THE SUITORS OF YVONNE

Being a Portion of the Memoirs of the Sieur Gaston de Luynes

By Rafael Sabatini

CONTENTS

 CHAPTER

 I. OF HOW A BOY DRANK TOO MUCH WINE, AND WHAT CAME OF IT

 II. THE FRUIT OF INDISCRETION

 III. THE FIGHT IN THE HORSE-MARKET

 IV. FAIR RESCUERS

 V. MAZARIN, THE MATCH-MAKER

 VI. OF HOW ANDREA BECAME LOVE­SICK

 VII. THE CHÂTEAU DR CANAPLES

 VIII. THE FORESHADOW OF DISASTER

 IX. OF HOW A WHIP PROVED A BETTER ARGUMENT THAN A TONGUE

 X. THE CONSCIENCE OF MALPERTUIS

 XI. OF A WOMAN'S OBSTINACY

 XII. THE RESCUE

 XIII. THE HAND OF YVONNE

 XIV. OF WHAT BEFELL AT REAUX

 XV. OF MY RESURRECTION

 XVI. THE WAY OF WOMAN

 XVII. FATHER AND SON

 XVIII. OF HOW I LEFT CANAPLES

 XIX. OF MY RETURN TO PARIS

 XX. OF HOW THE CHEVALIER DE CANAPLES BECAME A FRONDEUR

 XXI. OF THE BARGAIN THAT ST. AUBAN DROVE WITH MY LORD CARDINAL

 XXII. OF MY SECOND JOURNEY TO CANAPLES

 XXIII. OF HOW ST. AUBAN CAME TO BLOIS

 XXIV. OF THE PASSING OF ST. AUBAN

 XXV. PLAY-ACTING

 XXVI. REPARATION

CHAPTER I. OF HOW A BOY DRANK TOO MUCH WINE, AND WHAT CAME OF IT

Andrea de Mancini sprawled, ingloriously drunk, upon the floor. His legswere thrust under the table, and his head rested against the chair fromwhich he had slipped; his long black hair was tossed and dishevelled;his handsome, boyish face flushed and garbed in the vacant expression ofidiocy. 

"I beg a thousand pardons, M. De Luynes, " quoth he in the thick, monotonous voice of a man whose brain but ill controls his tongue, --"Ibeg a thousand pardons for the unseemly poverty of our repast. 'T isno fault of mine. My Lord Cardinal keeps a most unworthy table forme. Faugh! Uncle Giulio is a Hebrew--if not by birth, by instinct. Hecarries his purse-strings in a knot which it would break his heart tounfasten. But there! some day my Lord Cardinal will go to heaven--to thelap of Abraham. I shall be rich then, vastly rich, and I shall bidyou to a banquet worthy of your most noble blood. The Cardinal'shealth--perdition have him for the niggardliest rogue unhung!"

I pushed back my chair and rose. The conversation was taking a turn thatwas too unhealthy to be pursued within the walls of the Palais Mazarin, where there existed, albeit the law books made no reference to it, theheinous crime of lèse-Eminence--a crime for which more men had beenbroken than it pleases me to dwell on. 

"Your table, Master Andrea, needs no apology, " I answered carelessly. "Your wine, for instance, is beyond praise. "

"Ah, yes! The wine! But, ciel! Monsieur, " he ejaculated, for a momentopening wide his heavy eyelids, "do you believe 't was Mazarin providedit? Pooh! 'T was a present made me by M. De la Motte, who seeks myinterest with my Lord Cardinal to obtain for him an appointment inhis Eminence's household, and thus thinks to earn my good will. He'sa pestilent creature, this la Motte, " he added, with a hiccough, --"apestilent creature; but, Sangdieu! his wine is good, and I'll speak tomy uncle. Help me up, De Luynes. Help me up, I say; I would drink thehealth of this provider of wines. "

I hurried forward, but he had struggled up unaided, and stood swayingwith one hand on the table and the other on the back of his chair. Invain did I remonstrate with him that already he had drunk overmuch. 

"'T is a lie!" he shouted. "May not a gentleman sit upon the floor fromchoice?"

To emphasise his protestation he imprudently withdrew his hand from thechair and struck at the air with his open palm. That gesture cost himhis balance. He staggered, toppled backward, and clutched madly at thetablecloth as he fell, dragging glasses, bottles, dishes, tapers, and ascore of other things besides, with a deafening crash on to the floor. 

Then, as I stood aghast and alarmed, wondering who might have overheardthe thunder of his fall, the fool sat up amidst the ruins, and filledthe room with his shrieks of drunken laughter. 

"Silence, boy!" I thundered, springing towards him. "Silence! or weshall have the whole house about our ears. "

And truly were my fears well grounded, for, before I could assist himto rise, I heard the door behind me open. Apprehensively I turned, andsickened to see that that which I had dreaded most was come to pass. Atall, imposing figure in scarlet robes stood erect and scowling on thethreshold, and behind him his valet, Bernouin, bearing a lighted taper. 

Mancini's laugh faded into a tremulous cackle, then died out, and withgaping mouth and glassy eyes he sat there staring at his uncle. 

Thus we stayed in silence while a man might count mayhap a dozen; thenthe Cardinal's voice rang harsh and full of anger. 

"'T is thus that you fulfil your trust, M. De Luynes!" he said. 

"Your Eminence--" I began, scarce knowing what I should say, when he cutme short. 

"I will deal with you presently and elsewhere. " He stepped up to Andrea, and surveyed him for a moment in disgust. "Get up, sir!" he commanded. "Get up!"

The lad sought to obey him with an alacrity that merited a kinder fate. Had he been in less haste perchance he had been more successful. As itwas, he had got no farther than his knees when his right leg slid fromunder him, and he fell prone among the shattered tableware, mumblingcurses and apologies in a breath. 

Mazarin stood gazing at him with an eye that was eloquent in scorn, thenbending down he spoke quickly to him in Italian. What he said I knownot, being ignorant of their mother tongue; but from the fierceness ofhis utterance I'll wager my soul 't was nothing sweet to listen to. Whenhe had done with him, he turned to his valet. 

"Bernouin, " said he, "summon M. De Mancini's servant and assist him toget my nephew to bed. M. De Luynes, be good enough to take Bernouin'staper and light me back to my apartments. "

Unsavoury as was the task, I had no choice but to obey, and to stalk onin front of him, candle in hand, like an acolyte at Notre Dame, and inmy heart the profound conviction that I was about to have a bad quarterof an hour with his Eminence. Nor was I wrong; for no sooner had wereached his cabinet and the door had been closed than he turned upon methe full measure of his wrath. 

"You miserable fool!" he snarled. "Did you think to trifle with thetrust which in a misguided moment I placed in you? Think you that, whena week ago I saved you from starvation to clothe and feed you and giveyou a lieutenancy in my guards, I should endure so foul an abuse asthis? Think you that I entrusted M. De Mancini's training in arms to youso that you might lead him into the dissolute habits which have draggedyou down to what you are--to what you were before I rescued you--to whatyou will be to-morrow when I shall have again abandoned you?"

"Hear me, your Eminence!" I cried indignantly. "'T is no fault of mine. Some fool hath sent M. De Mancini a basket of wine and--"

"And you showed him how to abuse it, " he broke in harshly. "You havetaught the boy to become a sot; in time, were he to remain under yourguidance, I make no doubt but that he would become a gamester and aduellist as well. I was mad, perchance, to give him into your care; butI have the good fortune to be still in time, before the mischief hassunk farther, to withdraw him from it, and to cast you back into thekennel from which I picked you. "

"Your Eminence does not mean--"

"As God lives I do!" he cried. "You shall quit the Palais Royal thisvery night, M. De Luynes, and if ever I find you unbidden within half amile of it, I will do that which out of a misguided sense of compassionI do not do now--I will have you flung into an oubliette of theBastille, where better men than you have rotted before to-day. Per Dio!do you think that I am to be fooled by such a thing as you?"

"Does your Eminence dismiss me?" I cried aghast, and scarce creditingthat such was indeed the extreme measure upon which he had determined. 

"Have I not been plain enough?" he answered with a snarl. 

I realised to the full my unenviable position, and with the realisationof it there overcame me the recklessness of him who has played his laststake at the tables and lost. That recklessness it was that caused me toshrug my shoulders with a laugh. I was a soldier of fortune--or should Isay a soldier of misfortune?--as rich in vice as I was poor in virtue;a man who lived by the steel and parried the blows that came as best hemight, or parried them not at all--but never quailed. 

"As your Eminence pleases, " I answered coolly, "albeit methinks that forone who has shed his blood for France as freely as I have done, a littleclemency were not unfitting. "

He raised his eyebrows, and his lips curled in a malicious sneer. 

"You come of a family, M. De Luynes, " he said slowly, "that is famed forhaving shed the blood of others for France more freely than its own. You are, I believe, the nephew of Albert de Luynes. Do you forget theMarshal d'Ancre?"

I felt the blood of anger hot in my face as I made haste to answer him:

"There are many of us, Monseigneur, who have cause to blush for thefamilies they spring from--more cause, mayhap, than hath Gaston deLuynes. "

In my words perchance there was no offensive meaning, but in my tone andin the look which I bent upon the Cardinal there was that which told himthat I alluded to his own obscure and dubious origin. He grew livid, andfor a moment methought he would have struck me: had he done so, then, indeed, the history of Europe would have been other than it is to-day!He restrained himself, however, and drawing himself to the full heightof his majestic figure he extended his arm towards the door. 

"Go, " he said, in a voice that passion rendered hoarse. "Go, Monsieur. Go quickly, while my clemency endures. Go before I summon the guard anddeal with you as your temerity deserves. "

I bowed--not without a taint of mockery, for I cared little what mightfollow; then, with head erect and the firm tread of defiance, I stalkedout of his apartment, along the corridor, down the great staircase, across the courtyard, past the guard, --which, ignorant of my disgrace, saluted me, --and out into the street. 

Then at last my head sank forward on my breast, and deep in thought Iwended my way home, oblivious of all around me, even the chill bite ofthe February wind. 

In my mind I reviewed my wasted life, with the fleeting pleasures andthe enduring sorrows that it had brought me--or that I had drawn fromit. The Cardinal said no more than truth when he spoke of having savedme from starvation. A week ago that was indeed what he had done. Hehad taken pity on Gaston de Luynes, the nephew of that famous Albert deLuynes who had been Constable of France in the early days of the lateking's reign; he had made me lieutenant of his guards and maître d'armesto his nephews Andrea and Paolo de Mancini because he knew that a betterblade than mine could not be found in France, and because he thought itwell to have such swords as mine about him. 

A little week ago life had been replete with fresh promises, the gatesof the road to fame (and perchance fortune) had been opened to me anew, and now--before I had fairly passed that gate I had been thrust rudelyback, and it had been slammed in my face because it pleased a fool tobecome a sot whilst in my company. 

There is a subtle poetry in the contemplation of ruin. With ruin itself, howbeit, there comes a prosaic dispelling of all idle dreams--a hard, agrim, a vile reality. 

Ruin! 'T is an ugly word. A fitting one to carve upon the tombstone of areckless, godless, dissolute life such as mine had been. 

Back, Gaston de Luynes! back, to the kennel whence the Cardinal's handdid for a moment pluck you; back, from the morning of hope to the nightof despair; back, to choose between starvation and the earning of apauper's fee as a master of fence!

CHAPTER II. THE FRUIT OF INDISCRETION

Despite the dejection to which I had become a prey, I slept no lesssoundly that night than was my wont, and indeed it was not until latenext morning when someone knocked at my door that I awakened. 

I sat up in bed, and my first thought as I looked round the handsomeroom--which I had rented a week ago upon receiving the lieutenancy inthe Cardinal's guards--was for the position that I had lost and of theneed that there would be ere long to seek a lodging more humble andbetter suited to my straitened circumstances. It was not without regretthat such a thought came to me, for my tastes had never been modest, andthe house was a fine one, situated in the Rue St. Antoine at a hundredpaces or so from the Jesuit convent. 

I had no time, however, to indulge the sorry mood that threatened tobeset me, for the knocking at my chamber door continued, until at lengthI answered it with a command to enter. 

It was my servant Michelot, a grizzled veteran of huge frame andstrength, who had fought beside me at Rocroi, and who had thereafterbecome so enamoured of my person--for some trivial service he swore Ihad rendered him--that he had attached himself to me and my lucklessfortunes. 

He came to inform me that M. De Mancini was below and craved immediatespeech with me. He had scarce done speaking, however, when Andreahimself, having doubtless grown tired of waiting, appeared in thedoorway. He wore a sickly look, the result of his last night's debauch;but, more than that, there was stamped upon his face a look of latentpassion which made me think at first that he was come to upbraid me. 

"Ah, still abed, Luynes?" was his greeting as he came forward. 

His cloak was wet and his boots splashed, which told me both that he hadcome afoot and that it rained. 

"There are no duties that bid me rise, " I answered sourly. 

He frowned at that, then, divesting himself of his cloak, he gave itto Michelot, who, at a sign from me, withdrew. No sooner was the doorclosed than the boy's whole manner changed. The simmering passion ofwhich I had detected signs welled up and seemed to choke him as hepoured forth the story that he had come to tell. 

"I have been insulted, " he gasped. "Grossly insulted by a vile creatureof Monsieur d'Orleans's household. An hour ago in the ante-chamber atthe Palais Royal I was spoken of in my hearing as the besotted nephew ofthe Italian adventurer. "

I sat up in bed tingling with excitement at the developments whichalready I saw arising from his last night's imprudence. 

"Calmly, Andrea, " I begged of him, "tell me calmly. "

"Mortdieu! How can I be calm? Ough! The thought of it chokes me. I wasa fool last night--a sot. For that, perchance, men have some right tocensure me. But, Sangdieu! that a ruffler of the stamp of Eugène deCanaples should speak of it--should call me the nephew of an Italianadventurer, should draw down upon me the cynical smile of a crowd ofcourtly apes--pah! I am sick at the memory of it!"

"Did you answer him?"

"Pardieu! I should be worthy of the title he bestowed upon me had I notdone so. Oh, I answered him--not in words. I threw my hat in his face. "

"That was a passing eloquent reply!"

"So eloquent that it left him speechless with amazement. He thought tobully with impunity, and see me slink into hiding like a whipped dog, terrified by his blustering tongue and dangerous reputation. But there!"he broke off, "a meeting has been arranged for four o'clock at St. Germain. "

"A meeting!" I exclaimed. 

"What else? Do you think the affront left any alternative?"

"But--"

"Yes, yes, I know, " he interrupted, tossing his head. "I am going to bekilled. Verville has sworn that there shall be one less of the Italianbrood. That is why I have come to you, Luynes--to ask you to be mysecond. I don't deserve it, perhaps. In my folly last night I did youan ill turn. I unwittingly caused you to be stripped of your commission. But if I were on my death-bed now, and begged a favour of you, you wouldnot refuse it. And what difference is there 'twixt me and one who is onhis death-bed? Am I not about to die?"

"Peste! I hope not, " I made answer with more lightness than I felt. "ButI'll stand by you with all my heart, Andrea. "

"And you'll avenge me?" he cried savagely, his Southern blood a-boiling. "You'll not let him leave the ground alive?"

"Not unless my opponent commits the indiscretion of killing me first. Who seconds M. De Canaples?"

"The Marquis de St. Auban and M. De Montmédy. "

"And who is the third in our party?"

"I have none. I thought that perhaps you had a friend. "

"I! A friend?" I laughed bitterly. "Pshaw, Andrea! beggars have nofriends. But stay; find Stanislas de Gouville. There is no betterblade in Paris. If he will join us in this frolic, and you can hold offCanaples until either St. Auban or Montmédy is disposed of, we may yetleave the three of them on the field of battle. Courage, Andrea! Dumspiramus, speramus. "

My words seemed to cheer him, and when presently he left me to seek outthe redoubtable Gouville, the poor lad's face was brighter by far thanwhen he had entered my room. 

Down in my heart, however, I was less hopeful than I had led him tobelieve, and as I dressed after he had gone, 't was not without someuneasiness that I turned the matter over in my mind. I had, during theshort period of our association, grown fond of Andrea de Mancini. Indeedthe wonted sweetness of the lad's temper, and the gentleness of hisdisposition, were such as to breed affection in all who came in contactwith him. In a way, too, methought he had grown fond of me, and I hadknown so few friends in life, --truth to tell I fear me that I had few ofthe qualities that engender friendship, --that I was naturally prone toappreciate a gift that from its rareness became doubly valuable. 

Hence was it that I trembled for the boy. He had shown aptitude with thefoils, and derived great profit from my tuition, yet he was too raw byfar to be pitted against so cunning a swordsman as Canaples. 

I had but finished dressing when a coach rumbled down the street andhalted by my door. Naturally I supposed that someone came to visitCoupri, the apothecary, --to whom belonged this house in which I had mylodging, --and did not give the matter a second thought until Michelotrushed in, with eyes wide open, to announce that his Eminence, CardinalMazarin, commanded my presence in the adjoining room. 

Amazed and deeply marvelling what so extraordinary a visit mightportend, I hastened to wait upon his Eminence. 

I found him standing by the window, and received from him a greetingthat was passing curt and cavalier. 

"Has M. De Mancini been here?" he inquired peremptorily, disregardingthe chair I offered him. 

"He has but left me, Monseigneur. "

"Then you know, sir, of the harvest which he has already reaped from theindiscretion into which you led him last night?"

"If Monseigneur alludes to the affront put upon M. De Mancini touchinghis last night's indiscretion, by a bully of the Court, I am informed ofit. "

"Pish, Monsieur! I do not follow your fine distinctions--possibly thisis due to my imperfect knowledge of the language of France, possibly toyour own imperfect acquaintance with the language of truth. "

"Monseigneur!"

"Faugh!" he cried, half scornfully, half peevishly. "I came not here totalk of you, but of my nephew. Why did he visit you?"

"To do me the honour of asking me to second him at St. Germain thisevening. "

"And so you think that this duel is to be fought?--that my nephew is tobe murdered?"

"We will endeavour to prevent his being--as your Eminence daintily putsit--murdered. But for the rest, the duel, methinks, cannot be avoided. "

"Cannot!" he blazed. "Do you say cannot, M. De Luynes? Mark me well, sir: I will use no dissimulation with you. My position in France isalready a sufficiently difficult one. Already we are threatened with asecond Fronde. It needs but such events as these to bring my family intoprominence and make it the butt for the ridicule that malcontents butwait an opportunity to slur it with. This affair of Andrea's will lenditself to a score or so of lampoons and pasquinades, all of whichwill cast an injurious reflection upon my person and position. That, Monsieur, is, methinks, sufficient evil to suffer at your hands. Thelate Cardinal would have had you broken on the wheel for less. I havegone no farther than to dismiss you from my service--a clemency forwhich you should be grateful. But I shall not suffer that, in additionto the harm already done, Andrea shall be murdered by Canaples. "

"I shall do my best to render him assistance. "

"You still misapprehend me. This duel, sir, must not take place. "

I shrugged my shoulders. 

"How does your Eminence propose to frustrate it? Will you arrestCanaples?"

"Upon what plea, Monsieur? Think you I am anxious to have the whole ofParis howling in my ears?"

"Then possibly it is your good purpose to enforce the late king's edictagainst duelling, and send your guards to St. Germain to arrest the menbefore they engage?"

"Benone!" he sneered. "And what will Paris say if I now enforce a lawthat for ten years has been disregarded? That I feared for my nephew'sskin and took this means of saving him. A pretty story to have onParis's lips, would it not be?"

"Indeed, Monseigneur, you are right, but I doubt me the duel will needsbe fought. "

"Have I not already said that it shall not be fought?"

Again I shrugged my shoulders. Mazarin grew tiresome with hisrepetitions. 

"How can it be avoided, your Eminence?"

"Ah, Monsieur, that is your affair. "

"My affair?"

"Assuredly. 'T was through your evil agency he was dragged into thisbusiness, and through your agency he must be extricated from it. "

"Your Eminence jests!"

"Undoubtedly, --'t is a jesting matter, " he answered with terrible irony. "Oh, I jest! Per Dio! yes. But I'll carry my jest so far as to have youhanged if this duel be fought--aye, whether my nephew suffers hurt ornot. Now, sir, you know what fate awaits you; fight it--turn it aside--Ihave shown you the way. The door, M. De Luynes. "

CHAPTER III. THE FIGHT IN THE HORSE-MARKET

I let him go without a word. There was that in his voice, in his eye, and in the gesture wherewith he bade me hold the door for him, thatcleared my mind of any doubts touching the irrevocable character of hisdetermination. To plead was never an accomplishment of mine; to argue, Isaw, would be to waste the Cardinal's time to no purpose. 

And so I let him go, --and my curse with him, --and from my window Iwatched his coach drive away in the drizzling rain, scattering thecrowd of awe-stricken loiterers who had collected at the rumour of hispresence. 

With a fervent prayer that his patron saint, the devil, might see fitto overset his coach and break his neck before he reached the Palace, Iturned from the window, and called Michelot. 

He was quick to answer my summons, bringing me the frugal measure ofbread and wine wherewith it was my custom to break my fast. Then, whilst I munched my crust, I strode to and fro in the little chamberand exercised my wits to their utmost for a solution to the puzzle hisEminence had set me. 

One solution there was, and an easy one--flight. But I had promisedAndrea de Mancini that I would stand beside him at St. Germain; therewas a slender chance of saving him if I went, whilst, if I stayed away, there would be nothing left for his Eminence to do but to offer upprayers for the rest of his nephew's soul. 

Another idea I had, but it was desperate--and yet, so persistently didmy thoughts revert to it that in the end I determined to accept it. 

I drank a cup of Armagnac, cheered myself with an oath or two, and againI called Michelot. When he came, I asked him if he were acquaintedwith M. De Canaples, to which he replied that he was, having seen thegentleman in my company. 

"Then, " I said, "you will repair to M. De Canaples's lodging in the Ruedes Gesvres, and ascertain discreetly whether he be at home. If he is, you will watch the house until he comes forth, then follow him, andbring me word thereafter where he is to be found. Should he be alreadyabroad before you reach the Rue des Gesvres, endeavour to ascertainwhither he has gone, and return forthwith. But be discreet, Michelot. You understand?"

He assured me that he did, and left me to nurse my unpleasant thoughtsfor half an hour, returning at the end of that time with the informationthat M. De Canaples was seated at dinner in the "Auberge du Soleil. "

Naught could have been more attuned to my purpose, and straightwayI drew on my boots, girt on my sword, and taking my hat and cloak, Isallied out into the rain, and wended my way at a sharp pace towards theRue St. Honoré. 

One o'clock was striking as I crossed the threshold of the "Soleil" andflung my dripping cloak to the first servant I chanced upon. 

I glanced round the well-filled room, and at one of the tables I espiedmy quarry in company with St. Auban and Montmédy--the very gentlemenwho were to fight beside him that evening--and one Vilmorin, as arrant acoxcomb and poltroon as could be found in France. With my beaver cockedat the back of my head, and a general bearing that for aggressivenesswould be hard to surpass, I strode up to their table, and stood for amoment surveying them with an insolent stare that made them pause intheir conversation. They raised their noble heads and bestowed upon me alook of haughty and disdainful wonder, --such a look as one might bestowupon a misbehaving lackey, --all save Vilmorin, who, with a coward's keennose for danger, turned slightly pale and fidgeted in his chair. I waswell known to all of them, but my attitude forbade all greeting. 

"Has M. De Luynes lost anything?" St. Auban inquired icily. 

"His wits, mayhap, " quoth Canaples with a contemptuous shrug. 

He was a tall, powerfully built man, this Canaples, with a swart, cruelface that was nevertheless not ill-favoured, and a profusion of blackhair. 

"There is a temerity in M. De Canaples's rejoinder that I had not lookedfor, " I said banteringly. 

Canaples's brow was puckered in a frown. 

"Ha! And why not, Monsieur?"

"Why not? Because it is not to be expected that one who fastens quarrelsupon schoolboys would evince the courage to beard Gaston de Luynes. "

"Monsieur!" the four of them cried in chorus, so loudly that the humof voices in the tavern became hushed, and all eyes were turned in ourdirection. 

"M. De Canaples, " I said calmly, "permit me to say that I can find nomore fitting expression for the contempt I hold you in than this. "

As I spoke I seized a corner of the tablecloth, and with a sudden tug Iswept it, with all it held, on to the floor. 

Dame! what a scene there was! In an instant the four of them were ontheir feet, --as were half the occupants of the room, besides, --whilstpoor Vilmorin, who stood trembling like a maid who for the first timehears words of love, raised his quavering voice to cry soothingly, "Messieurs, Messieurs!"

Canaples was livid with passion, but otherwise the calmest in that room, saving perhaps myself. With a gesture he restrained Montmédy and St. Auban. 

"I shall be happy to give Master de Luynes all the proof of my couragethat he may desire, and more, I warrant, than he will relish. "

"Bravely answered!" I cried, with an approving nod and a beaming smile. "Be good enough to lead the way to a convenient spot. "

"I have other business at the moment, " he answered calmly. "Let us sayto-morrow at--"

"Faugh!" I broke in scornfully. "I knew it! Confess, Monsieur, thatyou dare not light me now lest you should be unable to keep yourappointments for this evening. "

"Mille diables!" exclaimed St. Auban, "this insolence passes allbounds. "

"Each man in his turn if you please, gentlemen, " I replied. "My presentaffair is with M. De Canaples. "

There was a hot answer burning on St. Auban's lips, but Canaples wasbeforehand with him. 

"Par la mort Dieu!" he cried; "you go too far, sir, with your 'dare' and'dare not. ' Is a broken gamester, a penniless adventurer, to tell Eugènede Canaples what he dares? Come, sir; since you are eager for the tasteof steel, follow me, and say your prayers as you go. "

With that we left the inn, amidst a prodigious hubbub, and made our wayto the horse-market behind the Hôtel Vendôme. It was not to be expected, albeit the place we had chosen was usually deserted at such an hour, that after the fracas at the "Soleil" our meeting would go unattended. When we faced each other--Canaples and I--there were at least sometwenty persons present, who came, despite the rain, to watch what theythought was like to prove a pretty fight. Men of position were they forthe most part, gentlemen of the Court with here and there a soldier, and from the manner in which they eyed me methought they favoured me butlittle. 

Our preparations were brief. The absence of seconds disposed of allformalities, the rain made us impatient to be done, and in virtue of itCanaples pompously announced that he would not risk a cold by stripping. With interest did I grimly answer that he need fear no cold when I haddone with him. Then casting aside my cloak, I drew, and, professingmyself also disposed to retain my doublet, we forthwith engaged. 

He was no mean swordsman, this Canaples. Indeed, his reputation wasalready widespread, and in the first shock of our meeting blades I feltthat rumour had been just for once. But I was strangely dispossessedof any doubts touching the outcome; this being due perchance to a vainconfidence in my own skill, perchance to the spirit of contemptuousraillery wherewith I had from the outset treated the affair, and whichhad so taken root in my heart that even when we engaged I still, almostunwittingly, persisted in it. 

In my face and attitude there was the reflection of this bantering, flippant mood; it was to be read in the mocking disdain of my glance, inthe scornful curl of my lip, and even in the turn of my wrist as I putaside my opponent's passes. All this, Canaples must have noted, and itwas not without effect upon his nerves. Moreover, there is in steel asubtle magnetism which is the index of one's antagonist; and from themoment that our blades slithered one against the other I make no doubtbut that Canaples grew aware of the confident, almost exultant mood inwhich I met him, and which told him that I was his master. Add to thisthe fact that whilst Canaples's nerves were unstrung by passion minewere held in check by a mind as calm and cool as though our swords werebaited, and consider with what advantages I took my ground. 

He led the attack fiercely and furiously, as if I were a boy whose guardwas to be borne down by sheer weight of blows. I contented myself withtapping his blade aside, and when at length, after essaying everytrick in his catalogue, he fell back baffled, I laughed a low laugh ofderision that drove him pale with fury. 

Again he came at me, almost before I was prepared for him, and hispoint, parried with a downward stroke and narrowly averted, scratchedmy thigh, but did more damage to my breeches than my skin, in exchangeI touched him playfully on the shoulder, and the sting of it drove himback a second time. He was breathing hard by then, and would fain havepaused awhile for breath, but I saw no reason to be merciful. 

"Now, sir, " I cried, saluting him as though our combat were but on thepoint of starting--"to me! Guard yourself!"

Again our swords clashed, and my blows now fell as swift on his bladeas his had done awhile ago on mine. So hard did I press him that he wasforced to give way before me. Back I drove him pace by pace, hiswrist growing weaker at each parry, each parry growing wider, and theperspiration streaming down his ashen face. Panting he went, in thatbackward flight before my onslaught, defending himself as best he could, never thinking of a riposte--beaten already. Back, and yet back he went, until he reached the railings and could back no farther, and sobroken was his spirit then that a groan escaped him. I answered with alaugh--my mood was lusty and cruel--and thrust at him. Then, eluding hisguard, I thrust again, beneath it, and took him fairly in the middle ofhis doublet. 

He staggered, dropped his rapier, and caught at the railings, where fora moment he hung swaying and gasping. Then his head fell forward, hisgrip relaxed, and swooning he sank down into a heap. 

A dozen sprang to his aid, foremost amongst them being St. Auban andMontmédy, whilst I drew back, suddenly realising my own spent condition, to which the heat of the combat had hitherto rendered me insensible. Imastered myself as best I might, and, dissembling my hard breathing, Iwiped my blade with a kerchief, an act which looked so calm and callousthat it drew from the crowd--for a crowd it had become by then--an angrygrowl. 'T is thus with the vulgar; they are ever ready to sympathisewith the vanquished without ever pausing to ask themselves if hischastisement may not be merited. 

In answer to the growl I tossed my head, and sheathing my sword I flungthe bloodstained kerchief into their very midst. The audacity of thegesture left them breathless, and they growled no more, but stared. 

Then that outrageous fop, Vilmorin, who had been bending over Canaples, started up and coming towards me with a face that was whiter than thatof the prostrate man, he proved himself so utterly bereft of wit byterror that for once he had the temerity to usurp the words and actionsof a brave man. 

"You have murdered him!" he cried in a strident voice, and thrusting hisclenched fist within an inch of my face. "Do you hear me, you knave? Youhave murdered him!"

Now, as may be well conceived, I was in no mood to endure such wordsfrom any man, so was but natural that for answer I caught the daintyVicomte a buffet that knocked him into the arms of the nearestbystander, and brought him to his senses. 

"Fool, " I snarled at him, "must I make another example before youbelieve that Gaston de Luynes wears a sword?"

"In the name of Heaven--" he began, putting forth his hands in abeseeching gesture; but what more he said was drowned by the roar ofanger that burst from the onlookers, and it was like to have gone illwith me had not St. Auban come to my aid at that most critical juncture. 

"Messieurs!" he cried, thrusting himself before me, and raising his handto crave silence, "hear me. I, a friend of M. De Canaples, tell you thatyou wrong M. De Luynes. 'T was a fair fight--how the quarrel arose is noconcern of yours. "

Despite his words they still snarled and growled like the misbegottencurs they were. But St. Auban was famous for the regal supper parties hegave, to which all were eager to be bidden, and amidst that crowd, as Ihave said, there were a score or so of gentlemen of the Court, who--withscant regard for the right or wrong of the case and every regard toconciliate this giver of suppers--came to range themselves beside andaround us, and thus protected me from the murderous designs of thatrabble. 

Seeing how the gentlemen took my part, and deeming--in their blessedignorance--that what gentlemen did must be perforce well done, they grewcalm in the twinkling of an eye. Thereupon St. Auban, turning to me, counselled me in a whisper to be gone, whilst the tide of opinion flowedin my favour. Intent to act upon this good advice, I took a step towardsthe little knot that had collected round Canaples, and with naturalcuriosity inquired into the nature of his hurt. 

'T was Montmédy who answered me, scowling as he did so:

"He may die of it, Monsieur. If he does not, his recovery will be atleast slow and difficult. "

I had been wise had I held my peace and gone; but, like a fool, I mustneeds give utterance to what was in my mind. 

"Ah! At least there will be no duel at St. Germain this evening. "

Scarce had the words fallen from my lips when I saw in the faces ofMontmédy and St. Auban and half a dozen others the evidence of theirrashness. 

"So!" cried St. Auban in a voice that shook with rage. "That was yourobject, eh? That you had fallen low, Master de Luynes, I knew, but Idreamt not that in your fall you had come so low as this. "

"You dare?"

"Pardieu! I dare more, Monsieur; I dare tell you--you, Gaston de Luynes, spy and bravo of the Cardinal--that your object shall be defeated. That, as God lives, this duel shall still be fought--by me instead ofCanaples. "

"And I tell you, sir, that as God lives it shall not, " I answered with avehemence not a whit less than his own. "To you and to what other foolsmay think to follow in your footsteps, I say this: that not to-nightnor to-morrow nor the next day shall that duel be fought. Cowards andpoltroons you are, who seek to murder a beardless boy who has injurednone of you! But, by my soul! every man who sends a challenge to thatboy will I at once seek out and deal with as I have dealt with Eugène deCanaples. Let those who are eager to try another world make the attempt. Adieu, Messieurs!"

And with a flourish of my sodden beaver, I turned and left them beforethey had recovered from the vehemence of my words. 

CHAPTER IV. FAIR RESCUERS

Like the calm of the heavens when pregnant with thunder was the calm ofthat crowd. And as brief it was; for scarce had I taken a dozen stepswhen my ears were assailed by a rumble of angry voices and a rush offeet. One glance over my shoulder, one second's hesitation whether Ishould stay and beard them, then the thought of Andrea de Mancini and ofwhat would befall him did this canaille vent its wrath upon me decidedmy course and sent me hotfoot down the Rue Monarque. Howling andbellowing that rabble followed in my wake, stumbling over one another intheir indecent haste to reach me. 

But I was fleet of foot, and behind me there was that that would lendwings to the most deliberate, so that when I turned into the open spacebefore the Hôtel Vendôme I had set a good fifty yards betwixt myself andthe foremost of my hunters. 

A coach was passing at that moment. I shouted, and the knave who droveglanced at me, then up the Rue Monarque at my pursuers, whereupon, shaking his head, he would have left me to my fate. But I was of anothermind. I dashed towards the vehicle, and as it passed me I caught atthe window, which luckily was open, and drawing up my legs I hung theredespite the shower of mud which the revolving wheels deposited upon me. 

From the bowels of the coach I was greeted by a woman's scream; a paleface, and a profusion of fair hair flashed before my eyes. 

"Fear not, Madame, " I shouted. "I am no assassin, but rather onewho stands in imminent peril of assassination, and who craves yourprotection. "

More I would have said, but at that juncture the lash of the coachman'swhip curled itself about my shoulders, and stung me vilely. 

"Get down, you rascal, " he bellowed; "get down or I'll draw rein!"

To obey him would have been madness. The crowd surged behind with hootsand yells, and had I let go I must perforce have fallen into theirhands. So, instead of getting down as he inconsiderately counselled, Idrew myself farther up by a mighty effort, and thrust half my body intothe coach, whereupon the fair lady screamed again, and the whip caressedmy legs. But within the coach sat another woman, dark of hair andexquisite of face, who eyed my advent with a disdainful glance. Herproud countenance bore the stamp of courage, and to her it was that Idirected my appeal. 

"Madame, permit me, I pray, to seek shelter in your carriage, and sufferme to journey a little way with you. Quick, Madame! Your coachman isdrawing rein, and I shall of a certainty be murdered under your verynose unless you bid him change his mind. To be murdered in itself is atrifling matter, I avow, but it is not nice to behold, and I would not, for all the world, offend your eyes with the spectacle of it. "

I had judged her rightly, and my tone of flippant recklessness wonme her sympathy and aid. Quickly thrusting her head through the otherwindow:

"Drive on, Louis, " she commanded. "Faster!" Then turning to me, "You maybring your legs into the coach if you choose, sir, " she said. 

"Your words, Madame, are the sweetest music I have heard for months, " Ianswered drily, as I obeyed her. Then leaning out of the carriage againI waved my hat gallantly to the mob which--now realising the futility offurther pursuit--had suddenly come to a halt. 

"Au plaisir de vous revoir, Messieurs, " I shouted. "Come to me one byone, and I'll keep the devil busy finding lodgings for you. "

They answered me with a yell, and I sat down content, and laughed. 

"You are not a coward, Monsieur, " said the dark lady. 

"I have been accounted many unsavoury things, Madame, but my bitterestenemies never dubbed me that. "

"Why, then, did you run away?"

