UNDER THE LIMES
It mattered little to me if I rode a portion of my way back with de
Belin, and so I turned Couronne's head as he wished. Before setting
off, however, he gave some rapid and whispered orders to Vallon,
emphasising them with a loud 'Quick, mind you, and do not fail.'
'It is not likely, monsieur,' answered Vallon, and then set off.
The crowd was as great as ever, and we were compelled to go slowly.
Looking for a moment to my right as we went forwards, I saw Vallon
making as much haste as he could in the delivery of his message, and I
wished to myself that my own stout-hearted knave were with me. One
blade such as his was worth a half-dozen hired swords.
It was my intention to leave de Belin at his hotel and make my way as
quickly as possible to my lodging, and thence, taking the risk of the
King's warning, go straight to the Rue Varenne and urge Madame to
instant flight. My house of cards had come down, a fluttering heap, as
the first story was raised, and to my mind there was nothing for it
but a sharp spur and a loose rein. I wished, too, for a moment of
leisure to examine Coiffier's gift. I had little doubt that it
conveyed a message or a warning, and the sooner I got at its contents
the better.
In the meantime Belin rode by my side, whistling a march to himself,
whilst a couple of lackeys immediately behind us shouted themselves
hoarse with an insistent 'Way, way for Monsieur le Compte!'
This cry of theirs was being constantly echoed by a Capuchin, who,
mounted on a mule, with his hood drawn over his face so as to show
little but his eyes and a portion of a grey beard, kept alternately
flinging an 'Ave!' and a 'Way! way!' to the crowd, the whiles he stuck
close to our heels, having evidently made up his mind to follow the
old saw--the stronger the company the freer the road.
I know not why it was, but the jingling notes of the tune my friend
whistled irritated me beyond measure, and at last, at the corner of
the Rue Perrault, I could stand it no longer, and, reining in, held
out my hand.
'I must say good-bye here, Belin. We will meet again, and meet in
better times, I trust, for me. In the meanwhile let me thank you, my
friend. The rest of my business lies in my own hand.'
He laughed and said, 'Not yet good-bye; and as for your business,
there is some of it in Coiffier's wooden ball. I would open that here
before you decide to leave me.'
'_Morbleu!_ You all seem to be determined to speak to me in riddles.
Why can you not say plainly what you mean? And, besides, this is no
place to read.'
'It is as good as any other. See here, d'Auriac! I slipped out of the
King's cabinet as he spoke to you, and told Madame how your affair was
progressing. She herself had something to communicate to you. The
matter was pressing, and as things stood she could not tell you there.
As for your being treated like a pawn, I give you my word it was
beyond me to help that. But if you come with me you will learn many
things within the hour. In the meantime open the ball, man! It was a
lucky thing Coiffier was there.'
Without any further hesitation I drew forth Coiffier's gift. It was,
as I have said, a hollow, wooden globe, and was made in two parts,
which could be joined together or separated by a turn of the wrist. I
held it in my hands for a moment or so and then opened it, and had
just pulled forth the paper it contained, when by ill chance, as it
seemed, the Capuchin, who was urging his mule past us, brushed
violently against my horse, with the result that the paper slipped
from between my fingers and fluttered to earth. Couronne, after her
first start, was steady enough, but the monk's ill-conditioned mule
kicked and plunged, bringing him apparently heavily to the ground. He
fell exactly over the paper and lay there for a moment, face
downwards, resting on one elbow. I sprang down, as much to get the
paper as to assist him, but as I did so, he scrambled to his feet with
'A hundred pardons, monsieur, for my clumsiness,' and then hastily
turned and hurried after his mule, which was already many yards ahead,
behaving after its kind, and whose speed was not diminished by the
sticks, stones, and oaths flung at him; and there was a roar of
laughter--a mob will laugh or hiss at the merest trifles--as the lank
figure of the Capuchin sped along in pursuit of his beast and vanished
after him down a side street.
Belin himself joined in the merriment, and I picked up the paper,
muddy and much soiled. Smoothening it out against the flap of my
saddle, I made out the words, '_To-night, under the limes in the
Tuileries--at compline_.' There was no doubt about the writing, and,
thrusting the precious scrap into my breast-pocket, I remounted. As I
did so de Belin said:
'Well, have you changed your plans?'
