THERE IS HOPE--TILL DAWN ON SUNDAY
And so he did, and with him came Monseigneur, though not so quickly but
I had time to lessen the disorder of my dress.
"Go thou upstairs and wait, boy," he said curtly; then, closing the
door, came forward with both hands outstretched, but in appeal rather
than welcome. "Mademoiselle de Narbonne! Mademoiselle de Narbonne!
What does this madness mean? Would you ruin us all?"
"Monsieur de Helville--what of him? Oh, Monseigneur, what has
happened?"
"De Helville!" and he drew in his breath with a prolonged hiss like a
man who receives a hurt. "I feared it, from the first I feared it;
poor de Helville! Mademoiselle, it is no fault of mine."
"Oh, Monseigneur!" I answered bitterly, for this excusing of himself
before he was blamed angered me, "when were you ever at fault; you who
are so clever, so cautious--of yourself! But what of Monsieur de
Helville? who is too honest to be clever at court, too single of heart
to think of himself. Is anything decided?"
For a moment he stood looking down upon me, his hard, keen eyes
piercing me through and through; never have I met a man with harder,
keener, bolder eyes than Monsieur de Commines. Then a softening pity
broke across his face.
"Mademoiselle de Narbonne, what is de Helville to you?" said he, but
with a gentleness, a commiseration, that took the offence out of the
blunt question.
"Everything, for I love him," I replied, trying hard not to sob. "Oh,
Monseigneur! cannot you see how this waiting tears my heart to pieces?"
"The King is implacable," he answered, "inexorable; there is no hope."
No hope! I could not speak, I could only put a hand to my throat and
fight for breath.
"On Monday Jan Meert was sent to Poictiers----"
"Oh, Monseigneur, I know that; come to to-day."
"But," he persisted, "at least you cannot know that after nightfall
yesterday Monsieur de Helville was arrested?"
"I saw it done, God help me, I saw it done."
"You, Mademoiselle? But it was at Poictiers!"
"At Poictiers," I echoed. "And all night I rode to catch your ear
first. But I failed, unhappy woman that I am, I failed."
"All night?" he said, throwing his arms up. "A girl like you? Oh,
poor child, poor child! We must try to save him yet."
"Is there time? Ah, Monseigneur, believe me, the worst truth is the
truest mercy. Is there possible time?"
"Till dawn on Sunday," he answered, and for a minute we looked into one
another's face in silence. What his thoughts were I do not know, but I
struggled hard to count the hours that lay before the breaking of that
dawn. But I could not; my brain was dumb of thought, and I could not.
At last I caught at the one word--Sunday! and over and over again I
said it as they say birds repeat a word when taught to speak. Sunday!
Sunday! Sunday! and with as little understanding as they.
"The King fixed the day. All through he has taken a marvellous
interest in this mission of de Helville's. I trust, Mademoiselle de
Narbonne, that you know I am ignorant of its purposes, entirely
ignorant?"
"Oh, Monseigneur!" answered I, "what do you or I matter? Or our
ignorance or our knowledge either? Tell me of--of--Gaspard."
Perhaps I spoke more sharply than was just, for his face hardened, and
his keen eyes grew stormy. But only for an instant, and it is much to
Monsieur de Commines' credit that he bore so temperately with the
captiousness of a petulant girl.
"I say the King was marvellously interested in de Helville's mission to
Navarre," he went on quietly. "I think he knew it was his last blow
for France, and that it should succeed was very near his heart. As
time passed without news from de Helville he grew impatient, fretful,
hotly passionate. For hours he would sit in the sunshine with not even
his dogs near him, sit staring into vacancy while he mumbled his
finger-tips like a dog a bone. Then in a flash, and for no cause, a
storm of rage would shake him to so violent a mood that not even
Coctier himself dared cross its course. Crooking his fingers he shook
them in the air, cursing whatever crossed his mind, his son Charles,
Rochfort, Navarre, de Helville, the Saints themselves, but chiefly
Navarre and de Helville. At last, three weeks ago, he wrote again.
What he said I do not know, though my seal closed the letter."
"I know," said I. "It was a truly Kingly warning, and of a noble
dignity. Go on, Monseigneur, if you please."
"Then--I was absent in Tours that day--there came a post from the
south, and for the first time I saw the depths of the King's rage.
Mademoiselle, I am his servant and his friend, and I cannot speak of
it. But the fierce mood was gone, and in its place there was an
ice-cold, hungry, unemotional hate; an itching, craving lust for de
Helville's death, infinitely more hopeless than the outbursts of his
boisterous anger."
"And yet he let the woman go free?"
Monsieur de Commines searched my face anxiously.
"You have heard of her?"
"From Monsieur de Helville, at Morsigny. Monsieur de Helville had
nothing to hide. How did your friend and master come to let the woman
go?"
"That was Francis of Paulo's doing. Louis would have--I do not know
what he would have done. But the friar stood over him, just these two
alone, and the King, falling back into one of his dour, silent moods,
gave way."
"Then there is hope yet!" I cried. "Surely surely, he will move the
King to mercy----"
But Monseigneur, holding up his hand, waved away the hope.
"He has tried already, tried time and again, and failed. He even
threatened to withhold absolution, and the King turned on him like a
beast rather than a man. 'Away with you! away! away!' he cried. 'Your
prayers were to prolong my life, and yet what am I? Is this--miserable
that I am!--is this all your prayer can wring out of the Lord God? If
you cannot save the lesser thing of the body, how can you damn the
greater soul? Curse, if you must curse, but this Hellewyl dies.'"
