The Bright Face of Danger

_Being an Account of Some Adventures of Henri de Launay, Son of theSieur de la Tournoire. Freely Translated into Modern English_

 By Robert Neilson Stephens

_Author of_ "An Enemy to the King, " "Philip Winwood, " "The Mystery ofMurray Davenport, " etc. 

 _Illustrated by_ H. C. Edwards

_Boston_L. C. Page & Company_Mdcccciiii_

_Copyright, 1904_By L. C. Page & Company

_Entered at Stationers' Hall, London__All rights reserved_

Published April, 1904Colonial Press

Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co. Boston. Mass. , U. S. A. 

 _THE BRIGHT FACE OF DANGER is, in a distant way, a sequel to "An Enemy to the King, " but may be read alone, without any reference to that tale. The title is a phrase of Robert Louis Stevenson's. _

 _THE AUTHOR. _

[Illustration: "'I GIVE YOU ONE CHANCE FOR YOUR LIFE, ' SAID I QUICKLY. "]

CONTENTS

 I. MONSIEUR HENRI DE LAUNAY SETS OUT ON A JOURNEY

 II. A YOUNG MAN WHO WENT SINGING

 III. WHERE THE LADY WAS

 IV. WHO THE LADY WAS

 V. THE CHATEAU DE LAVARDIN

 VI. WHAT THE PERIL WAS

 VII. STRANGE DISAPPEARANCES

 VIII. MATHILDE

 IX. THE WINDING STAIRS

 X. MORE THAN MERE PITY

 XI. THE RAT-HOLE AND THE WATER-JUG

 XII. THE ROPE LADDER

 XIII. THE PARTING

 XIV. IN THE FOREST

 XV. THE TOWER OF MORLON

 XVI. THE MERCY OF CAPTAIN FERRAGANT

 XVII. THE SWORD OF LA TOURNOIRE

 XVIII. THE MOUSTACHES OF BRIGNAN DE BRIGNAN

 XIX. AFTERWARDS

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

"'I GIVE YOU ONE CHANCE FOR YOUR LIFE, ' SAID I QUICKLY"

"'AND NOW SHE WILL WAIT FOR HIM IN VAIN!'"

"WE WERE INTERRUPTED BY A LOW CRY"

"'THE WRETCHES!' SAID THE TORTURED COUNT, STAGGERING TO HIS FEET"

"I LEAPED OVER THE BED, AND UPON THE MAN WHO WAS TRYING TO STRANGLE THECOUNTESS"

"MY FATHER'S THRUSTS BECAME NOW SO QUICK AND CONTINUOUS"

THE BRIGHT FACE OF DANGER

CHAPTER I. 

MONSIEUR HENRI DE LAUNAY SETS OUT ON A JOURNEY

If, on the first Tuesday in June, in the year 1608, anybody had asked meon what business I was riding towards Paris, and if I had answered, "Tocut off the moustaches of a gentleman I have never seen, that I may tossthem at the feet of a lady who has taunted me with that gentleman'ssuperiorities, "--if I had made this reply, I should have been taken forthe most foolish person on horseback in France that day. Yet the answerwould have been true, though I accounted myself one of the wisest younggentlemen you might find in Anjou or any other province. 

I was, of a certainty, studious, and a lover of books. My father, theSieur de la Tournoire, being a daring soldier, had so often put himselfto perils inimical to my mother's peace of mind, that she had guided myinclinations in the peaceful direction of the library, hoping not tosuffer for the son such alarms as she had undergone for the husband. Ihad grown up, therefore, a musing, bookish youth, rather shy andsolitary in my habits: and this despite the care taken of my educationin swordsmanship, riding, hunting, and other manly accomplishments, bothby my father and by his old follower, Blaise Tripault. I acquired skillenough to satisfy these well-qualified instructors, but yet a volume ofPlutarch or a book of poems was more to me than sword or dagger, horse, hound, or falcon. I was used to lonely walks and brookside meditationsin the woods and meads of our estate of La Tournoire, in Anjou; and itcame about that with my head full of verses I must needs think upon somelady with whom to fancy myself in love. 

Contiguity determined my choice. The next estate to ours, separated fromit by a stream flowing into the Loir, had come into the possession of arich family of bourgeois origin whom heaven had blessed (or burdened, assome would think) with a pretty daughter. Mlle. Celeste was a small, graceful, active creature, with a clear and well-coloured skin, andquick-glancing black eyes which gave me a pleasant inward stir the firsttime they rested on me. In my first acquaintance with this young lady, the black eyes seemed to enlarge and soften when they fell on me: sheregarded me with what I took to be interest and approval: her face shonewith friendliness, and her voice was kind. In this way I was led on. 

When she saw how far she had drawn me, her manner changed: she becamewhimsical, never the same for five minutes: sometimes indifferent, sometimes disdainful, sometimes gay at my expense. This treatmenttouched my pride, and would have driven me off, but that still, when inher presence, I felt in some degree the charm of the black eyes, thewell-chiselled face, the graceful swift motions, and what else I knownot. When I was away from her, this charm declined: nevertheless I choseto keep her in my mind as just such a capricious object of adoration aspoets are accustomed to lament and praise in the same verses. 

But indeed I was never for many days out of reach of her attractivepowers, for several of her own favourite haunts were on her side of thebrook by which I was in the habit of strolling or reclining for somepart of almost every fair day. Attended by a fat and sleepy oldwaiting-woman, she was often to be seen running along the grassy bankwith a greyhound that followed her everywhere. For this animal sheshowed a constancy of affection that made her changefulness to me themore heart-sickening. 

Thus, half in love, half in disgust, I sat moodily on my side of thestream one sunny afternoon, watching her on the other side. She had beenrunning a race with the dog, and had just settled down on the greenbank, with the hound sitting on his haunches beside her. Both dog andgirl were panting, and her face was still merry with the fun of thescamper. Her old attendant had probably been left dozing in some otherpart of the wood. Here now was an opportunity for me to put in a sweetspeech or two. But as I looked at her and thought of her treatment ofme, my pride rebelled, and I suppose my face for the moment wore acloud. My expression, whatever it was, caught the quick eyes of Mlle. Celeste. Being in merriment herself, she was the readier to make scornof my sulky countenance. She pealed out a derisive laugh. 

"Oh, the sour face! Is that what comes of your eternal reading?"

I had in my hand a volume of Plutarch in the French of Amyot. Herridicule of reading annoyed me. 

"No, Mademoiselle, it isn't from books that one draws sourness. I findmore sweetness in them than in--most things. " I was looking straight ather as I said this. 

She pretended to laugh again, but turned quite red. 

"Nay, forgive me, " I said, instantly softened. "Ah, Celeste, you knowtoo well what is the sweetest of all books for my reading. " By my lookand sigh, she knew I meant her face. But she chose to be contemptuous. 

"Poh! What should a pale scholar know of such books? I tell you, Monsieur de Launay, you will never be a man till you leave your booksand see a little of the world. "

Though she called me truly enough a pale scholar, I was scarlet for amoment. 

"And what do you know of the world, then?" I retorted. "Or of meneither?"

"I am only a girl. But as to men, I have met one or two. There is yourfather, for example. And that brave and handsome Brignan de Brignan. "

Whether I loved or not, I was certainly capable of jealousy; andjealousy of the fiercest arose at the name of Brignan de Brignan. I hadnever seen him; but she had mentioned him to me before, too many timesindeed for me to hear his name now with composure. He was a younggentleman of the King's Guard, of whom, by reason of a distantrelationship, her family had seen much during a residence of severalmonths in Paris. 

"Brignan de Brignan, " I echoed. "Yes, I dare say he has looked more intothe faces of women than into books. "

"And more into the face of danger than into either. That's what has madehim the man he is. "

"Tut!" I cried, waving my Plutarch; "there's more manly action in thisbook than a thousand Brignans could perform in all their lives--moredanger encountered. "

"An old woman might read it for all that. Would it make her manly? Well, Monsieur Henri, if you choose to encounter danger only in books, there'snobody to complain. But you shouldn't show malice toward those whoprefer to meet it in the wars or on the road. "

"Malice? Not I. What is Brignan de Brignan to me? You may say what youplease--this Plutarch is as good a school of heroism as any officer ofthe King's Guard ever went to. "

"Yet the officers of the King's Guard aren't pale, moping fellows likeyou lovers of books. Ah, Monsieur Henri, if you mean to be a monk, welland good. But otherwise, do you know what would change your complexionfor the better? A lively brush with real dangers on the field, or inParis, or anywhere away from your home and your father's protection. That would bring colour into your cheeks. "

"You may let my cheeks alone, Mademoiselle. "

"You may be sure I will do that. "

"I'm quite satisfied with my complexion, and I wouldn't exchange it forthat of Brignan de Brignan. I dare say his face is red enough. "

"Yes, a most manly colour. And his broad shoulders--and powerfularms--and fine bold eyes--ah! there _is_ the picture of a hero--and hissuperb moustaches--"

Now I was at the time not strong in respect of moustaches. I wasextremely sensitive upon the point. My frame, though not above middlesize, was yet capable of robust development, my paleness was not beyondremedy, and my eyes were of a pleasant blue, so there was little torankle in what she said of my rival's face and body; but as to themoustaches----!

I scrambled to my feet. 

"I tell you what it is, Mademoiselle. Just to show what your Brignanreally amounts to, and whether I mean to be a monk, and what a reader ofbooks can do when he likes, I have made up my mind to go to Paris; andthere I will find your Brignan, and show my scorn of such an illiteratebravo, and cut off his famous moustaches, and bring them back to you forproof! So adieu, Mademoiselle, for this is the last you will see of metill what I have said is done!"

The thing had come into my head in one hot moment, indeed it formeditself as I spoke it; and so I, the quiet and studious, stood committedto an act which the most harebrained brawler in Anjou would have deemedchildish folly. Truly, I did lack knowledge of the world. 

I turned from Mlle. Celeste's look of incredulous wonderment, and wentoff through the woods, with swifter strides than I usually took, to ourchateau. Of course I dared not tell my parents my reason for wishing togo to Paris. It was enough, to my mother at least, that I should desireto go on any account. The best way in which I could put my resolution tothem, which I did that very afternoon, on the terrace where I found themsitting, was thus:

"I have been thinking how little I know of the world. It is true, youhave taken me to Paris; but I was only a lad then, and what I saw waswith a lad's eyes and under your guidance. I am now twenty-two, and manya man at that age has begun to make his own career. To be worthy of myyears, of my breeding, of my name, I ought to know something of lifefrom my own experience. So I have resolved, with your permission, mydear father and mother, to go to Paris and see what I may see. "

My mother had turned pale as soon as she saw the drift of my speech, andwas for putting every plea in the way. But my father, though he lookedserious, seemed not displeased. We talked upon the matter--as to howlong I should wish to stay in Paris, whether I had thought of aiming atany particular career there, and of such things. I said I had formed noplans nor hopes: these might or might not come after I had arrived inParis and looked about me. But see something of the world I must, ifonly that I might not be at disadvantage in conversation afterward. Itwas a thing I could afford, for on the attainment of my majority myfather had made over to me the income of a portion of our estate, asmall enough revenue indeed, but one that looked great in my eyes. Hecould not now offer any reasonable objection to my project, and he pleadmy cause with my mother, without whose consent I should not have had theheart to go. Indeed, knowing what her dread had always been, and seeingthe anxious love in her eyes as she now regarded me, I almost wavered. But of course she was won over, as women are, though what tears heracquiescence caused her afterwards when she was alone I did not like tothink upon. 

She comforted herself presently with the thought that our faithfulBlaise Tripault should attend me, but here again I had to oppose her. For Blaise, by reason of his years and the service he had done my fatherin the old wars, was of a dictatorial way with all of us, and I knew hewould rob me of all responsibility and freedom, so that I should beagain a lad under the thumb of an elder and should profit nothing inself-reliance and mastership. Besides this reason, which I urged upon myparents, I had my own reason, which I did not urge, namely, that Ishould never dare let Blaise know the special purpose of my visit toParis. He would laugh me out of countenance, and yet ten to one he wouldin the end deprive me of the credit of keeping my promise, by taking itsperformance upon himself. That I might be my own master, therefore, Ichose as my valet the most tractable fellow at my disposal, one Nicolas, a lank, knock-kneed jack of about my own age, who had hitherto madehimself of the least possible use, with the best possible intentions, between the dining-hall and the kitchen. And yet he was clever enoughamong horses, or anywhere outdoors. My mother, though she wondered at mychoice and trembled to think how fragile a reed I should have to relyon, was yet not sorry, I fancy, at the prospect of ridding her house ofpoor blundering Nicolas in a kind and creditable way. I had reason tothink Nicolas better suited for this new service, and, by insisting, Igained my point in this also. 

I made haste about my equipment, and in a few days we set forth, myselfon a good young chestnut gelding, Nicolas on a strong black mule, whichcarried also our baggage. Before I mounted, and while my mother, doingher best to keep back her tears, was adding some last article of comfortto the contents of my great leather bag, my father led me into thewindow recess of the hall, and after speaking of the letters ofintroduction with which he had provided me, said in his soldierly, straightforward manner:

"I know you have gathered wisdom from books, and it will serve you well, because it will make you take better heed of experience and see moremeaning in it. But then it will require the experience to give yourbook-learned wisdom its full force. Often at first, in the face ofemergency, when the call is for action, your wisdom will fly from yourmind; but this will not be the case after you have seen life foryourself. Experience will teach you the full and living meaning of muchthat you now know but as written truth. It may teach you also somethings you have never read, nor even dreamt of. What you have learned bystudy, and what you must learn by practice only, leave no use for anygood counsel I might give you now. Only one thing I can't help saying, though you know it already and will doubtless see it proved again andagain. There are many deceivers in the world. Don't trust the outwardlook of things or people. Be cautious; yet conceal your caution undercourtesy, for nothing is more boorish than open suspicion. And remember, too, not to think bad, either, from appearances alone. You may doinjustice that way. Hold your opinion till the matter is tested. Whenappearances are fair, be wary without showing it; when they are bad, regard your safety but don't condemn. In other words, always minglecaution with urbanity, even with kindness. --I need not speak of the nameyou have to keep unsullied. Honour is a thing about which you require noadmonitions. You know that it consists as much in not giving affronts asin not enduring them, though many who talk loudest about it seem tothink otherwise. Indeed this is an age in which honour is prated of mostby those who practise it least. Well, my son, there are a thousandthings I would say, but that is all I shall say. Good-bye--may the goodGod bless and protect you. "

I had much to do to speak firmly and to perceive what I was about, intaking my leave, for my mother could no longer refrain from sobbing asshe embraced me at the last, and my young brother and sister, catchingthe infection, began to whimper and to rub their eyes with their fists. Knowing so much more of my wild purpose than they did, and realizingthat I might never return alive, I was the more tried in my resolutionnot to disgrace with tears the virgin rapier and dagger at my side. Butfinally I got somehow upon my horse, whose head Blaise Tripault washolding, and threw my last kisses to the family on the steps. I thenmanaged voice enough to say "Good-bye, Blaise, " to the old soldier. 

"Nay, I will walk as far as to the village, " said he, in his gruff, autocratic way. "I have a word or two for you at parting. "

Throwing back a somewhat pallid smile to my people, tearfully wavingtheir adieus, I turned my horse out of the court-yard, followed byNicolas on the mule, and soon emerging from the avenue, was upon theroad. Blaise Tripault strode after me. When I came in front of the innat the end of the village, he called out to stop. I did so, and Blaise, coming up to my stirrup, handed me a folded paper and thus addressed me:

"Of course your father has given you all the advice you need. Nobody ismore competent than he to instruct a young man setting out to see theworld. His young days were the days of hard knocks, as everybody knows. But as I was thinking of your journey, there came into my head an oldtale a monk told me once--for, like your father, I was never too much ofa Huguenot to get what good I might out of any priest or monk the Lordchose to send my way. It's a tale that has to do with travelling, andthat's what made me think of it--a tale about three maxims that somewise person once gave a Roman emperor who was going on a journey. I halfforget the tale itself, for it isn't much of a tale; but the maxims Iremembered, because I had had experience enough to realize their value. I've written them out for you there: and if you get them by heart, andnever lose sight of them, you'll perhaps save yourself much repentance. "

He then bade me good-bye, and the last I saw of him he was entering theinn to drink to my good fortune. 

When I had got clear of the village, I unfolded Blaise's paper and readthe maxims:

1. "_Never undertake a thing unless you can see your way to the end ofit. _"

2. "_Never sleep in a house where the master is old and the wifeyoung. _"

3. "_Never leave a highway for a byway. _"

Very good counsel, thought I, and worth bearing in mind. It was true, myvery journey itself was, as to its foolhardy purpose, a violation of thefirst maxim. But that could not be helped now, and I could at least heedthat piece of advice, as well as the others, in the details of mymission. When I thought of that mission, I felt both foolish andheavy-hearted. I had not the faintest idea yet of how I should go aboutencountering Brignan de Brignan and getting into a quarrel with him, andI had great misgivings as to how I should be able to conduct myself inthat quarrel, and as to its outcome. Certainly no man ever took the roadon a more incredible, frivolous quest. Of all the people travelling myway, that June morning, T was probably one of the most thoughtful andjudiciously-minded; yet of every one but myself the business in beingabroad was sober and reasonable, while mine was utterly ridiculous andsilly. And the girl whose banter had driven me to it--perhaps she hadattached no seriousness whatever to my petulant vow and had even nowforgotten it. With these reflections were mingled the pangs of partingfrom my home and family; and for a time I was downcast and sad. 

But the day was fine. Presently my thoughts, which at first had flownback to all I had left behind, began to concern themselves with thescenes around me; then they flew ahead to the place whither I wasbound:--this is usually the way on journeys. At least, thought I, Ishould see life, and perchance meet dangers, and so far be the gainer. And who knows but I might even come with credit out of the affair withMonsieur de Brignan?--it is a world of strange turnings, and the upshotis always more or less different from what has been predicted. So I tookheart, and already I began to feel I was not exactly the pale scholar ofyesterday. It was something to be my own master, on horseback andwell-armed, my eyes ranging the wide and open country, green and brownin the sunlight, dotted here and there with trees, sometimes traversedby a stream, and often backed by woods of darker green, which seemed tohold secrets dangerous and luring. 

Riding gave me a great appetite, and I was fortunate in coming upon aninn at Durtal whose table was worthy of my capacity. After dinner, wetook the road again and proceeded at an easy pace toward La Flèche. 

Toward the middle of the afternoon a vague uneasiness stole over me, asif some tragic circumstance lay waiting on the path--to meunknown--ahead. 

CHAPTER II. 

A YOUNG MAN WHO WENT SINGING

It was about five o'clock when we rode into La Flèche, and the feelingof ill foreboding still possessed me. Partly considering this, andpartly as it was improbable I should find the best accommodationsanywhere else short of Le Mans, I decided to put up here for the night. As I rode into the central square of the town, I saw an inn there: ithad a prosperous and honest look, so I said, "This is the place for mymoney, " and made for it. The square was empty and silent when I enteredit, but just as I reached the archway of the inn, I heard a voicesinging, whereupon I looked around and saw a young man riding into thesquare from another street than that I had come from. He was followed bya servant on horseback, and was bound for the same inn. It seems strangein the telling, that a gentleman should ride singing into a publicsquare, as if he were a mountebank or street-singer, yet it appearedquite natural as this young fellow did it. The song was something aboutbrave soldiers and the smiles of ladies--just such a gay song as sohandsome a young cavalier ought to sing. I looked at him a moment, thenrode on into the inn-yard. This little act, done in all thoughtlessness, and with perfect right, was the cause of momentous things in my life. IfI had waited to greet that young gentleman at the archway, I believe myhistory would have gone very differently. As it was, I am convinced thatmy carelessly dropping him from my regard, as if he were a person of nointerest, was the beginning of what grew between us. For, as he rode inwhile I was dismounting, he threw at me a look of resentment for whichthere was nothing to account but the possible wound to his vanity. Hiscountenance, symmetrically and somewhat boldly formed, showed greatself-esteem and a fondness for attention. His singing had suddenlystopped. I could feel his anger, which was probably the greater forhaving no real cause, I having been under no obligation to notice him oroffer him precedence. 

He called loudly for an ostler, and, when one came out of the stables, he coolly gave his orders without waiting for me, though I had beenfirst in the yard. He bade his own servant see their horses well fed, and then made for the inn-door, casting a scornful glance at me, andresuming his song in a lower voice. It was now my turn to be angry, andjustly, but I kept silence. I knew not exactly how to take this sort ofdemonstration: whether it was a usual thing among travellers and to bepaid back only in kind, or whether for the sake of my reputation I oughtto treat it as a serious affront. It is, of course, childish to takeoffence at a trifle. In my ignorance of what the world expects of a manupon receipt of hostile and disparaging looks, I could only act as onealways must who cannot make up his mind--do nothing. After seeing myhorse and mule attended to, I bade Nicolas follow with the baggage, andentered the inn. 

The landlord was talking with my young singing gentleman, but made toapproach me as I came in. The young gentleman, however, speaking in aperemptory manner, detained him with questions about the roads, the townof La Flèche, and such matters. As I advanced, the young gentleman gotbetween me and the host, and continued his talk. I waited awkwardlyenough for the landlord's attention, and began to feel hot within. Awench now placed on a table some wine that the young man had ordered, and the landlord finally got rid of him by directing his attention toit. As he went to sit down, he bestowed on me the faintest smile ofridicule. I was too busy to think much of it at the moment, in orderinga room for the night and sending Nicolas thither with my bag. I thencalled for supper and sat down as far as possible from the other guest. He and I were the only occupants of the room, but from the kitchenadjoining came the noise of a number of the commonalty at food anddrink. 

"Always politeness, " thought I, when my wine had come, and so, in spiteof his rudeness and his own neglect of the courtesy, as I raised myglass I said to him, "Your health, Monsieur. "

He turned red at the reproach implied in my observance, then veryreluctantly lifted his own glass and said, "And yours, " in a surly, grudging manner. 

"It has been a pleasant day, " I went on, resolved not to be churlish, atall hazards. 

"Do you think so?" he replied contemptuously, and then turned to lookout of the window, and hummed the tune he had been singing before. 

I thought if such were the companions my journey was to throw me inwith, it would be a sorry time till I got home again. But my younggentleman, for all his temporary sullenness, was really of a talkativenature, as these vain young fellows are apt to be, and when he hadwarmed himself a little with wine even his dislike of me could notrestrain his tongue any longer. 

"You are staying here to-night, then?" he suddenly asked. 

"Yes, and you?"

"I shall ride on after supper. There will be starlight. "

"I have used my horse enough to-day. "

"And I mine, for that matter. But there are times when horses can't beconsidered. "

"You are travelling on important business, then?"

"On business of haste. I must put ground behind me. "

"I drink to the success of your business, then. "

"Thank you, I am always successful. There is another toast, that shouldhave first place. The ladies, Monsieur. "

"With all my heart. "

"That's a toast I never permit myself to defer. Mon dieu, I owe themfavours enough!"

"You are fortunate, " said I. 

"I don't complain. And you?"

"Even if I were fortunate in that respect, I shouldn't boast of it. "

He coloured; but laughed shortly, and said, "It's not boasting to tellthe mere truth. "

"I was thinking of myself, not of you, Monsieur. " This was true enough. 

"I can readily believe you've had no great luck that way, " he saidspitefully, pretending to take stock of my looks. I knew his remark wassheer malice, for my appearance was good enough--well-figured andslender, with a pleasant, thoughtful face. 

"Let us talk of something else, " I answered coldly, though I was farfrom cool in reality. 

"Certainly. What do you think of the last conspiracy?"

"That it was very rash and utterly without reason. We have the best kingFrance ever knew. "

"Yes, long live Henri IV. ! They say there are still some of themalcontents to be gathered in. Have you heard of any fresh arrests?"

"Nothing within two weeks. I don't understand how these affairs canpossibly arise, after that of Biron. Men must be complete fools. "

"Oh, there are always malcontents who still count on Spain, and somethink even the League may be revived. "

"But why should they not be contented? I can't imagine any grievances. "

"Faith, my child, where have you been hiding yourself? Don't you knowthe talk? Do you suppose everybody is pleased with this Dutch alliance?And the way in which the King's old Huguenot comrades are again to beseen around him?"

"And why not? Through everything, the King's heart has always been withthe protestants. "

"Oho! So you are one of the psalm-singers, then?" His insulting tone andjeering smile were intolerable. 

"I have sung no psalms here, at least, " I replied trembling with anger;"or anything else, to annoy the ears of my neighbours. "

"So you don't like my singing?" he cried, turning red again. 

I had truly rather admired it, but I said, "I have heard better. "

"Indeed? But how should you know. For your education in taste, I maytell you that good judges have thought well of my singing. "

"Ay, brag of it, as you do of your success with the ladies. "

He stared at me in amazement, then cried. "Death of my life, youngfellow!--" But at that instant his servant brought in his supper, and hewent no further. My own meal was before me a minute later, and we bothdevoted ourselves in angry silence to our food. I was still full ofresentment at his obtrusive scorn of myself and my religious party, andI could see that he felt himself mightily outraged at my retorts. Fromthe rapid, heedless way in which he ate, I fancied his mind was busywith all sorts of revenge upon me. 

When he had finished, at the same time as I did, and our servants hadgone to eat their supper in the kitchen, he leaned against the wall, andsaid, "I am going to sing, Monsieur, whether it pleases you or not. " Andforthwith he began to do so. 

My answer was to put on a look of pain, and walk hastily from the room, as if the torture to my ears were too great for endurance. 

I was not half-way across the court-yard before I heard him at my heelsthough not singing. 

"My friend, " said he, as I turned around, "I don't know where you werebred, but you should know this: it's not good manners to break from agentleman's company so unceremoniously. "

It occurred to me that because I had taken his insults from the first, through not knowing how much a sensible man should bear, he thought hemight safely hector me to the full satisfaction of his hurt vanity. 

"So you do know something of good manners, after all?" I replied. "Icongratulate you. "

His eyes flashed new wrath, but before he knew how to answer, and whilewe were glaring at each other like two cocks, though at some distanceapart, out came Nicolas from the kitchen to ask if I wished my cloakbrought down, which he had taken up with the bag. In his rusticinnocence he stepped between my nagging gentleman and myself. Thegentleman at this ran forward in an access of rage, and threw Nicolasaside, saying, "Out of the way, knave! You're as great a clown as yourmaster. "

"Hands off! How dare you?" I cried, clapping my hand to my sword. 

"If you come a step nearer, I'll kill you!" he replied, grasping his ownhilt. 

I sent a swift glance around. There was no witness but Nicolas. Yet ascuffle would draw people in ten seconds. Even at that moment, with myheart beating madly, I thought of the edict against duelling: so I said, as calmly as I could:

"If you dare draw that sword, I see trees beyond that gateway--a gardenor something. It will be quieter there. " I pointed to a narrow exit atthe rear of the yard. 

"I will show you whom you're dealing with, my lad!" he said, breathlessly, and made at once for the gate. I followed. I could see nowthat, though a bully, he was not a coward, and the discovery fell uponme with a sense of how grave a matter I had been drawn into. 

At the gate I looked around, and saw Nicolas following, his eyes widewith alarm. "Stay where you are, and not a word to anybody, " I ordered, and closed the gate after me. My adversary led the way across aneglected garden, and out through a postern in a large wall, to wherethere was a thicker growth of trees. We passed among these to a littleopen space near the river, from which it was partly veiled by a tangledmass of bushes. The unworn state of the green sward showed that this wasa spot little visited by the townspeople. 

"We have stumbled on the right place, " said the young gentleman, with anassumption of coolness. "It's a pity the thing can't be done properly, with seconds and all that. " And he proceeded to take off his doublet. 

I was sobered by the time spent in walking to the place, so I said, "It's not too late. Monsieur, if you are willing to apologize. "

"I apologize! Death of my life! You pile insult on insult. "

"I assure you, it is you who have been the insulter. "

He laughed in a way that revived my heat, and asked, "Swords alone, orswords and daggers?"

"As you please. " By this time I had cast off my own doublet. 

"Rapiers and daggers, then, " he said, and flung away his scabbard andsheath. I saw the flash of my own weapons a moment later, and ere I hadtime for a second thought on the seriousness of this event--my firstfight in earnest--he was keeping me busy to parry his point and watchhis dagger at the same time. I was half-surprised at my own success inturning away his blade, but after I had guarded myself from three orfour thrusts, I took to mind that offence is the best defence, andventured a lunge, which he stopped with his dagger only in the nick oftime to save his breast. His look of being almost caught gave meencouragement, making me realize I had received good enough lessons frommy father and Blaise Tripault to enable me to practise with confidence. So I pushed the attack, but never lost control of myself nor becamereckless. It was an inspiriting revelation to me to find that I couldindeed use my head intelligently, and command my motions so well, at atime of such excitement. We grew hot, perspired, breathed fast and loud, kept our muscles tense, and held each other with glittering eyes as wemoved about on firm but springy feet. We must have fought very swiftly, for the ring of the steel sounded afterward in my ears as if it had beenalmost continuous. How long we kept it up, I do not exactly know. Wecame to panting more deeply, and I felt a little tired, and once ortwice a mist was before my eyes. At last he gave me a great start byrunning his point through my shirt sleeve above the elbow. Feelingmyself so nearly stung, I instinctively made a long swift thrust: upwent his dagger, but too late: my blade passed clear of it, sank intohis left breast. He gave a sharp little cry, and fell, and the hole Ihad made in his shirt was quickly circled with crimson. 

"Victory!" thought I, with an exultant sense of prowess. I had fleshedmy sword and brought low my man! But, as I looked down at him and he layperfectly still, another feeling arose. I knelt and felt for his heart:my new fear was realized. With bitter regret I gazed at him. All theanger and scorn had gone out of his face: it was now merely the handsomeboyish face of a youth like myself, expressing only a manly pride andthe pain and surprise of his last moment. It was horrible to think thatI had stopped this life for ever, reduced this energy and beauty toeternal silence and nothingness. A weakness overwhelmed me, a profoundpity and self-reproach. 

I heard a low ejaculation behind me, which made me start. But I saw itwas only Nicolas, who, in spite of my orders, had stolen after me, interror of what might happen. 

"Oh, heaven!" he groaned, as he stared with pale face and scared eyes atthe prostrate form. "You have killed him, Monsieur Henri. "

"Yes. It is a great pity. After all, he merely thought a little too wellof himself and was a little inconsiderate of other people's feelings. But who is not so, more or less? Poor young man!"

"Ah, but think of us, Monsieur Henri--think of yourself, I mean! We hadbetter be going, or you will have to answer for this. "

"That is so. We must settle with the landlord and get away from thistown before this gentleman is missed. "

"And alas! you arranged to stay all night. The landlord will be sure tosmell something. Come, I beg of you: there's not a moment to lose. Thinkwhat there's to do--the bag to fetch down, the horse and mule to saddle. We shall be lucky if the officers aren't after us before we're out ofthe town. "

"You are right. --Poor young man! At least I will cover his face with hisdoublet before I go. "

"I'll do that, Monsieur. You put on your own doublet, and save time. "

I did so. As Nicolas ran past me with the slain man's doublet, somethingfell out of the pocket of it. This proved to be a folded piece of paper, like a letter, but with no name outside. I picked it up. Fancying itmight give a clue to my victim's identity, and as the seal was broken, Iopened it. There was some writing, in the hand of a woman, --two linesonly:

"_For heaven's sake and pity's, come to me at once. My life and honourdepend on you alone. _"

As the missive was without address, so was it without signature. It musthave been delivered by some confidential messenger who knew therecipient, and yet by whom a verbal message was either not thoughtexpedient, or required to be confirmed by the written appeal. Therecipient must be familiar with the sender's handwriting. The notelooked fresh and clean, and therefore must have been very latelyreceived. 

"Come, Monsieur Henri, " called Nicolas, breaking in upon my whirlingthoughts. "Why do you wait?--What is the matter? What do you see on thatpaper?"

"And this, " I answered, though of course Nicolas could not understandme, "is the business he was on! This is why he had need to put groundbehind him. He was going on to-night. He must have stopped only torefresh his horses. "

"Yes, certainly, but what of that? What has his business to do with us?"

"I have prevented his carrying it out. My God!--a woman's life andhonour--a woman who relies on him--and now she will wait for him invain! At this very moment she may be counting the hours till he shouldarrive!--What have I done?"

[Illustration: "'AND NOW SHE WILL WAIT FOR HIM IN VAIN!'"]

"You, Monsieur? It's not your fault if he chose to get into a quarrelwith you. He must have valued his business highly if he dared risk it ina fight. "

"Of course he thought from my manner that he could have his own way withme. There would be no loss of time--his horses needed rest, for greaterspeed in the long run. He knew what he was about--there's no doubt ofhis haste. 'Come to me at once. My life and honour depend on you alone. 'And while she waits and trusts, I step in and cut off her onlyhope!--not this poor young fellow's life alone, but hers also, Nicolas!It mustn't be so--not if I can any way help it. I see now what I amcalled upon to do. "

"What is that, Monsieur Henri?" asked Nicolas despairingly. 

"To carry out this gentleman's task which I have interrupted--to go inhis stead to the assistance of this lady, whoever and wherever she maybe!"

CHAPTER III. 

WHERE THE LADY WAS

"Very well, Monsieur, " said Nicolas after a pause, in a tone which meantanything but very well. "But first you will have enough to do to saveyourself. This gentleman will soon be missed. He was in haste to go on, as you say. His servant will be wondering why he delays, and thelandlord will become curious about his bill. "

"Yes, but I must think a moment. Where is this poor lady? Who is thegentleman? There may be another letter--a clue of some sort. "

I hurriedly examined the young man's pockets, but found nothing written. His purse I thought best to leave where it was: to whom, indeed, could Ientrust it with any chance of its being more honestly dealt with than bythose who should find the body? The innkeeper and the gentleman'sservant, with their claims for payment, would see to that. But I keptthe lady's note. 

"Well, " said I, "I must have a talk with the valet. I must find outwhere this gentleman was going, for that must be the place where thelady is. "

"But the valet doesn't know where the gentleman was going. He wastalking to me about that in the stables. "

"That's very strange--not to know his master's destination. "

"He knows very little of his master's affairs: he was hired onlyyesterday, at Sablé. The gentleman was staying at the inn there. Yesterday he engaged this man, and said he was going to travel on at theend of the week. But this morning he suddenly made up his mind to startat once, and came off without saying where he was bound for. Until Itold him, the man didn't know that the name of this town was La Flèche. "

"And what else did he tell you?"

"That's all. He was only grumbling about having to come away sounexpectedly, and being so in the dark about his master's plans. "

"You're sure he didn't say what caused his master to change his mind andstart at once?"

"He said nothing more, Monsieur. "

"Did he mention his master's name?"

"No, we didn't get as far as that. It was only his desire to complain tosomebody, that made him speak to me; and I was too busy with the horsesto say much in reply. "

"Then you didn't give my name--to him or any one else here?"

"Not to a soul, Monsieur. "

"That's fortunate. Well, we must be attending to our business. I willpay the landlord, and give him some reason for riding on. While you aregetting the animals ready, I will try to sound this valet a littledeeper. Come. "

Without another look behind, we hastened back to the inn. 

"It's a fine evening, " said I to the landlord, "and that gentleman I sawhere awhile ago has given me the notion of riding on while the air iscool. " I spoke as steadily as I could, and I suppose if the landlorddetected any want of ease he put it down to the embarrassment ofannouncing a change of mind. In any case, he was not slow to compute thereckoning, nor I to pay it. Then, after seeing my bag and cloak broughtdown, I went in search of the young gentleman's valet. I found him inthe kitchen, half way through a bottle of wine. 

"Your master has not yet ridden on, then?" said I, dropping carelesslyon the bench opposite him. 

"No, Monsieur, " he replied unsuspectingly. He seemed more like a countrygroom than a gentleman's body servant. 

"I have decided to go on this evening, in imitation of him, " Icontinued. 

"Then your servant had better come back and finish his supper. It'sgetting cold yonder. Just as he was going to begin eating, he thought ofsomething, and went out, and hasn't returned yet. "

It was, alas, true. In my excitement I had forgotten all about Nicolas'ssupper, which he had left in order to see if I wanted my cloak for thecool of the evening. 

"I sent him on an errand, " I replied. "He shall sup doubly well later. As I was about to say, your master--by the way, if I knew his name Icould mention him properly: we have so far neglected to give each otherour names. "

"Monsieur de Merri is my master's name, as far as I know it. I have beenwith him only since yesterday. " He spoke in a somewhat disgruntled way, as if not too well satisfied with his new place. 

"So I have heard. " I said. "And it seems you were hustled off rathersooner than you expected, this morning. "

"My master did change his mind suddenly. Yesterday he said he wouldn'tleave Sablé till the end of the week. "

"Yes; but of course when he received the letter--" I stopped, as if notthinking worth while to finish, and idly scrutinized the floor. 

"What letter, Monsieur?" inquired the fellow, after a moment. 

"Why, the letter that made him change his mind. Didn't you see themessenger?"

"Oh, and did that man bring a letter, then?"

"Certainly. How secretive your master is. The man from--from--where_did_ he come from, anyhow?"

"A man came to see my master at Sablé early this morning--the only man Iknow of. I heard him say that he had ridden all the way from Montoire, following my master from one town to another. "

"Yes, that is the man, certainly, " said I in as careless a manner aspossible, fearful lest my face should betray the interest of thisrevelation to me. "Well, I think I will go and see what has become of myservant. When you have finished that bottle, drink another to me. " Itossed him a silver piece, and sauntered out. Nicolas was fastening thesaddle girth of my horse in the yard. An ostler was attending to themule. The innkeeper was looking on. I asked him about the differentroads leading from the place, and by the time I had got this informationall was ready. We mounted, I replied to the landlord's adieu, threw acoin to the ostler, and clattered out under the archway. From the squareI turned South to cross the Loir, passing not far from the place where, surrounded by trees and bushes, the body of my adversary must still belying. 

"Poor young man!" said I. "Once we get safe off, I hope they will findhim soon. "

"They will soon be seeking him, at least, " replied Nicolas. "Before youcame out of the kitchen, the landlord was wondering to the ostler whathad become of him. "

"As he was to ride on at once, his absence will appear strange. Well, I'm not sorry to think he will be found before he lies long exposed. Theauthorities, no doubt, will take all measures to find out who he is andnotify his people. "

"And to find the person who left him in that state, " said Nicolasfearfully. 

"Well, I have a start, and shall travel as fast as my horse can safelycarry me. "

"But wherever you go, Monsieur, the law will in time come up with you. "

"I have thought of that; and now listen. This is what you are to do. Weshall come very soon to a meeting of roads. You will there turn to theright--"

"And leave you, Monsieur Henri?"

"Yes, it is necessary for my safety. "

"And you will go on to Paris alone?"

"I am not going to Paris immediately--at least, I shall not go by way ofLe Mans and Chartres, as I had intended. We have already turned ourbacks on that road, when we left the square in front of the inn. I shallgo by way of Vendome. " Montoire--where the letter had evidently comefrom and where therefore the lady probably was--lay on the road toVendome. 

"And I, Monsieur?"

