THE ARMS OF PIERRE PEUQUOY, THE ROPES OF JEAN PEUQUOY,
AND THE TEARS OF BABETTE PEUQUOY
Nearly a month elapsed at Calais without bringing about any change in
the situation of those whom we left there to their great regret. Pierre
Peuquoy was always working away diligently at his armor; Jean Peuquoy
had begun to weave again, and in his leisure moments finished some ropes
of extraordinary length; Babette Peuquoy was always weeping.
Gabriel's waiting had gone through the various phases sketched by
Arnauld du Thill to the constable. He had waited patiently the first
fortnight, but had begun then to grow impatient.
He now visited Lord Wentworth only on very rare occasions; and his calls
were always very brief. There had been coolness between them ever since
Gabriel had rashly interfered in the fictitious family affairs of the
governor.
The latter too, we take great pleasure in saying, grew more and more
gloomy from day to day; but the cause of his uneasiness was not the
three messages which had been sent at short intervals since Arnauld's
departure, from the King of France. All three made, as may well be
imagined, the same demand,--the first politely, the second sharply, and
the third with threats: they demanded the liberty of Madame de Castro
for such ransom as the governor of Calais chose to name. But to all
three he had made the same reply,--that he proposed to keep Madame de
Castro as an hostage to be exchanged in case of need during the war for
some prisoner of importance, or to be returned to the king without
ransom when peace should be concluded. He was strictly within his
rights; and intrenched behind his strong walls, he defied Henri's anger.
So it was not the royal anger which worried him, although he could but
ask himself how the king had learned of Diane's captivity; the real
source of his anxiety was the indifference, every day more contemptuous,
of his fair prisoner. Neither humility nor assiduous attention had
availed to lower the proud and disdainful spirit of Madame de Castro.
She was always the same--calm and sad and dignified--before the
passionate governor; and whenever he ventured to utter a word of his
love (although it must in justice be said that he never violated the
bounds which his title as a gentleman imposed upon him), an expression,
at once mournful and haughty, broke poor Lord Wentworth's heart and
wounded his pride. He did not dare to speak to Diane either of the
letter she had written to Gabriel or of the attempts made by the king to
procure his daughter's liberty, so much did he dread a bitter word or a
satirical reproof from those lovely but cruel lips.
Diane had noticed that the servant who had dared to undertake to deliver
her billet was no longer to be seen about the house, and fully
understood that desperate chance had failed her. However, she did
not lose her courage, the pure and noble girl waited and prayed. She
trusted in God, and in death, in case of need.
On the last day of October, which Gabriel had fixed on in his own mind
as the limit to his term of waiting for Martin-Guerre's return, he
determined to call upon Lord Wentworth and ask, as a favor, his leave to
send another messenger to Paris.
About two o'clock he left the Peuquoy house, where Pierre was polishing
a sword, Jean weaving one of his enormous ropes, and w here for several
days past, Babette, with eyes red from weeping, had been wandering from
room to room, unable to speak, and betook himself straight to the
governor's mansion.
Lord Wentworth was busy about something or other at the moment, and sent
word to Gabriel begging him to wait five minutes, when he would be
entirely at his service.
The hall to which Gabriel had been shown looked out upon an interior
courtyard. Gabriel drew near the window to look out into the court, and
mechanically ran his fingers back and forth over the panes. Suddenly,
beneath his very fingers, his attention was attracted by letters drawn
upon the glass with a diamond ring. He looked at them more closely, and
was able to make out with perfect distinctness these words: _Diane de
Castro_.
It was the signature which was missing at the end of the mysterious
letter he had received the month before.
A film came over Gabriel's eyes, and he had to lean against the wall to
avoid falling. His presentiments had not lied, then! Diane! It was
indeed Diane, his _fiancée_ or his sister, whom this dissolute
Wentworth actually had in his power! It was to her, the pure and lovely
creature, that he dared to speak of his passion.
With an involuntary gesture Gabriel carried his hand to the hilt of his
missing sword.
At that moment Lord Wentworth came in.
As he had done on the first occasion, Gabriel, without uttering a word,
led him to the window, and pointed out to him the accusing signature.
At first Lord Wentworth turned pale; then asserting that mastery over
himself which he possessed in an eminent degree,--
"Well," said he, "what is it?"
"Is that not the name of the mad kinswoman whom you are obliged to hold
under restraint here, my Lord?" said Gabriel.
"It may be so; what then?" retorted Lord Wentworth, haughtily.
"If it be the case, my Lord, I know this kinswoman of yours,--a very
distant relative, no doubt. I have seen her very often at the Louvre. I
am her devoted slave, as every French gentleman should be of a daughter
of the house of France."
"And then?" said Lord Wentworth.
"Then, my Lord, I demand of you an explanation of your reason for
retaining and treating as you do a prisoner of her station?"
