"She knows," Emérance muttered to herself as she sought her own rooms
from which, in fact, she had only been brought forth by the noise and
chattering in the passages and the sounds that issued from the
Duchess's salon, owing to the door being open. "She knows--in
part--what I am. That look from those dark, haughty eyes told all.
Yes, she knows something--but only something; not all. She cannot know
of the Great Attempt."
She took up now a little hand-bell from the table and, ringing it,
brought forth her maid from the bedroom where she was engaged in
arranging that apartment; after which Emérance said:--
"What means this turmoil in the inn, this hurly-burly on the stairs
and in the passages? Know you aught?"
"Madame," the woman replied, only too willing to talk, "there are
strange happenings in this house. The retinue of the Duchesse de
Castellucchio have mostly deserted her. They are missing."
"Missing!" Emérance exclaimed, while her face blanched. "Missing! Her
retinue missing. Explain to me."
"Ah! Madame la Marquise. They are gone, vanished. All except one--the
lowest of them. The handsome young man so gay and debonnair, with
shoulders so broad and stalwart and such soft, dark eyes, is gone----"
"Proceed. No matter for his looks."
"Also the captain. He who was like a bull. Also the great
swashbuckler, _le fanfaron_, with the red-brown hair."
"The captain gone," Emérance muttered to herself, "and Fleur de Mai
gone too. 'Tis strange. Wondrous strange."
"And, above all," the girl persisted, determined that the one who had
been so gentle and courteous to her, so much of an admirer, should not
be overlooked, "the young seigneur, madame! The handsome, courtly
one."
"Bah!" Emérance exclaimed, "his looks count not." Nor, in truth, would
the looks of any man in all the world have counted with this woman who
had no thoughts or eyes for the beauty of any, or only one, man. Then,
continuing, she said: "And that other? The lowest of them, as you term
him. Where is he?"
"He saddles his horse below. He rides to the Syndic to beseech his
help in finding them; the Syndic whose lodge is outside the walls upon
the route de France, a league or so from here. He does so, having
spoken first with the venerable father of Madame la Marquise. The
illustrious Seigneur de Châteaugrand."
"Ah! yes. My father. The Seigneur de Châteaugrand!" and now there came
a look upon her face vastly different from the look of a few minutes
before--one which seemed to speak of some internal spasm of pain, or
regret or self-reproach, so different from this which was one of
irony, of contempt. "Where is he?"
"He prepares to descend to madame from his room above. He wishes to
know something of these strange doings. He will be here ere many
moments more are past."
"So be it. He will find me. Now make me ready for the day. Put out my
clothes and toilette necessaries. My father," with a scornful smile,
"hates ever to see a woman in disarray."
That "father" made his appearance, as the maid had said would be the
case, ere many moments were passed, yet when he did so the interview
that was to take place--if it was an interview--was not of long
duration. Emérance, who was in the bedroom in the hands of the maid
when she heard the door of the salon open, called out to know if it
was he, and, on discovering such to be the case, had her dress put on
hastily and then went to him. After which, without salutation or
greeting, she went close to Van den Enden and, speaking to him in
almost a whisper--for, which there was scarcely any need since she had
carefully shut the door between them and the maid--she said:--
"What is this report? And--what does it mean? Where are they all?
All?"
But the Jew made no reply. Which abstention from speech was, in truth,
the most pregnant of replies.
"I understand, or almost understand," Emérance whispered, while
as she did so she stepped back some paces from Van den Enden and,
perhaps unconsciously, drew the skirts of her gown closer round her.
"We have been overheard, were overheard, and--and, after you left
me last night you and La Truaumont discovered such to be the case.
And--and--and----"
But still Van den Enden uttered no word but stood looking strangely at
the woman.
"Ah," she gasped. "And De Beaurepaire? Louis? Is he safe? Will he be
safe?"
A moment later, though still the old man had uttered no word but only
let his eyes meet hers, she murmured, "Ah! _malheur!_ Yet--yet--there
is none to harm _him_ now."
* * * * * * *
Ere Humphrey sought his room the previous afternoon, there to carry
out his determination of keeping a watchful ear open, from then till
the morning, over all that might transpire in the next one to him, he
whispered a last word to Jacquette.
"Sweetest and dearest," he said, "say no word to the Duchess on what I
am about to do, give her no inkling. Tell her what you will, excepting
only that."
"What shall I say? I would not willingly deceive her. 'Specially since
she trusts me so."
"Nor would I have you deceive her. She is too good and kind to
have deception practised on her. Yet, remember, you have said that,
if she were forced to know of what I think is being plotted, she
would find means to bring the news to the King's ears. And that would
not take long in the doing. A trusty messenger, a swift horse or so,
and, ere a week was past, that which hath been plotted here in this
out-of-the-world Swiss place would be known in Paris. And--and--if she
has never loved the King she is well nigh the only one of all women
near him since his youth who has not done so. She would not spare De
Beaurepaire whom, in very fact, she does not love, but has only used
for her purpose of escape from her mad husband."
"What then shall I say?" asked Jacquette, grasping the force and truth
of her lover's words.
"What you will. That I have ridden forth to see the beauties of this
great river out there; or to mount to the cathedral, or that I am
indisposed, which in truth I am since I am indisposed to be prevented
from overhearing these tricksters."
"Short of absolute falsehood, I will tell her," Jacquette said with a
smile; after which, since now they were near the Krone, the girl
added, "Farewell until to-morrow, Humphrey, and may heaven bless you,
my sweet. Oh! I do pray that what you are about to do--it is in a good
cause, He above knows!--may bring no harm to you. Farewell until
to-morrow. To-night I will pray for you, and all night, too."
So, with a blessing on him from the woman he loved so fondly and
truly, Humphrey West set about his task.
