MADAME LA MARQUISE.
"A manoir!" exclaimed St. Georges, as he halted his horse in front of
the place. "More like a fort! _Mon Dieu!_ Madame is well installed."
She was, indeed, judging by the building which now rose before him
from the side of the road along which he had come. Unapproached by any
path, unsurrounded by any out-towers or fortalices, the Manoir of
Roquemaure raised a great stone wall or rampart to the road; a wall
almost blank on this side of windows with the exception of some
arrow-slits, and at either end of it--one looking south, the other
north--two tourelles, penetrated also with _oillets_ at regular
distances from each other; and by each tourelle, on its outer side, a
small, high door of antique, Francois Premier style, or even older,
through which a mounted man might ride. Doors shut fast on this wintry
night, and with no sign of life at either doorways or loopholes,
except in so far as a great lantern, swinging on a rope above one of
the former and emitting its dull rays, might be said to testify to the
place being inhabited.
"More like a fort!" again exclaimed St. Georges as he regarded the
almost blank wall, "far more; yet, unless I am spied on and watched
from within, not over-well guarded, though I presume my lady has no
foes to guard against. Well, here's for it," and advancing his horse
to the doorway he reached out his hand, took the horn that hung on a
chain close by, and sounded some notes. Then, while waiting for an
answer to his summons, he backed his horse into the middle of the road
which bulged out semicircularly in front of the long building, and
observed it carefully. "A grim, hard place," he said to himself,
regarding it under the rays of the young moon that was now stronger
and clearer than when it had shed its feeble rays over the hamlet of
Aignay-le-Duc, "and my enemy's stronghold, or I am mistaken. A place
in which a man when once entrapped might find it difficult to fight
his way out of. No exit but those doors at either side--a cat could
hardly slip through the arrow-slits!--and all along beyond either side
a wide moat, with palisades on the inner bank. Humph! Well, let us
see. If my friend in the burganet, or volant-piece, or whatever he
terms his rusty headdress, is here, the fight will be inside. So, so!
May the end of it be as the other was! I am at least forearmed."
As he mused thus--firm, determined, and cool, and fearing not to enter
this grim abode, since she whom he loved more than his life was safe
in the city half a league away--he heard the locks being turned in the
doorway and saw the door open, doubtless after he had been regarded
from the grille high up in it. Then a man appeared in the open space
and, shading his eyes with his hands, looked out at the cavalier
sitting there on his horse--a man dressed as a servitor in some dark
material, elderly, and with upon his head the serving-man's wig known
as _la brigadiere_. Behind him there stood another--almost a boy, and
also evidently a servant.
"What," he asked, "may monsieur desire? He summons the house somewhat
late."
"To obey the order of his Majesty the king--to wait upon Madame la
Marquise de Roquemaure. Say to her, if she be in her house, that
Monsieur St. Georges, of the Chevaux-Legers of Nivernois, has come by
order of the king to attend upon madame as he passes on his way to
Paris from Pontarlier."
The man bowed as he heard the words "by order of the king"; then he
said he would carry his message. Would monsieur be so good as to wait
until he returned? And monsieur answering that he would do so, the
other withdrew, leaving the door open, and the younger servant
standing in it, regarding St. Georges, who still continued to cast his
eyes over the ancient pile.
Presently the man came back and said:
"Madame la marquise bids me say that any one ordered to visit her by
his Majesty is welcome. Will monsieur be good enough to enter?
Monsieur doubtless stops the night--a room shall be at his service.
Madame and her daughter sup half an hour later; she trusts monsieur
will honour her by joining the repast."
"Her daughter!" exclaimed St. Georges; "she has a daughter! Indeed!"
Then remembering himself, he replied: "Make my compliments to madame
and say that I will join her. Yet, my friend, excuse me to her, too,
for the manner in which I shall appear before her. I have ridden far
in rough weather; I am scarce presentable."
"Madame will understand," the servitor answered respectfully. "As will
Mademoiselle Aurelie.--Gaston," to the younger servant, "take
monsieur's horse."
"And," said St. Georges, "be very attentive to it, I pray you. No
soldier ever had a better or a truer one." He would have liked to see
it fed and littered down himself, but could hardly insist on doing so;
therefore--though he feared he was in the house of a deadly
enemy!--he was forced to let the trusty creature, the animal on whose
fleetness and strength not only his journey, but maybe his life
depended--be taken away to some unknown stable.
