During the whole of that day, Humphrey, in spite of an extreme desire
to see something of the woman who inhabited that salon on the left of
his bedroom, found no opportunity of setting eyes on her. He was
obliged, as part of the duty he had voluntarily undertaken out of his
love for Jacquette, to pass half a dozen times in the course of the
morning, and equally as often in the course of the afternoon, between
his room and the salon of the Duchesse de Castellucchio, and on each
occasion he hoped to catch some sight of Emérance in the corridor. But
this was denied him.
Something, however, he was enabled to discover.
Outside the room beyond the salon which this, to him, unknown woman
occupied, there stood one of those valises, or travelling trunks, so
common in the days not only of Le Roi Soleil and his predecessors but
also of his successors: a squat, square thing made of black pigskin
and contrived so that it would fit into the boot or rumble of a
carriage, or, possibly, if the journey was being made on horseback,
could easily be strapped on the horse's back in front of the saddle.
On this there, also, stood a second box of exactly the same size; the
pair of them--outside the casket or small _coffre-fort_ that all women
of means carried with them in the carriage, and that generally
contained their valuables and the few implements of their toilet with
which they burdened themselves--providing as much luggage as any one
under the rank of a _grand seigneur_ or _grande dame_, accompanied by
many servants, was ever in the habit of transporting. The boxes in
question were quite new and fresh, while the polish on the black
pigskin gleamed so brightly that no doubt could be left in the mind of
those who observed them that they had but recently come from the
trunk-maker's. And, gleaming brightly on their fronts, beneath their
padlocks, were some words and letters painted roughly in white; the
words and letters, "Mme. la M. de Villiers-Bordéville."
"So," said Humphrey, musing to himself after he had walked softly
along the passage to where the boxes stood, "she is Madame la Marquise
de Villiers-Bordéville. The fair conspirator who plots and intrigues
with De Beaurepaire, or with his followers unknown to him; the woman
who will inveigle him into a conspiracy against, _Grand Dieu!_ the
King and his throne. The woman who knows that old man who leered and
winked at her as he descended from the French coach. Madame la
Marquise de Villiers-Bordéville! Well! well! It may hap that the
Duchess, or Jacquette, knows something of the lady."
As thus the young man mused there came along the passage from the head
of the stairs, which latter she had evidently just ascended, a woman
attired as a maidservant and having in her hands some freshly cleaned
breast lace. A good-looking, though saucy-looking, wench, who, after
quickly observing that Humphrey had been reading the name on the
boxes, allowed her eyes to roam with undisguised admiration over his
handsome face, stalwart figure and well-made travelling costume. Then,
with a coquettish glance, she was about to pass on to the farther room
when, suddenly, she turned and, following Humphrey who by now was at
the head of the stairs, she said:--
"Monsieur, Monsieur," while, as Humphrey stopped to look at her, she
continued, "Monsieur is of the following of Madame la Duchesse who is
in the great apartment. Is it not so?"
"It is so, pretty one," said Humphrey, who considered that, since this
was undoubtedly the maid of the Marquise, a few pleasant words would
probably not be wasted. "What then, mademoiselle?"
"There is a brigand of your band," the girl said, smiling with a
pleased expression at being called "pretty one" and with a flattered
expression at being addressed as "mademoiselle," "oh! a desperado, a
vagabond. A man with a great moustache and fierce eyes and a huge
sword, who is impertinent. Oh! of the most impertinent."
"'Tis Fleur de Mai," said Humphrey. "Of a surety it is. Well! is he
insolent enough to presume to admire mademoiselle?"
"He is. Ah! _Un luron_. And--Fleur de Mai! _Dieu des dieux!_ What a
name for such as that. Monsieur, I seek not his admiration. Nor any
man's."
"Yet," said Humphrey, gazing into the girl's eyes, which gaze she told
herself afterwards gave her a _frisson_, "who could help but admire. I
blame not Fleur de Mai. _Ma foi_, I, too----"
"Oh! monsieur----"
"--should be tempted to admire if we met often. Yet alas! that cannot
be. We set out for Italy in a day or so, while Madame la Marquise
goes, I do fear me, another way. Is it not so, _ma mie?_" venturing on
the _ma mie_ as a further aid towards the information which he was
cunningly feeling his way towards obtaining, if possible, by flattery
no matter how gross.
