Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by the Web Archive
Transcriber's notes:
1. Page scan source:
http://www.archive.org/details/chevalierdauriac00leverich
2. The diphthong oe is represented by [oe].
The
CHEVALIER D'AURIAC
BY
S. LEVETT YEATS
AUTHOR OF "THE HONOUR OF SAVELLI"
ETC.
NEW YORK
LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.
LONDON AND BOMBAY
1897
Copyright, 1896 and 1897
By S. LEVETT YEATS
* * *
_All rights reserved_.
FIRST EDITION, MARCH, 1897
REPRINTED, AUGUST, AND SEPTEMBER, 1897
TROW DIRECTORY
PRINTING AND BOOKBINDING COMPANY
NEW YORK
THE CHEVALIER D'AURIAC
TO THE
CHUMMERY OF THE PALMS
I DEDICATE THIS, IN MEMORY OF CERTAIN
RED-HOT DAYS
S. L. Y.
PREFACE
This story, like its predecessor, has been written in those rare
moments of leisure that an Indian official can afford. Bits of time
were snatched here and there, and much, perhaps too much, reliance has
had to be placed on memory, for books there were few or none to refer
to. Occasionally, too, inspiration was somewhat rudely interrupted.
Notably in one instance, in the Traveller's Bungalow at Hassan Abdal
(Moore's Lalla Rookh was buried hard by), when a bat, after making an
ineffectual swoop at a cockroach, fell into the very hungry author's
soup and put an end to dinner and to fancy. There is an anachronism in
the tale, in which the writer finds he has sinned with M. C. de
Remusat in "Le Saint-Barthelemy." The only excuse the writer has for
not making the correction is that his object is simply to enable a
reader to pass away a dull hour.
Umballa Cantonments,
March 16, 1896.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I.
The Justice of M. de Rone.
CHAPTER II.
M. de Rone Cannot Read a Cypher.
CHAPTER III.
The Red Cornfield.
CHAPTER IV.
The Chateau de la Bidache.
CHAPTER V.
A Good Deed Comes Home to Roost.
CHAPTER VI.
'Green as a Jade Cup.'
CHAPTER VII.
Poor Nicholas!
CHAPTER VIII.
Monsieur de Preaulx.
CHAPTER IX.
The Master-General.
CHAPTER X.
An Old Friend.
CHAPTER XI.
A Swim in the Seine.
CHAPTER XII.
Monsieur Ravaillac does not Suit.
CHAPTER XIII.
The Louvre.
CHAPTER XIV.
Under the Limes.
CHAPTER XV.
The Hand of Babette.
CHAPTER XVI.
A Council of War.
CHAPTER XVII.
Maitre Pantin Sells Cabbages.
CHAPTER XVIII.
The Skylight in the Toison d'Or.
CHAPTER XIX.
'Plain Henri de Bourbon.'
CHAPTER XX.
At the Sign of 'The Toison d'Or.'
PRELUDE
I.
In no secret shrine doth my Lady sleep,
But is ever before mine eyes;
By well or ill, by wrong or right--
By the burning sun, or the moon's pale light--
Where the tropics fire or the fulmar flies,
In rest or stormful fight.
II.
Good hap with the strong fierce winds that blow;
Man holdeth the world in fee.
By the light of her face, by my Lady's grace,
Spread we our sails to the sea.
With God above and our hearts below,
Fight we the fight for weal or woe.
III.
Good hap with the strong fierce winds that blow,
God rest their souls who die!
By my Lady's grace, by her pure, pale face
My pennon flies in its pride of place;
Where my pennon flies am I.
IV.
Nor wind nor storm may turn me back,
For I see the beacon fire.
And time shall yield a hard fought field,
And, with God's help, an unstained shield
I win my heart's desire.
S. L. Y.
(_Vanity Fair_.)
THE CHEVALIER D'AURIAC
CHAPTER I
THE JUSTICE OF M. DE RONE
'_Mille diables!_ Lost again! The devil runs in those dice!' and de
Gomeron, with an impatient sweep of his hand, scattered the little
spotted cubes on to the floor of the deserted and half-ruined hut,
wherein we were beguiling the weariness of our picket duty before La
Fere, with a shake of our elbows, and a few flagons of wine, captured
from Monsieur the King of Navarre, as we, in our folly, called him
still.