"You are to go back to La Tournoire, but not by the way we have comeover. This road to the right that you will soon take leads first toJarzé, and there you will find a road to the West which will bring youto our own highway not two leagues from home. " I repeated thesedirections as we left La Flèche behind us, till they seemed firmlylodged in Nicolas's head. "I don't know how long it will take you to dothis journey, " I added, "nor even when you may expect to reach Jarzé. You mustn't overdo either the mule or yourself. Stop at the firstcountry inn and get something to eat, before it is too late at night tobe served. Go on to-night as far as you think wise. It may be best, ornecessary, to sleep in some field or wood, not too near the road, as Ishall probably do toward the end of the night. "

"I shall certainly do that, Monsieur. It is a fine night. "

"When you get to La Tournoire, you are to tell my father that I am goingon without an attendant, but by way of Vendome. You needn't say anythingabout what you suppose my purpose to be: you needn't repeat what youheard me say about that lady, or the letter: you aren't to mention thelady or the letter at all. "

"I understand, Monsieur Henri; but I do hope you will keep out of otherpeople's troubles. You have enough of your own now, over this unluckyduel. "

"It's to get me out of that trouble that you are going home. Give myfather a full account of the duel. Tell him the gentleman insulted myreligion as well as myself; that he tried my patience beyond endurance. My father will understand, I trust. And say that I shall leave it to himto solicit my pardon of the King. I know he would prefer I should placethe matter all in his hands. "

"Yes, to be sure, Monsieur Henri. And of course to a gentleman who hasserved him so well, the King can't refuse anything. "

"He is scarce likely to refuse him that favour, at any rate. My fatherwill know just what to do; just whom to make his petition through, andall that. Perhaps he will go to Paris himself about it; or he may sendBlaise Tripault with letters to some of his old friends who are near theKing. But he will do whatever is best. The pardon will doubtless beobtained before I reach Paris, as I am going by this indirect way andmay stop for awhile in the neighbourhood of Vendome. But I shalleventually turn up at the inn we were bound for, in the Rue St. Honoré. "

"Yes, Monsieur, and may God land you there safe and sound!"

"Tell my father that the only name by which I know my antagonist isMonsieur de Merri. Perhaps he belonged to Montoire; at any rate, he wasacquainted there. "

We soon reached the place where the roads diverge. I took over mytravelling bag and cloak from Nicolas's mule to my horse, hastilyrepeated my directions in summary form, supplied him with money, andshowed him his road, he very disconsolate at parting, and myself littleless so. As night was falling, and so much uncertainty lay over myimmediate future, the trial of our spirits was the greater. However, assoon as he was moving on his way, I turned my horse forward on mine, andtried, by admiring the stars, to soften the sense of my loneliness anddanger. 

I began to forget the peril of my present situation by thinking of theaffair I had undertaken. In the first place, how to find the lady? All Iknew of her was that she was probably at Montoire, that she had beenassociated in some way with Monsieur de Merri, and that she now thoughtherself in imminent danger. And I had in my possession a piece of herhandwriting, which, however, I should have to use very cautiously if atall. There was, indeed, little to start with toward the task of findingher out, but, as Montoire could not be a large place, I need notdespair. I would first, I thought, inquire about Monsieur de Merri andwhat ladies were of his acquaintance. If Monsieur de Merri himself wasof Montoire, and had people living there, my presence would be a greatrisk. I could not know how soon the news of his death might reach themafter my own arrival at the place, nor how close a description would begiven of his slayer--for there was little doubt that the innkeeper wouldinfer the true state of affairs on the discovery of the body. The deadman's people would be clamorous for justice and the officers would be ontheir mettle. Even if I might otherwise tarry in Montoire unsuspected, my insinuating myself into the acquaintance of one of Monsieur deMerri's friends would in itself be a suspicious move. The more Iconsidered the whole affair, the more foolish seemed my chosen course. And yet I could not bear to think of that unknown lady in such greatfear, with perhaps none to aid her: though, indeed, since none butMonsieur de Merri could save her honour and life, how could I do so?Well, I could offer my services, at least; perhaps she meant she hadnobody else on whose willingness she could count; perhaps she reallycould make as good use of me as of him. But on what pretext could Ioffer myself? How could I account to her for my knowledge of her affairsand for Monsieur de Merri's inability to come to her? To present myselfas his slayer would not very well recommend my services to her. Wouldshe, indeed, on any account accept my services? And even if she did, wasI clever enough to get her out of the situation she was in, whateverthat might be? Truly the whole case was a cloud. Well, I must take eachparticular by itself as I came to it; be guided by circumstance, andproceed with delicacy. The first thing to do was to find out who thelady was; and even that could not be done till I got to Montoire, which, being near Vendome, must be at least two days' journey from La Flèche. 

As I thought how much in the dark was the business I had taken onmyself, my mind suddenly reverted to the first of the monk's threemaxims that Blaise Tripault had given me, which now lay folded in mypocket, close to the lady's note. 

"_Never undertake a thing unless you can see your way to the end ofit. _"

I could not help smiling to think how soon chance had led me to violatethis excellent rule. But I am not likely to be confronted again by suchcircumstances, thought I, and this affair once seen through, I shall becareful; while the other maxims, being more particular, are easier toobey, and obey them I certainly will. 

I rode on till near midnight, and then, for the sake of the horse aswell as the rider, I turned out of the road at a little stream, unsaddled among some poplar trees, and lay down, with my travelling bagfor pillow, and my cloak for bed and blanket. The horse, left to hiswill, chose to lie near me; and so, in well-earned sleep, we passed therest of the night. 

The next morning, when we were on the road again, I decided to exchangetalk with as many travellers as possible who were going my way, in thehope of falling in with one who knew Montoire. At a distance from theplace, I might more safely be inquisitive about Monsieur de Merri andhis friendships than at Montoire itself. The news of what had happenedat La Flèche would not have come along the road any sooner than I haddone, except by somebody who had travelled by night and had passed mewhile I slept. In the unlikelihood of there being such a person, I couldspeak of Monsieur de Merri without much danger of suspicion. But even ifthere was such a person, and the news had got ahead, nobody could beconfident in suspecting me. I was not the only young gentleman of myappearance, mounted on a horse like mine, to be met on the roads thatday. And besides, I was no longer attended by a servant on a mule, as Ihad been at La Flèche. So I determined to act with all freedom, accostwhom I chose, and speak boldly. 

Passing early through Le Lude, I breakfasted at last, and talked withvarious travellers, both on the road and at the inn there, but none ofthem showed any such interest, when I casually introduced the name ofMontoire, as a dweller of that place must have betrayed. To bring in thename of the town was easy enough. As thus:--in the neighbourhood of LeLude one had only to mention the fine chateau there, and after admiringit, to add: "They say there is one very like it, at some other townalong this river--I forget which--is it Montoire?--or La Chartre?--Ihave never travelled this road before. " A man of Montoire, or who knewthat town well, would have answered with certainty, and have addedsomething to show his acquaintance there. The chateau of Le Lude servedme in this manner all the way to Vaas, where there is a great church, which answered my purpose thence to Chateau du Loir. But though I threwout my conversational bait to dozens of people, of all conditions, notone bite did I get anywhere on the road between Le Lude and La Chartre. 

It was evening when I arrived at La Chartre, and I was now thirteenleagues from La Flèche, thanks to having journeyed half the previousnight. Anybody having left La Flèche that morning would be satisfiedwith a day's journey of nine leagues to Chateau du Loir, the lastconvenient stopping-place before La Chartre. So I decided to stay at LaChartre for the night, and give my horse the rest he needed. 

At the inn I talked to everybody I could lay hold of, dragging in thename of Montoire, all to no purpose, until I began to think theinhabitants of Montoire must be the most stay-at-home people, and theirtown the most unvisited town, in the world. In this manner, in thekitchen after supper, I asked a fat bourgeois whether the better placefor me to break my next day's journey for dinner would be Troo orMontoire. 

"I know no better than you, " he replied with a shrug. 

"Pardon, Monsieur; I think you will find the better inn at Montoire, "put in a voice behind my shoulder. I turned and saw, seated on a stoolwith his back to the wall, a bright-looking, well-made young fellow whomight, from his dress, have been a lawyer's clerk, or the son of atradesman, but with rather a more out-of-doors appearance than isusually acquired in an office or shop. 

"Ah, " said I, "you know those towns, then?"

"I live at Montoire, " said he, interestedly, as if glad to get intoconversation. "There is a fine public square there, you will see. "

"But it is rather a long ride before dinner, isn't it?"

"Only about five leagues. I shall ride there for dinner to-morrow, atall events. "

"You are returning home, then?"

"Yes, Monsieur. "

"Have you been far away?"

"That is as one may think, " he replied after a moment's hesitation, during which he seemed to decide it best to evade the question. Histravels were none of my business, and I cared not how secretive he mightbe upon them. But to teach him a lesson in openness, I said:

"I have travelled from Le Lude to-day. "

"And I too, " said he, with his former interest. 

"I didn't see you at the inn there, " said I. "You must have left earlythis morning. "

"Yes, after arriving late last night. Yesterday evening I was at LaFlèche. "

I gave an inward start; but said quietly enough: "Ah?--and yet you talkas if you had slept at Le Lude. "

"So I did. I travelled part of the night. "

"And arrived at Le Lude before midnight, perhaps?"

"Yes, a little before. Luckily, the innkeeper happened to be up, and helet me in. "

I breathed more freely. This young man must have left La Flèche before Ihad: he could know nothing of the man slain. 

"There is a good inn at La Flèche, " I said, to continue the talk. 

"No doubt. I stopped only a short while, at a small house at the edge ofthe town. I was in some haste. "

"Then you will be starting early to-morrow?"

"Yes, Monsieur. "

I resolved to be watchful and start at the same time. But lest he shouldhave other company, or something should interfere, I decided not to losethe present opportunity. So I began forthwith:

"I have met a gentleman who comes, I think, from Montoire, or at leastis acquainted there, --a Monsieur de Merri, of about my own age. "

The young fellow looked at me with a sudden sharpness of curiosity, which took me back: but I did not change countenance, and he hadrepossessed himself by the time he replied:

"There is a Monsieur de Merri, who is about as old as you, but he doesnot live at Montoire. He sometimes comes there. "

Here was comfort, at least: I should not find myself among the deadman's relations, seeking vengeance. 

"No doubt he has friends there?" I ventured. 

"No doubt, Monsieur, " answered the young man, merely out of politeness, and looking vague. 

"Probably he visits people in the neighbourhood, " I tried again. 

"I cannot say, " was the reply, still more absently given. 

"Or lives at the inn, " I pursued. 

"It may be so. " The young fellow was now glancing about the kitchen, asif to rid himself of this talk. 

"Or perhaps he dwells in private lodgings when he is at Montoire, " Iwent on resolutely. 

"It might well be. There are private lodgings to be had there. "

"Do you know much of this Monsieur de Merri?" I asked pointblank, indesperation. 

"I have seen him two or three times. "

"Where?"

"Where? At Montoire, of course. " The speaker, in surprise, scrutinizedme again with the keen look he had shown before. 

It was plain, from his manner, that he chose to be close-mouthed on thesubject of Monsieur de Merri. He was one of those people who generallyhave a desire to talk of themselves and all their affairs, but who canbe suddenly very secretive on some particular matter or occasion. I sawthat I must give him up, for that time at least. Perhaps on the roadnext day his unwillingness to be communicative about Monsieur de Merriwould have passed away. But meanwhile, what was the cause of thatunwillingness? Did he know, after all, what had occurred at La Flèche, and had he begun to suspect me? I inwardly cursed his reticence, andwent soon to bed, that I might rise the earlier. 

But early as I rose, my young friend had beaten me. The ostler to whom Idescribed him said he had ridden off half-an-hour ago. In no veryamiable mood, I rode after him. Not till the forenoon was half spent, did I catch up. He saluted me politely, and gave me his views of theweather, but was not otherwise talkative. We rode together pleasantlyenough, but there was no more of that openness in him which would havemade me feel safe in resuming the subject of Monsieur de Merri. As weapproached noon and our destination, I asked him about the differentfamilies of consequence living thereabouts, and he mentioned severalnames and circumstances, but told me nothing from which I could inferthe possibility of danger to any of their ladies. It was toward mid-daywhen we rode into the great square of Montoire, and found ourselvesbefore the inn of the Three Kings. 

I turned to take leave of my travelling companion, thinking that as hebelonged to this town he would go on to his own house. 

"I'm going to stop here for a glass of wine and to leave my horseawhile, " he said, noticing my movement. 

He followed me through the archway. A stout innkeeper welcomed me, sawme dismount, and then turned to my young fellow-traveller, speaking withgood-natured familiarity:

"Ah, my child, so you are back safe after your journey. Let us see, howlong have you been away? Since Sunday morning--four days and a half. Imight almost guess where you've been, from the time--for all the secretyou make of it. "

The young man laughed perfunctorily, and led his horse to the stableafter the ostler who had taken mine. 

"A pleasant young man, " said I, staying with the landlord. "He lives inthis town, he tells me. "

"Yes, an excellent youth. He owns his bit of land, and though his fatherwas a miller, his children may come near being gentlemen. "

I went into the kitchen, and ordered dinner. Presently my young manentered and had his wine, which he poured down quickly. He then bowed tome, and went away, like one who wishes to lose no time. 

Suddenly the whole probability of the case appeared to me in a flash. Regardless of the wine before me, and of the dinner I had ordered, Irose and followed him. 

I had put together his reticence about Monsieur de Merri, his havingbeen away from Montoire just four and a half days, the direction of hisjourney, and his errand to be done immediately on returning. He must bethe messenger who had carried the lady's note to Sablé, and he was nowgoing to report its delivery and, perhaps, Monsieur de Merri's answer. If I could dog his steps unseen, he would lead me to the lady who was indanger. 

CHAPTER IV. 

WHO THE LADY WAS

By the time I was in the court-yard, the messenger was walking out ofthe archway. By the time I was at the outer end of the archway, he waswell on his way toward one of the streets that go from the square. Iwaited in the shelter of the archway till he had got into thatstreet--or road, I should say, for it soon leaves the town, proceedingstraight in a South-easterly direction for about half a league throughthe country. As soon as he was out of the square, I was after him, stepping so lightly I could scarce hear my own footfalls. He walkedrapidly, and as one who does not think of turning to look behind, a factwhich I observed with comfort. 

If he was indeed the messenger, he must have been content with a veryshort rest for his horse after delivering the note to Monsieur deMerri;--must have started from Sablé as soon as, or little later than, Monsieur de Merri himself, to be in La Flèche on the same evening thatgentleman arrived there, and to be out of it again before I was, as hemust have been if he reached Le Lude by midnight. Perhaps he was passingthrough La Flèche at the very time the duel was going on; but the sum ofall was, that he could not know Monsieur de Merri was killed, and this Ifelt to be fortunate for me. 

Another thought which I had while following him along the straight whiteroad that day, was that if the lady could command the services of thisable young fellow to bear a message so far, why could she not use himdirectly for the saving of her life and honour? Evidently there was areason why mere zeal and ability would not suffice. Perhaps thenecessary service was one in which only a gentleman could be accepted. But I feared rather that there might be some circumstance to makeMonsieur de Merri the only possible instrument; and my heart fell atthis, thinking what I had done. But I hoped for the best, and did notlose sight of the young man ahead of me. 

After we had walked about twenty minutes, the road crossed a bridge androse to the gates of a chateau which had at one corner a very high oldtower. In front of the chateau, the road turned off sharply to the left. A few small houses constituted such a village as one often sees huddledabout the feet of great castles. A drawbridge, which I could see betweenthe gate towers, indicated that the chateau and its immediate groundswere surrounded by a moat. The messenger did not approach the gates, nordid he follow the road to its turning. He disappeared down a lane to theright. 

When I got to the lane, he had already passed out of it at the otherend. I hastened through, and caught sight of him in the open fields thatlay along the side wall of the chateau. Near the outer edge of the moat, grew tangled bushes, and I noticed that he kept close to these, as if tobe out of sight from the chateau. At a distance ahead, skirting the rearof the chateau enclosure, stretched the green profile of what appearedto be a deep forest. It was this which my unconscious guide wasapproaching. I soon reached the bushes by the fosse, and used them formy own concealment in following him. When he came to the edge of theforest, at a place near a corner of the wall environing the chateaugrounds, what did he do but stop before the first tree--a fine oak--andproceed to climb up it? I crouched among the bushes, and looked on. 

When he gained the boughs he worked his way out on one that extendedtoward the moat. From that height he could see across the wall. He tooka slender pole that had been concealed among the branches, tied ahandkerchief thereto, and ran it out so that the bit of white could beseen against the leaves. 

"Oho! a signal!" said I to myself. 

Keeping the handkerchief in its position, he waited. I know not justwhat part of an hour went by. I listened to the birds and sometimes tothe soft sound of a gentle breeze among the tree tops of the forest. 

At last the handkerchief suddenly disappeared, and my man came quicklydown the tree. Watching the chateau beyond the walls, he had evidentlyseen the person approach for whom he had hung out his signal. He nowstood waiting under the tree. My heart beat fast. 

I heard a creaking sound, and saw a little postern open in the wall, near the tree. A girl appeared, ran nimbly across a plank that spannedthe moat, and into the arms of my young man. 

Could this, then, be the woman whose life and honour was in peril? No, for though she had some beauty, I could see at a glance that she was adependent. Moreover, her face shone gaily at sight of the messenger, andshe gave herself to his embrace with smothered laughter. But a momentlater, she attended seriously, and with much concern, to what he had tosay, of which I could hear nothing. I then saw what the case was: thiswas a serving-maid whom the endangered lady had taken into confidence, and who had impressed her lover into service to carry that lady'smessage. The lady herself must be in that chateau, --perhaps a prisoner. My first step must be to find out who were the dwellers in the chateau, and as much of their affairs as the world could tell me. 

The interview between the two young people was not long. It ended inanother embrace; the girl ran back over the plank, waved her hand at herlover, and disappeared, the postern door closing after her. The youngman, with a last tender look at the door, hastened back as he had come. I had to crawl suddenly under some low bushes to avoid his sight, makinga noise which caused him to stop within six feet of me. But I suppose heascribed the sound to some bird or animal, for he soon went on again. 

I lay still for some time, being under no further necessity of observinghim. I then walked back to the inn at Montoire at a leisurely pace. Looking into the stables when I arrived, I saw that the messenger'shorse was gone. He lived, as I afterwards learned from the innkeeper, onanother road than that which led to the chateau. I suppose he had chosento go afoot to the chateau for the sake of easier concealment. 

The innkeeper was looking amazed and injured, at my having gone away andlet my dinner spoil. 

"I was taken with a sudden sickness, " I explained. "There's nothing likea walk in the fresh air when the stomach is qualmish. I am quite wellnow. I'll have another dinner, just what I ordered before. "

As this meant my paying for two dinners, the landlord was soon restoredto good-nature. He was a cheerful, hearty soul, and as communicative asI could desire. 

"That is a strong chateau about half a league yonder, " I said to him, asI sipped his excellent white wine. 

"Yes, the Chateau de Lavardin, " he replied. "Strong?--yes, indeed. "

"Who lives there?"

"The Count de Lavardin. "

"What sort of man is he?"

"What sort? Well!--an old man, for one thing, --or growing old. Or maybeyou mean, what does he look like?"

"Yes, of course. "

"A lean old grey wolf, I have heard him likened to--without offence, ofcourse. Yes, he is a thin old man, but of great strength, for all that. "

"Is he a good landlord?"

"Oh, he is not my landlord, " said the innkeeper, looking as if he wouldhave added "Thank God!" but for the sake of prudence. "No; his estate isvery large, but it extends in the other direction from Montoire. "

"Is he a pleasant neighbour, then?"

"Oh, I have no fault to find, for my part. One mustn't believe all thegrumblers. You may hear it said of him that his smile is more frightfulthan another man's rage. But people will say things, you know, when theythink they have grievances. "

I fancied that the innkeeper shared this opinion which he attributed tothe grumblers, and took satisfaction in getting it expressed, though toocautious to father it himself. 

"Then he has no great reputation for benevolence?"

"Oh, I don't say that. We must take what we hear, with a grain of salt. He is certainly one of the great noblemen of this neighbourhood;certainly a brave man. You will hear silly talk, of course: how that heis a man whose laugh makes one think of dungeon chains and the rack. Butsome people will give vent to their envy of the great. "

I shuddered inwardly, to think that my undertaking might bring me acrossthe path of a man as sinister and formidable as these bits ofdescription seemed to indicate. 

"What family has he?" I asked, trying the more to seem indifferent as Icame closer to the point. 

"No family. His children are all dead. Some foolish folk say he expectedtoo much of them, and tried to bring them up too severely, as if theyhad been Spartans. But that is certainly a slander, for his eldest sonwas killed in battle in the last civil war. "

"Then he has no daughter--or grand-daughter--or niece, perhaps?"

"Not that I know of. Why do you ask, Monsieur?"

"I thought I saw a lady at one of the windows, " said I, inventing. 

"No doubt. It must have been his wife. She would be the only ladythere. "

"Oh, but this was surely a young lady, " I said, clinging to mypreconceptions. 

"Certainly. His new wife is young. The children I spoke of were by hisfirst wife, poor woman! Oh, yes, his new wife is young--beautiful too, they say. "

"And how do she and the Count agree together, being rather unevenlymatched?"

"That is the question. Nobody sees much of their life. She never comesout of the grounds of the chateau, except to church sometimes, when shelooks neither to the right nor to the left. "

"But who are her people, to have arranged her marriage with such a man?"

"Oh. I believe she has no people. An orphan, whom he took out of aconvent. A gentlewoman, yes, but of obscure family. "

"I can't suppose she is very happy. "

"Who knows, Monsieur? They do say the old wolf--I mean the Count, Monsieur, --we are sometimes playful in our talk here at Montoire, --theysay he is terribly jealous. They say that is why he keeps her so close. Of course I know nothing of it. --You noticed, perhaps, that the moat wasfull of water. The drawbridge is up half the time. One would suppose theCivil wars were back again. To be sure, some people hint that there maybe another reason for all that: but I, for one, take no interest inpolitics. "

"You mean the Count is thought to be one of those who are disaffectedtoward the King?"

"H-sh, Monsieur! We mustn't say such things. If idle whispers go around, we can't help hearing them; but as for repeating them, or believingthem, that's another matter. I mention only what all can see--that theChateau de Lavardin is kept very much closed against company. The sayingis, that it's as hard to get into the Chateau de Lavardin nowadays asinto heaven. It's very certain, the Count has no welcome for strangers. "

And yet somehow I should have to get into the chateau, and obtainprivate speech with the Countess, --for it must be she who had summonedMonsieur de Merri. 

"In that case, " said I, "they must have no visitors at all. But I recallmeeting a young gentleman the other day, who was acquainted with somegreat family near Montoire, and, from certain things, I think it must bethis very Lavardin family. He was a Monsieur de Merri. "

"Ah, yes. He has stayed at this inn. It was here the Count met him, oneday when the Count was returning from the hunt. The Count was thirstyand stopped to drink, and the young gentleman began to talk with himabout the hounds. At that time half the Count's pack were suffering froma strange disease, which threatened the others. When the Count describedthe disease, Monsieur de Merri said he knew all about it and could cureit. The Count took him to the chateau, where he stayed a fortnight, foryou see, however jealous the count may be of his wife, he cares more forhis hounds. Monsieur de Merri cured them, and that is how he gotadmission to the Chateau de Lavardin. But besides him and the redCaptain, there aren't many who can boast of that privilege. "

"The red Captain? Who is he?"

"Captain Ferragant. He is a friend of the Count's, who comes to thechateau sometimes and makes long visits there. Where he comes from, ofwhat he does when he is elsewhere, I cannot tell. He is at the chateaunow, I believe. "

"Why did you call him the red Captain?"

"The people have given him that name. He has a great red splash down oneside of his face. They say it was caused by a burn. "

"Received in the wars, perhaps. "

"No doubt. He has fought under many banners, it is said. Some declare hestill keeps his company together, always ready for the highest bidder;but if that's true, I don't know where he keeps it, or how he does sowithout a loss when not at the wars. It is true, he brings a suite ofsturdy fellows when he comes to Lavardin; but not enough to make whatyou would call a company. "

"Perhaps he has made his fortune and retired. "

"He's not an old man, Monsieur, though he is the friend of the Count. Heis at the prime of life, I should say. A tall, strong man. He would behandsome but for the red stamp on his face. He has great influence overthe Count. They drink, hunt, and play together. In many ways they arealike. The red Captain, too, has a smile that some people are afraid of, and a laugh that is merciless, but they are broad and bold, if you canunderstand what I mean, --not like the wily chuckle of the Count. He hasbig, ferocious eyes, too; while the Count's are small and half-closed. If people will fear those two men because of their looks, I can't for mylife say which is to be feared the more. "

"A pleasant pair for anybody to come in conflict with, " said I, aslightly as I could. 

"Yes, Monsieur, and seeing that strangers are so unwelcome there, youwill do well to pass by the Chateau de Lavardin without stopping toexchange compliments. " With a jocular smile, the innkeeper went abouthis business, while I finished my dinner with a mind full of misgivings. 

I rose from the table, left the inn, and walked back, by the straightroad of half a league, to Lavardin, pondering on the problem before me. It was a natural feeling that I might come by an inspiration moreprobably in the presence of the chateau than away from it. There was alittle cabaret in the village, in full sight of the chateau gates, andjust far enough back from the road to give room for two small tables infront. At one of these tables a man was already sitting, so I tookpossession of the other and called for a bottle of wine. I then satthere, slowly sipping, with my eyes on the chateau, hoping that bycontemplation thereof, or perhaps by some occurrence thereabout, I mightarrive at some idea of how to proceed. The drawbridge was not up, butthe gates were closed. From where I sat, I could see the gate towers, apart of the outer wall, the turreted top of the chateau itself beyondthe court, and the great high tower, which looked very ancient andsombre. But the more I looked, the more nearly impossible it appearedthat I could devise means of getting into the place and to the ear ofthe Countess. 

As I was gazing at the chateau, I had a feeling that the man at theother table was gazing at me. I glanced at him, but seemed to have beenmistaken. He was looking absently at the sky over my head. I now tookthought of what a very silent, motionless, undemonstrative man this was. He was thin and oldish, and of moderate stature, with a narrow face, pale eyes, and a very long nose. He was dressed in dull brown cloth, andwas in all respects--save his length of nose--one of those persons ofwhom nobody ever takes much note. And he in turn did not seem to takemuch note of the world. He looked at the sky, the house roofs and theroad, but his thoughts did not appear to concern themselves with thesethings, or with anything, unless with the wine which he, like myself, sipped in a leisurely manner. 

I dismissed him from my attention, and resumed my observation of thechateau. But nobody came nor went, the gates did not open, nothinghappened to give me an idea. When I looked again at the other table, thelong-nosed man was gone. It was as if he had simply melted away. 

"Who was the man sitting there?" I asked the woman of the cabaret. 

"I don't know, Monsieur. He arrived here this morning. I never saw himbefore to-day. "

In the evening I went back to Montoire, no nearer the solution of myproblem than before. Nor did a sleepless night help me any: I formed adozen fantastic schemes, only to reject every one of them as impossible. What made all this worse, was the consideration that time might be ofthe utmost importance in the affairs of the imperilled lady. 

The next morning I went to view the chateau from other points than thevillage cabaret. This time I took the way the messenger had ledme, --turned down the lane, and traversed the fields by the moat. I satwhere I had hid the day before; staring at the postern and the wall, over which birds flew now and then, indicating that there was a gardenon the other side. Receiving no suggestion here, I took up my station atthe tree from which the messenger had shown the handkerchief. I thoughtof climbing it, to see over the wall. But just as I had formed myresolution, I happened to glance over the fields and see a man strollingidly along near the edge of the moat. As he came nearer, I recognizedhim as the long-nosed gentleman in the brown doublet and hose. 

He saw me, and gazed, in his absent way, with a momentary curiosity. Angry at being caught almost in the act of spying out the land, Ihastened off, passing between the rear wall and the forest which grewnearly to the moat, and to which the tree itself belonged. In this way, I soon left my long-nosed friend behind, and came out on the oppositeside of the chateau. 

Here I found a hillock, from the top of which I could see more of thechateau proper and the other contents of the great walled enclosure. Isat for some time regarding them, but the towers, turrets, roofs, windows, and tree tops engendered no project in my mind. 

Suddenly I heard a low, discreet cough behind me, and, looking around, saw the long-nosed man standing not six feet away. 

The sight gave me a start, for I had neither heard nor seen himapproach, though the way I had come was within my field of vision. Hemust have made a wide circle through the woods. 

His mild eyes were upon me. "Good morning, Monsieur, " said he, in a dry, small voice. 

"Good morning, " said I, rather ungraciously. 

He came close to me, and said, with a faint look of amusement:

"May I tell you what is your chief thought at present, Monsieur?"

After a moment, I deemed it best to answer, "If you wish. "

"It is that you would give half the money in your purse to get into thatchateau yonder. "

At first I could only look astonishment. Then I considered it wise totake his remark as a joke; accordingly I laughed, and asked, "How do youknow that?"

"Oh, I have observed you yesterday and to-day. You have a very eloquentcountenance, Monsieur. Well, I don't blame you for wishing you could getover those walls. I have been young myself: I know what an attraction apretty maid is. "

So he thought it was some love affair with a lady's maid that lay behindthe wish he had divined in me. I saw no reason to undeceive him; so Imerely said, "And what is all this to you, Monsieur?"

"Hum!--that depends, " he replied. "Tell me first, are you known to theCount de Lavardin or his principal people--by sight, I mean?"

"Neither by sight nor otherwise. "

"Good! Excellent!" said the man, looking really pleased. "I dared hopeas much, when the woman at the cabaret said you were a stranger. What isall this to me? you ask. Well, as I have taken the liberty to read yourthoughts, I will be frank with you in regard to my own. I also have adesire to see the inside of that chateau, and, as I haven't the honourof the Count's acquaintance, and he is very suspicious of strangers, Imust resort to my devices. My reasons for wanting to be admitted yonderare my own secret, but I assure you they won't conflict with yours. So, as I have been studying you a little, and think you a gentleman to betrusted, I propose that we shall help each other, as far as our objectis the same. In other words, Monsieur, if you will do as I say, Ibelieve we may both find ourselves freely admitted to the Chateau deLavardin before this day is over. Once inside, each shall go about hispurposes without any concern for the other. What do you think of it, Monsieur?"

CHAPTER V. 

THE CHATEAU DE LAVARDIN

All that I could think was that, if genuine, the offer came as a mostunexpected piece of good luck, and that, if it was a trick, myacceptance of it could not much add to the danger which attended mypurpose at best. In any case, this man already had me under scrutiny. So, after some little display of surprise and doubt, I took him at hisword, inwardly reserving the right to draw back if I found myselfentering a trap. The man's very proposal involved craft as against themaster of the chateau, but toward me he seemed to be acting with theutmost simplicity and honesty, so straightforward and free fromexcessive protestation he was. 

He led me away to a quiet, secluded place by the riverside, out of sightof the chateau, that we might talk the matter over in safety. And firsthe asked me what I knew of the disposition and habits of the Count deLavardin. I told him as much as the innkeeper had told me. 

"Hum!" said he, reflectively; "it agrees with what I have heard. I havebeen pumping people a little, in a harmless way. The first thing Ilearned was the Count's churlish practice of closing his gates tostrangers, which forces us to use art in obtaining the hospitality weare entitled to by general custom. So I had to discover some inclinationor hobby of the man's, that I could make use of to approach him. I don'tsee how we can reach him through his love of dogs, without havingprepared ourselves with special knowledge and a fine hound or so toattract his attention. As for his jealousy, it would be too hazardous toplay upon that: besides, I shouldn't like to cook up a tale about hiswife, unless put to it. "

"Monsieur, don't speak of such a thing, " I said indignantly. 

"No, it wouldn't do. I can't think of a better plan than the one thatfirst occurred to me. As it required a confederate, I put it aside. Butwhen I observed you yesterday regarding the chateau so wistfully, I saidto myself, 'No doubt heaven has sent this young man to help me, and thatI in turn may help him. ' But I waited to make sure, watching you lastnight and this morning till I was convinced of your desire to get intothe chateau. "

It was a surprise to me to learn that I had been watched, but I took itcoolly. 

"The plan I had thought of, " he went on, "required that my confederateshould be unknown to the Count and those near him. When I find that you, who are anxious for your own reasons to enter the chateau, fulfil thatrequirement, I can only think the more that heaven has brought ustogether. It is more than heaven usually does for one. "

"But what else does your plan require of me?" I asked, impatient to knowwhat must be faced. 

"You play chess, of course?" was his interrogative answer. 

"A little, " said I, wondering what that had to do with the case. 

"Then all is fair ahead of us. Luckily. I play rather well myself. As Isaid just now, I have been nosing among the people--nosing is a goodword in my case, isn't it?"--he pointed to his much-extendedproboscis--"I have been nosing about to learn the Count's rulingpassions and so forth. When you have anybody to hoodwink, or obtainaccess to without creating suspicion, find out what are his likings andpreoccupations: be sure there will be something there of which you canavail yourself. From the village priest I learned that, along with hisfondness for hunting and drinking and the lower forms of gaming, theCount has a taste for more intellectual amusements, and chiefly for thegame of chess. He is a most excellent player, and doesn't often find aworthy antagonist. His bosom friend, one Captain Ferragant, who is nowliving at the chateau, has no skill at chess, so the Count has been putto sending for this priest to come and play a game now and then, but theCount beats him too easily for any pleasure and the result of theirgames is that the Count only curses the rarity of good chess-players. "

"And so you think of proposing a game with him?"

"Not exactly, " said the long-nosed man, with a faint smile at mysimplicity. "An obscure man like me, travelling without a servant, doesn't propose games to a great nobleman, at the great nobleman's owngates. The great nobleman may condescend to invite, but the obscuretraveller may not presume to offer himself, --not, at least, withoutcreating wonder and some curiosity as to his motives. No; that would betoo direct, moreover. It would suggest that I had been inquisitive abouthim, to have learned that he is fond of chess. I may tell you that theCount has his reasons for imagining that strangers may come trying toget access to him, who have taken pains to learn something of his waysbeforehand. He has his reasons for suspecting every stranger who seeksto enter his gates. No; we must neither show any knowledge of him, morethan his name, nor any desire to get into his house. We must play uponhis hobby without openly appealing to it. That is why two of us arenecessary. This is what we will do. "

I listened with great interest, surprised to discover what acuteness ofmind was hidden behind the pale, meek eyes and un-expressive pastycountenance of this man with the long nose. 

"In an hour or so from now, " he said, "I shall be sitting before thecabaret, where you saw me yesterday. You will come there, from wanderingabout the fields, and we will greet each other as having met casually onour walks this morning--as indeed we actually have met. You will sitdown to refresh yourself with a bottle of wine, and we shall get intoconversation, like the strangers that we are to each other. The peopleof the cabaret will hear us, more or less, and the porter at the chateaugates will doubtless observe us. I will presently lead the talk to thesubject of chess. You will profess to be ardently devoted to the game. Iwill show an equally great passion for it. We will express much regretthat we have no chessmen with us, and will inquire if any can beobtained in the village. I know already that none can be: the priestonce owned a set, but he let the village children use them as toys andthey are broken up. Well, then, rather than lose the opportunity ofencountering a first-class player, you will suggest that we try toborrow chessmen from the owner of that great chateau, who must surelypossess such things, as no great house is ever without them. You willthereupon write a note to the Count, saying we are two gentlemen whohave met on our travels, and both claiming to be skilled chess-players, and hating to part without a trial of prowess, but lacking chessmen, wetake upon ourselves to ask if he may have such a thing as a set which hewill allow us the use of for half a day; and so forth. We will bid thewoman at the cabaret take this note to the porter; and then we have butto await the result. "

"And what will that be?"

"We shall see when it comes, " said the man tranquilly. I know notwhether he really felt the serene confidence he showed; but he seemed tobe going on the sure ground of past experience. "It will be necessary togive names and some account of ourselves, no doubt, before all is done. We shall not be expected to know anything of each other, having only metas travellers so recently. To the Count I will call myself Monsieur dePepicot, a poor gentleman of Amiens. As for you, is there any reason whyyou shouldn't use your own name? When you want to deceive anybody, it iswell to be strictly truthful as far as your object will permit. "

"The only reason is, that I may get into the Count's bad graces by whatI may do in his house, and it would be better if he didn't know where tolook for me afterwards. "

"Well, there's something in that. The Count is not a forgiving man. Andyet, as to his power of revenge, I know not--Well, do as you please. "

"Oh, devil take it, I'll go under my own name, let come what may! Idon't like the idea of masquerading. "

"A brave young gentleman! Then there's no more to be said. When we areinside the chateau, it will be each of us for himself, though of coursewe must keep up the comedy of wishing to play chess. Meet me by chanceat the cabaret, then, in about an hour. "

Without any more ado, he left me. Coming forth from the concealed placea minute later, I saw him strolling along the river, looking at thefields and the sky, as if nothing else were on his mind. I presentlyimitated him, but went in another direction. In due time I made my wayto the cabaret, and there he was, at the table where I had first seenhim. 

We spoke to each other as had been arranged, and easily carried theconversation to the desired point, mostly in the hearing of the woman ofthe cabaret as she sat knitting by the door. When it came to writing thenote, the long-nosed man tore a leaf of paper out of his pocket book, and had pen and ink fetched from his lodging over the cabaret; I thencomposed our request in as courteous phrases as I thought suitable. Thewoman herself carried the note to the chateau gates, and we saw a gratedwicket open, and a scowling fellow show his face there, who questionedher, glanced at us with no friendly look, took the note, and closed thewicket. We waited half an hour or so, sipping our wine and talkingcarelessly, till I imagined the long-nosed man was becoming a littledoubtful. But just as he was losing his placidity so far as to cross oneleg over another, the chateau gate opened, and a heavy, dark-browedfellow with the appearance rather of a soldier than of a servant, cameout, and over to us, scrutinizing us keenly as he approached. He askedif we were the gentlemen who had written to borrow a set of chessmen. Being so informed, he said:

"Monsieur the Count, my master, begs to be excused from sending hischessmen to you, but if you will come to them he will be glad to judgeof your playing; and perhaps to offer the winner a bout with himself. "

We took half a minute to evince our pleased surprise, our sense offavour, and so forth, at this courteous invitation, --and then wefollowed the servant to the chateau. It was amusing to see howinnocently, decorously, and consciously of unexpected honour mylong-nosed friend walked through the gateway, and gazed with childlikeadmiration around the court-yard and the grey façade of the chateauconfronting us. 

A few wide steps led up to the arched door, which admitted us to a largehall plentifully furnished with tables, benches, and finely-carvedchairs. It was panelled in oak and hung with arms, boars' heads, andother trophies. At the upper end of a long table, the one leaningforward from a chair at the head, the other from the bench at the side, lounged two men, whom I recognized instantly from the descriptions ofthe innkeeper as if from painted portraits. They were the Count deLavardin and Captain Ferragant. 

Yes, there was the "lean old grey wolf, " grey not only in his bristlyhair and short pointed beard, but even in the general hue of his wizenface; grey as to the little eyes that peered out between their narrowedslits; grey even, on this occasion, as to his velvet doublet andbreeches. Though his face was wizen, the leanness of his body had noappearance of weakness, but rather every sign of strength. I noticedthat his fingers seemed to possess great crunching power, and there wasalways on his face the faint beginning of a smile which, I thought, would heighten into glee when those fingers were in the act ofstrangling somebody. 