"And suppose I refuse, Monsieur, to oblige you with an explanation, as I
have already refused the King of France?"
"Refused the King of France!" echoed Gabriel, in amazement.
"To be sure," replied Lord Wentworth, with unfailing self-possession.
"An Englishman, it seems to me, owes no explanation of his actions to a
foreign monarch, especially when his own nation is at war with that
monarch. So, Monsieur d'Exmès, what if I decline to be called to
account by you as well?"
"I should demand that you give me satisfaction, my Lord," cried Gabriel.
"And you would hope to kill me, no doubt," replied the governor, "with
the sword which you only wear by my leave, and which I have the right to
demand of you at this moment."
"Oh, my Lord! my Lord!" cried Gabriel, in a fury of passion, "you shall
pay me for this too."
"So be it, Monsieur," replied Lord Wentworth; "and I will not deny my
debt when you have settled yours."
"Powerless!" fairly shrieked Gabriel, wringing his hands,--"powerless at
the very moment when I should like the strength of ten thousand men!"
"It is really pretty hard for you," Lord Wentworth continued, "that
propriety and law alike bind your hands; but you must confess that it
would be altogether too convenient a way for a prisoner of war and a
debtor to obtain his freedom and discharge his debt simply by cutting
the throat of his creditor and his foe."
"My Lord," said Gabriel, struggling to recover his self-control, "you
know that I sent my squire to Paris a month since to procure the sum of
money which causes you so much anxiety. Can Martin-Guerre have been
wounded or slain on the road, in spite of your safe-conduct? Has he been
robbed of the money he was bringing me? That is what I cannot say. The
sad fact is that he does not return; and I had just come to beg you to
let me send another messenger to Paris, since you have no faith in the
word of a gentleman, and have never offered to let me go myself to
procure my ransom. Now, my Lord, you no longer have the right to refuse
me what I ask, or rather I have the right now to say that you fear to
have me at liberty and that you don't dare to give me back my sword."
"To whom would you say that, pray," said Lord Wentworth, "in an English
city under my immediate authority, and where you should be looked upon
in no other light than as a prisoner and an enemy?"
"I would cry it aloud, my Lord, to every man who has sense and feeling;
to every man who has a noble heart or a noble name; to your officers,
who understand affairs in which honor is involved; to your workmen even,
whom their instinct would enlighten. And all would agree with me against
you, my Lord, that in not granting me the means of leaving this place,
you have shown your unfitness to be the commander of gallant soldiers."
"But you don't reflect, Monsieur," was Lord Wentworth's cold response,
"that rather than let you spread the spirit of mutiny among my men, I
have only to say the word, only to raise my hand, to have you cast into
a dungeon where you could accuse me only to the deaf and speechless
walls."
"Alas! that is too true, ten thousand tempests!" muttered Gabriel, with
compressed lips and clinched fists.
The man of sensibility and emotion was being shattered against the
impassibility of the man of iron and brass.
But a single word changed the whole face of affairs, and at once put
Gabriel and Wentworth on an equal footing again.
"Dear Diane! dear Diane!" said the younger man, in his anguish; "to be
able to do nothing for you in your hour of need!"
"What did you say, Monsieur?" asked Lord Wentworth, trembling. "You
said, I think, 'dear Diane!' Did you say it, or did I misunderstand you?
Can it be that you too love Madame de Castro?"
"Well, then, if I must say it, I do indeed love her!" cried Gabriel.
"You love her too, you say! But my love is as pure and devoted as yours
is base and cruel. Yes, before God and His angels I love her to
adoration."
"What was all that you said, then, about the daughter of France, and the
protection that every French gentleman owed to such an one in
misfortune?" rejoined Lord Wentworth, quite beside himself. "Ah! you
love her, do you? And you are the man whom she loves, no doubt; and
whose memory she invokes when she wishes to torment me. You are the man
for love of whom she despises mine! the man without whom she might love
me perhaps! Ah! are you the man whom she loves?"
Lord Wentworth, but a short time before so mocking and disdainful, now
regarded the man who was honored by Diane's affection with a sort of
respectful terror; while Gabriel, on hearing his rival's words, raised
his glad and triumphant face ever higher and higher.
"Ah, indeed she does love me, then!" cried he; "she still thinks of me!
She calls for me, you say? Oh, well, if she calls for me, why, I will go
to her,--yes, help her and rescue her. Come, my Lord, take my sword, gag
me, bind me, imprison me, and I shall still find a way to help her and
save her, since she still loves me, my saintly Diane! Since she still
loves me, I dare you and defy you; and though you have arms in your
hands and I am unarmed, I am sure of overcoming you, with Diane's love
for my buckler."
"True, true; I can well believe it," muttered Lord Wentworth,
overwhelmed.
