A TEN YEARS’ VENGEANCE
I OPENED my eyes to find Fronsac looking down at me. For an instant I
thought myself still at the cliff-foot, but a glance told me I was in
bed, in a room that, till then, I had never seen.
“You know me!” he cried. “You know me! Tell me, Marsan, you know me!”
“Of course I know you, Fronsac,” I answered petulantly, and stopped,
astonished at the effort the words cost me. “I have been ill!” I cried.
“Very ill,” he said, “but you are past danger now, thank God! There,
think no more about it--you must sleep.”
He had no need to command me, for my brain seemed so numb it could not
think. I remember perhaps a dozen such intervals of dim consciousness.
Always there was Fronsac bending over me, and sometimes I fancied there
was another in the room, who whisked away at the first sign of my
awakening.
A third face too there was. At first I did not know it, but stared
stupidly up at it--and then, at last, I recognized Briquet, the surgeon
of M. le Duc. For a moment my blood ran cold to see him standing so,
for I thought myself again upon the rack. But a second glance dispelled
my terror. His face had changed. Stern it still was, but no longer
lined by hate, and the eyes were almost gentle. How different from
the coals of fire that had glared at Roquefort! I was too weary to
seek the clue to the change, which I marvelled at without in the least
understanding.
But one morning it was different. I awoke strong, refreshed, my mind
quite clear. It was like the dawn breaking over the hill-top, sweeping
the valley clear of mist.
Fronsac brought me meat and drink, which I welcomed eagerly, for I
was tortured with a great hunger. And as I ate I remembered it all
again--the escape, the journey to the castle, the scene in the tent,
with the priest’s voice droning the service. Even yet I could not
understand it--that a woman should break her word like that--and she
had loved me--yes, I was quite sure that she had loved me. But of
a sudden there had been dangled before her face the coronet of a
duchesse--the wide lands and lofty castle of Roquefort--and she had
seized the bait. Yet it had been offered her before and she had shrunk
away. From month to month she had refused it, only to grasp it at this
last desperate moment. I could not understand. Perhaps she had been
merely playing with him; perhaps it was the sight of him lying helpless
there that had moved her.
In any event, there was but one course for me. I must put her out of my
heart. She was now on the mountain-top, I in the valley; she was Madame
la Duchesse de Roquefort, I but Paul de Marsan, with no fortune but
what my sword might win me. At the end I turned to Fronsac.
“Now, my friend,” I said, pushing the food away, “you must tell me
everything--everything that has happened since that night.”
“Are you strong enough?” he questioned, hesitating.
“Strong enough?” and I laughed, for the wine had put new life into me.
“I shall be out of bed to-morrow. By the way, where am I?”
“You are in a room of the castle of Madame la Duchesse de Roquefort.”
He saw the flush that leaped to my face and smiled.
“Does that surprise you? The morning after the wedding you were found
roaming about the walls quite mad. The exertion of the night before
had been too much for you, it seems, and your hands were in a horrible
state. We, who were thinking only of ourselves, did not think of you.
You should have heard Valérie! Well, Madame la Duchesse insisted that
you be brought straight here, and here you have since remained.”
“And you with me,” I added gratefully. “It must have been a trying
task. I can imagine your self-denial, my friend.”
“Nonsense!” he interrupted hastily. “It were little to do for the man
who saved my life--and more. Besides, it was not only I.”
I looked at him with questioning eyes.
“Briquet,” he said, “did more than I. He seems to have a great interest
in you. He is a strange man.”
I pondered over this for a time.
“I do not know,” I said at last. “I fancy sometimes that we have met
before, and yet I cannot be certain.”
“But I have other news,” and Fronsac looked at me, his face crimson
with happiness. “About Valérie and myself.”
I understood, and held out my hand to him.
“Yes,” he said, “M. le Comte has given his consent. We shall be married
so soon as I can take you with me to Cadillac.”
I pressed his hand with sincere warmth.
“Then, indeed, I must hasten to get well!” I cried. “To think that I
should be keeping you apart!”
“You have not kept us apart,” he protested. “It was you brought us
together. Valérie warned me not to approach her until I could bring
you with me. I swear I am almost jealous of you, Marsan! The troop
has heard the story of the escape--you will see how they will welcome
you! M. le Comte himself remained until he was certain you were out of
danger. You have quite won his heart, my friend!”
I felt my lips trembling.
“And after that scar!” I murmured.
“Yes, after the scar! Think, I have even seen him kissing the hand that
inflicted it--for he has taken Madame la Duchesse to his heart also.
Well, I am glad, for she has need of a protector.”
He read in my eyes the question which I dared not ask.
“Roquefort died an hour after the wedding,” he said. “Do you know,
Marsan, I fancy we never did him justice. He had his merits. He proved
a man at the last!”
Yes, he proved a man at the last! It is a man’s part to win--and he had
won!
“He died alone,” continued Fronsac, “alone, but for his surgeon.
Briquet came to the tent almost before the wedding was concluded, and
insisted on remaining at his master’s side. Madame la Duchesse thought
her place, also, was there. Roquefort had dropped asleep, worn out by
the excitement of the evening, and it seemed certain that he would
sleep till morning. A couch was brought for her, and she lay down,
leaving Briquet to watch the sleeper. Scarcely had she closed her eyes,
when a loud cry startled her awake. Roquefort was sitting upright
in the bed, the blood pouring from his mouth, staring in terror at
Briquet, who was calmly wiping it away. Death caught him with that look
still on his face--it was not good to see. There were some whispers
that Briquet had interfered, but M. le Comte shut them off. He seemed
to understand.