As for the Captain, there was indeed a great blotch of deep red acrosshis cheek; he was a large, powerful fellow, with a bold, insolent face, and fierce, pitiless eyes. To make his sobriquet the fitter, he wore asuit of crimson, very rich and ornate. His beard and hair, however, wereblack. 

"You are welcome, gentlemen, " said the Count, in a harsh, thin voice. "From what part do you come?"

"From different parts, " said my long-nosed companion. "We have only metas strangers going opposite ways. I am Monsieur de Pepicot, of theneighbourhood of Amiens, travelling to Angers to see some kinsfolk. "

The Count turned to me, and I recited my name and place, adding that Iwas going to Paris, to see a little of the world, and thereforejourneying somewhat indirectly. 

"And behold here Monsieur the Captain Ferragant, who comes fromBurgundy, " said the Count, "so that we have North, West, and East allrepresented. "

Captain Ferragant bowed as politeness required, but he went no further. He did not seem to relish our being there. His look was ratherdisdainful, I thought, as if we were nobodies unfit for the honour ofhis company. And very soon, while the Count was saying we must stay todinner, as there was not time for a game of chess before, the Captainwalked away and out of the hall. Seeing that we were to be his guestsfor the day, the Count had us shown to a rather remote chamber up twoflights of stairs, where water was brought, and where we were left alonetogether. The chamber looked out on a small part of the garden at therear of the chateau. 

"Well, " said I, washing my hands, "you have played the magician. It hasbeen as easy as walking, to get into the chateau. "

"Will it be easy to get out again, when our business is done, I wonder?"replied Monsieur de Pepicot, gazing out of the window at the distanthigh wall of the garden. 

"Why do you say that?" I asked, a little surprised at his tone. 

"Oh, I was thinking of the manner in which the gate slammed to, after wehad entered. It is a mere inanimate gate, to be sure, but it was slammedby a porter, and his manner of slamming it might unconsciously expresswhat was in his mind. You remember, the Count was rather long in comingto a decision upon our note. If it occurred to him, after all, that wemight have some design, and that people with a design would be saferinside than outside--well, I mention this only that you may know to keepyour wits about you. "

"Thanks, but I see no reason to fear anything. Everything seems to begoing admirably. We are assured of some time in which to attend to ouraffairs. While one of us is playing chess with the Count, the other willbe free to roam about, --that suits me perfectly. I begin to feel reallygrateful for the Count's hospitality--I almost dislike having won it bya trick. "

"Pish! He is churlish enough as a rule in the matter ofhospitality--it's only fair to win it by a trick. "

I was inwardly much excited at the near prospect of dinner, as the mealwould perhaps give me a sight of the Countess. But of this I wasdisappointed. The only people who sat down at the upper table, whendinner was served in the hall, were the Count, the Captain, my friendMonsieur de Pepicot, and myself. Elsewhere the benches were crowded withfellows who, like him that had brought our invitation, appeared as muchwarriors as serving men, and their number alone would have arrestednotice. I now recalled how many knaves of this sort I had seen in thecourt-yard as I entered the chateau, but at that time I had had otherthings to think of. 

The Count said nothing of the absence of his lady, and, as we couldscarce be thought to know whether he had a Countess living, it was notfor us to inquire about her. I spent my time wondering what could be hersituation, and whether her not appearing had anything to do with thedanger in which she supposed herself. My long-nosed friend ate veryindustriously, and most of the conversation was between the Count andthe Captain, upon dogs and hawks and such things. When the Countaddressed either Monsieur de Pepicot or me, the Captain was silent. Thisreticence, whether it proceeded from jealousy or contempt, seemed toafford the Count a little amusement, for he turned his small eyes on theCaptain and stretched his thin lips in a smile that was truly horriblein its relish of another's discontent. 

After dinner, the Count had the chessmen brought at once, and sat downto watch us at our game. The Captain, with a glance of disapproval atthe chessboard, strolled away as he had done before. I was but amoderately good player, and discomposed besides, so I held out scarce anhour against the long-nosed gentleman, who was evidently of great skill. Apparently the Count, by his ejaculations, thought little of my playing, but he was so glad when my defeat made room for him, that I escaped hisdispleasure. I too was glad, for now, while Monsieur de Pepicot kept theCount occupied at chess, I should be free to go about the chateau insearch for its mistress. And grateful I was to Monsieur de Pepicot forhaving beaten me, for he might easily have left me as the victor andused this opportunity for his own purpose. I could not think it wasgenerosity that had made him do otherwise: I could only wonder what hispurpose was, that would bear so much waiting. 

For appearance's sake, I watched the two players awhile: then I imitatedthe Captain, and sauntered to the court-yard, wondering if there mightbe any servant there whom I could sound. But the men lounging there werenot of a simple-looking sort. They were all of forbidding aspect, andthey stared at me so hard that I returned into the hall. The Count wasintent upon the game. Pushed by the mere impulse of inquiry, I went upthe staircase as if to go to the chamber to which I had before beenconducted. But instead of going all the way up, I turned off at thefirst landing into a short corridor, resolved to wander wherever Imight: if anybody stopped me, I could pretend to have lost my way. 

The corridor led into a drawing-room richly tapestried and furnished;that into another room, which contained musical instruments; that into agallery where some portraits were hung. So far I had got access by aseries of curtained archways. The further end of the gallery was closedby a door. I was walking toward that door, when I heard a step in theroom I had last traversed. I immediately began to look at the pictures. 

A man entered and viewed me suspiciously. He was, by his dress and air, a servant of some authority in the household, and had not the militaryrudeness of the fellows in the court-yard. 

"What is it Monsieur will have?" he asked, with outward courtesy enough. 

"I am looking at the portraits, " said I. 

"I will explain them to you, " said he. "That is Monsieur the Count inhis youth, painted at Paris by a celebrated Italian. " And he went on topoint out the Count's children, now dead, and his first wife, beforegoing back to a former generation. 

"And the present Countess?" said I at last, looking around the walls invain. 

"There is no portrait of Madame the Countess. "

"She was not at dinner, " I ventured. "Is she not well?"

"Oh, she is well, I am happy to say. She often dines in her ownapartments. "

"She is well and yet keeps to her apartments?" I said, with as muchsurprise as I thought the circumstance might naturally occasion. 

"She does not keep to her apartments exactly, " replied the man, a littleannoyed. "She walks in the garden much of the time. Is there anythingelse I may show you, Monsieur?"

He stood at the curtained entrance, as if to attend my leaving the room, and I thought best to take the hint. No doubt he had purposely followedme, to hinder my going too far. 

I returned to the hall, which was very silent, the two players beingdeep in their chess. Somewhere in my wake the manservant vanished, and Iseemed free to explore in another direction. The Countess walked much inthe garden, the man had said. It was a fine afternoon--might she not bewalking there now?

Feigning carelessness, I went out a small door at the rear of the hall, and found myself in that narrow part of the garden which lay between twowings of the house, and which our chamber overlooked. This part, whichwas really a terrace, was separated by a low Italian balustrade from thegreater garden below and beyond. I walked up the middle path to wherethere was an opening in the balustrade at the head of a flight of steps. But here my confidence received a check. Half-way down the steps wassitting a burly fellow, who rose at my appearance, and said:

"Pardon, Monsieur: no further this way, if you please. I am ordered tostop everybody. "

"But I am the Count's guest, " said I. 

"It is all the same. Nobody is to go down to the garden yonder withoutorders. "

"Orders from the Count?" I asked. 

"From the Count or the Captain. "

I nearly let out my thought that the Captain had a good deal ofauthority at the chateau, but I closed my lips in time. To showinsistence would only injure my purpose: so I contented myself with aglance at the forbidden territory--a very spacious pleasance, indeed, with walks, banks of flowers, arbours, and alleys, but with nobody thereto enjoy it that I could see--and went back to the hall. 

As I could not sit there long inactive, for considering how the time wasflying and I had accomplished nothing, I soon started in good faith forthe chamber to which I had feigned to be going before. Once upstairs, however, it occurred to me to walk pass the door of that chamber, to theend of the corridor. This passage soon turned leftward into a rear wingof the building. I followed it, between chamber doors on one side and, on the other, windows looking down on the smaller garden. It terminatedat last in a blind wall. I supposed myself to be now over that part ofthe house which lay beyond the closed door at the end of the picturegallery. I looked cautiously out of one of the windows, wondering howmuch of the great garden might be visible from there. I could see alarge part of it, but not a soul anywhere in it. As I drew back indisappointment, I was suddenly startled by a low sound that seemed tocome from somewhere beneath me--a single brief sound, which made mybreath stop and pierced my very heart. 

It was the sob of a woman. 

CHAPTER VI. 

WHAT THE PERIL WAS

It seemed to me like a sob of despair, or of the breaking down ofpatience, and, knowing what I did already, I quickly imagined it toproceed from the Countess in a moment when she was beginning to losehope of Monsieur de Merri's arrival. To me, therefore, it seemed a stabof reproach. 

I judged that it came by way of the window below me. So forthwith, atall hazards, sheltering myself from outside view as well as I could withthe casement, I thrust my head out over the sill, and said in a lowtone:

"Madame. "

I waited for some moments, with a beating heart, and then called again, "Madame. "

I thought I heard whispering below. Then a head was thrust out of thewindow--a woman's head, soft haired and shapely. "Here I am, " Iwhispered. The head twisted round, and the face was that of the youngwoman who had received the messenger at the postern the day before. Butit was clear that she had not been sobbing, though her face wore a lookof concern. 

"I must speak with Madame the Countess, " said I, and added what Ithought would most expedite matters: "I bring news of Monsieur deMerri. "

The head disappeared: there was more whispering: then the maid lookedout again, using similar precautions to mine with regard to thecasement. 

"Who are you, Monsieur?" she asked. 

"I will explain all later. There is little time now. I may soon belooked for. Contrive to let me have an interview with Madame theCountess. I don't know how to get to her: I'm not acquainted with thechateau. "

"Put your head a little further out, Monsieur, --so that I can see yourface. "

I obeyed. She gazed at me searchingly, then withdrew her head again. Reappearing very soon, she said: "Madame has decided to trust you. Theseare her apartments. There is a door from a gallery where pictureshang--"

"I have been to that gallery, " I interrupted, "but I was watched whilethere. Is there no other way?"

She thought a moment. "Yes, the garden. At the foot of the terrace, turnto the right, till you get to the end of this wing. "

"But the man at the steps yonder will stop me. He has done so already. "

"That beast! Alas, yes! Well, I will go and talk with him, and keep himlooking at me. You go down to the terrace without attracting anyattention, walk close to the house till you get to this end of thebalustrade, step over the balustrade, descend the bank as quietly aspossible, and wait behind the shrubbery near the door at the end of thiswing, --it's the door from Madame's apartments to the garden. Do youunderstand?"

"Perfectly. "

"Then I will be talking to that man by the time you can get to theterrace. I go at once. Be quick, Monsieur, --and careful. "

Admiring the swift wits and decision of the girl, I hastened through thecorridor, down the stairs, and into the hall. The Count and thelong-nosed man were so buried in their game that neither looked up. Apair of varlets in attendance were yawning on a bench. Yawning inimitation, I passed with feigned listlessness to the terrace, wentnoiselessly along by the house-wall, and followed the wing to the end ofthe balustrade. I did not venture even to look toward the steps, but Icould hear the maid talking and laughing coquettishly. I crossed thebalustrade by sitting on it and swinging my legs over: then strode onlight feet down the grassy bank and through an opening in the shrubberyI saw at my right. I found myself in a walk which, bordered all the wayby shrubbery, ran from a narrow door in the end of the wing to the otherextremity of the garden. The door, when I first glanced at it, wasslightly ajar: I supposed the maid had left it so. But as soon as I hadcome to a halt in the walk, the door opened, and a very young, veryslender, very sad-faced, very beautiful lady came out, with eyes turnedupon me in a mixture of hope and fear. 

I instinctively fell upon my knee before that picture of grief andbeauty. She wore, I remember, a gown of faded blue, and blue was thecolour of her eyes--a soft, fair blue, like that of the sky. She was soslim, sorrowful, small, childlike, forlorn, --I would have died to serveher. 

She looked at me searchingly, as the maid had done, but with morecourtesy, and then, in a low voice bidding me follow her, led the waydown the walk and into a side path that wound among some tallrose-bushes. Here we could not be seen from the walk and yet we mighthear anybody approaching. She stopped and faced me. 

"You have news of Monsieur de Merri, " she said eagerly. "What of him?"

"He is prevented from coming to you, Madame. "

Her face, pale before, turned white as a sheet. 

"But, " I hastened to add, "I have come in his stead, and I will serveyou as willingly as he. "

"But that will not do, " she said, in great agitation. "Nobody can serveme at this pass _but_ Monsieur de Merri. Where is he? What preventshim?"

"I left him at La Flèche, " said I lamely. "I assure you it is utterlyimpossible for him to come. But believe me, I am wholly yours forwhatever service you desired of him. You can see that I have come fromhim. " I took from my pocket her note, and held it out. I then told hermy name and parentage, and begged her not to distrust me because I wasof another religion than hers. 

"It isn't that I don't believe you, Monsieur, " she replied. "It isn'tthat I doubt your willingness to help me. "

"As to my ability, try me, Madame. My zeal will inspire me. "

"I don't doubt your ability to do brave and difficult things, Monsieur. But it is not that. It happens--the circumstances are such--alas, nobodybut Monsieur de Merri himself can help me! If you but knew! If _he_ butknew!"

"Tell me the case, Madame. Trust me, I beg. Let me be the judge as towhether I can help you. "

"I do trust you. I am not afraid to tell you. You will see plainlyenough. It is this: I have been slandered to my husband. A week has beengiven me in which to clear myself. The week ends to-morrow. If I havenot proved my innocence by that time, God knows what fate my husbandwill inflict upon me!"

She shuddered and closed her eyes. 

"But your innocence, Madame--who can doubt it?"

"My husband is a strange man, Monsieur. He has little faith in women. "

"But what slander can he believe of you? And who could utter it? What isits nature?"

"I suppose it is my husband's friend, Captain Ferragant, who uttered it. The nature of it is, that Monsieur de Merri's name is associated withmine. Monsieur de Merri is said to have made a boast about me, in thetavern at Montoire. It is a hideous lie, invented when Monsieur de Merrihad gone away. And now you see how only Monsieur de Merri can save me, by coming and facing our accusers and swearing to my innocence. Butto-morrow is the last day. Oh, if he had known why I wanted him! It istoo late now--or is it? Perhaps he sent you ahead? Perhaps he is comingafter you? Is it not so? He will be here to-morrow, will he not?"

Bitterly I shook my head. 

"Then I am lost, " she said, in a whisper of despair. 

"But that cannot be. It isn't for you to prove your innocence--it is foryour accuser to prove your guilt. He cannot do that. "

"You do not know the Count de Lavardin. He will believe any ill of awoman, and anything that Captain Ferragant tells him. The fact thatMonsieur de Merri is young and accomplished is enough. My husband hassuspected me from the hour of our marriage. And besides that, people atMontoire have testified that they heard Monsieur de Merri boast ofconquests. Whether that be true or not, it could not have been of methat he boasted. And if he but knew how I stand, how readily he wouldfly to clear me! He is no coward, I am sure. "

I had evidence of that: evidence also of Monsieur de Merri's unfortunatehabit of boasting of conquests. But I was convinced that it could nothave been of her that he had boasted. These thoughts, however, were buttransient flashings across my sense of the plight in which I had putthis unhappy woman by killing Monsieur de Merri. I tried to minimizethat plight. 

"But your fears are exaggerated. Your husband will not dare go too far. "

"He will dare take my life--or lock me up for the rest of my days in adungeon--or I know not what. He is all-powerful on his estate--lord oflife and death. You know what these great noblemen do when they believetheir wives unfaithful. I have heard how the Prince de Condé--"

"Yes; but the Count de Lavardin would have your relations to fear. "

"I have no relations. I was an orphan in a convent. The Count took afancy to my face, they told me. They urged me to consent to themarriage. I could not displease them--I had never disobeyed them. Andnow this is the end. Well, I am in the hands of God. " She glancedupwards and gave a sigh of bitter resignation. 

"But after all, " I interposed, "you are not certain how your husbandwill act. "

"He has threatened the worst vengeance if I cannot clear myselfto-morrow. If you knew him, Monsieur!"

"He allowed you a week, you say. --"

"From the day he accused me--last Saturday. "

"And what facilities did he give you for the purpose?"

"His men and horses were at my service. He knew, of course, that all Icould do was to send for Monsieur de Merri. "

"But why did he not send for Monsieur de Merri?"

"I don't know. I suppose he was ruled by the advice of CaptainFerragant. Perhaps he thought Monsieur de Merri would not come at hisrequest. "

"But you did not use your husband's men and horses to send for Monsieurde Merri. "

"No. Mathilde--my maid whom you saw just now--thought I would better actsecretly. She feared the Captain would bribe the messenger to make onlya pretence of taking my message to Monsieur de Merri. In that caseMonsieur de Merri, knowing nothing, would not come, and his not comingwould be taken as evidence of guilt--as it will be now, though he got mymessage, for Hugues is faithful. Why is it, Monsieur, that Monsieur deMerri sent back word by Hugues that he would follow close, if he couldnot come?"

"Something happened afterward. Hugues, then, is the name of themessenger you sent?"

"Yes. He is devoted to Mathilde. They are accustomed to meet at certaintimes. Mathilde has not much freedom, as you may guess, sharing my lifeas she does. So she contrived to get possession for awhile of the key toa postern yonder, and to pass it to Hugues when he came with flour. Hehad a duplicate made, so that she could restore the original and yetretain a key with which to let herself out and meet him in the forest. Thus she was able to see him last Sunday morning, and to send him afterMonsieur de Merri. We knew that De Merri had started Westward, andHugues traced him from town to town. Ah, when Hugues returnedsuccessful, how rejoiced we were! We expected Monsieur de Merri everyhour. But the time went by, and our hopes changed to fears, and now, heaven pity me, it is the fears that have come true!"

"But you are not yet lost. Even if the Count should be so blind as tothink you guilty, you have at least one resource. You have the key tothe postern. You can flee. "

"And be caught before I had fled two leagues. I am visited every threehours, as if I were a prisoner, and as soon as I was missed a score ofmen would be sent in all directions. Besides, for some reason or other, the Count has the roads watched from the tower. If I fled into theforest, the bloodhounds would be put on my track. My husband has hintedall this to me. And where could I flee to but the Convent? The Countwould have men there before I could reach it. "

"I could find some other place to take you to, " said I at a hazard. 

"Ah, Monsieur, then indeed would appearances be against me. Then indeedwould the enemy of my poor reputation have his triumph. Alas, there isno honourable place in this world for a wife who leaves her husband'sroof, though it be her prison. I will be true to my vows, though I die. If there be wrong, it shall be all of his doing, none of mine. "

"You believe it is this Captain who has slandered you. Why should he dothat? Why is he your enemy?"

She blushed and looked down. I understood. 

"But why do you not tell your husband that?" I asked quickly. 

"The Count says it is an old story that wives accuse their husbands'friends whom they dislike. He thinks women are made of lies. And in anycase he says if I am innocent of this charge I can prove my innocence. So all depended on Monsieur de Merri's being here to-morrow to speak forme. "

"Ah, Madame, if only my speaking for you would avail anything!"

"From the depths of my heart I thank you, Monsieur, though you see howuseless you--And yet there is one thing you can say for me!" A greatlight of sudden hope dawned upon her face. "You can tell how you sawMonsieur de Merri--that he was coming here, but was prevented--"

"Yes, I can do that. "

"And perhaps--who knows?--you can induce the Count to give me a few moredays, till the cause of Monsieur de Merri's delay is past. And then youcan ride or send to Monsieur de Merri, and tell him my situation, and hewill come and put my accuser to shame, after all! Yes, thank God, thereis hope! Oh, Monsieur, you may yet be able to save me!"

There were tears of joy on her face, and she gratefully clasped my handin both of hers. 

It sickened my heart to do it, but I could only shake my head sadly andsay:

"No, Madame, Monsieur de Merri can never come to speak for you. "

"Why not?" she cried, all the hope rushing out of her face again. 

"He is dead--slain in a duel. " I said in a voice as faint as a whisper. 

Her face seemed to turn to marble. 

"Who killed him?" she presently asked in a horrified tone. 

I knelt at her feet, with averted eyes, as one who is all contrition butdare not ask a pardon. 

"You!" she whispered. 

"When I found this message upon him afterward, " said I, "I saw whatinjury was done. I could only come in his place, and offer myself. Byone means and another, I learned who it was had sent for him. "

"That brave young gentleman, " said she, following her own thoughts;"that he should die so soon! And you, with his blood on yourhands. "--she drew back from me a step--"come to offer your service to mewho, little as I was to him, must yet be counted among his friends!Monsieur, what could you think of my loyalty?"

"I thought only of what might be done to prevent further harm. Though Ifought him, I was not his enemy. I had never seen him before. It was asudden quarrel, about nothing. Heaven knows, I did not think it wouldend as it did. That end has been lamentable enough, Madame. Punish me ifyou will: as his friend, you are entitled to avenge him. "

"I only pity him, Monsieur. God forbid I should think of revenge!"

"You are a saint, Madame. I was about to say that my having killed himneed not make you reject my service. Your doing so might but add to theevil consequences of my act. Surely he would prefer your accepting myaid, now that he is for ever powerless to give his. And we must thinknow of something to be done--"

[Illustration: "WE WERE INTERRUPTED BY A LOW CRY. "]

We were interrupted by a low cry, "Madame, Madame!" in a soft voice fromwithin the arbour that sheltered the walk. The Countess said to me, "Itis Mathilde. She means some one is coming. Hide among these bushes. Ifwe do not meet again, adieu, Monsieur; I thank you from my heart, andmay God pardon you the death of Monsieur de Merri!"

She started for the walk: I whispered, "But I must help you! Can we notmeet again presently?"

"I know not, " she replied. "Act as you think best, Monsieur. But do notendanger yourself. I must be gone now. "

She hastened to join the maid, whose whereabouts were indicated by a lowcough. I heard voices, and instantly crawled under the rose bushes, heedless of scratches. As the voices came down the walk, one of themturned out to be that of Captain Ferragant. There was but one other, which I took, from the talk which I heard later, to belong to a falconeror some such underling. The Captain addressed a few remarks to theCountess, as to her state of health and the beauty of the day, which sheanswered in low tones. Then he and his companion proceeded to walkabout, talking continually, never getting entirely out of my hearing, and often coming so near that I could make out their words. It seemedthat an endless length of time passed in this way. I heard no more ofMadame and the maid. Finally the Captain and his man walked back towardthe house. I rose, stretched my legs, and peered up and down the walk. It was deserted. What was I to do next? I naturally strolled toward thechateau. As I neared the door leading to Madame's apartments, out cameMathilde. 

"I have been watching for you, Monsieur. Madame had to come in, to avoidsuspicion. If you can get back to the terrace by the way you came down, I will go again and distract the attention of the guard. "

"I can do that. But what of Madame? I must see her again. We must findsome way to save her. "

"Do what you can, Monsieur. If you think of anything, you know how tocommunicate with us by way of the windows. But lose no time now. "

She hastened away to beguile the man on watch at the steps. When I heardher laughter, I sped over the grass to the foot of the bank. I clamberedup, crossed the balustrade, went along the house, and entered the hall. Monsieur de Pepicot was just in the act of saying "Checkmate. "

The Count's face turned a shade more ashen, and he looked unhappy. Presently he smiled, however, and said peevishly:

"Well, you must give me an opportunity of revenge. We must play anothergame. "

"I shall be much honoured, " said Monsieur de Pepicot. "But is there timeto-day?"

"No; it will soon be supper time. But there will be time to-morrow. Youshall stay here to-night. "

"With great pleasure; but there are some poor things of mine at thecabaret yonder I should like to have by me. "

"I will send a man for your baggage, " said the Count. 

"Then I shall have nothing to mar my happiness, " said Monsieur dePepicot composedly. 

I was very anxious to remain at the chateau for the present, and fearedrather dismissal than the enforced continuance there which thelong-nosed man had fancied might be our fate. So, to make sure, I said:

"If Monsieur the Count will do me the honour of a game to-morrow, I willtry to make a better contest than I did against Monsieur de Pepicot. "

The Count looked not displeased at this; it gave him somebody to beat inthe event of his being again defeated by Monsieur de Pepicot. 

"Certainly, " said he; "I cannot refuse you. You too will remain myguest; and if I may send for your baggage also--"

I felt vaguely that it would be better to leave my horse and belongingsat the inn at Montoire, in case I should ever wish to make a stealthydeparture from the chateau; so I replied:

"I thank you, Monsieur; but there is nothing I have urgent need for, orof such great value that I would keep it near. "

"As you please, " said the Count, observing me keenly with hishalf-ambushed eyes. 

The man who had escorted us to the chateau was sent to fetch Monsieur dePepicot's baggage; and would have brought his horse also, but thatMonsieur de Pepicot mildly but firmly insisted otherwise and despatchedorders for its care in his absence. The baggage consisted of a somewhatsorry looking portmanteau, which was taken to our chamber. We then hadsupper, during which the Count and my long-nosed friend talked of chessplay, while Captain Ferragant ate in frowning silence, now and thencasting no very tolerant glances at us two visitors. I would have triedby conversation to gain some closer knowledge of this man, but I sawthere was no getting him to talk while that mood lasted. After supperthe Count and the Captain sat over their wine in a manner which showed along drinking bout to be their regular evening custom. Monsieur dePepicot and I accompanied them as far as our position as guestsrequired. We then plead the fatigue of recent travel, and were shown toour room, in which an additional bed had been placed. The Count was bythis time sufficiently forward in his devotions to Bacchus to dispenseeasily with such dull company as ours, and the Captain, by the freebreath he drew as we rose to go, showed his relief at our departure. 

When the servant had placed our candles and left us alone, I expressed awonder why so great a house could not afford us a room apiece. 

"It is very simple, " said the long-nosed man, opening his portmanteau. "If they should take a fancy to make caged birds of us, it's easiertending one cage than two. "

I went to bed wondering what the morrow had in store. I saw now clearlythat I might accomplish something by informing the Count that Monsieurde Merri was dead and that he was on his way to Lavardin when I met him. His failure to appear could not then be held as evidence of guilt: hisintention to come might count much in the Countess's favour. 

As my head sank into the pillow, there came suddenly to my mind thesecond of the three maxims Blaise Tripault had learned from the monk:

"_Never sleep in a house where the master is old and the wife young. _"

CHAPTER VII. 

STRANGE DISAPPEARANCES

Monsieur de Pepicot spent so many minutes among the contents of histravelling bag, that he was not in bed as soon as I. But he was by farthe sooner asleep, as his loud snoring testified. To that music ran mythoughts of the beautiful young Countess and her unhappy situation, tillat last they passed into dreams. In the midst of the night I woke, andlistened for my neighbour's snoring. But it had ceased. Then I strainedmy ears to catch the sound of his breathing, but none came. Wondering atthis, I rose and went over toward his bed. There was just light enoughby the window to see that it was empty. 

I was still in the midst of my surprise, when the door opened with avery slight creak, and in walked a slim figure so silently that I knewit was without shoes. 

"Is that you, Monsieur de Pepicot?" I asked. 

"H'sh, " he replied in a whisper, closing the door carefully. "Don'tdisturb the slumbers of the household. You are very wakeful. "

"No more so than you are, it seems, " I said. 

"That is true. I often suffer from sleeplessness, and I find a walk isthe thing to put me right. "

"You were wise to take a light with you on your walk, " I observed, forhe now produced a small lantern from under his loose-fitting doublet, where it had been entirely concealed. 

"Yes; one might hurt one's toes in these dark passages, " he answered, and placidly drew some papers from his breast pocket, folded themcarefully by the lantern's light, and then as carefully replaced them. "I trust you made some progress in your affair here during theafternoon. "

"Yes. But you were kept busy with the Count. "

"Oh, I don't complain. I was about to say that if you preferred to leavethe house to-night, no doubt I could manage it for you. "

"Why should I prefer to leave to-night?"

"Oh, merely because this Count may be a dangerous man to have much to dowith. I know nothing of your affairs, and of course you have no interestin mine. The Count will understand that, no doubt, and will not hold youresponsible for anything I may do, if you choose to stay here longer. "

"Well, I must stay here longer, in any case. "

"Then there is no more to be said, " answered the long-nosed man, extinguishing his lantern, which he wrapped up and put into hisportmanteau. He then lay down upon his bed, without undressing. 

I returned to my own couch and was soon asleep. 

When I woke again, it was daylight. Monsieur de Pepicot and hisportmanteau were gone. It occurred to me now, as I washed and dressed, that when he spoke of my departing by night he intended to make justsuch an unceremonious exit himself. In that case, I inferred, he hadthought it only fair, as I had helped him to get into the chateau, thathe should offer to help me to get out, for he had made no secret of hisfears that we might find opposition to our doing so. But, if he hadindeed fled, how had he contrived to get out in the middle of the night?As for his purpose in getting in, he must have accomplished that whileon his midnight perambulations. 

I went downstairs, but he was not in the hall, nor on the terrace nor inthe court-yard. It was a fine morning, and I was for walking about. Atone side of the court-yard the wall was pierced by a narrow gateway, which took me into a second court-yard, of which one of the furtherangles was filled by a quadrant of the great tower that rose towardheaven from a corner of the main chateau. There was a small door fromthis court-yard to the tower. This tower, for its bigness and height, took my eyes the first moment, but the next they were attracted by theliving figures in the court-yard. These were Captain Ferragant and apack of great hounds which he was marshalling before him, throwing apiece of meat now to one, now to another, calling out by name whichanimal was to catch. He indeed managed to keep them in some sort oforder and from closing around him, and though they all barked and leapedat each throw, yet only the one whose name was called would dareactually to close jaws upon the titbit. This went on for some time, until at last one huge brute, leaping higher, seized the meat intendedfor another. 

The red Captain swore a fierce oath, and, grasping a whip, called theinterloping dog to come to him. The animal slunk back. The Captainadvanced among the pack, still calling the hound in the most threateningvoice. But the hound slunk further, growling and showing his teeth. TheCaptain sprang forward and brought down his whip. The dog, mutinous, made a snap at the Captain. The latter, now deeply enraged, threw asidethe whip, caught the animal by the neck, lifted it high, and, with aswift contraction of his fingers, caused its eyes and tongue to protrudeand its body to writhe and hang powerless. He then flung the deadcreature to a corner of the yard, and looked at me with a smile halfvaunting, half amused, as if to say, "That is how I can treat those whothwart my will, " and to ridicule my wonder at his fury and strength. 

I turned with a look of pity toward the victim of his anger. At thatmoment the Count de Lavardin entered the court-yard, and his glancefollowed mine. Having seen what I saw, he looked protestingly at theCaptain. 

"The brute was rebellious, " said Ferragant. 

"But one doesn't run across such dogs every day, " complained the Count. 

"The rarest dog shall not defy me, " was the cool answer. 

"That's all very well, if it had been your own dog, " said the Count, still peevish. 

"Oh, as to that, we are quits now. Your dog to-day pays for my man youkilled last week. "

"Pish, it's easy enough to find rascals like that by the score. Not so, dogs like this. Well, talking won't make him live again--Good morning, Monsieur. Where is your comrade, Monsieur de Pepicot?"

I could only answer that on waking I had been disappointed of seeingeither Monsieur de Pepicot or his baggage. "Nor have I beheld him since, though I have been looking about. "

"That is very strange, --that he should take his baggage from the room, "said the Count, exchanging a look of surprise with the Captain. He thencalled two servants and gave them orders quietly, which must have beento search the house and grounds for Monsieur de Pepicot. As we returnedto the hall, the Count questioned me, watching me sharply the while. Iwas perfectly safe in telling the literal truth, though not all of it:how Monsieur de Pepicot was a stranger to me, how I had never spoken tohim before yesterday, how I knew nothing of his business, and so forth. Of course I said nothing of his midnight walk or of having conversedwith him at all after going to bed. The Count's mystification andannoyance were manifest, the more so when, after some time, the servantsreturned to say that the missing man could not be found. When he hadheard their report, the Count was very angry. 

"Name of the devil, then, how did he get out? There is treacherysomewhere, and somebody shall pay for it, " he screeched, and thendespatched a man to the cabaret to see if Monsieur de Pepicot had takenhis horse away. The man came back saying the horse was gone, but nobodyhad seen the owner take it. 

"It is certainly odd that the gentleman should depart secretly likethat, when he might have waited for day and gone civilly, " said I, toevince my simplicity. 

"You are right, very right, " said the Count. "Well, at least you remainto play a game of chess with me. What I am thinking is, the man musthave had some private reason for obtaining entrance to my house. "

"Possibly, Monsieur, " I replied, bearing the searching gaze of both theCount and the Captain well enough. 

"In that case, he made a tool of you, " added the Count, still intent onmy expression. 

"That would be the inference, " said I. 

"Well, we must satisfy ourselves as to how he took his departure, if wecannot guess why. Make yourself master of the house, Monsieur. We shallhave our game nevertheless. "

And he went off with the Captain, to examine the places of exit from thechateau and the men who were responsible for their security. One couldsee that Monsieur de Pepicot's disappearance was as disturbing to theCount as it was puzzling to me. 

I wandered out to the terrace and paced the walk along the house. Myeyes turned toward that window in the west wing which I knew to belongto the apartments of the Countess. I turned along the wing, and strolledunder that window, thinking Madame or Mathilde might make an appearanceat it. I kept moving to and fro within easy earshot of it, sometimesglancing up at the half-open casement. This was the clay on which thepoor lady's fate was to be determined by her husband and lord. Iwondered what sort of scene was arranged for the event, whether it wouldhave the form of trial and judgment, when and where it would occur, andif I should be admitted to it. Probably I should not, and therefore Iwould best speak to the Count regarding Monsieur de Merri before. Thething was, to find a pretext for broaching the matter without betrayingthat I had talked with the Countess. I had thought all this over duringthe night, a hundred times, but now I thought it over again; and, invague search for some hint or guidance, I looked often up to the window, as I have said. 

Presently I heard a single sharp, low syllable of laughter, which drewmy glance to the door by which I had come out to the terrace. Therestood the red Captain, his eyes upon me. When he saw that I noticed him, he came toward me, whereupon I, with pretended carelessness, went tomeet him half way. 

"You seem to find it very interesting, that window, " said he, in a lowvoice. "To me it looks like any of the others. " And he ran his glanceironically along the whole range. 

"I thought you had gone with the Count to learn how Monsieur de Pepicotgot away, " said I, guessing that he had come back to watch me, doubtlessconsidering that, after the evident duplicity of one guest, the othermight require some looking after. 

"And so you thought yourself free to post yourself over there and makeeyes at that window?" said the Captain with a smile that half jeered atme, half threatened me with annihilation. 

"I do not quite understand your little jest, " said I, boldly enough. 

"You may find it one of those jests in which the laugh is only on oneside, and that side not yours, young gentleman. Your friend with thelong nose, it appears, had his secret motives for paying a visit to thischateau. We smelt some such thing when the letter came asking for a setof chessmen, and so the Count admitted you, thinking you just as safeinside the chateau as outside. It was not the intention to let you outagain in too great haste. "

"In that case, " I put in, feigning to treat the matter gaily, "Monsieurde Pepicot was wise in leaving as he did. "

"I was about to say that if Monsieur de Pepicot had his secret purposes, it is but fair to suppose you may have yours. If it turns out to be so, and if your object has anything to do with what you may imagine isbehind that window, --why, then, I warn you in time it would be muchbetter for you to have been that dog which opposed me a while ago, --verymuch better, my pert young gentleman, I assure you. "

He turned and walked into the house, leaving me without any fit answeron my tongue, or indeed in my mind either. 

It appeared to me that the sooner I had my explanation with the Count, the better for both the Countess and myself. So I returned into thehall, which the Captain was leaving by the court-yard door, and waitedfor the Count's reappearance. When he did come, it was clear from hisface that the manner of Monsieur de Pepicot's escape--for escape it mustnow be called--was still a mystery. It was plain, too, when his eyesalighted on me, that he had heard from the Captain, who followed him, ofmy conduct beneath the window. As he came toward me, he scowled andlooked very wicked and crafty. Before he could speak, I said:

"Monsieur, there is something I wish to tell you, if you will allow meto speak to you alone. "

"Regarding Monsieur de Pepicot?"

"No; regarding myself and the reason of my coming to Lavardin. "

"That is interesting. Let us hear. "

"It is for you alone. "

"Oh, to be sure. Captain Ferragant, if you will excuse me, --"

The Captain, with a shrug, swaggered off to the furthest corner of thehall. 

"You have been acquainted, " I began, "with a certain Monsieur de Merri. "

The Count's face seemed to jump. I had certainly caught his attention. But his speech was perfectly controlled as he said:

"Yes. And what of him?"

"He had the misfortune to be killed in a sudden duel four days ago at LaFlèche. "

He was plainly startled; but, after a moment's silence, he only said, "You astonish me, " and waited for me to continue. 

"I feared I should, " said I, "for it turned out, after the duel, thatMonsieur de Merri was on his way to see you, upon some matter of greaturgency. "

"On his way to see me! How do you know that?"

I thought it best to tell as much truth as possible. 

"I learned from his servant that he was bound in great haste forMontoire. Coming to Montoire, I inquired, and was informed that his onlytie in this neighbourhood was his acquaintance with you. Therefore itmust have been you he was coming to see, and his haste implied theurgency of his reasons, whatever they may have been. Thinking you mightbe depending upon his arrival, I resolved to tell you of his death. "

"It is a little odd that you should put yourself out to do that. "

"It might be, if I were not responsible for his failure to come to you. "

"Oh, then it was you who killed him?"

"Yes; and thought it only the proper act of a gentleman to carry thenews to the person who may have expected him. "

"H'm. No doubt. But why did you not come directly and tell me?"

"I heard you made yourself entirely inaccessible to strangers. So whenMonsieur de Pepicot spoke of asking you to lend us chessmen, I thoughtit might lead to some breaking down of your reserve, --as it did. "

"But why did you wait a day before telling me?"

"I hoped that chance might enable me to see you alone. But you were sodeeply engrossed in your chess. And I hesitated lest you might thinkyourself bound, as Monsieur de Merri's friend, to deliver me up forhaving violated the edict. "

These were certainly sufficient reasons, though, as you know, I had notthought of telling him of Monsieur de Merri till after I had heard theCountess's story, and therefore they were not the true answer to hisquestion. But I no longer found safe standing on the ground of truth, and so fell back upon the soil of invention, uncertain as it was. TheCount looked as far into me as he could, and then called the Captain, who came without haste to the great fireplace where we were. Without anyexplanation to me, or other preface, the Count repeated my disclosure tohis friend, all the time in the manner of one submitting a story to thehearer's judgment as to its truth. 

The Captain shrugged his shoulders, and looked at me scornfully. "It isa fine, credible tale indeed, " said he. 

"If you will take the trouble to send to La Flèche, you will find thatMonsieur de Merri is really slain, " said I warmly. 

"Oh, no doubt, " said the Captain. "But before he was slain, he had timeto take you into his confidence regarding certain things. "

"Not at all. I had never seen him before that evening. It was from hisservant, after he was dead, that I learned he was coming to Montoire. Ifyou can find that servant, at La Flèche or Sablé, he will tell you so. "

"How could he have known he was wanted here?" asked the Captain of theCount. "Your offer of a messenger was disdained. "

"I knew she would contrive to send after him on her own account, if Igave her enough liberty, " returned the Count. 

