"IT IS THE FINGER OF GOD!"
How the hours of that day passed I cannot tell. They crawled, that was
when I sat listening for the footfall of the King's messenger who never
came; they flew, that was when I thought of Poictiers' market-place,
and what the dawn brought with it. But whether they crept or flew, I
was like one groping a way through a maze and forever being turned back.
Twice I tried the stables, but the gear, both bit and saddle, had been
hidden away; twice, too, I tried the gates, but was denied passage;
none might cross Plessis threshold, even outwards, without the King's
permission. Time after time I importuned the guards who kept the outer
door of the royal wing--I wept, I pled, I stormed. By turns I was many
things, Mademoiselle de Narbonne, Monsieur de Commines' friend and
guest, a broken-hearted, despairing woman; but tears, prayers, and
threats were alike useless.
So Saturday passed, and the sun went down on the last day of the week.
Through all these desperate hours of failure Blaise and his friend
Dâvidd Lesellè went wheresoever I went, and though powerless to help,
their dumb sympathy was a comfort. Now, in this growing dusk, they sat
with me in silence. I had ceased to weep. To me Gaspard was already
dead and I had no more tears. Crouched forward, I watched the western
glow fade through amber and palest green to the soft beginnings of the
night. Had the sun set in crimson or in cloud, I think I must have
shrieked at the omen, so tense and quivering was every nerve. But all
was peace, all was calm and tranquillity; and as the purple deepened,
deepened, deepened till the stars shone out luminously clear, something
of the quiet of nature fell upon my spirit. Then a door clapped
noisily, and up the staircase came a rush of feet.
"It is Monseigneur," said Blaise, rousing himself.
On the threshold, Monsieur de Commines stood peering into the darkness
of the room. To a sick heart night brings comfort as it brings counsel
to doubt, and so the lamps sat unlit in their sources.
"Who is here, and where is Mademoiselle de Narbonne?" he cried.
I, and I, and I, we answered, while I added:
"Oh, Monseigneur, is there hope?"
"God knows!" he said curtly. "Lesellè, dear lad, fetch a light.
Mademoiselle, can you ride boy-fashion?"
"Yes, yes; Monsieur de Commines, what has happened?"
"Blaise, you and she are about a size. Fetch her a riding suit, then
saddle Bay Zadok and Mesrour; quick, boy, quick!"
"But, Monseigneur----"
"One moment, Mademoiselle, here is Lesellè. Thanks, lad. Listen now.
You know the Poictiers road by Sainte Maure and Chatellerault?"
"Yes, Monseigneur."
"Even in the darkness?"
"Yes, Monseigneur."
"I have Sir John's leave to borrow you for to-night. It is a race for
life, boy, and there must be no mistakes."
"I understand, Monseigneur. When do we start?"
"In ten minutes: Blaise is saddling the horses. You are to convoy
Mademoiselle de Narbonne."
"Mademoiselle de Narbonne? To Poictiers, Monseigneur?"
"Yes, wait in the courtyard till she is ready. Have you supped?"
"No, Monseigneur."
"Then ride hungry, or eat as you go. Off with you now; ten minutes,
remember."
But when, catching him by the arm, I would have importuned him, he
motioned me to silence.
"One moment, Mademoiselle, one moment," he said testily, and as he
spoke Blaise returned, a pile of sober grey stuff on his arm. This
Monsieur de Commines snatched from him. "Now the horses, quickly, but
with no noise," and at last the door was shut.
"Monseigneur, what does this mean?"
"It means, Mademoiselle, that the King is dead."
"Dead? Louis--the King--dead? That hypocrite, that tyrant--dead? God
be thanked for His justice!"
"He was the greatest man in France," answered Monseigneur, with
something like a sob in his throat. "He was the greatest King France
ever knew. For eleven years he was my master and my friend--and he is
dead."
"God be thanked!" I repeated, for my heart was very sore and very hard;
how was it possible I could find pity for Louis of Valois? "If he was
the greatest man in France, he was also the worst."
"What he was is for God's judgment, Mademoiselle, and it is my belief
that Kings do not stand at the same bar as common men."
"But Gaspard? Monsieur de Commines, what of Gaspard?"
A shiver shook him as if he was chilly even in the August heat, but the
lines of sorrow softened on his face.