'Partly, but I think I shall go back to my lodging.'
'Do nothing of the kind as yet. I have asked Pantin to meet us at the
Two Ecus, your own ordinary. Vallon has gone to call him. You can give
him any orders there. You owe me as much as to yield to me in this.'
It would have been ungracious not to have agreed, and I told Lisois I
would go with him.
'Hasten, then! The road is clearer now, thanks to the Capuchin, or
rather to his mule. By the way, did you see the monk's face?'
'No!'
'A pity! I tried to, but failed in the attempt. His voice was familiar
to me, and he seemed wonderfully active for an old man.'
'You are suspicion itself, Belin.'
'I have slept with the dogs and risen with the fleas. Harkee, Hubert!
And you, Pierre! If you see that Capuchin again let me know at once;
keep your eyes open. If you can persuade him to speak to me, it will
be worth five crowns a-piece to you.'
'Monsieur's wishes shall be obeyed,' said both men in a breath, and
now finding the road free enough we set off at a canter, and kept the
pace up until almost at the door of the Two Ecus.
As we pulled up at the ordinary and dismounted, Belin exclaimed: 'Now
for our supper. I am of those who can only fight under a full belt,
and I would advise you, d'Auriac--you who will have fighting to do
very soon perhaps--to follow my advice, and make the best use you can
of your knife.'
I laughed out some reply, and then, turning to mine host, ordered
refreshment for both man and beast, and directed that our supper
should be served in a private room.
'And observe,' cut in Belin, 'if Maitre Pantin arrives, let him be
shown up to us at once.'
'Monsieur.'
Before we went in de Belin asked his men if they had seen any more of
the monk, and received an answer in the negative. Bidding them
remember his orders on the subject, he linked his arm in mine and we
went within.
'You seem in a way about the monk,' I said.
'My dear friend, I cannot get it out of my head that I have seen him
before, and I don't like a riddle like that to be unsolved.'
'This comes of your court intrigues, de Belin. You were not wont to be
so.'
'Other times, other manners,' he answered, a little grimly, and we sat
at our table.
How well do I remember that small room in the Two Ecus, with the dark
oak wainscoting, the furniture that age had polished, the open window
showing the yellow sunset between the high-roofed and many-gabled
houses, the red Frontignac sparkling like rubies in our long-necked
glasses, and the deft service of Susette, the landlord's daughter,
whose pretty lips pouted with disappointment, because no notice was
taken of her good looks by the two cavaliers who supped together,
whose faces were so grave, and whose speech was in tones so low as to
be heard only by each other. At last we were left to ourselves, and
Belin, who had been explaining many things to me that I knew not
before, suddenly rose and began to pace the room, saying: 'You take
the position now, d'Auriac. If not, let me put the points again before
you briefly. There are men like Sully, Villeroi, Forget, and I myself,
who understand and grasp the King's views, and know that if he has his
way France will be the greatest country on earth. On the other hand,
Henry is bound by ties of much service rendered to him by men like
Sancy, who disgraces his name by plundering the state, and Zamet, who
cannot disgrace himself by anything he does. These men, and such as
they, exhaust our resources if they do nothing else, and serve the
cause of the great nobles, such as Epernon, Turenne, Tremouille, and
above all Biron, whose ambition knows no bounds, and who, I am
certain, will never be still unless his head is on a crown-piece or
else on the block.'
'But what has that to do with me?'
'Listen! Great as the King is, he has one failing--you know what it
is; and it is on this the Sancys and Birons play. To carry out his own
designs it is necessary that Henry should be saved from himself. The
Italian embassy is with us, and whilst d'Ossat and the Cardinal
performed the ostensible object of their mission, they affected
another and secret object--and that was the arrangement of the King's
marriage with Marie de Medici.'
'The King's marriage!'
'Yes.'
'But the Queen still lives.'
'And long may she live; but not as Queen.'
'Ah!'