"It argues skill in such contrivances, " said the Captain, with asignificant look. 

The Count frowned in a sickly way, but not at the speaker. "Well, in anycase, the liberty will now be cut off, " he said harshly. But after amoment, he added: "And yet, if this gentleman does not lie, Monsieur deMerri was coming here fast enough. "

"To brazen it out, perhaps. There is no limit to the self-confidence ofyouth. As for this gentleman, how does his story account for theinterest he takes in a certain window that looks upon the terrace?"

The Count's face darkened again, as he turned menacingly toward me. "Yes, by heaven, I had forgotten that. "

"To be frank, " said I awkwardly, after a moment's hesitation, "I hadseen a pretty face there--I mean that of Mathilde. " I added the lastwords in haste, for the Count's look had shown for an instant that hetook me to mean that of the Countess. 

"Ah! that of Mathilde, " he repeated, subsiding. 

"And how did you know her name was Mathilde?" asked the Captain, in acold, derisive tone. The Count's eyes waited for my answer. 

"I--exchanged a few words with her yesterday afternoon, " I replied. 

"In regard to what subject?" asked the Count quickly, making a veritablegrimace in the acuteness of his suspicion. 

"I paid her a compliment or two, such as one bestows upon a prettygirl. "

"He is evading, " said the Captain. "It is a question whether he did notpresume to offer his compliments higher. One does not say to a prettygirl, 'What is your name?' nor does the girl reply 'Mathilde, ' as if shewere a child. It is more likely he heard the girl's name from otherlips. And was he not found spying about the west gallery by Ambroise? Mydear Count, I fear you kept your nose too close to the chessboardyesterday afternoon. As for me, if I had known as much as I know now, Ishould have been more watchful. "

The Count's face had turned sicklier and uglier as his friend hadcontinued to speak. He looked now as if he would like to pounce upon mewith his claw-like fingers. He was evidently between the desire toquestion me outright as to whether anything had passed between me andthe Countess, and the dislike of showing openly to a stranger anysuspicion of his wife. The latter feeling prevailed, and he regainedcontrol of himself. I breathed a little easier. But just then itoccurred to me that the Count would surely tax the Countess with havingseen me; that she would acknowledge our meeting; and that her ownaccount of it would be disbelieved, and the worst imaginings added, forthe very reason of my maintaining secrecy about it. I therefore took asudden course. 

"Monsieur, " I said. "I will be perfectly open with you. From some casualwords of Monsieur de Merri at the inn at La Flèche, before wequarrelled, I was led to believe that the cause of his journey hadsomething to do with the welfare of a lady. Afterwards when I heardwhither he was bound so hastily, I remembered that. On learning atMontoire that this chateau was the only house in which he was knownhereabouts, I assumed that the lady must be in this chateau. It turnedout that the only lady here was the Countess herself. Do you wonder, then, at my endeavouring to speak to the Countess first upon the matterof Monsieur de Merri's death?"

"Pray go on, " said the Count, who was taking short and rapid breaths. 

"It is true I saw the maid at that window, but I saw also theimpossibility of communicating properly with Madame by that channel. So, in spite of your sentinel's vigilance, I crossed the balustrade to thegarden, and there had the honour of presenting myself to the Countess. Iacquainted her with the fate of Monsieur de Merri. Her demeanour causingme to believe that this put her into peril on her own account, I sopushed my inquiries and offers of service that she told me what thatperil was. She said she was the victim of a slander which only Monsieurde Merri's presence here could clear her of. We were soon interruptedand she left me. I did not see her again, but it appeared to me that, asMonsieur de Merri's presence here would have stood in her favour, thenews of his intention to be here must also stand that way. And now, Monsieur, you have the whole story. "

It seemed to have weight with him: but, alas, he looked to the Captainfor an opinion. That gentleman, regarding me with a smile of ironicaladmiration, uttered a monosyllabic laugh in his throat, and said:

"There is one thing we can believe, at least. We know Monsieur deMerri's habit of disclosing his affairs with ladies to strangers atinns. "

The Count's face grew dark again. 

"But we can never be sure how much may have passed between Monsieur deMerri and this gentleman on the subject before they quarrelled, or whatwas the real motive that brought him here. "

"My God!" I cried; "what gentleman could require a stronger motive thanI have shown? Having prevented Monsieur de Merri from coming here uponso urgent a matter, what else could I do in honour but come in hisplace?"

"'In his place'--yes, perhaps, that is well said, " retorted the Captain, with his evil smile. 

The Count, whose judgment seemed entirely under the dominion of hisfriend, looked at me again as if he would destroy me. After a moment, hetook a turn across the hall and back, and then said to me:

"Well, in the midst of all this deceit and uncertainty one thing isclear. You know too much of our private affairs here to be permitted togo where you will, for the present. I must ask you, therefore, to keepto your chamber awhile. Your wants will be provided for there. I willshow you the way myself, on this occasion. " He motioned toward thestairway, and the Captain stood ready to accompany him. 

"That amounts to making me a prisoner, Monsieur, " said I. 

"We shall not dispute over words, " replied the Count. "By your ownconfession, you are liable to the law for killing Monsieur de Merri. "

"I have reason to expect the King's pardon for that. Measures havealready been taken. "

"Pray don't keep me waiting, Monsieur. I should not like to be compelledto have my men lay hands on you. " At the same time his smile looked asif he would like that very much. 

There was nothing to do, for the moment, but yield. The Captain waswatching to see where my hand moved, and I know not how many armed menwere in the court-yard, besides the servants waiting at the other end ofthe hall. So I obeyed the Count's gesture, merely saying:

"You will find I am not a person who will go unavenged in case ofindignity. "

The Count laughed, in his dry, sharp manner, and walked by my side. TheCaptain followed. As soon as I was in my room, the Count called aservant, who went away and presently returned with a key. The Count andhis friend then left me, and locked the door on the outside. As I satdown on my bed, I was glad I had offered no useless resistance, for, asit was, I had not been deprived of my weapons. 

To make a short matter here of what seemed a very long one at the time, I was kept locked in my room all that day, with two armed men outside mydoor, as I guessed first from hearing them, and certified afterwards byseeing them when a servant brought my food. What made the confinementand inaction the more trying was my knowledge that this was the day onwhich the Countess was to plead her innocence. I kept wondering throughthe tedious hours how matters were going with her, and I often strainedmy ears in the poor hope of discovering by them what might be going onin the chateau. But I never heard anything but the rough speech andmovements of the men outside my door, and now and then the voice of someattendant on the terrace below my window. I could look diagonally acrossthe terrace to the window where I had seen Mathilde, but not once duringall that day did I behold a sign of life there. The night came withoutbringing me any hint as to how the Countess had fared. I could not sleeptill late. 

When I woke, early in the morning, I noticed that my door was slightlyajar. Looking out, I found the corridor empty. I took this to mean thatI was not to remain a prisoner, and so it proved. Hastily dressing andgoing downstairs, though many servants were about, I encountered nohindrance. I passed out to the terrace. To my surprise, nobody was onguard at the steps; so I went boldly down to the garden. My heart beatwith a vague hope of meeting the Countess, though it was scarce lateenough in the day to expect her to be out. I must confess it was notalone her being an oppressed lady whom I had engaged myself to aid, thatmade me look so eagerly down all the walks and peer so keenly into allthe arbours; I must confess it was largely the impression her beauty andtenderness had left upon me. But I was disappointed: I explored thewhole garden in vain. 

Anything to be near her, I thought. So I went and hung about the doorbetween the garden and her apartments. But it remained closed andenigmatic. I had another idea, and, returning into the house, took myway unchecked to the gallery of pictures, wondering at the freedom ofpassage now allowed me, and at the same time resolved to make the mostof it. I could scarce believe my eyes when I saw the door ajar which ledto Madame's suite. I went and tapped lightly on it, but got no answer. It opened to a large drawing-room, well furnished but without anyinhabitant. I crossed this room to the other side, which had two doors, both open. One gave entrance to a sleeping-chamber, in a corner of whichwas a prie-dieu, and which showed in a hundred details to be the bedroomof a lady. But the bed was made up, and a smaller bed, in a recess, which might be that of the maid, also had the appearance of not havingbeen used the previous night. I looked through the other doorway fromthe drawing-room, and saw a stairway leading down to the garden door. Had the Countess and Mathilde, then, gone into the garden at the time Iwas in the act of coming to the gallery? No; for the garden door wasbolted on the inside. I went to one of the drawing-room windows lookingon the terrace, and made sure it was the window from which Mathilde hadfirst answered my call. And then it dawned upon me what the desertion ofthese rooms meant, and why I was allowed to go where I would in thehouse and garden. The Countess and her maid were no longer there. Whathad become of them?

CHAPTER VIII. 

MATHILDE

Well, there was no indication to be found in the Countess's apartmentsas to where she had removed to, and I thought it best not to risk beingseen there. So I went down to the hall again. As I glanced through thecourt-yard to the outer gates, I thought of trying to leave the chateau, to see if my new liberty went so far as to permit that. But I reflectedthat if I were once let out I might not be let in again, and my chanceof learning what had become of the Countess lay, I supposed, inside thechateau. So I resolved to stay there and await the turn that mattersmight take. And certainly never was any man a guest in strangercircumstances of guestship. I hated and feared my host, and was loth toaccept his hospitality, yet stayed of my own will, though I knew notcertainly whether I was free to go. My host hated me, yet tolerated mypresence--if indeed he would not have enforced it--for the sake ofhaving me at hand if he thought fit to crush me. When he appeared thatmorning, I thanked him ironically for restoring me to liberty. He onlyuttered his harsh crackling laugh in reply, and regarded me with apretended disdain which failed to conceal his hatred and his longing topenetrate my mind and learn what indeed was between me and his Countess. In such men, especially when they have an evil suggester like theCaptain at their ear, jealousy is a madness, and no assurances--nay, noteven oaths--of innocence will be taken by them as truth. But his pridemade him feign contempt for me, and he had nothing to say to me thatday. Neither had the Captain, whose manner toward me merely reverted towhat it had been at first. I saw my former place made ready at thetable, and took it. The Count and his friend talked of their sports andthe affairs of the estate, and not one word of the Countess was spoken. Having eaten, they went off to ride, leaving me to amuse myself as Imight. The air of the chateau seemed the freer for their absence, butstill it was to me a sinister place, and an irreligious place too, for, though the Count and his friend were Catholics, I had not seen the signof a chaplain or of any religious observance since I had crossed thedrawbridge. So I prepared myself for a dull yet anxious day, and loungedabout the hall and court-yard as the places where I might best hope tofind out something from the domestics of the house. 

As I paced the stones of the court-yard, I became aware that a certainmaidservant had been obtruding upon my view with a persistency thatmight be intentional. I now regarded her, as she stood in a smalldoorway leading to the kitchen. She was a plump, well-made thing, with awholesome, honest face, but the sluttishness of her loose frock, and ofa great cap that hung over her eyes, were too suggestive of thescullery. As soon as she saw I noticed her, she put one finger on herlip, and swiftly beckoned me with another. 

I strolled carelessly over, and stopped within a foot of her, pretendingto readjust my sword-belt. 

"Monsieur, " she said in an undertone, "you are desired to be in yourchamber this afternoon at four o'clock. "

I glanced at the girl in wonder. 

"That is all at present, " she whispered. I had the discretion to moveon. There were, as usual, several armed fellows idling about thecourt-yard, but none seemed to have observed that any word had passedbetween the kitchen-maid and me. 

Here was matter for astonishment and conjecture for the next few hours. In some manner or other, those hours passed, and at four I was seated inmy chamber, having left the door open an inch or so. The turret clockhad scarce done striking when the door was pushed wide; somebody enteredand instantly closed it. I had a brief feeling of disappointment as Isaw the slovenly frock and overhanging cap of the kitchen-maid. Was itshe, then, who paid me the compliment of this clandestine visit?

No; for the cap was swiftly flung back from the brow, and there was thebright and comely face of Mathilde. I uttered her name in pleasedsurprise. 

"Yes, " she said quickly, "Mathilde in the guise of Brigitte. I have comefrom Madame the Countess. "

"And where is she?" I asked eagerly. 

"In the great tower. "

"A prisoner?"

"Yes, and I with her. Fortunately there was nothing else to do with me, unless they killed me. So I am able to attend her. "

"Faithful Mathilde! But why is this?"

"It is the fulfilment of the Count's threat in case Madame could notclear herself of that false charge. "

"But the Count knew that Monsieur de Merri was coming here. I told him. "

"Yes, Monsieur, but the Count would believe as much of your story asCaptain Ferragant would choose to let him. Your very interest inMadame's fate has been new food for his jealousy. "

"God forbid!"

"It is not your fault, Monsieur; it is the Count's madness. He locks hiswife up, as much that she may be inaccessible to you and all other men, as because of anything concerning Monsieur de Merri. "

"You may well call it his madness. "

"Yes; for, whatever other ladies may have deserved who have been treatedthus, the Countess is the most virtuous of wives. Her regard for hermarriage vows--in spite of the husband she has--is a part of herreligion. But his mind is poisoned. He naturally believes that a youngand beautiful woman would not be faithful to an old wolf like him. Andhe is almost right, for there is only one young and beautiful woman inFrance who would be, and that is the Countess. "

"Surely not because she loves him?"

"Oh, no. It is because of her religion. She was brought up at a conventschool, and when the Count offered to marry her, the Mother Superiormade her think it her duty and heaven's will that she should accept thehigh position, where her piety would shine so much further: and havingbecome his wife, she would die rather than violate a wife's duties by ahair's breadth. But what is her reward? Not because he lovesher--there's more love in a stone!--but because he can't endure thethought of any trespass on what is his--because he dreads being made ajeer of--he goes mad with jealousy and suspicion. He imitates the Princeof Condé by locking his wife up in a tower. "

"But this cannot last forever. "

"No, Monsieur, and for a very good reason--the Countess's life cannotlast forever under this treatment--even if the Count, in some wildimagining of her guilt, conjured up by Captain Ferragant, does notmurder her. It's that thought which makes me shudder. It could be doneso quietly in that lonely cell, and any account of her death could begiven out to avoid scandal. "

"Horrible, Mathilde! He would not go to that length. "

"Men have done so. You are a stranger, and have not seen the frenziesinto which the Count sometimes works himself, torturing his mind byimagining actions of infidelity on her part. "

"But that disease of his mind will wear itself out; then he will seematters more sanely. "

"Will he grow better, do you think, as he grows older, and drinks morewine, and falls more under the influence of the red Captain?"

To say truth, I thought as Mathilde did, though I had spoken otherwisefor mere form of reassurance. 

"What is her prison like?" I asked. 

"A gloomy room no larger that this, with a single small window. There isno panelling nor tapestry nor plaster--nothing but the bare stones. There are a bed for Madame, a cot for me, a table, and two chairs:nothing else to make it look like a human habitation, save ourcrucifixes, an image of the Virgin, a trunk, and Madame's book ofHours. "

"A small window, you say. Is it barred?"

"No; but our room is very high up in the tower. "

"Still, if one got through the window--is it large enough for that?"

"One might get through; but the moat is beneath--far beneath. "

"The window looks toward Montoire, then, if the moat is beneath. "

"Yes; we can see the sunset. "

"At all events, a person dropping from the window would alight outsidethe walls of the chateau?"

"Yes, Monsieur, --in the moat, as I said. It would be a long drop, too. Idon't know how high up the room is. It seems a great many steps up thewinding stairs before one comes to the landing before the door. "

"Is it at the top of the tower, then?"

"No; for beyond our door the stairs begin again, and they seem to windmore steeply. "

"You noticed the sunset. Then you must have been there yesterdayevening. "

"Yes; we were taken there shortly after noon yesterday. That was thelimit to the time given the Countess in which to prove her innocence. She was summoned to the picture gallery by the Count himself, and nobodyelse was there but Captain Ferragant. The door was closed against me, and what passed between that saint and those two devils I know not; butafter a little the door was opened, and there she was, very pale andwith her eyes raised in prayer. The Count, who was blue withvindictiveness, told me to get together what things Madame should order;and when that was done, he bade us follow, and led the way down to thecourt-yard and to the tower, the Captain walking behind. As we climbedthose narrow winding steps, I wished the Count might trip in thehalf-darkness and break his neck, but alas, it was only poor Madame whostumbled now and then. The Count showed us into the room, alreadyfurnished for us, and waited till a man had brought the trunk in which Ihad put some of Madame's clothes. The Count left without a word, and weheard the door locked outside. At first I thought we were to be left tostarve, but after some hours the door was unlocked by a man on guardoutside, and Brigitte appeared with our supper. She told us she was tocome twice a day with our food, and for other necessary services. Andwhen she came again this morning, I had planned how I should manage tosee you. "

"You are as clever as you are true, Mathilde. "

"Fortunately Brigitte looks such a simple, witless creature that the manon guard on the landing has not thought to pry while she has been withus, and has allowed the door to be shut. He cannot then see in, as thegrated opening has been closed, out of regard to Madame's sex. So thismorning I got Brigitte's consent to my plan, for the poor girl is thesoftest-hearted creature in the world. And to make sure of finding youimmediately when I got out, I charged her to tell you to be in your roomat four o'clock. "

"Which she did very adroitly. "

"She is not such a fool as some take her for. Well, when she came to usawhile ago, I transferred this frock and cap from her to me, and had hercall out to the guard that she had forgotten something and must returnto the kitchen for it. 'Very well, beauty, ' said the guard ironically, and I came out in a great hurry, and was on my way downstairs before hecould take a second look at me. The landing is a dark place, and myfigure so much like Brigitte's that her clothes make it look quite thesame. There is another man on guard, at the bottom of the stairs, but hewas as easily deceived as the one above. I ran across the twocourt-yards, and through the kitchen passage to the servants' stairs, and nobody glanced twice at me. Brigitte, of course, must stay withMadame till I return, --and now, Monsieur, it is time I was back, and Ihave said nothing of what I came to say. "

"You have said much that is important. But 'tis true, you'd best say therest quickly, --your return may be dangerous enough. "

"Oh, I shall go so fast that nobody will have time to suspect me. As forthe guards, it is their duty to keep me in. Should they see it is I whowas out, they will be very glad to have me in again, and to hold theirtongues, for the Count's punishments are not light. But as to Madame'smessage--she would have tried to convey it by Brigitte, had I notdeclared I would come at all hazards, --for the truth is, I havesomething to say on my own responsibility, also. "

"But Madame's message?" I demanded eagerly. 

"She begs that you will go away while you can. So brave a younggentleman should not stay here to risk the Count's vengeance. "

I felt joy at this concern for my safety. 

"If I am a brave man, " I answered, "I can only stay and help her. "

"I am glad you are of that mind, Monsieur, for it is what I think. Thatis what _I_ had to say to you. "

"Then the only question is, how can I be of use to the Countess? Shemust be released from this imprisonment. "

"There I agree with you again. She ought to be taken away--far out ofreach of the Count's vengeance--before he has time to make her plightworse than it is, or carry out any design against her life. But even ifshe remained as she is, her health would not long endure it. "

"Now that matters have come to this pass, no doubt she is willing to runaway. "

"Not yet, Monsieur. That is for me to persuade her. But if we form someplan of escape now, I hope I can win her consent before the time comesto carry it out. "

"I trust so. When she repelled the idea of escape, the day I saw her inthe garden, things had not gone so far. And then she thought there wasno safe place of refuge for her. But I can find a place. And she thoughtan attempt must be hopeless because the Count would be swift to pursue. But if we got some hours' start, going at night--"

"Yes, certainly it will have to be at night, Monsieur. The Count has theroads watched from the tower, for some purpose of his own--I think heexpects some enemy. "

"You still have the key to the postern?"

"It must be where I left it--buried under the rose-bush nearest thepostern itself. But the first thing is, to get out of the room in thetower. "

"Certainly. It would not be possible for Madame to get out as you havedone--by a disguise, I mean?"

"No, Monsieur. Brigitte is the only one who comes to us, with whom shemight change clothes. And Madame is not at all of Brigitte's figure--norcould she mimic Brigitte's walk as I can. She could not act a part inthe slightest degree. And I know that Madame would never consent to goand leave me behind to bear the Count's wrath. We must all three gotogether. Besides Brigitte comes and goes in the daytime, and Madamemust escape at night. "

"Yes, that is certain. It is hard to devise a plan in a moment. If Icould think of it over night, and you come to me again to-morrow--butno, you may not be able to play this same trick again--the guards maydetect you going back. "

"That is true, and I have thought of one plan, though it may bedifficult. "

"Let me hear it, nevertheless. "

"Then listen, Monsieur. First, as to the door of our cell. It is lockedwith a key, which the Count himself retains, except when he goes out, asthis afternoon, --it is then entrusted to the seneschal. I know this fromBrigitte, for the key is given to her when she comes to us. She hands itto the guard on the landing, who opens the door and keeps the key whileshe is within. When she leaves us, he locks the door, and she takes thekey back to the Count or seneschal. But in order to release Madame, youmust have that key. "

"And how am I to get it?"

"After Brigitte's last visit to us before the night we select, she willgive the Count or seneschal, not the real key to our cell, but anotherof the same size and general shape--she has access to unimportant keysabout the house. Then she will bring the real key to you. "

"But poor Brigitte!--when the Count investigates in the morning, he willfind she has given him the wrong key. "

Mathilde thought a moment. "No; he will rather suppose you robbed him ofthe right key during the night and substituted the other to delaydiscovery. He will suspect anything rather than Brigitte, whom he thinkstoo great a fool for the least craft; and even if she is accused, shecan play the innocent. I assure you. "

"So much for that, then. There is yet the door of entrance to thetower. "

"At present it has an old broken key in the lock, which is thereforeuseless. But no doubt that will be remedied--so we must act soon. Meanwhile, that door is guarded by the man at the foot of the stairs. "

"But are the two guards on duty at night also? There is no Brigitte tobe let in and out then. And surely the Count doesn't think you can breakyour lock. "

"There are guards on duty, nevertheless. Last night I heard one calldown the stairs to another, asking the time. They are there, no doubt, not for fear of our breaking out, but for fear of somebody breaking into help Madame. I don't suppose there are ever more than two. If therule has not been changed, the rest of the household sleeps, except aporter in the gate-house and a man on top of the tower. But this manwatches the roads, as well as he can in the darkness, and the porter toois more concerned about people who might want to enter the chateau thanabout what goes on inside. So in the dead of night you can go silentlydownstairs and let yourself out of the hall--"

"But is not the hall door locked with a key?"

"Yes; but the key is left always in the lock. You have then only tocross the two court-yards to the lower, without making any noise toalarm the porter at the gate-house or to warn the guard at the towerentrance. "

"Will he be inside or outside the tower door, I wonder?"

"Probably inside, where there is a bench just at the foot of the stairs. He and his comrade above will be your only real difficulty, Monsieur. Ifyou can take them by surprise, one at a time--"

"One at a time, or two at a time, " said I, beginning to walk up and downthe chamber, and grasping my sword and dagger. "But the trouble will be, the noise that may be made when I encounter them, --it may arouse thechateau and spoil all. "

"But heaven may grant that you will surprise the men inside the tower, one at the foot of the stairs, the other on our landing, as they musthave been last night. In that case, if you can keep the fighting insidethe tower, till--"

"Till they are dead. Yes, in that case, if I am expeditious, no noisemay be heard outside. That is a thing to aim for. If they, or one, should be outside, I can rush in and so draw them after me. Well, andwhen I have done for them--?"

"Then you have but to unlock our door, and Madame and I will joinyou. --You will know our door by there being a stool in the landingbefore it--the guard sits there. --Well, then we must fly silentlythrough the court-yards and the hall, let ourselves out to theterrace--there are two or three ways I know, --and run through the gardento the postern. Once out of these walls, we must hurry across the fieldsto the house of a certain miller--"

"Hugues? Yes. "

"Yes, Monsieur. The watchman on the tower will not see us in the fields, for we shall keep close to the woods till we are at a distance. Huguescan supply two horses, at least, and you and Madame must be as far awayas possible by daylight. "

"And you, Mathilde?"

"Unless we can get three horses, I will lie hid at Hugues's mill tillMadame finds time to send for me. It will be suitable enough--Hugues andI are to be married some day. "

"But I have a horse at the inn at Montoire. If I can get it out at thathour, you can come with us--to whatever place we may decide upon. "

"As to that place, you may consider in the meanwhile. There will be timeto discuss the matter with Madame when she is escaping with you. Thefirst thing is, to get as far from Lavardin as possible. And now when isall this to be done?"

"The sooner the better, for who knows when the Count may take into hishead some new idea?"

"Yes, of harm to Madame or to yourself. "

"Why should we not choose this very night?"

"I see no reason against it--except that I may not be able to persuadeMadame. But yet there will be several hours--and surely heaven will helpme!--Yes, to-night! There is nothing for me to do but persuade Madame, and see that we are dressed as suitably for travel as the clothes athand will permit. But first, before Brigitte comes away, I must instructher about the key. At what hour will you come, Monsieur?"

"As soon as the house is asleep. "

"Fortunately, early hours are kept here, as there is never any company. But the Count and the Captain stay at their cups till ten or eleveno'clock. "

"Then by that time they must have drunk enough to make them fall asleepas soon as they are in bed. "

"And sometimes before they are in bed, I have heard the servants say. "

"Then I will leave my room at half-past eleven, but will make sure thatthe hall is dark and empty before I proceed. "

"And may the saints aid you, Monsieur, when you have to do with the menat the tower!"

"The men will not be expecting me, that is one advantage, " said I, trying to seem calm, but trembling with excitement. "If all goes well, we should be out of the chateau soon after midnight. "

"And at Hugues's house before one o'clock. You should be onhorseback--the Countess and you--by half-past one. Have you money, Monsieur?"

"Yes, --this purse is nearly as full as when I left home. "

"That is well, for Madame has none, and I don't know how much Huguescould get together in ten minutes. I have ten crowns in his strong-box, which Madame shall have. "

"They shall stay in Hugues's strong-box, and his own money too. I haveenough. "

"Then I believe that is all, Monsieur, and I'd better be going back. Beon the watch for Brigitte with the key. Do you think of anything else?"

We went hurriedly over the various details of the plan, and then shetook her leave, darting along the passage as swiftly as a greyhound andas silently as a ghost. I sat down to think upon what I had undertaken, but my mind was in a whirl. Strangely enough, I, the victor of a singleduel, did not shrink from the idea of killing the two guards--or as manyas there might be. Perhaps this was because they were sure to be rascalswhose lives one could not value very highly, especially as against thatof the Countess. Nor did I feel greatly the odds against me, in regardboth to their number and to my inexperience in such business. Perhapsthe apparent confidence of Mathilde in my ability to dispose of them--aconfidence based on my being a gentleman and they underlings--infectedme. And yet I chose not to go too deeply into the probabilities. Mysafest course, for my courage, was not to think too much, but to waitfor the moment and then do my best. 

It seemed but a short time till there was a tap at my door, and in camethe real Brigitte. 

"Mathilde got back safe, Monsieur; she was not detected, " she said, andhanded me a large key. 

Ere more could pass, she was gone. I put the key in my breast pocket. Itwas now time I should show myself to the Count and his friend at table;which I proceeded to do, as boldly as if I had entertained no designagainst them. They were just back from their ride. It was strange withwhat outward coolness I was able to carry myself, by dint of notthinking too closely on what I had undertaken. For observe that, besidesthe immediate task of the night, there was Madame's whole futureinvolved. And how precipitately Mathilde and I had settled upon ourcourse, without pausing to consider if some more prudent measures mightnot be taken to the same end! But I was hurried by my feeling that Iought to save Madame, the more because no one could say how far thepresent situation was due to my having killed De Merri, and to my adventat the chateau. Even though she might choose not to escape, it was forme to give her the opportunity, at least. And to tell the truth, Ilonged to see her again, at any cost. As for Mathilde, there were herpressing fears of a worse fate for her mistress, to excuse her haste. And we were both young, and thought that any project which goes straightand smoothly in the telling must go straight and smoothly in the doing;and we looked not far ahead. 

CHAPTER IX. 

THE WINDING STAIRS

I left the table early, and went to my room. I tore two strips from thesheet of my bed, and wrapped them around my boots so as to cover thesoles and deaden my footsteps. Slowly the night came, with stars and amoon well toward the full. But we could keep in shadow while about thechateau, and the light would aid our travelling later. At half-past teno'clock, the house seemed so still I thought the Count must have gone tobed before his usual time. I stole noiselessly from my room, feeling myway; and partly down the stairs. But when I got to the head of the lowerflight, I saw that the hall was still lighted. I peered over therailing. The Count and the Captain were alone, except for two knaves whosat asleep on their bench at the lower end of the hall. The Countlounged limply back in his great chair at the head of the table, unsteadily holding a glass of wine; and the Captain leaned forward onthe board, narrowly regarding the Count. Both were well gone in wine, the Count apparently the more so. There was a look of mental torment onthe Count's face. 

"Yes, I know, I know, " he said, wincing at his own words as if theypierced him. "There was opportunity enough with that De Merri. I wasblind then. And with this new puppy! Women and lovers have the ingenuityof devils in devising opportunities. And they both admit their interviewin the garden. But that he could have his way so soon--is that entirelyprobable?"

He looked at the Captain almost beseechingly, as if for a spark of hope. 

The Captain spoke with the calm certainty of wisdom gained through aworld of experience:

"Young blood is quickly stirred. Young lips are quickly drawn to oneanother. Young arms are quick to reach out, and young bodies quick toyield to them. "

The Count uttered a cry of pain and wrath, his eyes fixed as though uponthe very scene the Captain imagined. 

"The wretches!" said the tortured Count, staggering to his feet. "And Iam the Count de Lavardin!"

[Illustration: "'THE WRETCHES!' SAID THE TORTURED COUNT, STAGGERING TOHIS FEET. "]

"The greater nobleman you, the greater conquest for a young nobody toboast of. It is a fine thought for adventurous youth. --'A great lord, and a rich, but it is I, an unknown stripling, who really have possessedwhat he thinks his dearest treasure. '"

The Count gave a kind of agonized moan, and went lurching across thehall, spilling some wine from his glass. "And a man of my years, too!"he said, with an accent of self-pity. 

"The older the husband, the merrier the laugh at his expense, " said theCaptain. 

The Count ground his teeth, and muttered to himself. 

"It is always their boasting that betrays them, " went on the Count. "When I was young, they used to tell of a famous love affair between theBussy d'Amboise of that day and the Countess de Montsoreau, wife of theGrand-huntsman. It came out through Bussy's writing to the King'sbrother that he had stolen the hind of the Grand-huntsman. That is howthese young cocks always speak of their conquests. 

"Ah, I remember that. He did the right thing, that Montsoreau! He forcedhis false wife to make an appointment with Bussy, and when Bussy came, it was a dozen armed men who kept the appointment, and the gay loverdied hanging from a window. Yes, that Montsoreau!--but he should havekilled the woman too! The perfidious creatures! Mon dieu!--when Imarried her--when she took the vows--she was the picture of fidelity--Icould have staked my soul that she was true; that from duty alone shewas mine always, only mine!"

He lamented not as one hurt in his love, but as one outraged in hisright of possession and in his dignity and pride. And curiously enough, his last words caused a look of jealousy to pass across the face of theCaptain. This look, unnoticed by the Count, and speedily repressed, cameto me as a revelation. It seemed to betray a bitter envy of the Count'smere loveless and unloved right of possession; and it bespoke theresolve that, if the Captain might not have her smiles, not even herhusband might be content in his rights. Such men will give a woman todeath rather than to any other man. As in a flash, then, I saw hismotive in working upon the Count's insane jealousy. Better the Countshould kill her than that even the Count should possess her. I shudderedto think how near to murder the Count had been wrought up but a momentsince. At any time his impulse might pass the bounds. I now understoodMathilde's apprehensions, and saw the need for haste in removing theCountess far from the power of this madman and his malign instigator. 

The Count, exhausted by his rush of feelings, drained his glass, andalmost immediately gave way to the sudden drowsiness which befallsdrinkers at a certain stage. He staggered to his seat, and fell back ina kind of daze, the Captain watching him with cold patience. Thinkingthey would soon be going to bed, I slipped back to my room. 

A little after eleven, I went forth again. The hall was now dark, andits silence betokened desertion. I groped my way to the door. The keyturned more noisily than I should have wished, and there was a bolt toundo, which grated; but I heard no sound of alarm in the house. Istepped out to the court-yard, closing the door after me. The court-yardwas bathed in moonlight. Keeping close to the house, so as not to bevisible from any upper window, I gained the shadow of the wallseparating the two court-yards. As noiselessly as a cat, I followed thatwall to its gateway; entered the second court-yard, and saw that thedoor to the tower was open, a faint light coming from it. The toweritself, obstructing the moon's rays, threw its shadow across thepaving-stones. I stepped into that shadow, which was only partial; drewmy sword and dagger, and darted straight for the tower entrance, stopping just inside the doorway. By the light of a lantern hangingagainst the wall, I saw a kind of small vestibule, beyond which was aninner wall, and at one side of which was the beginning of a narrowspiral staircase, that ran up between walls until it wound out of sight. On a bench against the inner wall I have mentioned, sat a man, who roseat sight of me, with one hand grasping a sword, and with the other apike that was leaning against the bench. 

He was a heavy, squat fellow, with short, thick legs and short, thickarms. 

"I give you one chance for your life, " said I quickly. "Help me toescape with your prisoner, and leave the Count's service for mine. "

After a moment's astonishment, the man grunted derisively, and made alunge at my breast with his pike. I caught the pike with my left hand, still holding my dagger therein, and forced it downward. At the sametime I thrust with my rapier, but he parried with his own sword. Ithrust instantly again, and would have pinned him to the wall if he hadnot sprung aside. He was now with his back to the stairs, and neither ofus had let go the pike. His sword-point darted at me a second time, butI avoided, and thrust in return. Not quite ready to parry, he escaped byfalling back upon the narrow stone steps. Before I could attack, he wason his feet again, and on the second step. We still held to the pike, which troubled me much, both as an impediment to free sword-play and asdepriving me of the use of my dagger. I suddenly fell back, trying tojerk it from his grasp; but his grip was too firm. He jerked the pike inturn, and I let go, thinking the unexpected release might cause him afall. 

He did not fall; but I pressed close with sword and dagger before hecould bring the pike to use, and he backed further up the stairs. Hecaught the pike nearer the point, that he might wield it better at closequarters; but the long handle made it an awkward weapon, by strikingagainst the wall, which continually curved behind him. We were sword tosword, and against my dagger he had his pike, but the dagger was thefreer weapon for defence though not so far-reaching for attack. 

The man was very strong, but he had the shorter thrust and offered thebroader target. We continued at it, thrust and parry, give and take. Allthe time he retreated up the winding staircase, which was so narrow thatwe had little elbow room, and this was to his advantage as he neededless than I. Another thing soon came to his advantage: the stairs curvedout of the light cast by the lantern below, so that he backed intodarkness, yet I was still visible to him. I cannot tell by what sense Iknew where to meet his sword-point, yet certainly my dagger rang againstit each time it would have stung me out of the dark. As for his pike, Inow kept it busy enough in meeting my own thrusts. Whether or not I wasdrawn by the knowledge that the Countess was above, I continued toattack so incessantly, and with such good reach, that my antagoniststill retreated upward. I followed him into the darkness; and then theadvantage was with me, as being slender. 

Hitherto I had offered him my full front, but now I half turned my backto the wall, so that his blade might scarce find me at all, and that Imight stand less danger of being forced backward off my feet. Well, sowe prodded the darkness with our steel feelers in search of each other'sbodies on those narrow stairs, striking sparks from the stone wallswhich our weapons were bound to meet by reason of the continualcurvature. 

At last the broad form of my adversary was suddenly thrown into faintlight by a narrow window in the wall. I staked all upon one swiftthrust. It caught him full in the belly, and ran how far up his body Iknow not. With a cry he fell forward, and I was hard put to it to savemy sword and avoid going down with him. But I got myself and my swordfree, and went on up the stairs as fast as I could feel my way. 

In a few moments I heard steps coming from above, and a rough voiceshouting down, "Ho, Gaspard, did you call? What the devil's up?" It wasthe other guard, who must have been asleep to have been deaf to theclash of our weapons, but whom his comrade's death-cry had roused. Itrusted that the walls of the tower had confined that death-cry from thechateau; fortunately, the narrow window was toward the open fields. 

I stopped where I was. When the man's steps sounded a few feet from me, I said "Halt!" and, telling him his comrade was dead, proposed the termsI had offered the latter. There was a moment's silence: then a clickingsound, and finally a great flash of fiery light with a loud report, andthe smell of smoke. By good luck I had flattened myself against the wallbefore speaking, and the charge whizzed past me. Thinking the man mighthave another pistol in readiness, I stood still. But he turned and ranup the stairs. I stumbled after him. 

Presently the stairway curved into light such as we had left at thebottom. The guard ran on in the light, and finally stepped forth to alanding no wider than the stairs; where there hung a lantern over athree-legged stool, beyond which was a door. At sight of this my heartbounded. 

At the very edge of the landing the man turned and faced me, pointing asecond pistol. As the wheel moved, I dropped forward. The thing missedfire entirely, and, flinging it down with a curse, the man drew hissword and seized a pike that stood against the wall. I chargedrecklessly up the steps, bending my body to avoid the pike. It wentthrough my doublet, just under the left armpit. Ere he could disencumberit I pressed forward upon the landing. I turned his sword with mydagger, and thrust with my own sword under the pike, piercing his side. Only wounded, he leaped back, drawing the pike from my clothes. He aimedat me again with that weapon. In bending away from it, I fell on myside, but instantly turned upon my back. 

The man moved to stand over me. I let go my sword, and caught the pikein my hand as it descended. He then tried to spit me with his sword, butI checked its point with the guard of my dagger. I thought I was near myend. He had only to draw up his sword for another downward thrust; butthere was a sudden faltering, or hesitation, in his movements, probablya blindness of his eyes, the effect of his wound. In that instant of hisuncertainty, I swung my dagger around and ran it through his leg. Hefell forward upon me, nearly driving the breath out of my body. Mydagger arm, extended as it had been, was fortunately free. I crooked myelbow, embraced my adversary, and sank the dagger deep into his back. Ifelt his quiver of death. 

After I had rolled his body off me, and sheathed my sword and dagger, Itook out the key and unlocked the door. Inside the vaulted room ofstone, which was lighted by a candle, stood the Countess and Mathilde. 

The Countess, beautiful in her pallor, and looking more angel than womanin the plain robe of blue that clothed her slight figure, met me with aface of mingled reproach, pity, and horror. Mathilde was in tears andutterly downcast. I could see at a glance how matters stood, and ere Ihad made two steps beyond the threshold, I stopped, abashed. 

"Oh, Monsieur, the blood!" cried the Countess sadly, pointing to mydoublet. 

"It is that of your two guards, " I said. "I am not hurt. "

"I am glad you are not hurt. But oh, why did you put this bloodshed uponyour soul?"

"To save you, Madame. "

"Alas, I know. It is not for me to blame you--but could you think Iwould escape--leave the house of my husband--become a fugitive wife?"

I saw how firm she was in her resolution for all her fragility of body, and I scarce knew what to say. 

