A MESSAGE FROM WITHOUT
I LAY for some hours in my cell, dazed by this new misfortune, nursing
my aching muscles and smarting fingers. I had, it is true, saved
Mademoiselle Valérie from the most immediate danger which threatened
her, but only to hurl her into an abyss more frightful. For Roquefort
had said that he would soon select another man to wed her,--one of his
followers, no doubt; base-born, vulgar, low, more odious even than
d’Aurilly,--so that in the end she must fare worse than ever. For a
moment I found it in my heart to regret that I had killed d’Aurilly,
then the memory of his great villainies came back to me and the regret
passed. Earth were well rid of him!
After a time Drouet brought my dinner, and inquired with pretended
solicitude about my injuries. I told him they were not worth speaking
of, though my fingers were very sore from the dagger-cut and my muscles
still ached abominably. He saw I was in no mood for talk and soon left
me to myself.
I had no relish for the food, and went to the window in the faint hope
that I might see some promise of assault in M. le Comte’s camp below,
but the hope died as I looked down at it. The force was still there,
indeed, but the men were sprawled here and there in little groups and
the horses were grazing along the slope. He had not taken possession
of the town, preferring, doubtless, to levy upon the inhabitants for
supplies and leave them the possession of their houses. Besides, in the
town there was danger of surprise or betrayal. Yonder on the hill-top
there was none.
But I could guess how M. le Comte was eating his heart out gazing at
this fortress on a cliff and wondering what had befallen his daughter.
It is not an easy thing for a man who has ordered life ever as he
pleased to sit down quietly and accept defeat. Yet had he ten times the
men, success had been far off as ever.
I was about to turn away when I heard a little rustling on the wall
outside the window, and saw that it was caused by a piece of paper
dangling at the end of a string. It was jerked vigorously back and
forth. In a second I understood. Some one on the parapet, just over
me, was trying to attract my attention. Plainly, the paper was for me.
I strained my arm through the window and at last managed to grasp it.
With fast-beating heart I drew it in and took it from the string, which
was jerked away as soon as I released it. Then I unfolded the paper and
read. The note ran:
“Monsieur, I have learned of your demeanor at the question and am
grateful, for I am he who brought the warning to Marsan. While it
is true you do not know my name, I am sure, nevertheless, that you
might have pointed me out had you wished to do so. To-night I think
I can aid you, and also the others. At six o’clock Drouet will bring
you your supper. Detain him in talk until the guards are changed,
which will be perhaps ten minutes. Then put him for a moment off his
guard, seize his poniard, and kill him. This will require courage
and address, which I am certain you possess. There is a sentry in
the corridor, but you need not fear him, as I will see that he does
not trouble you. In the cell below yours M. de Fronsac is quartered.
Drouet will have the key to the door somewhere about him, since he
delivers M. de Fronsac’s supper before coming up to you. He will
doubtless have also the other keys to the tower.
“At seven o’clock Mademoiselle de Cadillac will come out for her
usual evening walk upon the parapet, which she is permitted to take
alone. There is, however, a sentry at either end of the parapet.
These you will have to silence.
“After she has joined you, descend at once to the bottom of the east
tower--the one in which you are. A flight of steps runs down into
the rock. Descend these. At the bottom you will find a small door,
heavily barred. You will see this opens on the face of the cliff, and
if you look attentively, you will discern little steps scratched in
the rock. By means of a rope to steady one’s self, these steps may
be descended. The rope is kept always lying by the door. The great
difficulty will be to get the door open. Only Roquefort himself
has the keys, and you will have to break it down. This will be no
easy task, but the sentry’s musket may prove of service. As the
watches are changed at six o’clock your escape will probably not be
discovered until midnight, so that you will have six hours in which
to work. Much may be accomplished in that time. If you succeed,
commend me to M. le Comte.”
You can conceive with what joy I read this message, with its plan of
escape so admirably mapped out. At first glance it seemed quite easy,
but as I considered it various difficulties appeared. However, I am
not one who borrows trouble, and I put these doubts behind me. For,
after all, here was hope in place of black despair--hope--and then, of
a sudden, I saw that it was not hope at all--at least, not for me. We
might escape,--we three,--but what of Claire? Would I not be deserting
her to the mercy of this monster who knew no mercy? Well, we should
see. At the worst, I could seek out this devil, sword in hand, and cut
him down ere he could summon aid. I could see the others safely down
the cliff and then turn back upon my errand. That would mean death for
me also--but if there were no other way, it would at least save Claire
from the insult of his caresses.
