Meanwhile, the sounds that Emérance had heard in that next set of
rooms shut off by the wall from those which she occupied (while being
served outside by the same corridor running at right angles from the
main passage) had been made by Humphrey West in the room appropriated
to him.
For the Duchesse de Castellucchio besides being a timorous woman
in some things, although one bold enough in others, was by no means
sure whether--even now that she was in a free Swiss Canton and in a
city that claimed to be one of the most free and independent in
Europe--some steps might not be taken to seize upon her and drag her
back to France and into the clutches of her awe-inspiring husband. She
knew that, but a league or so off was the frontier of France, while
she did not know what the myrmidons of that powerful country might not
be able to do against a woman of her position who had fled from a
husband possessing the influence which her husband undoubtedly
possessed, maniac though he might be. And, not knowing what she
feared, she feared doubly. Italian-like, she was naturally
superstitious, while, at the same time, her mind was filled with wild
romances dealing with beautiful and unfortunate heroines shut up in
gloomy castles, or beset in strange inns and out-of-the-way places at
night and hidden in dungeons, or thrown into torrents and rivers not
unlike the rapid swirling river now rushing beneath, or almost
beneath, her windows.
Therefore, out of this large suite of rooms to which the landlord had
led her and her party, or some members of it--and it is certain it was
the largest and most expensive one now unoccupied!--she had selected
for herself the most interior of these rooms. For Jacquette she had
chosen the one next to hers on the right, with, right of that, a
room for La Truaumont, and, on the left of her room, the one at the
other end for Humphrey. Thus, when the outer main door was securely
fastened and her door fastened on the left side and Jacquette's on the
right--yet both easily to be opened if the assistance of either of her
attendant cavaliers was required--she felt secure. A cry would bring
Humphrey from the left or the captain from the right. Little harm
could come to her.
On this night of their arrival all sought their beds, or rather their
rooms, as soon as they had refreshed themselves after a journey that
had been a long one, they having set out earlier from Remiremont than
the Marquise de Villiers-Bordéville had done from Luxeuil and, as has
been seen, had arrived later. All sought their rooms, that is to say
except La Truaumont, who, on bidding the Duchess and Jacquette
"good-night," had descended to the great general room with a view to
seeing that not only were Fleur de Mai and Boisfleury well disposed
of, but also that the soldiers of the Duc de Lorraine had been
properly housed.
That this was so he had little cause to doubt on reaching the general
room. The former worthy was busily engaged in making a hearty supper
well washed down with wine, his comrade was keeping him good company,
and the soldiers were eating and drinking with a Teutonic attention to
what was set before them which plainly showed that they had no
intention of going to bed hungry.
"_O-hé!_ noble captain and leader of all the band," cried Fleur de
Mai, as he espied La Truaumont coming down the room; "here you find us
doing justice to the fare of these worthy Switzers. _Me confound!_ if
t'were not composed so much of veal--for 'tis veal in the _ragoût_,
veal for the _grosse-pièce_, veal in the _potage_, and, I do think,
veal it will be in the next dish--there would be nought to complain
of. Then, too, the wine never grew on any slope of sunny France. Yet
it, also, will pass. 'Tis red, 'tis strong and----"
"It will make you drowsy. That is enough for you. Besides, it costs
you nothing. You should be content. Now listen. We rest here for some
days----"
"A month if need be!" cried Fleur de Mai, plunging his knife into a
fillet of veal. "By which time the calves may have turned into beef
and the wine have become more mellow."
"Think not so much of thy gourmandising. Meanwhile, attend. Beware how
you comport yourself here. This city is given up to good works.
Erasmus reformed it ere he died. If you look at a pretty girl
here----"
"They mostly look at me," muttered the swashbuckler, his mouth full.
"--or speak to her, or whisper in a Switzer's wife's ear or sing one
of thy ribald ditties, you are as like to be imprisoned, or burnt, as
not. Therefore, when you walk abroad to-morrow be careful. For if you
get laid by the heels we shall not stop to haul you up again, but
shall go on. At least the Duchess will," La Truaumont added, altering
his statement somewhat. "And, even though you may eventually die in
prison, it had best not be a Swiss one for you."
"One prison," said Boisfleury who had not hitherto spoken, he being
engaged on a huge veal pasty, "is as good as another to die in."
"Ay," replied Fleur de Mai. "To die in--yes. But to live in till you
die--_nenni!_ For some prisons there are I know of--or should say,
have heard of--where you may feed fat and drink too----"
"Peace," said La Truaumont. "And so, good-night. Disturb not the house
with your ribaldries when you have drunk still deeper, nor with any
brawlings with those Lorrainers over there. Keep your swords in your
sheaths. There is no use for them here. Good-night," he said again,
"we have ridden far to-day and I am tired. Here is for bed."
Yet, had there been any to watch his movements--which there were not,
since the _faquins_ and the _chambrières_ had long since sought their
own beds, while the landlord and his spouse sat below in their parlour
discussing the good fortune that had this day fallen on their house in
the shape of two such arrivals as the Duchesse and the Marquise--the
watchers might have thought he took a strange way to reach the room
allotted to him. For that room was at the farther end of the corridor
which ran to the right of the stairs, while he, stopping at the
immediate head of the stairs, knocked at the door directly in front of
him, after casting a glance above and below and all around. Very
gently he knocked, tapping as lightly as was possible with the knuckle
of his forefinger, yet the summons was enough to bring a response.