'Exactly; you begin to see now. If we can make this move we get the
support of the Quirinal, and, more, the help of the Florentine
coffers. We will paralyse the great conspiracy which Biron
heads--rather a league than a conspiracy. We can dispense with the
expensive services of Sancy, of Ornano, and of Zamet, and then Henry
will be free to carry out his great designs.'
'If, however, Biron is as strong as you say?'
'Permit me--we are providing for that. He has been kept close to the
King. Sully, as Master-General of the ordnance, has ordered the guns
at Dijon to be sent to Paris with a view of replacing them with new
ones. None are going, and by the time that the King's betrothal is
announced, Burgundy will be as much Henry's as it is the Marshal's
now.'
'But he will believe nothing against Biron.'
'Other people have nursed vipers before, but the King is not himself
now. He can think of nothing but one thing. See here, d'Auriac, I have
helped you for two reasons: one, because I love France; and the other,
because I love you. Henry has ordered the marriage of Madame de
Bidache with d'Ayen to be celebrated to-morrow. He gave that order
to-day, to put an end to the importunities of the Marshal in regard to
de Gomeron. I know this, and Madame knows it too. In plain language
you must play a bold stroke for the woman you love--take her away
to-night.'
'That was partly arranged--we are to go to Switzerland.'
'You will never reach the frontier. Look--there is my castle of
Mourmeton in Champagne. It is old and half in ruins. See, here is my
signet. Take it, show it to Gringel, the old forester there--he will
take you to a hiding place. Stay there until the affair blows over,
and then to Switzerland or elsewhere, if you will; in the meantime I
pledge you the faith of de Belin that no stone will be left unturned
to effect your pardon.'
I took the ring he gave me and slipped it on, and then our hands met
in a hearty clasp that expressed more than words. It was at this
moment that Susette announced Pantin, and the little notary came in
with his quick, short step.
'I am late, messieurs, I know,' he said, 'but I was not at home when
Vallon arrived, or else I had been here sooner.'
'You are in ample time for what we want, Pantin,' I said, 'though
there is no time to waste. I am leaving Paris to-night, and will not
return to the Rue des Deux Mondes, but start from here. My business
concerns the safety and honour of Madame de la Bidache, and when I say
that I know I can rely on you. Is it not so?'
'It is, monsieur.'
'Well, then, should anyone ask for me, say I have gone you know not
where. You do not know, as a matter of fact. If Jacques, my servant,
returns, bid him go straight to M. le Compte. He will get orders from
him.'
'I understand perfectly, monsieur.'
'There is yet another thing. Hasten to Maitre Palin and bid him await
me now outside the Porte St. Denis with two spare horses; he will
understand what I mean. And now, my friend, adieu. This will pay what
I owe you,' and I thrust a half-dozen pistoles into his hand.
But he resolutely refused. 'No, no, monsieur le chevalier.'
'But dame Annette?' interposed Belin.
'Um!' said the notary, scratching his chin, 'that is another matter. I
had for the moment forgotten I was a married man. Very well, monsieur,
I will take the money--not that I need it, but for the sake of peace;
and now there is little time to lose. I go to do all you have asked me
to, and rest assured, messieurs, it will be faithfully done.'
'I have no doubt of that, Pantin.'
'We had better make a start, too,' I said, and Belin shouted for the
horses. We stayed for a moment or so after the notary's departure,
during which time Belin urged me to take Vallon and a couple of men
with me to my tryst, but, fearing no complications, I refused, saying
that this was a matter that were best done with one hand. Belin would
have come himself but that, his friendship with me being known, it was
necessary for him to avoid all suspicion of his being in the affair.
'I shall go to the Louvre,' he said, 'and engage d'Ayen at play.
Pimental and others will be there, and, if I mistake not M. le Baron
will have a sore head for his wedding,' and he chuckled here.