"Have no fear, monsieur," said the old man. "Gaston loves animals
better than his own kind. Even though you were his most hated foe,
your beast would be sacred to him."
"I am glad to hear it," replied St. Georges, as the youth, with a
smile, led the horse away. Then to himself he said, "I only hope that,
should he know I am his master's enemy, he will be equally good to
it!"
And now, as he followed the old man it was revealed to him how
inappropriate was the name of manoir to this place, it having indeed
been, if it was no longer altogether so, a strongly fortified
residence, and doubtless had served as such in bygone ages. An outer
court led into a second or inner one, which seemed to constitute a
hall, since it was roofed and more or less furnished. On the walls
hung arms of all kinds, both ancient and of the period of the day, and
ranging from battle-axes, maces and two-handled swords, boar-spears,
halberds, and crossbows to more modern rapiers, pikes, musketoons,
pistols, and blunderbusses. Also about this court or hall there was
much armour, plate, mail, both gambeson and chain, and many
headpieces, gantlets, shields, etc.
"Doubtless," thought St. Georges as he followed the old man past all
these and up a broad staircase leading to the first floor; "it was
from this choice armoury that my friend of the burganet drew his
protection. Faith! he had enough to choose from!"
Escorted along a passage on this flight, the old man showed him into a
room comfortably furnished as a sleeping apartment--vastly different
from that of Phelypeaux at Dijon--and informed him that he would
return later, in a quarter of an hour, to escort him to the presence
of madame la marquise, who would receive him for supper--after which
and having proffered his services as valet, which St. Georges said he
had no need for, he left the room.
The toilet made by the cavalier was necessarily short, since a soldier
_en route_ in those days had to depend upon any attentions to his
appearance which he might be able to pay by whatever opportunities
came in his way. There were, however, in this room all the articles
generally to be found in a country house of the time--a large metal
basin and ewer of fresh water, some brushes, and a mirror--and with
these he was able to attend to his hands, face, and hair, to remove
some of the stains of travel from his clothes and long brown boots,
and to make himself sufficiently presentable. At first, because he was
a gentleman and could not suppose that treachery might be intended
him, at least before ladies, he had thought to leave his sword behind,
but a second reflection prompted him to take it with him. It was true
no attack was likely to be made while he sat at meat with the woman
whose hospitality he was receiving, but a sword, he reflected, was
part of a soldier's dress and therefore not out of place, and--it was,
perhaps, not safe to leave it behind!
Having decided thus and the servitor not being yet returned, he made a
slight inspection of his room, as became one who was in a stranger's
house, and that stranger a person whose friendliness toward him
might--if he knew as much as he suspected of his history--be doubtful.
The room itself was a fairly large one, hung with tapestry
representing, as he supposed, scenes from the ancient romancists, and
lit by a window let into the upper part of the wall, so high up that
no one could see out of it except by standing on the table. Of doors
he could perceive no other but the one by which he had entered; nor on
the floor, which was of polished wood or _parquet_, was there any sign
that entrance could be made thereby--such entrance being a not
uncommon thing in ancient houses of the type of this manoir. On the
walls, let in between the tapestry and either lightly fastened to the
panelling or painted thereon, were two full-length pictures--one of a
man in full armour with his visor up and showing a stern, heavily
mustached face; the other of a young woman in antique costume.
Satisfied by this inspection--made as best might be by the feeble rays
of the lamp which the old man had left behind for his use--St. Georges
sat down upon the chair by the bed and waited for the servitor to come
and escort him to his hostess, and meditated--a little anxiously,
perhaps--on what his interview with her and her daughter might bring
forth.
"Is she, I wonder," he thought, "the she-wolf I have pictured her to
myself as being? Does she know, for truth, who and what I am--who and
what I believe myself to be? She may! It may indeed be so. If all
reports are true that I have been able to gather and piece together in
my remote life, far away from Paris and the world, she loved De Vannes
once--was his affianced wife. What may she not therefore have known of
his past? May know that I stand between this son of her husband and
his desire, his succession; may stand, indeed, between her and the
enjoyment for her lifetime of what her husband would have enjoyed had
he lived. And more--far more--does she know of the attack on me three
nights ago? Did she encourage--perhaps prompt--that attack? I must
watch her, study her for myself! The time is at hand, surely."