"Why? Ma foi! because in the excessive humility of my soul I recognisedmyself unfit to die. "

She bit her lip and her tiny foot beat impatiently upon the floor. 

"You are trifling with me, Monsieur. Where do you wish to alight?"

"Pray let that give you no concern; I can assure you that I am in nohaste. "

"You become impertinent, sir, " she cried angrily. "Answer me, where areyou going?"

"Where am I going? Oh, ah--to the Palais Royal. "

Her eyes opened very wide at that, and wandered over me with a look thatwas passing eloquent. Indeed, I was a sorry spectacle for any woman'seyes--particularly a pretty one's. Splashed from head to foot with mud, my doublet saturated and my beaver dripping, with the feather hanginglimp and broken, whilst there was a rent in my breeches that hadbeen made by Canaples's sword, I take it that I had not the air of acourtier, and that when I said that I went to the Palais Royal she mighthave justly held me to be the adventurous lover of some kitchen wench. But unto the Palais Royal go others besides courtiers and lovers--spiesof the Cardinal, for instance, and in her sudden coldness and the nextquestion that fell from her beauteous lips I read that she had guessedme one of these. 

"Why did the mob pursue you, Monsieur?"

There was in her voice and gesture when she asked a question theimperiousness of one accustomed to command replies. This prettyqueenliness it was that drove me to answer--as I had done before--in abantering strain. 

"Why did the mob pursue me? Hum! Why does the mob pursue great men?Because it loves their company. "

Her matchless eyes flashed an angry glance, and the faint smile on mylips must have tried her temper sorely. 

"What did you do to deserve this affection?"

"A mere nothing--I killed a man, " I answered coolly. "Or, at least, Ileft him started on the road to--Paradise. "

The little flaxen-haired doll uttered a cry of horror, and covered herface with her small white hands. My inquisitor, however, sat rigid andunaffected. My answer had confirmed her suspicions. 

"Why did you kill him?"

"Ma foi!" I replied, encouraging her thoughts, "because he sought tokill me. "

"Ah! And why did he seek to kill you?"

"Because I disturbed him at dinner. "

"Have a care how you trifle, sir!" she retorted, her eyes kindlingagain. 

"Upon my honour, 't was no more than that. I pulled the cloth fromthe table whilst he ate. He was a quick-tempered gentleman, and myplayfulness offended him. That is all. "

Doubt appeared in her eyes, and it may have entered her mind thatperchance her judgment had been over-hasty. 

"Do you mean, sir, that you provoked a duel?"

"Alas, Madame! It had become necessary. You see, M. De Canaples--"

"Who?" Her voice rang sharp as the crack of a pistol. 

"Eh? M. De Canaples. "

"Was it he whom you killed?"

From her tone, and the eager, strained expression of her face, it wasnot difficult to read that some mighty interest of hers was involved inmy reply. It needed not the low moan that burst from her companion totell me so. 

"As I have said, Madame, it is possible that he is not dead--nay, eventhat he will not die. For the rest, since you ask the question, myopponent was, indeed, M. De Canaples--Eugène de Canaples. "

Her face went deadly white, and she sank back in her seat as if everynerve in her body had of a sudden been bereft of power, whilst she ofthe fair hair burst into tears. 

A pretty position was this for me!--luckily it endured not. The girlroused herself from her momentary weakness, and, seizing the cord, shetugged it violently. The coach drew up. 

"Alight, sir, " she hissed--"go! I wish to Heaven that I had left you tothe vengeance of the people. "

Not so did I; nevertheless, as I alighted: "I am sorry, Madame, that youdid not, " I answered. "Adieu!"

The coach moved away, and I was left standing at the corner of the RueSt. Honoré and the Rue des Bons Enfants, in the sorriest frame of mindconceivable. The lady in the coach had saved my life, and for that I wasmore grateful perchance than my life was worth. Out of gratitude spranga regret for the pain that I had undoubtedly caused her, and the sorrowwhich it might have been my fate to cast over her life. 

Still, regret, albeit an admirable sentiment, was one whose existencewas usually brief in my bosom. Dame! Had I been a man of regrets I mighthave spent the remainder of my days weeping over my past life. Butthe gods, who had given me a character calculated to lead a maninto misfortune, had given me a stout heart wherewith to fight thatmisfortune, and an armour of recklessness against which remorse, regrets, aye, and conscience itself, rained blows in vain. 

And so it befell that presently I laughed myself out of the puerilehumour that was besetting me, and, finding myself chilled by inaction inmy wet clothes, I set off for the Palais Royal at a pace that was firstcousin to a run. 

Ten minutes later I stood in the presence of the most feared and hatedman in France. 

"Cospetto!" cried Mazarin as I entered his cabinet. "Have you swum theSeine in your clothes?"

"No, your Eminence, but I have been serving you in the rain for the pasthour. "

He smiled that peculiar smile of his that rendered hateful his otherwisenot ill-favoured countenance. It was a smile of the lips in which theeyes had no part. 

"Yes, " he said slowly, "I have heard of your achievements. "

"You have heard?" I ejaculated, amazed by the powers which this manwielded. 

"Yes, I have heard. You are a brave man, M. De Luynes. "

"Pshaw, your Eminence!" I deprecated; "the poor are always brave. Theyhave naught to lose but their life, and that is not so sweet to themthat they lay much store by it. Howbeit, Monseigneur, your wishes havebeen carried out. There will be no duel at St. Germain this evening. "

"Will there not? Hum! I am not so confident. You are a brave man, M. DeLuynes, but you lack that great auxiliary of valour--discretion. Whatneed to fling into the teeth of those fine gentlemen the reason you hadfor spitting Canaples, eh? You have provoked a dozen enemies for Andreawhere only one existed. "

"I will answer for all of them, " I retorted boastfully. 

"Fine words, M. De Luynes; but to support them how many men will youhave to kill? Pah! What if some fine morning there comes one who, despite your vaunted swordsmanship, proves your master? What will becomeof that fool, my nephew, eh?"

And his uncanny smile again beamed on me. "Andrea is now packing hisvalise. In an hour he will have left Paris secretly. He goes--but whatdoes it signify where he goes? He is compelled by your indiscretionto withdraw from Court. Had you kept a close tongue in your foolishhead--but there! you did not, and so by a thoughtless word you undid allthat you had done so well. You may go, M. De Luynes. I have no furtherneed of you--and thank Heaven that you leave the Palais Royal free to gowhither your fancy takes you, and not to journey to the Bastille or toVincennes. I am merciful, M. De Luynes--as merciful as you are brave;more merciful than you are prudent. One word of warning, M. De Luynes:do not let me learn that you are in my nephew's company, if you wouldnot make me regret my clemency and repair the error of it by having youhanged. And now, adieu!"

I stood aghast. Was I indeed dismissed? Albeit naught had been said, Ihad not doubted, since my interview with him that morning, that did Isucceed in saving Andrea my rank in his guards--and thereby a means oflivelihood--would be restored to me. And now matters were no better thanthey had been before. He dismissed me with the assurance that he wasmerciful. As God lives, it would have been as merciful to have hangedme!

He met my astonished look with an eye that seemed to ask me why Ilingered. Then reading mayhap what was passing in my thoughts, he raiseda little silver whistle to his lips and blew softly upon it. 

"Bernouin, " said he to his valet, who entered in answer to the summons, "reconduct M. De Luynes. "

I remember drawing down upon my bedraggled person the curious gaze ofthe numerous clients who thronged the Cardinal's ante-chamber, as Ifollowed Bernouin to the door which opened on to the corridor, and whichhe held for me. And thus, for the second time within twenty-four hours, did I leave the Palais Royal to wend my way home to the Rue St. Antoinewith grim despondency in my heart. 

I found Michelot on the point of setting out in search of me, with anote which had been brought to my lodging half an hour ago, and whichits bearer had said was urgent. I took the letter, and bidding Michelotprepare me fresh raiment that I might exchange for my wet clothes, Ibroke the seal and read:

"A thousand thanks, dear friend, for the service you have rendered meand of which his Eminence, my uncle, has informed me. I fear that youhave made many enemies for yourself through an action which will likelygo unrewarded, and that Paris is therefore as little suited at presentto your health as it is to mine. I am setting out for Blois on a missionof exceeding delicacy wherein your advice and guidance would be ofinfinite value to me. I shall remain at Choisy until to-morrow morning, and should there be no ties to hold you in Paris, and you be minded tobear me company, join me there at the Hôtel du Connétable where I shalllie to-night. Your grateful and devoted

"ANDRE. "

So! There was one at least who desired my company! I had not thought it. "If there be no ties to hold you in Paris, " he wrote. Dame! A changeof air would suit me vastly. I was resolved--a fig for the Cardinal'sthreat to hang me if I were found in his nephew's company!

"My suit of buff, Michelot, " I shouted, springing to my feet, "and myleather jerkin. "

He gazed at me in surprise. 

"Is Monsieur going a journey?"

I answered him that I was, and as I spoke I began to divest myself ofthe clothes I wore. "Pack my suit of pearl grey in the valise, with whatchanges of linen I possess; then call Master Coupri that I may settlewith him. It may be some time before we return. "

In less than half an hour I was ready for the journey, spurredand booted, with my rapier at my side, and in the pocket of myhaut-de­chausses a purse containing some fifty pistoles--best part ofwhich I had won from Vilmorin at lansquenet some nights before, andwhich moderate sum represented all the moneys that I possessed. 

Our horses were ready, my pistols holstered, and my valise strappedto Michelot's saddle. Despite the desperate outlook of my fortunes, ofwhich I had made him fully cognisant, he insisted upon clinging to me, reminding me that at Rocroi I had saved his life and that he would leaveme only when I bade him go. 

As four o'clock was striking at Nôtre Dame we crossed the Pont Neuf, and going by the Quai des Augustins and the Rue de la Harpe, we quittedParis by the St. Michel Gate and took the road to Choisy. The rainhad ceased, but the air was keen and cold, and the wind cut like asword-edge. 

CHAPTER V. MAZARIN, THE MATCH-MAKER

Twixt Paris and Choisy there lies but a distance of some two leagues, which, given a fair horse, one may cover with ease in little more thanhalf an hour. So that as the twilight was deepening into night we drewrein before the hostelry of the Connétable, in the only square thelittle township boasts, and from the landlord I had that obsequiousreception which is ever accorded to him who travels with a body-servant. 

I found Andrea installed in a fair-sized and comfortable apartment, tothe original decoration of which he added not a little by bestowing hisboots in the centre of the floor, his hat, sword, and baldrick on thetable, his cloak on one chair, and his doublet on another. He himselfsat toasting his feet before the blazing logs, which cast a warm, reddish glow upon his sable hair and dainty shirt of cambric. 

He sprang up as I entered, and came towards me with a look of pleasureon his handsome, high-bred face, that did me good to see. 

"So, you have come, De Luynes, " he cried, putting forth his hand. "I didnot dare to hope that you would. "

"No, " I answered. "Truly it was not to be expected that I could beeasily lured from Paris just as my fortunes are nearing a high tide, and his Eminence proposing to make me a Marshal of France and create meDuke. As you say, you had scant grounds for hoping that my love for youwould suffice to make me renounce all these fine things for the meresake of accompanying you on your jaunt to Blois. "

He laughed, then fell to thanking me for having rid him of Canaples. Icut him short at last, and in answer to his questions told him what hadpassed 'twixt his Eminence and me that afternoon. Then as the waiterentered to spread our supper, the conversation assumed a less delicatecharacter, until we were again alone with the table and its steamingviands between us. 

"You have not told me yet, Andrea, what takes you to Blois, " quoth Ithen. 

"You shall learn. Little do you dream how closely interwoven are ourmorning adventures with this journey of mine. To begin with, I go toBlois to pay my dévoirs to the lady whom his Eminence has selected formy future wife. "

"You were then right in describing this as a mission of great delicacy. "

"More than you think--I have never seen the lady. "

"Never seen her? And you go a-wooing a woman you have never seen?"

"It is so. I have never seen her; but his Eminence has, and 't is hewho arranges the affair. Ah, the Cardinal is the greatest match­maker inFrance! My cousin Anna Martinozzi is destined for the Prince de Conti, my sisters Olympia and Marianne he also hopes to marry to princes of theblood, whilst I dare wager that he has thoughts of seating either Mariaor Hortensia upon the throne of France as the wife of Louis XIV. , assoon as his Majesty shall have reached a marriageable age. You maylaugh, De Luynes, nevertheless all this may come to pass, for my unclehas great ambitions for his family, and it is even possible that shouldthat poor, wandering youth, Charles II. Of England, ever return to thethrone of his fathers he may also become my brother-in-law. I am likelyto become well connected, De Luynes, so make a friend of me whilst Iam humble. So much for Mazarin's nieces. His nephews are too young foralliances just yet, saving myself; and for me his Eminence haschosen one of the greatest heiresses in France--Yvonne St. Albaret deCanaples. "

"Whom?" I shouted. 

He smiled. 

"Curious, is it not? She is the sister of the man whom I quarrelledwith this morning, and whom you fought with this afternoon. Now you willunderstand my uncle's reasons for so strenuously desiring to prevent theduel at St. Germain. It appears that the old Chevalier de Canaples isas eager as the Cardinal to see his daughter wed to me, for his Eminencehas promised to create me Duke for a wedding gift. 'T will cost himlittle, and 't will please these Canaples mightily. Naturally, hadEugène de Canaples and I crossed swords, matters would have beenrendered difficult. "

"When did you learn all this?" I inquired. 

"To-day, after the duel, and when it was known what St. Auban andMontmédy had threatened me with. My uncle thought it well that I shouldwithdraw from Paris. He sent for me and told me what I have told you, adding that I had best seize the opportunity, whilst my presence atCourt was undesirable, to repair to Blois and get my wooing done. I inpart agreed with him. The lady is very rich, and I am told that she isbeautiful. I shall see her, and if she pleases me, I'll woo her. If not, I'll return to Paris. "

"But her brother will oppose you. "

"Her brother? Pooh! If he doesn't die of the sword-thrust you gave him, which I am told is in the region of the lung and passing dangerous, hewill at least be abed for a couple of months to come. "

"But I, mon cher André? What rôle do you reserve for me, that you havedesired me to go with you?"

"The rôle of Mentor if you will. Methought you would prove a merrycomrade to help one o'er a tedious journey, and knowing that there waslittle to hold you to Paris, and probably sound reasons why you shoulddesire to quit it, meseemed that perhaps you would consent to bear mecompany. Who knows, my knight errant, what adventures may await you andwhat fortunes? If the heiress displeases me, it may be that she willplease you--or mayhap there is another heiress at Blois who will fallenamoured of those fierce moustachios. "

I laughed with him at the improbability of such things befalling. Icarried in my bosom too large a heart, and one that was the property ofevery wench I met--for just so long as I chanced to be in her company. 

It was no more than in harmony with this habit of mine, that when, nextmorning in the common-room of the Connétable, I espied Jeanneton, thelandlord's daughter, and remarked that she was winsome and shapely, witha complexion that would not have dishonoured a rose-petal, I permittedmyself to pinch her dainty cheek. She slapped mine in return, and inthis pleasant manner we became acquainted. 

"Sweet Jeanneton, " quoth I with a laugh, "that was mightily ill-done! Idid but pinch your cheek as one may pinch a sweet-smelling bud, so thatthe perfume of it may cling to one's fingers. "

"And I, sir, " was the pert rejoinder, "did but slap yours as one mayslap a misbehaving urchin's; so that he may learn better manners. "

Nevertheless she was pleased with my courtly speech, and perchance alsowith my moustachios, for a smile took the place of the frown wherewithshe had at first confronted me. Now, if I had uttered glib pleasantriesin answer to her frowns, how many more did not her smiles wring from me!I discoursed to her in the very courtliest fashion of cows and pulletsand such other matters as interesting to her as they were mysteriousto me. I questioned her in a breath touching her father's pigs andthe swain she loved best in that little township, to all of which sheanswered me with a charming wit, which would greatly divert you did Ibut recall her words sufficiently to set them down. In five minuteswe had become the best friends in the world, which was attested by theprotecting arm that I slipped around her waist, as I asked her whethershe loved that village swain of hers better than she loved me, andrefused to believe her when she answered that she did. 

Outside two men were talking, one calling for a farrier, and wheninformed that the only one in the village was absent and not likely toreturn till noon, demanding relays of horses. The other--probably thehostler--answered him that the Connétable was not a post-house andthat no horses were to be had there. Then a woman's voice, sweet yetcommanding, rose above theirs. 

"Very well, Guilbert, " it said. "We will await this farrier's return. "

"Let me go, Monsieur!" cried Jeanneton. "Some one comes. "

Now for myself I cared little who might come, but methought that it waslikely to do poor Jeanneton's fair name no benefit, if the arm ofGaston de Luynes were seen about her waist. And so I obeyed her, but notquickly enough; for already a shadow lay athwart the threshold, and inthe doorway stood a woman, whose eye took in the situation before we hadaltered it sufficiently to avert suspicion. To my amazement I beheld thelady of the coach--she who had saved me from the mob in Place Vendôme, and touching whose identity I could have hazarded a shrewd guess. 

In her eyes also I saw the light of recognition which swiftly changed toone of scorn. Then they passed from me to the vanishing Jeanneton, andmethought that she was about to call her back. She paused, however, and, turning to the lackey who followed at her heels. 

"Guilbert, " she said, "be good enough to call the landlord, and bid himprovide me with an apartment for the time that we may be forced to spendhere. "

But at this juncture the host himself came hurrying forward with manybows and endless rubbing of hands, which argued untold deference. Heregretted that the hostelry of the Connétable, being but a poor inn, seldom honoured as it was at that moment, possessed but one suite ofprivate apartments, and that was now occupied by a most noble gentleman. The lady tapped her foot, and as at that moment her companion (who wasnone other than the fair-haired doll I had seen with her on the previousday) entered the room, she turned to speak with her, whilst I moved awaytowards the window. 

"Will this gentleman, " she inquired, "lend me one of his rooms, thinkyou?"

"Hélas, Mademoiselle, he has but two, a bedroom and an ante-chamber, andhe is still abed. "

"Oh!" she cried in pretty anger, "this is insufferable! 'T is yourfault, Guilbert, you fool. Am I, then, to spend the day here in thecommon-room?"

"No, no, Mademoiselle, " exclaimed the host in his most soothing accents. "Only for an hour, or less, perhaps, until this very noble lord isrisen, when assuredly--for he is young and very gallant--he will resignone or both of his rooms to you. "

More was said between them, but my attention was suddenly drawnelsewhere. Michelot burst into the room, disaster written on his face. 

"Monsieur, " he cried, in great alarm, "the Marquis de St. Aubanis riding down the street with the Vicomte de Vilmorin and anothergentleman. "

I rapped out an oath at the news; they had got scent of Andrea'swhereabouts, and were after him like sleuth-hounds on a trail. 

"Remain here, Michelot, " I answered in a low voice. "Tell them thatM. De Mancini is not here, that the only occupant of the inn is yourmaster, a gentleman from Normandy, or Picardy, or where you will. See that they do not guess our presence--the landlord fortunately isignorant of M. De Mancini's name. "

There was a clatter of horses' hoofs without, and I was barely in timeto escape by the door leading to the staircase, when St. Auban's heavyvoice rang out, calling the landlord. 

"I am in search of a gentleman named Andrea de Mancini, " he said. "I amtold that he has journeyed hither, and that he is here at present. Am Irightly informed?"

I determined to remain where I was, and hear that conversation to theend. 

"There is a gentleman here, " answered the host, "but I am ignorant ofhis name. I will inquire. "

"You may spare yourself the trouble, " Michelot interposed. "That is notthe gentleman's name. I am his servant. "

There was a moment's pause, then came Vilmorin's shrill voice. 

"You lie, knave! M. De Mancini is here. You are M. De Luynes's lackey, and where the one is, there shall we find the other. "

"M. De Luynes?" came a voice unknown to me. "That is Mancini'ssword-blade of a friend, is it not? Well, why does he hide himself?Where is he? Where is your master, rascal?"

"I am here, Messieurs, " I answered, throwing wide the door, andappearing, grim and arrogant, upon the threshold. 

Mort de ma vie! Had they beheld the Devil, St. Auban and Vilmorin couldnot have looked less pleased than they did when their eyes lighted uponme, standing there surveying them with a sardonic grin. 

St. Auban muttered an oath, Vilmorin stifled a cry, whilst he who had soloudly called to know where I hid myself--a frail little fellow, in theuniform of the gardes du corps--now stood silent and abashed. 

The two women, who had withdrawn into a dark and retired corner of theapartment, stood gazing with interest upon this pretty scene. 

"Well, gentlemen?" I asked in a tone of persiflage, as I took a steptowards them. "Have you naught to say to me, now that I have answeredyour imperious summons? What! All dumb?"

"Our affair is not with you, " said St. Auban, curtly. 

"Pardon! Why, then, did you inquire where I was?"

"Messieurs, " exclaimed Vilmorin, whose face assumed the pallor usual toit in moments of peril, "meseems we have been misinformed, and that M. De Mancini is not here. Let us seek elsewhere. "

"Most excellent advice, gentlemen, " I commented, --"seek elsewhere. "

"Monsieur, " cried the little officer, turning purple, "it occurs to methat you are mocking us. "

"Mocking you! Mocking you? Mocking a gentleman who has been tied to sohuge a sword as yours. Surely--surely, sir, you do not think--"

"I'll not endure it, " he broke in. "You shall answer to me for this. "

"Have a care, sir, " I cried in alarm as he rushed forward. "Have a care, sir, lest you trip over your sword. "

He halted, drew himself up, and, with a magnificent gesture: "I amArmand de Malpertuis, lieutenant of his Majesty's guards, " he announced, "and I shall be grateful if you will do me the honour of taking a turnwith me, outside. "

"I am flattered beyond measure, M. Malappris--"

"Mal-per-tuis, " he corrected furiously. 

"Malpertuis, " I echoed. "I am honoured beyond words, but I do not wishto take a turn. "

"Mille diables, sir! Don't you understand? We must fight. "

"Must we, indeed? Again I am honoured; but, Monsieur, I don't fightsparrows. "

"Gentlemen! Gentlemen!" cried St. Auban, thrusting himself between us. "Malpertuis, have the goodness to wait until one affair is concludedbefore you create a second one. Now, M. De Luynes, will you tell mewhether M. De Mancini is here or not?"

"What if he should be?"

"You will be wise to withdraw--we shall be three to two. "

"Three to two! Surely, Marquis, your reckoning is at fault. You cannotcount the Vicomte there as one; his knees are knocking together; at besthe is but a woman in man's clothes. As for your other friend, unless hisheight misleads me, he is but a boy. Therefore, Monsieur, you see thatthe advantage is with us. We are two men opposed to a man, a woman, anda child, so that--"

"In Heaven's name, sir, " cried St. Auban, again interposing himselfbetwixt me and the bellicose Malpertuis, "will you cease thisfoolishness? A word with you in private, M. De Luynes. "

I permitted him to take me by the sleeve, and lead me aside, wonderingthe while what curb it was that he was setting upon his temper, and whatwily motives he might have for adopting so conciliatory a tone. 

With many generations to come, the name of César de St. Auban mustperforce be familiar as that of one of the greatest roysterers and mostcourtly libertines of the early days of Louis XIV. , as well as that of arabid anti-cardinalist and frondeur, and one of the earliest of that newcabal of nobility known as the petits-maîtres, whose leader the Princede Condé was destined to become a few years later. He was a man of aboutmy own age, that is to say, between thirty-two and thirty-three, andof my own frame, tall, spare, and active. On his florid, débonnaircountenance was stamped his character of bon-viveur. In dress hewas courtly in the extreme. His doublet and haut-de-chausses were ofwine-coloured velvet, richly laced, and he still affected the hangingsleeves of a fast-disappearing fashion. Valuable lace filled the topsof his black boots, a valuable jewel glistened here and there uponhis person, and one must needs have pronounced him a fop but for thestrength and resoluteness of his bearing, and the long rapier that hungfrom his gold-embroidered baldrick. Such in brief is a portrait ofthe man who now confronted me, his fine blue eyes fixed upon my face, wherein methinks he read but little, search though he might. 

"M. De Luynes, " he murmured at last, "you appear to find entertainmentin making enemies, and you do it wantonly. "

"Have you brought me aside to instruct me in the art of making friends?"

"Possibly, M. De Luynes; and without intending an offence, permit me toremark that you need them. "

"Mayhap. But I do not seek them. "

"I have it in my heart to wish that you did; for I, M. De Luynes, seekto make a friend of you. Nay, do not smile in that unbelieving fashion. I have long esteemed you for those very qualities of dauntlessness anddefiance which have brought you so rich a crop of hatred. If youdoubt my words, perhaps you will recall my attitude towards you in thehorse-market yesterday, and let that speak. Without wishing to remindyou of a service done, I may yet mention that I stood betwixt you andthe mob that sought to avenge my friend Canaples. He was my friend; youstood there, as indeed you have always stood, in the attitude of a foe. You wounded Canaples, maltreated Vilmorin, defied me; and yet but for myintervention, mille diables sir, you had been torn to pieces. "

"All this I grant is very true, Monsieur, " I made reply, with deepsuspicion in my soul. "Yet, pardon me, if I confess that to me it provesno more than that you acted as a generous enemy. Pardon my bluntnessalso--but what profit do you look to make from gaining my friendship?"

"You are frank, Monsieur, " he said, colouring slightly, "I will be nonethe less so. I am a frondeur, an anti-cardinalist. In a word, I ama gentleman and a Frenchman. An interloping foreigner, miserly, mean-souled, and Jesuitical, springs up, wins himself into the gracesof a foolish, impetuous, wilful queen, and climbs the ladder which sheholds for him to the highest position in France. I allude to Mazarin;this Cardinal who is not a priest; this minister of France who is not aFrenchman; this belittler of nobles who is not a gentleman. "

"Mort Dieu, Monsieur--"

"One moment, M. De Luynes. This adventurer, not content with themillions which his avaricious talons have dragged from the people forhis own benefit, seeks, by means of illustrious alliances, to enrich apack of beggarly nieces and nephews that he has rescued from the squalorof their Sicilian homes to bring hither. His nieces, the Mancinis andMartinozzis, he is marrying to Dukes and Princes. 'T is not nice towitness, but 't is the affair of the men who wed them. In seeking, however, to marry his nephew Andrea to one of the greatest heiresses inFrance, he goes too far. Yvonne de Canaples is for some noble countrymanof her own--there are many suitors to her hand--and for no nephew ofGiulio Mazarini. Her brother Eugène, himself, thinks thus, and therein, M. De Luynes, you have the real motive of the quarrel which he provokedwith Andrea, and which, had you not interfered, could have had but oneending. "

"Why do you tell me all this, Monsieur?" I inquired coldly, betrayingnone of the amazement his last words gave birth to. 

"So that you may know the true position of affairs, and, knowing it, seethe course which the name you bear must bid you follow. Because Canaplesfailed am I here to-day. I had not counted upon meeting you, but sinceI have met you, I have set the truth before you, confident that youwill now withdraw from an affair to which no real interest can bind you, leaving matters to pursue their course. "

He eyed me, methought, almost anxiously from under his brows, as heawaited my reply. It was briefer than he looked for. 

"You have wasted time, Monsieur. "

"How? You persist?"

"Yes. I persist. Yet for the Cardinal I care nothing. Mazarin hasdismissed me from his service unjustly and unpaid. He has forbidden mehis nephew's company. In fact, did he know of my presence here with M. De Mancini, he would probably carry out his threat to hang me. "

"Ciel!" cried St. Auban, "you are mad, if that be so. France is dividedinto two parties, cardinalists and anti-cardinalists. You, sir, withoutbelonging to either, stand alone, an enemy to both. Your attitude ispreposterous!"

"Nay, sir, not alone. There is Andrea de Mancini. The boy is my onlyfriend in a world of enemies. I am growing fond of him, Monsieur, andI will stand by him, while my arm can wield a sword, in all that mayadvance his fortunes and his happiness. That, Monsieur, is my lastword. "

"Do not forget, M. De Luynes, " he said--his suaveness all departed ofa sudden, and his tone full of menace and acidity--"do not forget thatwhen a wall may not be scaled it may be broken through. "

"Aye, Monsieur, but many of those who break through stand in dangerof being crushed by the falling stones, " I answered, entering into thespirit of his allegory. 

"There are many ways of striking, " he said. 

"And many ways of being struck, " I retorted with a sneer. 

Our words grew sinister, our eyes waxed fiery, and more might havefollowed had not the door leading to the staircase opened at that momentto admit Andrea himself. He came, elegant in dress and figure, with asmile upon his handsome young face, whose noble features gave the lieto St. Auban's assertion that he had been drawn from a squalid Sicilianhome. Such faces are not bred in squalor. 

In utter ignorance of the cabal against him, he greeted St. Auban--whowas well known to him--with a graceful bow, and also Vilmorin, who stoodin the doorway with Malpertuis, and who at the sight of Mancini grewvisibly ill at ease. In coming to Choisy, the Vicomte had clearlyexpected to do no more than second St. Auban in the duel which hethought to see forced upon Andrea. He now realised that if a fight therewas, he might, by my presence, be forced into it. Malpertuis lookedfierce and tugged at his moustachios, whilst his companions returnedAndrea's salutation--St. Auban gravely, and Vilmorin hesitatingly. 

"Ha, Gaston, " said the boy, advancing towards me, "our host tells methat two ladies who have been shipwrecked here wish to do me the honourof occupying my apartments for an hour or so. Ha, there they are, " headded, as the two girls came suddenly forward. Then bowing--"Mesdames, Iam enchanted to set the poor room at your disposal for as long as it mayplease you to honour it. "

As the ladies--of whose presence St. Auban had been unaware--appearedbefore us, I shot a glance at the Marquis, and, from the start he gaveupon beholding them, I saw that things were as I had suspected. 

Before they could reply to Andrea, St. Auban suddenly advanced:

"Mesdemoiselles, " quoth he, "forgive me if in this miserable light I didnot earlier discover your presence and offer you my services. I do sonow, with the hope that you will honour me by making use of them. "

"Merci, M. De St. Auban, " replied the dark-haired one--whom I guessedto be none other than Yvonne de Canaples herself--"but, since thisgentleman so gallantly cedes his apartments to us, all our needs aresatisfied. It would be churlish to refuse that which is so graciouslyproffered. "

Her tone was cold in the extreme, as also was the inclination of herhead wherewith she favoured the Marquis. In arrant contrast were thepretty words of thanks she addressed to Andrea, who stood by, blushinglike a girl, and a damnable scowl did this contrast draw from St. Auban, a scowl that lasted until, escorted by the landlord, the two ladies hadwithdrawn. 

There was an awkward pause when they were gone, and methought from thelook on St. Auban's face that he was about to provoke a fight after all. Not so, however, for, after staring at us like a clown whilst one mighttell a dozen, he turned and strode to the door, calling for his horseand those of his companions. 

"Au révoir, M. De Luynes, " he said significantly as he got into thesaddle. 

"Au révoir, M. De Luynes, " said also Malpertuis, coming close up to me. "We shall meet again, believe me. "

"Pray God that we may not, if you would die in your bed, " I answeredmockingly. "Adieu!"

CHAPTER VI. OF HOW ANDREA BECAME LOVE-SICK

With what fictions I could call to mind I put off Andrea's questionstouching the peculiar fashion of St. Auban's leave-taking. Tell himthe truth and expose to him the situation whereof he was himself theunconscious centre I dared not, lest his high-spirited impetuosityshould cause him to take into his own hands the reins of the affair, andthus drive himself into irreparable disaster. 

Andrea himself showed scant concern, however, and was luckily contentwith my hurriedly invented explanations; his thoughts had suddenly foundoccupation in another and a gentler theme than the ill-humour of men, and presently his tongue betrayed them when he drew the conversation tothe ladies to whom he had resigned his apartments. 

"Pardieu! Gaston, " he burst out, "she is a lovely maid--saw you ever abonnier?"

"Indeed she is very beautiful, " I answered, laughing to myself at thethought of how little he dreamt that it was of Yvonne St. Albaret deCanaples that he spoke, and not minded for the while to enlighten him. 

"If she be as kind and gentle as she is beautiful, Gaston, well--UncleGiulio's plans are likely to suffer shipwreck. I shall not leaveChoisy until I have spoken to her; in fact, I shall not leave until sheleaves. "

"Nevertheless, we shall still be able to set out, as we had projected, after dining, for in an hour, or two at most, they will proceed on theirjourney. "

He was silent for some moments, then:

"To the devil with the Cardinal's plans!" quoth he, banging his fist onthe table. "I shall not go to Blois. "

"Pooh! Why not?"

"Why not?" He halted for a moment, then in a meandering tone--"You haveread perchance in story-books, " he said, "of love being born from thefirst meeting of two pairs of eyes, as a spark is born of flint andsteel, and you may have laughed at the conceit, as I have laughed atit. But laugh no more, Gaston; for I who stand before you am one who hasexperienced this thing which poets tell of, and which hitherto I haveheld in ridicule. I will not go to Blois because--because--enfin, because I intend to go where she goes. "

"Then, mon cher, you will go to Blois. You will go to Blois, if not asa dutiful nephew, resigned to obey his reverend uncle's wishes, at leastbecause fate forces you to follow a pair of eyes that have--hum, whatwas it you said they did?"

"Do you say that she is going to Blois? How do you know?"

"Eh? How do I know? Oh, I heard her servant speaking with the hostler. "

"So much the better, then; for thus if his Eminence gets news of mywhereabouts, the news will not awaken his ever-ready suspicions. Ciel!How beautiful she is! Noted you her eyes, her skin, and what hair, monDieu! Like threads of gold!"

"Like threads of gold?" I echoed. "You are dreaming, boy. Oh, St. Gris!I understand; you are speaking of the fair-haired chit that was withher. "

He eyed me in amazement. 

"'T is you whose thoughts are wandering to that lanky, nose-in-the-airMadame who accompanied her. "

I began a laugh that I broke off suddenly as I realised that it was notYvonne after all who had imprisoned his wits. The Cardinal's plans were, indeed, likely to miscarry if he persisted thus. 

"But 't was the nose-in-the-air Madame, as you call her, with whom youspoke!"

"Aye, but it was the golden-haired lady that held my gaze. Pshaw! Whowould mention them in a breath?"

"Who, indeed?" said I, but with a different meaning. 

Thereafter, seeing him listless, I suggested a turn in the village tostretch our limbs before dining. But he would have none of it, and whenI pressed the point with sound reasoning touching the benefits whichhealth may cull from exercise, he grew petulant as a wayward child. She might descend whilst he was absent. Indeed, she might require someslight service that lay, perchance, in his power to render her. Whatan opportunity would he not lose were he abroad? She might even departbefore we returned; and than that no greater calamity could justthen befall him. No, he would not stir a foot from the inn. A fig forexercise! to the devil with health! who sought an appetite? Not he. Hewished for no appetite--could contrive no base and vulgar appetite forfood, whilst his soul, he swore, was being consumed by the overwhelming, all-effacing appetite to behold her. 

Such meandering fools are most of us at nineteen, when the heart isyoung--a flawless mirror ready to hold the image of the first fair maidthat looks into it through our eyes, and as ready--Heaven knows!--torelinquish it when the substance is withdrawn. 

But I, who was not nineteen, and the mirror of whose heart--to pursue mymetaphor--was dulled, warped, and cracked with much ill­usage, grew sickof the boy's enthusiasm and the monotony of a conversation which I coulddivert into no other channel from that upon which it had been startedby a little slip of a girl with hair of gold and sapphire eyes--I useAndrea's words. And so I rose, and bidding him take root in the tavern, if so it pleased his fancy, I left him there. 

Wrapped in my cloak, for the air was raw and damp, I strode aimlesslyalong, revolving in my mind what had befallen at the Connétable thatmorning, and speculating upon the issue that this quaint affair mighthave. In matters of love, or rather, of matrimony--which is not quitethe same thing--opposition is common enough. But the opposersare usually members of either of the interested families. Now thefamilies--that is to say, the heads of the families--being agreed andeven anxious to bring about the union of Yvonne de Canaples and Andreade Mancini, it was something new to have a cabal of persons who, frommotives of principle--as St. Auban had it--should oppose the alliance sorelentlessly as to even resort to violence if no other means occurredto them. It seemed vastly probable that Andrea would be disposed of bya knife in the back, and more than probable that a like fate would bereserved for me, since I had constituted myself his guardian angel. Formy own part, however, I had a pronounced distaste to ending my days inso unostentatious a fashion. I had also a notion that I should prove anexceedingly difficult person to assassinate, and that those who soughtto slip a knife into me would find my hide peculiarly tough, and my handpeculiarly ready to return the compliment. 

