ROQUEFORT’S PRICE
I HEARD the wheel creak round, and a sudden spasm of pain shot through
elbows, shoulders, and hips as the ropes tightened. I set my teeth
to stifle back the cry I knew the next turn must wring from me, and
glanced up at Roquefort leering down at me. Thank God, I had settled
accounts with that other devil! He, at least, was not there to gloat
over my agony! This one I must leave to M. le Comte.
“Well, M. de Marsan,” he drawled, “are you yet ready to tell me the
name of the spy? Think well before you answer. Your present position is
not an easy one, perhaps, but it is a bed of roses compared to what it
will be when that wheel has been turned twice more.”
I bit my lips to keep back the curses that rose to them.
“Come, you are obdurate,” said Roquefort after a moment. “Briquet,
explain to him the effect of turning the wheel twice more.”
“The first turn will dislocate the shoulders,” said Briquet in a tone
of professional indifference. “The second turn will dislocate the hips.”
The voice!--where had I heard it? I stared up at him! I could have
sworn there was white hate in the look he bent upon his master.
“And the third turn, Briquet?” urged Roquefort.
“The third turn will render the dislocations permanent by tearing away
the gristle which binds bone to bone--ball to socket.”
I felt my heart grow cold with terror. Had God a hell to fit such
devils? Yet other men had borne it--day after day they had borne it and
still smiled. Well, I would bear it too!
“So you will not speak?” asked Roquefort reading my defiance in my
eyes. “As you will. Only, I warn you, you are playing the fool, M. de
Marsan,” and he turned to give the signal to the men at the wheel.
But the signal was not given. Even as he turned, the outer door was
flung back and hurrying feet dashed into the chamber and across it
towards us. Every one stared, astounded, to see who this might be that
set at naught Roquefort’s orders. Not until they came full within
the circle of light from the torches could I see them--and how my
heart leaped, for I looked up into Claire’s eyes, and back of her saw
Brissac’s anxious face.
“We are in time,” she said in a voice almost a whisper. “Thank God!
Loose that wheel, you scoundrels!”
Mechanically, without thinking from whom the order came, they permitted
the wheel to spin back. What a blessed relief it was!
Then she turned to Roquefort with blazing eyes.
“You are a brute--a monster!” she cried. “Oh, I did well to think twice
before taking you for a husband!”
I could not keep back the cry that burst to my lips. So that story
Fronsac had told me was true! But she merely glanced at me and turned
again to Roquefort, who was watching her with eyes inflamed by passion.
“It was only by the merest chance I learned a moment since what devil’s
work was toward here,” she went on. “You will release him at once,
Monsieur.”
But Roquefort only laughed.
“My faith,” he said, “how beautiful you are once you get in a passion!
Come, Claire, you must be mine, after all! Only I can esteem you as you
deserve! I am not milk and water--I can meet fire with fire!”
She looked at him with scornful eyes.
“Are you going to continue in this coward’s work?” she asked.
He saw the contempt in her look and it stung him.
“Mademoiselle,” he said coldly, his face growing stern, “this is
something that is no concern of yours. This fellow knows of the
existence of one spy, and perhaps of two, in my household. I propose to
turn that wheel until their names are wrung from him.”
“And this to the man who saved your honor!” she sneered. “Your
gratitude is truly princely, M. le Duc!”
Roquefort stared at her, amazed.
“My honor?” he repeated. “I do not understand, Mademoiselle. What is
this riddle?”
She looked at her uncle over her shoulder, and something in her eyes
brought him forward. But his face was livid--plainly, he did not relish
this bearding of the lion.
“Permit me to explain, M. le Duc,” he said. “You will remember that I
told you of the attack upon me at Montauban, which would inevitably
have secured from me certain papers but for the assistance which came
to me opportunely.”
Roquefort nodded grimly.
“I remember,” he said. “Go on.”
“Well, M. le Duc, I did not tell you the name of our rescuer, not
thinking that it would interest you and not knowing at the time that he
was a prisoner. It was not until Claire came to me just now and told me
that I knew. Then I hastened here, that you also might know. M. le Duc,
the man who saved your papers lies there on the rack before you!”
Roquefort stared at him a moment and then down on me.
“This fellow!” he stammered, as though not believing his ears. “But he
is one of Cadillac’s men!”