A few days before we had cut out a convoy which the Bearnais was
sending into the beleaguered town. Some of the good things the convoy
bore found their way to the outposts; and on the night I speak of we
had made such play with our goblets that it was as if a swarm of bees
buzzed in my head. As for de Gomeron, he was in no better case, and
his sun-tanned face was burning a purple red with anger at his losses
and the strength of the d'Arbois, both of which combined to give a
more than usually sinister look to his grim and lowering features. In
short, we were each of us in a condition ripe for any mischief: I hot
with wine and the fire of five-and-twenty years, and de Gomeron
sullenly drunk, a restrained fury smouldering in his eyes.
We had been playing by the light of a horn lantern, and as the flame
of it flickered to and fro in the wind, which bustled in unchecked
through a wide gap in the wall of the hut, where the remains of a door
clung to a bent and twisted hinge, the shadow of de Gomeron on the
wall behind him moved its huge outlines uneasily, although the man
himself sat silent and still, and there was no word spoken between us.
Hideous and distorted, this phantom on the wall may have been the soul
of de Gomeron, stolen out of the man's body and now hovering behind
him, instinct with evil; and this conceit of mine began to appear a
reality, when I turned my glance at the still figure of my companion,
showing no sign of life, except in the sombre glitter of the eyes that
gazed at me steadily.
I knew little of de Gomeron, except that he was of the Camargue, and
had followed the fortunes of d'Aumale from Arques to Ivry, from Ivry
to the Exile in the Low Countries, and that he held a commission from
the duke as captain in his guards. He carried a 'de' before his name,
but none of us could say where his lands lay, or of what family he
came; and it was shrewdly suspected that he was one of those weeds
tossed up by the storms of the times from the deep where they should
have rotted for ever. There were many such as he, _canaille_ who had
risen from the ranks; but none who bore de Gomeron's reputation for
intrepid courage and pitiless cruelty, and even the hardened veterans
of Velasco spoke with lower tones when they told of his deeds at the
sack of Dourlens and the pillage of Ham. Of our personal relations it
is enough to say that we hated each other, and would have crossed
swords ere now but for the iron discipline maintained by de Rone--a
discipline the bouquet of which I had already scented, having escaped
by the skin of my teeth after my affair with de Gonnor, who trod on my
toe at the General's levee, and was run through the ribs at sunrise
the next morning, near the pollard elms, hard by the Red Mill on the
left bank of the Serre.
Up to the time this occurred I had been attached to de Rone's staff,
with ten or twelve other young gentlemen whose pedigrees were as long
as their swords; but after the accident to de Gonnor--my foot slipped
and I thrust a half inch too low--I was sent with the stormers to
Laon, and then banished to the outposts, thinking myself lucky to
escape with that.
At any rate, the outpost was under my command. Imagine, therefore, my
disgust when I found that de Gomeron had been detached to examine into
and report upon my charge. He did this moreover in so offensive a
manner, hectoring here and hectoring there, that I could barely
restrain myself from parading him on the stretch of turf behind the
thorn hedge that fenced in the enclosure to the hovel. The very sight
of that turf used to tempt me. It was so soft and springy, so level
and true, with no cross shadows of tree trunks or mottled reflections
of foliage to spoil a thrust in tierce.
Our feelings towards each other being as they were, it would seem odd
that we should have diced and drunk together; but the situation was
one of armed peace; and, besides, time had to be killed, as for the
past week M. de Rethelois, formerly as lively as a cricket, had kept
himself close as a nun of Port Royal behind the walls of La Fere, and
affairs were ineffably dull. I was certain, however, that we should
soon break into open quarrel, and on this night, whether it was de
Gomeron's manner of losing or whether it was the d'Arbois I cannot
tell, but I felt a mad anger against the man as he sat staring at me,
and it was all I could do to restrain myself from flinging the lees of
the wine in my glass in his face and abiding the result. I held myself
in with an effort, drumming with my fingers on the table the while,
and at last he spoke in an abrupt and jarring voice:
'What says the score?'
I looked at the once blank card on which I had jotted down the points
and passed it to him with the answer: 'One hundred and twenty livres
of Paris, M. Gomeron.'
'_De_ Gomeron, if you please, M. d'Auriac. Here is your money, see it
is not Tournois,' and he slid a rouleau across the table towards me. I
made no effort to take it; but, looking at the man with a sneer, gave
answer: 'I was not aware that they used the _de_ in the Camargue,
monsieur.'