So deeply did I sink into ponderings of this character that it was notuntil two hours afterwards that I again found myself drawing near theConnétable. 

I reached the inn to find by the door a coach, and by that coach Andrea;he stood bareheaded, despite the cold, conversing, with all outwardsemblances of profound respect, with those within it. 

So engrossed was he and so ecstatic, that my approach was unheeded, andwhen presently I noted that the coach was Mademoiselle de Canaples's, Iceased to wonder at the boy's unconsciousness of what took place aroundhim. 

Clearly the farrier had been found at last, and the horse shod afreshduring my absence. Loath to interrupt so pretty a scene, I waited, aloof, until these adieux should be concluded, and whilst I waitedthere came to me from the carriage a sweet, musical voice that was notYvonne's. 

"May we not learn at least, Monsieur, the name of the gentleman to whosecourtesy we are indebted for having spent the past two hours withoutdiscomfort?"

"My name, Mademoiselle, is Andrea de Mancini, that of the humblestof your servants, and one to whom your thanks are a more than lavishpayment for the trivial service he may have been fortunate enough torender you. "

Dame! What glibness doth a tongue acquire at Court!

"M. Andrea de Mancini?" came Yvonne's voice in answer. "Surely arelative of the Lord Cardinal?"

"His nephew, Mademoiselle. "

"Ah! My father, sir, is a great admirer of your uncle. "

From the half-caressing tone, as much as from the very words sheuttered, I inferred that she was in ignorance of the compact into whichhis Eminence had entered with her father--a bargain whereof she washerself a part. 

"I am rejoiced, indeed, Mademoiselle, " replied Andrea with a bow, asthough the compliment had been paid to him. "Am I indiscreet in askingthe name of Monsieur your father?"

"Indiscreet! Nay, Monsieur. You have a right to learn the name ofthose who are under an obligation to you. My father is the Chevalier deCanaples, of whom it is possible that you may have heard. I am Yvonne deCanaples, of whom it is unlikely that you should have heard, and this ismy sister Geneviève, whom a like obscurity envelops. "

The boy's lips moved, but no sound came from them, whilst his cheekswent white and red by turns. His courtliness of a moment ago hadvanished, and he stood sheepish and gauche as a clown. At length heso far mastered himself as to bow and make a sign to the coachman, whothereupon gathered up his reins. 

"You are going presumably to Blois?" he stammered with a nervous laugh, as if the journey were a humorous proceeding. 

"Yes, Monsieur, " answered Geneviève, "we are going home. "

"Why, then, it is possible that we shall meet again. I, too, amtravelling in that direction. A bientôt, Mesdemoiselles!"

The whip cracked, the coach began to move, and the creaking of itswheels drowned, so far as I was concerned, the female voices thatanswered his farewell. The coachman roused his horses into an amble; theamble became a trot, and the vehicle vanished round a corner. Some fewidlers stopped to gaze stupidly after it, but not half so stupidly asdid my poor Andrea, standing bareheaded where the coach had left him. 

I drew near, and laid my hand on his shoulder; at the touch he startedlike one awakened suddenly, and looked up. 

"Ah--you are returned, Gaston. "

"To find that you have made a discovery, and are overwhelmed by yourerror. "

"My error?"

"Yes--that of falling in love with the wrong one. Hélas, it is but oneof those ironical jests wherewith Fate amuses herself at every stepof our lives. Had you fallen in love with Yvonne--and it passes myunderstanding why you did not--everything would have gone smoothly withyour wooing. Unfortunately, you have a preference for fair hair--"

"Have done, " he interrupted peevishly. "What does it signify? To thedevil with Mazarin's plans!"

"So you said this morning. "

"Yes, when I did not even dream her name was Canaples. "

"Nevertheless, she is the wrong Canaples. "

"For my uncle--but, mille diables! sir, 't is I who am to wed, and Ishall wed as my heart bids me. "

"Hum! And Mazarin?"

"Faugh!" he answered, with an expressive shrug. 

"Well, since you are resolved, let us dine. "

"I have no appetite. "

"Let us dine notwithstanding. Eat you must if you would live; and unlessyou live--think of it!--you'll never reach Blois. "

"Gaston, you are laughing at me! I do not wish to eat. "

I surveyed him gravely, with my arms akimbo. 

"Can love so expand the heart of man that it fills even his stomach?Well, well, if you will not eat, at least have the grace to bear mecompany at table. Come, Andrea, " and I took his arm, "let us ascend tothat chamber which she has but just quitted. Who can tell but that weshall find there some token of her recent presence? If nothing more, atleast the air will be pervaded by the perfume she affected, and sinceyou scorn the humble food of man, you can dine on that. "

He smiled despite himself as I drew him towards the staircase. 

"Scoffer!" quoth he. "Your callous soul knows naught of love. "

"Whereas you have had three hours' experience. Pardieu! You shallinstruct me in the gentle art. "

Alas, for those perfumes upon which I had proposed that he should feasthimself. If any the beautiful Geneviève had left behind her, they hadbeen smothered in the vulgar yet appetising odour of the steaming ragoûtthat occupied the table. 

I prevailed at length upon the love-lorn boy to take some food, but Icould lead him to talk of naught save Geneviève de Canaples. Presentlyhe took to chiding me for the deliberateness wherewith I ate, andbetrayed thereby his impatience to be in the saddle and after her. I argued that whilst she saw him not she might think of him. Butthe argument, though sound, availed me little, and in the end Iwas forced--for all that I am a man accustomed to please myself--tohurriedly end my repast, and pronounce myself ready to start. 

As Andrea had with him some store of baggage--since his sojourn at Bloiswas likely to be of some duration--he travelled in a coach. Into thiscoach, then, we climbed--he and I. His valet, Silvio, occupied the seatbeside the coachman, whilst my stalwart Michelot rode behind leadingmy horse by the bridle. In this fashion we set out, and ere long thesilence of my thoughtful companion, the monotonous rumbling of thevehicle, and, most important of all factors, the good dinner that I hadconsumed, bred in me a torpor that soon became a sleep. 

From a dream that, bound hand and foot, I was being dragged by St. Aubanand Malpertuis before the Cardinal, I awakened with a start to findthat we were clattering already through the streets of Etrechy; so thatwhilst I had slept we had covered some six leagues. Twilight had alreadyset in, and Andrea lay back idly in the carriage, holding a book whichit was growing too dark to read, and between the leaves of which he hadslipped his forefinger to mark the place where he had paused. 

His eyes met mine as I looked round, and he smiled. "I should not havethought, Gaston, " he said, "that a man with so seared a conscience couldhave slept thus soundly. "

"I have not slept soundly, " I grumbled, recalling my dream. 

"Pardieu! you have slept long, at least. "

"Out of self-protection; so that I might not hear the name of Genevièvede Canaples. 'T is a sweet name, but you render it monotonous. "

He laughed good-humouredly. 

"Have you never loved, Gaston?"

"Often. "

"Ah--but I mean did you never conceive a great passion?"

"Hundreds, boy. "

"But never such a one as mine!"

"Assuredly not; for the world has never seen its fellow. Be good enoughto pull the cord, you Cupid incarnate. I wish to alight. "

"You wish to alight! Why?"

"Because I am sick of love. I am going to ride awhile with Michelotwhilst you dream of her coral lips, her sapphire eyes, and what othergems constitute her wondrous personality. "

Two minutes later I was in the saddle riding with Michelot in the wakeof the carriage. As I have already sought to indicate in these pages, Michelot was as much my friend as my servant. It was therefore no morethan natural that I should communicate to him my fears touching whatmight come of the machinations of St. Auban, Vilmorin, and even, perchance, of that little firebrand, Malpertuis. 

Night fell while we talked, and at last the lights of Étampes, where weproposed to lie, peeped at us from a distance, and food and warmth. 

It was eight o'clock when we reached the town, and a few moments laterwe rattled into the courtyard of the Hôtel de l'Épée. 

Andrea was out of temper to learn that Mesdemoiselles de Canaples hadreached the place two hours earlier, taken fresh horses, and proceededon their journey, intending to reach Monnerville that night. He was evenmad enough to propose that we should follow their example, but my soberarguments prevailed, and at Étampes we stayed till morning. 

Andrea withdrew early. But I, having chanced upon a certain M. De laVrillière, a courtier of Vilmorin's stamp, with whom I had some slightacquaintance, and his purse being heavier than his wits, I spent apassing profitable evening in his company. This pretty gentleman hailedmy advent with a delight that amazed me, and suggested that we shouldthrow a main together to kill time. The dice were found, and so clumsilydid he use them that in half an hour, playing for beggarly crowns, hehad lost twenty pistoles. Next he lost his temper, and with an oathpitched the cubes into the fire, swearing that they were toys forchildren and that I must grant him his révanche with cards. The cardswere furnished us, and with a fortune that varied little we playedlansquenet until long past midnight. The fire died out in the grate, andthe air grew chill, until at last, with a violent sneeze, La Vrillièreprotested that he would play no more. 

Cursing himself for the unluckiest being alive, the fool bade megood-night, and left me seventy pistoles richer than when I had met him. 

CHAPTER VII. THE CHÂTEAU DE CANAPLES

Despite the strenuous efforts which Andrea compelled us to put forth, wedid not again come up with Mesdemoiselles de Canaples, who in truth musthave travelled with greater speed than ladies are wont to. 

This circumstance bred much discomfort in Andrea's bosom; for in it heread that his Geneviève thought not of him as he of her, else, knowingthat he followed the same road, she would have retarded their progressso that he might overtake them. Thus argued he when on the followingnight, which was that of Friday, we lay at Orleans. But when towardsnoon on Saturday our journey ended with our arrival at Blois, he went sofar as to conclude that she had hastened on expressly to avoid him. Now, from what I had seen of Mademoiselle Yvonne, methought I might hazarda guess that she it was who commanded in these--and haply, too, inother--matters, and that the manner of their journey had been such aswas best to her wishes. 

With such an argument did I strive to appease Andrea's doubts; but allin vain--which is indeed no matter for astonishment, for to reason witha man in love is to reason with one who knows no reason. 

After a brief halt at the Lys de France--at which hostelry I hiredmyself a room--we set out for the Château de Canaples, which is situatedon the left bank of the Loire, at a distance of about half a league fromBlois in the direction of Tours. 

We cut a brave enough figure as we rode down the Rue Vieille attended byour servants, and many a rustic Blaisois stopped to gape at us, to nudgehis companion, and point us out, whispering the word "Paris. "

I had donned my grey velvet doublet--deeming the occasion worthy ofit--whilst Andrea wore a handsome suit of black, with gold lace, which for elegance it would have been difficult to surpass. An air ofpensiveness added interest to his handsome face and courtly figure, andmethought that Geneviève must be hard to please if she fell not a victimto his wooing. 

We proceeded along the road bordering the Loire, a road of rare beautyat any other season of the year, but now bare of foliage, grey, bleak, and sullen as the clouds overhead, and as cold to the eye as was thesharp wind to the flesh. As we rode I fell to thinking of what myreception at the Château de Canaples was likely to be, and almost toregret that I had permitted Andrea to persuade me to accompany him. Longago I had known the Chevalier de Canaples, and for all the disparityin our ages--for he counted twice my years--we had been friends andcomrades. That, however, was ten years ago, in the old days when I ownedsomething more than the name of Luynes. To-day I appeared before him asa ruined adventurer, a soldier of fortune, a ruffler, a duellist who hadalmost slain his son in a brawl, whose details might be known to him, but not its origin. Seeing me in the company of Andrea de Mancini hemight--who could say?--even deem me one of those parasites who cling toyoung men of fortune so that they may live at their expense. That thedaughter would have formed such a conceit of me I was assured; it butremained to see with what countenance the father would greet me. 

From such speculations I was at length aroused by our arrival at thegates of the Canaples park. Seeing them wide open, we rode betweenthe two massive columns of granite (each surmounted by a couchant lionholding the escutcheon of the Canaples) and proceeded at an ambling paceup the avenue. Through the naked trees the château became discernible--abrave old castle that once had been the stronghold of a feudal racelong dead. Grey it was, and attuned, that day, to the rest of the greylandscape. But at its base the ivy grew thick and green, and here andthere long streaks of it crept up almost to the battlements, whilstin one place it had gone higher yet and clothed one of the quaint oldturrets. A moat there had once been, but this was now filled up andarranged into little mounds that became flower-beds in summer. 

Resigning our horses to the keeping of our servants, we followed thegrave maître d'hôtel who had received us. He led us across the spacioushall, which had all the appearance of an armoury, and up the regalstaircase of polished oak on to a landing wide and lofty. Here, turningto the left, he opened a door and desired us to give ourselves thetrouble of awaiting the Chevalier. We entered a handsome room, hungin costly Dutch tapestry, and richly furnished, yet with a sobriety ofcolour almost puritanical. The long windows overlooked a broad terrace, enclosed in a grey stone balustrade, from which some half-dozen stepsled to a garden below. Beyond that ran the swift waters of the Loire, and beyond that again, in the distance, we beheld the famous Château deChambord, built in the days of the first Francis. 

I had but remarked these details when the door again opened, to admita short, slender man in whose black hair and beard the hand of time hadscattered but little of that white dust that marks its passage. His facewas pale, thin, and wrinkled, and his grey eyes had a nervous, restlesslook that dwelt not long on anything. He was dressed in black, withsimple elegance, and his deep collar and ruffles were of the finestpoint. 

"Welcome to Canaples, M. De Mancini!" he exclaimed, as he hurriedforward, with a smile so winning that his countenance appearedtransfigured by it. "Welcome most cordially! We had not hoped that youwould arrive so soon, but fortunately my daughters, to whom you appearto have been of service at Choisy, warned me that you were journeyinghither. Your apartments, therefore, are prepared for you, and we hopethat you will honour Canaples by long remaining its guest. "

Andrea thanked him becomingly. 

"In truth, " he added, "my departure from Paris was somewhat sudden, but I have a letter here from Monseigneur my uncle, which explains thematter. "

"No explanation is needed, my dear Andrea, " replied the old nobleman, abandoning the formalities that had marked his welcoming speech. "Howleft you my Lord Cardinal?" he asked, as he took the letter. 

"In excellent health, but somewhat harassed, I fear, by the affairs ofState. "

"Ah, yes, yes. But stay. You are not alone. " And Canaples's grey eyesshot an almost furtive glance of inquiry in my direction. A secondglance followed the first and the Chevalier's brows were knit. Then hecame a step nearer, scanning my face. 

"Surely, surely, Monsieur, " he exclaimed before Andrea had time toanswer him. "Were you not at Rocroi?"

"Your memory flatters me, Monsieur, " I replied with a laugh. "I wasindeed at Rocroi--captain in the regiment of chévaux-légers whereof youwere Mestre de Champ. "

"His name, " said Andrea, "is Gaston de Luynes, my very dear friend, counsellor, and, I might almost say, protector. "

"Pardieu, yes! Gaston de Luynes!" he ejaculated, seizing my hand in anaffectionate grip. "But how have you fared since Rocroi was fought? Fora soldier of such promise, one might have predicted great things in tenyears. "

"Hélas, Monsieur! I was dismissed the service after Senlac. "

"Dismissed the service!"

"Pah!" I laughed, not without bitterness, "'t is a long story and anugly one, divided 'twixt the dice-box, the bottle, and the scabbard. Tenyears ago I was a promising young captain, ardent and ambitious; to-dayI am a broken ruffler, unrecognised by my family--a man without hope, without ambition, almost without honour. "

I know not what it was that impelled me to speak thus. Haply the wishthat since he must soon learn to what depths Gaston de Luynes had sunk, he should at least learn it from my own lips at the outset. 

He shuddered at my concluding words, and had not Andrea at that momentput his arm affectionately upon my shoulder, and declared me the bravestfellow and truest friend in all the world, it is possible that theChevalier de Canaples would have sought an excuse to be rid of me. Suchmen as he seek not the acquaintance of such men as I. 

To please Andrea was, however, of chief importance in his plans, andto that motive I owe it that he pressed me to remain a guest at thechâteau. I declined the honour with the best grace I could command, determined that whilst Andrea remained at Canaples I would lodge at theLys de France in Blois, independent and free to come or go as my fancybade me. His invitation that I should at least dine at Canaples Iaccepted; but with the condition that he should repeat his invitationafter he had heard something that I wished to tell him. He assented witha puzzled look, and when presently Andrea repaired to his apartments, and we were alone, I began. 

"You have doubtlessly received news, Monsieur, of a certain affair inwhich your son had recently the misfortune to be dangerously wounded?"

We were standing by the great marble fireplace, and Canaples was restingone of his feet upon the huge brass andirons. He made a gesture ofimpatience as I spoke. 

"My son, sir, is a fool! A good-for-nothing fool! Oh, I have heard ofthis affair, a vulgar tavern brawl, the fifth in which his name has beeninvolved and besmirched. I had news this morning by a courier dispatchedme by my friend St. Simon, who imagines that I am deeply concerned inthat young profligate. I learn that he is out of danger, and that in amonth or so, he will be about again and ready to disgrace the nameof Canaples afresh. But there, sir; I crave your pardon for theinterruption. "

I bowed, and when in answer to my questions he told me that he was inignorance of the details of the affair of which I spoke, I set aboutlaying those details before him. Beginning with the original provocationin the Palais Royal and ending with the fight in the horse-market, Irelated the whole story to him, but in an impersonal manner, and keepingmy own name out of my narrative. When I had done, Canaples muttered anoath of the days of the fourth Henry. 

"Ventre St. Gris! Does the dog carry his audacity so far as to dare comebetwixt me and my wishes, and to strive against them? He sought to killMancini, eh? Would to Heaven he had died by the hand of this fellow whoshielded the lad!"

"Monsieur!" I cried, aghast at so unnatural an expression. 

"Pah!" he cried harshly. "He is my son in name alone, filial he neverwas. "

"Nevertheless, Monsieur, he is still your son, your heir. "

"My heir? And what, pray, does he inherit? A title--a barren, landlesstitle! By his shameful conduct he alienated the affection of his uncle, and his uncle has disinherited him in favour of Yvonne. 'T is she whowill be mistress of this château with its acres of land reaching fromhere to Blois, and three times as far on the other side. My brother, sir, was the rich Canaples, the owner of all this, and by his testamentI am his heir during my lifetime, the estates going to Yvonne at mydeath. So that you see I have naught to leave; but if I had, not adénier should go to my worthless son!"

He spread his thin hands before the blaze, and for a moment there wassilence. Then I proceeded to tell him of the cabal which had been formedagainst Mancini, and of the part played by St. Auban. At the mention ofthat name he started as if I had stung him. 

"What!" he thundered. "Is that ruffian also in the affair? Sangdieu! Hismotives are not far to seek. He is a suitor--an unfavoured suitor--forthe hand of Yvonne, that seemingly still hopes. But you have not toldme, Monsieur, the name of this man who has stood betwixt Andrea and hisassassins. "

"Can you not guess, Monsieur?" quoth I, looking him squarely in theface. "Did you not hear Andrea call me, even now, his protector. "

"You? And with what motive, pray?"

"At first, as I have told you, because the Cardinal gave me no choicein the matter touching your son. Since then my motive has lain in myfriendship for the boy. He has been kind and affectionate to one whohas known little kindness or affection in life. I seek to repay him byadvancing his interests and his happiness. That, Monsieur, is why I amhere to-day--to shield him from St. Auban and his fellows should theyappear again, as I believe they will. "

The old man stood up and eyed me for a moment as steadily as hisvacillating glance would permit him, then he held out his hand. 

"I trust, Monsieur, " he said, "that you will do me the honour to dinewith us, and that whilst you are at Blois we shall see you at Canaplesas often as it may please you to cross its threshold. "

I took his hand, but without enthusiasm, for I understood that his wordssprang from no warmth of heart for me, but merely from the fact that hebeheld in me a likely ally to his designs of raising his daughter to therank of Duchess. 

Eugène de Canaples may have been a good-for-nothing knave; still, methought his character scarce justified the callous indifferencemanifested by this selfish, weak-minded old man towards his own son. 

There was a knock at the door, and a lackey--the same Guilbert whomI had seen at Choisy in Mademoiselle's company--appeared with theannouncement that the Chevalier was served. 

CHAPTER VIII. THE FORESHADOW OF DISASTER

In the spacious dining salon of the Château de Canaples I found the twodaughters of my host awaiting us--those same two ladies of the coachin Place Vendôme and of the hostelry at Choisy, the dark and statelyicicle, Yvonne, and the fair, playful doll, Geneviève. 

I bowed my best bow as the Chevalier presented me, and from the cornerof my eye, with inward malice, I watched them as I did so. Genevièvecurtsied with a puzzled air and a sidelong glance at her sister. Yvonneaccorded me the faintest, the coldest, inclination of her head, whilsther cheeks assumed a colour that was unwonted. 

"We have met before, I think, Monsieur, " she said disdainfully. 

"True, Mademoiselle--once, " I answered, thinking only of the coach. 

"Twice, Monsieur, " she corrected, whereupon I recalled how she hadsurprised me with my arm about the waist of the inn-keeper's daughter, and had Heaven given me shame I might have blushed. But if sweet Yvonnethought to bring Gaston de Luynes to task for profiting by the goodthings which God's providence sent his way, she was led by vanity into aprodigious error. 

"Twice, indeed, Mademoiselle. But the service which you rendered me uponthe first occasion was so present to my mind just now that iteclipsed the memory of our second meeting. I have ever since desired, Mademoiselle, that an opportunity might be mine wherein to thank you forthe preservation of my life. I do so now, and at your service do I laythat life which you preserved, and which is therefore as much yours asmine. "

Strive as I might I could not rid my tone of an ironical inflection. Iwas goaded to it by her attitude, by the scornful turn of her lip andthe disdainful glance of her grey eyes--she had her father's eyes, saving that her gaze was as steadfast as his was furtive. 

"What is this?" quoth Canaples. "You owe your life to my daughter? Praytell me of it. "

"With all my heart, " I made haste to answer before Mademoiselle couldspeak. "A week ago, I disagreed upon a question of great delicacy with acertain gentleman who shall be nameless. The obvious result attendedour disagreement, and we fought 'neath the eyes of a vast company ofspectators. Right was on my side, and the gentleman hurt himself uponmy sword. Well, sir, the crowd snarled at me as though it were my faultthat this had so befallen, and I flouted the crowd in answer. They werea hundred opposed to one, and so confident did this circumstancerender them of their superiority, that for once those whelps displayedsufficient valour to attack me. I fled, and as a coach chanced to comethat way, I clutched at the window and hung there. Within the coachthere were two ladies, and one of them, taking compassion upon me, invited me to enter and thus rescued me. That lady, sir, " I ended with abow, "was Mademoiselle your daughter. "

In his eyes I read it that he had guessed the name of my namelessgentleman. 

The ladies were struck dumb by my apparent effrontery. Yvonne at lastrecovered sufficiently to ask if my presence at the château arose frommy being attached to M. De Mancini. Now, "attached" is an unpleasantword. A courtier is attached to the King; a soldier to the army; thereis humiliation in neither of these. But to a private gentleman, a manmay be only attached as his secretary, his valet, or, possibly, as hisbravo. Therein lay the sting of her carefully chosen word. 

"I am M. De Mancini's friend, " I answered with simple dignity. 

For all reply she raised her eyebrows in token of surprise; Canapleslooked askance; I bit my lip, and an awkward silence followed, which, luckily, was quickly ended by the appearance of Andrea. 

The ladies received him graciously, and a faint blush might, tosearching eyes, have been perceived upon Geneviève's cheek. 

There came a delicate exchange of compliments, after which we got totable, and for my part I did ample justice to the viands. 

I sat beside Geneviève, and vis-à-vis with Andrea, who occupied theplace of the honoured guest, at the host's right hand, with Yvonnebeside him. Me it concerned little where I sat, since the repast was allthat I could look for; not so the others. Andrea scowled at me becauseI was nearer to Geneviève than he, and Yvonne frowned at me for otherreasons. By Geneviève I was utterly disregarded, and my endeavours toconverse were sorely unsuccessful--for one may not converse alone. 

I clearly saw that Yvonne only awaited an opportunity to unmask me, anddenounce me to her father as the man who had sought his son's life. 

This opportunity, however, came not until the moment of my departurefrom the château, that evening. I was crossing the hail with theChevalier de Canaples, and we had stopped for a moment to admire a pieceof old chain armour of the days of the Crusaders. Andrea and Genevièvehad preceded us, and passed out through the open doorway, whilst Yvonnelingered upon the threshold looking back. 

"I trust, M. De Luynes, " said Canaples, as we moved towards her, "thatyou will remember my invitation, and that whilst you remain at Bioiswe shall see you here as often as you may be pleased to come; indeed, Itrust that you will be a daily visitor. "

Before I could utter a reply--"Father, " exclaimed Mademoiselle, comingforward, "do you know to whom you are offering the hospitality ofCanaples?"

"Why that question, child? To M. De Luynes, M. De Mancini's friend. "

"And the would-be murderer of Eugène, " she added fiercely. 

Canaples started. 

"Surely such affairs are not for women to meddle with, " he cried. "Moreover, M. De Luynes has already given me all details of the affair. "

Her eyes grew very wide at that. 

"He has told you? Yet you invite him hither?" she exclaimed. 

"M. De Luynes has naught wherewith to reproach himself, nor have I. Those details which he has given me I may not impart to you; suffice it, however, that I am satisfied that his conduct could not have been otherthan it was, whereas that of my son reflects but little credit upon hisname. "

She stamped her foot, and her eyes, blazing with anger, passed from oneto the other of us. 

"And you--you believe this man's story?"

"Yvonne!"

"Possibly, " I interposed, coolly, "Mademoiselle may have received somefalse account of it that justifies her evident unbelief in what I mayhave told you. "

It is not easy to give a lie unless you can prove it a lie. I made herrealise this, and she bit her lip in vexation. Dame! What a pretty viperI thought her at that moment!

"Let me add, Yvonne, " said her father, "that M. De Luynes and I areold comrades in arms. " Then turning to me--"My daughter, sir, is buta child, and therefore hasty to pass judgment upon matters beyondher understanding. Forget this foolish outburst, and remember only myassurance of an ever cordial welcome. "

"With all my heart, " I answered, after a moment's deliberation, duringwhich I had argued that for once I must stifle pride if I would serveAndrea. 

"Ough!" was all Mademoiselle's comment as she turned her back upon me. Nevertheless, I bowed and flourished my beaver to her retreating figure. 

Clearly Mademoiselle entertained for me exactly that degree offondness which a pious hermit feels for the devil, and if I mightdraw conclusions from what evidences I had had of the strength ofher character and the weakness of her father's, our sojourn at Bloispromised to afford me little delectation. In fact, I foresaw manydifficulties that might lead to disaster should our Paris friends appearupon the scene--a contingency this that seemed over-imminent. 

It was not my wont, howbeit, to brood over the evils that the futuremight hold, and to this I owe it that I slept soundly that night in myroom at the Lys de France. 

It was a pleasant enough chamber on the first floor, overlooking thestreet, and having an alcove attached to it which served for Michelot. 

Next day I visited the Château de Canaples early in the afternoon. Theweather was milder, and the glow of the sun heralded at last the nearapproach of spring and brightened wondrously a landscape that hadyesterday worn so forbidding a look. 

This change it must have been that drew the ladies, and Andrea withthem, to walk in the park, where I came upon them as I rode up. Theirlaughter rippled merrily and they appeared upon the best of terms untilthey espied me. My advent was like a cloud that foretells a storm, anddrove Mesdemoiselles away, when they had accorded me a greeting thatcontained scant graciousness. 

All unruffled by this act, from which I gathered that Yvonne the stronghad tutored Geneviève the frail concerning me, I consigned my horse to agroom of the château, and linked arms with Andrea. 

"Well, boy, " quoth I, "what progress?"

He smiled radiantly. 

"My hopes are all surpassed. It exceeds belief that so poor a thing as Ishould find favour in her eyes--what eyes, Gaston!" He broke off with asigh of rapture. 

"Peste, you have lost no time. And so, already you know that you findfavour, eh! How know you that?"

"How? Need a man be told such things? There is an inexpressible--"

"My good Andrea, seek not to express it, therefore, " I interruptedhastily. "Let it suffice that the inexpressible exists, and makes youhappy. His Eminence will doubtless share your joy! Have you written tohim?"

The mirth faded from the lad's face at the words, as the blossom fades'neath the blighting touch of frost. What he said was so undutifulfrom a nephew touching his uncle--particularly when that uncle is aprelate--that I refrain from penning it. 

We were joined just then by the Chevalier, and together we strolledround to the rose-garden--now, alas! naught but black and nakedbushes--and down to the edge of the Loire, yellow and swollen by therecent rains. 

"How lovely must be this place in summer, " I mused, looking acrossthe water towards Chambord. "And, Dame, " I cried, suddenly changing mymeditations, "what an ideal fencing ground is this even turf!"

"The swordsman's instinct, " laughed Canaples. 

And with that our talk shifted to swords, swordsmen, and sword-play, until I suggested to Andrea that he should resume his practice, whereupon the Chevalier offered to set a room at our disposal. 

"Nay, if you will pardon me, Monsieur, 't is not a room we want, " Ianswered. "A room is well enough at the outset, but it is the commonerror of fencing-masters to continue their tutoring on a wooden floor. It results from this that when the neophyte handles a real sword, and defends his life upon the turf, the ground has a new feeling; itselasticity or even its slipperiness discomposes him, and sets him at adisadvantage. "

He agreed with me, whilst Andrea expressed a wish to try the turf. Foilswere brought, and we whiled away best part of an half-hour. In the end, the Chevalier, who had watched my play intently, offered to try a boutwith me. And so amazed was he with the result, that he had not donetalking of it when I left Canaples a few hours later--a homage this thatearned me some more than ordinarily unfriendly glances from Yvonne. No doubt since the accomplishment was mine it became in her eyescharacteristic of a bully and a ruffler. 

During the week that followed I visited the château with regularity, andwith equal regularity did Andrea receive his fencing lessons. The objectof his presence at Canaples, however, was being frustrated more and moreeach day, so far as the Cardinal and the Chevalier were concerned. 

He raved to me of Geneviève, the one perfect woman in all the world andbrought into it by a kind Providence for his own particular delectation. In truth, love is like a rabid dog--whom it bites it renders mad; soopen grew his wooing, and so ardent, that one evening I thought well totake him aside and caution him. 

"My dear Andrea, " said I, "if you will love Geneviève, you will, andthere's an end of it. But if you would not have the Chevalier pack youback to Paris and the anger of my Lord Cardinal, be circumspect, and atleast when M. De Canaples is by divide your homage equally betwixtthe two. 'T were well if you dissembled even a slight preference forYvonne--she will not be misled by it, seeing how unmistakable at allother seasons must be your wooing of Geneviève. "

He was forced to avow the wisdom of my counsel, and to be guided by it. 

Nevertheless, I rode back to my hostelry in no pleasant frame of mind. It was more than likely that a short shrift and a length of hempwould be the acknowledgment I should anon receive from Mazarin for myparticipation in the miscarriage of his desires. 

I felt that disaster was on the wing. Call it a premonition; call itwhat you will. I know but this; that as I rode into the courtyard ofthe Lys de France, at dusk, the first man my eyes alighted on was theMarquis César de St. Auban, and, in conversation with him, six of themost arrant-looking ruffians that ever came out of Paris. 

CHAPTER IX. OF HOW A WHIP PROVED A BETTER ARGUMENT THAN A TONGUE

"I crave Monsieur's pardon, but there is a gentleman below who desiresto speak with you immediately. "

"How does this gentleman call himself, M. L'Hote?"

"M. Le Marquis de St. Auban, " answered the landlord, still standing inthe doorway. 

It wanted an hour or so to noon on the day following that of St. Auban'sarrival at Blois, and I was on the point of setting out for the châteauon an errand of warning. 

It occurred to me to refuse to see the Marquis, but remembering betimesthat from your enemy's speech you may sometimes learn where to look forhis next attack, I thought better of it and bade my host admit him. 

I strode over to the fire, and stirring the burning logs, I put my backto the blaze, and waited. 

Steps sounded on the stairs; there was the shuffling of the landlord'sslippered feet and the firm tread of my visitor, accompanied bythe jingle of spurs and the clank of his scabbard as it struck thebalustrade. Then my door was again opened, and St. Auban, as superblydressed as ever, was admitted. 

We bowed formally, as men bow who are about to cross swords, and whilstI waited for him to speak, I noted that his face was pale and bore theimpress of suppressed anger. 

"So, M. De Luynes, again we meet. "

"By your seeking, M. Le Marquis. "

"You are not polite. "

"You are not opportune. "

He smiled dangerously. 

"I learn, Monsieur, that you are a daily visitor at the Château deCanaples. "

"Well, sir, what of it?"

"This. I have been to Canaples this morning and, knowing that you willlearn anon, from that old dotard, what passed between us, I prefer thatyou shall hear it first from me. "

I bowed to conceal a smile. 

"Thanks to you, M. De Luynes, I was ordered from the house. I--Césarde St. Auban--have been ordered from the house of a provincial upstart!Thanks to the calumnies which you poured into his ears. "

"Calumnies! Was that the word?"

"I choose the word that suits me best, " he answered, and the rage thatwas in him at the affront he had suffered at the hands of the Chevalierde Canaples was fast rising to the surface. "I warned you at Choisy ofwhat would befall. Your opposition and your alliance with M. De Manciniare futile. You think to have gained a victory by winning over to yourside an old fool who will sacrifice his honour to see his daughter aduchess, but I tell you, sir--"

"That you hope to see her a marchioness, " I put in calmly. "You see, M. De St. Auban, I have learned something since I came to Blois. "

He grew livid with passion. 

"You shall learn more ere you quit it, you meddler! You shall be taughtto keep that long nose of yours out of matters that concern you not. "

I laughed. 

"Loud threats!" I answered jeeringly. 

"Never fear, " he cried, "there is more to follow. To your cost shallyou learn it. By God, sir! do you think that I am to suffer a Sicilianadventurer and a broken tavern ruffler to interfere with my designs?"

Still I kept my temper. 

"So!" I said in a bantering tone. "You confess that you have designs. Good! But what says the lady, eh? I am told that she is not yetoutrageously enamoured of you, for all your beauty!"

Beside himself with passion, his hand sought his sword. But the gesturewas spasmodic. 

"Knave!" he snarled. 

"Knave to me? Have a care, St. Auban, or I'll find you a shroud for awedding garment. "

"Knave!" he repeated with a snarl. "What price are you paid by thatboy?"

"Pardieu, St. Auban! You shall answer to me for this. "

"Answer for it? To you!" And he laughed harshly. "You are mad, mymaster. When did a St. Auban cross swords with a man of your stamp?"

"M. Le Marquis, " I said, with a calmness that came of a stupendouseffort, "at Choisy you sought my friendship with high-sounding talk ofprinciples that opposed you to the proposed alliance, twixt the housesof Mancini and Canaples. Since then I have learned that your motiveswere purely personal. From my discovery I hold you to be a liar. "

"Monsieur!"

"I have not yet done. You refuse to cross swords with me on the pretextthat you do not fight men of my stamp. I am no saint, sir, I confess. But my sins cannot wash out my name--the name of a family accounted asgood as that of St. Auban, and one from which a Constable of Francehas sprung, whereas yours has never yet bred aught but profligates anddebauchees. You are little better than I am, Marquis; indeed, you domany things that I would not do, that I have never done. For instance, whilst refusing to cross blades with me, who am a soldier and a manof the sword, you seek to pick a fight with a beardless boy who hardlyknows the use of a rapier, and who--wittingly at least--has done you nowrong. Now, my master, you may call me profligate, ruffler, gamester, duellist--what you will; but there are two viler things you cannot dubme, and which, methinks, I have proven you to be--liar and craven. "

And as I spoke the burning words, I stood close up to him and tapped hisbreast as if to drive the epithets into his very heart. 

Rage he felt, indeed, and his distorted countenance was a sight fearfulto behold. 

"Now, my master, " I added, setting my arms akimbo and laughing brutallyin his face, "will you fight?"

For a moment he wavered, and surely meseemed that I had drawn him. Then:

"No, " he cried passionately. "I will not do dishonour to my sword. " Andturning he made for the door, leaving me baffled. 