"And yet," said I dully, "he moved the King to spare the woman."
"Louis has his own code of law. By it de Helville's return absolved
the woman, and so in that case the monk prevailed. But no power can
move him for de Helville. I pled with him, knelt to him, almost wept;
prayed that if ever he owed me anything for all my eleven years of
labour to pay it now in this one man's life. His only answer was a
scoff, and that as I had betrayed Burgundy for pay eleven years ago, so
now I would betray France. 'It was you,' he added, 'who put this
milk-souled boor of a Fleming into my head, and by God! I have a mind
to hang you alongside him as a warning to all fools as well as rogues.'
Move him! Not Gabriel, not Michael, not the whole hierarchy of heaven
would move him. He cries it is but Justice--Justice, and de Helville
was arrested in Poictiers last night."
"I know, I know, but what came next?"
"At daybreak this morning the express reached Plessis, and by Louis'
orders the news was at once brought to him. I was with him at the
time; all night I have never left him. But when I would have spoken he
shook his finger at me, and laid his hand upon the collar with the
Cross of Saint Lo. 'Dawn on Sunday,' he whispered to Lesellè. He is
so weak, Mademoiselle, pitiably weak in the flesh, but the will and the
spirit are as strong as ever. 'Dawn on Sunday. That day the saints
draw nearer to us, and I would not kill the soul with the body. Hang
him at dawn, Lesellè.'"
"And this man is himself dying!" I cried.
"Dying, Mademoiselle?" said Commines. "Who said he was dying? I know
that even in Plessis there are those who waver, and would fly to
Charles if they dared; but--dying? No! no! It would be the ruin of
France."
"Oh, Monseigneur! what do I care for the ruin of France? Dawn on
Sunday! Gaspard! Gaspard! not two days! Monsieur de Commines, I must
see the King."
"The King? You?" he answered brusquely. "No, no; how could you see
him?"
"Your King is not so great but Suzanne de Narbonne might be received."
"I know, Mademoiselle, I know; but it is precisely because you are
Suzanne de Narbonne. Why destroy yourself? Your very name is fatal."
"Do you think, Monsieur, that if I were afraid for myself I would have
ridden from Poictiers last night? He need not know my name."
"But I dare not risk it," and again he shook his head.
"Risk what, Monseigneur? Risk me, yourself, or the King?"
"All three," he answered--"all three. You cannot understand."
"Then what you dare not I will dare. In spite of you, Monsieur de
Commines, I will force my way to the King, and if all three perish,
they perish."
For a moment he stood and stared angrily at me, then, as once before,
his face softened.
"Oh, you poor child! There are six separate guards, and you could not
pass the first of them."
"What! Not with that?" and I held the signet up towards him.
"That?" He bent forward uncomprehendingly. But a single glance was
enough, and as he understood, I saw him wince.
"The ring de Helville carried away? I remember now. When the King
asked for it I said I had given it to him that there might be no delay
on his return. He was so eager for news that he held me excused."
"Then you are beaten, Monseigneur?"
"Yes and No," he answered. "I will tell you the whole truth,
Mademoiselle. The King is too ill; this time I fear he is dying."
"And yet I shall see him. Monsieur de Helville is more to me than any
King living or dying."
"Mademoiselle, you force me to say more than is safe. Alas! it is you
who are beaten. You might as well cry to a log upon the bed. The King
is unconscious. Had that not been so, I could not have left him. The
express from Poictiers sapped his strength."
"The news of Gaspard's arrest? That is the finger of God, Monseigneur."
"Perhaps so," he answered moodily. "But remember, Mademoiselle de
Narbonne, in spite of all, he is my King and my friend."
There was a silence between us while I tried to tear a way out of the
net that bound me, then, in desperation, I cried out--
"Monsieur de Commines, you are a subtle, supple courtier-politician,
playing your own game through the hand of the King. Is all this true?"
"True, God so judge me," he replied solemnly. "But, Mademoiselle, I do
not say there is no hope; I believe the stupor will pass. I promise
you this, so soon as the King's brain is clear you shall see him. I
owe de Helville too much not to make the effort, and even though my
debt was less, your courage and your love would compel me."
At the time I thought that my holding the King's signet had much to do
with the compulsion, but I curbed my tongue. For the present I was
helpless, and the future was in the hands of his good-will. Therefore
I only said--
"I hold your promise, Monseigneur; on the faith of a Christian
gentleman?"
"You hold it, Mademoiselle," answered he, earnestly; "and now, while I
return to the King, you must eat, drink, and rest. Oh! not for your
own sake," he went on, as I shook my head in protest, "but for Monsieur
de Helville's. If you are to move the King at all, you must have
strength to command your every word and act, no matter under what
provocation."
The sound sense of that was plain, though I could see that Monseigneur
spoke more out of a perfunctoriness and kindness of heart rather than
any real expectation that I should have cause to put a tax upon my
powers. So, while he was absent, Blaise, his page, served me, and I
made it my steadfast duty to force down bite and sup, resting on a
couch as I ate. And, indeed, I was not only very weary, but in much
pain, though more of spirit than body. Think what the waiting in
inaction was to me, and judge if each minute did not creep through my
thought slowly, slowly, and yet searing as if it was red hot.