor and for France. My father has told me
that France demands it,--that it will strengthen his empire. If you
knew how hard it is--how I turn with loathing from the task I have to
do--you would not seek to make it harder.”
“De Brancas,” called Richelieu, “come here, my friend.”
I flung the door open and stepped into the room. Mlle. de Valois
was half sitting, half lying in a large chair, her face white with
suffering, her eyes luminous with a great glory. Richelieu himself was
scarcely less affected. He glanced at Louise, who had come from the
closet with me and who was kneeling at the side of the princess.
“Good!” he exclaimed. “I am glad to see that you are here, Mlle.
Dacour. Charlotte will need a companion. Will you not accompany her?”
“I had intended doing so, M. le Duc,” answered Louise, gently, “whether
she went north or south.”
“That is well,” and Richelieu bowed to her with that courtly grace
which so well became him. “M. de Brancas and myself had already
considered this contingency and he is to join us at Brussels in a
week’s time.”
I glanced at Louise to see how she received this announcement, but
seemingly she had not heard it.
“And now, de Brancas,” continued the duke, turning to me, “we must make
haste. We have already remained here much too long.”
“True,” I answered. “It is your purpose, then, to forcibly carry away
Mlle. de Valois?”
“Since she refuses to accompany me, yes,” and Richelieu looked me in
the eyes. “Have you any other course to advise, my friend?”
I paused irresolute, glancing from one to the other. I could not choose
but speak, whatever the cost might be.
“If love were the only thing; if there were not heights of honor before
which love must bow,” I said, at last, and paused again. I could not go
on. Let these two hearts settle the future for themselves. “M. le Duc,”
I said, in a firmer voice, “it is not for me to give advice. I will do
whatever you command.”
Again Richelieu walked the length of the room, his twitching face
telling of the conflict raging in his breast. I went to the window
and gazed out upon the night. Louise was sobbing. Only the princess
remained composed. I pray heaven that my heart may never again be torn
as it was in that moment.
“M. le Duc,” she said, in the same calm tone she had used before,
“listen to the voice of your friend and to my voice, which, I am sure,
finds an answering chord in your heart. If love were the only thing
I would go with you gladly, but honor must ever outweigh love in the
hearts of all true gentlemen. Tell me, Louis, I have not been deceived
in you,--that you merit honor no less than love.”
Richelieu threw himself at her feet with a sob and caught her hand. I
knew he had won the battle.
“Forgive me, Charlotte,” he whispered, in a choking voice; “I have
played the coward, not the man. Let it be as you say, your honor and
mine before all else.”
And at these words my heart went out to him, and I knew that these
two loved each other with a love in which there was no taint of
selfishness. Years, perhaps, would dull the sting of the wound, but for
them, as for me, life would hold few sweeter memories than that of this
sacred moment. I could not trust myself to turn from the window. The
lights without were blurred with my tears and in my heart was a great
tenderness.
The princess was the strongest of us all.
“You must go, my friend,” she said, at last. “My friend I shall always
deem you,--my nearest and dearest friend,--who stood true to me in
the bitterest hour of my life. Look up,--here, in my eyes. Do you see
any sorrow there? Sorrow there may have been,--sorrow there may be
again,--but now it is swallowed up by joy and pride in you.”
I turned to look at them. It must have been with faces so transfigured
that martyrs went to the stake,--yea, Christ to His cross.
Her arms were around his neck, and she bent her head and kissed him.
“It is the last,” she said,--“the last I shall willingly give,” and she
gently loosed his hands, arose, and stood from him.
“We, also, must say good-by,” said a low voice at my elbow, and I
turned with a start to see Louise standing there.
“You, too, are going?” I cried, with a great fear at my heart.
“Yes, it is settled,” and she was looking into my eyes. “My place is
at her side. But my sacrifice, my friend, is much less than hers. I am
leaving, perhaps, people whom I love, but there is no abyss at the end
of the path such as yawns before Charlotte.”