"Take heart, Mademoiselle. Please God, we shall save him yet, or at
least you shall."
"I? Oh, Monseigneur! God be thanked! God be thanked! But how? What
must I do?"
"The King's death forgives the King's debt, Mademoiselle."
"Ah! Did I not say it was His finger! But who shall tell them in
Poictiers, The King is dead?"
"You and Lesellè. Blaise is saddling the horses."
"Eight hours, and thirty leagues to ride?"
"Nearly nine, and not twenty-five, nor is there any spur like love."
"I rode for love's sake two days ago, and it cost me fourteen hours."
"You had but one horse, and lost your way. Young Lesellè knows the
road well, and yesterday I ordered relays to be ready at Sainte Maure
and Chatellerault."
"Lesellè? Why not Blaise?"
"Lesellè is one of the King's guard, and his uniform carries authority."
"Oh, Monseigneur!" and I caught him by the hand, kissing it, "you think
of everything."
"And what thought have you not taken?" he answered. "Now,
Mademoiselle, go into that inner room and dress; remember that to-night
you ride a race."
Men twit us with the slow niceness with which we women make ourselves
dainty to their eyes, and if we failed so to make ourselves dainty they
would twit us the more. But that night there was no dallying. I did
not wait so long as to untie my points, but slit them open with my
girdle dagger, and then thanked God that at Morsigny the daily dressing
of little Gaston taught me how to handle boys' clothing. What had
taken an hour with a lover's eyes to be met, was undone and done in
less time than the saddling of two horses. Tall and slim, my hair
coifed out of sight, under the twinkle of the starlight I made as
mannish a boy as Blaise himself.
Monseigneur was giving Dâvidd Lesellè his final instructions.
"There is a post to Paris--you can hear their horses stamping now in
the west court, and here, in good time, comes Blaise. Join these as if
you formed part of the escort. Old Sir John has given orders at the
gate, and no questions will be asked. Mount, Mademoiselle, take
Mesrour, his motion is the smoother. No, Blaise, no, you must stay
with me; God knows what will happen in Plessis to-night, and I may need
you for as desperate a crisis as Mademoiselle has to face. Once
outside the gate keep behind the troop, and at the river turn south,
saying nothing. Is your length of stirrup right, Mademoiselle? Then
mount, lad, and I'll talk as we go. Make straight for Sainte Maure;
the fords are low, and there is no depth of water to fear. Ride
through the village till you see an open door with a light set before
it; it burns by order of the King sent yesterday. There horses are
ready waiting, mount and ride on. In Chatellerault, at the _Corne
d'Abondance_ a second relay is waiting, good horses all and do not
spare them. Have you strength, Mademoiselle?"
"Please God," I answered.
I saw him nod his head as we rode on in silence, a subdued clatter of
life before us.
"At Poictiers," he went on slowly, but though he spoke to Lesellè his
eyes were fastened on mine, "I think I would ride straight for the
market-place. It was the King's order that--that--all should be as
public as possible, and the people warned to attend. Yes, the
market-place will be best; waste no time on the citadel, and ride in
haste, ride with authority, assume the very powers of the Crown itself,
and speak, if needs be, in Charles' name. Remember, that point once
reached, delay is life to Monsieur de Helville. Mademoiselle, say what
God and your heart bid you. Trust both, and have no fear. And now
here are the gates, and there the Paris post is waiting. Lesellè, I
think your uncle has held it back for us. He has a kindly heart, and
in three hours I have come to know him better than in the last as many
years. At times it takes the shock of death to bring men near to one
another. Mademoiselle, you are very safe with this lad, young as he
is. He is staunch, has a Scot's prudence, a Scot's long head, and a
Scot's shrewdness, I can say no more. Lesellè lad, you ride a race for
life."
"I understand, Monseigneur."
Few words, three only, and yet they gave me greater comfort than if he
had protested devotion for five minutes: the man to have faith in is
the man who says little but understands much.
"God bless you, Monseigneur!" I cried, stooping towards him as the
gates swung open.
"And keep you, Mademoiselle," he answered, and caught my hand in both
his. "From the House of Death to the House of Life; surely it is His
mercy and His will, but oh! what a cost to France!"
With that, as the watchman called nine o'clock from the walls, we rode
out into the night.