It was, indeed, for at that moment a knocking at the door told him
that the old man had come back for him. And so he went forth, prepared
to meet his hostess.
His conductor led him down the great stairs and back into the great
hall; then he knocked at a door on the left, and, on being bidden to
enter, opened the door and ushered St. Georges into the room.
A room large and vast, hung with great tapestries--representing here
battle and hunting scenes--with, at the end, a great oriel window over
which more tapestry was drawn, but beneath which could be seen the
brackets, or corbels, supporting it. Near this was the great marble
chimney-piece, the jambs richly carved with figures, the mantel six
feet from the floor, and in the grate a huge wood fire burning. And by
a table in front of this there sat, as he saw by the light of a large
clear lamp, two women, one almost old and the other young.
Coming in out of the sombre hall, the light of the fire and lamp
dazzled him so that at first he could see nothing beyond the fact that
they were two female forms which rose at his entrance; then, while he
advanced to meet them as they came forward, he heard a soft voice say:
"Monsieur St. Georges visits on behalf of his Majesty. He is very
welcome.--Monsieur, let me present you to my daughter, Mademoiselle de
Roquemaure."
In the instant that he was bowing with easy grace before them, and
while they in their turn observed the tall, gallant form of the
soldier, his long, curling hair, long mustaches, and somewhat
weather-worn riding dress, there flashed through his mind the
thought: "Can this be the she-wolf who sends her whelp forth to
midnight murder? Can she have had a hand in that foul attack?" Then,
aloud, he murmured his thanks for her reception, and looking his
hostess straight in the face, observed the features of the woman who,
as he believed, his father had once loved.
Her hair was almost white now, yet rich and beautiful, and still with
some of the original brown left in it, her eyes soft and clear, her
features delicate and telling plainly of the beauty that had been. And
as he gazed at the daughter standing by her side--a girl but just
entering womanhood, a girl whose hazel eyes looked out at him from
under her dark lashes, and whose colour came and went as she returned
his bow with stately courtesy--he knew what her mother had once been
like.
"Monsieur has ridden far," the marquise said, as she motioned him to a
seat by the fire where they had been sitting, and regarded him with
interest; "has come a long, perhaps perilous, voyage from Pontarlier?
The roads at this season are none too safe, they say, in spite of the
_Marechausse_. Yet, monsieur is a soldier."
St. Georges bowed in reply--though swift as lightning there flashed
through his mind the thought that the words "perilous voyage" showed
that she knew, doubtless, of one great danger to which he had been
exposed. Then he replied:
"As madame remarks, it was long and has been somewhat eventful. Yet,
as I have said, I ride in the king's service. It may be that you know
that, madame?"
"I know," she replied, "that you were to call at the Bishop of
Lodeve's--ce _Phelypeaux_!--and take from him one word to the king, or
to Louvois. Also that you are charged to take another word, perhaps a
similar one, from me. Is it not so?"
Remembering what the bishop had said, recalling his utterance--"There
is no need of secrecy; you may frankly tell her"--he answered: "It is
so, madame. The bishop has sent the word. It may be that you will send
the same by me when I ride forth to-morrow."
Her glance rested on him ere she answered. It seemed as if her reply
depended on some unknown, subtle something pertaining to his mind or
face which she was endeavouring to decipher or understand. Then she
let her eyes fall upon the logs burning in the grate, and said:
"How can I say? You do not as yet tell me the word the bishop has
sent."
Again he recalled Phelypeaux's remark that there was no need of
secrecy. Therefore he answered, "The word that the bishop has sent,
madame, is 'Yes.'"
"Ah!" she said, and again her glance scanned his face half eagerly,
half wistfully, while now he noticed that Mademoiselle de Roquemaure's
hand stole into hers as she sat by her side.
"Ah! It is as I thought: the word is 'Yes.'"
"That is it, madame."
"Come," she said, moving from her seat as the old servitor appeared in
the shadows far down the room--"come; supper is served. Monsieur St.
Georges, I pray you give me your arm"; and she placed her hand on it,
and, her daughter following, went with him to the door. Then, ere they
reached the corridor, she, looking up into his face, said quietly:
"It would be best--I--I--have not the same word to send as Phelypeaux.
The one that I shall ask you to carry will be 'No.'"