"Go, sir, " I shouted, "but fame shall stalk fast behind you. Liar andcraven will I dub you throughout the whole of France. "

He stopped 'neath the lintel, and faced me again. 

"Fool, " he sneered. "You'll need dispatch to spread my fame so far. Bythis time to-morrow you'll be arrested. In three days you will be in theBastille, and there shall you lie until you rot to carrion. "

"Loud threats again!" I laughed, hoping by the taunt to learn more. 

"Loud perchance, but not empty. Learn that the Cardinal has knowledge ofyour association with Mancini, and means to separate you. An officerof the guards is on his way to Blois. He is at Meung by now. He bearsa warrant for your arrest and delivery to the governor of the Bastille. Thereafter, none may say what will betide. " And with a coarse burst oflaughter he left me, banging the door as he passed out. 

For a moment I stood there stricken by his parting words. He had soughtto wound me, and in this he had succeeded. But at what cost to himself?In his blind rage, the fool had shown me that which he should havezealously concealed, and what to him was but a stinging threat was to mea timely warning. I saw the necessity for immediate action. Two thingsmust I do; kill St. Auban first, then fly the Cardinal's warrant asbest I could. I cast about me for means to carry out the first of theseintentions. My eye fell upon my riding-whip, lying on a chair close tomy hand, and the sight of it brought me the idea I sought. Seizing it, Ibounded out of the room and down the stairs, three steps at a stride. 

Along the corridor I sped and into the common-room, which at the momentwas tolerably full. As I entered by one door, the Marquis was withinthree paces of the other, leading to the courtyard. 

My whip in the air, I sprang after him; and he, hearing the rush ofmy onslaught, turned, then uttered a cry of pain as I brought the lashcaressingly about his shoulders. 

"Now, master craven, " I shouted, "will that change your mind?"

With an almost inarticulate cry, he sought to draw there and then, butthose about flung themselves upon us, and held us apart--I, passiveand unresisting; the Marquis, bellowing, struggling, and foaming at themouth. 

"To meet you now would be to murder you, Marquis, " I said coolly. "Sendyour friends to me to appoint the time. "

"Soit!" he cried, his eyes blazing with a hate unspeakable. "At eightto-morrow morning I shall await you on the green behind the castle ofBlois. "

"At eight o'clock I shall be there, " I answered. "And now, gentlemen, ifyou will unhand me, I will return to my apartments. "

They let me go, but with many a growl and angry look, for in their eyesI was no more than a coarse aggressor, whilst their sympathy was all forSt. Auban. 

CHAPTER X. THE CONSCIENCE OF MALPERTUIS

And so back to my room I went, my task accomplished, and so pleased wasI with what had passed that as I drew on my boots--preparing to set outto Canaples--I laughed softly to myself. 

St. Auban I would dispose of in the morning. As for the other membersof the cabal, I deemed neither Vilmorin nor Malpertuis sufficientlyformidable to inspire uneasiness. St. Auban gone, they too would vanish. There remained then Eugène de Canaples. Him, however, methought no greatevil was to be feared from. In Paris he might be as loud-voiced as hepleased, but in his father's château--from what I had learned--'t wasunlikely he would so much as show himself. Moreover, he was wounded, andbefore he had sufficiently recovered to offer interference it wasmore than probable that Andrea would have married one or the other ofMesdemoiselles de Canaples--though I had a shrewd suspicion that itwould be the wrong one, and there again I feared trouble. 

As I stood up, booted and ready to descend, there came a gentle tapat my door, and, in answer to my "Enter, " there stood before me a verydainty and foppish figure. I stared hard at the effeminate face and thelong fair locks of my visitor, thinking that I had become the dupe of myeyes. 

"M. De Vilmorin!" I murmured in astonishment, as he came forward, havingclosed the door. "You here?"

In answer, he bowed and greeted me with cold ceremoniousness. 

"I have been in Blois since yesterday, Monsieur. "

"In truth I might have guessed it, Vicomte. Your visit flatters me, for, of course, I take it, you are come to pay me your respects, " I saidironically. "A glass of wine, Vicomte?"

"A thousand thanks, Monsieur--no, " he answered coldly in his mincingtones. "It is concerning your affair with M. Le Marquis de St. Aubanthat I am come. " And drawing forth a dainty kerchief, which filled theroom with the scent of ambregris, he tapped his lips with it affectedly. 

"Do you come as friend or--in some other capacity?"

"I come as mediator. "

"Mediator!" I echoed, and my brow grew dark. "Sdeath! Has St. Auban'scourage lasted just so long as the sting of my whip?"

He raised his eyebrows after a supercilious fashion that made me thirstto strike the chair from under him. 

"You misapprehend me; M. De St. Auban has no desire to avert the duel. On the contrary, he will not rest until the affront you have put uponhim be washed out--"

"It will be, I'll answer for it. "

"Your answer, sir, is characteristic of a fanfarron. He who promisesmost does not always fulfil most. "

I stared at him in amazement. 

"Shall I promise you something, Vicomte? Mortdieu! If you seek to pick aquarrel with me--"

"God forbid!" he ejaculated, turning colour. And his suddenly awakenedapprehensions swept aside the affectation that hitherto had marked hisspeech and manner. 

"Then, Monsieur, be brief and state the sum of this mediation. "

"It is this, Monsieur. In the heat of the moment, M. Le Marquis gaveyou, in the hearing of half a score of people, an assignation forto-morrow morning. News of the affair will spread rapidly through Blois, and it is likely there will be no lack of spectators on the green towitness the encounter. Therefore, as my friend thinks this will be asunpalatable to you as it is to him, he has sent me to suggest a freshrendezvous. "

"Pooh, sir, " I answered lightly. "I care not, for myself, who comes. I am accustomed to a crowd. Still, since M. De St. Auban finds itdiscomposing, let us arrange otherwise. "

"There is yet another point. M. De St. Auban spoke to you, I believe, ofan officer who is coming hither charged with your arrest. It is probablethat he may reach Blois before morning, so that the Marquis thinks thatto make certain you might consent to meet him to-night. "

"Ma foi. St. Auban is indeed in earnest then! Convey to him myexpressions of admiration at this suddenly awakened courage. Be goodenough, Vicomte, to name the rendezvous. "

"Do you know the chapel of St. Sulpice des Reaux?"

"What! Beyond the Loire?"

"Precisely, Monsieur. About a league from Chambord by the river side. "

"I can find the place. "

"Will you meet us there at nine o'clock to­night?"

I looked askance at him. 

"But why cross the river? This side affords many likely spots!"

"Very true, Monsieur. But the Marquis has business at Chambordthis evening, after which there will be no reason--indeed, it willinconvenience him exceedingly--to return to Blois. "

"What!" I cried, more and more astonished. "St. Auban is leaving Blois?"

"This evening, sir. "

"But, voyons, Vicomte, why make an assignation in such a place and atnight, when at any hour of the day I can meet the Marquis on this side, without suffering the inconvenience of crossing the river?"

"There will be a bright moon, well up by nine o'clock. Moreover, remember that you cannot, as you say, meet St. Auban on this side at anytime he may appoint, since to-night or to-morrow the officer who is insearch of you will arrive. "

I pondered for a moment. Then:

"M. Le Vicomte, " I said, "in this matter of ground 't is I who have thefirst voice. "

"How so?"

"Because the Marquis is the affronted one. "

"Therefore he has a right to choose. "

"A right, yes. But that is not enough. The necessity to fight is on hisside. His honour is hurt, not mine; I have whipped him; I am content. Now let him come to me. "

"Assuredly you will not be so ungenerous. "

"I do not care about journeying to Reaux to afford him satisfaction. "

"Does Monsieur fear anything?"

"Vicomte, you go too far!" I cried, my pride gaining the mastery. "Sinceit is asked of me, --I will go. "

"M. Le Marquis will be grateful to you. "

"A fig for his gratitude, " I answered, whereupon the Vicomte shruggedhis narrow shoulders, and, his errand done, took his leave of me. 

When he was gone I called Michelot, to tell him of the journey I must gothat night, so that he might hold himself in readiness. 

"Why--if Monsieur will pardon me, " quoth he, "do you go to meet theMarquis de St. Auban at St. Sulpice des Reaux by night?"

"Precisely what I asked Vilmorin. The Marquis desires it, and--what willyou?--since I am going to kill the man, I can scarce do less than killhim on a spot of his own choosing. "

Michelot screwed up his face and scratched at his grey beard with hishuge hand. 

"Does no suspicion of foul play cross your mind, Monsieur?" he inquiredtimidly. 

"Shame on you, Michelot, " I returned with some heat. "You do not yetunderstand the ways of gentlemen. Think you that M. De St. Auban wouldstoop to such a deed as that? He would be shamed for ever! Pooh, I wouldas soon suspect my Lord Cardinal of stealing the chalices from NôtreDame. Go, see to my horse. I am riding to Canaples. "

As I rode out towards the château I fell to thinking, and my thoughtsturning to Vilmorin, I marvelled at the part he was playing in thislittle comedy of a cabal against Andrea de Mancini. His tastes andinstincts were of the boudoir, the ante-chamber, and the table. He worea sword because it was so ordained by fashion, and because the hilt wasconvenient for the display of a jewel or two. Certainly 't was not forutility that it hung beside him, and no man had ever seen it drawn. Nature had made him the most pitiable coward begotten. Why then shouldhe involve himself in an affair which promised bloodshed, and which mustbe attended by many a risk for him? There was in all this some mysterythat I could not fathom. 

From the course into which they had slipped, my thoughts were diverted, when I was within half a mile of the château, by the sight of a horsemanstationed, motionless, among the trees that bordered the road. It occurred to me that men take not such a position withoutpurpose--usually an evil one. I slackened speed somewhat and rode on, watching him sharply. As I came up, he walked his horse forward to meetme, and I beheld a man in the uniform of the gardes du corps, in whompresently I recognised the little sparrow Malpertuis, with whom I hadexchanged witticisms at Choisy. He was the one man wanting to completethe trinity that had come upon us at the inn of the Connétable. 

It flashed across my mind that he might be the officer charged with myarrest, and that he had arrived sooner than had been expected. If so, it was likely to go ill with him, for I was not minded to be taken untilSt. Auban's soul sped hellwards. 

He hailed me as I advanced, and indeed rode forward to meet me. 

"You are come at last, M. De Luynes, " was his greeting. "I have waitedfor you this hour past. "

"How knew you I should ride this way?"

"I learnt that you would visit Canaples before noon. Be good enough toquit the road, and pass under those trees with me. I have something tosay to you, but it were not well that we should be seen together. "

"For the sake of your character or mine, M. Malappris?"

"Malpertuis!" he snapped. 

"Malpertuis, " I corrected. "You were saying that we should not be seentogether. "

"St. Auban might hear of it. "

"Ah! And therefore?"

"You shall learn. " We were now under the trees, which albeit leaflessyet screened us partly from the road. He drew rein, and I followed hisexample. 

"M. De Luynes, " he began, "I am or was a member of the cabal formedagainst Mazarin's aims in the matter of the marriage of Mademoisellede Canaples to his nephew. I joined hands with St. Auban, lured by hisprotestations that it is not meet that such an heiress as Yvonne deCanaples should be forced to marry a foreigner of no birth and lessdistinction, whilst France holds so many noble suitors to her hand. Thismotive, by which I know that even Eugène de Canaples was actuated, was, St. Auban gave me to understand, his only one for embarking upon thisbusiness, as it was also Vilmorin's. Now, M. De Luynes, I have to­daydiscovered that I had been duped by St. Auban and his dupe, Vilmorin. St. Auban lied to me; another motive brings him into the affair. Heseeks himself, by any means that may present themselves, to marryYvonne--and her estates; whilst the girl, I am told, loathes him beyondexpression. Vilmorin again is actuated by no less a purpose. And so, what think you these two knaves--this master knave and his dupe--havedetermined? To carry off Mademoiselle by force!"

"Sangdieu!" I burst out, and would have added more, but his gesturesilenced me, and he continued:

"Vilmorin believes that St. Auban is helping him in this, whereas St. Auban is but fooling him with ambiguous speeches until they have thelady safe. Then might will assert itself, and St. Auban need but showhis fangs to drive the sneaking coward away from the prize he fondlydreams is to be his. "

"When do these gentlemen propose to carry out their plan? Have theydetermined that?" I inquired breathlessly. 

"Aye, they have. They hope to accomplish it this very day. Mademoisellede Canaples has received a letter wherein she is asked to meet heranonymous writer in the coppice yonder, at the Angelus this evening, ifshe would learn news of great importance to her touching a conspiracyagainst her father. "

"Faugh!" I sneered. "'T is too poor a bait to lure her with. "

"Say you so? Believe me that unless she be dissuaded she will complywith the invitation, so cunningly was the letter couched. A closedcarriage will be waiting at this very spot. Into this St. Auban, Vilmorin, and their bravos will thrust the girl, then away through Bloisand beyond it, for a mile or so, in the direction of Meung, therebymisleading any chance pursuers. There they will quit the coach and takea boat that is to be in waiting for them and which will bear them backwith the stream to Chambord. Thereafter, God pity the poor lady if theyget thus far without mishap. "

"Mort de ma vie!" I cried, slapping my thigh, "I understand!" And tomyself I thought of the assignation at St. Sulpice des Reaux, and thereason for this, as also St. Auban's resolution to so suddenly quitBlois, grew of a sudden clear to me. Also did I recall the riddletouching Vilmorin's conduct which a few moments ago I had puzzled over, and of which methought that I now held the solution. 

"What do you understand?" asked Malpertuis. 

"Something that was told me this morning, " I made answer, then spoke ofgratitude, wherein he cut me short. 

"I ask no thanks, " he said curtly. "You owe me none. What I have doneis not for love of you or Mancini--for I love neither of you. It is donebecause noblesse m'oblige. I told St. Auban that I would have no part inthis outrage. But that is not enough; I owe it to my honour to attemptthe frustration of so dastardly a plan. You, M. De Luynes, appear tobe the most likely person to encompass this, in the interests of yourfriend Mancini; I leave the matter, therefore, in your hands. Good­day!"

And with this abrupt leave-taking, the little fellow doffed his hatto me, and wheeling his horse he set spurs in its flanks, and was gonebefore a word of mine could have stayed him. 

CHAPTER XI. OF A WOMAN'S OBSTINACY

"M. De Luynes is a wizard, " quoth Andrea, laughing, in answer tosomething that had been said. 

It was afternoon. We had dined, and the bright sunshine and spring-likemildness of the weather had lured us out upon the terrace. Yvonne andGeneviève occupied the stone seat. Andrea had perched himself upon thegranite balustrade, and facing them he sat, swinging his shapely legsto and fro as he chatted merrily, whilst on either side of him stood theChevalier de Canaples and I. 

"If M. De Luynes be as great a wizard in other things as with the sword, then, pardieu, he is a fearful magician, " said Canaples. 

I bowed, yet not so low but that I detected a sneer on Yvonne's lips. 

"So, pretty lady, " said I to myself, "we shall see if presently your lipwill curl when I show you something of my wizard's art. "

And presently my chance came. M. De Canaples found reason to leave us, and no sooner was he gone than Geneviève remembered that she had thatday discovered a budding leaf upon one of the rose bushes in the gardenbelow. Andrea naturally caused an argument by asserting that she wasthe victim of her fancy, as it was by far too early in the year. Bythat means these two found the plea they sought for quitting us, sinceneither could rest until the other was convinced. 

So down they went into that rose garden which methought was like toprove their fool's paradise, and Yvonne and I were left alone. Then shealso rose, but as she was on the point of quitting me:

"Mademoiselle, " I ventured, "will you honour me by remaining for amoment? There is something that I would say to you. "

With raised eyebrows she gave me a glance mingled with thatsuperciliousness which she was for ever bestowing upon me, and which, from the monotony of it alone, grew irksome. 

"What can you have to say to me, M. De Luynes?"

"Will you not be seated? I shall not long detain you, nevertheless--"

"If I stand, perchance you will be more brief. I am waiting, Monsieur. "

I shrugged my shoulders rudely. Why, indeed, be courteous where solittle courtesy was met with?

"A little while ago, Mademoiselle, when M. De Mancini dubbed me a wizardyou were good enough to sneer. Now, a sneer, Mademoiselle, impliesunbelief, and I would convince you that you were wrong to disbelieve. "

"If you have no other motive for detaining me, suffer me to depart, " sheinterrupted with some warmth. "Whether you be a wizard or not is of nomoment to me. "

"And yet I dare swear that you will be of a different mind within fiveminutes. A wizard is one who discloses things unknown to his fellow-men. I am about to convince you that I can do this, and by convincing you Iam about to serve you. "

"I seek neither conviction nor service at your hands, " she answered. 

"Your courtesy dumfounds me, Mademoiselle!"

"No less than does your insolence dumfound me, " she retorted, withcrimson cheeks. "Do you forget, sir, that I know you for what you are--agamester, a libertine, a duellist, the murderer of my brother?"

"That your brother lives, Mademoiselle, is, methinks, sufficient proofthat I have not murdered him. "

"You willed his death if you did not encompass it; so 't is all one. Do you not understand that it is because my father receives you here, thanks to M. De Mancini, your friend--a friendship easily understoodfrom the advantages you must derive from it--that I consent to endureyour presence and the insult of your glance? Is it not enough thatI should do this, and have you not wit enough to discern it, withoutadding to my shame by your insolent call upon my courtesy?"

Her words cut me as no words that I ever heard, and, more than herwords, her tone of loathing and disgust unspeakable. For half thatspeech I should have killed a man--indeed, I had killed men for lessthan half. And yet, for all the passion that raged in my soul, Ipreserved upon my countenance a smiling mask. That smile exhausted herpatience and increased her loathing, for with a contemptuous exclamationshe turned away. 

"Tarry but a moment, Mademoiselle, " I cried, with a sudden note ofcommand. "Or, if you will go, go then; but take with you my assurancethat before nightfall you will weep bitterly for it. "

My words arrested her. The mystery of them awakened her curiosity. 

"You speak in riddles, Monsieur. "

"Like a true wizard, Mademoiselle. You received a letter this morning ina handwriting unknown, and bearing no signature. "

She wheeled round and faced me again with a little gasp of astonishment. 

"How know you that? Ah! I understand; you wrote it!"

"What shrewdness, Mademoiselle!" I laughed, ironically. "Come; thinkagain. What need have I to bid you meet me in the coppice yonder? May Inot speak freely with you here?"

"You know the purport of that letter?"

"I do, Mademoiselle, and I know more. I know that this hinted conspiracyagainst your father is a trumped-up lie to lure you to the coppice. "

"And for what purpose, pray?"

"An evil one, --your abduction. Shall I tell you who penned that note, and who awaits you? The Marquis César de St. Auban. "

She shuddered as I pronounced the name, then, looking me straightbetween the eyes--"How come you to know these things?" she inquired. 

"What does it signify, since I know them?"

"This, Monsieur, that unless I learn how, I can attach no credit to yourpreposterous story. "

"Not credit it!" I cried. "Let me assure you that I have spoken thetruth; let me swear it. Go to the coppice at the appointed time, andthings will fall out as I have predicted. "

"Again, Monsieur, how know you this?" she persisted, as women will. 

"I may not tell you. "

We stood close together, and her clear grey eyes met mine, her lipcurling in disdain. 

"You may not tell me? You need not. I can guess. " And she tossed hershapely head and laughed. "Seek some likelier story, Monsieur. Had younot spoken of it, 't is likely I should have left the letter unheeded. But your disinterested warning has determined me to go to thisrendezvous. Shall I tell you what I have guessed? That this conspiracyagainst my father, the details of which you would not have me learn, is some evil of your own devising. Ah! You change colour!" she cried, pointing to my face. Then with a laugh of disdain she left me before Ihad sufficiently recovered from my amazement to bid her stay. 

"Ciel!" I cried, as I watched the tall, lissom figure vanish through theportals of the château. "Did ever God create so crass and obstinate athing as woman?"

It occurred to me to tell Andrea, and bid him warn her. But then shewould guess that I had prompted him. Naught remained but to lay thematter before the Chevalier de Canaples. Already I had informed him ofmy fracas with St. Auban, and of the duel that was to be fought thatnight, and he, in his turn, had given me the details of his stormyinterview with the Marquis, which had culminated in St. Auban'sdismissal from Canaples. I had not hitherto deemed it necessary to alarmhim with the news imparted to me by Malpertuis, imagining that did Iinform Mademoiselle that would suffice. 

Now, however, as I have said, no other course was left me but to tellhim of it. Accordingly, I went within and inquired of Guilbert, whom Imet in the hall, where I might find the Chevalier. He answered me thatM. De Canaples was not in the château. It was believed that he had gonewith M. Louis, the intendant of the estates, to visit the vineyards atMontcroix. 

The news made me choke with impatience. Already it was close upon fiveo'clock, and in another hour the sun would set and the Angelus wouldtoll the knell of Mademoiselle's preposterous suspicions, unless in themeantime I had speech with Canaples, and led him to employ a father'sauthority to keep his daughter indoors. 

Fuming at the contretemps I called for my horse and set out at a brisktrot for Montcroix. But my ride was fruitless. The vineyard peasants hadnot seen the Chevalier for over a week. 

Now, 'twixt Montcroix and the château there lies a good league, and tomake matters worse, as I galloped furiously back to Canaples, an evilchance led me to mistake the way and pursue a track that brought me outon the very banks of the river, with a strong belt of trees screeningthe château from sight, and defying me to repair my error by goingstraight ahead. 

I was forced to retrace my steps, and before I had regained the pointwhere I had gone astray a precious quarter of an hour was wasted, andthe sun already hung, a dull red globe, on the brink of the horizon. 

Clenching my teeth, I tore at my horse's flanks, and with a bloody heelI drove the maddened brute along at a pace that might have cost us bothdearly. I dashed, at last, into the quadrangle, and, throwing the reinsto a gaping groom, I sprang up the steps. 

"Has the Chevalier returned?" I gasped breathlessly. 

"Not yet, Monsieur, " answered Guilbert with a tranquillity that made medesire to strangle him. "Is Mademoiselle in the château?" was my nextquestion, mechanically asked. 

"I saw her on the terrace some moments ago. She has not since comewithin. "

Like one possessed I flew across the intervening room and out on to theterrace. Geneviève and Andrea were walking there, deep in conversation. At another time I might have cursed their lack of prudence. At themoment I did not so much as remark it. 

"Where is Mademoiselle de Canaples?" I burst out. 

They gazed at me, as much astounded by my question and the abruptness ofit as by my apparent agitation. 

"Has anything happened?" inquired Geneviève, her blue eyes wide open. 

"Yes--no; naught has happened. Tell me where she is. I must speak toher. "

"She was here a while ago, " said Andrea, "but she left us to strollalong the river bank. "

"How long is it since she left you?"

"A quarter of an hour, perhaps. "

"Something has happened!" cried Geneviève, and added more, maybe, but Iwaited not to hear. 

Muttering curses as I ran--for 't was my way to curse where pious soulsmight pray--I sped back to the quadrangle and my horse. 

"Follow me, " I shouted to the groom, "you and as many of your fellowsas you can find. Follow me at once--at once, mark you--to the coppiceby the river. " And without waiting for his answer, I sent my horsethundering down the avenue. The sun was gone, leaving naught but aroseate streak to tell of its passage, and at that moment a distant belltinkled forth the Angelus. 

With whip, spur, and imprecations I plied my steed, a prey to suchexcitement as I had never known until that moment--not even in thecarnage of battle. 

I had no plan. My mind was a chaos of thought without a singleclear idea to light it, and I never so much as bethought me thatsingle-handled I was about to attempt to wrest Yvonne from the hands ofperchance half a dozen men. To save time I did not far pursue the road, but, clearing a hedge, I galloped ventre-à-terre across the meadowtowards the little coppice by the waterside. As I rode I saw no sign ofany moving thing. No sound disturbed the evening stillness save the dullthump of my horse's hoofs upon the turf, and a great fear arose in myheart that I might come too late. 

At last I reached the belt of trees, and my fears grew into certainty. The place was deserted. 

Then a fresh hope sprang up. Perchance, thinking of my warning, she hadseen the emptiness of her suspicions towards me, and had pursued thatwalk of hers in another direction. 

But when I had penetrated to the little open space within that clusterof naked trees, I had proof overwhelming that the worst had befallen. Not only on the moist ground was stamped the impress of struggling feet, but on a branch I found a strip of torn green velvet, and, rememberingthe dress she had worn that day, I understood to the full thesignificance of that rag, and, understanding it, I groaned aloud. 

CHAPTER XII. THE RESCUE

Some precious moments did I waste standing with that green rag betwixtmy fingers, and I grew sick and numb in body and in mind. She was gone!Carried off by a man I had reason to believe she hated, and whom Godsend she might have no motive to hate more deeply hereafter!

The ugly thought swelled until it blotted out all others, and in itstrain there came a fury upon me that drove me to do by instinct thatwhich earlier I should have done by reason. I climbed back into thesaddle, and away across the meadow I went, journeying at an angle withthe road, my horse's head turned in the direction of Blois. That road atlast was gained, and on I thundered at a stretched gallop, praying thatmy hard-used beast might last until the town was reached. 

Now, as I have already said, I am not a man who easily falls a preyto excitement. It may have beset me in the heat of battle, when thefearsome lust of blood and death makes of every man a raving maniac, thrilled with mad joy at every stab he deals, and laughing with fiercepassion at every blow he takes, though in the taking of it his coursebe run. But, saving at such wild times, never until then could I recallhaving been so little master of myself. There was a fever in me; allhell was in my blood, and, stranger still, and hitherto unknown at anyseason, there was a sickly fear that mastered me, and drew out greatbeads of sweat upon my brow. Fear for myself I have never known, for atno time has life so pampered me that the thought of parting companywith it concerned me greatly. Fear for another I had not known tillthen--saving perchance the uneasiness that at times I had felt touchingAndrea--because never yet had I sufficiently cared. 

Thus far my thoughts took me, as I rode, and where I have halted didthey halt, and stupidly I went over their ground again, like one whogropes for something in the dark, --because never yet had I sufficientlycared--I had never cared. 

And then, ah Dieu! As I turned the thought over I understood, and, understanding, I pursued the sentence where I had left off. 

But, caring at last, I was sick with fear of what might befall the one Icared for! There lay the reason of the frenzied excitement whereof I hadbecome the slave. That it was that had brought the moisture to my browand curses to my lips; that it was that had caused me instinctively tothrust the rag of green velvet within my doublet. 

Ciel! It was strange--aye, monstrous strange, and a right good jest forfate to laugh at--that I, Gaston de Luynes, vile ruffler and worthlessspadassin, should have come to such a pass; I, whose forefinger had forthe past ten years uptilted the chin of every tavern wench I had chancedupon; I, whose lips had never known the touch of other than the lips ofthese; I, who had thought my heart long dead to tenderness and devotion, or to any fondness save the animal one for my ignoble self. Yet there Irode as if the Devil had me for a quarry, --panting, sweating, cursing, and well-nigh sobbing with rage at a fear that I might come toolate, --all because of a proud lady who knew me for what I was and heldme in contempt because of her knowledge; all for a lady who had notthe kindness for me that one might spare a dog--who looked on me assomething not good to see. 

Since there was no one to whom I might tell my story that he might mockme, I mocked myself--with a laugh that startled passers-by and which, coupled with the crazy pace at which I dashed into Blois, caused them, Idoubt not, to think me mad. Nor were they wrong, for mad indeed I deemedmyself. 

That I trampled no one underfoot in my furious progress through thestreets is a miracle that passes my understanding. 

In the courtyard of the Lys de France I drew rein at last with a tugthat brought my shuddering brute on to his haunches and sent those whostood about flying into the shelter of the doorways. 

"Another horse!" I shouted as I sprang to the ground. "Another horse atonce!"

Then as I turned to inquire for Michelot, I espied him leaning stolidlyagainst the porte­cochère. 

"How long have you been there, Michelot?" I asked. 

"Half an hour, mayhap. "

"Saw you a closed carriage pass?"

"Ten minutes ago I saw one go by, followed by M. De St. Auban and agentleman who greatly resembled M. De Vilmorin, besides an escort offour of the most villainous knaves--"

"That is the one, " I broke in. "Quick, Michelot! Arm yourself and getyour horse; I have need of you. Come, knave, move yourself!"

At the end of a few minutes we set out at a sharp trot, leaving thecurious ones whom my loud-voiced commands had assembled, to speculateupon the meaning of so much bustle. Once clear of the township we gavethe reins to our horses, and our trot became a gallop as we travelledalong the road to Meung, with the Loire on our right. And as we went Ibriefly told Michelot what was afoot, interlarding my explanations withprayers that we might come upon the kidnappers before they crossed theriver, and curses at the flying pace of our mounts, which to my anxiousmind seemed slow. 

At about a mile from Blois the road runs over an undulation of theground that is almost a hill. From the moment that I had left Canaplesas the Angelus was ringing, until the moment when our panting horsesgained the brow of that little eminence, only half an hour had sped. Still in that half-hour the tints had all but faded from the sky, andthe twilight shadows grew thicker around us with every moment. Yet notso thick had they become but that I could see a coach at a standstillin the hollow, some three hundred yards beneath us, and, by it, half adozen horses, of which four were riderless and held by the two men whowere still mounted. Then, breathlessly scanning the field between theroad and the river, I espied five persons, half way across, and at thesame distance from the water that we were from the coach. Two men, whomI supposed to be St. Auban and Vilmorin, were forcing along a woman, whose struggles, feeble though they appeared--yet retarded theirprogress in some measure. Behind them walked two others, musket onshoulder. 

I pointed them out to Michelot with a soft cry of joy. We were in time!

Following with my eyes the course they appeared to be pursuing I saw bythe bank a boat, in which two men were waiting. Again I pointed, thistime to the boat. 

"Over the hedge, Michelot!" I cried. "We must ride in a straight linefor the water and so intercept them. Follow me. "

Over the hedge we went, and down the gentle slope at as round a paceas the soft ground would with safety allow. I had reckoned upon beingopposed to six or even eight men, whereas there were but four, one ofwhom I knew was hardly to be reckoned. Doubtless St. Auban had imaginedhimself safe from pursuit when he left two of his bravos with thehorses, probably to take them on to Meung, and there cross with them andrejoin him. Two more, I doubted not, were those seated at the oars. 

I laughed to myself as I took in all this, but, even as I laughed, thosein the field stood still, and sent up a shout that told me we had beenperceived. 

"On, Michelot, on!" I shouted, spurring my horse forward. Then, inanswer to their master's call, the two ruffians who had been doing dutyas grooms came pounding into the field. 

"Ride to meet them, Michelot!" I cried. Obediently he wheeled to theleft, and I caught the swish of his sword as it left the scabbard. 

St. Auban was now hurrying towards the river with his party. Alreadythey were but fifty yards from the boat, and a hundred still lay betweenhim and me. Furiously I pressed onward, and presently but half thedistance separated us, whilst they were still some thirty yards fromtheir goal. 

Then his two bravos faced round to meet me, and one, standing some fiftypaces in ad­vance of the other, levelled his musket and fired. But inhis haste he aimed too high; the bullet carried away my hat, and beforethe smoke had cleared I was upon him. I had drawn a pistol from myholster, but it was not needed; my horse passed over him before he couldsave himself from my fearful charge. 

In the fast-fading light a second musket barrel shone, and I saw thesecond ruffian taking aim at me with not a dozen yards between us. Withthe old soldier's instinct I wrenched at the reins till I brought myhorse on to his haunches. It was high time, for simultaneously with myaction the fellow blazed at me, and the scream of pain that broke frommy steed told me that the poor brute had taken the bullet. With a boundthat carried me forward some six paces, the animal sank, quivering, tothe ground. I disengaged my feet from the stirrups as he fell, but theshock of it sent me rolling on the ground, and the ruffian, seeing mefallen, sprang forward, swinging his musket up above his head. I dodgedthe murderous downward stroke, and as the stock buried itself closebeside me in the soft earth I rose on one knee and with a grim laugh Iraised my pistol. I brought the muzzle within a hand's breadth of hisface, then fired and shot him through the head. Perchance you'll say itwas a murderous, cruel stroke: mayhap it was, but at such seasonsmen stay not to unravel niceties, but strike ere they themselves bestricken. 

Leaping over the twitching corpse, I got out my sword and sprang afterSt. Auban, who, with Vilmorin and Yvonne, careless of what might betidehis followers, was now within ten paces of the boat. 

Pistol shots cracked behind me, and I wondered how Michelot was faring, but dared not pause to look. 

The twain in the boat stood up, wielding their great oars, and methoughtthem on the point of coming to their master's aid, in which case mybattle had truly been a lost one. But that craven Vilmorin did me goodservice then, for with a cry of fear at my approach, he abandoned hishold of Yvonne, whose struggles were keeping both the men back; thusfreed, he fled towards the boat, and jumping in, he shouted to the menin his shrill, quavering voice, to put off. Albeit they disobeyed himcontemptuously and waited for the Marquis; still they did not leave theboat, fearing, no doubt, that if they did so the coward would put offalone. 

As for St. Auban, Vilmorin's flight left him unequal to the task ofdragging the girl along. She dug her heels into the ground, and, tug ashe might, for all that he set both hands to work, he could not move her. In this plight I came upon him, and challenged him to stand and face me. 

With a bunch of oaths he got out his sword, but in doing so he wasforced to remove one of his hands from the girl's arm. Seizing theopportunity with a ready wit and courage seldom found in women of herquality, she twisted herself from the grip of his left hand, and camestaggering towards me for protection, holding up her pinioned wrists. With my blade I severed the cord, whereupon she plucked the gag fromher mouth, and sank against my side, her struggles having left her weakindeed. 

As I set my arm about her waist to support her, my heart seemed to swellwithin me, and strange melodies shaped themselves within my soul. 

St. Auban bore down upon me with a raucous oath, but the glitteringpoint of my rapier danced before his eyes and drove him back again. 

"To me, Vilmorin, you cowardly cur!" he shouted. "To me, you dogs!"

He let fly at them a volley of blood-curdling oaths, then, withoutwaiting to see if they obeyed him, he came at me again, and our swordsmet. 

"Courage, Mademoiselle, " I whispered, as a sigh that was almost a groanescaped her. "Have no fear. "

But that fight was not destined to be fought, for, as again we engaged, there came the fall of running feet behind me. It flashed across mymind that Michelot had been worsted, and that my back was about to beassailed. But in St. Auban's face I saw, as in a mirror, that he whocame was Michelot. 

"Mort de Christ!" snarled the Marquis, springing back beyond my reach. "What can a man do with naught but fools and poltroons to servehim? Faugh! We will continue our sword-play at St. Sulpice des Reauxto-night. Au revoir, M. De Luynes!"

Turning, he sheathed his sword, and, running down to the river, boundedinto the boat, where I heard him reviling Vilmorin with every foul namehe could call to mind. 

My blood was aflame, and I was not minded to wait for our meetingat Reaux. Consigning Mademoiselle to the care of Michelot, who stoodpanting and bleeding from a wound in his shoulder, I turned back to mydead horse, and plucking the remaining pistol from the holster I randown to the very edge of the water. The boat was not ten yards fromshore, and my action had been unheeded by St. Auban, who was standing inthe stern. 

Kneeling I took careful aim at him, and as God lives, I would have savedmuch trouble that was to follow had I been allowed to fire. But at thatmoment a hand was laid upon my arm, and Yvonne's sweet voice murmured inmy ear:

"You have fought a brave and gallant fight, M. De Luynes, and you havedone a deed of which the knights of old might have been proud. Do notmar it by an act of murder. "

"Murder, Mademoiselle!" I gasped, letting my hand fall. "Surely there isno murder in this!"

"A suspicion of it, I think, and so brave a man should have cleanhands. "

CHAPTER XIII. THE HAND OF YVONNE

We did not long remain upon the field of battle. Indeed, if we lingeredat all it was but so that Mademoiselle might bandage Michelot's wound. And whilst she did so, my stout henchman related to us how it had faredwith him, and how, having taken the two ruffians separately, he had beenwounded by the first, whom he repaid by splitting his skull, whereuponthe second one had discharged his pistol without effect, then madeoff towards the road, whilst Michelot, remembering that I might needassistance, had let him go. 

"There, good Michelot, " quoth Mademoiselle, completing her task, "I havedone what little I can. And now, M. De Luynes, let us go. "

It was close upon seven o'clock, and night was at hand. Already the moonwas showing her large, full face above the tree-tops by Chambord, andcasting a silver streak athwart the stream. The plash of oars from theMarquis's boat was waxing indistinct despite the stillness, whilst bythe eye the boat itself was no longer to be distinguished. 