I read the message through a second time, and found myself
wondering--who was this traitor in Roquefort’s household? No ordinary
man, certainly, and one who kept his secret well. I knew so little
of Roquefort’s followers--and I had caught but a glimpse of the
messenger’s face. Well, M. le Comte would reward him.
Those hours of waiting were the longest I have ever known. I was eager
to strike in the first flush of confidence,--that is ever my way, for I
grow timid, sometimes, on second thought,--but now I must worry through
three mortal hours. Worry through them I did, somehow--but it was with
quivering nerves I heard Drouet at last throw the bolts. As the door
opened, I caught a glimpse of the sentry in the corridor. Drouet set my
platter on the floor.
“There’s your supper,” he said.
“And the last that I shall eat here,” I added laughingly. “Will you not
be sorry to bid me adieu?”
“Bid you adieu?” he asked. “How is that?”
“I am to be released to-morrow morning,” I explained, “so soon as M. le
Duc and Mademoiselle de Brissac are married. He has given his word.”
“So he is to have her at last, is he?” grinned Drouet. “Well, my faith,
he has waited long enough. Had I been he, I would have had her months
ago, and without troubling for a priest’s blessing. That is the safest
way, for he may weary of her--he may in time see some one younger,
fresher,” and he leered at me in a way that sent the blood to my face.
“He has pursued her long, then?” I asked, with what indifference I
could muster.
“Long! Since the day she came last spring from the Sacred Heart at
Toulouse, where the good sisters were caring for her. He had no sooner
set eyes on her than he was mad for her. At first we all thought we
should have a new Duchesse within a month, for M. le Duc is not the man
for a girl just out of a convent to resist; but some one whispered
into her ear the story of the first Duchesse, and perhaps some other
tales besides. What would not M. le Duc do to the tale-bearer could
he discover him! The first Duchesse is dead--dead,” and he laughed a
mocking laugh. “There was a story! She was found one morning at the
cliff-foot here, broken to pieces! She had flung herself over, perhaps.
There were those who said that M. le Duc had wearied of her, as he will
weary of this one--that the fall was not wholly an accident. However
that may have been, the girl refused to look at him after she had heard
the story. She was just from the convent, you see--her conscience was
yet warm. M. le Duc swore he would have her. Her indifference only
inflamed him the more. Really, before this, I thought he would use the
strong arm.”
“But her uncle,” I questioned. “What of him?”
“Brissac? Pouf!” and Drouet grimaced contemptuously. “A man of water
fit only for intrigue, where one talks in parables. He fears M. le Duc
as he fears the devil; and he also fears this girl, who has a will of
her own, despite her baby face. So he stepped discreetly to one side
and permitted them to fight it out. Well, M. le Duc will have his
hands full. I do not envy him. I prefer a wench whom I need not fear
will stab me while I sleep.”
“Yes,” I assented. My hands were trembling as I realized that the
moment had arrived. I marked how his poniard hung--there would be
need of quickness, for he was a great, heavy fellow, much stronger,
doubtless, than I.
“I must go,” he said at last. “I will drink your health at the wedding.”
He got slowly to his feet and stepped towards the door. As he passed
me, I strained forward, plucked out his poniard and drove it deep into
his thigh. I might have struck higher, but at the last instant my heart
failed me. I saw his startled eyes staring down at me, then he fell
with a crash.
“Help!” he yelled. “This way!”
But I was upon him, the poniard at his throat.
“Drouet,” I said between my teeth, “I spared you an instant since--I
might easily have killed you. I swear I will kill you yet if you utter
another sound.”
He chuckled grimly as he looked towards the door.
“Many thanks, M. de Marsan,” he said, “but I think I have already
uttered enough to spoil your game.”
For an instant I found myself looking over my shoulder with anxious
eyes--then I remembered.
“There is no one there, Drouet,” I said triumphantly, rejoiced that it
was my turn. “The sentry has been attended to.”