'Young fool!' I heard him mutter between his teeth, and then aloud,
'Your education needs extension, Chevalier.'
'There is space enough without.' I answered hotly, laying my hand on
my sword, 'and no time like the present; the moon is at her full and
stands perfectly.' We sprang to our feet at these words and stood
facing each other. All thought of de Rone had flown from my mind, my
one desire was to be face to face with the man on that patch of turf.
_Peste!_ I had much to learn in those days!
We stood thus for a second, and then a short mirthless 'Ha! ha!' burst
from de Gomeron, and he made a turn to the corner of the room where
his rapier leaned against the wall. It was at the moment of this
action that we heard the quick challenge of the sentry outside, the
password as sharply answered, and the tramp of feet.
The same idea flashed through both our minds--it must be the General,
and de Gomeron gave expression to the thought.
'_Corbleu!_ de Rone perhaps--the old bat on the wing. We must defer
the lesson, Chevalier.'
I bowed and bit my lips in silence; there followed a shuffling of
feet, and before a man could count two, Nicholas, the sergeant of our
picket, with a file of men entered the hut, thrusting a couple of
prisoners, a man and a woman, before them.
'Two birds from La Fere, my captain,' and Nicholas with a salute to de
Gomeron pointed to his prize. 'We took them,' he ran on, 'at the ford
near the Red Mill, and but for the moon they would have gone free;
spies no doubt. The old one is M. le Mouchard, I swear. There is fox
in every line of his face; and as for Madame there--so the old
gentleman calls her--in time I warrant she will learn to love the camp
of the Holy League,' and the sergeant pushed the lantern so that it
shone full on the lady's face. A curious light came into de Gomeron's
eyes as he looked at her, and she shrank back at the sergeant's words
and action, whilst the old man strained at the cords that bound his
wrists till the lines of the blue veins stood high out on his
forehead. The soldiers had shown Madame this kindness, that she was
unbound; but her hood had fallen back, loosening in its fall a mass of
chestnut hair, and from this framework her eyes glanced from one to
another of us, half in fear and half in anger.
'Messieurs!' There was a tremble in the sweet voice, and there was
light enough to see her colour come and go. 'Messieurs! That man,' she
made a little gesture of infinite disdain towards Nicholas, 'is lying.
We are no spies. It is true we are from La Fere, but all that we did
was to try and escape thence----'
'To the camp of the Bearnais--eh, madame?' interrupted de Gomeron.
'To the camp of the King of France,' she flashed back at him, a red
spot rising on each cheek. 'Messieurs!' she went on, 'you are
gentlemen, are you not? You will let us go. Surely the Holy League
wars not with women and old men?'
The mention of the League stirred her companion and he gave tongue:
'The Holy League!' he exclaimed with a savage scorn. 'Madame, though
we stand delivered unto these sons of Belial, I must speak, for my
heart is full. Yea! Shall my lips be sealed before the enemies of the
Lord! The Holy League! Ha! ha! There is no Holy League. It died at
Ivry. There did the Lord God break it clean, as of old. He shattered
the Amorites of the mountains. Lo! Even now His own champion is at
hand, and ere the morrow's sun sets he shall smite these men of sin
hip and thigh, as when the Chosen slew His enemies in Gibeon.'
'_Corps du diable!_ A rope for the old Huguenot!' exclaimed Nicholas.
'Thou swearest rightly, villain,' and the fanatic glared at the
sergeant with fierce eyes. 'Swear ever so by thy master, for thou art
in truth a limb of the body of Sin.'
'Thou shalt roast like a chestnut over a log fire for this,' roared
Nicholas, shaking his halberd at his adversary. 'And thou in Hell,'
was the undaunted reply; 'and the smell of thy burning will be as the
scent of a savoury bakemeat to the Lord my God.'
So savagely prophetic was his tone; so fierce a glance did the bound
Huguenot cast at Nicholas that it burnt to cinders any reply he might
have had ready and reduced him to a speechless fury.
Madame shivered slightly; but meeting my eyes and the repressed laugh
in them, a faint smile parted her lips. This was for an instant only,
and her face was grave enough as she turned to her companion, speaking
with a quiet dignity, 'There is a time for everything, _mon pere_--at
present your speech is a trifle out of place.'