"Madame, think! He is your husband, yes, --but your persecutor. Where youshould have protection, you receive--this. " I waved my hand about herprison. "Where you should find safety, you are in mortal danger. "

"I know all that, Monsieur, --have known it from the first. But shall Iplay the runaway on that account? Think what you propose--that I, awedded wife, shall fly from my husband's roof with a gentleman who isnot even of kin to me! Then indeed would my good name deserve tosuffer. "

"But Madame, heaven knows, as I do, that you are the truest of wives. "

"Then let me still deserve that title as my consolation, whatever I mayhave to endure. "

"But to flee from such indignity as this--such slander--such peril ofdeath--"

"It is for me to bear these things, " she interrupted, "if he to whom Ivowed myself in marriage inflicts them upon me. If they be wrongs, it isI who must suffer but not I who must answer to heaven for them! I may besinned against, but I will not sin. Though he fail in a husband's duty, I will not fail in a wife's. Do you not understand, Monsieur, it is notthe things done to us, but the things we do, that we are accountablefor?"

"But I can see no sin in your fleeing from the evils that beset youhere, Madame. "

"Nay, even if it were not a violation of my marriage vow, it would havethe appearance of sin, and that we are to avoid. And it would be tothrow away my one hope, that my husband's heart may yet be softened, andhis eyes opened to my innocence. "

"Alas! I trust it may turn out a true hope, Madame, " said I sadly. 

"Heaven has caused such things to occur before now, " she replied. "Asfor you, Monsieur, I must never cease to thank you for your chivalrousintent, as I shall thank my good Mathilde for her devotion. And I willever pray for you. And now, if you would make my lot easier--if youwould remove one anxiety from my heart, and give me one solace--you willleave this chateau immediately. Save yourself, I beg. Monsieur: letthere be no more blood shed on my account, and that blood yours!Mathilde can let you out at the postern--she knows where the key ishidden. She tells me you have a horse at Montoire. Go, Monsieur--losenot another moment--I implore--nay, if you will recognize me as mistressof this house, I command. "

I bowed low. She offered me her hand: I kissed it. 

"It will not be necessary for Mathilde to come to the postern, " said I. "I know another way out of the chateau. Adieu, Madame!" It was all Icould manage to say without the breaking of my voice. I turned and leftthe room, closing the door that the Countess and Mathilde might bespared the sight of the body on the landing. I then, for a reason, tookthe key, leaving the door unlocked. I groped my way down the stairs, taking care not to trip over the body below. I crossed the court-yardswithout any care for secrecy, entered the hall, and sat down upon abench near the door. 

When I had told the Countess I knew another way out of the chateau, Imeant only the front gateway. But I did not intend immediately to trythat way. I intended, for a purpose which had suddenly come into myhead, to wait in the hall till morning and be the first to greet theCount when he appeared. 

CHAPTER X. 

MORE THAN MERE PITY

What I stayed to do was something the Countess herself could do, andprobably would do one way or another, if indeed mere circumstances wouldnot do it of themselves: though I felt that none could as I could. Butto tell the truth, even if I could not have brought myself to turn myback on that place while she was in such unhappy plight there. 

After I had sat awhile in the hall, I went to my room, lighted a candle, and cleansed myself and my weapons, and my clothes as well as I could, of blood. Having put myself to rights, though the rents in my doubletwere still gaping, I went back to the bench in the hall, and passed therest of the night there, sleeping and awake by turns. 

At dawn I heard steps and voices in the court-yard as of early risendependents starting the day. Silence returned for a few minutes, andthen came the noise of hurrying feet, and of shouts. There was rapidtalk between somebody in the court-yard and somebody at an upper window. I knew it meant that the bodies of the two guards had been discovered, doubtless by the men who had gone to relieve them. In a short time, downthe stairs came the Count de Lavardin, his doublet still unfastened, followed by two body-servants. He came in haste toward the front door, but I rose and stood in his path. 

"A moment, Monsieur Count. There's no need of haste. You'll find yourprisoner safe enough. "

"What do you mean?" he asked, having stopped in sheer wonder at myaudacity. 

"Madame the Countess has not flown, though it is true her guards areslain--I slew them. And Madame the Countess will not fly, though it istrue her prison door is unlocked--I unlocked it--with this key, which Iborrowed from you last night. "

He took the key I handed him, and stared at it in amazement. He thenthrust his hand into his doublet pocket and drew out another key, whichhe held up beside the first, looking from one to the other. 

"Yes, " said I, "that is a different key, which I left in place of theright one so that you might not discover the loan too soon. "

He gazed at me with a mixture of fury and surprise, as at an antagonistwhose capacity he must have previously underrated. 

"By the horns of Satan, " he exclaimed, "you are the boldest of meddlingimps. "

"I have meddled to good purpose, " said I, "though my meddling has notturned out as I planned. But it has turned out so as to bring you peaceof mind, at least in one respect. "

"What are you talking of?"

"You see that I possessed myself of that key; that I fought my way tothe prison of the Countess; that I threw open her prison door. "

"And believe me, you shall pay for your ingenuity and daring, my braveyouth. "

"All that was but the beginning of what I was resolved and able to do. Ihad prepared our way of escape from the chateau. "

"I am not sure of that. "

"You may laugh with your lips, Count, but I laugh at you in my heart. Don't think Monsieur de Pepicot is the only man who can get out of theChateau de Lavardin. "

The reminder somewhat sobered the Count. 

"I had the means, too, " I went on, "to fly with Madame far from thisplace. We might indeed have been a half-day's ride away by this time. Iassure you it is true. Let what I have done convince you of what more Icould have done. You don't think I should have gone so far as I have, unless I was sure of going further, do you?"

The Count shrugged his shoulders, pretending derision, but he waited forme. 

"And why did I not go further?" I continued. "Because the Countess wouldnot. Because she is the truest of wives. Because, when I opened herdoor, she met me with a stern rebuke for supposing her capable of flyingfrom your roof. Ah, Monsieur, it would have set your mind at rest, ifyou had heard her. She bows to your will, though it may crush her, because you are her husband. Never was such pious fidelity to marriagevows. Her only hope is that your mind may be cleared of its false doubtsof her. "

The Count looked impressed. He had become thoughtful, and a kind ofgrateful ease seemed to show itself upon his brow. I was pleasing myselfwith the belief that I had thus, in an unexpected way, convinced him ofthe Countess's virtue, when a voice at my side broke in upon mysatisfaction. I had so closely kept my attention upon the Count that Ihad not observed Captain Ferragant come down the stairs. It was he thatnow spoke, in his cool, quiet, scoffing tone:

"Perhaps the Countess had less faith in this gentleman's power to conveyher safely away than he seems to have had himself. Perhaps she saw aless promising future for a renegade wife than he could picture to her. Perhaps she, too, perceived the value of her refusal to run away, asevidence of virtue in the eyes of a credulous husband. "

The Count's forehead clouded again. I turned indignantly upon theCaptain, but addressed my words to the Count, saying:

"Monsieur, you will pardon me, but it seems to a stranger that you allowthis gentleman great liberties of speech. Men of honour do not, as arule, even permit their friends to defame their wives. "

"This gentleman is in my confidence, " said the Count, his grey facereddening for a moment. "It is you, a stranger as you say, who havetaken great liberties in speaking of my domestic affairs. But you shallpay for them, young gentleman. Your youth makes your presumption all thegreater, and shall not make your punishment the less. I will troubleyou, Captain, to see that he stays here till I return. "

At this the Count, motioning his attendants to follow, who had stood outof earshot of our lowered voices, passed on to the court-yard, andthence, of course, to the prison of the Countess. 

The Captain stood looking at me with that expression of antipathy andridicule which I always found it so hard to brook. I had some thought ofdefying the Count's last words and walking away to see what the Captainwould do. But I reflected that this course must end in my taking down, unless I made good a sudden flight from the chateau by the gate; and ifI made that I should be fleeing from the Countess. So the best thing wasto be submissive, and not bring matters, as between the Count and me, toa crisis. Perhaps a way to help the Countess might yet occur, if Istayed upon the scene to avail myself of it. And in any case bycontinuing there in as much freedom as the Count might choose to allowme, I might have at least the chance of another sight of her. 

So, while we waited half an hour or so in the hall, I gave the Captainno trouble, not even that of speech, which he disdained to take on hisown initiative. 

The Count returned, looking agitated, as if he had been in a storm ofanger which had scarce had time to subside. His glance at me was morecharged with hate and menace than ever before. He beckoned the Captainto the other end of the hall, and there they talked for awhile inundertones, the Count often shaking his head quickly, and taking shortwalks to and fro; sometimes he clenched his fists, or breathed heavysighs of irritation, or darted at me a swift look of malevolence andthreat. I could only assume that something had passed between theCountess and him during his visit to her prison--perhaps she had shownanxiety as to whether I had fled--which had suddenly quickened andincreased his jealousy of me. 

At last the Count seemed to accept some course advised by his friend. Hecame towards me, the Captain following with slower steps. In a dryvoice, well under control, the Count said to me:

"Permit me to relieve you, Monsieur, of the burden of those weapons youcarry. I am annoyed that you should think it desirable to wear them inmy house, as if it were the road. "

Startled, I put my hands on the hilts of my sword and dagger, and took astep backward. 

"Your annoyance is somewhat strange, Monsieur, " said I, "consideringthat you and the Captain wear your swords indoors as well as out. Ithought it was the custom of this house. "

"If so, " replied the Count, with his ghastly smile, "it is a custom thata guest forfeits the benefit of by killing two of my dependents. Come, young gentleman. Don't be so rude as to make me ask twice. "

The Captain now stepped forward more briskly, his hand on his own sword. Taking his motion as a threatening one, and scarce knowing what to do, Idrew my weapons upon impulse and presented, not the handles, but thepoints. But ere I could think, the Captain's long rapier flashed out, itmoved so swiftly I could not see it, and my own sword was torn from mygrip and sent whirring across the hall. In the next instant, the guardof the Captain's sword was locked against the guard of my dagger, andhis left hand gripped my wrist. It was such a trick as a fencing mastermight have played on a new pupil, or as I had heard attributed to myfather but had never seen him perform. It showed me what a swordsmanthat red Captain was, and how much I had yet to learn ere I daredventure against such an adversary. And there was his bold red-splashedface close to mine, smiling in derision of my surprise and discomfiture. He was beginning to exert his strength upon my wrist--that strengthwhich had choked and flung away the great hound. To save my arm, I letgo my dagger. The Captain put his foot on it till an attendant, whom theCount had summoned, stooped for it. My sword was picked up by anotherman, whereupon, at the Count's command, it was hung upon a peg in thewall, and the dagger attached to the handle of the sword. The two menwere then ordered to guard me, one at each side. They were burlyfellows, armed with daggers. 

"Well, Monsieur, what next?" said I in as scornful a tone as I couldcommand. 

"Patience, Monsieur; you will see. "

There was a low, narrow door in the side of the hall, near the front. Atthe Count's bidding, an attendant opened this, and I was marched into avery small, bare room, the ceiling of which was scarce higher than myhead. This apartment had evidently been designed as a doorkeeper's box. It's only furniture was a bench. A mere eyehole of a window in thecorner looked upon the court-yard. 

"Remember, " I called back to the Count, "you cannot put injuries upon mewith impunity. An account will be exacted in due time. "

"Remember, you, " he replied with a laugh, "that you have murdered twomen here, and are subject to my sentence. "

My guards left me in the room, and stationed themselves outside thedoor, which was then closed upon me. There was no lock to the door, butit was possible to fasten the latch on the outside, and this was done, as I presently discovered by trial. 

I sat on the bench, and gazed out upon as much of the court-yard as thewindow showed. Suddenly the window was darkened by something placedagainst it outside, --a man's doublet propped up by a pike, or some suchdevice. I could not guess why they should cut off my light, unless as amere addition to the tediousness of my restraint. I disdained to showannoyance, though I might have thrust my arm through the window anddisplaced the obstruction. Later I saw the reason: it was to prevent myseeing who passed through the court-yard. 

It seemed an hour until suddenly my door was flung open. In the doorwayappeared the Captain, beckoning me to come forth. I did so. 

Half-way up the hall, a little at one side, stood the Count. Near him, and looking straight toward me, sat the Countess in a great arm-chair. Besides the Captain and myself, those two were the only persons in thehall. Even my guards had disappeared, and all doors leading from thehall were shut. 

The Countess, as I have said, was looking straight toward me. Her eyeshad followed the Captain to my door, she wondering what was to come outof it. For assuredly she had not expected me to come out of it. She hadstill trusted that I had gone away in the night--the Count had not toldher otherwise. Her surprise at seeing me was manifest in her startledlook, which was followed by a low cry of compassionate regret. 

The Count had been watching her with a painful intentness. He had noteven turned his eyes to see me enter, having trusted to his ears toapprise him. At her display of concern, the skin of his face tightened;though that display was no more than any compassionate lady might havegiven in a similar case. Even the Count, after a moment, appeared tothink more reasonably of her demeanour. 

I bowed to her, and stood waiting for what might follow, the Captainnear me. 

The Count, turning toward me for an instant to show it was I headdressed, but fixing his gaze again upon his wife and keeping it therewhile he continued speaking to me, delivered himself thus, with mockingirony:

"Monsieur, I will not be so trifling or so churlish as to keep you indoubt regarding your fate. In this chateau, where the right of doom liesin me, you have been, by plain evidence and your own confession, guiltyof the murder of two men. As to what other and worse crimes you haveintended, I say nothing. What you have done is already too much. Thereis only one sufficient punishment. You may thank me for granting youtime of preparation. I will give you two days--a liberal allowance, youwill admit--during which you shall be lodged in a secure place, where insolitude and quiet you may put yourself in readiness for death. "

The Countess rose with a cry, "No, no!" Her face and voice were chargedwith something so much more than mere compassion, that I forgot my doomin a wild sweet exultation. At what he perceived, the Count uttered afierce, dismayed ejaculation. The Captain looked at once triumphant andresentful. 

"It is enough!" cried the Count hoarsely. "The truth is clear!"

He motioned me away, and the Captain pushed me back into the littleroom, quickly fastening the door. But my feeling was still one ofecstasy rather than horror, for still I saw the Countess's tender eyesin grief for me, still saw her arms reaching out toward me, still heardher voice full of wild protest at my sentence. It was to surprise herreal feelings that she had been brought to hear, in my presence, my doompronounced; and my window had been obstructed that our confrontationmight be as sudden to me as to her, lest by a prepared look I might puther on her guard. This it was that the Captain had suggested, andexcellently it had served. That moment's revelation of her heart, thoughit brought such sweetness into my soul, could only make her fate worseand my sentence irrevocable. 

CHAPTER XI. 

THE RAT-HOLE AND THE WATER-JUG

I had not been back in the little room a minute, when it occurred to meto reach through the window and displace the obstruction. I was in timeto see the Countess escorted back across the court-yard by her husband. This could mean only that she was again to occupy her prison in thetower. I was glad at least to know where she was, that I might imagineher in her surroundings, of which I had obtained so brief a glimpse. 

Presently my door opened slightly, that my breakfast might be passed inon a trencher; and again an hour later, that the trencher might be takenout. Soon after that, the door was thrown wide, and a man of someauthority, whom I had already taken to be the seneschal of the chateau, courteously requested me to step forth. When I did so, he told me mylodging was ready and bade me follow. At my elbows were two powerfularmed servitors of this strange half-military household, to escort me. 

I had a moment's hope that I might be taken to some chamber in the greattower; I should thus be nearer the Countess. But such was not theCount's will. I was conducted to the hall staircase, and up two flights, thence along the corridor past my former sleeping chamber, and finallyby a small stairway to a sort of loft at that very corner of the chateauagainst which the great tower was built. 

It was a small chamber with one window and an unceiled roof that slopedvery low at the sides. I suppose it had been used as a store-room forrubbish. Two worm-eaten chests were its only furniture. On one of thesewere a basin, a jug of water, and a towel. On the other were a blanket, a sheet, and a pillow. Here then were my bed and wash-stand. There wasstill space left on the first chest to serve me as dining-table. 

Before I could find anything to say upon these meagre accommodations fora gentleman's last lodging in this world, the seneschal bade megood-day, the door was closed and locked, and I was left to myreflections. The room not having been designed as a prison, there was nogrilled opening in the door, and I was not exposed to the guard's view. 

The Count might have kept me in my former chamber, thought I, the timebeing so short. Perhaps he feared my making a rope of bed clothes anddropping to the terrace. As for the little room off the hall, it had noreal lock, and the guards might become sleepy at night. But why did hemake this respite of two days? Was it to give himself time for devisingsome peculiarly humiliating and atrocious form of death? Or was it mereironical pretence of mercy in his justice, and might I be surprised withthe fatal summons as soon as he was in the humour for it? To this day, Ido not clearly know, --or whether he had other matters for his immediatecare; or indeed whether, at the instant of pronouncing my sentence inorder to discover the Countess's feelings, he actually intended carryingit out. 

In any case, now that her heart had betrayed itself, I had little hopeof mercy. What came nearest to daunting me was the thought that, if Idied, my people might never know for certain what had been my fate, forthe Count would probably keep my death a secret, his own dependentsbeing silenced by interest and fear. Yet I felt I had no right tocomplain of Fate. I had come from home to see danger, and here it was, though my present adventure was something different from cutting off themoustaches of Brignan de Brignan. And still my emotions were sweetenedby the sense of what the Countess had disclosed, fatal though thatdisclosure might be to her also. 

Such were the materials of my thoughts for the first hour or so, while Isat on the chest that was to be my bed. But suddenly there came asharper consciousness of what death meant, and how closely it threatenedme. I sprang up, to bestir myself in seeking if there might be somemeans of escape. The situation had changed since I had willinglylingered at the chateau in order to be near the Countess. The reluctanceto betake myself from the place where she was, had not diminished; but Ihad awakened to the knowledge that my only hope of ever seeing her againlay in present flight, if that were possible. I could serve her betterliving than dead, better free than a prisoner. 

I went to the window, which was wide enough for me to put my head out. My room was at the top of the building, and only the great tower, partlyvisible at my right, rose higher toward the sky. Below me was a narrowpaved space between the house and the outer wall: it ran from the baseof the tower at my right, to the garden, far at the left. Beyond thewall was the moat: beyond that, the country toward Montoire. If I couldlet myself down to the earth by any means, I should still be on thewrong side of the wall. But I might find the postern key, buried underthe rose bush near the postern itself. 

I looked around the room, but there was nothing that would serve as ameans of descent, except the bedding on the larger chest. This Iexamined: it was the scantiest, being merely a strip of blanket and astrip of sheet, together just sufficient to cover the top of the chest. With the pillow cover and towel, they would not reach half-way to theground. 

Perhaps the chests might contain old clothes, or other materials thatwould serve to eke out. I tried the lids, but both were strongly locked. The larger chest looked very ancient and rotten: its hinges might beloose. I pulled one end of it out from against the wall, to examine theback. The hinges were immovable. Despondent, I ran my hand further downthe back at random, and, to my surprise, felt a small irregular hole, through which I could thrust two fingers. It was evidently a rat hole, for I saw now that when close to the wall, it must have corresponded toa chink between the stones thereof. 

My fingers inside the chest came in contact with nothing but rat-bittenpapers, to my sad disappointment. But, having gone so far, I was movedto continue until I had patiently twisted a few documents out throughthe hole. I straightened and glanced at them. The edges were fretted bythe rats. One writing was an account of moneys expended for variouswines; another was a list of remedies for the diseases of horses; butthe third, when I caught its meaning and saw the name signed at the end, made my heart jump. It was the last page of a letter, and ran thus:

 "One thing is certain, by our careful exclusion of fools and weaklings, our plot is less liable to premature discovery than any of those which have hitherto been attempted, and, as you say, if we fail we have but to lock ourselves up in our chateaux till all blows over, the K. Being so busy at present with the Dutch. In that event, my dear Count, the Chateau de Lavardin is a residence that some of the rest of us will envy you. Your servant ever, "COLLOT D'ARNIOL. "

The name was that of the chief mover of the late conspiracy, who hadpaid the penalty of his treason without betraying his accomplices. Ifthis was indeed his signature, with which the authorities were certainlyacquainted, the scrap of paper, were I free to carry it to Paris, wouldput the life of the Count de Lavardin in my hands. 

To be possessed of such a weapon--such a means of rescuing the Countessfrom her fearful situation--and yet lack freedom wherein to use it, wastoo vexing for endurance. I resolved, rather than wait inactively fordeath with that weapon useless, to employ the most reckless means ofescape. Meanwhile I pocketed the fragment of letter, and thrust theother papers back into the chest, which I then pushed to its formerplace. 

After thinking awhile, I poured the water from the heavy earthen juginto the basin. I then sat down on the large chest, leaning forward, elbows upon knees, my head upon my hands, the empty jug beside me as ifI had lazily left it there after drinking from it. In this attitude Iwaited through a great part of the afternoon, until I began to wonder ifthe Count was not going to send me any more food that day. 

At last, when the sun was low, I heard my lock turned, the door openedinto the room, and one of my new guards entered with a trencher of breadand cold meat. With the corner of my eye, I saw that nobody wasimmediately outside my door; so I assumed that my other guard, if therewere still two, was stationed at the foot of the short flight of stairsleading to my room. The man with the food, having cast a look at me as Isat in my listless attitude, passed me in order to put the trencher onthe other chest, which was further from the door. 

The instant his back was toward me, I silently grasped the earthen jug, sprang after him, and brought the jug down upon the back of his headwith all my strength while he was leaning forward to place the trencher. He staggered forward. I gave him a second blow, and he sprawled upon thechest, which stopped his fall. 

I ran to the open door, pushed it almost shut, and waited behind it, thejug raised in both hands. My blows and the guard's fall had not beenwithout noise. 

"Hola! what's that?" cried somebody outside and a little below. I gaveno answer, and presently I heard steps rapidly mounting to my door. Thenthe door was lightly pushed, but I stopped it; whereupon the head of myother guard was thrust in through the narrow opening. Down came my jug, and the man dropped to his hands and knees, in the very act of drawinghis weapons. I struck him again, laying him prostrate. Then I draggedhim into the room, and tried to wrest his dagger from his grasp. Findingthis difficult, I ran back to the first guard, took his dagger from itssheath as he was beginning to come to, wielded my jug once more to delayhis awakening, and, stepping over the second man's body, passed out ofthe room. The man with the trencher had left the key in the lock. Iclosed the door and turned the key, which I put in my pocket. I thenhastened down the stairs, fled along the deserted passage, descended themain stairway to the story below, traversed without a moment's pause therooms leading to the picture gallery, crossed that and found the door atthe end unlocked, ran down the stairs of the Countess's formerapartments, unlocked the door to the garden, and sped along the walktoward the postern. In all this, I had not seen a soul: I was carriedforward by a bracing resolve to accomplish my escape or die inattempting it, as well as by an inspiriting faith in the saying of theLatin poet that fortune favours the bold, and by a feeling that for meeverything depended on one swift, uninterrupted flight. 

I gained the postern; fell on my knees by the nearest rose bush, and, choosing a spot where the soil swelled a little, dug rapidly with thedagger, throwing the earth aside with my hand. In my impatience, muchtime seemed to go: I feared that here at last I was stayed: great dropsfell from my brow upon my busy hands: I trembled and could have wept forvexation. But suddenly my dagger struck something hard, and in a momentI grasped the key. It opened the lock. I stood upon the ledge outside, and re-locked the door; then dashed across the plank over the moat, andmade for the forest. 

I had no time to spare. My guards might be already returned toconsciousness and doing their best to alarm the house from within theirprison. Bloodhounds might soon be on my track. I ran along the edge ofthe forest, therefore, which covered my movements till I was past thevillage of St. Outrille, close to Montoire. I then altered my pace to awalk, lest a running figure in the fields might attract the notice ofthe Count's watchman on the tower; and, going in the lurching manner ofa rustic, came to a road by which I crossed the river and gained thetown. I entered the inn, sought the host, and called for my bill, baggage, and horse. 

The innkeeper did not recognize me at first, and, when he did, showedgreat wonder and curiosity at my absence. He was inclined to befriendly, though, and, when he perceived I was in haste, did not delaymy departure with inquisitive talk. I saw that my horse had beenproperly cared for in my absence, and was glad to be on its back again, the more because I should thus leave no further scent for bloodhounds tofollow. 

I rode out of the archway and turned my horse toward the road for LesRoches and Paris. As I crossed the square, I could not help glancingover my right shoulder toward the Lavardin road. In doing so, I happenedto see a young man coming out of the church, whose face I knew. Ithought a moment, then reined my horse around to intercept him, and, ashe was about to pass, said in a low voice:

"Good evening, Hugues. "

He stopped in surprise, recalling my features but not my identity. Ileaned over my horse's neck, and spoke in an undertone:

"You will remember I met you on your way back from Sablé, whither youhad carried a certain lady's message. I have since heard of you fromthat lady. She is in a most unhappy plight, and so is her maidMathilde. "

The young miller turned pale at this. 

"I have just escaped from the chateau, " I continued, "where the Countmeant to kill me. I am going as fast as possible to Paris, where I canuse means to render him powerless. But that will take time, andmeanwhile the worst may befall the Countess--and no doubt her faithfulMathilde also. They are imprisoned in the tower. I thank God I have metyou, for now there is one friend here to whose solicitude I may leavethat unfortunate lady and her devoted maid while I am away. "

"Monsieur, " said he, with deep feeling, "I know no reason why you shouldplay a trick on me, and you don't look as if you were doing so. I willtrust you, therefore. But can you not come to my house, where we cantalk fully?"

"Where is your house?"

"About a quarter of a league down that road. " He pointed toward the roadthat ran northward from the square, as my road ran northeastward. "Whenyou are ready to go on, you can get the Paris road by a lane, withoutcoming back to the town. "

There were good reasons against my losing any time before starting forParis. But it was well, on the other hand, for Hugues to know exactlyhow matters stood at the chateau. I put my reasons hastily to him, andhe said he could promise me a safe hiding-place at his mill. And I couldtravel the faster in the end for a rest now, which I looked as if Ineeded, --in truth, I had slept little and badly in the hall the previousnight, and the day's business had told upon me. So, perhaps most becauseit was pleasant to be with a trusty companion who shared my cause ofanxiety, I agreed to go to his house for supper, and to set out afternight-fall. 

"Good!" said Hugues. "Then you had best ride ahead, Monsieur, so we arenot seen together. You can leave me now as if you had been merely askingyour way. If you ride slowly when you are out of the town, I shall catchup. "

I did as he suggested, and he soon overtook me on the road. His houseproved to be a cottage of good size built against a mill, with a smallbarn at one side of the yard and a stable at the other. When I haddismounted at his door, we unsaddled and unbridled my horse, so that itmight pass for a new horse of his own if pursuers looked into hisstable. He then called his boy and his woman-servant, and told them whatto say if anybody came inquiring. We carried my saddle, bridle, andportmanteau through the cottage to the mill, and thence to a smallcellar which was reached by means of a well-concealed trap-door in themill-floor. This cellar should be my refuge in case the Count's men camethere seeking me. 

"I made this hiding-place, " said Hugues, moving his candle about to showhow well floored and walled it was, "because one could never say whenMathilde, living in that fearful chateau, might want a place to fly to. She would not leave her mistress, you know, though the Countess's otherwomen went gladly enough when the Count sent them off. Nobody knowsthere is anything between Mathilde and me, Monsieur, --except theCountess. It is safer so. We have been waiting for the Count to die, sothat all might be well with the Countess, for Mathilde could marry methen with easy mind. "

"I hope that God will send that time soon, " said I. 

"But meanwhile, this present danger?" said Hugues. 

We returned to the living-room of the cottage, and talked of the matterwhile we had supper. I told Hugues everything, misrepresenting only sofar as to make it appear that the Count's jealousy was still entirelyunfounded, and that he had mistaken the Countess's feelings at ourconfrontation. Whatever Hugues may have thought upon this last point, hemade no comment thereon; but he showed the liveliest sense of theincreased danger in which the Countess stood. He feared that my escapewould make her position still worse, and that her hours might be alreadynumbered. He considered there was not time for me to go to Paris andreturn: the Countess's rescue ought to be attempted promptly, or theattempt would be too late. 

In all this, he but echoed the feeling that had come back to me withdouble force while I told him the situation. But there was theCountess's determination not to flee. Hugues said that as thisdetermination must be overcome for the Countess's own sake, any pressurethat could be brought to bear upon her feelings would be justifiable. Let it be urged upon her that if she persisted in waiting for death, Mathilde's life also would doubtless be sacrificed; let every argument, every persuasion be employed; let me beseech, let me reproach, let meeven use imperative means if need be. Suddenly, as he talked, I saw away by which I thought she might be moved. It was one chance, but enoughto commit me to the effort. 

The question now was, how to communicate with the Countess, and toaccomplish the rescue. This Hugues and I settled ere we went to bed. Islept that night in the mill, by the trap-door. Hugues lay awake, listening for any alarm. None came, and in the morning we agreed thateither the Count had elected not to seek me at all, or had traced me tothe inn, and, learning I had taken horse, supposed I was far out of theneighbourhood. I stayed indoors all that day, while Hugues was absent infurtherance of our project, the woman and boy being under strict ordersas to their conduct in the event of inquiries. In the evening Huguesreturned with various acquisitions, among them being a sword for me, anda long rope ladder, both obtained at Troo. 

We awaited the fall of night, then set out. I upon my horse, Huguesriding one of his and leading the other. We went by obscure lanes, crossed the river, gained the forest, and lingered in its shades tillthe church clock of Montoire struck eleven. We then proceeded throughthe forest, near the edge, till we were behind the Chateau de Lavardin. 

Besides the rope-ladder, we had with us a cross-bow that Hugues owned, along slender cord, and a paper on which I had written some briefinstructions during the afternoon. 

CHAPTER XII. 

THE ROPE LADDER

The night was starlit, though the moon would come later. We hoped to beaway from the chateau before it rose. There was a gentle breeze, whichwe rather welcomed as likely to cover what little noise we might make. 

Leaving our horses tied in the forest, and taking the cross-bow andother things, we stole along the moat skirting the Western wall, till wewere opposite the great tower. It rose toward the sky, sheer from theblack water that separated us from it by so few yards. We gazed upward, and I pointed out the window which I thought, from its situation, mustbe that of the Countess, if she still occupied her former prison. 

Our first plan depended upon her still occupying that prison, or someother with an unbarred window in that side of the tower; and upon herbeing still accompanied by Mathilde. 

If the man on top of the tower were to look down now, thought I! We hadconsidered that chance. It was not likely he would come to the edge ofthe tower and look straight down. His business apparently was to watchthe road at a distance and in both directions. He could do this bestfrom the Northeastern part of the tower. From what I knew now, I couldguess why the Count had stationed him there: a conspirator never knowswhen he is safe from belated detection and a visit of royal guards. Thisaccounted also, perhaps as much as the Count's jealousy, for hisinhospitality to strangers, and for the half-military character of hishousehold. 

Hugues uttered a bird-call, which had been one of his signals toMathilde in their meetings. We waited, looking up and wishing the nightwere blacker. He repeated the cry. 

Something faintly whitish appeared in the dark slit which I had taken tobe the Countess's window. It was a face. 

"Mathilde, " whispered Hugues to me. 

Keeping his gaze upon her, he held up the cross-bow for her notice; thenthe bolt, to which we had attached the slender cord. Next, beforeadjusting the bolt, he aimed the unbent bow at her window: this was toindicate what he was about to do. Then he lowered the bow, and looked ather without further motion, awaiting some sign of understanding fromher. She nodded her head emphatically, and drew it in. 

Hugues fitted the string and the bolt, raised the bow, and stoodmotionless for I know not how many seconds; at last the string twanged;the bolt sang through the air. It did not fall, nor strike stone, andthe cord remained suspended from above: the bolt had gone through thewindow. 

"Good!" I whispered in elation; and truly Hugues deserved praise, for hehad had to allow both for the wind and for the cord fastened to thebolt. 

The cord was soon pulled upward. Our end of it was tied to the ropeladder, which Hugues unfolded as it continued to be drawn up byMathilde. At the junction of cord and ladder was fixed the paper withinstructions. Mathilde could not overlook this nor mistake its purpose. When the ladder was nearly all in the air, its movement ceased. We knewthen that Mathilde had the other end of it. Presently the window becamefaintly alight. 

"They have lighted a candle, to read the note, " I whispered. 

Hugues kept a careful hold upon our end of the ladder, to which therewas fastened another cord, shorter and stronger than the first. My notegave instructions to attach the ladder securely to a bed, or some othersuitable object, which, if movable, should then be placed close to thewindow, but not so as to impede my entrance. It announced my intentionof visiting the Countess for a purpose of supreme importance to us both. When the ladder was adjusted, a handkerchief should be waved up and downin the window. 

"The Countess surely will not refuse to let me come and say what I haveto, " I whispered, to reassure myself after we had waited some time. 

"Surely not, Monsieur. She does not know yet what it is, " repliedHugues. 

At that moment the handkerchief waved in the window. 

Hugues drew the ladder taut and braced himself. I grasped one of therounds, found a lower one with my foot, and began to mount. The ladderformed, of course, an incline over the moat. When I had ascended someway, Hugues, as we had agreed, allowed the ladder to swing graduallyacross the moat and hang against the tower, he retaining hold of thecord by which to draw the lower end back at the fit time. I now climbedperpendicularly, close to the tower. It was a laborious business, requiring great patience. Once I ran my eyes up along the tall tower andsaw the stars in the sky; once I looked down and saw them reflected inthe moat: but as these diversions made my task appear the longer, andhad a qualmish effect upon me, I thereafter studied only each immediateround of the ladder as I came to it. As I got higher, I felt the windmore; but it only refreshed me. Toward the end I had some misgiving lestthe ladder should lie too tight against the bottom of the window for meto grasp the last rounds. But this fear proved groundless. Mathilde hadplaced a pillow at the outer edge of the sill, for the ladder to runover; and I had no sooner thrust my hand into the window than it wascaught in a firm grasp and guided to the proper round. Another stepbrought my head above the sill: at the next, I had two arms inside thelong, shaft-like opening; my body followed, as Mathilde's receded. Icrawled through; lowered myself, hands and knees, to the couch beneath;leaped to the floor, and kneeling before the Countess, kissed her hand. 

She was standing, and her dress was the same blue robe in which I hadseen her in the same room two nights before. The candle was on a smalltable, which held also an illuminated book and an image of the Virgin, and above which a crucifix hung against the wall. Besides the bed at thewindow, there were another bed, a trunk, a chair, and a three-leggedstool. 

The Countess's face was all anxiety and question. 

"Thank God you are still safe!" said I. 

"And you!" she replied. "Brigitte told us you had escaped. I had prayedyour life might be saved. But now you put yourself in peril again. I hadhoped you were far away. Oh, Monsieur, what is it brings you back tothis house of danger?"

"My going has surely made it a house of greater danger to you. It is amarvel the Count has not already taken revenge upon you for my escape. Ithank God I am here while you still live. "

"My life is in God's hands. Was it to say this that you have riskedyours again, Monsieur? Oh, your coming here but adds to my sorrow. "

"Hear what sorrow you will cause, Madame, if you refuse to be savedwhile there is yet time. I ask you to consider others. Below, waitingfor us, is Hugues, who has enabled me to come here to-night. You knowhow that good brave fellow loves Mathilde. And you know that if you die, Mathilde will share your fate, for the Count will wish to give his ownstory of your death. "

"But Mathilde must not stay to share my fate. She must go away with younow, while there is opportunity. "

"I will not stir from your side, Madame, --they will have to tear me awaywhen they come to kill you, " said Mathilde, and then to me, "They havenot sent Madame any food to-day. I think the plan is to starve us. "

"Horrible!" I said. "That, no doubt, is because of my escape. But whoknows when the Count, in one of the rages caused by his fancies, mayturn to some method still more fearful. Madame, how can you endure this?Why, it is to encourage his crime, when you might escape!"

"Monsieur, you cannot tempt me with sophistries. What God permits--"

"Has not God permitted me to come here, with the means of escape? Availyourself of them--see if God will not permit that. "

"We know that God permits sin, Monsieur, for his own good reasons. It isfor us to see that we are not they to whom it is permitted. "

"But can you think it a sin to save yourself?"

"It is always a sin to break vows, Monsieur. And now--to go with you, ofall men--would be doubly a sin. " She had lowered her voice, and shelowered her eyes, too, and drew slightly back from me. 

"Then go with Hugues, Madame, " said I, my own voice softened almost to awhisper. "Only let me follow at a little distance to see that you aresafe. And when you are safe, finally and surely, I will go away, and weshall be as strangers. "

Tears were in her eyes. But she answered:

"No, Monsieur; I should still be a truant wife--still a breaker of vowsmade to the Church and heaven. "

"Then you would rather die, and have poor Mathilde die afteryou--Mathilde, who has no such scruples?"

"Mathilde must go away with you to-night. I command her--she will notdisobey what may be the last orders I shall ever give her. "

"Madame, I have never disobeyed yet, but I will disobey this time. Iwill not leave you. " So said Mathilde, with quiet firmness. 

"Ah, Mathilde, it is unkind, unfair! You will save yourself for Hugues'ssake. "

"I will save myself when you save yourself, Madame; not before. "

The Countess sank upon the chair, and turning to the Virgin's image, said despairingly:

"Oh, Mother of heaven, save this child from her own fidelity!"

"It is not Mathilde alone that you doom, " I now said, thinking it timeto try my last means. "It is not only that you will darken the life ofpoor Hugues. There is another who will not leave Lavardin if you willnot: one who will stay near, sharing your danger; and who, if you die, will seek his own death in avenging you. "

"Oh, no, Monsieur!" she entreated. "I was so glad to learn you hadescaped. Do not rob me of that consolation. Do not stay at Lavardin. Live!--live and be happy, for my sake. So brave--so tender--the worldneeds you; and you must not die for me--I forbid you!"

"You will find me as immovable as Mathilde, " said I. 

She looked from one to the other of us, and put forth her handspleadingly; then broke down into weeping. 

"Oh, will you make my duty the harder?" she said. "God knows I wouldgladly die to save you. "

"It is not dying that will save us. The only way is to save yourself. "

"Monsieur, you shall not drive me to sin by your temptations! Heavenwill save you both in spite of yourselves. That will be my reward forputting this sin from me. "

"You persist in calling it a sin, Madame: very well. But is it notselfish to go free from sin at the expense of others? If one can saveothers by a sin of one's own, is it not nobler to take that sin uponone's soul? Nay, is it not the greater sin to let others suffer, thatone's own hands may be clean?"

"Oh, you tempt me with worldly reasoning, Monsieur. Kind mother ofChrist, " she said, fixing her eyes upon the image of Mary, "what shall Ido? Be thou my guide--speak to my soul--tell me what to do!"

After a moment, the Countess again turned to me, still perplexed, agitated, unpersuaded. 

"Madame, " said I, "when one considers how soon the Count de Lavardinmust surely suffer for crimes of which you know nothing, your death athis hands seems the more grievous a fate. Do you know that he is atraitor?--that his treason will soon be known to the King's ministers?If his jealousy had only waited a short while, or if my discovery hadoccurred a little earlier, his death would have spared you all this. Butnow, if you are not starved or slain before he is arrested, he willsurely kill you when he finds himself about to be taken. --My God, I hadnot thought of that when I resolved to go to Paris at once! Oh, Madame, fly now while there is chance! I assure you that doom is hovering overthe Count's head; if you stay here, I cannot go to Paris; but Huguesshall go with this paper in my stead. "

"What is the paper, Monsieur? What do you mean by this talk of the Countand treason?" she asked in sheer wonder. 