“Attended to!” he muttered, and looked again towards the door and then
at me with distended eyes. “It is a plot, then!”
“A plot--yes,” I nodded. “But to business. You will turn over on your
face, if you please.”
He hesitated, and I compelled his obedience with a prod of the poniard.
He turned over slowly, with many groans.
“Now cross your hands behind you.”
The hands came back reluctantly.
I snatched his belt from about his waist and in a moment had the hands
secure. I pulled on the belt until the blood seemed ready to burst from
his finger-tips, for I could take no chances. A strip from his leathern
jerkin served as a thong for his feet. I rolled him over.
“You see how much easier it would be for me to kill you than to take
all this trouble,” I remarked. “But I am merciful--I am no butcher.
However, I wish to be quite safe, so I shall be compelled to gag you.”
I tore another wide strip from his jerkin and stuffed his mouth full
of the straw that had formed my pallet. It was not over clean, but was
infinitely better than death. I bound the strip close over it and stood
for a moment looking down at him.
“Ah,” I said, remembering suddenly my instructions, “you have some keys
somewhere about you. Let us see.”
I knelt beside him, and in a moment had the keys--a great ring of them.
As I arose I saw that he was making a frightful effort to speak.
“What is it,” I asked, “the wound?”
He nodded violently.
I knelt again and looked at it. It was bleeding slightly, but did not
seem of a serious nature.
“I will fix that for you,” I said, and I bound a rag about it to stop
the bleeding. “Now you are all right.”
I realized that I was spending too much time over Drouet, and I hurried
to the door and opened it. In the half-light I saw the sentry lying
against the wall. As I dragged him into the cell I shuddered to see
that his skull had been crushed by a single blow from behind. Evidently
my ally did not share my tender nerves.
I placed him against the wall opposite Drouet, who stared at him with
distended eyes, plainly understanding nothing of the mystery of his
death.
“That would have been your fate,” I said, “had any but I dealt with
you. I wish you a pleasant night, Monsieur,” and I left the cell,
bolting the door behind me. Certainly it would take Roquefort some
little time to get it open again and learn Drouet’s story.
The corridor was very dark, but I groped my way to the spot where the
sentry had fallen, picked up his musket, and made my way down to the
floor below. There I found a torch burning, doubtless for the sentry’s
use. In a moment I was fumbling at the door of the cell there. Half a
dozen keys I tried, and at last the lock turned. I threw the door open
with feverish haste. Within, I saw a figure lying on a pallet in one
corner.
“Fronsac!” I called. “Fronsac!”
He sprang towards me with a cry of amazement.
“Is it you, Marsan? We are going to escape then?”
“We are going to try,” I answered, as I returned the warm pressure of
his hands. “Come, Monsieur, there is not a moment to lose.”
“But Valérie?” he questioned, holding back. “I do not understand. What
of her?”
“It is to her we go,” I said. “We will take her with us.”
His face lighted with a sudden joy.
“Ah, in that case,” and he motioned me forward.
I did not wait a second bidding, for I knew that seven o’clock, the
hour of her promenade, could not be far distant. I thrust into his
hands the sentry’s musket, caught up the torch, and led the way down
the stair--two flights more there were, and then a door. I tried it. It
was locked.
For a moment my heart sank. Then I bethought myself of Drouet’s keys.
I tried them, one after another--joy!--the bolt yielded! I opened the
door cautiously, for fear some one might be without. I could hear
Fronsac chafing on the step behind me, but this was no time for haste.
Evening had come in earnest and the court upon which the door opened
was so dark that I could perceive no one. I listened for a moment, but
heard no sound save a stave of a drinking-song shouted afar off.
“Come,” I said, “it seems safe. And we have always a place of refuge in
this tower, an we reach it in time to bolt the door behind us.”
“But Valérie,” whispered Fronsac, “where is she?”
“I was told that at seven she would walk upon the parapet,” I answered,
and by a single impulse we raised our eyes to the heights above us.
I confess I started at what I saw there--Mademoiselle Valérie, outlined
against the red sky of the sunset, poised like a bird about to fly,
gazing down at us. And at her side another figure--Roquefort.