“He saved us,” said Brissac quickly, “not asking which side we
served--seeing only that we were in deadly peril.”
“And that the girl was pretty,” added the other, glancing at her
keenly. “I can read the story--it is an old one among you Gascons.”
“At any rate, he saved us, M. le Duc,” interrupted Brissac with a touch
of impatience.
“Yes, he saved you, perhaps,” assented Roquefort, “but he refuses to
answer my questions. I am grateful for the one; the other I cannot
forgive. He must be made to answer.”
I saw Brissac flush darkly and Claire grow pale. You may well conceive
with what intentness I stared up at this scene--with what agony of
earnestness I watched the face of each of the actors in it.
“What are these questions, M. le Duc?” asked Brissac at last.
“The first is--the name of the man who sent a message from here to
Marsan, which this fellow carried to Montauban. He says he did not see
the messenger--at least, not his face--and that he does not know his
name. But the other question cannot be evaded so easily. I want the
name of the person who, three nights since, cut the bonds which held
him to Drouet.”
I saw the blood sweep in a wave from Claire’s face as she came slowly
forward. I understood what she was about to do, and implored her with
my eyes not to speak, but she did not even glance at me.
“Do you mean, M. le Duc,” she asked, in a voice strained by emotion,
“that if you have the name of this person you will release M. de
Marsan?”
Roquefort glanced at her, surprised by her emotion.
“Perhaps,” he said. “I had sworn to have his life, but the story you
have told me counts in his favor.”
“Then, M. le Duc,” she said firmly, “learn that I am the person. M. de
Marsan chose not to betray me, but I can betray myself.”
I could feel the force with which Roquefort gripped the bottom of the
rack to steady himself under the blow.
“You!” he cried. “You!” and he glared at her with bloodshot eyes. “Name
of God! But this is beyond endurance! You--Claire de Brissac, whom I
have honored with the offer of my hand--a traitor!”
“Not a traitor, M. le Duc,” she protested proudly. “I sought merely to
save the life of a man who had saved my uncle’s. I am still seeking to
do so. Surely I have succeeded!”
But Roquefort was looking down at me and did not answer.
“Tell me, M. de Marsan,” he said at last, “is this pretty story
true--this story of the rescue?”
“Quite true, M. le Duc.”
“And did Cadillac know?”
“He recognized me at once, Monsieur. So did Letourge. He was in bed----”
“In bed?” queried Roquefort, surprised.
“In bed--yes. It was he whom Mademoiselle struck across the face with a
white-hot iron. He will always wear the scar.”
“And he did not hang you?”
“He was about to, Monsieur. Only, in the end, he determined to prove
whether I or d’Aurilly were the traitor.”
Roquefort looked across the room where the traitor’s body lay, a dark
heap on the platform.
“Ah, yes, I had forgot,” he murmured. Then he turned to Claire.
“Mademoiselle,” he said, “since you answer yourself, I quite absolve
M. de Marsan, and out of gratitude for that exploit of his am ready to
release him.”
I heard Claire breathe a sigh of relief as he paused; but I saw the
devil in his eyes. I knew that the end was not yet.
“Unfortunately,” he went on, “there is another count against M. de
Marsan--a very grave count. Look yonder, on the platform, Mademoiselle;
do you see that thing lying there? An hour since, that was the Vicomte
d’Aurilly--now it is a mere heap of carrion. It was M. de Marsan who
sprang upon him and wrought the transformation, and M. de Marsan must
answer for it.”
“A coward and a traitor, Monsieur,” breathed the girl, “not worthy a
second thought.”
“A coward and a traitor, perhaps,” assented Roquefort; “but,
nevertheless, my guest and killed within my house.”
I read the implacable purpose in his voice--so did the others, and I
saw Claire steadying herself against the wall. How I loved her! And I
devoured her sweet face with my eyes. It would be easy to go to death
with that image in my heart!
She stood a moment so, looking down at me, her eyes dark with horror.
What eyes they were! And Roquefort was looking at her too, reading her
heart.
“Kindly take Mademoiselle to her apartments, Brissac,” he said at last.
“She will not care to witness what is to follow.”
So the moment had come!