When he was in his room, after pausing until Jacquette had had time to
rejoin the Duchess, he sat down in the one chair the place possessed
and wondered how long he would have to wait ere anything should happen
in the next one that, by being overheard, might be of service to him.
The day was still young, it being no later than four o'clock, and he
knew that it was more than probable that neither La Truaumont nor that
horrible-looking old man with the vulpine features and the repellent
leer--whom he felt sure was one of those most concerned in what was
hatching--would visit the woman in the next room until late at night
and when most of those in the house had retired.
One thing, however, he did at once, after observing that his chamber
was made ready for the night--the bed turned down, the ewer filled and
so forth. He quietly lifted his chair up to the wall which divided his
room from the next one and placed it against the wainscot. Thus he
would be nearer to any sound that issued from the lips of those in
that next room and, also, if necessary, he could stand with his head
underneath the frowsy tapestry, and between it and the panelling, and
so hear still better. Next, he locked his door while determining that,
no matter who should come to it, he would give no answer. Those
outside might think that he was absent, or asleep, or what they would,
but he would not reply.
At first, he thought of sitting down and writing to his mother in
England a long account of his doings of late--there was a standish on
the rickety table, under one leg of which some previous traveller had
thrust a piece of folded paper to steady it, and, in the standish, was
some half-dried ink as well as one or two pens much mended and worn,
and a little jar of sand; but he desisted from following this idea. He
would have to bring the chair back again to do so; if, while writing,
he should move it unthinkingly, it would grate and rasp upon the
parquet floor and warn any who might be in the next room that he was
here, while, also, to obtain his writing-paper (with which educated
travellers always provided themselves ere setting out) he would have
to unroll his valise, the doing which might also betray him if he made
any noise.
"Therefore," he thought to himself, "I will lie down a little while.
It may hap I shall be awake most of the night, so best that I refresh
myself ere night comes. While if I sleep I will do so like a dog, with
one eye and both ears open. A whisper will awaken me if 'tis loud
enough to penetrate through the tapestry on t'other side and on this."
That he had slept he discovered later when, suddenly opening his eyes,
he heard the deep-toned clock of the cathedral striking the four
quarters, and, after counting the strokes of the hour, learnt that it
was nine o'clock. He noticed, too, at once--though even now but
half-awake--that the room was in darkness, that night had come. Upon
which he lay quite still a little while, his ears on the alert to
discover if there were any persons in the room to his left.
There was, however, nothing to tell him that such was the case,
though, from the other side of his room he could hear, in the
apartments of the Duchess, her lute being softly played and the light
tones of her voice as she hummed the words of an Italian _canzone_ to
its accompaniment. Once, too, he heard her call to Jacquette and say
something about her cavalier costume in which he knew that, on the
next day, she purposed setting forth on her long dreary ride across
the Alps--no carriages being possible for that journey. He also heard
her tell Jacquette to bid Suzanne bring a flask of Muscat.
Then, suddenly, he knew that a door on his left had opened and shut
gently; he heard a voice speaking which he had never, so far as he
knew, heard before.
"If," that voice said, it being a low rasping one, "they set forth
to-morrow, the captain should be here almost at once. They sup at
eight and should be abed soon after. There is much to talk over since
we all separate to-morrow. La Truaumont's band sets out to escort
madame to Milan, he to go hot foot to Paris afterwards, and then to
Normandy--I to Paris direct and----"
"I to Paris and Paradise since De Beaurepaire is there."
That enraptured voice told him at once who this speaker was, it being
the same he had overheard the night before. It was, he knew, the voice
of the woman who occupied those rooms, the woman to whom La Truaumont
had said half-sinisterly, half-warningly, "You may yet pay a dear
price for your happiness."
Almost ere the man could make any reply to that remark, another, a
deeper, more profound voice seemed to obliterate all other sounds
except those of a second gentle opening and shutting of the door; a
voice, the full though mellow tones of which the owner was undoubtedly
endeavouring to soften. The voice of La Truaumont.
"So," Humphrey heard the captain say, "we meet to decide all. Now, Van
den Enden, unfold. Speak, and to the purpose. What is done? What will
Spain and Holland do?"
"To commence with," Humphrey heard the unknown voice of the Jew say,
"I have the money--all of it--in safe keeping."
"In safe keeping," murmured La Truaumont. "In safe keeping. Where?"
"Some in the hands of the party. Some in mine."
"I'll be sworn, and deeply too."
"Some for those bold hearts who help us with their hands and heads."
"Good! Good!" the voice, which sounded like the soft rumbling of a
cathedral organ afar off, murmured.
"Some," Van den Enden went on, as though pleased with his own words,
"put aside for fair ones who, also, have helped and can help well. For
beauty's coaxings and _câlineries_; for love professed; for love false
as beauty's oath or vow----"
"And as true, too!" Humphrey heard the woman exclaim.
"All can play their part and play it well, and earn their guerdon,"
Van den Enden continued.
"And the rest? Where is it? _Hein?_" La Truaumont asked in tones that,
though low, did not disguise the cynicism beneath them.
"The rest! Why in the hands of _Le Dédaigneux_."
"So!" exclaimed La Truaumont. "So! Good. That binds him. He is
committed to us."
"He needs no binding, no earnest. He is heart and soul with us. And
you know it," the listener heard the woman say sharply.
"And the sum total?" La Truaumont asked, ignoring her.
"A million of livres."
"Half of what we asked! Half of what is necessary."
"Added to six thousand Spaniards on board the Dutch Fleet; arms for
twenty thousand men; weapons and instruments of siege against the
fortresses of Quillebeuf and Honfleur."
"Enough to begin with at least if not enough to complete the glorious
task. Now unfold all that is decided on."