The beetle brows of the Huguenot met together as he gave reply--
'There is no place which is out of place to testify----' but here de
Gomeron cut in with his quick stern voice, 'Be silent, sir! or else a
gag will stop your tongue,' and then with a bow, 'Madame, it goes to
my heart to detain you; but war is war, and we have no option. Will
you not be seated? All that this poor hut affords is yours,' and he
bent low again, perhaps to hide the expression in his eyes.
She made no effort to take the chair he offered, but burst out
passionately:
'Monsieur, I see you command here, and it is to you to whom I must
appeal. Monsieur, I give you my word of honour we are no spies. The
rules of war allow the ransom of prisoners, and anything you name will
be paid. Monsieur, I pray you let us go.'
Whilst she spoke my glance rested on de Gomeron's face, and I saw that
his eyes were drinking in her beauty greedily, and there was a look in
them that recalled to my mind the stories of the sack of Ham.
As she finished her appeal Madame turned towards the captain with a
gesture of entreaty; but in this movement she too saw that in his
voice and manner which paled her cheek to marble, and she made a
half-irresolute step towards her companion as if for protection. De
Gomeron observed this, and laughed under his heavy black moustache,
and I felt that the strong wine and his evil heart were moving him to
an atrocious deed.
'_Vertu de Dieu!_ Madame, but there are some things which have no
price! And there is no ransom you could name which would tempt Adam de
Gomeron to part with his prisoners--with _one_ of them at any rate.
You are no spy, I know: such eyes as yours were never made to count
the strength of battalions. As for your friend there, we have means to
make him tell us all about himself to-morrow; and you, _ma mignonne_,
must not bruise your tender feet by walking through the night to the
camp of Monsieur--the King of France. In a day or so, perhaps,' he
went on with a horrible smile, 'but not to-night. Come! and he stepped
up to her. Come, taste the d'Arbois--it is from your friends--and
learn to love the poor soldiers of the Holy League.'
Saying this he attempted to pass his arm round her waist, but slipping
from his grasp, and her cheeks aflame, Madame struck him across the
face with the back of her hand, such a stroke as the wing of an angry
dove might give.
The rest was done in a flash, and de Gomeron reeled back with bleeding
lips, staggered back to the very end of the room, where he would have
fallen but for the support of the wall. It was in me to follow up my
blow by passing my sword through the man, so mad was I in my fury; but
luckily for him Nicholas hung on my arm and saved the villain's life.
He righted himself at once, and passing his hand across his mouth,
spoke to me quite coolly and collectedly, but with livid features.
'We finish this outside, sir; follow me,' and picking up his rapier,
which lay on the table, where he had thrown it on the entrance of the
prisoners, de Gomeron stepped out of the door. In the excitement of
the moment the men poured after him, and I was the last to follow. It
came to me like lightning that the prisoners were unguarded, and
slipping my dagger from its sheath, I thrust its haft into Madame's
hand, and I saw that she understood from the thanks in her eyes. As I
went out I heard the voice of the Huguenot: 'They shall die as they
have lived--by the edge of the sword; and the Lord shall confound His
enemies.'
It was but a stone-throw to the stretch of green, which extended as
level as a tennis-court for a hundred paces or so, and then sloped
gently downward towards the junction of the Serre and the Oise. Beyond
rose the walls of La Fere, whose grey outlines, lit up here and there
by the flare of a lamp or fire, were clearly visible in the bright
moonlight. So clear was this light, that I could distinctly make out
the blue flowers of the patch of borage, which lay between the hut and
the thorn hedge, beyond which de Gomeron was awaiting me. When I came
up I found him standing with his back to the moon. He had thrown off
his doublet, and was in his shirt sleeves, which were rolled up to his
elbows, and Nicholas and the men stood a little on one side, utterly
forgetful of the prisoners, and eager as bloodhounds to witness the
coming fight. It took but a half minute to make myself ready, and
borrowing a poniard from Nicholas to help me to parry, for de Gomeron
held one in his left hand, and I was determined to give him no further
advantage--he already had the light--I took my position. Then there
was an angry little clash and our blades met, looking for all the
world like two thin streaks of fire in the moonlight. I began the
attack at once in the lower lines, but soon found that my adversary
was a master of his weapon, and his defence was complete. We were both
sober enough now, besides being in deadly earnest, and de Gomeron
began to change his tactics and attack in his turn. He was more than
cunning of fence, thrusting high at my throat to get as much of the
reflection of the moon as possible on his blade, and so dazzle my
eyes; but this was a game I had played before, and seeing this he
disengaged, and making a beautiful feint, thrust low in tierce. The
parry was just in time, but the point of his blade ripped me exactly
over the heart, and dyed my shirt red with the blood of a flesh wound.