“No,” I answered, “no,” but I could say no more.
“And believe me, M. de Brancas,” she continued, placing both her hands
in mine, “nothing that you have ever done--not even that bandage about
your head which tells of a wound so nobly won--has pleased me as did
the words you said to Richelieu. I read your heart, and I saw nothing
there but loyalty and truth.”
I gazed into her eyes, which she did not seek to turn from mine,
trembling in every limb,--trembling too much to speak.
“You may kiss me,” she whispered, and I bent and kissed her on the
lips. “Now go, and let that be your accolade for the knightly spirit
you have shown to-night. Oh, do not seek to hide the tears. I could not
love a man who had not a tender heart.”
She pushed me gently from her. I turned to find that Richelieu had also
risen and was waiting.
“Come, my friend,” he said, “let us go,” but he did not take his eyes
from the princess, who was standing, pale, lovely, with the air of a
general who has fallen mortally wounded at the moment of victory.
I went to her and knelt as at a shrine.
“Mademoiselle,” I said, “I cannot hope to tell you how great a
reverence you have inspired in my heart to-night, but I trust that if
you are ever in need of a sword and a loyal heart you will remember
me. I can think of no greater honor than that of serving you.”
“I shall remember, M. de Brancas,” she answered, smiling down upon me
and giving me her hand. “I know you for a brave gentleman and faithful
friend. I shall not soon forget it.”
I kissed her hand and stood erect once more. Plainly it was time to
go, and with a last glance at my love, I laid my hand on Richelieu’s
arm and drew him towards the closet. He yielded without a word. Only
when the door had closed behind us did he falter, but I pressed him on,
down the spiral staircase, along the little hall, and through the outer
door. He started as it clicked shut behind us and leaned against the
wall.
“Oh, I can go no farther, de Brancas!” he exclaimed. “Think to what
fate I am abandoning her. She may be brave now, perhaps, but what of
the days and the years that are yet to come?”
“It is as she would wish,” I answered, gently. “Come, we must not
remain here.”
I led him to the low wall, which we climbed a second time, along
the avenue of chestnuts and to the street beyond. The carriage was
awaiting us. I called the driver.
“You will return to the Hotel de Richelieu,” I said, and entered after
the duke.
The way seemed interminably long, nor did I venture to offer any
further sympathy to the stricken man in the other corner. My own heart
was sore enough, not only with his sorrow but with my own.
Jacques met us at the steps. One glance at his master’s face told him
the story.
“You will drive to the stables,” he said to the coachman. “I will soon
join you there,” and he followed us within and shut the door.
Richelieu paused a moment on the stairs.
“I will go to my room, de Brancas,” he said, in a weary voice. “I wish
to be alone, my friend,” and he went on up the stairs. I watched him
until he disappeared from sight, and then turned into a room on the
lower floor.
“Send him up a bottle of wine, Jacques,” I said. “He needs it now as he
never did before in his life.”
“He has lost, then, M. de Brancas?”
I glanced at his honest face.
“Yes, he has lost in a way,” I answered. “But he has also won a great
victory, my friend.”
“He had not the air of a victor, monsieur.”
“Ah, Jacques,” and I smiled rather grimly, “there are some victories
which cost the victor more than the vanquished. This was one of that
kind. But they are victories just the same, Jacques, though men,
sometimes, do not so consider them.”
I turned to the fire and sat down before it. This, then, was the end.
And was it the end, also, of my love for Louise Dacour? When should I
see her? What did the future hold for us? I gazed into the depths of
the glowing embers and saw again her sweet face looking up at me, her
eyes on mine, and I knew that come what might that vision would never
leave me. The clock chimed midnight, and as I started bedward, I heard
Richelieu walking back and forth in the room overhead. And a great
wave of pity for him swept over me as I thought of the battle he was
fighting and the ordeal he had yet to face.