As I turned, my glance fell upon the bravo whom I had shot. He laystiff and stark upon his back, his sightless eyes wide open and staringheavenwards, his face all blood-smeared and ghastly to behold. 

Mademoiselle shuddered. "Let us go, " she repeated in a faint whisper;her eye had also fallen on that thing, and her voice was full of awe. She laid her hand upon my sleeve and 'neath the suasion of her touch Imoved away. 

To our surprise and joy we found St. Auban's coach where we had left it, with two saddled horses tethered close by. The others had doubtless beentaken by the coachman and the bravo who had escaped Michelot, both ofwhom had fled. These animals we looked upon as the spoils of war, andaccordingly when we set out in the coach, --Mademoiselle having desiredme to ride beside her therein, --Michelot wielding the reins, it was withthose two horses tethered behind. 

"Monsieur de Luynes, " said my companion softly, "I fear that I have doneyou a great injustice. Indeed, I know not how to crave your forgiveness, how to thank you, or how to hide my shame at those words I spoke to youthis afternoon at Canaples. "

"Not another word on that score, Mademoiselle!"

And to myself I thought of what recompense already had been mine. To meit had been given to have her lean trustingly upon me, my arm about herwaist, whilst, sword in hand, I had fought for her. Dieu! Was that notsomething to have lived for?--aye, and to have died for, methought. 

"I deserved, Monsieur, " she continued presently, "that you should haveleft me to my fate for all the odious things I uttered when you warnedme of my peril, --for the manner in which I have treated you since yourcoming to Blois. "

"You have but treated me, Mademoiselle, in the only manner in which youcould treat one so far beneath you, one who is utterly unworthy that youshould bestow a single regret upon him. "

"You are strangely humble to-night, Monsieur. It is unwonted in you, andfor once you wrong yourself. You have not said that I am forgiven. "

"I have naught to forgive. "

"Hélas! you have--indeed you have!"

"Eh, bien!" quoth I, with a return of my old tone of banter, "I forgivethen. "

Thereafter we travelled on in silence for some little while, my heartfull of joy at being so near to her, and the friendliness which sheevinced for me, and my mind casting o'er my joyous heart a cloud of someindefinable evil presage. 

"You are a brave man, M. De Luynes, " she murmured presently, "and I havebeen taught that brave men are ever honourable and true. "

"Had they who taught you that known Gaston de Luynes, they would havetold you instead that it is possible for a vile man to have the oneredeeming virtue of courage, even as it is possible for a liar to have acountenance that is sweet and innocent. "

"There speaks that humble mood you are affecting, and which sits uponyou as my father's clothes might do. Nay, Monsieur, I shall believe inmy first teaching, and be deaf to yours. "

Again there was a spell of silence. At last--"I have been thinking, Monsieur, " she said, "of that other occasion on which you rode with me. I remember that you said you had killed a man, and when I asked you why, you said that you had done it because he sought to kill you. Was thatthe truth?"

"Assuredly, Mademoiselle. We fought a duel, and it is customary in aduel for each to seek to kill the other. "

"But why was this duel fought?" she cried, with some petulance. 

"I fear me, Mademoiselle, that I may not answer you, " I said, recallingthe exact motives, and thinking how futile appeared the quarrel whichEugène de Canaples had sought with Andrea when viewed in the light ofwhat had since befallen. 

"Was the quarrel of your seeking?"

"In a measure it was, Mademoiselle. "

"In a measure!" she echoed. Then persisting, as women will--"Will younot tell me what this measure was?"

"Tenez, Mademoiselle, " I answered in despair; "I will tell you justso much as I may. Your brother had occasion to be opposed to certainprojects that were being formed in Paris by persons high in poweraround a beardless boy. Himself of too small importance to dare wagewar against those powerful ones who would have crushed him, your brothersought to gain his ends by sending a challenge to this boy. The lad washigh-spirited and consented to meet M. De Canaples, by whom he wouldassuredly have been murdered--'t is the only word, Mademoiselle--had Inot intervened as I did. "

She was silent for a moment. Then--"I believe you, Monsieur, " she saidsimply. "You fought, then, to shield another--but why?"

"For three reasons, Mademoiselle. Firstly, those persons high in powerchose to think it my fault that the quarrel had arisen, and threatenedto hang me if the duel took place and the boy were harmed. Secondly, I myself felt a kindness for the boy. Thirdly, because, whatever sinsHeaven may record against me, it has at least ever been my way to sideagainst men who, confident of their superiority, seek, with the cowardlycourage of the strong, to harm the weak. It is, Mademoiselle, thecourage of the man who knows no fear when he strikes a woman, yet whowill shake with a palsy when another man but threatens him. "

"Why did you not tell me all this before?" she whispered, after a pause. And methought I caught a quaver in her voice. 

I laughed for answer, and she read my laugh aright; presently shepursued her questions and asked me the name of the boy I had defended. But I evaded her, telling her that she must need no further details tobelieve me. 

"It is not that, Monsieur! I do believe you; I do indeed, but--"

"Hark, Mademoiselle!" I cried suddenly, as the clatter of many hoofssounded near at hand. "What is that?"

A shout rang out at that moment. "Halt! Who goes there?"

"Mon Dieu!" exclaimed Mademoiselle, drawing close up to me, and againthe voice sounded, this time more sinister. 

"Halt, I say--in the King's name!"

The coach came to a standstill, and through the window I beheld theshadowy forms of several mounted men, and the feeble glare of a lantern. 

"Who travels in the carriage, knave?" came the voice again. 

"Mademoiselle de Canaples, " answered Michelot; then, like a fool, hemust needs add: "Have a care whom you knave, my master, if you wouldgrow old. "

"Pardieu! let us behold this Mademoiselle de Canaples who owns sofearful a warrior for a coachman. "

The door was flung rudely open, and the man bearing the lantern--whoserays shone upon a uniform of the Cardinal's guards--confronted us. 

With a chuckle he flashed the light in my face, then suddenly grewserious. 

"Peste! Is it indeed you, M. De Luynes?" quoth he; adding, with sternpoliteness, "It grieves me to disturb you, but I have a warrant for yourarrest. "

He was fumbling in his doublet as he spoke, and during the time I hadleisure to scan his countenance, recognising, to my surprise, a younglieutenant of the guards who had but recently served with me, and withwhom I had been on terms almost of friendship. His words, "I have awarrant for your arrest, " came like a bolt from the blue to enlightenme, and to remind me of what St. Auban had that morning told me, andwhich for the nonce I had all but forgotten. 

Upon hearing those same words, Yvonne, methought, grew pale, and hereyes were bent upon me with a look of surprise and pity. 

"Upon what charge am I arrested?" I enquired, with forced composure. 

"My warrant mentions none, M. De Luynes. It is here. " And he thrustbefore me a paper, whose purport I could have read in its shape andseals. Idly my eye ran along the words:

"By these presents I charge and empower my lieutenant, Jean deMontrésor, to seize where'er he may be found, hold, and conduct to Paristhe Sieur Gaston de Luynes--"

And so further, until the Cardinal's signature ended the legal verbiage. 

"In the King's name, M. De Luynes, " said Montrésor, firmly yetdeferentially, "your sword!"

It would have been madness to do aught but comply with his request, andso I surrendered my rapier, which he in his turn delivered to one of hisfollowers. Next I stepped down from the coach and turned to take leaveof Mademoiselle, whereupon Montrésor, thinking that peradventurematters were as they appeared to be between us, and, being a man of finefeelings, signed to his men to fall back, whilst he himself withdrew afew paces. 

"Adieu, Mademoiselle!" I said simply. "I shall carry with me forconsolation the memory that I have been of service to you, and I shallever--during the little time that may be left me--be grateful to Heavenfor the opportunity that it has afforded me of causing you--perchancewithout sufficient reason--to think better of me. Adieu, Mademoiselle!God guard you!"

It was too dark to see her face, but my heart bounded with joy to catchin her voice a quaver that argued, methought, regret for me. 

"What does it mean, M. De Luynes? Why are they taking you?"

"Because I have displeased my Lord Cardinal, albeit, Mademoiselle, Iswear to you that I have no cause for shame at the reasons for which Iam being arrested. "

"My father is Monseigneur de Mazarin's friend, " she cried. "He is alsoyours. He shall exert for you what influence he possesses. "

"'T were useless, Mademoiselle. Besides, what does it signify? Again, adieu!"

She spoke no answering word, but silently held out her hand. SilentlyI took it in mine, and for a moment I hesitated, thinking of what Iwas--of what she was. At last, moved by some power that was greater thanmy will, I stooped and pressed those shapely fingers to my lips. ThenI stepped suddenly back and closed the carriage door, oppressed by afeeling akin to that of having done an evil deed. 

"Have I your permission to say a word to my servant, M. Le Lieutenant?"I inquired. 

He bowed assent, whereat, stepping close up to the horror-strickenMichelot--

"Drive straight to the Château de Canaples, " I said in a low voice. "Thereafter return to the Lys de France and there wait until you hearfrom me. Here, take my purse; there are some fifty pistoles in it. "

"Speak but the word, Monsieur, " he growled, "and I'll pistol a couple ofthese dogs. "

"Pah! You grow childish, " I laughed, "or can you not see that fellow'smusket?"

"Pardieu! I'll risk his aim! I never yet saw one of these curs shootstraight. "

"No, no, obey me, Michelot. Think of Mademoiselle. Go! Adieu! If weshould not meet again, mon brave, " I finished, as I seized his loyalhand, "what few things of mine are at the hostelry shall belong to you, as well as what may be left of this money. It is little enough payment, Michelot, for all your faithfulness--"

"Monsieur, Monsieur!" he cried. 

"Diable!" I muttered, "we are becoming women! Be off, you knave! Adieu!"

The peremptoriness of my tone ended our leave-taking and caused himto grip his reins and bring down his whip. The coach moved on. A whiteface, on which the moonlight fell, glanced at me from the window, then to my staring eyes naught was left but the back of the retreatingvehicle, with one of the two saddle-horses that had been tethered to itstill ambling in its wake. 

"M. De Montrésor, " I said, thrusting my bullet-pierced hat upon my head, "I am at your service. "

CHAPTER XIV. OF WHAT BEFELL AT REAUX. At my captor's bidding I mountedthe horse which they had untethered from the carriage, and we startedoff along the road which the coach itself had disappeared upon a momentbefore. But we travelled at a gentle trot, which, after that evening'sfurious riding, was welcome to me. 

With bitterness I reflected as I rode that the very moment at whichMademoiselle de Canaples had brought herself to think better of me waslike to prove the last we should spend together. Yet notaltogether bitter was that reflection; for with it came also theconsolation--whereof I had told her--that I had not been taken beforeshe had had cause to change her mind concerning me. 

That she should care for me was too preposterous an idea to benourished, and, indeed, it was better--much better--that M. De Montrésorhad come before I, grown sanguine as lovers will, had again earned herscorn by showing her what my heart contained. Much better was it that Ishould pass for ever out of her life--as, indeed, methought I waslike to pass out of all life--whilst I could leave in her mind a kindremembrance and a grateful regret, free from the stain that a subsequentpossible presumption of mine might have cast o'er it. 

Then my thoughts shifted to Andrea. St. Auban would hear of my removal, and I cared not to think of what profit he might derive from it. ToYvonne also his presence must hereafter be a menace, and in that whereintonight he had failed, he might, again, succeed. It was at this junctureof my reverie that M. De Montrésor's pleasant young voice aroused me. 

"You appear downcast, M. De Luynes. "

"I, downcast!" I echoed, throwing back my head and laughing. "Nay. I wasbut thinking. 

"Believe me, M. De Luynes, " he said kindly, "when I tell you thatit grieves me to be charged with this matter. I have done my best tocapture you. That was my duty. But I should have rejoiced had I failedwith the consciousness of having done all in my power. "

"Thanks, Montrésor, " I murmured, and silence followed. 

"I have been thinking, Monsieur, " he went on presently, "that possiblythe absence of your sword causes you discomfort. "

"Eh? Discomfort? It does, most damnably!"

"Give me your parole d'honneur that you will attempt no escape, and notonly shall your sword be returned to you, but you shall travel to Pariswith all comfort and dignity. "

Now, so amazed was I that I paused to stare at the officer who was youngenough to make such a proposal to a man of my reputation. He turned hisface towards me, and in the moonlight I could make out his questioningglance. 

"Eh, bien, Monsieur?"

"I am more than grateful to you, M. De Montrésor, " I replied, "and Ifreely give you my word of honour to seek no means of eluding you, norto avail myself of any that may be presented to me. "

I said this loud enough for those behind to hear, so that no surprisewas evinced when the lieutenant bade the man who bore my sword return itto me. 

If he who may chance to read these simple pages shall have gatheredaught of my character from their perusal, he will marvel, perchance, that I should give the lieutenant my parole, instead rather of watchingfor an opportunity to--at least--attempt an escape. Preeminent in mythoughts, however, stood at that moment the necessity to remove St. Auban, and methought that by acting as I did I saw a way by which, haply, I might accomplish this. What might thereafter befall me seemedof little moment. 

"M. De Montrésor, " I said presently, "your kindness impels me to set afurther tax upon your generosity. "

"That is, Monsieur?"

"Bid your men fall back a little, and I will tell you. "

He made a sign to his troopers, and when the distance between us hadbeen sufficiently widened, I began:

"There is a man at present across the river, yonder, who has done meno little injury, and with whom I have a rendezvous at nine o'clockto-night at St. Sulpice des Reaux, where our swords are to determine thedifference between us. I crave, Monsieur, your permission to keep thatappointment. "

"Impossible!" he answered curtly. 

I took a deep breath like a man who is about to jump an obstacle in hispath. 

"Why impossible, Monsieur?"

"Because you are a prisoner, and therefore no longer under obligation tokeep appointments. "

"How would you feel, Montrésor, if, burning to be avenged upon a manwho had done you irreparable wrong, you were arrested an hour beforethe time at which you were to meet this man, sword in hand, and yourcaptor--whose leave you craved to keep the assignation--answered youwith the word 'impossible'?"

"Yes, yes, Monsieur, " he replied impatiently. "But you forget myposition. Let us suppose that I allow you to go to St. Sulpice desReaux. What if you do not return?"

"You mistrust me?" I exclaimed, my hopes melting. 

"You misapprehend me. I mean, what if you are killed?"

"I do not think that I shall be. "

"Ah! But what if you are? What shall I say to my Lord Cardinal?"

"Dame! That I am dead, and that he is saved the trouble of hanging me. The most he can want of me is my life. Let us suppose that you hadcome an hour later. You would have been forced to wait until after theencounter, and, did I fall, matters would be no different. "

The young man fell to thinking, but I, knowing that it is not well tolet the young ponder overlong if you would bend them to your wishes, broke in upon his reflections--"See, Montrésor, yonder are the lights ofBlois; by eight o'clock we shall be in the town. Come; grant me leave tocross the Loire, and by ten o'clock, or half-past at the latest, I shallreturn to sup with you or I shall be dead. I swear it. "

"Were I in your position, " he answered musingly, "I know how I would betreated, and, pardieu! come what may I shall deal with you accordingly. You may go to your assignation, M. De Luynes, and may God prosper you. "

And thus it came to pass that shortly after eight o'clock, albeita prisoner, I rode into the courtyard of the Lys de France, and, alighting, I stepped across the threshold of the inn, and strode up toa table at which I had espied Michelot. He sat nursing a huge measureof wine, into the depths of which he was gazing pensively, with anexpression so glum upon his weather-beaten countenance that it defiesdepicting. So deep was he in his meditations, that albeit I stood by thetable surveying him for a full minute, he took no heed of me. 

"Allons, Michelot!" I said at length. "Wake up. "

He started up with a cry of amazement; surprise chased away the griefthat had been on his face, and a moment later joy unfeigned, and good tosee, took the place of surprise. 

"You have escaped, Monsieur!" he cried, and albeit caution made himutter the words beneath his breath, a shout seemed to lurk somewhere inthe whisper. 

Pressing his hand I sat down and briefly told him how matters stood, andhow I came to be for the moment free. And when I had done I bade him, since his wound had not proved serious, to get his hat and cloak and gowith me to find a boat. 

He obeyed me, and a quarter of an hour after we had quitted the hostelryhe was rowing me across the stream, whilst, wrapped in my cloak, I satin the stern, thinking of Yvonne. 

"Monsieur, " said Michelot, "observe how swift is the stream. If I wereto let the boat drift we should be at Tours to-morrow, and from there itwould be easy to defy pursuit. We have enough money to reach Spain. Whatsay you, Monsieur?"

"Say, you rascal? Why, bend your back to the work and set me ashore bySt. Sulpice in a quarter of an hour, or I'll forget that you have beenmy friend. Would you see me dishonoured?"

"Sooner than see you dead, " he grumbled as he resumed his task. Thereafter, whilst he rowed, Michelot entertained me with some quaintideas touching that which fine gentlemen call honour, and to what sorrypasses it was wont to bring them, concluding by thanking God that he wasno gentleman and had no honour to lead him into mischief. 

At last, however, our journey came to an end, and I sprang ashore somefive hundred paces from the little chapel, and almost exactly oppositethe Château de Canaples. I stood for a moment gazing across the water atthe lighted windows of the château, wondering which of those eyes thatlooked out upon the night might be that of Yvonne's chamber. 

Then, bidding Michelot await me, or follow did I not return in half anhour, I turned and moved away towards the chapel. 

There is a clearing in front of the little white edifice--which ratherthan a temple is but a monument to the martyr who is said to haveperished on that spot in the days before Clovis. 

As I advanced into the centre of this open patch of ground, and stoodclear of the black silhouettes of the trees, cast about me by the moon, two men appeared to detach themselves from the side wall of the chapel, and advanced to meet me. 

Albeit they were wrapped in their cloaks--uptilted behind by theirprotruding scabbards--it was not difficult to tell the tall figure andstately bearing of St. Auban and the mincing gait of Vilmorin. 

I doffed my hat in a grave salutation, which was courteously returned. 

"I trust, Messieurs, that I have not kept you waiting?"

"I was on the point of expressing that very hope, Monsieur, " returnedSt. Auban. "We have but arrived. Do you come alone?"

"As you perceive. "

"Hum! M. Le Vicomte, then, will act for both of us. "

I bowed in token of my satisfaction, and without more ado cast aside mycloak, pleased to see that the affair was to be conducted with decencyand politeness, as such matters should ever be conducted, albeitimpoliteness may have marked their origin. 

The Marquis, having followed my example and divested himself of hiscloak and hat, unsheathed his rapier and delivered it to Vilmorin, whocame across with it to where I stood. When he was close to me I sawthat he was deadly pale; his teeth chattered, and the hand that held theweapon shook as with a palsy. 

"Mu--Monsieur, " he stammered, "will it please you to lend me your swordthat I may mu-measure it?"

"What formalities!" I exclaimed with an amused smile, as I complied withhis request. "I am afraid you have caught a chill, Vicomte. The nightair is little suited to health so delicate. "

He answered me with a baleful glance, as silently he took my sword andset it--point to hilt--with St. Auban's. He appeared to have found someslight difference in the length, for he took two steps away from me, holding the weapons well in the light, where for a moment he surveyedthem attentively. His hands shook so that the blades clattered oneagainst the other the while. But, of a sudden, taking both rapiers bythe hilt, he struck the blades together with a ringing clash, thenflung them both behind him as far as he could contrive, leaving methunderstruck with amazement, and marvelling whether fear had robbed himof his wits. 

Not until I perceived that the trees around me appeared to spring intolife did it occur to me that that clashing of blades was a signal, andthat I was trapped. With the realisation of it I was upon Vilmorin in abound, and with both hands I had caught the dog by the throat before hethought of flight. The violence of my onslaught bore him to the ground, and I, not to release my choking grip, went with him. 

For a moment we lay together where we had fallen, his slender bodytwisting and writhing under me, his swelling face upturned and hisprotruding, horror-stricken eyes gazing into mine that were fierce andpitiless. Voices rang above me; someone stooped and strove to pluck mefrom my victim; then below the left shoulder I felt a sting of pain, first cold then hot, and I knew that I had been stabbed. 

Again I felt the blade thrust in, lower down and driven deeper; then, asthe knife was for the second time withdrawn, and my flesh sucked at thesteel, --the pain of it sending a shudder through me, --the instinct ofpreservation overcame the sweet lust to strangle Vilmorin. I let him goand, staggering to my feet, I turned to face those murderers who strucka defenceless man behind. 

Swords gleamed around me: one, two, three, four, five, six, I counted, and stood weak and dazed from loss of blood, gazing stupidly at thewhite blades. Had I but had my sword I should have laid about me, andgone down beneath their blows as befits a soldier. But the absence ofthat trusty friend left me limp and helpless--cowed for the first timesince I had borne arms. 

Of a sudden I became aware that St. Auban stood opposite to me, hand onhip, surveying me with a malicious leer. As our eyes met--"So, mastermeddler, " quoth he mockingly, "you crow less lustily than is your wont. "

"Hound!" I gasped, choking with rage, "if you are a man, if there be aspark of pride or honour left in your lying, cowardly soul, order yourassassins to give me my sword, and, wounded though I be, I'll fight withyou this duel that you lured me here to fight. "

He laughed harshly. 

"I told you but this morning, Master de Luynes, that a St. Auban doesnot fight men of your stamp. You forced a rendezvous upon me; you shallreap the consequences. "

Despite the weakness arising from loss of blood, I sprang towards him, beside myself with fury. But ere I had covered half the distancethat lay between us my arms were gripped from behind, and in my spentcondition I was held there, powerless, at the Marquis's mercy. He cameslowly forward until we were but some two feet apart. For a second hestood leering at me, then, raising his hand, he struck me--struck a manwhose arms another held!--full upon the face. Passion for the momentlent me strength, and in that moment I had wrenched my right arm freeand returned his blow with interest. 

With an oath he got out a dagger that hung from his baldrick. 

"Sang du Christ! Take that, you dog!" he snarled, burying the blade inmy breast as he spoke. 

"My God! You are murdering me!" I gasped. 

"Have you discovered it? What penetration!" he retorted, and those abouthim laughed at his indecent jest!

He made a sign, and the man who had held me withdrew his hands. Istaggered forward, deprived of his support, then a crashing blow took meacross the head. 

I swayed for an instant, and with arms upheld I clutched at the air, as if I sought, by hanging to it, to save myself from falling; then themoon appeared to go dark, a noise as of the sea beating upon its shorefilled my ears, and I seemed to be falling--falling--falling. 

A voice that buzzed and vibrated oddly, growing more distant at eachword, reached me as I sank. 

"Come, " it said. "Fling that carrion into the river. "

Then nothingness engulfed me. 

CHAPTER XV. OF MY RESURRECTION

Even as the blow which had plunged me into senselessness had imparted tome the sinking sensation which I have feebly endeavoured to depict, so did the first dim ray of returning consciousness bring with it thefeeling that I was again being buoyed upwards through the thickwaters that had enveloped me, to their surface, where intelligence andwakefulness awaited. 

And as I felt myself borne up and up in that effortless ascension, mysenses awake and my reason still half-dormant, an exquisite sense oflanguor pervaded my whole being. Presently meseemed that the surfacewas gained at last, and an instinct impelled me to open my eyes upon thelight, of which, through closed lids, I had become conscious. 

I beheld a fair-sized room superbly furnished, and flooded with ambersunlight suggestive in itself of warmth and luxury, the vision of whichheightened the delicious torpor that held me in thrall. The bed Ilay upon was such, I told myself, as would not have disgraced a royalsleeper. It was upheld by great pillars of black oak, carved with ascore of fantastic figures, and all around it, descending from the domeabove, hung curtains of rich damask, drawn back at the side that lookedupon the window. Near at hand stood a table laden with phials and suchutensils as one sees by the bedside of the wealthy sick. All this Ibeheld in a languid, unreasoning fashion through my half-open lids, andalbeit the luxury of the room and the fine linen of my bed told me thatthis was neither my Paris lodging in the Rue St. Antoine, nor yet mychamber at the hostelry of the Lys de France, still I taxed not my brainwith any questions touching my whereabouts. 

I closed my eyes, and I must have slept again: when next I opened thema burly figure stood in the deep bay of the latticed window, looking outthrough the leaded panes. 

I recognised the stalwart frame of Michelot, and at last I asked myselfwhere I might be. It did not seem to occur to me that I had but to callhim to receive an answer to that question. Instead, I closed myeyes again, and essayed to think. But just then there came a gentlescratching at the door, and I could hear Michelot tiptoeing acrossthe room; next he and the one he had admitted tiptoed back towards mybedside, and as they came I caught a whisper in a voice that seemed todrag me to full consciousness. 

"How fares the poor invalid this morning?"

"The fever is gone, Mademoiselle, and he may wake at any moment; indeed, it is strange that he should sleep so long. "

"He will be the better for it when he does awaken. I will remain herewhile you rest, Michelot. My poor fellow, you are almost as worn withyour vigils as he is with the fever. "

"Pooh! I am strong enough, Mademoiselle, " he answered. "I will get amouthful of food and return, for I would be by when he wakes. "

Then their voices sank so low that as they withdrew I caught not whatwas said. The door closed softly and for a space there was silence, broken at last by a sigh above my head. With an answering sigh Iopened wide my eyes and feasted them upon the lovely face of Yvonne deCanaples, as she bent over me with a look of tenderness and pity that atonce recalled to me our parting when I was arrested. 

But suddenly meeting the stare of my gaze, she drew back with ahalf-stifled cry, whose meaning my dull wits sought not to interpret, but methought I caught from her lips the words, "Thank God!"

"Where am I, Mademoiselle?" I inquired, and the faintness of my voiceamazed me. 

"You know me!" she exclaimed, as though the thing were a miracle. Thencoming forward again, and setting her cool, sweet hand upon my forehead, "Hush, " she murmured in the accents one might use to soothe a child. "You are at Canaples, among friends. Now sleep. "

"At Canaples!" I echoed. "How came I here? I am a prisoner, am I not?"

"A prisoner!" she exclaimed. "No, no, you are not a prisoner. You areamong friends. "

"Did I then but dream that Montrésor arrested me yesterday on the roadto Meung? Ah! I recollect! M. De Montrésor gave me leave on parole to goto Reaux. "

Then, like an avalanche, remembrance swept down upon me, and my memorydrew a vivid picture of the happenings at St. Sulpice. 

"My God!" I cried. "Am I not dead, then?" And I sought to struggle upinto a sitting posture, but that gentle hand upon my forehead restrainedand robbed me of all will that was not hers. 

"Hush, Monsieur!" she said softly. "Lie still. By a miracle and thefaithfulness of Michelot you live. Be thankful, be content, and sleep. "

"But my wounds, Mademoiselle?" I inquired feebly. 

"They are healed. "

"Healed?" quoth I, and in my amazement my voice sounded louder than ithad yet done since my awakening. "Healed! Three such wounds as I tooklast night, to say naught of a broken head, healed?"

"'T was not last night, Monsieur. "

"Not last night? Was it not last night that I went to Reaux?"

"It is nearly a month since that took place, " she answered with a smile. "For nearly a month have you lain unconscious upon that bed, with theangel of Death at your pillow. You have fought and won a silent battle. Now sleep, Monsieur, and ask no more questions until next you awaken, when Michelot shall tell you all that took place. "

She held a glass to my lips from which I drank gratefully, then, withthe submissiveness of a babe, I obeyed her and slept. 

As she had promised, it was Michelot who greeted me when next I openedmy eyes, on the following day. There were tears in his eyes--eyes thathad looked grim and unmoved upon the horrors of the battlefield. 

From him I learned how, after they had flung me into the river, deemingme dead already, St. Auban and his men had made off. The swift streamswirled me along towards the spot where, in the boat, Michelot awaitedmy return all unconscious of what was taking place. He had heard thesplash, and had suddenly stood up, on the point of going ashore, whenmy body rose within a few feet of him. He spoke of the agony of mindwherewith he had suddenly stretched forth and clutched me by my doublet, fearing that I was indeed dead. He had lifted me into the boat to findthat my heart still beat and that the blood flowed from my wounds. Thesehe had there and then bound up in the only rude fashion he was masterof, and forthwith, thinking of Andrea and the Chevalier de Canaples, who were my friends, and of Mademoiselle, who was my debtor, also seeingthat the château was the nearest place, he had rowed straight across toCanaples, and there I had lain during the four weeks that had elapsed, nursed by Mademoiselle, Andrea, and himself, and thus won back to life. 

Ah, Dieu! How good it was to know that someone there was still who caredfor worthless Gaston de Luynes a little--enough to watch beside him andwithhold his soul from the grim claws of Death. 

"What of M. De St. Auban?" I inquired presently. 

"He has not been seen since that night. Probably he feared that did hecome to Blois, the Chevalier would find means of punishing him for theattempted abduction of Mademoiselle. "

"Ah, then Andrea is safe?"

As if in answer to my question, the lad entered at that moment, and uponseeing me sitting up, talking to Michelot, he uttered an exclamation ofjoy, and hurried forward to my bedside. 

"Gaston, dear friend!" he cried, as he took my hand--and a thin, withered hand it was. 

We talked long together, --we three, --and anon we were joined by theChevalier de Canaples, who offered me also, in his hesitating manner, his felicitations. And with me they lingered until Yvonne came to drivethem with protestations from my bedside. 

Such, in brief, was the manner of my resurrection. For a week or so Istill kept my chamber; then one day towards the middle of April, theweather being warm and the sun bright, Michelot assisted me to don myclothes, which hung strangely empty upon my gaunt, emaciated frame, and, leaning heavily upon my faithful henchman, I made my way below. 

In the salon I found the Chevalier de Canaples with Mesdemoiselles andAndrea awaiting me, and the kindness wherewith they overwhelmed me, asI sat propped up with pillows, was such that I asked myself again andagain if, indeed, I was that same Gaston de Luynes who but a littlewhile ago had held himself as destitute of friends as he was of fortune. I was the pampered hero of the hour, and even little Geneviève had asunny smile and a kind word for me. 

Thereafter my recovery progressed with great strides, and gradually, dayby day, I felt more like my old vigorous self. They were happy days, forMademoiselle was often at my side, and ever kind to me; so kind was shethat presently, as my strength grew, there fell a great cloud athwart myhappiness--the thought that soon I must leave Canaples never to returnthere, --leave Mademoiselle's presence never to come into it again. 

I was Monsieur de Montrésor's prisoner. I had learned that in commonwith all others, save those at Canaples, he deemed me dead, and that, informed of it by a message from St. Auban, he had returned to Parison the day following that of my journey to Reaux. Nevertheless, sinceI lived, he had my parole, and it was my duty as soon as I had regainedsufficient strength, to journey to Paris and deliver myself into hishands. 

Nearer and nearer drew the dreaded hour in which I felt that I mustleave Canaples. On the last day of April I essayed a fencing bout withAndrea, and so strong and supple did I prove myself that I was forced torealise that the time was come. On the morrow I would go. 

As I was on the point of returning indoors with the foils under my arm, Andrea called me back. 

"Gaston, I have something of importance to say to you. Will you take aturn with me down yonder by the river?"

There was a serious, almost nervous look on his comely face, whicharrested my attention. I dropped the foils, and taking his arm I wentwith him as he bade me. We seated ourselves on the grass by the edge ofthe gurgling waters, and he began:

"It is now two months since we came to Blois: I, to pay my court tothe wealthy Mademoiselle de Canaples; you, to watch over and protectme--nay, you need not interrupt me. Michelot has told me what St. Aubansought here, and the true motives of your journey to St. Sulpice. Nevershall I be able to sufficiently prove my gratitude to you, my poorGaston. But tell me, dear friend, you who from the outset saw howmatters stood, why did you not inform St. Auban that he had no cause tohunt me down since I intended not to come between him and Yvonne?"

"Mon Dieu!" I exclaimed, "that little fair-haired coquette has--"

"Gaston, " he interrupted, "you go too fast. I love Geneviève deCanaples. I have loved her, I think, since the moment I beheld her inthe inn at Choisy, and, what is more, she loves me. "

"So that--?" I asked with an ill-repressed sneer. 

"We have plighted our troth, and with her father's sanction, or withoutit, she will do me the honour to become my wife. "

"Admirable!" I exclaimed. "And my Lord Cardinal?"

"May hang himself on his stole for aught I care. "

"Ah! Truly a dutiful expression for a nephew who has thwarted hisuncle's plans!"

"My uncle's plans are like himself, cold and selfish in their ambition. "

"Andrea, Andrea! Whatever your uncle may be, to those of your blood, atleast, he was never selfish. "

"Not selfish!" he cried. "Think you that he is enriching and contractinggreat alliances for us because he loves us? No, no. Our uncle seeks togain our support and with it the support of those noble houses to whichhe is allying us. The nobility opposes him, therefore he seeks to findrelatives among noblemen, so that he may weather the storm of which hisfar-seeing eyes have already detected the first dim clouds. What to himare my feelings, my inclinations, my affections? Things of no moment, tobe sacrificed so that I may serve him in the manner that will bring himthe most profit. Yet you call him not selfish! Were he not selfish, Ishould go to him and say: 'I love Geneviève de Canaples. Create me Dukeas you would do, did I wed her sister, and the Chevalier de Canapleswill not withstand our union. ' What think you would be his answer?"

"I have a shrewd idea what his answer would be, " I replied slowly. "AlsoI have a shrewd idea of what he will say when he learns in what manneryou have defied his wishes. "

"He can but order me away from Court, or, at most, banish me fromFrance. "

"And then what will become of you--of you and your wife?"

"What is to become of us?" he cried in a tone that was almost that ofanger. "Think you that I am a pauper dependent upon my uncle's bounty?I have an estate near Palermo, which, for all that it does not yieldriches, is yet sufficient to enable us to live with dignity and comfort. I have told Geneviève, and she is content. "

I looked at his flushed face and laughed. 

"Well, well!" said I. "If you are resolved upon it, it is ended. "

He appeared to meditate for a moment, then--"We have decided to bemarried by the Curé of St. Innocent on the day after to-morrow. "

"Crédieu!" I answered, with a whistle, "you have wasted no time indetermining your plans. Does Yvonne know of it?"

"We have dared tell nobody, " he replied; and a moment later he addedhesitatingly, "You, I know, will not betray us. "

"Do you know me so little that you doubt me on that score? Have nofear, Andrea, I shall not speak. Besides, to-morrow, or the next day atlatest, I leave Canaples. "

"You do not mean that you are returning to the Lys de France!"

"No. I am going farther than that. I am going to Paris. "

"To Paris?"

"To Paris, to deliver myself up to M. De Montrésor, who gave me leave togo to Reaux some seven weeks ago. "

"But it is madness, Gaston!" he ejaculated. 

"All virtue is madness in a world so sinful; nevertheless I go. In ameasure I am glad that things have fallen out with you as they havedone, for when the news goes abroad that you have married Geneviève deCanaples and left the heiress free, your enemies will vanish, and youwill have no further need of me. New enemies you will have perchance, but in your strife with them I could lend you no help, were I by. "

He sat in silence casting pebbles into the stream, and watching theripples they made upon the face of the waters. 

"Have you told Mademoiselle?" he asked at length. 

"Not yet. I shall tell her to-day. You also, Andrea, must take her intoyour confidence touching your approaching marriage. That she will provea good friend to you I am assured. "

"But what reason shall I give form my secrecy?" he inquired, andinwardly I smiled to see how the selfishness which love begets in us hadcaused him already to forget my affairs, and how the thought of hisown approaching union effaced all thought of me and the doom to which Iwent. 

"Give no reason, " I answered. "Let Genevieve tell her of what youcontemplate, and if a reason she must have, let Geneviève bid her cometo me. This much will I do for you in the matter; indeed, Andrea, it isthe last service I am like to render you. "

"Sh! Here comes the Chevalier. She shall be told to-day. "

CHAPTER XVI. THE WAY OF WOMAN

For all that I realised that this love of mine for Yvonne was as a childstill-born--a thing that had no existence save in the heart that hadbegotten it--I rejoiced meanly at the thought that she was not destinedto become Andrea's wife. For since I understood that this woman--who tome was like no other of her sex--was not for so poor a thing as Gastonde Luynes, like the dog in the fable I wished that no other mightpossess her. Inevitable it seemed that sooner or later one must come whowould woo and win her. But ere that befell, my Lord Cardinal would havemeted out justice to me--the justice of the rope meseemed--and I shouldnot be by to gnash my teeth in jealousy. 