"It is a proof of the Count's participation in the late conspiracy. Ifound it in the room where I was imprisoned. And come what may, I willsee that it goes to Paris for the inspection of the Duke de Sully. Andthen there will be a short shrift for the Count de Lavardin, I promiseyou. "

"But in that case, it would be you that caused his death, Monsieur!" sheexclaimed. 

"The executioner would cause his death--and the law. I should be but thehumble instrument of heaven to bring it to pass. "

"But you would be the instrument of my husband's death, Monsieur! Thatmust not be. You, of all men! No, no. Why, it would be an eternalbarrier between us--in thought and kind feeling, I mean, --in the nextworld too. Oh, no; you must not use that paper, nor cause it to beused. "

"But, Madame, he is a traitor. What matters it whether I or another--itis only justice--my duty to the King. "

"But you do not understand. I should not dare even pray for you! And Imust not let you denounce him--I must prevent your using that paper. Iam his wife, Monsieur, --I must prevent. Otherwise, I should beconsenting to my husband's death!"

"He has no scruples about consenting to yours, Madame. "

"The sin is on his part, then, not on mine. Come, Monsieur, you must letme destroy that paper. " She advanced toward me. 

"No, Madame; not I. Nay, I will use force to keep it, if need be! It ismy one weapon, my one means of vengeance. " I tore my wrist from herhand, and put the paper back into my inner pocket. 

"Then, Monsieur, I have said my last to you. I must put you out of mythoughts, out of my prayers even. And if I find means, I must warn myhusband. "

"Listen, Madame. There is one condition upon which I will destroy thispaper and keep silence. "

She uttered a joyful cry. I knew that what she thought of was not herhusband's fate, but the barrier she had mentioned. 

"It is that you will escape with me at once, " I said. 

The joy passed out of her face; but she was silent. 

"Consider, " I went on. "Not merely your own life, not merely mine, notmerely Mathilde's, and the happiness of Hugues: it is in your power tosave your husband's life also, and to save his soul from the crime ofyour murder, if there be any degree between act and intent. Is it not asin and a folly to refuse? Think of the blood already shed by reason ofthis matter. Why should there be more?"

At last she wavered. I turned to Mathilde, to speak of the order inwhich we should descend the ladder. 

At that instant I heard the key begin to grate in the lock. 

"Some one is coming in!" whispered the Countess in alarm. 

Instantly I pushed Mathilde upon the couch beneath the window, in asitting posture, so that her body would conceal the end of the ropeladder. The next moment I had pulled the other bed a little way out fromthe wall, and was crouching behind it. 

The door opened, and I heard the noise of men entering with heavy tread. Then the door closed. There was a sound of swift movement, then a screamfrom Mathilde and a terrified cry from the Countess, both voices beingsuddenly silenced at their height. I raised my head, and saw twopowerful men in black masks, one of whom was grasping the Countess bythe throat with his left hand while, with his right assisted by histeeth, he was endeavouring to pass a looped cord around her neck. Theother man had both hands about the neck of Mathilde, that he mightsufficiently overpower her to apply a similar cord. 

I leaped over the bed, and upon the man who was trying to strangle theCountess. Mad to save and avenge her, I sank my dagger into the back ofhis shoulder, and he fell without having seen who had attacked him. Themurderer who was struggling with Mathilde immediately turned from herand drew sword to attack me, at the same time crying out, "Garoche, tothe rescue!"

[Illustration: "I LEAPED OVER THE BED, AND UPON THE MAN WHO WAS TRYINGTO STRANGLE THE COUNTESS. "]

As I could not get the dagger out of the other man's shoulder joint intime, I drew my sword, and parried my new antagonist's thrust. The doornow opened, and in came another man with drawn sword, not masked: hewas, I suppose, the man on guard on the landing. Seeing how mattersstood, he joined in the attack upon me. I backed into a corner, knockingover the chair of the Countess, who had run to Mathilde. The two womenstood clasping each other, in terror. Suddenly my first assailant cried, "I leave him to you for a moment, Garoche, " and ran and transferred thekey from the outside to the inside of the door, which he then closed, soas to lock us all in. This was doubtless to prevent the exit of theCountess and Mathilde, the purpose being to keep the night's doings inthat room as secret as possible even from the rest of the household. This man then pocketed the key, and, while Garoche continued to keep meoccupied in my corner, ran to a side of the cell and began working withan iron wedge at a stone in the floor. He soon raised this, showing itto be a thin slab, and left exposed a dark hole. He then turned to theCountess, seized her around the waist, and tried to drag her toward theopening. His instructions had been, no doubt, to slay the women withoutbloodshed and drop the bodies through this secret aperture, but theunexpected turn of affairs had made him decide to precipitate the endand not strangle them first. Wild with horror at the prospect of theirmeeting so hideous a death, I sprang into the air, and ran my swordstraight into the panting mouth of Garoche, so that the point came outat the back of his neck. He dropped, and I disengaged my weapon barelyin time to check the onslaught of the other man, who, seeing Garoche'sfate, had left the Countess and come at me again. I was out of breathafter the violent thrusts I had made, and a mist now clouded my eyes. Iknow not how this last contest would have gone, had not Mathilde, recovering her self-command, drawn the sword of the man who had fallenfirst, and, holding it with both hands, pushed it with all her strengthinto my adversary's back. 

I wiped my weapons on the clothes of the slain murderers. The Countessfell on her knees and thanked heaven for our preservation. I then wentto the opening made by the removal of the stone slab: peering down, Icould see nothing. I took the key of the door from the pocket of itslast holder, and dropped it through the hole, while the Countess andMathilde leaned over me, listening. Some moments passed before we heardanything; then there came the sound of the key striking mud in the blackdepths far below. The secret shaft, then, led to the bottom of thetower. 

The Countess shuddered, and whispered: "Come, let us not lose a moment. "

I first lifted the masks, and recognized the murderers as fellows I hadseen lounging in the court-yard. Then I gave directions for descendingthe ladder. I should have preferred being the last to leave the room butthat I thought it necessary to support the Countess in her descent andMathilde firmly refused to precede us. As the ladder might not hold theweight of three, Mathilde would see us to the ground, and then follow. 

Two could not go out of the window at once, so I backed through first, and waited when my feet were planted on the ladder, my breast being thenagainst the edge of the window sill. Madame followed me. I guided herfeet with one hand, and placed them on the ladder, having descended justsufficiently to make room for her. I then lowered myself another round, and she, holding on to a round in the window shaft with one hand, grasped the first round outside with the other, emerged entirely fromthe opening, and let me guide her foot a step lower. We then proceededdownward in this manner, I holding my head and body well back from theladder so that her feet were usually on a level with my breast: thus ifshe showed any sign of weakness, I could throw an arm around her. I hadfirst thought of having her clasp me around the neck, and so descendingwith her, but once upon the ladder, I saw no safe way for her to getbehind me, or indeed to turn from facing the ladder. So we came down asI say, while I kept as well as I could between her and the possibilityof falling. Frequently I asked in a whisper if all was well with her, and she answered yes. 

When we were near the moat, I felt the ladder move from the wall andknew that Hugues was drawing it toward him. I warned the Countess of ourchange from a vertical to an inclined position, and so we were swungacross, and found ourselves above solid earth, on which we presently setfoot. 

"Best take Madame the Countess to the horses while I wait for Mathilde, "whispered Hugues to me, letting the ladder swing back; but Madame wouldnot go till the maid was safe beside us. Mathilde, who had watched ourdescent, now drew her head in, and speedily we saw her feet emerge inits stead. She came down the ladder with ease and rapidity, such wereher strength and self-possession. As soon as she touched the ground, Hugues swung back the ladder to stay, and took up his cross-bow. 

"Come, " I whispered, and we turned our backs to that grim tower andhastened along the moat to the forest, passing on the way the high gablewindow of what had been my prison, the postern which I had such goodreason to remember, and the oak from which I had seen Hugues display thehandkerchief. Scarce a word was spoken till we came to the horses. Iassisted the Countess to mount one of Hugues's two, she making nodifficulty about accommodating herself to a man's saddle. By that timeHugues and Mathilde were on his second horse. I got upon my own, and westarted. Our immediate purpose was to go to Hugues's house by the woodsand lanes, fording the river below Montoire. 

As we came out of the forest, beyond St. Outrille, the moon rose, andagainst the luminous Eastern sky we could see the dark tower we had leftbehind, --tower of blood and death, on which I hoped never to set eyesagain. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

THE PARTING

We hoped to be at Hugues's house before the Countess's flight should bediscovered. Hugues and I discussed the chances as we rode. The Countwould probably give his murderous agents ample time before going to seewhy they did not come to report the deed accomplished. He would thenlose many minutes in breaking into the cell, and again in questioningthe watchman on the tower--who could not have seen us in the woods anddistant lanes--and considering what to do. The bloodhounds woulddoubtless be put upon the Countess's scent, but they would lose it atthe place where we had taken horse. And then, Hugues thought, havingtracked us into the forest, the Count would assume that we had continuedour flight through it without change of direction, and he would push onto St. Arnoult, and along the road to Chateaurenault and Tours. Thiswas, indeed, the most likely supposition. The Count would scarce expectto find us harboured in any house in the neighbourhood, and he knewnothing of Hugues's attachment to Mathilde. Still I thought it well thatthe Countess should travel on as far as possible that night, and I askedher if she felt able to do so after stopping at Hugues's house for somefood. 

"Oh, yes, " she answered compliantly. 

I then broke to her that Hugues's and I had provided a suit of boy'sclothes which she might substitute for her present attire at his house, and so travel with less likelihood of attracting notice. To this shemade no objection. She seemed, on leaving the chateau, to have resignedherself, almost languidly, to guidance. A kind of listlessness had comeover her, which I attributed to exhaustion of spirit after all she hadexperienced. 

I then told her that Hugues and I had decided it best that Mathildeshould stay at his house for the present, keeping very close and havingthe hiding-place accessible, while I went on with the Countess. Hugueshimself, who could entirely trust his old woman-servant and his boy, would see us as far as to our first resting-place. 

To these proposals also she said "Very well, " in a tone ofhalf-indifference, but she cast a long, sad look at Mathilde, at mentionof leaving her. 

"And then, Madame, " I went on, "as to our journey after we leaveHugues's house. You have said you are without relations or fortune. "

"Alas, yes. A provision for life-maintenance at the convent was all thefortune left me. "

"In that case, I ask you, in the name of my father and mother, to honourthem as their guest at La Tournoire. I can promise you a safe andprivate refuge there: I can promise you the friendship of my mother, theprotection of my father, and his good offices with the King, if need be, to secure your rightful claims when the Count de Lavardin dies, as hemust before many years. "

"No, no, Monsieur, I shall have no claims. The Count married me withoutdowry, and if there be any other claims I surrender them. As for yourgenerous offer, I cannot think of accepting it. You and I are soon toseparate, and must not see each other again. "

"But, Madame, I need not be at La Tournoire while you are there. I shallbe out in the world, seeking honour and fortune. "

"No, Monsieur, it is not to be thought of. My only refuge is the conventfrom which the Count took me. "

"But is it safe to go there? Have you not said yourself that the Countwould take measures to intercept you on the way?"

"But you and Hugues just now agreed that the Count would probably seekme on the road to Chateaurenault. That is in the opposite direction tothe convent, which is beyond Chateaudun. "

"But the Count may seek toward the convent when he fails to find you inthe other direction. Or he may take the precaution to send a party thatway at once. "

"We shall be there before he or his emissaries can, shall we not? Oncein the convent, I shall be safe. --And besides, Monsieur, "--her voicetook on a faint touch of mock-laughing bitterness--"he will think I haverun away with you for love, and for a different life than that of aconvent. No; as matters are, it is scarce likely he will seek me in theneighbourhood of the convent. "

It was then determined that we should make for the convent, which, curiously, as it was beyond Chateaudun, happened to be upon my road toParis. We now arrived at Hugues's gate. 

I dismounted only to help the Countess, and stayed in the road with thehorses, while Hugues led Madame and Mathilde into the cottage. He tookthem thence into the mill, that they might eat, and the Countess changeher dress, at the very entrance to the hiding-place. He then returned tome, the plan being that if we heard pursuit he and I were to mount andride on, thus leading our enemies away from the Countess, who withMathilde should betake herself to the hiding-place till danger was past. With Hugues's knowledge of the byways and forest paths, we might be ableto elude the hunt. During this wait we refreshed ourselves with wine andbread, which the old woman brought, and the boy fed the horses. In ashort time the Countess reappeared, a graceful, slender youth indoublet, breeches, riding-boots of thin leather, cap, and gloves. Herundulating hair had been reduced by Mathilde, with a pair of shears, toa suitable shortness. Mathilde followed her, loth to part. We allowedlittle time for leave-taking with the poor girl, and were soon mountedand away, Hugues leading. 

"I suggest, Madame, " said I, as we proceeded along the road, which wassoon shadowed from the moonlight by a narrow wood at our right, "that onthis journey you pass as my young brother, going with me to Paris to theUniversity. I will say that we have ridden ahead of our baggage andattendants, --which is literally true, for my baggage remains at Hugues'shouse and you have left Mathilde there. "

"Very well, Monsieur, " she replied. 

"I should have some name to call you by upon occasion, " said I. "I willtravel as Henri de Varion, for De Varion was my mother's name, and ifyou are willing to use it--"

"Certainly, Monsieur. As for a name to call me by upon occasion, therewill be least falsehood in calling me Louis; for my real name isLouise. "

"Thank you, Madame; and if you have to address me before people, do notforget to call me Henri. "

"I shall not forget. "

Her manner in this acquiescence was that of one who follows blindlywhere a trusted guide directs, but who takes little interest in thecourse or the outcome. A kind of forlorn indifference seemed to havestolen over her. But she listened to the particulars of residence andhistory with which I thought it wise to provide ourselves, and brieflyassented to all. She then lapsed into silence, from which I could notdraw her beyond the fewest words that would serve in politeness toanswer my own speeches. 

Meanwhile Hugues led us from the road and across the narrow wood, thenceby a lane and a pasture field to the highway for Vendome and Paris. Wepushed on steadily, passed through Les Roches, which was sound asleep, and, stopping only now and then to let our horses drink at some stream, at which times we listened and heard no sound upon the road, we enteredVendome soon after daylight. 

"Had we better stop here for a few hours?" said I, watching the Countessand perceiving with sorrow how tired and weak she looked. 

"I think it well, Monsieur, " replied Hugues, his eyes dwelling wheremine did. 

"And yet, " I said, with a thought of the horror of her being taken, "itis so few leagues from Lavardin. In such a town, too, the Count's menwould visit all the inns. If we might go on to some village--someobscure inn. Could you keep up till then, Madame, do you think?"

"Oh, yes, --I think so. " But her pallor of face, her weakness of voice, belied her words. 

"We should be more closely observed at some smaller place than here, "said Hugues. "Besides, we need not go to an inn here. There is a decent, close-mouthed woman I know, a butcher's widow, who will lodge you if herrooms are not taken. It would be best to avoid the inns and go to herhouse at once. As like as not, if the Count did hunt this road, he wouldpass through the town without guessing you were at private lodgings. "

"It is the best thing we can do, " said I, with a blessing upon allwidows of butchers. Hugues guided us to a little street behind thechurch of the Trinity, and soon brought the widow's servant, and thenthe widow herself, to the door. Her rooms were vacant, and we took twoof them, in the top story, one overlooking the street, the other abackyard wherein she agreed to let our horses stand. She promisedmoreover to say nothing of our presence there, and so, while Hugues ledthe horses through the narrow stone-paved passage, the widow showed usto our rooms. The front one being the larger and better, I left theCountess in possession of it as soon as we were alone, that she mightrest until the woman brought the food I had ordered. 

When breakfast was set out in the back room, and the Countess opened herdoor in answer to my knock, she looked so worn out and ill that I wasalarmed. She had fallen asleep, she said, and my knock had wakened her. She ate little, and I could see that she was glad to go back and liedown again. 

I had thought to resume our journey in the evening, and perhaps reachChateaudun by a night's riding. But at evening the Countess seemed nomore fit to travel than before. So I decided to stay at the widow's tillMadame was fully recovered. Hugues would have remained with us anotherday, but I sent him back to his mill and Mathilde. 

On the morrow the Countess was no better. I took the risk of going out, obtaining medicine at the apothecary's, and purchasing other necessarythings for both of us which we had not been able to provide before ourflight. I was in dread lest we might have to resort to a physician andso make discovery that my young brother was a woman. Madame declared herillness was but exhaustion, and that she would soon be able to go on. But it was some days before I thought her strong enough to do so. 

We had come into Vendome on a Wednesday: we left it on the followingMonday morning. We encountered nothing troublesome on the road, andarrived at Chateaudun that Monday night. The Countess endured thejourney fairly well; but her strange, dreamy listlessness had not lefther. 

At Chateaudun as at Vendome, we sought out lodgings in a by-street, andtherein passed the night. We were now but a few hours' ride from theconvent, by Madame's account of its location. Soon I should have to partfrom her, with the intention on her side not to see me again, and thepromise on mine to respect that intention. To postpone this moment aslong as possible, I found pretexts for delaying our departure in themorning; but as afternoon came on she insisted upon our setting out. Idid so with a sorrowful heart, knowing it meant I must take my lastleave of her that evening. 

From our having passed nearly a week without any sign of pursuit, afeeling of security had arisen in us. If the Count or his men had soughtin this direction, passing through Vendome while we lay quiet in ourback street, that search would probably be over by this time. But evenif chase had not been made simultaneously by various parties on variousroads, there had been time now for search in different directions oneafter another. Yet spies might remain posted at places along the roadsfor an indefinite period, especially near the convent. But as long asthe risk was only that of encountering a man or two at once, I hadconfidence enough. In Vendome I had bought the Countess a light rapierto wear for the sake of appearance, of course not expecting her to useit. But though in case of attack I should have to fight alone, I feltthat her presence would make me a match for two at least. 

I tried to avoid falling in with people on the road, but a little wayout from Chateaudun we came upon a country gentleman, of a well-fed andamiable sort, whose desire for companionship would let us neither passahead nor drop behind. He was followed by three stout servants, andexpressed some concern at seeing two young gentlemen like us going thatroad without attendants. 

"Though to be sure, " he added, "there seems to be less danger now; butyou must have heard of the band of robbers that haunt the forests aboutBonneval and further on. There has been little news of their doingslately, and some people think they may have gone to other parts. But whoknows when they will suddenly make themselves heard of again, when leastexpected?--'tis always the way. "

He soon made us forget about dangers of the road, however, by his heartytalk; though, indeed, for all his good-fellowship I would rather havebeen alone with Madame in these last moments. About a league fromChateaudun, he arrived at his own small estate, rich in wines andorchards; he regretted that we would not stop, and recommended inns forus at Bonneval and the towns beyond. 

We rode on, the Countess and I, in silence, my own heart too disturbedfor speech, and she in that same dispirited state which had been hersfrom the beginning of our flight. Indeed now, when I was so soon to bidher farewell, she seemed more tired and melancholy, pale and drooping, than I had yet seen her. As I was sadly noticing this, we came to aplace where a lesser road ran from the highway toward a long stretch ofwoods at the right. The Countess drew in her horse, and said, indicatingthe branch road:

"That is my way, Monsieur. I will say adieu here; but I will not eventry to thank you. You have risked your life for me many times over. Iwill pray for you--with my last breath. "

"But, Madame, " I exclaimed in astonishment, "we are not to say adieuhere. I must see you to the convent. "

"The convent is not so far now. I know the way; and I wish to go therealone. You will respect my wish, I know: have you not had your wayentirely so far on our journey? You cannot justly refuse me my willnow. " She gave a wan little smile as if she knew the argument was not afair one. 

"But, Madame, --what can be your reason?--It is not safe. Surely you willnot deny me the happiness of seeing my service fully accomplished, --ofknowing that you are safe at the convent?"

"I am nearly there. I know the road, --it is a shorter way than the highroads, but little used. I shall meet no travellers. I fear no danger. "

"But consider, Madame. The danger may be at the very end of yourjourney. The Count may have spies within sight of the convent. You mayfall into a trap at the last moment. "

"I can go first to the house of a woodman in the forest, whose wife wasa servant of my mother's. They are good, trustworthy people, and can seeif all is safe before I approach the convent. If there is danger, I cansend word by them to the Mother Superior, who can find means to get mein secretly at night. You may deem your service accomplished, Monsieur. I must take my leave now. "

"But it is so strange! What can be your reason?--what can be yourobjection to my going with you?"

"Ah, Monsieur, it may be unfair, but a woman is exempt from having togive reasons. It is my wish, --is not that enough? I am so deeply yourdebtor already, --let me be your debtor in this one thing more. --You havespent money for me: I have no means of repaying--nay, I will not mentionit, --you have given me so much that is above all price, --your courageand skill. But enough of this--to speak of such things in my poor way isto cheapen them. Adieu, Monsieur!--adieu, Henri!"

She held out her hand, to which I lowered my lips without a word, for Icould not speak. 

"You will go your way when I go mine, " she said with tenderness. "ToParis, perhaps?"

"To Paris--I suppose so, " I said vaguely. 

"This horse belongs to Hugues, " she said, stroking the animal's neck. "Imay find means to send it back to him. --Well, adieu! God be with you onyour journey, Monsieur, --and through your life. "

"Oh, Madame!--adieu, if you will have it so! adieu!--adieu, Louis!"

She smiled acquiescently at my use of the name by which I had hadoccasion to call her a few times at our lodging-places. Then, sayingonce more, "Adieu, Henri!" she turned her horse's head and started downthe by-road. With a heavy heart, I waited till she had disappeared inthe woods. I had hoped she might look back, but she had not done so. 

A movement of my rein, which I made without intention, was taken by myhorse as a signal to go on, and the creature, resuming its originaldirection, kept to the highway and plodded along toward Bonneval andParis. 

Never in all my life, before or since, have I felt so alone. What wasthere for me to do now? All my care, all my heart, was with the solitaryfigure on horseback somewhere yonder in the forest. Had life any objectfor me elsewhere?

Yes, faith!--and I laughed ironically as it came back to my thoughts--Imight now go on to Paris and cut off the moustaches of Brignan deBrignan!

CHAPTER XIV. 

IN THE FOREST

But I had not yet come in sight of Bonneval, when fearful misgivingsbegan to assail me as to what might befall the Countess. I awoke to afull sense of my folly in yielding to her wish. Her own apparentconfidence of safety had made me, for a time, feel there must be indeedsmall danger. I had too weakly given way to her right of command in thecase. I had been too easily checked by respect for what private reasonshe might have for wishing to go on without company. I had played theboy and the fool, and if ever there had been a time when I ought to haveused a man's authority, laughing down her protests, it had been when sherode away alone toward the forest. 

I turned my horse about, resolved to undo my error as far as Imight, --to go back and take the road she had taken, and not rest till Iknew she was safe in the convent. 

My fears increased as I went. What the country gentleman had said aboutrobbers came back to my mind. I arrived at the junction of the roads, and galloped to the woods. Once among the trees, I had to proceedslowly, for the road dwindled to a mere path, so grown with grass as toshow how little it was ordinarily resorted to. But there were horseshoeprints which, though at first I took them to be only those of theCountess's horse, soon appeared so numerously together that I saw theremust have been other travellers there recently. I perceived, too, thatthe wood was of great depth and extent, and not the narrow strip I hadsupposed. It was, in fact, part of a large forest. I became the moredisquieted, till at last, as the light of day began to die out of thewoods, I was oppressed with a belief as strong as certainty, that somegreat peril had already fallen upon her I loved. 

I came into a little green glade, around which I glanced. My heartseemed to faint within me, for there, by a small stream that trickledthrough the glade, was a horse grazing, --a horse with bridle and saddlebut no rider. The rein hung upon the grass, the saddle was pulled awry, and the horse was that of the Countess. 

I looked wildly in every direction, but she was nowhere to be seen. Thehorse raised his head, and whinnied in recognition of me and my animal, then went on cropping the grass. I rode over to him, as if byquestioning the dumb beast I might learn where his mistress was. Therewas no sign of any sort by which I might be guided in seeking her. 

I called aloud, "Madame! madame!" But there was only the faint breeze ofevening among the treetops for answer. 

But the horse could not have wandered far. Whatever had occurred, theremust be traces near. My best course was to search the forest close athand: any one of those darkening aisles stretching on every side, likecorridors leading to caves of gloom, might contain the secret: eachdusky avenue, its ground hidden by tangled forest growth, seemed to bidme come and discover. I dismounted, knowing I could trust my horse tostay in the glade, and, crossing the stream, explored the furtherportion of the path. 

I came to a place where the underbrush at the side of the path wassomewhat beaten aside. I thought I could distinguish where some personor animal had gone from this place, tramping a sort of barely traceablefurrow through the tangle. I followed this course: it led me back to theglade. Doubtless the horse had made it. 

I was about to go back along the path, when I noticed a similartrodden-down appearance along one side of the stream where it left theglade. Hoping little, I examined this. It brought me, after a few yards, to a clear piece of turf swelling up around the roots of an oak. Andlying there, on the grassy incline, with her head at the foot of theoak, was the Countess, as silent and motionless as death, with bloodupon her forehead. 

My own heart leaping, I knelt to discover if hers still moved. Her bodystirred at my touch. I dipped my handkerchief in the stream, and gentlywashed away the blood, but revealed no cut until I examined beneath thehair, when I found a long shallow gash. I hastily cleansed her hair ofthe blood as well as I could, with such care as not to cause the woundto flow anew. All the time I was doing this, my joy at finding her aliveand free was such that I could have sobbed aloud. 

She awoke and recognized me, first smiling faintly, but in a momentparting her lips in sorrowful surprise, and then, after glancing round, giving a sigh of profound weariness. 

"Am I then still alive?" she murmured. 

"Yes, Madame;--I thank God from my heart. "

"It is His will, " she said. "I had hoped--I had thought my life in thisworld was ended. "

"Oh, do not say that. What can you mean?"

"When they surrounded me--the men who sprang up at the sides of thepath--I thought, 'Yes, these are the robbers the gentleman spokeof, --God has been kind and has sent them to waylay me: if I resist, Imay be killed, and surely I have a right to resist. ' So I drew my sword, and made a thrust at the nearest. He struck me with some weapon--I didnot even notice what it was, I was so glad when it came swiftly--when Ifelt I could not save myself. The blow was like a kiss--the kiss ofdeath, welcoming me out of this life of sad and bitter prospects. "

"Oh, Madame, how can you talk in this way, when you are still young andbeautiful, and there are those who love you?"

"You do not know all, Henri. What is there for me in life? I am weak tocomplain--weak to long for death--sinful, perhaps, to put myself in itsway, but surely Heaven will pardon that sin, --weak, yes; but, alas, Icannot help it, --women are weak, are they not? What is before me, then?I am one without a place in the world--without relations, withoutfortune. If I were a man, I might seek my fortune--there are the wars, there are many kinds of honourable service. But what is there for awoman, a wife who has run away from her husband?"

"But Madame, the convent, --you have a right to be maintained there. Youcan at least live there, till time annuls the Count's claims upon you. And then who knows what the future may bring?"

"The convent--I have told you I should be safe there, and so no doubt Ishould if I took the veil--"

"Nay, Madame, not that, save as a last resort!"

"Alas, I may not though I would. Do you think I should hesitate if Iwere free? How gladly I would bury myself from this world, give myselfat once to Heaven! But that resource--that happiness--is forbidden me. My mother, as she neared death, saw no security for me but as alife-guest at a convent. Our small fortune barely sufficed to make theprovision. But she did not wish me to become a nun, and as she fearedthe influence of the convent might lead that way, she put me under apromise never to take the veil. So I am without the one natural resourceof a woman in my position. "

"But do you mean that you will not be safe at the convent merely as aguest?"

"The Count may claim the fulfilment of his rights as a husband. He mayuse force to take me away. The Mother Superior cannot withhold me fromhim; and indeed I fear she would be little inclined to if she could, unless I consented to take the veil. Before the possibility of mymarriage came up, she was always urging me to apply for a remission ofthe vow to my mother, so that I might become a nun. But that I wouldnever do. "

"But, Madame, knowing all this, how could you select the convent as yourrefuge, and let me bring you so far toward it?"

"Ah, Monsieur, what place in the world was there for me? And yet I hadto go somewhere, that your life might be saved, and Mathilde's, and thehappiness of poor Hugues. There was no other way to draw you far fromthat chateau of murder, no other way to detach Mathilde from one whocould bring her nothing but calamity. And to-day, when I left you, Ithought all this was accomplished, and I was free to go my way in searchof death. "

"Oh, Madame, if I had known what was in your mind! Then you did not meanto go to the convent?"

"I meant to go toward the convent. It is further away than I allowed youto suppose. I felt--I know not why--that death would meet me on the way. I felt in my heart a promise that God would do me that kindness. Atfirst I had no idea of what form my deliverer would take. Perhaps, Ithought, I might be permitted to lose my way in the forest and die ofhunger, or perhaps I might encounter some wild beast, or a storm mightarise and cause me to be struck by lightning or a falling bough, or Imight be so chilled and weakened by rain that I must needs lie down anddie. I knew not what shape, --all I felt was, that it waited for me inthe forest. And when the gentleman spoke of robbers, I rejoiced, for itseemed to confirm my belief. "

"And that is why you would not let me come with you?"

"Yes, certainly; that you might not be present to drive death away fromme, or meet it with me. I hoped you would go on to Paris, thinking mesafe, and that you would soon forget me. You see how I desire you tolive, and how you can please me only by doing so. "

"And so, when you were at last in the forest--?"

"At last in the forest, yes--I knew not how long I should have to ride, but I made no haste, --sooner or later it would come, I thought. Thebirds hopping about on the branches seemed to be saying to one another, 'See this lady who has come to meet death. ' I crossed a glade, andsomething seemed to whisper to my heart, 'Yonder it lies waiting, yonderin the shades beyond that little stream. ' So I went on, and true enough, before I had gone far, five or six rough men sprang out from the bushes. Two caught my reins, and one raised a weapon of some kind and bade medeliver up my purse. I had no purse to deliver, and I feared they mightlet me go as not worth their trouble. Then I thought they might hold mefor ransom, or rob me of my clothes, and discover I was a woman. SurelyI was justified in resisting such a fate; so I drew the sword you gaveme, and made a pass at the man with the weapon. He struck instantly, before I could turn my head aside, and I had time only for a flash ofjoy that God had indeed granted me deliverance. I scarce felt the blow, and then all went out in darkness. I knew nothing after. How did I comehere? This is not the place where I met the robbers. "

"It is very strange, " said I. "This is where I found you, only a littlewhile before you came to life. I had searched the path, but I saw norobbers. They did not take your horse, --I found it in the glade yonder, where I have left mine with it. That must be the glade you crossedbefore they appeared. "

"But how came you to be here? Ah, did you disregard my wish and followme?"

"Not at first. No; I went on toward Paris as you bade me. But afterawhile I too had a feeling of danger befalling you in this forest. Itwas so strong that I could not force myself to go on. So I rode back, hoping to come in sight of you and follow at a distance. I could not dootherwise. "

"Ah, Henri, perhaps it is to you I owe the ill service of bringing meback to life. Who knows?--I might have passed quietly away to death herehad you not come and revived the feeble spark left in me. I must havebeen unconscious a long time. "

"Yes; thank God I arrived no later than I did. But why should therobbers have brought you here? They have not even taken any of yourclothes. See, here is your sword, replaced in its scabbard; even yourcap is here, beside your head--look where the villain's weapon cutthrough, --it must have been a sort of halberd. Why should they havebrought you here? Do they mean to return, I wonder?"

I rose and looked around, peering through the dusky spaces between thetrunks of the trees, and straining my ears. Suddenly, amidst the chatterof the birds returning to their places for the night, I made out a soundof distant hoof-beats. 

"Horsemen!" I said. "But these robbers were on foot, were they not?"

"Yes; I did not see any horses about. "

"Who can these be? There must be several!"

They were apparently coming from that part of the forest toward whichthe Countess had been riding. On account of the brushwood I could notsee them yet. 

"Well, " said I, "we had best keep as quiet as possible till they pass. But they will see our horses in crossing the glade. No, that must notbe. Wait. "

I ran back to the glade, and finding the horses close together, caughtthem both, led them down the bed of the stream to where the Countesswas, and made them lie among the underwood, trusting to good fortunethat they would be quiet while the others were passing. 

Soon I could see, above the underbrush that extended to the path beyondthe brook, a procession of steel head-pieces, bearded faces, breastplates over leather jerkins, and horses' heads. There were six orseven men in all, one after another. I lay close to the earth and heardthem cross the stream. And then, to my astonishment, they came directlyalong the stream by the way I had first come; I rose to my feet just intime to face the leader as he stopped his horse within a yard of me. 

He gazed over the neck of his steed at me, and the Countess, and our twoanimals. He was a tall, well-made, handsome man, seasoned but stillyoung, with a bronzed, fearless face. 

"Good evening, " said he, in a rich, manly voice. "So the youngster hascome to his senses, --and found a friend, it appears. "

"I don't exactly understand you, Monsieur, " said I. 

"You are not to blame for that, " he replied good-humouredly. "It is trueI met your young friend awhile ago, but as he was more dead than aliveat that time, he couldn't have told you much. How is it with him now?"

"I am not much hurt, Monsieur, " replied the Countess for herself. 

"I scarce knew how I should find you when I returned, " said thenewcomer. 

"Then you saw him here before, Monsieur?" said I. 

"Yes; it was I who brought him here, --but, faith! he was in no conditionto see what was going on. We were searching this forest on the King'sbusiness, when I heard something a little ahead, which made me gallopforward, and there I saw half-a-dozen ruffians around a horse, and oneof them dragging this youth from the saddle. I shouted to my comradesand charged at the robbers. They dropped the lad, and made off along thepath. I stopped to see to the young gentleman, and ordered my companionsto pursue the rascals. The youngster, let me tell you, seemed quite donefor. He had been struck, as you see, evidently just before he was pulledfrom the horse. "

"Yes, Monsieur, " said the Countess; "and I knew nothing after the blow. "

"So it appeared, " replied the horseman. "I saw that water was needed, and remembering this stream we had crossed, I carried you to this placeand did what I could for you. But I had to go and recall my men, --Ifeared they might be led too far, or separated by the robbers running indifferent directions. That explains my leaving you alone. We have apiece of work in hand, of some importance, and dare not risk anythingfor the sake of catching those knaves. "

"I suppose they are part of the band that haunts this forest, " said I. 

"No doubt. But this forest is at present the haunt of larger game. Thosescoundrels escaped us this time--they were favoured by the dusk and theundergrowth. I was longer in catching up with my comrades than I hadthought. But I see all has gone well with that young gentleman in themeantime. "

"Yes, Monsieur. I, his brother, ought never to have allowed him to go onalone. But I was riding after, expecting to overtake him, when I cameupon his horse; I supposed he must be near, and I was fortunate enoughto seek in the right place. He shall not leave me again; and for us bothI thank you more than my tongue can ever express. "

"Pouf!--I did nothing. The question is, what now? My comrades and I haveaffairs to look after in the forest. We shall continue on the path whereyour brother met his accident, till we come to a certain forester'shouse where we may pass the night. Your direction appears to be thesame, and you will be safe with us. "

"Again I thank you, Monsieur, " I said, "but we shall give up our journeythrough the forest. As soon as my brother feels able to ride, we shallgo back to the highway and pass the night at some inn. I think we shallbe safe enough now that you have frightened the robbers from this partof the forest. "

The horseman eyed me shrewdly, and glanced at the Countess. It occurredto me then that he had known her sex from the first, and that he nowtrusted me with wisdom enough to judge best what I ought to do. So hedelicately refrained from pressing us, as he had all along from tryingto learn our secret. For a moment he silently twirled his moustaches;then he said:

"In that case, I have but to wish you good-night, and good fortune. I think you will be safe enough between here and the highway. Please do not mention that you have seen any of the King's guardhereabouts, --though I fear that news is already on the wing. "

"What, Monsieur?--are you, then, of the King's guard?"

"We have the honour to be so. "

"But I thought their uniform--"

"Faith, we are in our working clothes, " said he, with a laugh. The nextmoment he waved us adieu, turned his horse about, and, his companionsalso turning at his order, followed them out of our sight. 

"A very charming gentleman, " said I, as the sound of their horsesdiminished in our ears. 

CHAPTER XV. 

THE TOWER OF MORLON

The Countess still lay on the grassy couch beneath the oak. She seemedto have lost all will as to her course of action. 

"I think best not to go with those guards, " I explained after a moment. "For why should we travel their way without any destination? There isnothing for us now in that direction. After what you have told me, Idare not let you go to the convent. "

"There is no place for me, " she said listlessly. "Death has disappointedme, and left me in the lurch. I think this place is as good as another. "

She closed her eyes for some moments, as if she would lie there tilldeath came, after all. 

"No, " said I; "you must not stay here. Night is coming on: the chill andthe dews will be harmful to you. Besides, there are clouds alreadyblotting out some of the stars, and the wind is rising and may bringmore. If there is rain, it may be heavy, after so many days of fineweather. It will soon be too dark to follow the path. We must be gettingon. "

"I am weak from this blow, " she said, --rather as if for a pretextagainst moving, I thought. "I am not sure I could keep my saddle. "

"I can carry you as I ride, if need be, and let your horse follow. Come, Madame, let us see if you can rise. If not, I will take you in my armsto the glade, where it will be easier to mount. "

I stooped to support her, but she did not stir. 

"But where am I to go?" she said. "Of what use to travel aimlessly fromplace to place? As you say, why should we ride on toward the conventwithout a destination? But where else have I a destination?"

"Listen, Madame. Is it not probable that after some weeks, or months, the Count, still disappointed of your taking refuge at the convent, willgive up hope or expectation of finding you there? Will he not thenwithdraw his attention from the convent?"

"I suppose so. "

"And can we not, if we take time, find means to learn when that becomesthe case? Can we not, by careful investigation, make sure whether he isstill watching the convent or whether he has an informant there? Can wenot enter into communication with the Mother Superior, and find out whather attitude is toward you, --whether, if you returned, your residencethere would be safe and kept secret? Surely she would not betray you. "

"Oh, no; whatever attitude she took, she would tell me the truth. "

"Then it is only necessary to wait a few months and take those measures, without letting your own whereabouts be known even to the MotherSuperior. "

"But meanwhile would you have me continue doing as I have done since myflight, --passing as something I am not, receiving the protection--livingon the very bounty--of the one person in all the world from whom Ishould accept nothing? Why, Monsieur, if it were known--if no more thanthe mere truth were told--would it not seem to justify the Count deLavardin?"

"I do not ask you to do as you have done. For only two or three days youneed pass as a boy. You may then not only resume the habit of a woman, but enjoy the company and friendship of a woman as saintly as yourself. Your presence in her house must be a secret till affairs mend, but youmay be sure that if her friendship for you were known, it would be asufficient answer to anything your husband or the world might sayagainst you. "

"It is of your mother that you speak. But I told you before, it is notfrom you that I dare accept so much. "

"It will be from my mother, who will believe me when I tell her thetruth, and who will take you as her guest and friend for your own sake. As for me, my affairs in Paris will keep me from La Tournoire while youare there:--for consider, what I propose now is not what you refusedthat night we fled from Lavardin. I spoke then of your making LaTournoire your refuge for an indefinite time, --the rest of your life, ifneed be:--I speak now of your staying there only till your saferesidence at the convent can be assured, --only a few months, or weeks. "

Though I had begun and ended by speaking of the convent, I did so merelywith the object of inducing her to go to La Tournoire. Once there, shewould be under the guidance and persuasion of my mother, who couldinfluence her to remain till the Count's death removed all danger. 

