A ROSE OF PROMISE
Next morning it was easy to find an excuse for taking Martin with us:
Ninus needed exercise; it might be necessary to send a messenger to
Monsieur de Commines--any tale was sufficient. Of the little Count's
willingness to ride so far there never was a question. Had I said to
him: Monsieur Gaston, let us ride to Plessis; he would have answered:
At what time shall I order the horses, Monsieur Gaspard?
To avoid the great heat of the day, and that at the first we might
spare our horses, we left Morsigny early. How far or how fast we might
have to travel beyond La Voulle I could not tell. It was there the
King's letter was to be opened, and where it bade us ride, however
great the distance, there ride we must.
Naturally of this second reason Mademoiselle knew nothing as she set us
on our way. At first she walked beside Gaston's pony, the fingers of
one hand twisted in its mane. The sleeve of her linen bodice had
slipped back to the elbow, leaving the arm bare and whiter than marble
against the dark hide of the shaggy beast. Riding behind, I saw that
though the boy in his eager excitement was full of childish words, she
answered nothing to his many questions, and at the last her farewell
was brief.
"Kiss me, my heart," she said, looking up suddenly.
Without checking his pony, Gaston stooped aside, and as their lips met,
she clipped him in her arms.
"Ah, Suzanne! you will have me down!" he cried petulantly, and
loosening her clasp, she loitered back to where I followed.
"Monsieur," she began, laying her hand on my bridle hand, but with so
much unconsciousness in the act that I could no more have covered it
with my right than I could have covered a man's, "you will remember how
anxious I am, and how hard it is to wait? It is always worse for us
women than for you. You act, you men; you work, you forget yourselves
in danger, lose yourselves in the thing to be done; while we can but
wait at home and hope and--yes, thank God, we can always pray. Ah,
Monsieur, how I shall pray until you return!"
"Was Paris waiting?"
"That was once in a lifetime, and was easier than this. You will
remember?"
"Oh! be sure I shall remember; my fear is lest you forget."
"I, Monsieur? Forget what?"
"Gaspard Hellewyl; when there is no more need for him, and Gaspard
Hellewyl is--elsewhere. Will you remember then, Mademoiselle Suzanne?"
For the first time that morning a little pucker of a smile caught up
the corners of her mouth, and her eyes lightened; nor, I remembered
afterwards, did she lift her hand from where it rested, though her
fingers shook; neither, let me say, was there any pressure; no, not the
faintest.
"Oh, Monsieur! be sure I shall remember Paris."
"Mademoiselle, what do I care for Paris?"
"Tours, then, and how eager you were to kill a man--only there was none
to kill."
"No, nor Tours either."
"The Grey Leap? Ah, Monsieur! surely you do not think I can ever
forget the Grey Leap?"
"Not even the Grey Leap; I said Gaspard Hellewyl."
The smile deepened a little. With downcast eyes and hands now clasped
demurely before her, she dropped back a pace.
"Now, Monsieur, it is you who forget. You forget you are a great
gentleman of Flanders, the friend of the Prince de Talmont, the envoy
of the King of France; you forget you are Monsieur Gaspard de Helville!
the bearer of a great name--did we not agree that it was a great name?
While I---- You will bring Gaston safe home to his nurse, will you
not, Monsieur de Helville?"
She spoke so softly, with such a hesitating depreciation, that I could
not tell if it was in raillery or in earnest, but it seemed to me that
the glance flashed into my eyes at the last was not all mischief, "You
are--Mademoiselle Suzanne. I dare not trust myself to say what more
you are, but God be thanked for you. My prayer is that some day I may
speak plainer, to-day I must not. As I sit here I am a poor gentleman
of Flanders, so poor that I have not even a roof to offer the woman I
would dare to love as wife. But it is my hope this peace to Navarre
may change all that, may roof over Solignac and give me enough of my
father's lands to make that wife, not a great lady of Flanders, but the
happiest, the most reverenced, the best beloved. It is in that hope I
ride to-day to--to--La Voulle, to end that which is begun; and but for
that hope, I swear to you I would never call Louis King even by
service. Ah, Mademoiselle Suzanne, Mademoiselle Suzanne! trust me, I
pray; not a little, but trust me much until I dare to ask to be trusted
all in all. God keep you, Mademoiselle."
"God keep you, Monsieur," she answered softly, again raising her
drooped eyes, and this time there was no mockery in them, not even
mischief--a wistfulness rather, a pathos almost the beginning of tears.