Then I settled the score with mine host, and, mounting our horses, we
rode back the way we came. It was at the Magasins that we wished each
other good-bye, and, with a last grip of the hand and a last warning
to hasten to Mourmeton, Belin turned towards the Louvre, whilst I went
on towards the Tuileries, keeping the northern road, and not the more
frequented street along the river face. I chose this way because,
although it was a little longer, yet there was still a half-hour for
my appointment, and it would not do for me to arrive too early, as by
hanging about at the trysting-place I might attract attention, and,
perhaps, ruin the game. As I rode on I caught myself wondering if I
could play the same hand that Sully, Villeroi, and de Belin were
throwing to. I knew they were honest men--their positions removed them
from such temptations as might assail even a great noble, and that
they were loyally trying to serve their country and their King. If
such service, however good its object, meant, as it clearly did, that
one must be up to the elbows in intrigue, then I thanked God that I
belonged to no party, and inwardly resolved that, whether I won or
lost my hazard, the court would see me no more; and as for the King!
_Pardieu!_ It is not good to know a hero too well.
There was a strong moon, and the night was as clear as crystal. One
side of the street was in shadow, illumined here and there by the
dim light of a few lanterns set high up in niches in the old and
moss-grown walls of the buildings. The houses here were old even for
this part of Paris, and, with their sloping roofs and many gables,
rose in irregular outlines on either side--outlines, however, so
softened by the moonlight, in which they seemed to quiver, that it was
as if some fantastic creation of fairyland had been set down here--a
phantom city that would melt into nothingness with the warm rays of
the morning sun.
Away in the distance it still seemed as if I could hear the hum of the
city behind me, but here all was quiet and still and the iron-shod
hoofs of Couronne rang out with a strange clearness into the night.
Occasionally I met a passer on the road, but he or she, whoever they
were, took care to give me a wide berth, and once a woman who had
opened her door to look out, for some reason or other, hurried in and
shut it with a little cry of alarm as I passed.
I had now come to the gardens of the Tuileries, and, putting Couronne
at the wall which was just being raised around them, found myself
within a quarter-mile of our place of meeting. The turf was soft and
level here, and I let Couronne go at a half-gallop, keeping in the
chequered shade of the huge trees, which whispered strange things to
each other in the breeze. At this moment it seemed as if I heard the
smothered neigh of a horse. I knew the sound well, for often had my
old Norman tried to serve me in this way through the scarf by which
his jaws were bound together when we lay in ambuscade. With a touch of
my hand I stayed my beast and stopped to listen. Beyond me stretched
the avenue, at the end of which stood the great lime trees. I could
see nothing but the ghostly line of trunks, lit up here by the moon,
there standing out black against the night, or fading away into a
lacework of leaves and branches. There was no sound except the tinkle
of the leaves and the sullen creaking of the boughs overhead. 'It must
be her horse or Palings,' I said aloud to myself; and then the
compline came to me clear and sweet from the spire of St. Germain.
I lifted my hat for an instant with a silent prayer to God for help,
and then shook up Couronne. Ere the last notes of the bells had gone I
was under the limes. At first I could see nothing; there was no one
there; and my heart grew cold at the thought that some danger had
overtaken my dear one.
'Madame!' I called out. 'It is I---d'Auriac'
Then a figure in a grey mantle stepped out from the shadow of the
trees, and I sprang from the saddle and held out my hand.
'I knew it was you, chevalier,' she said, 'but I wanted to make
certain and waited until you spoke.'
'I hope I have not kept you waiting?'
'Indeed no. I had but just come across from the Louvre when you
arrived.'
'Then you did not come riding?'
'How could I? I have been in the Louvre, and am expected to be at the
_coucher_ of Madame Catherine in a half-hour,' and she laughed
slightly.
The thought of that smothered neigh flashed through my mind like
lightning.
'We must trust ourselves to Couronne,' I said. 'Palin will be at the
Porte St. Denis. There is no time to waste; come!'
Then it seemed that she hesitated, and, flinging back her hood, looked
me full in the face. In the moonlight I saw her white as marble, and
she suddenly put out both her hands, saying:
'I trust you utterly, d'Auriac'
Man is not made of stone, and I loved this woman as my life. There was
that in her voice, in the pitiful appeal of its tones, that broke down
all my false pride. I cannot say how it happened, but in a moment my
arm was round her waist, and I drew her towards me, she nothing
resisting.
'Claude, I love you. Give me the right to protect you.'
What she said is for my ears alone; and then she lay still and passive
in my arms, her head resting on my shoulder.
So for a time we stood in silence, and then I kissed her.
'Come, dear,' I said, 'and with the morning we shall be safe.'