That evening, when the Chevalier de Canaples had gone to pay a visit tohis vineyard, --the thing that, next to himself, he loved most in thisworld, --and whilst Geneviève and Andrea were vowing a deathless love toeach other in the rose garden, their favourite haunt when the Chevalierwas absent, I seized the opportunity for making my adieux to Yvonne. 

We were leaning together upon the balustrade of the terrace, and ourfaces were turned towards the river and the wooded shores beyond--alandscape this that was as alive and beautiful now as it had been deadand grey when first I came to Canaples two months ago. 

Scarce were my first words spoken when she turned towards me, andmethought--but I was mad, I told myself--that there was a catch in hervoice as she exclaimed, "You are leaving us, Monsieur?"

"To-morrow morning I shall crave Monsieur your father's permission toquit Canaples. "

"But why, Monsieur? Have we not made you happy here?"

"So happy, Mademoiselle, " I answered with fervour, "that at times itpasses my belief that I am indeed Gaston de Luynes. But go I must. Myhonour demands of me this sacrifice. "

And in answer to the look of astonishment that filled her wondrous eyes, I told her what I had told Andrea touching my parole to Montrésor, andthe necessity of its redemption. As Andrea had done, she also dubbed itmadness, but her glance was, nevertheless, so full of admiration, thatmethought to have earned it was worth the immolation of liberty--of lifeperchance; who could say?

"Before I go, Mademoiselle, " I pursued, looking straight before me asI spoke, and dimly conscious that her glance was bent upon myface--"before I go, I fain would thank you for all that you have donefor me here. Your care has saved my life, Mademoiselle; your kindness, methinks, has saved my soul. For it seems to me that I am no longer thesame man whom Michelot fished out of the Loire that night two monthsago. I would thank you, Mademoiselle, for the happiness that has beenmine during the past few days--a happiness such as for years has notfallen to my lot. To another and worthier man, the task of thanking youmight be an easy one; but to me, who know myself to be so far beneathyou, the obligation is so overwhelming that I know of no words to fitlyexpress it. "

"Monsieur, Monsieur, I beseech you! Already you have said overmuch. "

"Nay, Mademoiselle; not half enough. "

"Have you forgotten, then, what you did for me? Our trivial service toyou is but unseemly recompense. What other man would have come to myrescue as you came, with such odds against you--and forgetting theaffronting words wherewith that very day I had met your warning? Tellme, Monsieur, who would have done that?"

"Why, any man who deemed himself a gentleman, and who possessed suchknowledge as I had. "

She laughed a laugh of unbelief. 

"You are mistaken, sir, " she answered. "The deed was worthy of one ofthose preux chevaliers we read of, and I have never known but one mancapable of accomplishing it. "

Those words and the tone wherein they were uttered set my brain on fire. I turned towards her; our glances met, and her eyes--those eyes that buta while ago had never looked on me without avowing the disdain whereinshe had held me--were now filled with a light of kindliness, ofsympathy, of tenderness that seemed more than I could endure. 

Already my hand was thrust into the bosom of my doublet, and my fingerswere about to drag forth that little shred of green velvet that I hadfound in the coppice on the day of her abduction, and that I had keptever since as one keeps the relic of a departed saint. Another momentand I should have poured out the story of the mad, hopeless passion thatfilled my heart to bursting, when of a sudden--"Yvonne, Yvonne!" cameGeneviève's fresh voice from the other end of the terrace. The spell ofthat moment was broken. 

Methought Mademoiselle made a little gesture of impatience as sheanswered her sister's call; then, with a word of apology, she left me. 

Half dazed by the emotions that had made sport of me, I leaned over thebalustrade, and with my elbows on the stone and my chin on my palms, I stared stupidly before me, thanking God for having sent Geneviève intime to save me from again earning Mademoiselle's scorn. For as I grewsober I did not doubt that with scorn she would have met the wild wordsthat already trembled on my lips. 

I laughed harshly and aloud, such a laugh as those in Hell may vent. "Gaston, Gaston!" I muttered, "at thirty-two you are more a fool thanever you were at twenty. "

I told myself then that my fancy had vested her tone and look with akindliness far beyond that which they contained, and as I thought ofhow I had deemed impatient the little gesture wherewith she had greetedGeneviève's interruption I laughed again. 

From the reverie into which, naturally enough, I lapsed, it wasMademoiselle who aroused me. She stood beside me with an unrest ofmanner so unusual in her, that straightway I guessed the substance ofher talk with Geneviève. 

"So, Mademoiselle, " I said, without waiting for her to speak, "you havelearned what is afoot?"

"I have, " she answered. "That they love each other is no news to me. That they intend to wed does not surprise me. But that they shouldcontemplate a secret marriage passes my comprehension. "

I cleared my throat as men will when about to embark upon a periloussubject with no starting-point determined. 

"It is time, Mademoiselle, " I began, "that you should learn the truecause of M. De Mancini's presence at Canaples. It will enlighten youtouching his motives for a secret wedding. Had things fallen out as wasintended by those who planned his visit--Monsieur your father and myLord Cardinal--it is improbable that you would ever have heard thatwhich it now becomes necessary that I should tell you. I trust, Mademoiselle, " I continued, "that you will hear me in a neutralspirit, without permitting your personal feelings to enter into yourconsideration of that which I shall unfold. "

"So long a preface augurs anything but well, " she interposed, lookingmonstrous serious. 

"Not ill, at least, I hope. Hear me then. Your father and his Eminenceare friends; the one has a daughter who is said to be very wealthy andwhom he, with fond ambition, desires to see wedded to a man who cangive her an illustrious name; the other possesses a nephew whom he canennoble by the highest title that a man may bear who is not a prince ofthe blood, --and borne indeed by few who are not, --and whom he desires tosee contract an alliance that will bring him enough of riches to enablehim to bear his title with becoming dignity. " I glanced at Mademoiselle, whose cheeks were growing an ominous red. 

"Well, Mademoiselle, " I continued, "your father and Monseigneur deMazarin appear to have bared their heart's desire to each other, andM. De Mancini was sent to Canaples to woo and win your father's elderdaughter. "

A long pause followed, during which she stood with face aflame, avertedeyes, and heaving bosom, betraying the feelings that stormed withinher at the disclosure of the bargain whereof she had been a part. Atlength--"Oh, Monsieur!" she exclaimed in a choking voice, and clenchingher shapely hands, "to think--"

"I beseech you not to think, Mademoiselle, " I interrupted calmly, for, having taken the first plunge, I was now master of myself. "The ironicallittle god, whom the ancients painted with bandaged eyes, has led M. DeMancini by the nose in this matter, and things have gone awry for theplotters. There, Mademoiselle, you have the reason for a clandestineunion. Did Monsieur your father guess how Andrea's affections have"--Icaught the word "miscarried" betimes, and substituted--"gone against hiswishes, his opposition is not a thing to be doubted. "

"Are you sure there is no mistake?" she inquired after a pause. "Is allthis really true, Monsieur?"

"It is, indeed. "

"But how comes it that my father has seen naught of what has been soplain to me--that M. De Mancini was ever at my sister's side?"

"Your father, Mademoiselle, is much engrossed in his vineyard. Moreover, when the Chevalier has been at hand he has been careful to show nogreater regard for the one than for the other of you. I instructed himin this duplicity many weeks ago. "

She looked at me for a moment. 

"Oh, Monsieur, " she cried passionately, "how deep is my humiliation! Tothink that I was made a part of so vile a bargain! Oh, I am glad that M. De Mancini has proved above the sordid task to which they set him--gladthat he will dupe the Cardinal and my father. "

"So am not I, Mademoiselle, " I exclaimed. She vouchsafed me a stare ofineffable surprise. 

"How?

"Diable!" I answered. "I am M. De Mancini's friend. It was to shield himthat I fought your brother; again, because of my attitude towards himwas it that I went perilously near assassination at Reaux. Enemiessprang up about him when the Cardinal's matrimonial projects becameknown. Your brother picked a quarrel with him, and when I had dealt withyour brother, St. Auban appeared, and after St. Auban there were others. When it is known that he has played this trick upon 'Uncle Giulio' hisenemies will disappear; but, on the other hand, his prospects will allbe blighted, and for that I am sorry. "

"So that was the motive of your duel with Eugène!"

"At last you learn it. "

"And, " she added in a curious voice, "you would have been better pleasedhad M. De Mancini carried out his uncle's wishes?"

"It matters little what I would think, Mademoiselle, " I answeredguardedly, for I could not read that curious tone of hers. 

"Nevertheless, I am curious to hear your answer. "

What answer could I make? The truth--that for all my fine talk, I wasat heart and in a sense right glad that she was not to become Andrea'swife--would have seemed ungallant. Moreover, I must have added theexplanation that I desired to see her no man's wife, so that I might notseem to contradict myself. Therefore--

"In truth, Mademoiselle, " I answered, lying glibly, "it would have givenme more pleasure had Andrea chosen to obey his Eminence. "

Her manner froze upon the instant. 

"In the consideration of your friend's advancement, " she replied, halfcontemptuously, "you forget, M. De Luynes, to consider me. Am I, then, athing to be bartered into the hands of the first fortune-hunter whowoos me because he has been bidden so to do, and who is to marry me forpolitical purposes? Pshaw, M. De Luynes!" she added, with a scornfullaugh, "after all, I was a fool to expect aught else from--"

She checked herself abruptly, and a sudden access of mercy leftthe stinging "you" unuttered. I stood by, dumb and sheepish, notunderstanding how the words that I had deemed gallant could have broughtthis tempest down upon my head. Before I could say aught that might haverighted matters, or perchance made them worse--"Since you leave Canaplesto-morrow, " quoth she, "I will say 'Adieu, ' Monsieur, for it is unlikelythat we shall meet again. "

With a slight inclination of her head, and withholding her handintentionally, she moved away, whilst I stood, as only a fool or astatue would stand, and watched her go. 

Once she paused, and, indeed, half turned, whereupon hope knocked atmy heart again; but before I had admitted it, she had resumed her walktowards the house. Hungrily I followed her graceful, lissom figure withmy eyes until she had crossed the threshold. Then, with a dull ache inmy breast, I flung myself upon a stone seat, and, addressing myself tothe setting sun for want of a better audience, I roundly cursed her sexfor the knottiest puzzle that had ever plagued the mind of man in theunravelling. 

CHAPTER XVII. FATHER AND SON

"Gaston, " quoth Andrea next morning, "you will remain at Canaples untilto-morrow? You must, for to-morrow I am to be wed, and I would fain haveyour good wishes ere you go. "

"Nice hands, mine, to seek a benediction at, " I grumbled. 

"But you will remain? Come, Gaston, we have been good friends, you andI, and who knows when next we shall meet? Believe me, I shall value your'God speed' above all others. "

"Likely enough, since it will be the only one you'll hear. "

But for all my sneers he was not to be put off. He talked and coaxed sowinningly that in the end--albeit I am a man not easily turned from thecourse he has set himself--the affectionate pleading in his fresh youngvoice and the affectionate look in his dark eyes won me to his way. 

Forthwith I went in quest of the Chevalier, whom, at the indication of alackey, I discovered in the room it pleased him to call his study--thatsame room into which we had been ushered on the day of our arrival atCanaples. I told him that on the morrow I must set out for Paris, andalbeit he at first expressed a polite regret, yet when I had shown himhow my honour was involved in my speedy return thither, he did not urgeme to put off my departure. 

"It grieves me, sir, that you must go, and I deeply regret the motivethat is taking you. Yet I hope that his Eminence, in recognition of theservices you have rendered his nephew, will see fit to forget what causefor resentment he may have against you, and render you your liberty. Ifyou will give me leave, Monsieur, I will write to his Eminence in thisstrain, and you shall be the bearer of my letter. "

I thanked him, with a smile of deprecation, as I thought of the truecause of Mazarin's resentment, which was precisely that of the plea uponwhich M. De Canaples sought to obtain for me my liberation. 

"And now, Monsieur, " he pursued nervously, "touching Andrea and hisvisit here, I would say a word to you who are his friend, and may haplyknow something of his mind. It is over two months since he came here, and yet the--er--affair which we had hoped to bring about seems nonearer its conclusion than when first he came. Of late I have watchedhim and I have watched Yvonne; they are certainly good friends, yet noteven the frail barrier of formality appears overcome betwixt them, andI am beginning to fear that Andrea is not only lukewarm in this matter, but is forgetful of his uncle's wishes and selfishly indifferent toMonseigneur's projects and mine, which, as he well knows, are the reasonof his sojourn at my château. What think you of this, M. De Luynes?"

He shot a furtive glance at me as he spoke, and with his long, leanforefinger he combed his beard in a nervous fashion. 

I gave a short laugh to cover my embarrassment at the question. 

"What do I think, Monsieur?" I echoed to gain time. Then, thinking thata sententious answer would be the most fitting, --"Ma foi! Love is as thespark that lies latent in flint and steel: for days and weeks these twomay be as close together as you please, and naught will come of it; butone fine day, a hand--the hand of chance--will strike the one againstthe other, and lo!--the spark is born!"

"You speak in parables, Monsieur, " was his caustic comment. 

"'T is in parables that all religions are preached, " I returned, "andlove, methinks, is a great religion in this world. "

"Love, sir, love!" he cried petulantly. "The word makes me sick! Whathas love to do with this union? Love, sir, is a pretty theme for poets, romancers, and fools. The imagination of such a sentiment--for it is asentiment that does not live save in the imagination--may serve to drawpeasants and other low­bred clods into wedlock. With such as we--withgentlemen--it has naught to do. So let that be, Monsieur. Andrea deMancini came hither to wed my daughter. "

"And I am certain, Monsieur, " I answered stoutly, "that Andrea will wedyour daughter. "

"You speak with confidence. "

"I know Andrea well. Signs that may be hidden to you are clear to me, and I have faith in my prophecy. "

He looked at me, and fell a victim to my confidence of manner. Thepetulancy died out of his face. 

"Well, well! We will hope. My Lord Cardinal is to create him Duke, andhe will assume as title his wife's estate, becoming known to history asAndrea de Mancini, Duke of Canaples. Thus shall a great house be foundedthat will bear our name. You see the importance of it?"

"Clearly. "

"And how reasonable is my anxiety?"

"Assuredly. "

"And you are in sympathy with me?"

"Pardieu! Why else did I go so near to killing your son?"

"True, " he mused. Then suddenly he added, "Apropos, have you heard thatEugène has become one of the leaders of these frondeur madmen?"

"Ah! Then he is quite recovered?"

"Unfortunately, " he assented with a grimace, and thus our interviewended. 

That day wore slowly to its close. I wandered hither and thither in thechâteau and the grounds, hungering throughout the long hours for a wordwith Mademoiselle--a glimpse of her, at least. 

But all day long she kept her chamber, the pretext being that she wasbeset by a migraine. By accident I came upon her that evening, at last, in the salon; yet my advent was the signal for her departure, and allthe words she had for me were:

"Still at Canaples, Monsieur? I thought you were to have left thismorning. " She looked paler than her wont, and her eyes were somewhatred. 

"I am remaining until to-morrow, " said I awkwardly. 

"Vraiement!" was all she answered, and she was gone. 

Next morning the Chevalier and I breakfasted alone. Mademoiselle'smigraine was worse. Geneviève was nursing, so her maid broughtword--whilst Andrea had gone out an hour before and had not returned. 

The Chevalier shot me an apologetic glance across the board. 

"'T is a poor 'God speed' to you, M. De Luynes. "

I made light of it and turned the conversation into an indifferentchannel, wherein it abided until, filling himself a bumper of Anjou, theChevalier solemnly drank to my safe journey and good fortune in Paris. 

At that moment Andrea entered by the door abutting on the terracebalcony. He was flushed, and his eyes sparkled with a joyous fever. Profuse was he in his apologies, which, howbeit, were passing vaguein character, and which he brought to a close by pledging me as theChevalier had done already. 

As we rose, Geneviève appeared with the news that Yvonne was somewhatbetter, adding that she had come to take leave of me. Her composuresurprised me gladly, for albeit in her eyes there was also a telltalelight, the lids, demurely downcast as was her wont, amply screened itfrom the vulgar gaze. 

Andrea would tell his father-in-law of the marriage later in the day;and for all I am not a chicken-hearted man, still I had no stomach to beat hand when the storm broke. 

The moment having come for my departure, and Michelot awaiting mealready with the horses in the courtyard, M. De Canaples left us to seekthe letter which I was to carry to his Eminence. So soon as the door hadclosed upon him, Andrea came forward, leading his bride by the hand, andasked me to wish them happiness. 

"With all my heart, " I answered; "and if happiness be accorded you in ameasure with the fervency of my wishes then shall you, indeed, be happy. Each of you I congratulate upon the companion in life you have chosen. Cherish him, Mademoi--Madame, for he is loyal and true--and such arerare in this world. "

It is possible that I might have said more in this benign and fatherlystrain--for it seemed to me that this new role I had assumed suitedme wondrous well--but a shadow that drew our eyes towards the nearestwindow interrupted me. And what we saw there drew a cry from Andrea, ashudder from Geneviève, and from me a gasp that was half amazement, halfdismay. For, leaning upon the sill, surveying us with a sardonic, evilgrin, we beheld Eugène de Canaples, the man whom I had left with asword-thrust through his middle behind the Hôtel Vendôme two months ago. Whence was he sprung, and why came he thus to his father's house?

He started as I faced him, for doubtless St. Auban had boasted to himthat he had killed me in a duel. For a moment he remained at the window, then he disappeared, and we could hear the ring of his spurred heel ashe walked along the balcony towards the door. 

And simultaneously came the quick, hurrying steps of the Chevalier deCanaples, as he crossed the hall, returning with the letter he had goneto fetch. 

Geneviève shuddered again, and looked fearfully from one door to theother; Andrea drew a sharp breath like a man in pain, whilst I rappedout an oath to brace my nerves for the scene which we all three foresaw. Then in silence we waited, some subtle instinct warning us of thedisaster that impended. 

The steps on the balcony halted, and a second later those in the hall;and then, as though the thing had been rehearsed and timed so that thespectators might derive the utmost effect from it, the doors openedtogether, and on the opposing thresholds, with the width of the roombetwixt them, stood father and son confronted. 

CHAPTER XVIII. OF HOW I LEFT CANAPLES

Whilst a man might tell a dozen did those two remain motionless, theone eyeing the other. But their bearing was as widely different as theirfigures; Eugène's stalwart frame stood firm and erect, insolence inevery line of it, reflected perchance from the smile that lurked aboutthe corners of his thin­lipped mouth. 

The hat, which he had not had the grace to doff, set jauntily upon hisstraight black hair, the jerkin of leather which he wore, and the stoutsword which hung from the plainest of belts, all served to give him theair of a ruffler, or tavern knight. 

The Chevalier, on the other hand, stood as if turned to stone. From hisenervated fingers the letter fluttered to the ground, and on his pale, thin face was to be read a displeasure mixed with fear. 

At length, with an oath, the old man broke the silence. 

"What seek you at Canaples?" he asked in a quivering voice, as headvanced into the room. "Are you so dead to shame that you dare presentyourself with such effrontery? Off with your hat, sir!" he blazed, stamping his foot, and going from pale to crimson. "Off with your hat, or Mortdieu, I'll have you flung out of doors by my grooms. "

This show of vehemence, as sudden as it was unexpected, drew from Eugènea meek obedience that I had not looked for. Nevertheless, the youngman's lip curled as he uncovered. 

"How fatherly is your greeting!" he sneered. The Chevalier's eyesflashed a glance that lacked no venom at his son. 

"What manner of greeting did you look for?" he returned hotly. "Did youexpect me to set a ring upon your finger, and have the fattened calfkilled in honour of your return? Sangdieu, sir! Have you come hitherto show me how a father should welcome the profligate son who hasdishonoured his name? Why are you here, unbidden? Answer me, sir!"

A deep flush overspread Eugène's cheeks. 

"I had thought when I crossed the threshold that this was the Château deCanaples, or else that my name was Canaples--I know not which. ClearlyI was mistaken, for here is a lady who has no word either of greeting orintercession for me, and who, therefore, cannot be my sister, and yondera man whom I should never look to find in my father's house. "

I took a step forward, a hot answer on my lips, when from the doorway atmy back came Yvonne's sweet voice. 

"Eugène! You here?"

"As you see, Sister. Though had you delayed your coming 't is probableyou would no longer have found me, for your father welcomes me withoaths and threatens me with his grooms. "

She cast a reproachful glance upon the Chevalier, 'neath which the angerseemed to die out of him; then she went forward with hands outstretchedand a sad smile upon her lips. 

"Yvonne!" The Chevalier's voice rang out sharp and sudden. 

She stopped. 

"I forbid you to approach that man!"

For a moment she appeared to hesitate; then, leisurely pursuing her way, she set her hands upon her brother's shoulders and embraced him. 

The Chevalier swore through set teeth; Geneviève trembled, Andrea lookedaskance, and I laughed softly at the Chevalier's discomfiture. Eugèneflung his hat and cloak into a corner and strode across the room towhere his father stood. 

"And now, Monsieur, since I have travelled all the way from Paris tosave my house from a step that will bring it into the contempt of allFrance, I shall not go until you have heard me. "

The Chevalier shrugged his shoulders and made as if to turn away. Yvonne's greeting of her brother appeared to have quenched the spark ofspirit that for a moment had glimmered in the little man's breast. 

"Monsieur, " cried Eugène, "believe me that what I have to say is of theutmost consequence, and say it I will--whether before these strangers orin your private ear shall be as you elect. "

The old man glanced about him like one who seeks a way of escape. Atlast--"If say it you must, " he growled, "say it here and now. And whenyou have said it, go. "

Eugène scowled at me, and from me to Andrea. To pay him for that scowl, I had it in my mind to stay; but, overcoming the clownish thought, Itook Andrea by the arm. 

"Come, Andrea, " I said, "we will take a turn outside while these familymatters are in discussion. "

I had a shrewd idea what was the substance of Eugène's mission toCanaples--to expostulate with his father touching the proposed marriageof Yvonne to the Cardinal's nephew. 

Nor was I wrong, for when, some moments later, the Chevalier recalled usfrom the terrace, where we were strolling--"What think you he has comehither to tell me?" he inquired as we entered. He pointed to his sonas he spoke, and passion shook his slender frame as the breeze shakes aleaf. Mademoiselle and Geneviève sat hand in hand--Yvonne deadly pale, Geneviève weeping. 

"What think you he has the effrontery to say? Têtedieu! it seems that hehas profited little by the lesson you read him in the horse-market aboutmeddling in matters which concern him not. He has come hither to tell methat he will not permit his sister to wed the Cardinal's nephew; that hewill not have the estates of Canaples pass into the hands of a foreignupstart. He, forsooth--he! he! he!" And at each utterance of the pronounhe lunged with his forefinger in the direction of his son. "This he isnot ashamed to utter before Yvonne herself!"

"You compelled me to do so, " cried Eugène angrily. 

"I?" ejaculated the Chevalier. "Did I compel you to come hither withyour 'I will' and 'I will not'? Who are you, that you should give lawsat Canaples? And he adds, sir, " quoth the old knight excitedly, "thatsooner than allow this marriage to take place he will kill M. DeMancini. "

"I shall be happy to afford him the opportunity!" shouted Andrea, bounding forward. 

Eugène looked up quickly and gave a short laugh. Thereupon followed awild hubbub; everyone rushed forward and everyone talked; even littleGeneviève--louder than all the rest. 

"You shall not fight! You shall not fight!" she cried, and her voicewas so laden with command that all others grew silent and all eyes wereturned upon her. 

"What affair is this of yours, little one?" quoth Eugène. 

"'T is this, " she answered, panting, "that you need fear no marriage'twixt my sister and Andrea. "

In her eagerness she had cast caution to the winds of heaven. Her fatherand brother stared askance at her; I gave an inward groan. 

"Andrea!" echoed Eugène at last. "What is this man to you that you speakthus of him?"

The girl flung herself upon her father's breast. 

"Father, " she sobbed, "dear father, forgive!"

The Chevalier's brow grew dark; roughly he seized her by the arms and, holding her at arm's length, scanned her face. 

"What must I forgive?" he inquired in a thick voice. "What is M. DeMancini to you?"

Some sinister note in her father's voice caused the girl to grow of asudden calm and to assume a rigidity that reminded me of her sister. 

"He is my husband!" she answered. And there was a note of pride--almostof triumph--in her voice. 

An awful silence followed the launching of that thunderbolt. Eugènestood with open mouth, staring now at Geneviève, now at his father. Andrea set his arm about his bride's waist, and her fair head was laidtrustingly upon his shoulder. The Chevalier's eyes rolled ominously. Atlength he spoke in a dangerously calm voice. 

"How long is it--how long have you been wed?"

"We were wed in Blois an hour ago, " answered Geneviève. 

Something that was like a grunt escaped the Chevalier, then his eyefastened upon me, and his anger boiled up. 

"You knew of this?" he asked, coming towards me. 

"I knew of it. "

"Then you lied to me yesterday. "

I drew myself up, stiff as a broomstick. 

"I do not understand, " I answered coldly. 

"Did you not give me your assurance that M. De Mancini would marryYvonne?"

"I did not, Monsieur. I did but tell you that he would wed yourdaughter. And, ma foi! your daughter he has wed. "

"You have fooled me, scélérat!" he blazed out. "You, who have beensheltered by--"

"Father!" Yvonne interrupted, taking his arm. "M. De Luynes has behavedno worse than have I, or any one of us, in this matter. "

"No!" he cried, and pointed to Andrea. "'T is you who have wrought thisinfamy. Eugène, " he exclaimed, turning of a sudden to his son, "you havea sword; wipe out this shame. "

"Shame!" echoed Geneviève. "Oh, father, where is the shame? If it wereno shame for Andrea to marry Yvonne, surely--"

"Silence!" he thundered. "Eugène--"

But Eugène answered him with a contemptuous laugh. 

"You are quick enough to call upon my sword, now that things have notfallen out as you would have them. Where are your grooms now, Monsieur?"

"Insolent hound!" cried his father indignantly. Then, letting fall hisarms with something that was near akin to a sob--"Is there no one leftto do aught but mock me?" he groaned. 

But this weakness was no more than momentary. 

"Out of my house, sir!" he blazed, turning upon Andrea, and for a momentmethought he would have struck him. "Out of my house--you and this wifeof yours!"

"Father!" sobbed Geneviève, with hands outstretched in entreaty. 

"Out of my house, " he repeated, "and you also, M. De Luynes. Away withyou! Go with the master you have served so well. " And, turning on hisheel, he strode towards the door. 

"Father--dear father!" cried Geneviève, following him: he slammed thedoor in her face for answer. 

With a moan she sank down upon her knees, her frail body shaken byconvulsive sobs--Dieu! what a bridal morn was hers!

Andrea and Yvonne raised her and led her to a chair. Eugène watched themwith a cynical eye, then laughed brutally, and, gathering up his hat andcloak, he moved towards the balcony door and vanished. 

"Is M. De Luynes still there?" quoth Geneviève presently. 

"I am here, Madame. "

"You had best set out, Monsieur, " she said. "We shall follow soon--verysoon. "

I took Andrea aside and asked him whither it was his intention to takehis wife. He replied that they would go to Chambord, where they wouldremain for some weeks in the hope that the Chevalier might relentsufficiently to forgive them. Thereafter it was his purpose to take hisbride home to his Sicilian demesne. 

Our farewells were soon spoken; yet none the less warm, for all itsbrevity, was my leave-taking of Andrea, and our wishes for each other'shappiness were as fervent as the human heart can shape. We littlethought that we were not destined to meet again for years. 

Yvonne's adieu was cold and formal--so cold and formal that it seemed torob the sunshine of its glory for me as I stepped out into the open air. 

After all, what mattered it? I was a fool to have entertained a singletender thought concerning her. 

CHAPTER XIX. OF MY RETURN TO PARIS

Scant cause is there for me to tarry over the details of my return toParis. A sad enough journey was it; as sad for my poor Michelot as formyself, since he rode with one so dejected as I. 

Things had gone ill, and I feared that when the Cardinal heard the storythings would go worse, for Mazarin was never a tolerant man, nor one tobe led by the gospel of mercy and forgiveness. For myself I foresaw therope--possibly even the wheel; and a hundred times a day I dubbed myselfa fool for obeying the voice of honour with such punctiliousness whenso grim a reward awaited me. What mood was on me--me, Gaston de Luynes, whose honour had been long since besmirched and tattered until nooutward semblance of honour was left?

But swift in the footsteps of that question would come theanswer--Yvonne. Ay, truly enough, it was because in my heart I haddared to hold a sentiment of love for her, the purest--nay, the onlypure--thing my heart had held for many a year, that I would set nothingvile to keep company with that sentiment; that until my sun shouldset--and already it dropped swiftly towards life's horizon--my actionsshould be the actions of such a man as might win Yvonne's affections. 

But let that be. This idle restrospective mood can interest you butlittle; nor can you profit from it, unless, indeed, it be by notinghow holy and cleansing to the heart of man is the love--albeitunrequited--that he bears a good woman. 

As we drew near Meung--where we lay on that first night of ourjourney--a light travelling chaise, going in the same direction, passedus at a gallop. As it flashed by, I caught a glimpse of Eugène deCanaples's swart face through the window. Whether the recognition wasmutual I cannot say--nor does it signify. 

When we reached the Hôtel de la Couronne, half an hour later, we sawthat same chaise disappearing round a corner of the street, whilstthrough the porte-cochère the hostler was leading a pair of horses, foam-flecked and steaming with sweat. 

Whither went Master Canaples at such a rate, and in a haste that causedhim to travel day and night? To a goal he little looked for--or rather, which, in the madness of his headlong rush, he could not see. So I wasto learn ere long. 

Next day I awoke betimes, and setting my window wide to let in thefresh, clean-smelling air of that May morning I made shift to dress. Save for the cackle of the poultry which had strayed into the courtyard, and the noisy yawns and sleep-laden ejaculations of the stable-boy, whowas drawing water for the horses, all was still, for it had not yet gonefive o'clock. 

But of a sudden a door opened somewhere, and a step rang out, accompanied by the jangle of spurs, and with it came a sharp, unpleasantvoice calling for its owner's horse. There was a familiar sound in thoseshrill accents that caused me to thrust my head through the casement. But I was quick to withdraw it, as I recognised in the gaily dressedlittle fellow below my old friend Malpertuis. 

I know not what impulse made me draw back so suddenly. The action was asmuch the child of instinct as of the lately acquired habit of concealingmy face from the gaze of all who were likely to spread abroad the newsthat I still lived. 

From behind my curtains I watched Malpertuis ride out of the yard, saying, in answer to a parting question of the landlord, who had comeupon the scene, that he would breakfast at Beaugency. 

Then, as he rode down the street, he of a sudden raised his discordantvoice and sang to the accompaniment of his horse's hoofs. And the burdenof his song ran thus:

 A frondeur wind Got up to-day, 'Gainst Mazarin It blows, they say. 

I listened in amazement to his raven's voice. 

Whither was he bound, I asked myself, and whence a haste that made himset out fasting, with an anti-cardinalist ditty on his lips, and ridetwo leagues to seek a breakfast in a village that did not hold an innwhere a dog might be housed in comfort?

Like Eugène de Canaples, he also travelled towards a goal that he littledreamt of. And so albeit the one went south and the other north, these two men were, between them, drawing together the thread of thisnarrative of mine, as anon you shall learn. 

We reached Paris at dusk three days later, and we went straight to myold lodging in the Rue St. Antoine. 

Coupri started and gasped upon beholding me, and not until I had cursedhim for a fool in a voice that was passing human would he believe that Iwas no ghost. He too had heard the rumour of my death. 

I dispatched Michelot to the Palais Royal, where--without permitting hismotive to transpire--he was to ascertain for me whether M. De Montrésorwas in Paris, whether he still dwelt at the Hôtel des Cloches, and atwhat hour he could be found there. 

Whilst he was away I went up to my room, and there I found a letterwhich Coupri informed me had been left by a lackey a month ago--beforethe report that I had been killed had reached Paris--and since lainforgotten. It was a delicate note, to which still hung the ghost of aperfume; there were no arms on the seal, but the writing I took to bethat of my aunt, the Duchesse de Chevreuse, and vaguely marvelling whatmotive she could have had for communicating with me, I cut the silk. 

It was, indeed, from the Duchesse, but it contained no more than arequest that I should visit her at her hôtel on the day following uponthat on which she had written, adding that she had pleasing news for me. 

I thrust the note into my pocket with a sigh. Of what could it avail menow to present myself at her hôtel? Her invitation was for a month ago. Since then she would likely enough have heard the rumour that had beencurrent, and would have ceased to expect me. 

I caught myself wondering whether the news might have caused her a pangof regret, and somehow methought this possible. For of all my relatives, Madame de Chevreuse was the only one--and she was but my aunt bymarriage--who of late years had shown me any kindness, or evenrecognition. I marvelled what her pleasing news could be, and Iconcluded that probably she had heard of my difficulties, and wishedonce again to help me out of them. Well, my purse was hollow, indeed, at the moment, but I need not trouble her, since I was going somewherewhere purses are not needed--on a journey to which no expenses areattached. 

In my heart, nevertheless, I blessed the gracious lady, who, for all thelies that the world may have told of her, was the kindest woman I hadknown, and the best--save one other. 

I was still musing when Michelot returned with the information that M. De Montrésor was to be found at the Hôtel des Cloches, whither he hadgone to sup a few minutes before. Straightway I set out, bidding himattend me, and, muffled in my cloak, I proceeded at a brisk pace to theRue des Fosses St. Germain, where the lieutenant's auberge was situated. 

I left Michelot in the common-room, and, preceded by the plump littlewoman who owned the house, I ascended to Montrésor's chamber. I foundthe young soldier at table, and, fortunately, alone. He rose as Ientered, and as the hostess, retreating, closed the door, I doffed myhat, and letting fall my cloak revealed myself. His lips parted, and Iheard the hiss of an indrawn breath as his astonished eyes fell upon mycountenance. My laugh dispelled his doubts that I might be other thanflesh and blood--yet not his doubts touching my identity. He caught upa taper and, coming forward, he cast the light on my face for a moment, then setting the candle back upon the table, he vented his surprise inan oath or two, which was natural enough in one of his calling. 

"'T is clear, Lieutenant, " quoth I, as I detached my sword from thebaldrick, "that you believed me dead. Fate willed, however, that Ishould be restored to life, and so soon as I had recovered sufficientstrength to undertake the journey to Paris, I set out. I arrived an hourago, and here I am, to redeem my word of honour, and surrender the swordand liberty which you but lent me. "

I placed my rapier on the table and waited for him to speak. Instead, however, he continued to stare at me for some moments, and when at lasthe did break the silence, it was to burst into a laugh that poured fromhis throat in rich, mellow peals, as he lay back in his chair. 

My wrath arose. Had I travelled from Blois, and done what I deemed themost honourable deed of my life, to be laughed at for my pains by afoppish young jackanapes of his Eminence's guards? Something of mydispleasure must he have seen reflected on my face, for of a sudden hechecked his mirth. 

"Forgive me, M. De Luynes, " he gasped. "Pardieu, 't is no matter forlaughter, and albeit I laughed with more zest than courtesy, I give youmy word that my admiration for you vastly exceeds my amusement. M. DeLuynes, " he added, rising and holding out his hand to me, "there areliars in Paris who give you an evil name--men who laughed at me whenthey heard that I had given you leave to go on parole to St. Sulpice desReaux that night, trusting to your word of honour that you would returnif you lived. His Eminence dubbed me a fool and went near to dismissingme from his service, and yet I have now the proof that my confidence wasnot misplaced, since even though you were believed to be dead, you didnot hesitate to bring me your sword. "

"Monsieur, spare me!" I exclaimed, for in truth his compliments waxed asirksome as had been his whilom merriment. 

He continued, however, his laudatory address, and when it was at lastended, and he paused exhausted alike in breath and brain, it was to takeup my sword and return it to me with my parole, pronouncing me a freeman, and advising me to let men continue to think me dead, and towithdraw from France. He cut short my half-protesting thanks, andcalling the hostess bade her set another cover, whilst me he invited toshare his supper. And as we ate he again urged upon me the advice that Ishould go abroad. 

"For by Heaven, " he added, "Mazarin has been as a raging beast since thenews was brought him yesterday of his nephew's marriage. "

"How?" I cried. "He has heard already?"