"Thus it would no longer be generous in me to challenge you to single
combat," said Gabriel; "so call your guards and tell them to confine me,
if you choose. To be in prison near her and at the same time would be of
itself a sort of happiness."
A long silence ensued.
At last Lord Wentworth said, with much apparent hesitation, "You asked
me, I believe, to allow a second messenger to set out for Paris to
procure your ransom?"
"Such was my purpose, my Lord, when I called upon you."
"In your discourse you seem to have reproached me," continued the
governor, "for not having had faith in your honor as a gentleman, and
for refusing to allow you to go yourself to procure your money, with
your word for my security?"
"Very true, my Lord."
"Well, Monsieur," said Wentworth, "you may set out to-day; the gates of
Calais will be opened to you; your request is granted."
"I understand," said Gabriel, bitterly,--"you wish to separate me from
her. But suppose I refuse to leave Calais now?"
"I am master here, Monsieur," was Lord Wentworth's reply; "and it is not
for you to refuse or to accept my commands, but to submit to them."
"Very well, then," said Gabriel, "I will go, my Lord, but without any
especial gratitude for your generosity, I warn you."
"Nor have I any need of your thanks, Monsieur."
"I will go," said Gabriel; "but be sure that I shall not long remain
your debtor, and that I shall soon come back, my Lord, to pay all my
debts at once. Then I shall no longer be your prisoner, nor will you be
my creditor, and there will no longer be any reason why the sword which
I wear should not cross with yours."
"I might refuse this combat, Monsieur," said Lord Wentworth, rather
gloomily; "for the chances between us would not be equal. If I should
kill you, she would hate me all the more bitterly; whereas if you should
kill me, the result would be to make her love you the more dearly. But
no matter, I must and do accept. But are you not afraid," he added
sombrely, "of driving me to extremities? When almost all the advantage
is with you, might I not be justified in making an unfair use of those
which I can still call my own?"
"God on high and the nobility of every country on earth would be your
judges, my Lord," said Gabriel, shuddering, "if you should be such a
coward as to wreak your vengeance upon those whom you are unable to
vanquish, by oppressing those who are unable to defend themselves."
After a pause, Lord Wentworth said,--
"It is three o'clock, Monsieur, and you have until seven--the hour when
the inner gates are closed--to make your preparations and leave the
town. I will meanwhile give my orders that you be allowed to pass free."
"At seven o'clock, my Lord, I shall have left Calais."
"And be sure," resumed Wentworth, "that you shall never re-enter it
again alive, and that even if you should succeed in slaying me in single
combat without the walls, my precautions will be taken, and well taken
(you may trust my jealousy for that), so that you shall never
possess--nay, you shall never even see Madame de Castro again."
Gabriel had already taken some steps on his way from the room; he
stopped at the door on hearing these last words.
"What you say is quite impossible, my Lord," he rejoined; "for it is
very necessary that I should see Diane again, sooner or later."
"However, it shall not be, Monsieur, I swear to you, if the will of the
governor of a city or the last words of a dying man are to be
respected."
"It _shall_ be, my Lord,--I know not how, but I am sure of it."
"In that case, Monsieur," said Wentworth, with a scornful smile, "you
will have to take Calais by assault."
Gabriel reflected a moment.
"I will take Calais by assault, my Lord," said he. "_Au revoir_!"
He saluted and left the room, leaving Lord Wentworth as if turned to
stone, and in doubt as to whether he ought to smile or be alarmed.
Gabriel returned at once to the house of Pierre Peuquoy.
He found Pierre polishing the hilt of his sword, Jean making knots in
his rope, and Babette sighing.
He repeated to his friends the conversation he had had with the
governor, and announced his approaching departure. Not even did he
conceal from them the possibly reckless remark with which he had taken
leave of Lord Wentworth.
Then he said,--
"Now I am going to my room to make my preparations, and I leave you to
your swords, Pierre; you, Jean, to your ropes; and you to your sighs,
Babette."
He went, as he had said, to put everything in order for his departure in
all haste. Now that he was free, time seemed to creep along until he
could get to Paris to rescue his father, and return to Calais to rescue
Diane.
When he left his room half an hour later, he found Babette on the
landing.
"Are you going, Monsieur le Vicomte?" she asked. "Shall you no more ask
me why I weep so much?"
"No, my child; for I hope that when I come back you will have ceased to
weep."
"I hope so too, Monseigneur," said Babette, "You expect to come back,
then, do you, in spite of the governor's threats?"
"I promise you that I will, Babette."
"And your squire, Martin-Guerre, too, I suppose?"
"Yes, to be sure."
"Are you sure that you will find Martin-Guerre at Paris, however,
Monsieur d'Exmès?" rejoined the young girl. "He is not a dishonest man,
is he? Of course he hasn't appropriated your ransom? He is not capable
of an act of--infidelity?"