“So I fancy there is an end to the feud between Cadillac and
Roquefort,” he added, smiling. “The cousin from Valladolid has been
sent about his business, swearing great oaths. Madame la Duchesse has
already set about readjusting the rentals and rebuilding her peasants’
huts. They idolize her! There is a woman! What a duchesse she makes!”
I could picture her to myself--she were worthy to mate with a prince, a
king--to give a nation its rulers!
“You are weary,” he said, seeing that I did not reply. “I have been
running on without a thought of your condition! What a nurse I am!
There, you must sleep,” and without heeding my protests he gathered up
the dishes and left the room, closing the door behind him.
But I could not sleep. My brain was full of what he had told me. I saw
Madame la Duchesse de Roquefort moving like a queen among her vassals.
There existed no longer Claire, the sweet, simple, ingenuous girl I had
known, new to the world, fresh from the convent--there was now only the
great lady. M. le Comte himself, great as he was, had been proud to
bend his head and kiss her hand. Who was great enough, strong enough,
bold enough, to aspire to her lips? Well, I would still love the
girl--I would hold her locked in my heart--the great lady might go her
way. And I thought of her as she had been on that last night of all--I
felt again her warm, sweet body in my arms--I gazed again into her eyes
and saw love there--I heard again her voice--“And mine for you! Every
beat of it!” God! And a moment later she had fallen!
It was long before I slept, but tired nature asserted herself at last,
and it was not until another morning dawned that she lifted her weights
from off my eyes. This time it was Briquet I found at my bedside, and I
noted again how his face had softened and grown human. He smiled as he
saw my eyes on his.
“You are better,” he said. “It is easy to see that. You will soon be
quite well.”
Again the voice--where had I heard it? I must penetrate this mystery.
“M. Briquet,” I began, “my friend has told me how deeply I am indebted
to your care, and I wish to thank you. But have we not met before?”
“I should not think you would forget it,” he answered readily. “I was
called to attend d’Aurilly--and you.”
“Yes--I know,” I said impatiently. “But before that?”
He hesitated a moment, then drew from his pocket a small book, tore out
a strip of paper, and wrote upon it a rapid sentence.
“I am quite willing that you should know,” he said. “In fact, I
believed that you already knew,” and he held the paper before my eyes.
“Monsieur,” I read, “I have learned of your demeanor at the question,
and am grateful, for I am he who brought the warning to Marsan.”
There could be no mistaking the handwriting, and I looked at him amazed.
“It was you, then,” I stammered,--“you.”
“Yes, I. Looking up at me from the rack, I thought you knew me.”
“No,” I said, still looking at him wonderingly. “I could not place you.
I did not suspect----”
“That I could be a spy, a traitor?” and he laughed, with some of the
old look back upon his face. “Let me tell you the story, Monsieur;
perhaps you will no longer wonder. My father lived at Lembeye, and
managed to save some money. He determined that I should have a career,
and so sent me to Paris to become a student of medicine. That was ten
years ago, and I came back to my home to find it desecrated. M. le Duc
de Roquefort had ridden through the town at the head of his ruffians.
As he passed our gate, he saw my sister standing there, a pretty girl
of seventeen, fresh as the dawn, with brown eyes that were always
laughing. Without checking his horse, he leaned down and swung her to
the saddle before him.”
He paused and passed his hand before his eyes, as though to blot out a
vision.
“It was done in an instant,” he went on at last. “My father could do
nothing. He could only stand and watch her carried away, screaming,
struggling, with those other devils looking on and laughing. It was
then that I came home. I had been away for four years. No one knew
me. I buried my old self and started to find my sister. I found her
here at Marleon, Monsieur; you can guess in what condition! The child
killed her,--she was happy to die,--and I buried them together. There
was nothing left but my vengeance. I thought at first to kill him--but
that was so poor a way! I gained entrance to his household, first as
a man-at-arms, then as his physician. I won his confidence, only to
betray it; he told me his plans and had them come to naught. Cadillac
at first refused to trust me, but I told him my story, and I have
served him well,--how well you will never guess, Monsieur, nor in
how many ways I tortured this monster--but for me, he would have had
Mademoiselle de Brissac long ago. And at the end I told him--he died
looking at me.”
He stopped. I could find nothing to say. I gazed at him, fascinated.
“Now it is over,” he said. “Now there will be room in my life for other
things than hate. I shall go back to Paris. I have waited here only to
see you out of danger, M. de Marsan. You are out of danger now,” and he
held out his hand. “Adieu.”
I took his hand in mine and pressed it. I could find no blame for him
in my heart.
“Adieu, Monsieur,” I said, “and again thanks for your kindness.”
“I mean to devote my life to it,” he said simply, “so much of my life
as is left to me,” and he was gone almost before the words were spoken.
I lay for long looking at the door, pondering on his story. What a
vengeance! To play traitor to a man for long years--to seem his friend
and yet to hate him--and then, at the end, to lay the treachery bare
before him! I understood now, as M. le Comte had done, that look of
terror in Roquefort’s eyes, and found it in my heart to pity him.