"You must not refuse, Madame, " I went on. "God has shown that He doesnot desire your death, and it must be His will that you should acceptthis plan, so clear and simple. Speak, Madame!"

"I know not. --I have no strength, no will, to oppose further. Let it beas you think best. " The last vestige of her power of objection, ofresolving or thinking for herself, seemed to pass out in a tired sigh. 

"Good!" I cried. "Then we have but to regain the road and find some innfor the night. To-morrow we shall ride back to Chateaudun, or perhaps onto Bonneval, and then make for La Tournoire by Le Mans and Sablé, whichis to give a wide berth to Montoire and the road we have come by. Do youthink you can rise, Madame?--Nay, wait till I lead the horses out. "

I took the horses to the glade, then returned and found the Countessalready on her feet, though with her hand against the tree, as she wassomewhat dizzy. She walked with my assistance, and I helped her to hersaddle, --she now thought herself able to ride without support. I mountedmy own horse, grasped the halter of the other, and took the path for thehighway. 

"We are none too soon, " said I, as we left the glade. "How dark the pathis even now: I hope we shall be able to keep it. "

Darkness came on more quickly than usual, because of the swiftoverclouding of the sky. Very soon I could not see two paces before me. Then blackness settled down upon us. My horse still went on, but slowlyand uncertainly, with many a halt to make sure of footing and a freeway. When I glanced back, I could not see the Countess, but I held thetighter to the halter of her horse and frequently asked if all was well. Her reply was, "Yes, Monsieur, " in a faint, tired voice. I felt aboutwith my whip for the trees at the side of the path, and thus was able toguide the horse when its own confidence faltered. 

Instead of cooling, the air became close. Suddenly the forest waslighted up by a pale flash which, lasting but a moment, was followedafter a time by a distant rumble of thunder. 

"It is far away, Madame, " said I. "It may not come in this direction, orwe may be safely housed before it does. "

"I am not afraid. "

However, lest rain might fall suddenly, I stopped the horses, unrolledfrom behind my saddle a cloak which I had bought in Vendome, and put itaround the Countess. We then proceeded as best we could. Slowly as wehad gone, I began to think it time we should emerge from the forest; butanother flash of lightning showed apparently endless vistas of wood onevery side. We went on for another half hour or so, during which thedistant thunder continued at intervals; and then, finding ourselves asdeep in the forest as ever, I perceived that we must have strayed fromour right path. I stopped and told the Countess. 

"It must be so, " she said. 

"I noticed no cross-path when I rode into the forest this afternoon. Yeta path might join at such an angle that, looking straight ahead, Ishould not have seen it. Yes, that is undoubtedly the case, if we are ina path at all. Perhaps we are following the bed of a dried-up stream. "

"Do you wish to turn back, then?"

"We might only lose ourselves. And yet that is what must happen if we goahead. Let us wait for a flash of lightning. "

One came presently, while my eyes were turned ready in what I thoughtthe direction from which we had come. But there seemed to lie no openingat all in that direction. Then, in the blacker darkness that ensued, Iremembered that I had turned my horse slightly while talking of thematter. I could not now tell exactly which direction we had come from. It occurred to me that perhaps for some time we had wandered about in nopath at all, going where trees and underbrush left space clear enough tobe mistaken. 

I confessed that I knew not which way to go, even to find the originalpath. 

"Is it best to ride on at random, in hope of coming upon something, orto stay where we are till daylight?" I asked. 

The Countess had no will upon the matter. But the question was decidedfor me by a heavy downpour of rain, which came in a rush withoutwarning. It was evident that the foliage over us was not thick. So Ishouted to the Countess that we would go on till we found trees thatgave more protection. I urged my horse to move, letting him choose hisown course, and he obediently toiled forward, I exerting myself to keepthe other horse close, and also feeling the way with my whip. 

As swift as the oncoming of the rain, was the increase of the lightning, both in frequency and intensity. The fall of the rain seemed loud beyondmeasure, but it was drowned out of all hearing when the thunder rolledand reverberated across the sky. In the bright bursts of lightning, thetrees, seen through falling rain, seemed like companions suffering withus the chastisement of the heavens; but in the darkness that intervenedbetween the flashes, the forest and all the world seemed to have diedout of existence, leaving nothing but the pelting waters and the din ofthe storm. 

At last we came, not to a region where the boughs were less penetrable, but to an open space where the downpour had us entirely at its mercy. Ithought at first we had got out of the forest, or into the glade we hadleft: but a brilliant flash showed us it was another small clearing, which rose slightly toward the thick woods on its further side. And thesame lightning revealed, against the background of trees, a solitarytower, old and half-ruined, slender and of no great height. A doorway ona level with the ground stood half open. 

"Did you see that?" I cried, when the lightning had passed. "There isshelter. "

"It must be the tower of Morlon, " said the Countess. 

"And who lives there?"

"Nobody, --at least it was said to be empty when I used to hear of it. Itis all that is left of a house that was destroyed in the civil wars. Hunting parties sometimes resort to it, and the peasants make use of itwhen passing this way. --Yes, we have come far out of our road, if thatis really the tower of Morlon. "

"Then it is every man's house. The door is open. "

"It is an abandoned place, and people would take no care how they leftthe door. "

"Let us go in, then. There can be nobody there, or the door would beclosed against this storm. "

I rode toward the spot where I supposed the tower was, and, rectifyingmy course by the next flash, I presently felt the stone wall with mywhip. I dismounted, found the entrance, pushed the door wide, and saw bythe lightning a low-ceiled interior, which was empty. I led the horsesin, helped the Countess from the saddle, and removed her cloak, which, though itself drenched, had kept her clothes comparatively dry. 

My first thought was of a place where the Countess might recline. But, as I found by groping about and by the frequent lightning, there wasnothing except the floor, which, originally paved with stone, was nowcovered with dried mud from the boots of many who had resorted to theplace before ourselves. There were no steps leading to the upper storiesof the tower: the part we were in was, indeed, but a sort of basement. It occupied the full ground space of the tower, with the rough stone asits only shell, and had no window nor any discoverable opening place inthe low ceiling. 

Thinking there might be an external staircase to the story above us, Iwent out and felt my way around the tower, but found none. The entranceto the main or upper part of the tower from the buildings that onceadjoined must have been to the story above, from a floor on the samelevel. I thought of seeking the opening and climbing in from the back ofmy horse, but I reflected that the upper stories also would doubtless bedenuded, while they could offer no better shelter from the rain. So Iwas content with taking the saddles from the horses, and placing themtogether upside down in such a way that they constituted a dry recliningplace for the Countess. 

There was no dry wood to be had from the forest, and no fuel of any kindin our place of refuge; so I could not make a fire. While the Countesssat in silence, I paced the floor until I succumbed to fatigue. By thattime, much of the water had dripped from my clothes, and I was able tosit on the carpet of earth with some comfort. I leaned my back againstthe wall, to wait till the storm and the night should pass. 

The horses had lain down, and the Countess, as I perceived by her deepbreathing and her not answering me, was asleep. The thunder andlightning were less near and less powerful, but the rain still fell, nowdecreasingly and now with suddenly regathered force. At last I tooslept. 

I awoke during the night, and changed from a sitting to a lyingposition. When I next opened my eyes, the light of dawn was streaming inat the door. The storm had ceased, birds were twittering outside. I wasaching and hungry. The Countess's face, as she slept, betokened weaknessand pain. I went and adjusted a saddle-flap that had got awry under her. As I did so, she awoke. 

"I am so tired, " she said in a slow, small voice, like that of a wearychild. 

"You are faint for want of food, " said I. "You have eaten nothing sincenoon yesterday, and very little then. "

Thinking I wished to hurry our departure in search of breakfast, sheshook her head and murmured weakly:

"I am not able to go on just now. I assure you, I cannot even stand. Allstrength seems to have gone out of me. " As if to illustrate, she raisedher hand a few inches: it trembled a moment, then fell as if powerless. 

It was plain that she was, whether from fatigue and privation alone, orfrom illness also, in a helpless state. It would be cruelty and folly toput her on horseback. And without at least the refreshment of food andwine, how was her condition to be improved so that she might leave thisplace?

After some thought and talk, I said:

"The only thing is for me to go and get you food and wine, while youstay here. But, alas, what danger you may be in while I am gone! Ifanybody should come here and find you!"

"Nobody may come. Surely there are many days when this place is leftdeserted. "

"But if somebody _should_ come?"

"All people are not cruel and wicked. It might be a person who is kindand good. "

"But the robbers?"

"Why should they come? There is nothing for them here. If they came itwould be by chance; against that, we can trust in God. "

"Perhaps intruders can be bolted out, " said I, going to examine thedoor. It was of thick oak, heavily studded with nails, and two of itsthree hinges still held firmly. But there was no bolt, nor any means ofbarring. 

"Nothing but a lock, " I said, "and no key for that. " It only aggravatedmy feeling of mockery to discover that both parts of the lock were stillstrong. In my petulance I flung the door back against the wall. 

As one sometimes gives the improbable a trial, from mere impulse ofexperiment, I took from my pocket the two keys I had brought fromLavardin. I tried first that of the room in which I had been imprisoned:it was too small, and of no avail. I then inserted the key of thepostern. To my surprise, it fit. I turned it partly around; it metresistance: I used all my power of wrist; the lock, which had stuckbecause it was rusted and long unused, yielded to the strength Isummoned. 

"Thank God!" I cried. "It seems like the work of providence, that I keptthe postern key. "

I now reversed and withdrew the key, and applied it to the lock from theinside of the door, which I had meanwhile closed. But alas!--no force ofmine could move the lock from that side, though I tried again and again. 

I went outside and easily enough locked the door from there. I thenrenewed my endeavours from the inside, but with failure. 

"Alas!" said I, turning to the Countess; "if I cannot lock the door fromwithin, how much less will you be able to do so. "

"But you can lock it from without, " she answered, taking trouble tosecure my peace of mind. "Why not lock me in? It will be the same thing. In either case I should not go out during your absence. "

"That is true, " I said. "I will make haste. If the door is lockedagainst intruders, what matters it which of us has the key? I will guardit as my life, --nay, that too I will guard as never before, for yourswill depend upon it. "

I then questioned the Countess as to what part of the forest we were in, but her knowledge of the location of the tower, with regard to roads orpaths, was vague. 

I decided to take both horses with me, lest one, being heard or seen, inor about the tower, might excite the curiosity of some chance passerthrough the forest. But I left the saddles with the Countess. Anxious tolose no more time, I knelt and kissed her hand, receiving a faint smilein acknowledgment of my care; led out the horses, locked the door, pocketed the key, mounted, and was off. I went haunted by the sweet, sorrowful eyes of the Countess as they had followed me to the door. 

With the sun to guide me, I rode Westward, for in that direction must bethe highway we had left the day before. By keeping a straight course, and taking note of my place of emergence from the forest, I should beable to find my way back to the tower. The leaves overhead were nowhereso thick but that splashes of sunshine fell upon the earth andundergrowth, and, by keeping the shadow of my horse and myself everstraight in front, I maintained our direction. But besides this Ifrequently notched the bark of some tree, always on its South side, withmy dagger. Having this to do, and the second horse to lead, and theunderbrush being often difficult, my progress was slower than suited myimpatience. But in about an hour and a half from starting, I came out ofthe forest upon the bank of the Loir, which is so insignificant a streamthereabouts that I may not have mentioned fording it upon entering thewoods on the previous day. I let the horses drink, and then rodethrough, and across a meadow to the highway. I turned to the right, andarrived, sooner than I had expected, at the gate of a town, which provedto be Bonneval. I stopped at the inn across from the church, saw to thefeeding of my horses, and then went into the kitchen. I ordered a supplyof young fowl, bread, wine, milk in bottles, and other things; andbargained with the innkeeper for a pair of pliable baskets and a strapby which they might be slung across my horse like panniers. While Iwaited for the chickens to roast, I used the time in reviving my ownenergies with wine, eggs, and cold ham, which were to be hadimmediately. 

Three or four people came or went while I was eating, and each timeanybody crossed the threshold of the door, I glanced to see what sort ofperson it was. This watchfulness had become habitual to me of late. Butas I was about finishing my meal, with my eyes upon my plate, I had animpression that somebody was standing near and gazing at me. As I hadnot observed any one to come so close, I looked up with a start. Andthere stood Monsieur de Pepicot, his nose as long as ever, his eyes asmeek as when they had first regarded me at Lavardin. 

"My faith!" I exclaimed. "You rise like a spirit. I neither saw norheard you enter. "

"I am a quiet man, " he replied with a faint smile, sitting down oppositeme. 

"You are the very ghost of silence itself, " said I. "What do you wear onthe soles of your boots?"

Again he smiled faintly, but he left my question unanswered. "So youmanaged to keep out of trouble at that place where I last saw you?" saidhe. 

"If I did not keep out of it, at least I got out of it. "

"You are a clever young man, --or a lucky one. I was a little disturbedin mind at leaving you as I did. But--business called me. I knew that ifyou could manage to keep a whole body for ten days or so, even if thatamiable Count did see fit to cage you up, you would be set free in theend. "

"Set free? By the Count, do you mean?"

"Not at all. By those who would visit the Count; by those who have--Butstay, --have you not just come from Lavardin?"

"No, indeed. I left that hospitable house more than a week ago. I setmyself free. "

"Oh, is that the case? I ask your pardon. When I saw you here, Inaturally supposed your liberation was a result of what has justoccurred. I haven't yet learned all particulars of the event. "

"What event? I don't understand you. "

"Then you don't know what has been going on at Lavardin recently?"

"Not I. "

"Oh, indeed? Well, it will be known to all the world very soon. TheCount, it seems, was suspected of some hand in the late intrigue withSpain--"

"Ah!"

"Why do you say 'Ah!'?"

"Nothing. I always thought there might be something wrong with theCount's politics. "

"Well, so they thought in Paris. And having made sure--"

"How did they make sure?"

"Oh, by the discovery of certain documents, no doubt, " said Monsieur dePepicot, with a notable unconsciousness. "It is the usual way, is itnot?"

"Aha! I begin to see now. You overdo the innocence, my friend. I beginto guess what you were doing at Lavardin--"

"Monsieur, I know not what you mean. "

"I begin to guess why you wanted to get into the chateau, --what you werewandering about the house with a lantern for, --why you took your leaveso unexpectedly, --and how you knew that in ten days I should be setfree. "

"Nay, Monsieur, I cannot follow you in your perceptions. I know onlythat on Monday evening a party of the King's guard appeared before theChateau de Lavardin--"

"Having been sent from Paris soon after you had arrived there with thedocuments you found in the chateau. "

"Please do not interrupt with your baseless conjectures, Monsieur. As Isaid, the guards arrived at Lavardin just as, by great good fortune, theCount himself was returning from some journey or excursion he had beenon. Thus they met him outside his walls: had it been otherwise theywould doubtless have had infinite trouble, for, as we know, the chateauhas been for some time fully prepared for a siege, even to beinggarrisoned by the company of Captain Ferragant. "

"What! then those fellows who thronged the court-yard--"

"Were a part of Captain Ferragant's famous company, --only a part, as Ishould have said at first, unless he has reduced its numbers. Well, instead of having the difficulty of besieging the chateau, the guardshad the luck to meet the Count in the road, when he had only a fewfollowers with him. And so they made short work. "

"They succeeded in arresting him?"

"Not exactly that. He chose to resist, no doubt thinking he would soonbe reinforced from the chateau by the Captain and garrison. And in thefight, the Count was killed, --stuck through the lungs by the sword of aguard who had to defend himself from the Count's own attack. "

"My God! the Count killed!--dead!--out of the way!" For a moment Ientirely yielded to the force of this news, which to my ears meant somuch. 

"Yes. You don't seem grieved. --Yes: he will never annoy people again. The Captain, though, seeing from the chateau how matters had gone, cameout with his men on horseback, --not to avenge the Count, but to ride offas fast as possible in the other direction. So the King's guardsmen hadno trouble in getting into the chateau. A party of them, I believe, setoff in pursuit of the Captain, who has long been a thorn in the side ofpeople who love order. If he is caught, it can be shown that he wasinvolved in the treason; and there it is. "

"So the Captain has not been caught?"

"He had not been when I heard the news. "

"And how did you hear it?"

"From one of the guardsmen, who happens to be of my acquaintance. I sawthem as they came through Chateaudun yesterday afternoon, on theirreturn from this business. We had very little time for talking. "

"Then you were not with them at Lavardin?"

"I with them? Certainly not, Monsieur. Why should I have been with them?No; I have been staying in this part of the country for my own pleasurethe past few days: I think of buying some apple orchards nearChateaudun. --I fancied you would be interested in this news. "

"I am, dear Monsieur de Pepicot, --infinitely. I am sorry I must leaveyou now, but I have business of some haste. I thank you heartily, andhope we may meet again. You know where La Tournoire is. "

Five minutes later, with my baskets slung before me, and having left onehorse at the inn, I was riding out of Bonneval to tell the Countess thatshe was free. 

CHAPTER XVI. 

THE MERCY OF CAPTAIN FERRAGANT

I had come to a place where the road runs, narrower than ever, betweenbanks covered with bushes. All at once the perfect loneliness andsilence were broken by three or four men leaping out of the bushes infront of me and barring the way, one presenting a pistol, another a longpike, while a third prepared to seize my rein. I instantly spurredforward, to make a dash for it: at the same time I was conscious thatother fellows had sprung into the road behind me. The knave caught bothreins close to the bit, and hung on under the horse's head, while thepoor animal tried to rear. I drew sword and dagger, and leaned forwardto run this fellow through. As I made my thrust, my senses suddenly wentout in a kind of fire-streaked darkness. As I afterwards learned, I hadbeen struck on the back of the head with a loaded cudgel by one of theunseen men behind. When I came to myself I was lying on the earth in alittle bushy hollow away from the road: my hands were tied behind me, and around each ankle was fastened a rope, of which one of my assailantsheld the loose end. These two fellows and their four comrades wereseated on the ground, eating the fowls and drinking the wine and milk Ihad provided for the Countess. One of them wore my sword, another had mydagger. My purse lay empty on the grass, and my horse was hobbled withthe strap from my baskets. 

My first thought was of the key. Searching about with my eyes, Ipresently saw it, with the other one, at the edge of the bushes, wherethey had doubtless been thrown as of no value. 

My head was aching badly, but that was nothing to the terror in my heartfor the Countess: if I was hindered from going to her, who was to giveher aid?--nay, who was to release her from that dark hiding-place? Shewould die for lack of food and air, --her cell of refuge would be hertomb!

"Ah!" exclaimed one of the robbers; "the worthy young gentleman comes tolife. "

"You are right, " said I, trying to hit the proper mood in which to dealwith them. "I'm not sorry, either, as I was in some haste to get on. Myfriends, as you appear to have emptied me of everything that can be ofany use to you, what do you say to allowing my poor remaining self to goabout my business?"

"And to give information about us as soon as you get to Chateaudun, eh?"said one. 

I was satisfied to let them think I was bound for Chateaudun. 

"No, " I replied. "Poor as I am, the toll you have collected from me isnot as much as my necessity of finishing my journey. So if you willuntie me, and can find it in your hearts to give me back my horse--or atworst to let me go afoot, --I will cry quits, and give you my word ofhonour to forget you completely. "

"You speak well, young gentleman: but it's not to us that you needspeak. We shall be taking you presently to one you can make proposalsto. "

"Why should you waste time in taking me to your leader, when you arequite able to make terms yourselves?" said I. "Come. I can offer him nomore than I can offer you. Suppose it were a hundred crowns: he wouldhave the lion's share of it, and you poor fellows would get but a smallpart. If I deal with you alone, he need be never the wiser, and you willhave the whole sum to divide among you. "

"And how would you get the five hundred crowns?"

"I said one hundred: I would get them by going for them: I would giveyou my promise on the honour of a gentleman. "

The ruffians laughed. "No, " said the one who had spoken most. "You wouldhave to stay with us, and send for them. And our leader is the one tomanage that. He will make you a fine, fair offer, no doubt. "

My heart sank. I tried persuasion, but nothing could move them. Doubtless each was afraid of the others, or they were very stronglyunder the dominion of their chief. 

I asked them to give me back my keys, whereupon one of them put the keysin his own wallet. They finished the food and drink, and made ready todepart. Their preparations consisted mainly of blindfolding me with athick band of cloth, putting me on my horse, and tying together underthe animal's belly the ropes that bound my ankles. Then a man mountedbehind me, I heard another take the rein to lead, the horse was turnedaround several times so as to confuse my sense of direction, and we setoff. We presently crossed a stream, and a little later I knew by soundand smell that we were in the forest. When we had traversed a part ofit, the horse was again turned around twice or thrice, and we continuedon our way. All the time I was thinking of her who waited for me in thedarkness of her tomb-like prison. 

At last, by feeling the sun upon me and by other signs, I knew that wehad come to a space clear of trees. We stopped a moment, and I heardcalls exchanged and a gate opened; and then my horse's feet passed fromturf to a very rough, irregular pavement. The sound of horses in theirstalls at one side, the cooing of pigeons at the other, the gate, therude paving, the remote situation, all taken together informed me thatwe were in an enclosed farm-yard. We stopped a second time, and my ankleropes being then detached from each other, I was hauled down from thehorse. The men with me were now greeted by others, who came apparentlyfrom the side buildings. I was led forward into a stone-floored passage, where I had to sit on a bench, guarded by I know not how many, while onewent up a flight of stairs near at hand, evidently to give an account oftheir prize to somebody in authority. Presently a voice from abovecalled down, "Bring the prisoner hither, " and I was taken upstairs andthrough a doorway. 

My entrance drew an ejaculation from a person already in the room, whothereupon gave orders in a low voice. I was made to sit on the floor, and my ankles were tied close together. A chain was then woundingeniously about my ankle-bonds, my legs, and the cords at my wrists;passed through a hole in the floor and around a cross beam, and finallyfastened with a padlock, in such a way that I was secured beyond powerof extricating myself. 

"Now, go, and wait in the passage, " said the voice in which the previousorders had been given. "But first take that rag from his eyes. He may aswell see: it will amuse him, and will not hurt us, --I will take care ofthat. "

The band was removed, and I found myself in a bare, plastered room witha barred window. In front of me stood a large man with a mask on hisface. Where the mask ended, his beard began, so that he presented avisage entirely of black. The robbers who had brought me hither wentout, closing the door, and I was left alone with this man. 

He regarded me a moment; then dropped into a chair, with a low grunt oflaughter. 

"That it should be this fool, of all fools!" he began. "Who shall saythere is no such thing as luck? Monsieur, I am sure it will please youto know into whose hands you have fallen. "

He took off his mask, and there was the red-splashed face of CaptainFerragant. 

Surprise made me dumb for a moment, for he had hitherto disguised hisvoice. He sat looking at me with a most cruel expression of malevolenttriumph. 

"So, this is where you have fled, --and you are the chief of therobbers!" said I. 

"Call me that if you like. It matters nothing what names you prefer touse. No ears will ever hear them but mine; and mine will not be longafflicted with the sound. "

I shuddered, for I knew the implacability of this man, and my deathmeant the death of the Countess, --death in the dark, mouldy basement ofthe tower, death by stifling and starvation while she waited in vain forme, a slow and solitary death, rendered the more agonizing to her mindby suspense and fears. And this horrible fate must needs be hers justwhen the cause of her sorrows and dangers had been removed! It was athought not to be endured. 

"You will have your jest, " said I. "But I see no reason why you shouldbear me malice. The Count de Lavardin is now a dead man, I hear. I canno longer be against him, nor you for him. Therefore bygones should bebygones, and I suppose you will make terms with me as with any other manwho happened to come before you as I do. "

"You do me an injustice, young gentleman: I am not so mercenary, --I donot always make terms. It is true, I served the Count for pay; that iswhat my company is for, and if he had not gone out of his chateau tohunt his wife, we might have defended the place till the enemy was tiredout. But he allowed himself to be caught in the road, --you have heardthe news, then? What do they say of me?"

"That when you saw the Count was killed, you ran away. "

"Yes, I was of no use to the Count then, and his own men in the chateauwere not well inclined toward me. They were for giving up the place, themoment he was dead. I thought best to save my good fellows for betterservice elsewhere. "

"Then your company and the band of robbers in this forest are the same?"

"If you call them robbers, --they forage when there is need. I did nothave them all at the chateau. The good fellows who brought you here werenot at Lavardin with me. It is well, when one is in a place, to haveresources outside. And so we meet again, my young interloper! You wererude to me once or twice at Lavardin. I shall pay you for that, andsettle scores on behalf of my friend the Count as well. "

"How much ransom do you want?" I asked bluntly. "Name a sum withinpossibility, and let me go for it immediately: you know well you canrely upon my honour to deliver it promptly at any place safe for both ofus, and to keep all a secret. "

"Do not insult me again. I have told you I am above purchase. "

Despite his jesting tone, my hope began to fall. 

"You are not above prudence, at least, " I said. "I assure you there arepeople who will move earth and heaven to find what has become of me, andwhose powers of vengeance are not light. "

"If I went in fear of vengeance, my child, I should never pass an easymoment. I have learned how to evade it, --or, better still, to turn itback on those who would inflict it. I fear nobody. When the game is notworth the risk, one can always run away, as I did from Lavardin when theCount's death threw his men into a panic. "

"Good God!" I cried, giving way to my feelings; "what will move you, then? What do you wish me to do? Shall I humiliate myself to plead formy life? shall I beg mercy? If I must descend to that, I will do so. "

For you will remember another life than mine was staked upon my fate, and time was flying. How long could she endure without food, withoutdrink, without renewal of air, in that locked-up place of darkness?

"Mercy, I beg, " I cried, in a voice broken by fears for her. 

"You have hit upon the right way, at last, " said the Captain, and myheart bounded in spite of his continued irony of voice and manner. "Youbeg for mercy, you shall have it. I will give you your life, and yourliberty as well: on your part, you will tell me where the Countess deLavardin is; as soon as I have made sure you have told the truth, I willset you free. "

I gazed at him in silence. 

"Is not that merciful?" said he; "a full pardon for all your affrontsand offences, in return for a trifling piece of information?"

"It is a piece of information I cannot give you, " I replied. 

"It is a waste of time and words to try to deceive me, " said the redCaptain. "A young gentleman who risks so much for a lady as you havedone, and accomplishes so much for her, --yes, they were wonders ofprowess and courage, I admit, and I compliment you upon them, --a younggentleman who does all that for a lady does not so soon lose knowledgeof her whereabouts. Do not trifle with me, Monsieur. Where is theCountess? There is no other way by which you can save yourself. "

"Do you think, then, a man who has shown the courage and prowess youmention, for the sake of a lady, would save himself by betraying her?"

"Oh, you are young, and may have many years before you--a life of greatsuccess and honour. There are other beautiful ladies in the world. In avery short time you can forget this one. "

"I think it is for you to forget her, " said I on the impulse. "As forme, I would rather die!"

Ah, yes, it was easy enough to die, if that were all: but to leave herto die, and in such a manner, was another thing. Yet I knew she wouldprefer death, in its worst form, to falling into the unrestrained handsof the red Captain. The man's eyes, from the moment when he introducedher name, betrayed the eagerness of his new hope to make himself hermaster, --though he still controlled his speech. I say his new hope, forit must have arisen upon the death of the Count, during whose life, notdaring openly to play the rival, he had found his only satisfaction in arevenge which provided that none might have what was denied to him. Itwas for me to decide now whether she should die or find herself at themercy of Captain Ferragant. Was it right that I should decide for her asshe would decide for herself? Was it for me to consign her to death, though I was certain that would be her own choice? Even though theCaptain found her, was not life, with its possible chance of futureescape, of her being able to move him by tears and innocence, of somefriendly interposition of fate, preferable to the sure alternative doom?

"I will leave you to make up your mind quietly, " said the Captain. "Whenyou are ready to speak to the point, call to the men in thepassage, --one of them will come to me. The door will be left open. Ihope you will not be slow in choosing the sensible course: I cannot giveyou many hours for consideration. "

He went out, addressed some orders to four or five men who sat on abench facing my door, and disappeared: I heard his feet descending thestairs. My door was left wide open, so that I was directly in the gazeof the men. But even if I had been unobserved, I could not have movedfrom the place where I sat. Any effort to break my bonds, either ofwrist or ankle, by sheer strength, was but to cause weakness and pain. My arms ached from the constraint of their position, and, because ofthem behind me, it was impossible to lie at full length on my back. Norwould the chain, without cutting into my thighs, permit me to lie oneither side. I was thus unable to change even my attitude. 

But my discomforts of body were nothing in presence of the question thattore my mind. Minutes passed; time stretched into hours: still Idiscussed with myself, to which of the fates at my choice should Ideliver her? Should I give her to death, or to the arms of the redCaptain? Little as she feared the first, much as she loathed the second, dared I take it upon myself to assign her to death? Had it been meredeath, without the horrors of darkness and desertion, without theanxious wonder as to why I failed her, I should not have been long indeciding upon that. For that would be her wish, and I should not surviveher. Let us both die, I should have said; for what will life be to herafter she has fallen into the hands of this villain, and what to meafter I have delivered her into them? But the peculiar misery of thedeath that threatened her, kept the problem still busy in my mind. 

And yet I could not bring myself to yield her to the Captain. 

The day had become afternoon, and I still debated. The Countess musthave expected me to return before this time. What was her state now?what were her conjectures? Ah, thought I, if we had not found our way tothat lonely tower, if the storm had not come up the previous night, ifwe had started to leave the forest earlier!--nay, if I had had theprevision, upon hearing of the presence of robbers, to make her turnback to Chateaudun with me, and lodge quietly there until the MotherSuperior of the convent could be sounded, and a safe way of approach beascertained, all would now be well. We should have heard in the meantimeof the Count's death. Yes, everything had gone wrong since the Countesshad taken the road for the forest. The third of Blaise Tripault's maximswhich he had learned from the monk came back to me with all the force ofhapless coincidence:

"_Never leave a highway for a byway. _"

The thought of Blaise Tripault made me think of my father. What amockery it was to know that I, chained helpless to the floor in thisremote stronghold of ruffians, was the son of him, the Sieur de laTournoire, the invincible warrior before whose sword no man could stay, and who would have rushed to the world's end to save me or any one Iloved! To consider my need, and his power to help, and that only hisignorance of my situation stood between, was so vexing that in mybitterness of soul, regardless of the men in the passage, I cried out tothe empty air, "Oh, my father! If you but knew!"

And then, for a moment, as if the bare wall were no impediment, I saw avision of my father, with his dauntless brow and grizzled beard, hisgreat long sword at his side, riding toward me among green trees. 

CHAPTER XVII. 

THE SWORD OF LA TOURNOIRE

The light softened and faded into that of evening. Another set of mentook the places of those outside my door. No food nor drink was broughtme, and I supposed the Captain hoped by this neglect to reduce me thesooner to a yielding state. But I was even glad to have to undergo someof the discomforts which the Countess must needs be enduring. I gave uphope of her life or my own, and, leaning forward so as to get somerelief of position, I fell into a kind of drowsy lassitude. 

Suddenly, through my window, which overlooked the court-yard, I heard alow call at the gate, which was answered. Presently I heard the gateclose, and assumed it had been opened to let in the man who had utteredthe call. About a minute after that, there was a considerable noise inthe yard, as of men hastily assembling. Then came the voice of theCaptain, apparently addressing the whole company. When he finished, there was a general movement of feet, as of men dispersing about theyard, and this was followed by complete silence. 

The men in the passage were now joined by a comrade, who spoke to themrapidly in a low tone. They whispered to one another in some excitement, but did not leave their places nor take their eyes from me. 

The next sound I heard was of the tread of horses approaching. Mycuriosity now aroused, I strained my ears. The hoof-beats came to thegate, and then I heard a loud knock, followed by no other sound than ofthe pawing and snorting of the horses as they stood. There must havebeen at least a score of them. 

Presently the unheeded knock was repeated, and then a quick, virilevoice called out:

"Hola, within there! Open the gate, in the name of the King!"

My heart leaped. The voice was that of the royal guardsman who had savedthe Countess from the robbers the previous evening. But his party wasnow evidently much larger than before. 

No answer was given to his demand. The red Captain's intent apparentlywas to make these newcomers believe the place deserted. I had an impulseto shout the truth, but I saw my guards watching me, their hands ontheir weapons, and knew that my first word would be the signal for mydeath. So I kept silence. 

"If you do not open the gate at once, " the guardsman cried, "we willopen it for ourselves, in our own way. "

I now heard footsteps shuffling across the yard, and then one of therobbers spoke, in the quavering tones of an old man:

"Pardon, Monsieur. Pardon, I pray, but it is impossible for me to open. I am all alone here in charge of this place, which is empty anddeserted, and I'm forbidden to open the gate to anybody but the master. He would kill me if I disobeyed, and besides that, I have taken a vow. There is nothing here that you can want, Monsieur. "

"There is shelter for the night to be had here, and that we mean tohave. We are on the business of the King, and I command you to open. "

"I dare not, Monsieur. I should imperil my life and my soul. There is alodge in the forest a mile to the east, and the keeper will see to allyour wants: there is plenty of shelter, food for yourselves, hay foryour horses, everything you can need. Here all is dismantled and empty. "

"Old man, you are lying. Unbar the gate in a moment, or your life willindeed be in danger. "

To this the "old man" gave no answer, except to come away from the gatewith the same simulated walk of an aged person. 

I heard the horsemen discussing in low tones. Then, to my dismay, camethe sound of hoofs again, this time moving away. Now I was more thanever minded to cry out, but my guards were ready to spring upon me withtheir daggers. I might have sought this speedy death, but for the suddenthought that the withdrawal of the royal guardsmen might be onlytemporary. 

I know not how many minutes passed. The sound of the horses had died outfor some time. I became sensible of the tramp of men's feet. Were theguardsmen returning without their horses? Suddenly the red Captain'svoice arose in the court-yard:

"To the walls, you with firearms! Shoot them down as they try to batterin the gate! All the rest, stand with me to kill them if they enter!"

The tramp of the guardsmen came swiftly near. I heard the reports ofmuskets and pistols. There was a loud thud, as of some sort of ram--afallen branch or trunk from the forest--being borne powerfully againstthe gate. This was answered by defiant, profane shouts and more louddetonations. My guards in the passage groaned, exclaimed, and clenchedtheir weapons, mad to be in the fray. I could only listen and wait. 

There was a second thud against the gate, amidst more cries and shots. And soon came a third, the sound being this time prolonged into a crashof timber. A shout of triumph from the invaders, a yell of execrationfrom the red Captain and his men, and the clash of steel, told that thegate had given way. 

"Follow close, gentlemen! Trust me to clear a path!" cried a heartyvoice, cheerful to the point of mirth, which thrilled my soul. 

"Ay, follow him close!" cried the leader of the guardsmen; "follow thesword of La Tournoire!"

I could have shouted for joy, but that it was now worth while postponingdeath by minutes. 

The noise of clashing swords increased and came nearer, as if theguardsmen were pouring in through the gateway and driving the defendersback toward the house. Now and then came the sound of a pike or reversedmusket meeting steel armour, and all the time fierce exclamations rosefrom both parties. There was no more firing; doubtless the melee was tooclose and general for anybody to reload. 

The men in the passage, as the tumult grew and approached, became asrestless as dogs in leash that whine and jump to be in the fray. At lastone of them ran into my room and looked out of the window. 

"Death of the devil, how they are at it!" he cried, for the informationof his comrades outside my door. "I think we shall be wanted in a minuteor two. These cursed intruders have forced the gateway. Our fellows aretwice as many as they, but their heads and bodies are in steel, --all butone, a middle-aged man with gray in his beard. He has no armour on, buthe leads the others. Body of Satan! you should see him clear the groundabout him. He thrusts in all directions at once: his sword is as long asa man, and it darts as quickly as the tongue of a snake. Ha! it has justcut down old Cricharde. --And now it has stung Galparoux. --HolyBeelzebub, what a man! He fights like a fiend, and all the time with agay face as if he were at his sport. --Ah! there he has let daylight intopoor Boirac. --But now--good!--at last our Captain has planted himself infront of this devil: it was high time: he will find his match now. ByGod, it will be worth looking at, the fight between the red Captain andthis stranger, --there aren't two such men in France. They are takingeach other's measure now, --each one sees what sort of stuff he has runagainst. Ah!"

What the last exclamation meant, I could not know. The man's attentionhad become too close for further speech. But I supposed that a pass hadbeen made between my father and the red Captain, and that it had beennothing decisive, for the watcher's interest continued at the extremetension: he kept his face against the iron bars of the window, and madeno sound beyond frequent short ejaculations. The men in the passagecalled to him for further news, but he did not heed them. To my ears thefighting continued as general as before, with the shouts of many throatsand the clash of many weapons, so that I could not at all distinguishthe single combat between my father and the red Captain from the rest ofthe fray. 

Presently the man gave a howl of rage. "Our Captain is being forcedback!" he cried. "We are getting the worst of the fight everywhere. It'stoo much!--we are needed down there! To the devil with orders!--theCaptain will be glad enough if we turn the tide. And we'd better try ourluck down there than be taken here, for short time they'll give us forprayers, my children. " While speaking he had moved from the window to mydoor. 

"Certainly this prisoner is safe enough, " answered one of the men, whereupon he and the others in the passage ran down the stairs. 

But the man who had been at the window turned to me. "Safe enough, --yes, so it looks, " said he. "Young man, the Captain must think you amagician, to take so much pains against your escaping. If it came to theworst, I was to kill you, and the time seems to have arrived: so, ifyou'll pardon me--"

"You will be a great fool, " said I, as he approached with his sworddrawn; "for if you are taken alive my intervention will save your neck. "

"How do you know it will?"

"By the fact that the gentleman down there whose fighting you so admireis my father. "

"Indeed? You are a gentleman: do you give your word of honour for that?"

"Yes; and to speak for you if I am alive when your side is finallydefeated. "

"Very good, Monsieur. I will hold you to that. " Upon this he left me andfollowed his comrades down the stairs. 

His footfalls had scarcely ceased upon the stairway, when other soundsbegan to come from the same direction, --those of conflict in theentrance hall below. Somebody had drawn his antagonist, or been forcedby him, into the house. There was the quick, irregular stamp of bootedfeet on the stone floor, the keen music of sword striking sword. If thefight spread generally into the house, and the defenders fled to theupper rooms, my position must become more critical. So I listened ratherto this noise in the hallway than to the tumult in the court-yard. Bythe sound of the steel coming nearer, and that of the footfalls changingsomewhat, I presently knew that one of the fighters had sought thevantage--or disadvantage--of the staircase. But the other evidentlypushed him hard, for soon both combatants had reached the landing at theturn of the stairs, as was manifest from a sudden increase of theirnoise in my ears. I could now hear their short ejaculations as well asthe other sounds. They continued to approach: I listened for a stumbleon the stairs, to be followed by a death-cry: but these men wereapparently heedful as to their steps, and finally they were both uponthe level footing of the passage outside my room. I wondered if thisfight would be over before it could be opposite my doorway. In a fewmoments I was answered. Into my narrow view came the large figure of thered Captain, without a doublet, his muscular arms bare, his shirt openand soaked with perspiration, his upper body heaving rapidly as hebreathed, his face streaming, his eyes fixed upon the enemy whose swiftrapier he parried with wonderful skill. The light of evening was dim inthe passage, and perhaps for that reason the Captain backed into myroom. His adversary followed instantly. 