"I would be willing to take my oath to his loyalty," said Gabriel,
rather surprised at these questions. "Martin has an uncertain
disposition, especially since a short time ago; and it is as if there
were two different men in his body,--one simple-minded, and very quiet
in his ways; the other crafty and noisy. But aside from this variable
character, he is a trusty and faithful servant."
"And no more likely to betray a woman than to deceive his master, is
he?"
"Oh, that is another matter," said Gabriel; "and I confess that I would
not answer for him there."
"Well, then, Monseigneur," said poor Babette, turning pale, "will you be
kind enough to hand him this ring? He will know from whom it comes and
what it means."
"I will give it to him, Babette," said Gabriel, recalling the last
evening before his squire's departure,--"I will give it to him; but the
person who sends it knows, I presume, that Martin-Guerre is married."
"Married!" shrieked Babette. "Then, Monseigneur, keep the ring,--throw
it away, do anything with it, rather than give it to him."
"But, Babette--"
"Thanks, Monseigneur, and adieu!" whispered the poor child.
She made her escape to the second floor, and had hardly got to her
chamber and fallen upon a chair when she fainted.
Gabriel, grieved and anxious over the suspicion which then first crossed
his mind, descended the staircase of the old house, deep in thought.
At the foot of the stairs he met Jean Peuquoy, who came up to him with a
very mysterious air.
"Monsieur le Vicomte," said the burgher, in a low voice, "you are
continually asking me why I am making ropes of such length. I cannot
allow you to depart, after your admirably worded farewell to Lord
Wentworth, without imparting to you the key to the riddle. By joining
together with small transverse cords two long, strong ropes, as the one
I am making, Monseigneur, one obtains a ladder of great length and
strength. This ladder, when one is a member of the civic guard, as
Pierre has been for twenty years, and I for three days, can easily be
conveyed in sections and placed under the sentry-box on the platform of
the Octagonal Tower. Then, some dark morning in December or January,
just for curiosity's sake, we might when on sentry duty attach an end of
each rope firmly to these pieces of iron when they are cemented into the
battlements, and let the other ends drop into the sea, some three
hundred feet below, where some hardy boatman might chance to find
himself at that moment."
"But, my dear Jean--" interrupted Gabriel.
"Never mind that, Monsieur le Vicomte," rejoined the weaver. "But if you
will excuse me, I should like before you leave to give you something as
a souvenir of your devoted servant, Jean Peuquoy. Here is a sort of plan
of the walls and fortifications of Calais. I have made it for my own
amusement, during those everlasting walks that have surprised you so.
Hide it under your doublet, and when you are at Paris look at it now and
then for my sake, I beg you."
Gabriel tried to interrupt again, but Jean gave him no time; pressing
the hand which the young man held out to him, he took his leave with
these words:--
"_Au revoir_, Monsieur d'Exmès. You will find Pierre waiting at the
door to pay his respects to you; they will supplement mine."
Pierre was standing in front of his house, holding Gabriel's horse by
the bridle.
"Thanks for your kind hospitality, Master," said the viscount. "I shall
very soon send you, even if I do not bring it myself, the money which
you have been polite enough to advance me. I will add to it, if you
please, a slight gratuity for your people. Meanwhile, be good enough to
offer your dear sister this little brilliant on my behalf."
"I accept it for her," said the armorer, "on the condition that you will
accept in return something in my line,--this horn which I have hung to
your saddle-bow. I made it with my own hands; and I should recognize its
blast even over the roaring of the stormy ocean,--for instance, on any
of the mornings of the 5th of each month, when I am on guard from four
o'clock to six, on the Octagonal Tower, which faces the sea."
"Thanks!" said Gabriel, pressing Pierre's hand in a way which showed
that he understood him.
"As to these arms, which you have wondered to see me making in such
great quantities," continued Pierre, "I am inclined to be sorry that I
have such a large stock on hand; for if Calais should be besieged some
day, the faction among us which still sympathizes with France might get
possession of these arms, and make a dangerous diversion in the very
heart of the city."
"Very true!" cried Gabriel, pressing the brave citizen's hand with still
greater warmth.
"With this I wish you a pleasant journey and good luck, Monsieur
d'Exmès," said Pierre. "Adieu, and to our speedy meeting!"
"To our speedy meeting!" said Gabriel.
He turned and waved a last farewell to Pierre as he stood upon his
threshold; to Jean, who had his head out of a window on the first floor;
and to Babette too, who was watching his departure from behind a curtain
on the second floor.
Then he put spurs to his horse, and was off at a gallop.
Orders had been sent to the city gate by Lord Wentworth, and no
objection was made to the departure of the prisoner, who soon found
himself well on the road to Paris, alone with his anxiety and his hopes.
Would he be able to effect his father's deliverance on his arrival at
Paris; or Diane de Castro's on his return to Calais?