"Ah, monsieur!" the frivolous girl exclaimed, her head whirling at the
soft words and lightsome manner of this handsome gentleman. "I know
not. I am new to the service of madame, having been engaged by her but
a few days ago at Épinal."
"New to her!" exclaimed Humphrey. "And engaged at Épinal. Is that
where she dwells?"
"Nay. Nay. She came from Nancy. And----"
"From Nancy," Humphrey said to himself inwardly. "From Nancy. Heavens!
Where the Duchess and all of us were but a few days ago. What is all
this? What does it mean? What does it all point to? This strange
intriguer here in this very house, and known to La Truaumont yet
unknown to the Duchess. I must learn more of this."
But, aloud, he repeated, "New to her, eh, pretty one?"
"Ay," the girl replied, her tongue now thoroughly unloosed. "Ay! new
as those valises you were just now regarding; as this," flicking with
her forefinger the lace she held: "as her robes; new even as her
shoes. _Pardie!_ one might almost say she had cast an old skin at
Épinal and put on a new one in its place. The things she left behind
there, that she gave to the maidservant, would scarce have furnished
the wallet of a wandering singer; a Jew would not have given a handful
of sols for all."
"This is strange matter," thought Humphrey to himself, "and needs
seeing into. There is more here than should be." After which he said,
"And have you come to care for this new mistress of yours, this woman
so new in all things? Is the service soft and easy, and does she treat
you well?"
"Oh! as for that," the girl said, "there is no cause for plaint. She
is sweet and good and ever soft and gentle, asking but little by way
of service. Also, I do think she dreams on nought but some lover she
has. Listen, _beau monsieur_. Upon her breast she bears day and
night--I have seen it there when I have gone to wake her from her
sleeping!--a miniature of one handsome as a god--handsome as a man may
be. In the day, too, I have seen her take it from her bodice again and
again, and kiss it and whisper foolish words to it, calling it 'Louis,
my soul, my adoration. Louis, my lord and king.' Ah! why do you start,
monsieur? Why?"
"Louis," Humphrey muttered, forgetting himself. "Louis. Her lord and
king. So! so!"
"What does monsieur imagine?"
"There is one such I know of," Humphrey muttered thoughtfully, and,
since he forgot himself, aloud, "One to whom that--that--those
words--that name might well apply and----"
"And so there is," the girl said, looking into his eyes, while
thinking how soft and clear they were. "I, too, know of one who is a
Louis--handsome, all the world says--a lord--a king, what if she loves
him?"
"Him! Whom?"
"Whom! Ah! What if she loves the one Louis. The one king. _The_ king.
It might well be so. She is fair enough to possess even a king's
love."
"'Tis true," Humphrey said. "'Tis very true. In faith it is. It--it
might be so. Perhaps you have guessed aright. Who shall say it is not
he?"
Yet, while he threw dust in the eyes of the gossiping girl, he knew
very well that it was not the portrait of Louis the king which lay
upon that woman's breast by day and night; not the portrait of Louis
the superb ruler of France--of, indeed, almost all Europe--but,
instead, that other Louis whom, only last night, he had heard spoken
of as the one who should, if all went well, undo the other.
"Sweetheart," he said, "my duty calls me now. I must away to the
Duchess. Later, we will meet again. And, be not proud," putting his
hand into his pocket and drawing forth a gold piece, "take this for
spending. We will meet again."
The woman took the coin with a pretence of demur--though, it may be,
that the demur was not all a pretence. For, in truth, she would,
perhaps, have desired that in place of a piece of gold the donor
should have said some more fine words to her, or looked softly once
more into her eyes, or, instead of contenting himself with saying, "We
will meet again," should have named a time and place for such a
meeting.
As for Humphrey, whose heart and soul had only room for the image of
one woman, Jacquette, he turned on his heel after a pleasant nod to
his gossip and a promise to speak to Fleur de Mai and bid him be of
better demeanour, and went along the corridor to where the Duchess
was.
He found her in her salon, occupied much as he had always known her to
be when he had ever been permitted entrance to her apartments in her
husband's house in Paris. Her guitar lay on her knee, the blue silken
ribbons thereof dangling down to her little feet encased in gold
broidered slippers; by her side was a vellum-bound copy of Massuccio's
novellinos: on a table in front of her a flask of Coindrieux.