The discipline of Nicholas and his men went to shreds at the sight of
this, and there was a shout: '_Croix Dieu!_ He is lost!'
But a man's knowledge is not to be counted by his years, and Maitre
Touchet had himself placed a foil in my hand ere I was seven. The hair
that stood between me and death as de Gomeron's point touched me
cooled me to ice, and knowing that in a long-continued contest youth
must tell, I began to feign retreat, and give back slowly, meaning to
wind my opponent, and work him round to get a little of the moon in
his eyes. De Gomeron took the bait and pressed his attack, with the
result that he shifted his position of vantage, and in a while began
to breathe heavily. At this point a cloud obscured the moonlight, and
my opponent, springing back, called out: 'Hold! hold till the cloud
passes! We cannot see.'
'But I can, messieurs,' answered a deep voice to our right. 'What
means this fool's work?' and a tall figure, the white line of a drawn
sword shining in its hand, stepped between us, coming, as it were,
from nowhere. The cloud passed, and the moon was again brilliant and
clear. The light fell on the commanding form before us, showing the
high aquiline features and grizzled hair of de Rone himself. Nicholas
and his men melted into thin air at the sight, and de Gomeron and I
stood speechless. The wind caught the black plumes in the General's
hat, waving them silently in the air, and brought to us the faint
clink of a chain-bit--de Rone had evidently stolen upon us on foot,
leaving his horse at a distance.
'So this is how my outposts are kept?' he said. 'M. de Gomeron, you
are the senior officer here, and I await your explanation. _Mordieu!_
It is something that I do this.'
'I command the guards of the Duc d'Aumale,' began de Gomeron sullenly,
but de Rone interrupted him in the same deep measured voice.
'I know that. Your explanation, or,' and in fierce anger, 'by God! you
will hang like a common thief by sunrise.'
'A gentleman must defend his honour. Orders or no orders. General,
there are times when one must fight. There was a matter in connection
with some prisoners, and I was struck by M. d'Auriac. I have nothing
further to say.'
'Now, M. d'Auriac, what have you to say?'
'The prisoners will, perhaps, explain to your Excellency why I struck
this man.'
'Take me to them.'
We gathered up our belongings, and, hastily dressing, led the way back
to the hut. What de Gomeron's thoughts were I know not, but my own
reflections were none of the most cheerful. We all knew de Rone, and
knew that, his mind once made up, nothing could turn him. De Gomeron
had some chance of escape, as of a certainty I was the open aggressor;
but for myself, I saw poor de Gonnor lying under the elm trees, taking
his last look at the sunlight, and my heart became like lead. But we
had no great time for thought, as a few steps brought us to the door
of the hut, where Nicholas and his men stood at the salute with scared
faces. Another step took us in, and de Rone, with a curling lip, cast
a glance around the room, at the emptied wine flasks and the dice,
which latter one of the men had doubtless picked up, and placed in a
small heap beside the rouleau I had won. But chairs, table, wine
flasks, and dice were all the room contained, and there was reason
enough for the extra length of visage that master Nicholas and his
knaves had pulled.
'I do not see the prisoners,' said de Rone quietly.
It was not likely, I thought to myself. They were gone--not a doubt of
that. On the floor, near my feet, were some cut cords, and, lying on
them, a knot of black and white ribbon, that had fallen there as if by
chance. I had seen it last at the shoulder of Madame's dress, and
something told me it was not there by accident. There was, at any
rate, no hope for me from the prisoners, but a sudden impulse I could
not understand, nor, indeed, did I try to, urged me to get the knot of
ribbon, so, stooping low, I picked up the bow and the cut cords, and,
with a careless movement, flung the latter on the table, saying
quietly, 'They have escaped, your Excellency.'