"He has, indeed; and should he learn that your flesh still walks theearth, methinks it would go worse with you than it went even with Eugènede Canaples. "

In answer to the questions with which I excitedly plied him, I drew fromhim the story of how Eugène had arrived the day before in Paris, andgone straight to the Palais Royal. M. De Montrésor had been on guardin the ante-chamber, and in virtue of an excitement noticeable inCanaples's bearing, coupled with the ill-odour wherein already he washeld by Mazarin, the lieutenant's presence had been commanded in theCardinal's closet during the interview--for his Eminence was never liketo acquire fame for valour. 

In his exultation at what had chanced, and at the manner in whichMazarin's Château en Espagne had been dispelled, Canaples used littlecaution, or even discretion, in what he said. In fact, from whatMontrésor told me, I gathered that the fool's eagerness to be the firstto bear the tidings to Mazarin sprang from a rash desire to gloat overthe Cardinal's discomfiture. He had told his story insolently--almostderisively--and Mazarin's fury, driven beyond bounds already by whathe had heard, became a very tempest of passion 'neath the lash ofCanaples's impertinences. And, naturally enough, that tempest had burstupon the only head available--Eugène de Canaples's--and the Cardinal hadanswered his jibes with interest by calling upon Montrésor to arrest thefellow and bear him to the Bastille. 

When the astonished and sobered Canaples had indignantly asked upon whatcharge he was being robbed of his liberty, the Cardinal had laughedat him, and answered with his never-failing axiom that "He who sings, pays. "

"You sang lustily enough just now, " his Eminence had added, "and youshall pay by lodging awhile in an oubliette of the Bastille, where youmay lift up your voice to sing the De profundis. "

"Was my name not mentioned?" I anxiously inquired when Montrésor hadfinished. 

"Not once. You may depend that I should have remarked it. After I hadtaken Canaples away, the Cardinal, I am told, sat down, and, stilltrembling with rage, wrote a letter which he straightway dispatched tothe Chevalier Armand de Canaples, at Blois. 

"No doubt, " I mused, "he attributes much blame to me for what has cometo pass. "

"Not a doubt of it. This morning he said to me that it was a pity yourwings had not been clipped before you left Paris, and that his misplacedclemency had helped to bring him great misfortunes. You see, therefore, M. De Luynes, that your sojourn in France will be attended with greatperil. I advise you to try Spain; 't is a martial country where a man ofthe sword may find honourable and even profitable employment. "

His counsel I deemed sound. But how follow it? Then of a sudden Ibethought me of Madame de Chevreuse's friendly letter. Doubtless shewould assist me once again, and in such an extremity as this. And withthe conception of the thought came the resolution to visit her on themorrow. That formed, I gave myself up to the task of drinking M. DeMontrésor under the table with an abandon which had not been mine formonths. In each goblet that I drained, methought I saw Yvonne's sweetface floating on the surface of the red Armagnac; it looked now sad, nowreproachful, still I drank on, and in each cup I pledged her. 

CHAPTER XX. OF HOW THE CHEVALIER DE CANAPLES BECAME A FRONDEUR

It wanted an hour or so to noon next day as I drove across the Pont Neufin a closed carriage, and was borne down the Rue St. Dominique to theportals of that splendid palace, facing the Jacobins, which bears thetitle of the "Hôtel de Luynes, " and over the portals of which is carvedthe escutcheon of our house. 

Michelot--in obedience to the orders I had given him--got down only tobe informed that Madame la Duchesse was in the country. The lackey whowas summoned did not know where the lady might be found, nor when shemight return to Paris. And so I was compelled to drive back almostdespairingly to the Rue St. Antoine, and there lie concealed, nursing myimpatience, until my aunt should return. 

Daily I sent Michelot to the Hôtel de Luynes to make the same inquiry, and to return daily with the same dispiriting reply--that there was nonews of Madame la Duchesse. 

In this fashion some three weeks wore themselves out, during whichperiod I lay in my concealment, a prey to weariness unutterable. I mightnot venture forth save at night, unless I wore a mask; and as maskswere no longer to be worn without attracting notice--as during the lateking's reign--I dared not indulge the practice. 

Certainly my ennui was greatly relieved by the visits of Montrésor, which grew very frequent, the lad appearing to have conceived a kindnessfor me; and during those three weeks our fellowship at nights over abottle or two engendered naturally enough a friendship and an intimacybetween us. 

I had written to Andrea on the morrow of my return to Paris, to tellhim how kindly Montrésor had dealt with me, and some ten days later thefollowing letter was brought me by the lieutenant--to whom, for safety, it had been forwarded:

"MY VERY DEAR GASTON:

I have no words wherewith to express my joy at the good news you sendme, which terminates the anxiety that has been mine since you left us onthe disastrous morning of our nuptials. 

The uncertainty touching your fate, the fear that the worst might havebefallen you, and the realisation that I--for whom you have done somuch--might do naught for you in your hour of need, has been the onecloud to mar the sunshine of my own bliss. 

That cloud your letter has dispelled, and the knowledge of your safetyrenders my happiness complete. 

The Chevalier maintains his unforgiving mood, as no doubt doth also myLord Cardinal. But what to me are the frowns of either, so that my ladysmile? My little Geneviève is yet somewhat vexed in spirit at all this, but I am teaching her to have faith in Time, the patron saint of alllovers who follow not the course their parents set them. And so thattime may be allowed to intercede and appeal to the parent heart withthe potent prayer of a daughter's absence, I shall take my lady fromChambord some three days hence. We shall travel by easy stages toMarseilles, and there take ship for Palermo. 

And so, dear, trusty friend, until we meet again, fare you well andmay God hold you safe from the wickedness of man, devil, and my LordCardinal. 

For all that you have done for me, no words of mine can thank you, but should you determine to quit this France of yours, and journey toPalermo after me, you shall never want a roof to shelter you or a boardto sit at, so long as roof and board are owned by him who signs himself, in love at least, your brother--

"ANDREA DE MANCINI. "

With a sigh I set the letter down. A sigh of love and gratitude it was;a sigh also of regret for the bright, happy boy who had been the sourcealike of my recent joys and sorrows, and whom methought I was notlikely to see again for many a day, since the peaceful vegetation of hisSicilian home held little attraction for me, a man of action. 

It was on the evening of the last Sunday in May, whilst the bell ofthe Jesuits, close by, was tinkling out its summons to vespers, thatMontrésor burst suddenly into my room with the request that I shouldget my hat and cloak and go with him to pay a visit. In reply to myquestions--"Monseigneur's letter to Armand de Canaples, " he said, "hasborne fruit already. Come with me and you shall learn how. "

He led me past the Bastille and up the Rue des Tournelles to the doorof an unpretentious house, upon which he knocked. We were admitted by anold woman to whom Montrésor appeared to be known, for, after exchanginga word or two with her, he himself led the way upstairs and opened thedoor of a room for me. 

By the melancholy light of a single taper burning upon the table Ibeheld a fair-sized room containing a curtained bed. 

My companion took up the candle, and stepping to the bedside, he drewapart the curtains. 

Lying there I beheld a man whose countenance, despite its pallor andthe bloody bandages about his brow, I recognised for that of the littlespitfire Malpertuis. 

As the light fell upon his face, the little fellow opened his eyes, andupon beholding me at his side he made a sudden movement which wrung fromhim a cry of pain. 

"Lie still, Monsieur, " said Montrésor quietly. 

But for all the lieutenant's remonstrances, he struggled up into asitting posture, requesting Montrésor to set the pillows at his back. 

"Thank God you are here, M. De Luynes!" he said. "I learnt at Canaplesthat you were not dead. "

"You have been to Canaples?"

"I was a guest of the Chevalier for twelve days. I arrived there on theday after your departure. "

"You!" I ejaculated. "Pray what took you to Canaples?"

"What took me there?" he echoed, turning his feverish eyes upon me, almost with fierceness. "The same motive that led me to join hands withthat ruffian St. Auban, when he spoke of waging war against Mancini; thesame motive that led me to break with him when I saw through his plans, and when the abduction of Mademoiselle was on foot; the same motive thatmade me come to you and tell you of the proposed abduction so that youmight interfere if you had the power, or cause others to do so if youhad not. "

I lay back in my chair and stared at him. Was this, then, another suitorof Yvonne de Canaples, and were all men mad with love of her?

Presently he continued:

"When I heard that St. Auban was in Paris, having apparently abandonedall hope in connection with Mademoiselle, I obtained a letter from M. Dela Rochefoucauld--who is an intimate friend of mine--and armed with thisI set out. As luck would have it I got embroiled in the streets of Bloiswith a couple of cardinalist gentlemen, who chose to be offended bylampoon of the Fronde that I was humming. I am not a patient man, and Iam even indiscreet in moments of choler. I ended by crying, 'Down withMazarin and all his creatures, ' and I would of a certainty have had mythroat slit, had not a slight and elegant gentleman interposed, and, exercising a wonderful influence over my assailants, extricated me frommy predicament. This gentleman was the Chevalier de Canaples. He wasstrangely enough in a mood to be pleased by an anti-cardinalist ditty, for his rage against Andrea de Mancini--which he took no pains toconceal--had extended already to the Cardinal, and from morn till nighthe did little else but revile the whole Italian brood--as he chose todub the Cardinal's family. "

I recognised the old knight's weak, vacillating character in this, acreature of moods that, like the vane on a steeple, turns this way orthat, as the wind blows. 

"I crave your patience, M. De Luynes, " he continued, "and beg of youto hear my story so that you may determine whether you will save theCanaples from the danger that threatens them. I only ask that youdispatch a reliable messenger to Blois. But hear me out first. In virtueas much of La Rochefoucauld's letters as of the sentiments which theChevalier heard me express, I became the honoured guest at his château. Three days after my arrival I sustained a shock by the unexpectedappearance at Canaples of St. Auban. The Chevalier, however, refusedhim admittance, and, baffled, the Marquis was forced to withdraw. But hewent no farther than Blois, where he hired himself a room at the Lys deFrance. The Chevalier hated him as a mad dog hates water--almost as muchas he hated you. He spoke often of you, and always bitterly. "

Before I knew what I had said--

"And Mademoiselle?" I burst out. "Did she ever mention my name?"

Malpertuis looked up quickly at the question, and a wan smile flickeredround his lips. 

"Once she spoke of you to me--pityingly, as one might speak of a deadman whose life had not been good. "

"Yes, yes, " I broke in. "It matters little. Your story, M. Malpertuis. "

"After I had been at the château ten days, we learnt that Eugène deCanaples had been sent to the Bastille. The news came in a letter pennedby his Eminence himself--a bitter, viperish letter, with a covert threatin every line. The Chevalier's anger went white hot as he read thedisappointed Cardinal's epistle. His Eminence accused Eugène of being afrondeur; M. De Canaples, whose politics had grown sadly rusted in thecountry, asked me the meaning of the word. I explained to him thepetty squabbles between Court and Parliament, in consequence of theextortionate imposts and of Mazarin's avariciousness. I avowed myself apartisan of the Fronde, and within three days the Chevalier--who buta little time before had sought an alliance with the Cardinal'sfamily--had become as rabid a frondeur as M. De Gondi, as fierce ananti­cardinalist as M. De Beaufort. 

"I humoured him in his new madness, with the result that ere long frombeing a frondeur in heart, he thirsted to become a frondeur in deeds, and he ended by begging me to bear a letter from him to the Coadjutorof Paris, wherein he offered to place at M. De Gondi's disposal, towardsthe expenses of the civil war which he believed to be imminent, --as, indeed, it is, --the sum of sixty thousand livres. 

"Now albeit I had gone to Canaples for purposes of my own, and not asan agent of M. Le Coadjuteur's, still for many reasons I saw fit toundertake the Chevalier's commission. And so, bearing the letterin question, which was hot and unguarded, and charged with endlesstreasonable matter, I set out four days later for Paris, arriving hereyesterday. 

"I little knew that I had been followed by St. Auban. His suspicionsmust have been awakened, I know not how, and clearly they were confirmedwhen I stopped before the Coadjutor's house last night. I was about tomount the steps, when of a sudden I was seized from behind by half adozen hands and dragged into a side street. I got free for a moment andattempted to defend myself, but besides St. Auban there were two others. They broke my sword and attempted to break my skull, in which they wentperilously near succeeding, as you see. Albeit half-swooning, I hadyet sufficient consciousness left to realise that my pockets were beingemptied, and that at last they had torn open my doublet and withdrawnthe treasonable letter from the breast of it. 

"I was left bleeding in the kennel, and there I lay for nigh upon anhour until a passer-by succoured me and carried out my request to bebrought hither and put to bed. "

He ceased, and for some moments there was silence, broken only by thewounded man's laboured breathing, which argued that his narrative hadleft him fatigued. At last I sprang up. 

"The Chevalier de Canaples must be warned, " I exclaimed. 

"'T is an ugly business, " muttered Montrésor. "I'll wager a hundred thatMazarin will hang the Chevalier if he catches him just now. "

"He would not dare!" cried Malpertuis. 

"Not dare?" echoed the lieutenant. "The man who imprisoned the Princesof Condé and Conti, and the Duke of Beaufort, not dare hang a provincialknight with never a friend at Court! Pah, Monsieur, you do not knowCardinal Mazarin. "

I realised to the full how likely Montrésor's prophecy was to befulfilled, and before I left Malpertuis I assured him that he had notpoured his story into the ears of an indifferent listener, and that Iwould straightway find means of communicating with Canaples. 

CHAPTER XXI. OF THE BARGAIN THAT ST. AUBAN DROVE WITH MY LORD CARDINAL

From the wounded man's bedside I wended my steps back to the Rue St. Antoine, resolved to start for Blois that very night; and beside mewalked Montrésor, with bent head, like a man deep in thought. 

At my door I paused to take my leave of the lieutenant, for I wasin haste to have my preparations made, and to be gone. But Montrésorappeared not minded to be dismissed thus easily. 

"What plan have you formed?" he asked. 

"The only plan there is to form--to set out for Canaples at once. "

"Hum!" he grunted, and again was silent. Then, suddenly throwing backhis head, "Par la mort Dieu!" he cried, "I care not what comes of it;I'll tell you what I know. Lead the way to your chamber, M. De Luynes, and delay your departure until you have heard me. "

Surprised as much by his words as by the tone in which he uttered them, which was that of a man who is angry with himself, I passively did as Iwas bidden. 

Once within my little ante-chamber, he turned the key with his ownhands, and pointing to the door of my bedroom--"In there, Monsieur, "quoth he, "we shall be safe from listeners. "

Deeper grew my astonishment at all this mystery, as we passed into theroom beyond. 

"Now, M. De Luynes, " he cried, flinging down his hat, "for no apparentreason I am about to commit treason; I am about to betray the hand thatpays me. "

"If no reason exists, why do so evil a deed?" I inquired calmly. "I havelearnt during our association to wish you well, Montrésor; if by tellingme that which your tongue burns to tell, you shall have cause for shame, the door is yonder. Go before harm is done, and leave me alone to fightmy battle out. "

He stood up, and for a moment he seemed to waver, then dismissing hisdoubts with an abrupt gesture, he sat down again. 

"There is no wrong in what I do. Right is with you, M. De Luynes, andif I break faith with the might I serve, it is because that might isan unjust one; I do but betray the false to the true, and there can belittle shame in such an act. Moreover, I have a reason--but let thatbe. "

He was silent for a moment, then he resumed:

"Most of that which you have learnt from Malpertuis to-night, I myselfcould have told you. Yes; St. Auban has carried Canaples's letter to theCardinal already. I heard from his lips to-day--for I was present at theinterview--how the document had been wrested from Malpertuis. For yoursake, so that you might learn all he knew, I sought the fellow out, andhaving found him in the Rue des Tournelles, I took you thither. "

In a very fever of excitement I listened. 

"To take up the thread of the story where Malpertuis left off, let metell you that St. Auban sought an audience with Mazarin this morning, and by virtue of a note which he desired an usher to deliver to hisEminence, he was admitted, the first of all the clients that for hourshad thronged the ante-room. As in the instance of the audience to Eugènede Canaples, so upon this occasion did it chance that the Cardinal'sfears touching St. Auban's purpose had been roused, for he bade me standbehind the curtains in his cabinet. 

"The Marquis spoke bluntly enough, and with rude candour he stated thatsince Mazarin had failed to bring the Canaples estates into his familyby marriage, he came to set before his Eminence a proof so utter ofCanaples's treason that it would enable him to snatch the estatesby confiscation. The Cardinal may have been staggered by St. Auban'sbluntness, but his avaricious instincts led him to stifle his feelingsand bid the Marquis to set this proof before him. But St. Auban hada bargain to drive--a preposterous one methought. He demanded that inreturn for his delivering into the hands of Mazarin the person of Armandde Canaples together with an incontestable proof that the Chevalier wasin league with the frondeurs, and had offered to place a large sum ofmoney at their disposal, he was to receive as recompense the demesneof Canaples on the outskirts of Blois, together with one third of theconfiscated estates. At first Mazarin gasped at his audacity, thenlaughed at him, whereupon St. Auban politely craved his Eminence'spermission to withdraw. This the Cardinal, however, refused him, andbidding him remain, he sought to bargain with him. But the Marquisreplied that he was unversed in the ways of trade and barter, and thathe had no mind to enter into them. From bargaining the Cardinal passedon to threatening and from threatening to whining, and so on until theend--St. Auban preserving a firm demeanour--the comedy was played outand Mazarin fell in with his proposal and his terms. 

"Mille diables!" I cried. "And has St. Auban set out?"

"He starts to-morrow, and I go with him. When finally the Cardinalhad consented, the Marquis demanded and obtained from him a promise inwriting, signed and sealed by Mazarin, that he should receive a thirdof the Canaples estates and the demesne on the outskirts of Blois, inexchange for the body of Armand de Canaples, dead or alive, and a proofof treason sufficient to warrant his arrest and the confiscation of hisestates. Next, seeing in what regard the Seigneur is held by the peopleof Blois, and fearing that his arrest might be opposed by many of hisadherents, the Marquis has demanded a troop of twenty men. This Mazarinhas also granted him, entrusting the command of the troop to me, underSt. Auban. Further, the Marquis has stipulated that the greatest secrecyis to be observed, and has expressed his purpose of going upon thisenterprise disguised and masked, for--as he rightly opines--when monthshence he enters into possession of the demesne of Canaples in thecharacter of purchaser, did the Blaisois recognise in him the man whosold the Chevalier, his life would stand in hourly peril. "

I heard him through patiently enough; yet when he stopped, my pent-upfeelings burst all bonds, and I resolved there and then to go in questof that Judas, St. Auban, and make an end of his plotting, for all time. But Montrésor restrained me, showing me how futile such a course mustprove, and how I risked losing all chance of aiding those at Canaples. 

He was right. First I must warn the Chevalier--afterwards I would dealwith St. Auban. 

Someone knocked at that moment, and with the entrance of Michelot, mytalk with Montrésor came perforce to an end. For Michelot brought me thenews that for days I had been awaiting; Madame de Chevreuse had returnedto Paris at last. 

But for Montrésor's remonstrances it is likely that I should have setout forthwith to wait upon her. I permitted myself, however, to bepersuaded that the lateness of the hour would render my visit unwelcome, and so I determined in the end--albeit grudgingly--to put off mydeparture for Blois until the morrow. 

Noon had but struck from Nôtre Dame, next day, as I mounted the stepsof the Hôtel de Luynes. My swagger, and that brave suit of pearl greyvelvet with its silver lace, bore me unchallenged past the gorgeoussuisse, who stood, majestic, in the doorway. 

But, for the first mincing lackey I chanced upon, more was needed togain me an audience. And so, as I did not choose to speak my name, Idrew a ring from my finger and bade him bear it to the Duchesse. 

He obeyed me in this, and presently returning, he bowed low and beggedof me to follow him, for, as I had thought, albeit Madame de Chevreusemight not know to whom that ring belonged, yet the arms of Luynes carvedupon the stone had sufficed to ensure an interview. 

I was ushered into a pretty boudoir, hung in blue and gold, whichoverlooked the garden, and wherein, reclining upon a couch, with abook of Bois Robert's verses in her white and slender hand, I found mybeautiful aunt. 

Of this famous lady, who was the cherished friend and more than sisterof Anne of Austria, much has been written; much that is good, andmore--far more--that is ill, for those who have a queen for friend shallnever lack for enemies. But those who have praised and those who havecensured have at least been at one touching her marvellous beauty. Atthe time whereof I write it is not possible that she could be less thanforty-six, and yet her figure was slender and shapely and still endowedwith the grace of girlhood; her face delicate of tint, and little markedby time--or even by the sufferings to which, in the late king's reign, Cardinal de Richelieu had subjected her; her eyes were blue and peacefulas a summer sky; her hair was the colour of ripe corn. He would be ahardy guesser who set her age at so much as thirty. 

My appearance she greeted by letting fall her book, and lifting up herhands--the loveliest in France--she uttered a little cry of surprise. 

"Is it really you, Gaston?" she asked. 

Albeit it was growing wearisome to be thus greeted by all to whom Ishowed myself, yet I studied courtesy in my reply, and then, 'neaththe suasion of her kindliness, I related all that had befallen mesince first I had journeyed to Blois, in Andrea de Mancini's company, withholding, however, all allusions to my feelings towards Yvonne. Whybetray them when they were doomed to be stifled in the breast that begatthem? But Madame de Chevreuse had not been born a woman and lived sixand forty years to no purpose. 

"And this maid with as many suitors as Penelope, is she very beautiful?"she inquired slyly. 

"France does not hold her equal, " I answered, falling like a simpletoninto the trap she had set me. 

"This to me?" quoth she archly. "Fi donc, Gaston! Your evil ways havetaught you as little gallantry as dissimulation. " And her merry rippleof laughter showed me how in six words I had betrayed that which I hadbeen at such pains to hide. 

But before I could, by protestations, plunge deeper than I stoodalready, the Duchesse turned the conversation adroitly to the matter ofthat letter of hers, wherein she had bidden me wait upon her. 

A cousin of mine--one Marion de Luynes, who, like myself, had, throughthe evil of his ways, become an outcast from his family--was latelydead. Unlike me, however, he was no adventurous soldier of fortune, buta man of peace, with an estate in Provence that had a rent-roll of fivethousand livres a year. On his death-bed he had cast about him for anheir, unwilling that his estate should swell the fortunes of the familythat in life had disowned him. Into his ear some kindly angel hadwhispered my name, and the memory that I shared with him the frowns ofour house, and that my plight must be passing pitiful, had set up a bondof sympathy between us, which had led him to will his lands to me. OfMadame de Chevreuse--who clearly was the patron saint of those of herfirst husband's nephews who chanced to tread ungodly ways--my cousinMarion had besought that she should see to the fulfilment of his lastwishes. 

My brain reeled beneath the first shock of that unlooked-for news. Already I saw myself transformed from a needy adventurer into agentleman of fortune, and methought my road to Yvonne lay open, allobstacles removed. But swiftly there followed the thought of my ownposition, and truly it seemed that a cruel irony lay in the mannerwherein things had fallen out, since did I declare myself to be aliveand claim the Provence estates, the Cardinal's claws would be quick toseize me. 

Thus much I told Madame de Chevreuse, but her answer cheered me, andsaid much for my late cousin's prudence. 

"Nay, " she cried. "Marion was ever shrewd. Knowing that men who live bythe sword, as you have lived, are often wont to die by the sword, --andthat suddenly at times, --he has made provision that in the event ofyour being dead his estates shall come to me, who have been the mostindulgent of his relatives. This, my dear Gaston, has already takenplace, for we believed you dead; and therein fortune has been kind toyou, for now, while receiving the revenues of your lands--which theworld will look upon as mine--I shall contrive that they reach youwherever you may be, until such a time as you may elect to come to lifeagain. "

Now but for the respect in which I held her, I could have taken thepretty Duchesse in my arms and kissed her. 

Restraining myself, however, I contented myself by kissing her hand, andtold her of the journey I was going, then craved another boon of her. No matter what the issue of that journey, and whether I went alone oraccompanied, I was determined to quit France and repair to Spain. ThereI would abide until the Parliament, the Court, or the knife of somechance assassin, or even Nature herself should strip Mazarin of hispower. 

Now, at the Court of Spain it was well known that my aunt's influencewas vast, and so, the boon I craved was that she should aid me to aposition in the Spanish service that would allow me during my exile tofind occupation and perchance renown. To this my aunt most graciouslyacceded, and when at length I took my leave--with such gratitude in myheart that what words I could think of seemed but clumsily to expressit--I bore in the breast of my doublet a letter to Don Juan deCordova--a noble of great prominence at the Spanish Court--and in thepocket of my haut-de-chausses a rouleau of two hundred gold pistoles, aswelcome as they were heavy. 

CHAPTER XXII. OF MY SECOND JOURNEY TO CANAPLES

An hour after I had quitted the Hôtel de Luynes, Michelot and I leftParis by the barrier St. Michel and took the Orleans road. How differentit looked in the bright June sunshine, to the picture which it hadpresented to our eyes on that February evening, four months ago, whenlast we had set out upon that same journey!

Not only in nature had a change been wrought, but in my very self. Myjourney then had been aimless, and I had scarcely known whither I wasbound nor had I fostered any great concern thereon. Now I rode in hothaste with a determined purpose, a man of altered fortunes and alteredcharacter. 

Into Choisy we clattered at a brisk pace, but at the sight of the innof the Connétable such memories surged up that I was forced to draw reinand call for a cup of Anjou, which I drank in the saddle. Thereafter werode without interruption through Longjumeau, Arpajon, and Etrechy, andso well did we use our horses that as night fell we reached Étampes. 

From inquiries that Michelot had made on the road, we learned that notroop such as that which rode with St. Auban had lately passed that way, so that 't was clear we were in front of them. 

But scarce had we finished supper in the little room which I had hiredat the Gros Paon, when, from below, a stamping of hoofs, the jangle ofarms, and the shouts of many men told me that we were overtaken. 

Clearly I did not burn with a desire to linger, but rather it seemed tome that although night had closed in, black and moonless, we must setout again, and push on to Monnerville, albeit our beasts were worn andthe distance a good three leagues. 

With due precaution we effected our departure, and thereafter had a spurbeen needed to speed us on our way that spur we had in the knowledgethat St. Auban came close upon our heels. At Monnerville we slept, andnext morning we were early afoot; by four o'clock in the afternoon wehad reached Orleans, whence--with fresh horses--we pursued our journeyas far as Meung, where we lay that night. 

There we were joined by a sturdy rascal whom Michelot enlisted into myservice, seeing that not only did my means allow, but the enterpriseupon which I went might perchance demand another body servant. Thisrecruit was a swart, powerfully built man of about my own age; trusty, and a lover of hard knocks, as Michelot--who had long counted him amonghis friends--assured me. He owned the euphonious name of Abdon. 

I spent twenty pistoles in suitable raiment and a horse for him, and aswe left Meung next day the knave cut a brave enough figure that addednot a little to my importance to have at my heels. 

This, however, so retarded our departure, that night had fallen by thetime we reached Blois. Still our journey had been a passing swift one. We had left Paris on a Monday, the fourth of June--I have good cause toremember, since on that day I entered both upon my thirty-second yearand my altered fortunes; on the evening of Wednesday we reached Blois, having covered a distance of forty-three leagues in less than threedays. 

Bidding Michelot carry my valise to the hostelry of the Vigne d'Or, and there await my coming, I called to Abdon to attend me, and rode on, jaded and travel-stained though I was, to Canaples, realising fully thatthere was no time to lose. 

Old Guilbert, who came in answer to my knock at the door of thechâteau, looked askance when he beheld me, and when I bade him carry mycompliments to the Chevalier, with the message that I desired immediatespeech of him on a matter of the gravest moment, he shook his grey headand protested that it would be futile to obey me. Yet, in the end, when I had insisted, he went upon my errand, but only to return with adisturbed countenance, to tell me that the Chevalier refused to see me. 

"But I must speak to him, Guilbert, " I exclaimed, setting foot upon thetop step. "I have travelled expressly from Paris. "

The man stood firm and again shook his head. 

"I beseech you not to insist, Monsieur. M. Le Chevalier has sworn todismiss me if I permit you to set foot within the château. "

"Mille diables! This is madness! I seek to serve him, " I cried, mytemper rising fast. "At least, Guilbert, will you tell Mademoiselle thatI am here, and that I--"

"I may carry no more messages for you, Monsieur, " he broke in. "Listen!There is M. Le Chevalier. "

In reality I could hear the old knight's voice, loud and shrill withanger, and a moment later Louis, his intendant, came across the hall. 

"Guilbert, " he commanded harshly, "close the door. The night air iskeen. "

My cheeks aflame with anger, I still made one last attempt to gain anaudience. 

"Master Louis, " I exclaimed, "will you do me the favour to tell M. DeCanaples--"

"You are wasting time, Monsieur, " he interrupted. "M. De Canaples willnot see you. He bids you close the door, Guilbert. "

"Pardieu! he shall see me!"

"The door, Guilbert!"

I took a step forward, but before I could gain the threshold, the doorwas slammed in my face, and as I stood there, quivering with anger anddisappointment, I heard the bolts being shot within. 

I turned with an oath. 

"Come, Abdon, " I growled, as I climbed once more into the saddle, "letus leave the fool to the fate he has chosen. "

CHAPTER XXIII. OF HOW ST. AUBAN CAME TO BLOIS

In silence we rode back to Blois. Not that I lacked matter forconversation. Anger and chagrin at the thought that I had come upon thisjourney to earn naught but an insult and to have a door slammed in myface made my gorge rise until it went near to choking me. I burned torevile Canaples aloud, but Abdon's was not the ear into which I mightpour the hot words that welled up to my lips. 

Yet if silent, the curses that I heaped upon the Chevalier's crassnesswere none the less fervent, and to myself I thought with grim relish ofhow soon and how dearly he would pay for the affront he had put upon me. 

That satisfaction, however, endured not long; for presently I bethoughtme of how heavily the punishment would fall upon Yvonne--and yet, of howshe would be left to the mercy of St. Auban, whose warrant from Mazarinwould invest with almost any and every power at Canaples. 

I ground my teeth at the sudden thought, and for a moment I was on thepoint of going back and forcing my way into the château at the swordpoint if necessary, to warn and save the Chevalier in spite of himselfand unthanked. 

It was not in such a fashion that I had thought to see my mission toCanaples accomplished; I had dreamt of gratitude, and gratitude unbarsthe door to much. Nevertheless, whether or not I earned it, I mustreturn, and succeed where for want of insistence I had failed awhileago. 

Of a certainty I should have acted thus, but that at the very momentupon which I formed the resolution Abdon drew my attention to a darkshadow by the roadside not twenty paces in front of us. This proved tobe the motionless figure of a horseman. 

As soon as I was assured of it, I reined in my horse, and taking apistol from the holster, I levelled it at the shadow, accompanying theact by a sonorous--

"Who goes there?"

The shadow stirred, and Michelot's voice answered me:

"'T is I, Monsieur. They have arrived. I came to warn you. "

"Who has arrived?" I shouted. 

"The soldiers. They are lodged at the Lys de France. "

An oath was the only comment I made as I turned the news over in mymind. I must return to Canaples. 

Then another thought occurred to me. The Chevalier was capable of goingto extremes to keep me from entering his house; he might for instancegreet me with a blunderbuss. It was not the fear of that that deterredme, but the fear that did a charge of lead get mixed with my poor brainsbefore I had said what I went to say, matters would be no better, andthere would be one poor knave the less to adorn the world. 

"What shall we do, Michelot?" I groaned, appealing in my despair to myhenchman. 

"Might it not be well to seek speech with M. De Montrésor?" quoth he. 

I shrugged my shoulders. Nevertheless, after a moment's deliberation Idetermined to make the attempt; if I succeeded something might come ofit. 

And so I pushed on to Blois with my knaves close at my heels. 

Up the Rue Vieille we proceeded with caution, for the hostelry of theVigne d'Or, where Michelot had hired me a room, fortunately overlookingthe street, fronted the Lys de France, where St. Auban and his men werehoused. 

I gained that room of mine without mishap, and my first action was todeal summarily with a fat and well-roasted capon which the landlordset before me--for an empty stomach is a poor comrade in a desperatesituation. That meal, washed down with the best part of a bottle of redAnjou, did much to restore me alike in body and in mind. 

From my open window I gazed across the street at the Lys de France. The door of the common-room, opening upon the street, was set wide, andacross the threshold came a flood of light in which there flitted theblack figures of maybe a dozen amazed rustics, drawn thither for all theworld as bats are drawn to a glare. 

And there they hovered with open mouths and stupid eyes, hearkening tothe din of voices that floated out on the tranquil air, the snatches ofribald songs, the raucous bursts of laughter, the clink of glasses, theclank of steel, the rattle of dice, and the strange soldier oaths thatfell with every throw, and which to them must have sounded almost aswords of some foreign tongue. 

Whilst I stood by my window, the landlord entered my room, and coming upto me--

"Thank Heaven they are not housed at the Vigne d'Or, " he said. "It willtake Maître Bernard a week to rid his house of the stench of leather. They are part of a stray company that is on its way to fight theSpaniards, " he informed me. "But methinks they will be forced to spendtwo or three days at Blois; their horses are sadly jaded and will needthat rest before they can take the road again, thanks to the pace atwhich their boy of an officer must have led them. There is a gentlemanwith them who wears a mask. 'T is whispered that he is a prince ofthe blood who has made a vow not to uncover his face until this war beended, in expiation of some sin committed in mad Paris. "

I heard him in silence, and when he had done I thanked him for hisinformation. So! This was the story that the crafty St. Auban had spreadabroad to lull suspicion touching the real nature of their presenceuntil their horses should be fit to undertake the return journey toParis, or until he should have secured the person of M. De Canaples. 

Towards eleven o'clock, as the lights in the hostelry opposite wereburning low, I descended, and made my way out into the now desertedstreet. The troopers had apparently seen fit--or else been ordered--toseek their beds, for the place had grown silent, and a servant was inthe act of making fast the door for the night. The porte-cochère washalf closed, and a man carrying a lantern was making fast the bolt, whistling aimlessly to himself. Through the half of the door that wasyet open, I beheld a window from which the light fell upon a distantcorner of the courtyard. 

I drew near the fellow with the lantern, in whom I recognised René, thehostler, and as I approached he flashed the light upon my face; thenwith a gasp--"M. De Luynes, " he exclaimed, remembering me from the timewhen I had lodged at the Lys de France, three months ago. 

"Sh!" I whispered, pressing a louis d'or into his hand. "Whose window isthat, René?" And I pointed towards the light. 

"That, " he replied, "is the room of the lieutenant and the gentleman inthe mask. "

"I must take a look at them, René, and whilst I am looking I shallsearch my pocket for another louis. Now let me in. "

"I dare not, Monsieur. Maître Bernard may call me, and if the doors arenot closed--"

"Dame!" I broke in. "I shall stay but a moment. "

"But--"

"And you will have easily earned a louis d'or. If Bernard callsyou--peste, tell him that you have let fall something, and that you areseeking it. There, let me pass. "

I got past him at last, and made my way swiftly towards the other end ofthe quadrangle. 

As I approached, the sound of voices smote my ear, for the lightedwindow stood open. I stopped within half a dozen paces of it, andclimbed on to the step of a coach that stood there. Thence I could lookstraight into the room, whilst the darkness hid me from the eyes ofthose I watched. 

Three men there were; Montrésor, the sergeant of his troop, and a tallman dressed in black, and wearing a black silk mask. This I concludedto be St. Auban, despite the profusion of fair locks that fell upon hisshoulders, concealing--I rightly guessed--his natural hair, which was asblack as my own. It was a cunning addition to his disguise, and one wellcalculated to lead people on to the wrong scent hereafter. 

Presently, as I watched them, St. Auban spoke, and his voice was thatof a man whose gums are toothless, or else whose nether lip is drawnin over his teeth whilst he speaks. Here again the dissimulation was aseffective as it was simple. 

"So; that is concluded, " were the words that reached me. "To-morrowwe will install our men at the château, for while we remain here it ispreposterous to lodge them at an inn. On the following day I hope thatwe may be able to set out again. "

"If we could obtain fresh horses--" began the sergeant, when he of themask interrupted him. 

"Sangdieu! Think you my purse is bottomless? We return as we came, withthe Cardinal's horses. What signify a day or two, after all? Come--callthe landlord to light me to my room. "

I had heard enough. But more than that, whilst I listened, an idea hadof a sudden sprung up in my mind which did away with the necessityof gaining speech with Montresor--a contingency, moreover, that nowpresented insuperable difficulties. 

So I got down softly from my perch and made my way out of the yard, and, after fulfilling my part of the bargain with René, across to the Vigned'Or and to my room, there to sit and mature the plan that of a sudden Ihad conceived. 