Near her, directing a buxom maid to pack into a small valise, or
havresack, all the clothes which the Duchess would carry with her
across the Alps, was Jacquette.
"Ah, ha!" the Duchess exclaimed. "So 'tis you, monsieur. And did you
sleep well and soft, _amico?_"
"Yes, I slept well enough, madame. On one side of my room was one
guardian angel--yourself. On the other--perhaps another one. Another
fair lady."
"Another!"
"There is a lady, madame," Jacquette said, "who has the apartment of
three rooms next to Humphrey's. Her salon is next to his sleeping
room, her bedroom next to that, and her maid's beyond that."
"Who is she?"
"She is, madame, a French lady who has travelled from Nancy. The
Marquise de Villiers-Bordéville. She----"
"Ah!" with a slight start.
"You know her, madame?" Humphrey asked.
"I know of her," while, turning her head away, she muttered a little
Italian oath that, especially from between her lips, sounded more like
some soft, whispered love-word; after which she said to herself, "That
woman here. That spy in the pay of Spain, as Louis termed her; that
spy of his own, as I do believe. The woman who is steeped to the lips
in the scheme which will lead to his undoing," and she ground her
little white teeth together as thus she pondered. Even, however, as
she recognised that Humphrey's eyes were on her and that he was
waiting to hear more of what she knew of this woman, there came to her
one crumb of satisfaction. The satisfaction that, since this
intriguing woman, this _fine Normande_, as De Beaurepaire had called
Emérance, was here in Basle she was at least far apart from him.
Hortense had never truly loved De Beaurepaire more than he had loved
her, but to her as well as to him there had come the knowledge that
each might be of great service to the other. The Prince wanted money;
she wanted some one who would help her to evade her husband and to
escape out of France. And, later, if the Pope would grant that which
she so earnestly desired, namely, freedom from the maniac to whom she
was wedded, why then, perhaps, De Beaurepaire would do well enough for
a husband if she ever cared to take another; as well if not better
than any other man. His birth was illustrious, his name was one of the
proudest in France, his position under the King that of the highest,
and--which to an Italian woman was much--he was superbly handsome. He
was a man to whom any woman might be proud to be allied, but--as for
love--no! He had loved and been loved too often; he had been sought
after too much and--though the same thing had been her own lot--she
would not follow in the footsteps, she was too proud to follow in the
footsteps, of those others. But, since she was a woman and that a
beautiful one as well as a woman of high rank, and since this man's
name and hers were coupled together now and must always be so, she was
resolved that, at least, this other woman should not, if possible,
take her place.
"Humphrey," she said again, "I know of her. She is an intriguer, one
who may do much evil to those who fall into her toils. If you by
chance should learn what brings her to Basle come to me and tell me
all."
"Can she harm you, madame?"
"Nay. Since I am no longer in France no one can do so. But--there are
others whom she may injure."
"I understand, madame. Others in France whom you would not have
harmed."
"Yes. Others in France whom I would not have harmed."
"If she works evil, if she should endeavour to work evil to others,
then--then----"
"Then warn them or warn me. Even though I am out of France I may do
something. This woman," she said, whispering in his ear so that the
stolid maid packing the valise should not overhear her, "is here to
meet other intriguers, another intriguer, an old man. Together they
will plot and plot and draw one of whom we know into their toils for
their own ends. They will do so! nay, they have already almost done
so, though 'tis perhaps not yet too late to save--him! And it is all
madness. Folly! Ruin! They may profit by it--they may win--succeed.
But he must lose. You understand, Humphrey?"
"I understand, madame. And," with emphasis, "I sleep next to her
salon."
Then he asked in as easy a tone as possible, "Does Madame la Duchesse
know of any others than those of whom she has spoken who are in this
scheme?"
"Of others. No! Why! Humphrey, are there others in it?"
"None of whom I know, madame," Humphrey replied, while determining
that, for the present at least, the Duchess need not know that the
chief of her escort, La Truaumont, was one of the principals in this
plot.
Later, however, he recognised that not only for him but for De
Beaurepaire, La Truaumont, and the adventuress herself, it would have
been far better if he had spoken out openly and told the Duchess that
La Truaumont and this woman had already met and talked together over
all that was on foot.