'And with them your explanation, M. d'Auriac, eh? _Corbleu!_ But the
camp-marshal will have his hands full to-morrow;' and Nicholas'
halberd all but fell from his hands as the General's eye rested on
him. I had nothing to say; and de Rone went on. 'M. de Gomeron, you
have given me a reason for your conduct that will hold good this once.
Further orders will reach you at daylight about your neglect of your
prisoners. As for you,' and he turned on me with the sharp command,
'Follow me. You--knaves! fetch me my horse--he is tethered to the
clump of elms to the right there.'
Two men vanished from the door to do his bidding, and I adjusted my
attire as well as I might, taking the opportunity to secrete the knot
of ribbon. In a minute or so we heard the sound of horses' hoofs, and
as we went out, I saw there were two beasts at the door, and, from the
whinny of welcome that came to me, that one was mine, and Nicholas was
at his head.
As I sprang into the saddle the good fellow leaned forward and
whispered, 'Make a dash for it. Chevalier, and change the flag.'
I shook my head and followed de Rone, who had already moved a few
paces onwards. And yet, as I rode on, Nicholas' words came back to me
with an insistent force. It was not possible for me to expect any
other issue than the worst, after what had happened. My big Norman
horse was fleet and strong; but a turn of my wrist, a touch of my
spur, and we should be a hundred yards away before de Rone could
realise what had happened; and then the road was clear to the banks of
the Lelle, where the King was himself; yes, the King. He was that to
me, in my heart, although loyalty to my family and its chiefs had made
me throw in my lot with the little band of exiles who remained true to
the dead legend of the League, and preferred to eat the bread of Spain
rather than accept the great Frenchman who had fought his way to his
birthright. Even now, whispers were stirring the air that the end was
coming; that the Archduke was sick of the war; that d'Aumale pined for
his stately park of Anet; that Mayenne had practically submitted, and
the Guisard was himself unsteady. If so, why should not I, Alban de
Breuil, whose crow's nest of Auriac was half in ruins, and who
reckoned an income of a bare two hundred pistoles, see the error of my
ways as well? Behind me was safety. In front, between the nodding ears
of my horse, there dangled a vision of a rope with a noose at the end
of it; and I a noble!
It was now midnight, and we distinctly heard the bells of Ste.
Genevieve ringing the Sexts. They came to me with a refrain of 'Turn
and ride, Turn and ride.' _Mordieu!_ but I was sorely tempted.
'Gallop!'
De Rone's sharp command broke the thread of my thoughts, and ended all
chance of escape. We set spurs to our horses and splashed through the
ford of the Oise, a half mile from the outpost. On the other bank a
picket challenged, and, giving them the word, we rode in the direction
of the even white line of the camp. A few strides more and we reined
in at the door of the General's tent. The guard presented arms and I
received a brief order to dismount and follow de Rone.
I entered the tent, and stood patiently whilst he walked backwards and
forwards for a little time. Suddenly he stopped and, facing me, said,
'Well, M. d'Auriac?'
'It could not be helped, your Excellency,' I stammered.
'You said that of de Gonnor, and promised it should never occur
again----'
'But there were circumstances----'
'Pshaw!' he exclaimed, 'I guess them all--wine--dice--women. One of
the prisoners was a woman. I saw you pick up that knot of ribbon.
There is no excuse--_Croix Dieu!_ None.'
'I had the honour to be the first man behind your Excellency at the
storm of Laon,' I said, with a happy recollection.
'And saved my life, you were going to say,' he cut in. I bowed, and de
Rone began again to pace up and down, tugging at his short pointed
beard. I was determined to seize the three hairs occasion offered, and
continued:
'And that was after M. de Gonnor's unfortunate accident.'
'Accident!' he laughed shortly. 'And that accident having been
condoned, you want to set off saving my life against breaking the
orders of the General?'
'It will not occur again.'
'_Croix Dieu!_ I will take care of that. It will not occur again with
you, M. d'Auriac. See here, I will pay my debt; but first ask if I
have your parole not to attempt escape. If you do not give it--'and he
laid his hand on a call-bell, with an inquiring look towards me.
'I will not attempt escape.'
'Then you will not have to complain of the justice of de Rone.
To-morrow some things will happen, and amongst them will be the
lamented death of the Sieur d'Auriac. This much I will tell you.
To-morrow the King and I meet once more--you must die on the field.
Win or lose, if I catch you alive at the close of the day, I will hang
you as high as Haman; and now go.'