“Adieu, Mademoiselle,” I said as calmly as I could. “It is to be adieu
this time, it seems. You have done what you could to save me, and I
shall die quite happy, knowing that you care. Only,” I added, with a
smile I could not make wholly tearless, “it would have been good to
live, knowing it--for I love you, Mademoiselle. Pardon my saying it
here, before these others--but I must say it--I want you to think of me
always as loving you.”
Her lips were trembling and her eyes bright with tears. God! To
live--life would be worth something now!
“M. le Duc,” she asked at last, in a choking voice, “is there no price
which will prevent this murder?”
He looked from her to me and back again. I saw hot desire leap to life
in his eyes as he gazed at her--her face, her arms, the poise of her
figure!
“Only one, Mademoiselle,” he answered very quietly.
“And what is that, Monsieur?”
Again he looked at her, dwelling on her beauty, her girlishness, her
innocence.
“That is yourself, Mademoiselle.”
I started from the rack, but the straps held me back.
“Mademoiselle,” I cried, hot with rage, “I forbid such a sacrifice--you
wife to this scoundrel! His worst with me must be less hideous than
that!”
But Roquefort waved me to silence.
“Understand, Mademoiselle,” he said quietly, “that I make you the offer
of my hand only out of courtesy, because I want you to come willingly
to my bed. I have a passion for you--I desire you--and I am going to
possess you! Heretofore, since your uncle was too weak to command you,
I have urged my suit discreetly. Hereafter I shall carry it with a high
hand. You are, self-confessed, a traitor to me, and I can do with you
as I please. I have the right over you of justice, high and low! Yet I
am generous--yet still do I offer you the title of Madame la Duchesse
de Roquefort, and your lover’s life besides. There are few women
who would need to be asked twice. Nor do I intend to ask you twice,
Mademoiselle. I am weary of your indifference. You will choose now
whether you will be my wife willingly, or----”
His glance finished the sentence. She understood--so did
Brissac--white-livered coward, why did he not strike the scoundrel down
where he stood! I jerked at the straps in an agony of rage. His wife or
his mistress! A pretty choice!
“But, M. le Duc,” began Brissac, in sickly protest.
Roquefort turned slowly and looked at him, with eyes red with malignant
menace. Brissac stood silent, with twitching lips. Yes, he was a
coward, as Fronsac had said.
Then Roquefort turned again to the girl.
“I await your answer, Mademoiselle,” he said with a sinister calmness.
She looked about for a moment helplessly, as though seeking some way of
escape. There was only one that I could see--and I cursed the straps
that held me helpless there! If only God would grant it me to kill this
monster!
“Mademoiselle,” I began, “Claire!” and then stopped--what could I
advise? Yet the thought of her in that devil’s arms maddened me.
She looked at me for an instant--at the hard bed on which I lay--at
the men ready at the wheel--then her eyes swept back to Roquefort.
“M. le Duc,” she said quite calmly, “I accept. Only, I warn you, you
will get no loving wife.”
He bowed to her with infinite politeness. The scoundrel was not without
his points. He could meet fire with fire, as he had said!
“All that will come after,” he retorted, with an infernal smile. “I
assure you that you will find me a loving husband. As to your lover--I
will take care to protect myself from him!”
He looked down at me, the smile still on his lips.
“But the arrangements,” he continued after a moment. “I must acquaint
you with them, Mademoiselle. We were to have had a wedding to-morrow
morning, only, unfortunately, the bridegroom lies dead yonder. Well, we
will have the wedding, only it will be you and I who take the vows. You
agree?”
Her face became more livid as she saw how near was her martyrdom, but
there was no relenting in his features. She nodded faintly.
“Very well,” he said approvingly, “that is right, Mademoiselle. Make
the best of it. I am not such a monster as you seem to think. I am a
man, like any other, and have my generous moments. I hasten to order
the arrangements. As for Mademoiselle de Cadillac, I must select her
another husband from among my followers. Permit me to conduct you to
your room, Mademoiselle. As soon as we are safe outside, this fellow
will be released and taken back to his tower. Immediately after the
wedding he shall be returned to Cadillac unharmed. I swear it on my
honor. Does that satisfy you?”
Again she nodded, and Roquefort paused for a moment to look down at me.
“My faith, M. de Marsan,” he laughed, “you look as though you were
itching to treat me as you did d’Aurilly.”
“God will yet give me the chance!” I answered, between my teeth.
He laughed again and led the girl to the door, leaving me jerking
convulsively at my straps.