A step and the swish of a long robe were heard upon the carpet
within--the carpet which had so revolted the taste of Emérance some
hour or two before--then the bolt was shot back gently--drawn back
softly, not pushed or dragged--and the woman peered out through the
door that she opened a few inches.
"So," she said, "it is you. Is there any one about?"
"No living soul."
"Come in, then," and now she opened the salon door wide enough to give
admission to him and closed it again, and, softly as before, pushed
the bolt back into its place.
When La Truaumont had kissed the hand she held out to him and she had
motioned him to a chair in front of the now almost extinct fire, she
said: "What of him? How did you leave him? And is he still in Paris?"
Imitating the woman's own low tones, which it was natural enough she
should assume when receiving a man in her salon in an inn at nearly
midnight, La Truaumont said, "He is well. I left him so. And he is
still in Paris. Lou--Emérance," he continued, with a laugh, though a
low one, "are you happy now?"
"Yes. Almost happy."
"You should be. But you may yet pay a dear price for your happiness."
"Bah!"
"You do not fear what failure, treachery, betrayal, may bring to him
and you and me and all of us? You do not fear what may be ahead of
us?"
"I fear nothing on this earth nor in the world beyond, so that he
trusts me. I longed to serve him since first I saw him ride at the
head of his guards before the King."
"And now you are happy?" La Truaumont asked again.
"Now I am almost happy."
"I rejoice to know it." After which, changing the subject, he said:
"Affinius is on his way here. But this you know. He may arrive at any
moment. Then also, at any moment, the time for action will begin."
"I deemed as much. Well! what are the plans?"
"I go to Normandy. You to Paris."
"Ah! 'Tis there I would be. Ah! the happy day. But--you! To Normandy?
What then of----" with a scornful, bitter intonation, "Madame la
Duchesse!"
"She sets out for Geneva and thence across the St. Bernard,
accompanied by Mademoiselle d'Angelis and Humphrey West, there to meet
her sister. With her go Fleur de Mai and Boisfleury. Brutes, without
doubt! yet savage, ferocious ones. Good swordsmen both and reckless. I
am not wanted here and I am wanted there" nodding his head in the
direction where he supposed--or perhaps, knew--Normandy might happen
to be.
"What is Affinius to tell us?"
"Everything he dared not write in his letter to De Beaurepaire. The
remaining money that Spain puts at our disposal, the hour when the
Dutch fleet will attack, which is again to be made known by an
arranged piece of false news on the subject of the King's creation of
two more new marshals. The time when the Norman gentlemen are to rise
and also be ready to admit the Dutch and Spanish to Quillebeuf."
"And he? De Beaurepaire?"
"_Sangdieu!_ he is then to declare himself. Our old Norman aristocracy
will accept a man of high lineage as their leader. Louise----"
"Ha! What? Hsh."
"I should say, Emérance. The man you admire may rise even higher yet
than the proud position of a De Beaurepaire. He may become, if all
goes well, the head of a Republic greater than that of Holland, which
follows Spain in her attempts to help us because she must; a Republic
a hundred times greater than this little thing wherein we now are. Or
he may become a----"
"What?"--the eyes of Emérance sparkling with excitement.
"He may become a king."
"Never. He, a king! A member of that great family which has for its
proud motto, '_Après le Roi--moi!_' Never!"
"They said it, they took that motto," La Truaumont whispered, while
smiling cynically, "when there was no chance, no likelihood of their
ever reaching so dizzy a height as that of king. Let us see what this
member of their house will say if that glittering bauble, a crown, is
held out for him to snatch at."
"A king," Emérance said again. "A king!" she whispered, "of France.
Oh! it is impossible."
Nevertheless, as she so thought and spoke her heart was beating
tumultuously within her, her brain was on fire at the very imagining
of such a thing as La Truaumont had conjured up. To see him--him, her
love, her master!--a king.
"But, ah!" she murmured to herself, as she still sat in front of the
now almost extinct logs on the hearth, while La Truaumont watched her
out of the corners of his eyes, "it is a dream. A dream that he should
be a king or ever any more than, if all goes well, the ruler of a
province, our province. A dream, too, that may have a rude awakening.
What was it he said to me ere I left Paris? That, if he failed, the
cross roads outside some town, a gallows outside the Bastille, would
more likely be his portion. Ah! well, so be it. Throne or gibbet,
whichever you reach, Louis de Beaurepaire, I shall not be far away. If
the throne, then I shall be near you though ever in the dark
background; if the gibbet, by your side. That may be best."
"Come," she cried, springing to her feet as she heard the cathedral
clock strike twelve; as, too, she saw the last spark of the last log
go out. "See the fire is dead and it is late. Leave me now and go
quietly. To-morrow we will talk more on this."
"To-morrow Van den Enden should be here."
"That is well. Now go," while, opening the door and looking out to see
that all was quiet in passages and corridors, she sent La Truaumont
away and softly pushed the bolt back into its place.