Of her own accord she put her arms about my neck and pressed her lips
to mine, and then I lifted my darling to Couronne's saddle bow.
Had I but taken de Belin's offer! If Jacques were but with me then!
My foot was in the stirrup, my hand on the reins, when there was a
sudden flash, a loud report, and my poor horse fell forward,
floundering in the agony of death.
I just managed to snatch Claude from the saddle, and staggered back,
and then with a rush a half-dozen men were on us. They were masked to
a man, and made their attack in a perfect silence; but as my sword
flashed out of my scabbard I recognised the tall figure of the
Capuchin, and thrust at him fiercely, with a curse at my folly in
coming alone.
Things like these take a short time in doing, and should take a
shorter time in telling. I ran one man through the heart, and with a
gasp he fell forwards and twisted himself like a snake round my blade.
Then someone flung a cloak over my head--I was overborne by numbers
and thrown. Two or three men held me down; there was an iron grip at
my throat, and a man's knee pressed heavily on my chest. I made a
frantic effort to free myself: the covering slipped from my face, and
I saw it was the Capuchin kneeling over me, a dagger in his hand. His
mask had fallen from him, and his face was the face of Ravaillac!
I could not call out, I was held too tight; and the villain lifted his
poniard to strike, when a voice--the voice of de Gomeron--said:
'Hold! We will put him out another way.'
'This is the quickest and surest,' answered Ravaillac; but the reply
was brief and stern.
'Carry out my orders. Gag him and bring him with us.'
'To Babette's?'
'To Babette's. There is the oubliette. Quick, there is no time to
lose.'
'Oh, ho!' laughed Ravaillac, 'that is good! M. le Chevalier will be
able to drown his sorrows under the Seine; but he will take a long
time to die!'
'You villain!' I gasped, but like lightning the gag was on me, and
then I was blindfolded. I could see nothing of Madame, though I tried
my utmost to get a glimpse of her. Then I was bound hand and foot, and
lifted by a couple of men. After being carried a short space I was
thrust into a litter, and as this was done I heard a faint cry from
Claude; and I groaned in my heart, for I was powerless to help.
The litter went forward at a jolting pace, and from the echo of hoofs
around it I gathered that there were at least a dozen mounted men
about me. Sometimes I heard a brief order given by de Gomeron, and the
sound of his voice made me certain that Madame was with us. If so,
there might still be hope, and I lay still and tried to follow our
route by the movement of the party, but I could see nothing; and after
a time my brain began to get confused, for we turned this way and
that, up side streets, down winding roads, until the thing became
impossible.
Once we were challenged by the watch, and my captor gave answer
boldly:
'M. de Gomeron, of the Marshal's Guards, with prisoners for the
Chatelet; let us pass in the King's name.'
I heard the words and strove to call out, but the gag was too secure.
At any rate, I had learned one thing--we were going in the direction
of the Chatelet. Who, then, was Babette? I had heard the name once
before, on the night that I lay wounded before La Fere, and an
inspiration seemed to come on me, and I was certain that the night hag
and de Gomeron's Babette were one and the same.
Then we jolted on for about another half-hour--we must have passed the
Chatelet by this--when suddenly the litter took a sharp turn to the
right, and after going a little way was put to the ground.
'_Sacre nom d'un chien!_' exclaimed one of my carriers, 'he is heavy
as lead.'
'He will be light enough in a week or so,' answered someone else; and
then I heard the creaking of hinges, and the litter appeared to be
borne within a yard and was left there. After a half-hour or so I was
dragged out, and I heard a woman's voice:
'This way, my lambs; the gentleman's room is below--very far below,
out of all draughts;' and she laughed, with the same pitiless note in
her voice that I had heard once before--and I knew it was the
murderess.
Down a winding stair we went, and I remained passive, but mentally
counted the steps and the turns. There were eighteen steps and three
turns, at each of which there was apparently a door, and then we
stopped. There was a jingling of keys, the harsh, grating noise of a
bolt being drawn back, and Babette spoke again:
'Monsieur's apartment is ready--'tis the safest room in the Toison
d'Or.' Then I was flung in heavily as I was, and the door bolted
behind me.