CHAPTER XXIV. OF THE PASSING OF ST. AUBAN

Dame! What an ado there was next day in Blois, when the news came thatthe troopers had installed themselves at the Château de Canaples andthat the Chevalier had been arrested for treason by order of the LordCardinal, and that he would be taken to Paris, and--probably--thescaffold. 

Men gathered in little knots at street corners, and with sullen browsand threatening gestures they talked of the affair; and the morethey talked, the more clouded grew their looks, and more than oneanti-cardinalist pasquinade was heard in Blois that day. 

Given a leader those men would have laid hands upon pikes and muskets, and gone to the Chevalier's rescue. As I observed them, the thought didcross my mind that I might contrive a pretty fight in the rose garden ofCanaples were I so inclined. And so inclined I should, indeed, have beenbut for the plan that had come to me like an inspiration from above, andwhich methought would prove safer in the end. 

To carry out this plan of mine, I quitted Blois at nightfall, with mytwo knaves, having paid my reckoning at the Lys de France, and givenout that we were journeying to Tours. We followed the road that leads toCanaples, until we reached the first trees bordering the park. ThereI dismounted, and, leaving Abdon to guard the horses, I made my way onfoot, accompanied by Michelot, towards the garden. 

We gained this, and were on the point of quitting the shadow of thetrees, when of a sudden, by the light of the crescent moon, I behelda man walking in one of the alleys, not a hundred paces from where westood. I had but time to seize Michelot by the collar of his pourpointand draw him towards me. But as he trod precipitately backwards a twigsnapped 'neath his foot with a report that in the surrounding stillnesswas like a pistol shot. 

I caught my breath as he who walked in the garden stood still, his face, wrapped in the shadows of his hat, turned towards us. 

"Who goes there?" he shouted. Then getting no reply he came resolutelyforward, whilst I drew a pistol wherewith to welcome him did he come toonear. 

On he came, and already I had brought my pistol to a level with hishead, when fortunately he repeated his question, "Who goes there?"--andthis time I recognised the voice of Montrésor, the very man I could thenmost wish to meet. 

"Hist! Montrésor!" I called softly. "'T is I--Luynes. "

"So!" he exclaimed, coming close up to me. "You have reached Canaples atlast!"

"At last?" I echoed. 

"Whom have you there?" he inquired abruptly. 

"Only Michelot. "

"Bid him fall behind a little. "

When Michelot had complied with this request, "You see, M. De Luynes, "quoth the officer, "that you have arrived too late. "

There was a certain coldness in his tone that made me seek by my replyto sound him. 

"Indeed, I trust not, my friend. With your assistance I hope to get M. De Canaples from the clutches of St. Auban. "

He shook his head. 

"It is impossible that I should help you, " he replied with increasingcoldness. "Already once for your sake have I broken faith to those whopay me, by setting you in a position to forestall St. Auban and get M. De Canaples away before his arrival. Unfortunately, you have dalliedon the road, M. De Luynes, and Canaples is already a prisoner--a doomedone, I fear. "

"Is that your last word, Montrésor?" I inquired sadly. 

"I am sorry, " he answered in softened tones, "but you must see that Icannot do otherwise. I warned you; more you cannot expect of me. "

I sighed, and stood musing for an instant. Then--"You are right, Montrésor. Nevertheless, I am still grateful to you for the warning yougave me in Paris. God pity and help Canaples! Adieu, Montrésor. I do notthink that you will see me again. "

He took my hand, but as he did so he pushed me back into the shadow fromwhich I had stepped to proffer it him. 

"Peste!" he ejaculated. "The moon was full upon your face, and did St. Auban chance to look out, he must have seen you. "

I followed the indication of his thumb, and noted the lighted window towhich he pointed. A moment later he was gone, and as I joined Michelot, I chuckled softly to myself. 

For two hours and more I sat in the shrubbery, conversing in whisperswith Michelot, and watching the lights in the château die out one byone, until St. Auban's window, which opened on to the terrace balcony, was the only one that was not wrapt in darkness. 

I waited a little while longer, then rising I cautiously made a tour ofinspection. Peace reigned everywhere, and the only sign of life was thesentry, who with musket on shoulder paced in front of the main entrance, a silent testimony of St. Auban's mistrust of the Blaisois and of hisfears of a possible surprise. 

Satisfied that everyone slept I retraced my steps to the shrubbery whereMichelot awaited me, watching the square of light, and after exchangingword with him, I again stepped forth. 

When I was half way across the intervening space of garden, treadingwith infinite precaution, a dark shadow obscured the window, which asecond later was thrown open. Crouching hastily behind a boxwood hedge, I watched St. Auban--for I guessed that he it was--as he leaned out andgazed skywards. 

For a little while he remained there, then he withdrew, leaving thecasement open, and presently I caught the grating of a chair on theparquet floor within. If ever the gods favoured mortal, they favoured meat that moment. 

Stealthily as a cat I sprang towards the terrace, the steps to which Iclimbed on hands and knees. Stooping, I sped silently across it until Ihad gained the flower-bed immediately below the window that had drawnme to it. Crouching there--for did I stand upright my chin would be on alevel with the sill--I paused to listen for some moments. The only soundI caught was a rustle, as of paper. Emboldened, I took a deep breath, and standing up I gazed straight into the chamber. 

By the light of four tapers in heavy silver sconces, I beheld St. Aubanseated at a table littered with parchments, over which he was intentlyporing. His back was towards me, and his long black hair hung straightupon his shoulders. On the table, amid the papers, lay his golden wigand black mask, and on the floor in the centre of the room, his back andbreast of blackened steel and his sword. 

It needed but little shrewdness to guess those parchments before himto be legal documents touching the Canaples estates, and his occupationthat of casting up exactly what profit he would reap from his infamouswork of betrayal. 

So intent was the hound upon his calculations that my cautious movementspassed unheeded by him as I got astride of the window ledge. It was onlywhen I swung my right leg into the room that he turned his head, butbefore his eyes reached me I was standing upright and motionless withinthe chamber. 

I have seen fear of many sorts writ large upon the faces of men of manyconditions--from the awe that blanches the cheek of the boy soldier whenfirst he hears the cannon thundering to the terror that glazes the eyeof the vanquished swordsman who at every moment expects the deadly pointin his heart. But never had I gazed upon a countenance filled with suchabject ghastly terror as that which came over St. Auban's when his eyesmet mine that night. 

He sprang up with an inarticulate cry that sank into something that Ican but liken to the rattle which issues from the throat of expiringmen. For a second he stood where he had risen, then terror loosened hisknees, and he sank back into his chair. His mouth fell open, and thetrembling lips were drawn down at the corners like those of a sobbingchild; his cheeks turned whiter than the lawn collar at his throat, andhis eyes, wide open in a horrid stare, were fixed on mine and, powerlessto avert them, he met my gaze--cold, stern, and implacable. 

For a moment we remained thus, and I marvelled greatly to see a manwhose heart, if full of evil, I had yet deemed stout enough, stricken byfear into so parlous and pitiful a condition. 

Then I had the explanation of it as he lifted his right hand and madethe sign of the cross, first upon himself, then in the air, whilst hislips moved, and I guessed that to himself he was muttering some prayerof exorcising purport. There was the solution of the terror--sweatthat stood out in beads upon his brow--he had deemed me a spectre; thespectre of a man he believed to have foully done to death on a spotacross the Loire visible from the window at my back. 

At last he sufficiently mastered himself to break the awful silence. 

"What do you want?" he whispered; then, his voice gaining power as heused it--"Speak, " he commanded. "Man or devil, speak!"

I laughed for answer, harshly, mockingly; for never had I known afiercer, crueller mood. At the sound of that laugh, satanical though mayhave been its ring, he sprang up again, and unsheathing a dagger he tooka step towards me. 

"We shall see of what you are made, " he cried. "If you blast me in theact, I'll strike you!"

I laughed again, and raising my arm I gave him the nozzle of a pistol tocontemplate. 

"Stand where you are, St. Auban, or, by the God above us, I'll send yourghost a-wandering, " quoth I coolly. 

My voice, which I take it had nothing ghostly in it, and still morethe levelled pistol, which of all implements is the most unghostly, dispelled his dread. The colour crept slowly back to his cheeks, and hismouth closed with a snap of determination. 

"Is it, indeed, you, master meddler?" he said. "Peste! I thought youdead these three months. "

"And you are overcome with joy to find that you were in error, eh, Marquis? We Luynes die hard. "

"It seems so, indeed, " he answered with a cool effrontery past creditingin one who but a moment ago had looked so pitiful. "What do you seek atCanaples?"

"Many things, Marquis. You among others. "

"You have come to murder me, " he cried, and again alarm overspread hiscountenance. 

"Hoity, toity, Marquis! We do not all follow the same trade. Who talksof murder? Faugh!"

Again he took a step towards me, but again the nozzle of my pistol drovehim back. To have pistoled him there and then as he deserved would havebrought the household about my ears, and that would have defeated myobject. To have fallen upon him and slain him with silent steel wouldhave equally embarrassed me, as you shall understand anon. 

"You and I had a rendezvous at St. Sulpice des Reaux, " I said calmly, "to which you came with a band of hired assassins. For this you deserveto be shot like the dog you are. But I have it in my heart to begenerous to you, " I added in a tone of irony. "Come, take up yoursword. "

"To what purpose?"

"Do you question me? Take up your sword, man, and do my bidding; thusshall you have a slender chance of life. Refuse and I pistol you withoutcompunction. So now put on that wig and mask. "

When he obeyed me in this--"Now listen, St. Auban, " I said. "You andI are going together to that willow copse whither three months ago youlured Yvonne de Canaples for the purpose of abducting her. On that spotyou and I shall presently face each other sword in hand, with none otherto witness our meeting save God, in whose hands the issue lies. That isyour chance; at the first sign that you meditate playing me any tricks, that chance is lost to you. " And I tapped my pistol significantly. "Nowclimb out through that window. "

When he had done so, I bade him stand six paces away whilst I followed, and to discourage any foolish indiscretion on his part I again showedhim my pistol. 

He answered me with an impatient gesture, and by the light that fell onhis face I saw him sneer. 

"Come on, you fool, " he snarled, "and have done threatening. I'll talkto you in the copse. And tread softly lest you arouse the sentry on theother side. "

Rejoiced to see the man so wide awake in him, I followed him closelyacross the terrace, and through the rose garden to the bank of theriver. This we followed until we came at last to the belt of willows, where, having found a suitable patch of even and springy turf, I drew mysword and invited him to make ready. 

"Will you not strip?" he inquired sullenly. 

"I do not think so, " I answered. "The night air is sharp. Nevertheless, do you make ready as best you deem fit, and that speedily, Monsieur. "

With an exclamation of contempt, he divested himself of his wig, mask, and doublet, then drawing his sword, he came forward, and announcedhimself at my disposal. 

As well you may conceive, we wasted no time in compliments, butstraightway went to work, and that with a zest that drew sparks from ourrapiers at the first contact. 

The Marquis attacked me furiously, and therein lay his only chance; fora fierce, rude sword-play that is easily dealt with in broad daylightis vastly discomposing in such pale moonshine as lighted us. I defendedmyself warily, for of a sudden I had grown conscious of the danger thatI ran did he once by luck or strength get past my guard with that pointof his which in the spare light I could not follow closely enough tofeel secure. 

'Neath the fury of his onslaught I was compelled to break ground morethan once, and each time he was so swift to follow up his advantage thatI had ne'er a chance to retaliate. 

Still fear or doubt of the issue I had none. I needed but to wait untilthe Marquis's fury was spent by want of breath, to make an end of it. And presently that which I waited for came about. His attack began tolag in vigour, and the pressure of his blade to need less resistance, whilst his breathing grew noisy as that of a broken-winded horse. Thenwith the rage of a gambler who loses at every throw, he cursed andreviled me with every thrust or lunge that I turned aside. 

My turn was come; yet I held back, and let him spend his strength to theutmost drop, whilst with my elbow close against my side and by an easyplay of wrist, I diverted each murderous stroke of his point that cameagain and again for my heart. 

When at last he had wasted in blasphemies what little breath his wildexertions had left him, I let him feel on his blade the twist thatheralded my first riposte. He caught the thrust, and retreated astep, his blasphemous tongue silenced, and his livid face bathed inperspiration. 

Cruelly I toyed with him then, and with every disengagement I made himrealise that he was mastered, and that if I withheld the coup de grâceit was but to prolong his agony. And to add to the bitterness of thatagony of his, I derided him whilst I fenced; with a recitation of hismany sins I mocked him, showing him how ripe he was for hell, and askinghim how it felt to die unshriven with such a load upon his soul. 

Goaded to rage by my bitter words, he grit his teeth, and gathered whatrags of strength were left him for a final effort, And before I knewwhat he was about, he had dropped on to his left knee, and with his bodythrown forward and supported within a foot of the ground by his leftarm, he came, like a snake, under my guard with his point directedupwards. 

So swift had been this movement and so unlooked-for, that had I notsprung backwards in the very nick of time, this narrative of mine hadne'er been written. With a jeering laugh I knocked aside his sword, buteven as I disengaged, to thrust at him, he knelt up and caught my bladein his left hand, and for all that it ate its way through the flesh tothe very bones of his fingers, he clung to it with that fierce strengthand blind courage that is born of despair. 

Then raising himself on his knees again, he struck at me wildly. I swungaside, and as his sword, missing its goal, shot past me, I caught hiswrist in a grip from which I contemptuously invited him to free himself. With that began a fierce tugging and panting on both sides, which, however, was of short duration, for presently, my blade, having severedthe last sinew of his fingers, was set free. Simultaneously I let gohis wrist, pushing his arm from me so violently that in his exhaustedcondition it caused him to fall over on his side. 

In an instant, however, he was up and at me again. Again our swordsclashed--but once only. It was time to finish. With a vigorousdisengagement I got past his feeble guard and sent my blade into himfull in the middle of his chest and out again at his back until a footor so of glittering steel protruded. 

A shudder ran through him, and his mouth worked oddly, whilstspasmodically he still sought, without avail, to raise his sword; thenas I recovered my blade, a half-stifled cry broke from his lips, andthrowing up his arms, he staggered and fell in a heap. 

As I turned him over to see if he were dead, his eyes met mine, and werefull of piteous entreaty; his lips moved, and presently I caught thewords:

"I am sped, Luynes. " Then struggling up, and in a louder voice: "Apriest!" he gasped. "Get me a priest, Luynes. Jesu! Have mer--"

A rush of blood choked him and cut short his utterance. He writhed andtwitched for a moment, then his chin sank forward and he fell back, death starkening his limbs and glazing the eyes which stared hideouslyupwards at the cold, pitiless moon. 

Such was the passing of the Marquis César de St. Auban. 

CHAPTER XXV. PLAY-ACTING

For a little while I stood gazing down at my work, my mind full of theunsolvable mysteries of life and death; then I bethought me thattime stood not still for me, and that something yet remained to beaccomplished ere my evening's task were done. 

And forthwith I made shift to do a thing at the memory of which my bloodis chilled and my soul is filled with loathing even now--albeit the gulfof many years separates me from that June night at Canaples. 

To pass succinctly o'er an episode on which I have scant heart to tarry, suffice it you to know that using my sash as a rope I bound a heavystone to St. Auban's ankle; then lifting the body in my arms, I halfdragged, half bore it across the little stretch of intervening sward tothe water's edge, and flung it in. 

As I write I have the hideous picture in my mind, and again I can seeSt. Auban's ghastly face grinning up at me through the moonlit waters, until at last it was mercifully swallowed up in their black depths, andnaught but a circling wavelet that spread swiftly across the stream wasleft to tell of what had chanced. 

I dare not dwell upon the feelings that assailed me as I stooped torinse the blood from my hands, nor yet of the feverish haste wherewith Itore my blood-stained doublet from my back, and hurled it wide into thestream. For all my callousness I was sick and unmanned by that which hadbefallen. 

No time, however, did I waste in mawkish sentiment, but setting my teethhard, I turned away from the river, and back to the trampled ground ofour recent conflict. There, with no other witness save the moon, I cladmyself in the Marquis's doublet of black velvet; I set his mask of silkupon my face, his golden wig upon my head, and over that his sable hatwith its drooping feather. Next I buckled on his sword belt, wherefromhung his rapier that I had sheathed. 

In Blois that day I had taken the precaution--knowing the errand uponwhich I came--to procure myself haut-de-chausses of black velvet, andblack leather boots with gilt spurs that closely resembled those whichSt. Auban had worn in life. 

Now, as I have already written, St. Auban and I were of much the samebuild and stature, and so methought with confidence that he would haveshrewd eyes, indeed, who could infer from my appearance that I wasother than the same masked gentleman who had that very day ridden intoCanaples at the head of a troop of his Eminence's guards. 

I made my way swiftly back along the path that St. Auban and I hadtogether trodden but a little while ago, and past the château until Icame to the shrubbery where Michelot--faithful to the orders I had givenhim--awaited my return. From his concealment he had seen me leave thechâteau with the Marquis, and as I suddenly loomed up before him now, hetook me for the man whose clothes I wore, and naturally enough assumedthat ill had befallen Gaston de Luynes. Of a certainty I had beenpistolled by him had I not spoken in time. I lingered but to give himcertain necessary orders; then, whilst he went off to join Abdon and seeto their fulfilment, I made my way stealthily, with eyes keeping watcharound me, across the terrace, and through the window into the room thatSt. Auban had left to follow me to his death. 

The tapers still burned, and in all respects the chamber was as it hadbeen; the back and breast pieces still lay upon the floor, and on thetable the littered documents. The door I ascertained had been locked onthe inside, a precaution which St. Auban had no doubt taken so that nonemight spy upon the work that busied him. 

I closed and made fast the window, then I bethought me that, being inignorance of the whereabouts of St. Auban's bed-chamber, I must perforcespend the night as best I could within that very room. 

And so I sat me down and pondered deeply o'er the work that was to come, the part I was about to play, and the details of its playing. In thismanner did I while away perchance an hour; through the next one I musthave slept, for I awakened with a start to find three tapers spent andthe last one spluttering, and in the sky the streaks that heralded thesummer dawn. 

Again I fell to thinking; again I slept, and woke again to find thenight gone and the sunlight on my face. Someone knocked at the door, andthat knocking vibrated through my brain and set me wide-awake, indeed. It was as the signal to uplift the curtain and let my play-actingcommence. 

Hastily I rose and shot a glance at the mirror to see that my wig hungstraight and that my mask was rightly adjusted. I started at my ownreflection, for methought that from the glass 't was St. Auban wholooked at me, as I had seen him look the night before when he had donnedthose things at my command. 

"Holà there, within!" came Montrésor's voice. "Monsieur le Capitaine!" Afresh shower of blows descended on the oak panels. 

I yawned with prodigious sonority, and overturned a chair with my foot. Then bracing myself for the ordeal, through which I looked to what scantinformation I possessed and my own mother wit, to bear me successfully, I strode across to admit my visitor. 

Muffling my voice, as I had heard St. Auban do at the inn, by drawing mynether lip over my teeth--

"Pardieu!" quoth I, as I opened the door, "it seems, Lieutenant, that Imust have fallen asleep over those musty documents. "

I trembled as I watched him, waiting for his reply, and I thanked Heaventhat in the rôle I had assumed a mask was worn, not only because ithid my features, but because it hid the emotions which these might havebetrayed. 

"I was beginning to fear, " he replied coldly, and without so much aslooking at me, "that worse had befallen you. "

I breathed again. 

"You mean--?"

"Pooh, nothing, " said he half contemptuously. "Only methinks 't werewell whilst we remain at Canaples that you do not spend your nights in aroom within such easy access of the terrace. "

"Your advice no doubt is sound, but as I shall not spend another nightat Canaples, it comes too late. "

"You mean, Monsieur--?"

"That we set out for Paris to-day. "

He shrugged his shoulders. 

"Oh, ça! I have just visited the stables, and there are not four horsesfit for the journey. So that unless you have in mind the purchase offresh animals--"

"Pish! My purse is not bottomless, " I broke in, repeating the very wordsthat I heard St. Auban utter. 

"So you said once before, Monsieur. Still, unless you are preparedto take that course, the only alternative is to remain here until thehorses are sufficiently recovered. But perhaps you think of walking?" headded with a sniff. 

"Such is your opinion, your time being worthless and it being of littlemoment where you spend it. I have conceived a plan. "

"Ah!"

"Has it not occurred to you that the danger which threatens us and whichcalls for the protection of a troop is only on this side of the Loire, where the Blaisois might be minded to attempt a rescue of the Chevalier?But over yonder, Chevalier, on the Chambord side, who cares a fig forthe Lord of Canaples or his fate? None; is it not so?"

He made an assenting gesture, whereupon I continued:

"This being so, I have bethought me that it will suffice if I take butthree or four men and the sergeant as an escort, and cross the riverwith our prisoner after nightfall, travelling along the opposite shoreuntil we reach Orleans. What think you, Lieutenant?"

He shrugged his shoulders again. 

"'T is you who command here, " he answered with apathy, "not I. "

"Nevertheless, do you not think the plan a safe one, as well as one thatwill allay his Eminence's very natural impatience?"

"Oh, it is safe enough, I doubt not, " he replied coldly. 

"Your enthusiasm determines me, " quoth I, with an irony that made himwince. "And we will follow the plan, since you agree with me touchingits excellence. But keep the matter to yourself until an hour or soafter sunset. "

He bowed, so utterly my dupe that I could have laughed at him. Then--"There is a little matter that I would mention, " he said. "Mademoiselle de Canaples has expressed a wish to accompany her fatherto Paris and has asked me whether this will be permitted her. "

My heart leaped. Surely the gods fought on my side!

"I cannot permit it, " I answered icily. 

"Monsieur, you are pitiless, " he protested in a tone of indignation forwhich I would gladly have embraced him. 

I feigned to ponder. 

"The matter needs consideration. Tell Mademoiselle that I will discussit with her at noon, if she will condescend to await me on the terrace;I will then give her my definite reply. And now, Lieutenant, let usbreakfast. "

As completely as I had duped Montrésor did I presently dupe those ofthe troopers with whom I came in contact, among others the sergeant--andanon the Chevalier himself. 

From the brief interview that I had with him I discovered that whilst hebut vaguely suspected me to be St. Auban--and when I say "hesuspected me" I mean he suspected him whose place I had taken--he was, nevertheless, aware of the profit which his captor, whoever he might be, derived from this business. It soon grew clear to me from what he saidthat St. Auban had mocked him with it whilst concealing his identity;that he had told him how he had obtained from Malpertuis the treasonableletter, and of the bargain which it had enabled him to strike withMazarin. I did not long remain in his company, and, deeming the timenot yet ripe for disclosures, I said little in answer to his lengthytirades, which had, I guessed, for scope to trap me into betraying theidentity he but suspected. 

It wanted a few minutes to noon as I left the room in which the oldnobleman was confined, and by the door of which a trooper was stationed, musket on shoulder. With every pulse a-throbbing at the thought of myapproaching interview with Mademoiselle, I made my way below and outinto the bright sunshine, the soldiers I chanced to meet saluting me asI passed them. 

On the terrace I found Mademoiselle already awaiting me. She wasstanding, as often I had seen her stand, with her back turned towardsme and her elbows resting upon the balustrade. But as my stepsounded behind her, she turned, and stood gazing at me with a face sogrief-stricken and pale that I burned to unmask and set her torturingfears at rest. I doffed my hat and greeted her with a silent bow, whichshe contemptuously disregarded. 

"My lieutenant tells me, Mademoiselle, " said I in my counterfeitedvoice, "that it is your desire to bear Monsieur your father company uponthis journey of his to Paris. "

"With your permission, sir, " she answered in a choking voice. 

"It is a matter for consideration, Mademoiselle, " I pursued. "There arein it many features that may have escaped you, and which I shall discusswith you if you will honour me by stepping into the garden below. "

"Why will not the terrace serve?"

"Because I may have that to say which I would not have overheard. "

She knit her brows and stared at me as though she would penetrate theblack cloth that hid my face. At last she shrugged her shoulders, andletting her arms fall to her side in a gesture of helplessness andresignation--

"Soit; I will go with you, " was all she said. 

Side by side we went down the steps as a pair of lovers might havegone, save that her face was white and drawn, and that her eyes lookedstraight before her, and never once, until we reached the gravelpath below, at her companion. Side by side we walked along one of therose-bordered alleys, until at length I stopped. 

"Mademoiselle, " I said, speaking in the natural tones of thatgood-for-naught Gaston de Luynes, "I have already decided, and you havemy permission to accompany your father. "

At the sound of my voice she started, and with her left hand clutchingat the region of her heart, she stood, her head thrust forward, and onher face the look of one who is confronted with some awful doubt. Thatlook was brief, however, and swift to replace it was one of hideousrevelation. 

"In God's name, who are you?" she cried in accents that bespoke internalagony. 

"Already you have guessed it, Mademoiselle, " I answered, and I wouldhave added that which should have brought comfort to her distraughtmind, when--

"You!" she gasped in a voice of profound horror. "You! You, the Judaswho has sold my father to the Cardinal for a paltry share in ourestates. And I believed that mask of yours to hide the face of St. Auban!"

Her words froze me into a stony mass of insensibility. There was nologic in my attitude; I see it now. Appearances were all against me, andher belief no more than justified. I overlooked all this, and instead ofsaving time by recounting how I came to be there and thus delivering herfrom the anguish that was torturing her, I stood, dumb and cruel, cut tothe quick by her scorn and her suspicions that I was capable of such athing as she imputed, and listening to the dictates of an empty pridethat prompted me to make her pay full penalty. 

"Oh, God pity me!" she wailed. "Have you naught to say?"

Still I maintained my mad, resentful silence. And presently, as one whomuses--

"You!" she said again. "You, whom I--" She stopped short. "Oh! The shameof it!" she moaned. 

Reason at last came uppermost, and as in my mind I completed her brokensentence, my heart gave a great throb and I was thawed to a gentlerpurpose. 

"Mademoiselle!" I exclaimed. 

But even as I spoke, she turned, and sweeping aside her gown that itmight not touch me, she moved rapidly towards the steps we had justdescended. Full of remorse, I sprang after her. 

"Mademoiselle! Hear me, " I cried, and put forth my hand to stay her. Thereat she wheeled round and faced me, a blaze of fury in her greyeyes. 

"Dare not to touch me, " she panted. "You thief, you hound!"

I recoiled, and, like one turned to stone, I stood and watched her mountthe steps, my feelings swaying violently between anger and sorrow. Thenmy eye fell upon Montrésor standing on the topmost step, and on his facethere was a sneering, insolent smile which told me that he had heard theepithets she had bestowed upon me. 

Albeit I sought that day another interview with Yvonne, I did not gainit, and so I was forced to sun myself in solitude upon the terrace. ButI cherished for my consolation that broken sentence of hers, wherebyI read that the coldness which she had evinced for me before I leftCanaples had only been assumed. 

And presently as I recalled what talks we had had, and one in particularfrom which it now appeared to me that her coldness had sprung, a lightseemed suddenly to break upon my mind, as perchance it hath long agobroken upon the minds of those who may happen upon these pages, andwhose wits in matters amorous are of a keener temper than were mine. 

I who in all things had been arrogant, presumptuous, and self-satisfied, had methought erred for once through over-humility. 

And, indeed, even as I sat and pondered on that June day, it seemed tome a thing incredible that she whom I accounted the most queenly andsuperb of women should have deigned to grant a tender thought to one somean, so far beneath her as I had ever held myself to be. 

CHAPTER XXVI. REPARATION

Things came to pass that night as I had planned, and the fates which oflate had smiled upon me were kind unto the end. 

Soon after ten, and before the moon had risen, a silent processionwended its way from the château to the river. First went Montrésor andtwo of his men; next came the Chevalier with Mademoiselle, and on eitherside of them a trooper; whilst I, in head-piece and back and breast ofsteel, went last with Mathurin, the sergeant--who warmly praised theplan I had devised for the conveyance of M. De Canaples to Paris withoutfurther loss of time. 

Two boats which I had caused to be secretly procured were in readiness, and by these a couple of soldiers awaited us, holding the bridles ofeight horses, one of which was equipped with a lady's saddle. Five ofthese belonged--or had belonged--to the Chevalier, whilst the otherswere three of those that had brought the troop from Paris, and which I, in the teeth of all protestations, had adjudged sufficiently recoveredfor the return journey. 

The embarkation was safely effected, M. De Canaples and Mademoisellein one boat with Montrésor, Mathurin, and myself; the sergeant took theoars; Montrésor and I kept watch over our prisoner. In the other boatcame the four troopers, who were to accompany us, and one other whowas to take the boats, and Montrésor in them, back to Canaples. For thelieutenant was returning, so that he might, with the remainder of thetroop, follow us to Paris so soon as the condition of the horses wouldpermit it. 

The beasts we took with us were swimming the stream, guided and upheldby the men in the other boat. 

Just as the moon began to show her face our bow grated on the shore atthe very point where I had intended that we should land. I sprang outand turned to assist Mademoiselle. 

But, disdaining my proffered hand, she stepped ashore unaided. TheChevalier came next, and after him Montrésor and Mathurin. 

Awhile we waited until the troopers brought their boat to land, thenwhen they had got the snorting animals safely ashore, I bade them lookto the prisoner, and requested Montrésor and Mathurin to step aside withme, as I had something to communicate to them. 

Walking between the pair, I drew them some twenty paces away from thegroup by the water, towards a certain thicket in which I had biddenMichelot await me. 

"It has occurred to me, Messieurs, " I began, speaking slowly anddeliberately as we paced along, --"it has occurred to me that despite allthe precautions taken to carry out my Lord Cardinal's wishes--a workat least in which you, yourselves, have evinced a degree of zeal that Icannot too highly commend to his Eminence--the possibility yet remainsof some mistake of trivial appearance, of some slight flaw that mightyet cause the miscarriage of those wishes. "

They turned towards me, and although I could not make out theexpressions of their faces, in the gloom, yet I doubted not but thatthey were puzzled ones at that lengthy and apparently meaninglessharangue. 

The sergeant was the first to speak, albeit I am certain that heunderstood the less. 

"I venture, M. Le Capitaine, to think that your fears, though verynatural, are groundless. "

"Say you so?" quoth I, with a backward glance to assure myself that wewere screened by the trees from the eyes of those behind us. "Say youso? Well, well, mayhap you are right, though you speak of my fears beinggroundless. I alluded to some possible mistake of yours--yours and M. DeMontrésor's--not of mine. And, by Heaven, a monstrous flaw there is inthis business, for if either of you so much as whisper I'll blow yourbrains out!"

And to emphasise these words, as sinister as they were unlooked-for, Iraised both hands suddenly from beneath my cloak, and clapped the coldnose of a pistol to the head of each of them. 

I was obeyed as men are obeyed who thus uncompromisingly prove theforce of their commands. Seeing them resigned, I whistled softly, andin answer there was a rustle from among the neighbouring trees, andpresently two shadows emerged from the thicket. In less time than ittakes me to relate it, Montrésor and his sergeant found themselvesgagged, and each securely bound to a tree. 

Then, with Michelot and Abdon following a short distance behind me, I made my way back to the troopers, and, feigning to stumble as Iapproached, I hurtled so violently against two of them that I knockedthe pair headlong into the stream. 

Scarce was it done, and almost before the remaining three had realisedit, there was a pistol at the head of each of them and sweet promises ofan eternal hereafter being whispered in their ears. They bore themselveswith charming discretion, and like lambs we led them each to a treeand dealt with them as we had dealt with their officers, whilst theChevalier and his daughter watched us, bewildered and dumfounded at whatthey saw. 

As soon as the other two had crawled--all unconscious of the fates oftheir comrades--out of the river, we served them also in a like manner. 

Bidding Abdon and Michelot lead the horses, and still speaking in myassumed voice, I desired Mademoiselle and the Chevalier--who had notyet sufficiently recovered from his bewilderment to have found histongue--to follow me. I led the way up the gentle slope to the spotwhere our first victims were pinioned. 

Montrésor's comely young face looked monstrous wicked in the moonlight, and his eyes rolled curiously as he beheld me. Stepping up to him Ifreed him of his gag--an act which I had almost regretted a momentlater, for he cleared his throat with so lusty a torrent of profanitythat methought the heavens must have fallen on us. At last when he wasdone with that--"Before you leave me in this plight, M. De St. Auban, "quoth he, "perchance you will satisfy me with an explanation of yourunfathomable deeds and of this violence. "

"St. Auban!" exclaimed the Chevalier. 

"St. Auban!" cried Yvonne. 

And albeit wonder rang in both their voices, yet their minds I knew wentdifferent ways. 

"No, not St. Auban, " I answered with a laugh and putting aside allcounterfeit of speech. 

"Par la mort Dieu! I know that voice, " cried Montrésor. 

"Mayhap, indeed! And know you not this face?" And as I spoke I whippedaway my wig and mask, and thrust my countenance close up to his. 

"Thunder of God!" ejaculated the boy. Then--"Pardieu, " he added, "thereis Michelot! How came I not to recognise him?"

"Since you would not assist me, Montrésor, you see I was forced to dowithout you. "

"But St. Auban?" he gasped. "Where is he?"

"In heaven, I hope--but I doubt it sadly. "

"You have killed him?"

There and then, as briefly as I might, I told him, whilst the othersstood by to listen, how I had come upon the Marquis in the château thenight before and what had passed thereafter. 

"And now, " I said, as I cut his bonds, "it grieves me to charge you withan impolite errand to his Eminence, but--"

"I'll not return to him, " he burst out. "I dare not. Mon Dieu, you haveruined me, Luynes!"

"Then come with me, and I'll build your fortunes anew and on a sounderfoundation. I have an influential letter in my pocket that shouldprocure us fortune in the service of the King of Spain. "

He needed little pressing to fall in with my invitation, so we set thesergeant free, and him instead I charged with a message that must havegiven Mazarin endless pleasure when it was delivered to him. But he hadthe Canaples estates wherewith to console himself and his never-failingmaxim that "chi canta, paga. " Touching the Canaples estates, however, hedid not long enjoy them, for when he went into exile, two years later, the Parliament returned them to their rightful owner. 

The Chevalier de Canaples approached me timidly. 

"Monsieur, " quoth he, "I have wronged you very deeply. And this generousrescue of one who has so little merited your aid truly puts me to somuch shame that I know not what thanks to offer you. "

"Then offer none, Monsieur, " I answered, taking his proffered hand. "Moreover, time presses and we have a possible pursuit to baffle. So tohorse, Monsieurs. "

I assisted Mademoiselle to mount, and she passively suffered me to doher this office, having no word for me, and keeping her face avertedfrom my earnest gaze. 

I sighed as I turned to mount the horse Michelot held for me; butmethinks 't was more a sigh of satisfaction than of pain. 

 . . . . . . . . 

All that night we travelled and all next day until Tours was reachedtowards evening. There we halted for a sorely needed rest and for freshhorses. 

Three days later we arrived at Nantes, and a week from the night of theChevalier's rescue we took ship from that port to Santander. 

That same evening, as I leaned upon the taffrail watching the distantcoast line of my beloved France, whose soil meseemed I was not like totread again for years, Yvonne came softly up behind me. 

"Monsieur, " she said in a voice that trembled somewhat, "I have, indeed, misjudged you. The shame of it has made me hold aloof from you since weleft Blois. I cannot tell you, Monsieur, how deep that shame hasbeen, or with what sorrow I have been beset for the words I uttered atCanaples. Had I but paused to think--"

"Nay, nay, Mademoiselle, 't was all my fault, I swear. I left youoverlong the dupe of appearances. "

"But I should not have believed them so easily. Say that I am forgiven, Monsieur, " she pleaded; "tell me what reparation I can make. "

"There is one reparation that you can make if you are so minded, " Ianswered, "but 'tis a life-long reparation. "

They were bold words, indeed, but my voice played the coward and shookso vilely that it bereft them of half their boldness. But, ah, Dieu, what joy, what ecstasy was mine to see how they were read by her; toremark the rich, warm blood dyeing her cheeks in a bewitching blush; tobehold the sparkle that brightened her matchless eyes as they met mine!

"Yvonne!"

"Gaston!"

She was in my arms at last, and the work of reparation was begun whilsttogether we gazed across the sun-gilt sea towards the fading shores ofFrance. 

If you be curious to learn how, guided by the gentle hand of her whoplucked me from the vile ways that in my old life I had trodden, I havesince achieved greatness, honour, and renown, History will tell you.