"Father!" I cried, as the Sieur de la Tournoire appeared in the doorway:in my emotion I thought not how I endangered him by distracting hisattention. 

But he was not to be thrown off his guard. He moved his head a little tothe side, so as to catch a glimpse of me behind the Captain, but thisdid not prevent his adroitly turning a quick thrust which his enemy madeon the instant of my cry. 

"Hola, Henri!" said my father, with perfect calmness except for hisquickness of breath. "What the devil are you doing here?"

"Sitting chained to the floor, " I replied. 

At this the Captain suddenly leaped back almost to where I was, and Isuppose his intention was to place himself eventually where he wouldhave me between him and my father and could kill me without ceasing toface the latter. But he may have considered an attempt to pass over meas unsafe for his subsequent footing, and so his next movement wassidewise: my father, following close, gave him work every moment. TheCaptain again stepping backward, I was now at his right and a little infront, so that, if he could gain but a spare second, he could send afinishing thrust my way. With my head turned so as to keep my eyes uponhim, I could see by his look that he was determined not to risk myoutliving him. 

My father, too busy in meeting the Captain's lunges, and in trying whatthrust might elude his defence, thought best to expend no more breath intalk with me, and so the fighting went on without words. Suppose, thought I, my father kills the Captain but the Captain first kills me?Had I not better now tell my father to seek the Tower of Morlon andrelease a person confined there? But if I did that, the Captain wouldhear, and suppose he killed my father as well as me! I held my tongue. 

The Captain now maintained his position, neither giving ground norpressing forward. The two combatants were between me and the window, through which still came sounds of struggle from the yard below. Butthese sounds were fewer, except those of cheers, which grew morefrequent. 

"Good! Our friends are gaining the day!" said my father to me. 

"But you, Messieurs, shall not crow over it!" cried the Captain, andmade a long thrust, as swift as lightning. My father caught it on theguard of his hilt, within short distance of his breast, at the sameinstant stepping back. The Captain did not follow, but darted his swordat me, with the cry, "Not for you the Countess!" I contracted my bodyand thought myself done for. My father's impulsive forward movement, however, disconcerted the Captain's arm in the very moment of his lunge, and his point but feebly stung my side and flew back again, his guardrecovered none too soon to save himself. My father's thrusts became nowso quick and continuous that the Captain fell back to gain breath. Myfather drove him to the wall. Shouting a curse, the Captain thrust formy father's midriff. My father, with a swift movement, received thesword between his arm and body, and at the same instant ran his ownrapier into the Captain's unguarded front, pushed it through his lung, and pinned him to the wall. 

[Illustration: "MY FATHER'S THRUSTS BECAME NOW SO QUICK ANDCONTINUOUS. "]

The Captain's arms dropped, his head hung forward, and as soon as thesword was drawn out, he tumbled lifeless to the floor. 

My father leaned against the wall till he regained a little breath andenergy; then he wiped his brow and sword, and came over to me. 

"How have they got you trussed up?" he asked. "And how came you intotheir hands?--I should be amazed to find you here, if I hadn't seenstranger things before now. "

While he cut the cords that bound my ankles and wrists, I told him how Ihad been waylaid. "I was going with food and wine to a friend who lieslocked in a deserted tower called Morlon. She is ill to death, and maynow be dead for lack of food and air to keep up her strength. I must goto her--"

"A woman, then?"

"Yes, a lady: I will tell you all, but there is no time to lose now. Thetower is in this forest. I must find my way there at once. "

"Patience, a moment, " said my father. "Your chain is locked, I see:--butno matter, --I can loosen it so that you can wriggle through. " By havingcut the cords, around which the chain had been passed, he had relievedthe tautness, and was now able to do what he promised. He then took offmy boots, and, grasping me under the arms, drew me backward out of theloosened coils as I moved them downward with my hands. At last I stood afree man. I put on my boots, took the Captain's sword, and accompaniedmy father down into the court-yard. 

The fight was now over there. Of the royal guardsmen, all in steel capsand corselets, like the small party of them I had seen the previousevening, some were wiping their faces and swords, and others were caringfor the hurts of comrades. Some of the robbers lay dead, several werewounded, and the rest, having yielded their weapons, were looking aftertheir own disabled, under the direction of guardsmen. I recognized anumber of the rascals as men I had seen at the Chateau de Lavardin. Thecommander of the troop of guards, he whom I had met before and whosevigorous voice I had recognized, greeted my father with a look ofcongratulation, and showed surprise at seeing me. 

"Tis a day of events, " said my father. "I have killed the Count'saccomplice, and found my son. --Nay, there was no hope of that Captain'ssurrendering. "

"My faith!--then your two quests are accomplished at the same moment, "said the leader of the guardsmen. "And, for another wonder, your sonturns out to be a person I have already met. But your friend, Monsieur?"This inquiry was to me, and made with sudden solicitude. 

"Locked in the tower of Morlon, waiting for me to come withfood, --perhaps dying or dead. --Monsieur, I was brought here blindfold:but I must find the way back to the tower of Morlon without delay, --itis somewhere in this forest. "

"No doubt some of these gentry know the way, " said the guardsman, indicating the robbers. "We'll make it a condition of his life for oneof them to guide us. "

"You make me your life-long debtor, Monsieur, " I cried. "And one of themhas the key: I think it is he lying yonder. As for food and wine--"

"We are not without those, " said the guardsman. "Our horses and suppliesare near at hand. "

I went among the dead and wounded to find the man who had takenpossession of my keys. Him I found, but the keys were not upon him. Supposing he had given them to his master, I ran upstairs and examinedthe pockets of the Captain, but in vain. Where to look next I knew not, so I returned to the court-yard and made known my unsuccess. 

"Tut!" said my father; "a door is but a door, and we can break down thatof your tower as we broke down this gate. This gentleman"--meaning theleader of the guardsmen--"has most courteously offered to accompany us, with part of his noble troop, and he has chosen a guide from among theprisoners. "

"Ay, they all know the tower, " said the guardsman, "but this fellowappears the most sensible. --Now, my man, how long will it take us, yourcomrades bearing the pine trunk with which we rammed this gate, to reachthe tower of Morlon?"

"Two hours, Monsieur, I should say, " replied the robber. 

"It is too much, " said the guardsman. "You will lead us thither in anhour at the utmost, or at the end of the hour you shall hang to the treeI then happen to be under. " He thereupon gave orders to the guardsmen, and to the prisoners. As night would overtake us in the forest, he had abrief search made of the outhouses, and a number of dry pine sticks werefound, to serve as torches. Our party was to go mounted, except therobbers impressed to carry the battering ram: so I went to the stalls atone side of the yard, and found my own horse, chewing hay in fraternalcompanionship with the animals which had doubtless brought CaptainFerragant and his men from Lavardin. 

As I led out my horse, I suddenly bethought me of the man for whose lifeI had promised to speak. During the final preparations for our start, Ilooked again among the robbers, wondering why this man had not forcedhimself upon my attention. But I soon found the reason: he lay on hisside, and when I turned him over I saw he was pierced between two ribsand had no life left to plead for. 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

THE MOUSTACHES OF BRIGNAN DE BRIGNAN

My father, the leader of the guardsmen, and several of his men walked, while I rode, to the nearby edge of encircling woods, the defeatedrobbers bearing the young tree-trunk. Here my father and the guardsmenmounted, their horses having been tied to the trees. A pair of pannierscontaining wine, bread, and cold meat, was placed across my father'shorse, a very strong animal, and, torches being lighted, we proceededthrough the forest. The guide led, being attached to a halter, of whichthe commander of the guardsmen held the loose end. After the commander, my father and I came, and behind us the burdened prisoners, who wereflanked and followed by the other guardsmen. 

On the way, I told my father who it was that lay in the tower, and gavehim a brief account of my whole adventure at Lavardin and in the forest. He applauded my conduct, though counselling me in future to look wellbefore I leaped; and he approved of my offer to the Countess of thehospitality of La Tournoire. 

"But what still makes me wonder, " said I, "is that you should have foundme here, so far from Paris, whither you knew I was bound, and fromVendome, whither Nicolas must have told you I was going. "

"But in truth my being here is very simple, " said he. "As soon asNicolas came back to La Tournoire with your message the day after youset out, I started for Paris to solicit your pardon for the affair at LaFlèche. Six days later I presented myself to the Duke de Sully, whoimmediately took me for an audience of the King. There was a deal oftalk about the scandalous disregard of the edict against duels, thegreat quantity of good blood wasted almost every day, the too frequentgranting of pardons, and all that. But in the end Henri would not refuseme, and I have your pardon now in my pocket. But you must not be rashanother time: I promised for you, and assured the King you were nofire-eater and had received great provocation. "

"Trust me to be prudent, " said I. 

"Good! As you had not yet arrived in Paris, " continued my father, "Isupposed you had been delayed at Vendome, whither, as you say, Nicolastold me you were going. So I thought I would start for home by way ofVendome, as you might still be there and perhaps in some scrape orother, or I might meet you on the road between there and Paris. I stayedovernight in Paris, as the Duke had invited me to wait upon him the nextday. I went and was very well received. As I was about to take my leave, I mentioned that I was going to travel by Vendome. 'Ah, ' said the Duke, 'then, if you wish, you may take a hand in a little affair which will belike an echo of the old busy days. ' I opened my eyes at this, and theDuke told me that evidence had just been brought by one of his spies, which warranted the arrest of a powerful malcontent in the neighbourhoodof Vendome, who had long been under suspicion, --in short, the Count deLavardin. A party of royal guards was about to be sent off at once totake him in his chateau at Montoire, four leagues beyond Vendome, and Imight go with them as a volunteer, or in any case I might have theircompany on my journey. I was quite ready for any affair that had a tasteof the old service in it, especially as these treasonable great lordssometimes make a stout resistance in their chateaux. And so I had thehonour of being introduced to these gentlemen and becoming for the timetheir comrade. That same afternoon I set out with them for Montoire, andwe arrived there last Sunday. "

"Ah! you must have passed through Vendome while we were in seclusionthere. "

"No doubt. That Count's business had to be attended to before he gotwind of our arrival, and so there was no time for inquiring about you atVendome. We came upon the Count and a party of attendants in the road, not a quarter of a league from his chateau. As we heard at the chateauafterwards, he had been searching the roads far and wide for his wife, who had fled from his cruelties. He had the daring to resist arrest, andthere was some fighting, in which he was killed. It appears that thefight and his fall were seen by watchers from the tower of his chateau, and before we could arrive at that place his accomplice, this CaptainFerragant, who was in the chateau at the time, made his escape. As soonas we got to the chateau, we heard of this, and, as the Captain also waswanted, there was nothing to do but give chase. A few of the guardsmenwere left to hold the chateau in the King's name, and the rest of us, with no more than a sup and a bite, made off after this Captain. He hadso many followers with him, that he was not difficult to trace, and fortwo days we kept his track, until we lost it at the edge of this forest. From what we learned at Chateaudun, we guessed that his refuge wassomewhere in the forest. That was yesterday afternoon: we at once brokeup into small parties to search the forest, planning to reunite at achosen place to-day at noon. "

"It was one of those parties that saved the Countess from the robbers, "said I gratefully. 

"Ay, and there your story crosses mine. As for the ruffians who attackedthe Countess, they escaped without affording a clue to the Captain'swhereabouts, --for doubtless they were of his band, though this was notcertain. When our parties met to-day, one of them brought a forester whooffered to show the way to the Captain's hiding-place if he were allowedto leave before coming in sight of it. We made full preparations, andyou know the rest. At first we thought our forester had fooled us, andthat the place we had come to was what it appeared, a solitary farmsteadin a clearing of the forest. But in such a case, it is always best tomake sure, and faith, that is what we did. So you see I chanced to findyou all the sooner for not having had time to look for you. But indeedit was a timely meeting. "

In about an hour after the time of starting, we came to a clear space, in the midst of which was the tower we sought. We could see it by thestarlight before we drew near with our torches. We all dismounted, andwith a fast-beating heart, I found the door. It was still locked. Listening at the key-hole, I could hear no sound. I called out, "Louis!"thinking she would understand I had company to whom her sex need not beknown. I wished to warn her of our assault upon the door, so that shemight stay clear of danger thereby. But no answer came, though I calledseveral times. I was now in great fear lest she had died. My father, whoread my feelings in my face, suggested that she might have fallen intovery deep unconsciousness, and that the best thing to do was to break inthe door forthwith, as carefully as possible, trusting she might not bewhere there was chance of anything striking. As the place where I hadleft her lying was not opposite the door, and there was no reason tosuppose she had chosen another, I gave up the attempt to warn her, andwithout further loss of time we made ready to attack the door. All themen in the party, both guardsmen and prisoners, laid hold of thetree-trunk, by means of halters and ropes fastened around it, my fatherand I placing ourselves at the head. The commander of the guardsmen, whowas immediately behind me, called out the orders by which we moved inunison. Starting from a short distance, we ran straight for the tower, and swung the tree forward against the door at the moment of stopping. Amost violent shock was produced, but the lock and hinges still held. Werepeated this operation twice. Upon our third charge, the door flewinward. Leaving the trunk to the others, I hastened into the dark, closebasement, and groped my way to where I had left the Countess. 

"Madame!--Louis!" I called softly, feeling about in the darkness. 

A weak voice answered, --a voice like that of one just wakened fromprofound sleep:

"Henri, is it you?--Mon dieu, I am so glad!--I feared some evil hadbefallen you. "

"Ah, Louis, you are living, --thank God!"

"Living, yes: I have been asleep. Once I awoke, and wondered why you badnot returned. I prayed for you, and then I must have slept again. Butwhat was it awakened me?--was there not a loud noise before I heard yourvoice?--Who are those men at the door with torches?"

I introduced my father, who, regarding her in the torchlight, andshowing as tender a solicitude as a woman's, soon came to the conclusionthat her state was no worse than one of extreme weakness for want offood and fresh air. He carried her out, laid her tenderly on a cloak, and administered such food and wine as were good for her. She submittedwith the docility and trust of a child. 

Leaving her for awhile, my father and I consulted with the leader of theguardsmen, and it was decided that the Countess, my father, and I shouldpass the night at the tower, the weather being warm and clear. Theguardsmen would return with their prisoners to the scene of their recentbattle, where much was to be put to rights. On the morrow they wouldrejoin us, and we should all proceed to Bonneval, where my father'sdeposition could be added to the report which the leader of thearresting party would have to deliver in Paris in lieu of the Count andCaptain themselves. 

I could not let the leader go, even for the night, without expressingthe gratitude under which I must ever feel to him, for, though he wasstill ignorant of the identity of the Countess, there was no concealingfrom him that the supposed youth was a person very near my heart. 

"Pouf!" said he, in his manly way; "'tis all chance. I have done nothingfor you, but if I had done much I should have been repaid already in theacquaintance of Monsieur de la Tournoire. "

"A truce to flattery, " said my father. "It is I who am the gainer by theacquaintance of Monsieur Brignan de Brignan. "

"Eh! Brignan de Brignan!" I echoed. 

"That is this gentleman's name, " said my father, wondering at mysurprise. "Have we been so busy that I have not properly made you knownto him before?"

I gazed at the gentleman's moustaches: they were indeed rather longerthan the ordinary. He, too, looked his astonishment at the effect of hisname upon me. 

"Pardon me, Monsieur, " said I. "I have been staring like a rustic. I oweyou an explanation of my ill manners. I will give it frankly: it mayprovide you with laughter. What I am now, I know not, but three weeksago I was a fool. " I then told him how I had been taunted by a younglady, whose name I did not mention, and with what particular object Ihad so recently started for Paris. This was news to my father also, wholaughed without restraint. Brignan de Brignan, though certainly amused, kept his mirth within bounds, and replied:

"Faith. I know not any young lady in your part of France who has a rightto glory in my personal appearance, even if I were an Apollo, --who, bythe way, is not represented with moustaches. But I believe I know whothis girl may be, --I have met such a one in Paris, and avoided her as apert little minx. As for your folly, as you call it, it was no morefoolish than many a thing I have done. "

He had the breeding not to add, "At your age, " and I loved him for that. He and his men now set out upon their return to the farmstead, and myfather and I, after devising a more comfortable couch for the Countessjust within the open doorway of the tower, slept and watched by turnsoutside. 

In the morning the Countess, partaking of more food, was in betterstrength and spirits, and had the curiosity to ask how my father came tobe there. In telling her, I broke the news of the Count's death. For amoment she was startled, and then pity showed itself in her eyes andwords, --pity for the man who had been swayed by such passions anddelusions, and who had died in his sin with none else to shed a tear forhim. The Captain's death, of which I next informed her, did not move heras much. 

The turn of affairs caused a change of plan. She now resolved (as I hadforeseen) to return to Lavardin and do such honour to her husband'smemory as she might. Though his estates would probably, in all thecircumstances, be adjudged forfeit to the Crown, some provision woulddoubtless be made for his widow. In any case, she might be sure of everycourtesy from the officer in command of the guardsmen now occupying thechateau for the King, and there were certain jewels, apparel, and otherpossessions of her own which could not be withheld from her. 

In the afternoon, when Brignan de Brignan and his comrades reappeared, the Countess was able to ride: and that evening we were all in Bonneval. Monsieur de Brignan had taken possession of several things found in aniron-bound chest where Captain Ferragant had kept his treasures. Amongothers were two papers stolen from me by the robbers, --the incriminatingfragment of a letter to the Count, and the note from the Countess whichI had found upon Monsieur de Merri. The former I destroyed, at the firein the inn kitchen: the latter I kept, and keep to this day. Besidesthese, there were my purse; a quantity of gold, out of which I repaidmyself the amount I had been robbed of; and the two keys, which Isubsequently restored to the Chateau de Lavardin, whence they had come. 

We stayed the night at Bonneval. The next day the guardsmen started forParis, and our party of three for Montoire. As I took my leave ofBrignan de Brignan before the inn gate, I noticed that his moustacheshad undergone a diminution: indeed they now extended no further than hislips. I supposed he had decided not to be distinguished by such marksagain. He expressed a hope of renewing acquaintance with me in Paris, and rode off. The Countess, my father, and I turned our faces towardMontoire, the Countess being now once more on Hugues's horse, which Ihad left for a time at Bonneval. We had not gone very far, when a mangalloped after us, handed me a packet, and rode back as hastily as hehad come. I had scarce time to recognize him as a valet attached to theparty of guardsmen. 

I opened the packet, and found a piece of paper, to which two wisps ofhair were fastened by a thread, and on which was written in a large, dashing hand:

"_Behold my moustaches. Brignan de Brignan. _"

And so, after all, I might keep my promise to Mlle. Celeste!

CHAPTER XIX. 

AFTERWARDS

Two days later we arrived at Hugues's house, and were received withgreat joy by him and Mathilde. Here the Countess, now happily improvedin health, resumed the attire of her sex, which she had there put off. My father then accompanied her to the Chateau de Lavardin, and made herknown to the guardsman in command, by whom she was treated with theutmost consideration. With Mathilde to attend her, she remained a fewdays at the chateau, and then removed with her personal possessions tothe house of Hugues, whose marriage to Mathilde was no longer delayed. 

But meanwhile my father and I stayed only a day at Montoire, lodging atthe inn there. I did not go to the chateau, but my father took thitherthe two keys, and brought away my sword and dagger, which had beenhanging undisturbed in the hall. My farewell to the Countess was spokenin front of Hugues's gate when she started thence for the chateau, andnot much was said, for my father and Hugues were there, as well asMathilde, and the horses were waiting. But something was looked, andnever did I cease to carry in my heart the tender and solicitousexpression of her sweet eyes as they rested on me for a silent momentere she turned away. 

My father and I, on our homeward journey, stopped at La Flèche andascertained that Monsieur de Merri's relations had learned of his fateand taken all care for the repose of his body and soul. It appeared thathe lived at Orleans, and was used to visit cousins in Brittany: thus, then, had he chanced to stop at Montoire and fall in with the Count deLavardin. Alas! poor young gentleman!

And now we arrived home, to the great relief of my mother; and BlaiseTripault would hardly speak to my father or me, for envy of theadventures we had passed through without him. But he spread greatreports of what I had done, --or rather what I had not done, for he mademe a chief hero in the destruction of the band of robbers. But thisunmerited fame scarcely annoyed me at all, for my thoughts wereelsewhere, and I was restless and melancholy. In a few days I resolvedto go to Paris, --by way of Montoire. But before I started, I took a walkone fine afternoon along the stream that bounded our estate: and, as Ihad expected, there was Mlle. Celeste on the other side, with her drowsyold guardian. She blushed and looked embarrassed, and I wondered why Ihad ever thought her charming. Her self-confidence returned in a moment, and she greeted me with her old sauciness, though it seemed a trifleforced:

"Ah, Monsieur, so you have come back without going to Paris after all, Ihear. "

"Yes, Mademoiselle, " I answered coldly. "But I have taken your adviceand looked a little into the eyes of danger; and I find it does make adifference in one. "

"Oh, yes: I believe you fought a duel, and were present when somehighway robbers were taken; and now you have come back to rest on yourlaurels. "

"No; I came back to give you these, as I promised. " And I threw her thepacket containing the moustaches of Brignan de Brignan. She opened it, and regarded the contents with amazement. I laughed. 

She looked at me now with real wonder, and I perceived I had grownseveral inches in her estimation. 

"But don't think I took them against his will, " said I. "I admit I nevercould have done that. He gave me them in jest, and the proudest claim Ican make in regard to him is that he honours me with his friendship. Good day, Mademoiselle. "

I came away, leaving her surprised and discomfited, for which I was notsorry. She had expected to find me still her slave, and to expend herpertness on me as before: though she might have known that if dangerwould make a man of me, it would give me a man's eyes to see thedifference between a real woman and a scornful miss. 

I went to Paris, careful this time to avoid conflict with bold-speakingyoung gentlemen at inns; and on the way I had one precious hour atHugues's house, wherein--upon his marriage to Mathilde--the Countess hadestablished herself, to the wonder of all who heard of it. She continuedto lodge there, her affairs turning out so that she was able to repayHugues liberally. She occupied herself in good works for the poor aboutMontoire, and so two years passed, each day making her happier and morebeautiful. Many times I went between La Tournoire and Paris, --always byway of Montoire. In Paris I saw much of Brignan de Brignan, whosemoustaches had soon grown back to their old magnitude. And one day whomshould I meet in the Rue St. Honoré but that excellent spy of Sully's, Monsieur de Pepicot?

I begged him to come into a tavern. "There is something you owe me, "said I, when we were seated; "an account of how you got out of theChateau de Lavardin that night without leaving any trace. "

"It was nothing, " said the long-nosed man meekly. "I found an empty roomwith a mullioned window, on the floor beneath ours, and let myself downto the terrace with a knotted rope I had brought in my portmanteau. "

"But I never heard that any rope was found. "

"I had passed it round the inside of the window-mullion and lowered bothends to the ground, attached to my portmanteau. In descending I kepthold of both parts. When I was down, I had only to release one part andpull the rope after me. I found a gardener's tool-shed, and in it somepoles for trellis-work. I placed two of these side by side against thegarden wall, at the postern door, and managed to clamber to the top. "

"But I heard of nothing being found against the wall. "

"Oh, I drew the poles up after me, and also my portmanteau, by means ofthe rope, which I had fastened to them and to my waist. I let them downto a plank which crossed the moat there, as I had observed before everentering the chateau. I dropped after them, and was lucky enough toavoid falling into the moat. I hid the poles among the bushes: not thatit mattered, but I thought it would amuse the Count to conjecture how Ihad got away. One likes to give people something to think of. --As for myhorse, I had seen to it that he was kept in an unlocked penthouse. --Ah, well! that Count thought he was a great chess-player. " And Monsieur dePepicot smiled faintly and shook his head. 

At the prospect of war, I joined the army assembling at Chalons, but thelamentable murder of the King put an end to his great plans, and Iresumed my former way, swinging like a pendulum between Paris and LaTournoire. One soft, pink evening in the second summer after myadventure at Lavardin, I was privileged to walk alone with the Countessin the meadows behind Hugues's mill. Health and serenity had raised herbeauty to perfection, and there was no trace of her sorrows but thehumble dignity and brave gentleness of her look and manner. 

"You are the loveliest woman in the world, " I said, without any sort ofwarning. "Ah, Louise--surely I may call you that now--how I adore you! Icannot any longer keep back what is in my heart. See yonder where thesun has set--that is where La Tournoire is. It seems to beckon us--notme alone, but us--together. When will you come?--when may I take you tomy father and mother, and hear them say I could not have found a sweeterwife in all France?"

Trembling, she raised her moist eyes to mine, and said in a voice like alow sigh:

"Ah, Henri, if it were possible! But you forget the barrier: we are notof the same religion. I know your mother changed her faith for yourfather's sake; but I could never do so. "

"But what if I changed for your sake?" I said, taking her hand. 

"Henri! will you do that?" she cried, with a joy that told all I wishedto know. 

In truth, I had often thought of going over to the national form ofworship. As soon, therefore, as I got to La Tournoire after thismeeting, I opened the matter to my father. 

"Why, " said he, "I think it a sensible resolve. The times are changed;since King Henri's death, there is no longer any hope of us Huguenotsmaintaining a balance. As a party, we have done our work, and are doomedto pass away. Those who persist will only keep up a division in thenation, from which they can gain nothing, and which will be a source ofuseless troubles. As for the religious side of the question, some peopleprefer artificial forms of expression, some do not. It is a matter ofexternals: and if one must needs subscribe to a few doctrines he doesnot believe, who is harmed by that? These things are much to women, andwe, to whom they are less, can afford to yield. I often fancy yourmother would like to go back to the faith of her childhood, --and if sheever expresses the wish, I will not hinder her. When I married her, allwas different: I could not have become a Catholic then. Nor indeed can Ido so now. Blaise Tripault and I are too old for new tricks: we must notchange our colours at this late day: we are survivals from a bygonestate of things. But you, my son, belong to a new France. Our greatHenri said. 'Surely Paris is worth a mass': and I dare say this lady isas much to you as Paris was to him. "

So the Church gained a convert and I a wife. Hugues and Mathilde came tolive on our estate. And Mlle. Celeste, in course of time, was married toa raw young Gascon as lean as a lath, as poor as a fiddler, and asthirsty as a Dutchman, but with moustaches twice as long as those ofBrignan de Brignan. 

THE END. 

Works of Robert Neilson Stephens

 An Enemy to the King

 The Continental Dragoon

 The Road to Paris

 A Gentleman Player

 Philip Winwood

 Captain Ravenshaw

 The Mystery of Murray Davenport

 The Bright Face of Danger

L. C. Page and Company

The Mystery of Murray Davenport. 

By ROBERT NEILSON STEPHENS, author of "An Enemy to the King, " "PhilipWinwood, " etc. 

In his latest novel, Mr. Stephens has made a radical departure from thethemes of his previous successes. Turning from past days and distantscenes, he has taken up American life of to-day as his new field, therein proving himself equally capable. Original in its conception, striking in its psychologic interest, and with a most perplexing loveproblem, "The Mystery of Murray Davenport" is the most vital andabsorbing of all Mr. Stephens's novels, and will add not a little to hisreputation. 

"This is easily the best thing that Mr. Stephens has yet done. Thosefamiliar with his other novels can best judge the measure of thispraise, which is generous. "--_Buffalo News. _

"Mr. Stephens won a host of friends through his earlier volumes, but wethink he will do still better work in his new field if the presentvolume is a criterion. "--_N. Y. Com. Advertiser. _

The Daughter of the Dawn. 

By R. HODDER. 

This is a powerful story of adventure and mystery, its scene NewZealand. In sustained interest and novel plot, it recalls RiderHaggard's "King Solomon's Mines, " and "She" but the reader will find anadded interest due to the apparent reality with which the authorsucceeds in investing the sensational incidents of his plot. 

The Spoilsmen. 

By ELLIOTT FLOWER, author of "Policeman Flynn, " etc. 

This is a story of municipal politics, depicting conditions common topractically all large cities. The political methods employed, however, are in most instances taken from the actual experiences of men who haveserved the public in some capacity or other, and the stories told ofsome of the characters are literally true. The love interest centresaround a girl of high ideals, who inspires a wealthy young man to enterthe local campaign. 

"The best one may hear of 'The Spoilsmen' will be none too good. As awide-awake, snappy, brilliant political story it has few equals, itstitle-page being stamped with that elusive mark, 'success. ' One shouldnot miss a word of a book like this at a time like this and in a worldof politics like this. "--_Boston Transcript. _

". . . It ought to do good. The world of municipal politics is put beforethe reader in a striking and truthful manner; and the sources of evilthat afflict the government of our cities are laid bare in a manner thatshould arrest the attention of every honest man who wishes to purge andcleanse our local governments. It illustrates, too, very forcibly, howdifficult a work it is to accomplish such municipal reform, and howuseless it is to attempt it without united and persistent effort on thepart of those who should be most interested. "--_Grover Cleveland. _

A Daughter of Thespis. 

By JOHN D. BARRY, author of "The Intriguers, " "Mademoiselle Blanche, "etc. 

The author's experiences as a dramatic critic have enabled him to writewith authority on the ever fascinating theme of stage life. From "thefront, " in the wings, and on the boards--from all these varying pointsof view, is told this latest story of player folk--an absorbing tale. 

"This story of the experiences of Evelyn Johnson, actress, may bepraised just because it is so true and so wholly free from melodrama andthe claptrap which we have come to think inseparable from any narrativewhich has to do with theatrical experiences. "--_Professor Harry ThurstonPeck, of Columbia University. _

Prince Hagen. 

By UPTON SINCLAIR, author of "King Midas, " etc. 

In this book, Mr. Sinclair has written a satire of the first order--oneworthy to be compared with Swift's biting tirades against the folliesand abuses of mankind. 

The scheme of the book is as delightful as it is original--Prince Hagen, son of that Hagen who killed Siegfried, grandson of Alberich, King ofthe Nibelungs, comes to this earth from Nibelheim, for a completion ofhis education, and it is the effect of our modern morality on abrilliant and unscrupulous mind which forms the basis of Mr. Sinclair'sstory. Prince Hagen's first exploits are at school; then in the thick ofNew York's corrupt politics as a boss. Later, after he has inherited theuntold wealth of the Nibelungs, he tastes the society life of themetropolis. 

As a story simply, the book is thoroughly entertaining, with a climax ofsurprising power; but, as a satire, it will live. 

Earth's Enigmas. 

By CHARLES G. D. ROBERTS, author of "The Kindred of the Wild, " "TheHeart of the Ancient Wood, " etc. 

"It will rank high among collections of short stories. . . . His prose art, too, has reached a high degree of perfection. . . . In 'Earth's Enigmas' isa wider range of subject than in the 'Kindred of the Wild. '"--_Reviewfrom advance sheets of the illustrated edition by Tiffany Blake in theChicago Evening Post. _

"Throughout the volume runs that subtle questioning of the cruel, predatory side of nature which suggests the general title of the book. In certain cases it is the picture of savage nature ravening forfood--for death to preserve life; in others it is the secret symbolismof woods and waters prophesying of evils and misadventures to come. Allthis does not mean, however, that Mr. Roberts is either pessimistic ormorbid--it is nature in his books after all, wholesome in her cruelmoods as in her tender. "--_The New York Independent. _

The Silent Maid. 

By FREDERIC W. PANGBORN. 

A dainty and delicate legend of the brave days of old, of sprites andpixies, of trolls and gnomes, of ruthless barons and noble knights. "TheSilent Maid" herself, with her strange bewitchment and wondrous song, isequalled only by Undine in charm and mystery. The tale is told in thatquaint diction which chronicles "The Forest Lovers, " and in which Mr. Pangborn, although a new and hitherto undiscovered writer, is no less anartist than Mr. Hewlett. 

The Golden Kingdom. 

By ANDREW BALFOUR, author of "Vengeance is Mine, " "To Arms!" etc. 

This is a story of adventure on land and sea, beginning in England, andending in South Africa, in the last days of the seventeenth century. Thescheme of the tale at once puts the reader in mind of Stevenson's"Treasure Island, " and with that augury of a good story, he at oncecontinues from the mysterious advent of Corkran the Coxswain into thequiet English village, through scenes of riot, slave-trading, shipwreck, and savages to the end of all in the "Golden Kingdom" with its strangedenizens. The character of Jacob the Blacksmith, big of body and biggerof heart, ever ready in time of peril, will alone hold his attentionwith a strong grip. 

The Promotion of the Admiral. 

By MORLEY ROBERTS, author of "The Colossus, " "The Fugitives, " "Sons ofEmpire, " etc. 

We consider ourselves fortunate in being able to announce this latestnovel by Mr. Morley Roberts, who has such a wide circle of readers andadmirers. This volume contains half a dozen stories of sea life, --fresh, racy, and bracing, --some humorous, some thrilling, all laid inAmerica, --a new field for Mr. Roberts, --and introduces a uniquecreation, "Shanghai Smith, " of "'Frisco, " kidnapper of seamen, whosecalling and adventures have already interested and amused all readers of_The Philadelphia Saturday Evening Post_. 

The Schemers. 

A TALE OF MODERN LIFE. 

By EDWARD F. HARKINS, author of "Little Pilgrimages Among the Men WhoHave Written Famous Books, " etc. 

A story of a new and real phase of social life in Boston, skilfully anddaringly handled. There is plenty of life and color abounding, and adiversity of characters--shop-girls, society belles, men about town, city politicians, and others. The various schemers and their schemeswill be followed with interest--and there will be some discerningreaders who may claim to recognize in certain points of the storycertain recent happenings in the shopping and the society circles of theHub. 

The Captain's Wife. 

By W. CLARK RUSSELL, author of "The Wreck of the Grosvenor, " "The Mateof the Good Ship York, "' etc. 

The customary epithets applied to nautical fiction are quiteincommensurate with the excellence of Mr. Clark Russell's narrativepowers, and these are thoroughly at their best in "The Captain's Wife. ""The Captain's Wife" is the story of a voyage, and its romantic interesthinges on the stratagem of the captain's newly wedded wife in order toaccompany him on his expedition for the salvage of a valuable wreck. Theplot thickens so gradually that a less competent novelist would be indanger of letting the reader's attention slip. But the climax ofBenson's conspiracy to remove the captain, and carry off the wife, towhom his lawless passion aspires, is invested with the keenestexcitement. 

The Story of the Foss River Ranch. 

By RIDGWELL CULLOM. 

The scene of this story is laid in Canada, not in one of the greatcities, but in that undeveloped section of the great Northwest whereto-day scenes are being enacted similar to those enacted fifty years agoduring the settlement of the great American West. The story is intense, with a sustained and well-developed plot, and will thus appeal to thereading public. 

The Interference of Patricia. 

By LILIAN BELL, author of "Hope Loring, " "Abroad with the Jimmies, " etc. With a frontispiece from drawing by Frank T. Merrill. 

This story adds not a little to the author's reputation as a teller ofclever tales. It is of the social life of to-day in Denver--that city ofgold and ozone--and deals of that burg's peculiarities with a keen andflashing satire. The character of the heroine, Patricia, will hold thereader by its power and brilliancy. Impetuous, capricious, and wayward, with a dominating personality and spirit, she is at first a carelessgirl, then develops into a loyal and loving woman, whose interferencesaves the honor of both her father and lover. The love theme is in theauthor's best vein, the character sketches of the magnates of Denver areamusing and trenchant, and the episodes of the plot are convincing, sincere, and impressive. 

A Book Of Girls. 

By LILIAN BELL, author of "Hope Loring, " "Abroad with the Jimmies, " etc. With a frontispiece. 

It is quite universally recognized that Lilian Bell has done for theAmerican girl in fiction what Gibson has done for her in art--thatLilian Bell has crystallized into a distinct type all the peculiarqualities that have made the American girl unique among the women of theworld. Consequently, a book with a Bell heroine is sure of a heartywelcome. What, therefore, can be said of this book, which contains noless than four types of witching and buoyant femininity? There are fourstories of power and dash in this volume: "The Last Straw, " "TheSurrender of Lapwing, " "The Penance of Hedwig, " and "Garret Owen'sLittle Countess. " Each one of these tells a tale full of verve andthrill, each one has a heroine of fibre and spirit. 

Count Zarka. 

By SIR WILLIAM MAGNAY, author of "The Red Chancellor. "

"The Red Chancellor" was considered by critics, as well as by thereading public, one of the most dramatic novels of last year. In his newbook, Sir William Magnay has continued in the field in which he has beenso successful. "Count Zarka" is a strong, quick-moving romance ofadventure and political intrigue, the scene being laid in a fictitiouskingdom of central Europe, under which thin disguise may be recognizedone of the Balkan states. The story in its action and complicationsreminds one strongly of "The Prisoner of Zenda, " while the man[oe]uvringof Russia for the control in the East strongly suggests the contemporaryhistory of European politics. The character of the mysterious CountZarka, hero and villain, is strongly developed, and one new in fiction. 

The Golden Dwarf. 

By R. NORMAN SILVER, author of "A Daughter of Mystery, " etc. 

Mr. Silver needs no introduction to the American public. His "A Daughterof Mystery" was one of the most realistic stories of modern London lifethat has recently appeared. "The Golden Dwarf" is such another story, intense and almost sensational. Mr. Silver reveals the mysterious andgruesome beneath the commonplace in an absorbing manner. The "GoldenDwarf" himself, his strange German physician, and the secret of theWyresdale Tower are characters and happenings which will hold the readerfrom cover to cover. 

Alain Tanger's Wife. 

By J. H. YOXALL, author of "The Rommany Stone, " etc. 

A spirited story of political intrigue in France. The variousdissensions of the parties claiming political supremacy, and "the wheelswithin wheels" that move them to their schemes are caustically andtrenchantly revealed. A well known figure in the military history ofFrance plays a prominent part in the plot--but the central figure isthat of the American heroine--loyal, intense, piquant, and compelling. 

The Diary of a Year. 

PASSAGES IN THE LIFE OF A WOMAN OF THE WORLD. Edited by Mrs. CHARLES H. E. BROOKFIELD. 

The writer of this absorbing study of emotions and events is gifted withcharming imagination and an elegant style. The book abounds in brilliantwit, amiable philosophy, and interesting characterizations. The "womanof the world" reveals herself as a fascinating, if somewhat reckless, creature, who justly holds the sympathies of the reader. 

The Red Triangle. Being some further chronicles of Martin Hewitt, investigator. 

By ARTHUR MORRISON, author of "The Hole in the Wall, " "Tales of MeanStreets, " etc. 

This is a genuine, straightforward detective story of the kind thatkeeps the reader on the _qui vive_. Martin Hewitt, investigator, mightwell have studied his methods from Sherlock Holmes, so searching andsuccessful are they. His adventures take him at times to the slums ofLondon, amid scenes which recall Mr. Morrison's already noted "The Holein the Wall. " As a combination of criminal and character studies, thisbook is very successful. 

COMMONWEALTH SERIES No. 7. 

The Philadelphians:

AS SEEN BY A NEW YORK WOMAN. 

By KATHARINE BINGHAM. (Pseud. )

A bright and breezy tale of a charming New York woman, whose wedded lotis twice cast in Philadelphia. The family of her first husband committedthe unpardonable sin of living north of Market Street; that of hersecond husband resided south of that line of demarcation. She is thusenabled to speak whereof she knows concerning the conventions, and drawsthe characteristics of life in the Quaker city, as well as the foiblesof the "first families" with a keen and caustic, though not unkindly, pen.