"Believe me, I truly trust you. Once already I have said I have ever
found you the truest gentleman, and, Monsieur, I do not see any reason
to change, nor, I am sure, will you give me reason."
"Then, adieu, Mademoiselle!"
"No, no; adieu is a long word! But, lest you should forget me in La
Voulle, keep that to remind you of--Morsigny!"
Reaching up, she dropped a half-blown rose on the saddle before me,
gave Roland two or three little dainty pats on the neck, then, before I
could take her hand, she stepped aside between the whins, now no longer
in their glory of gold, and so left me.
Perhaps it was best so. The witchery of that last upward glance had so
moved me, tingling every nerve to the finger-tips, that had I once
touched her hand as man to maid, I must have blurted out more than was
wise or even honourable in one who had work to do for Louis of France.
But if that sweet folly was denied me, the rose at my lips and her last
clear look, so grave, so shy, so almost tender, set my heart dancing;
and slow as was our ride to La Voulle, the little Count had no cause to
complain of my gaiety.
Had I dared, I would have avoided not only The Good Queen inn, but La
Voulle itself. But balanced against the risk of interference from the
townsfolk was that of disobedience to the King's orders, and of the two
I feared the wrath of Louis more than all La Voulle howling beyond the
door. If he said, Return to the inn, he had his reasons, and the man
who dared question them was a fool to his own hurt.
Riding up to the door, with its swinging, half-effaced sign of I do not
know what Queen of Navarre's portrait, I enquired boldly for Brother
Paulus. Boldness was our safety, and for that day, unknown to himself,
Brother Paulus was to guarantee our good faith. If the person of the
little Count was well known in La Voulle, so was that of the chaplain
to Morsigny, and my plan was to ride out with the priest in company as
if we returned home by the shortest way. It was all so simple, so
natural, who would raise a question? Once clear of the town I would
give Paul a letter to Mademoiselle, and, with or without his consent,
seize Gaston and gallop for the King's tryst. Let that be where it
might, Louis could be trusted to have smoothed the road for us.
"Brother Paulus?"
"Certainly, Monsieur. He arrived from Pau late last night, and being
tired, keeps his room."
"Good! Monsieur le Comte and I will go to him. Do you see to the
horses, Martin, and come up for instructions in an hour, for I think we
shall leave early. Tell me," I went on, to the servant who led the
way, "is Volran in the house? Yes? Then let him know that the Count
de Foix and Monsieur de Helville dine here to-day."
So far Martin had not been taken into my confidence, but I calculated
that in the time named I should have read the King's letter and so be
in a position to arrange our plans. In the carrying out of these
Martin's cunning and experience would help me. Volran too, who might
have later orders for us, would be warned by our presence.
As I spoke, a door facing the stair-head opened, and Brother Paul in
his black frock appeared on the landing.
"Ah! my two sons, is it you? Whose kind thought was it that you should
come so far to meet so poor and lonely an old man? Mademoiselle
Suzanne's?"
"No, it was my Monsieur Gaspard's," shouted little Gaston, rushing
forward, and flinging his arms round the monk's knees. "Isn't Monsieur
Gaspard good to me, _mon père_?"
"But better still to me, _petit fils_. We please ourselves in pleasing
the young, but few give a thought to please the old, and yet there are
times when the old sadly need comforting." Reaching out above the
little lad's head he caught my hand in his and held it. "In a good day
for us he came to Navarre; we must try and keep our Monsieur Gaspard,
we two."
"He shall marry Suzanne, _mon père_, and when I am Count de Narbonne I
shall give him an estate."
"Not Suzanne, I think," answered Brother Paul, looking me smilingly in
the face as one who would say, Be tolerant to his ignorance. "I do not
think that would do, but we shall find some one else."
"And while you are looking for her," said I laughing, "I shall go and
see that there is dinner enough, lest I starve while I wait."
Not Suzanne! said Brother Paulus, and how well I understood the
significance of his indulgent smile. Gentle as a Saint John, tolerant
as a Saint Francis, he was aristocrat to his finger-tips. A Hellewyl
of Solignac marry Gaston de Foix's nurse! No wonder he smiled and
said, Not Suzanne! It was all of a piece with the generous little
lad's foolish talk of granting estates. A Hellewyl of Solignac would
naturally be courteous to one in Suzanne's position, but more than
courteous, no! and it was with a sudden flush of discomfort that I
remembered Brigitta, and what Martin had called the philandering under
the beech trees. Thank God there had been no thought of philandering
with Suzanne D'Orfeuil.