Leaving us to find our way upstairs
Torquato Trotto went out into the porch where Piero
the giant stood, cast a glance at the retreating figure
of Pierrebon, who was leading the horses away, looked
over his shoulder like a cat, and, gripping Piero
by the arm, shook with laughter.
“Maledetto!” exclaimed
Piero, who was of an evil temper, as he freed himself
from Trotto’s clutches, and looked at the swaying
figure before him. “Loose hold, signor!
Have you been bitten by a tarantula?”
“Oh! I could sing, I could
shout, I could dance. Man! that is the very
girl we want; and Monsieur the Vidame, who lies
within, twisting in his chair, will pay a thousand
fat, gold Henris for her when he knows. Ho!
it will be rare news for him!”
“Are you sure?”
“As I live. Did I not
watch her for a whole week at Saumur? ’Tis
well we have not Aramon and the rest with us.
The fewer there are the larger the shares.
Can Malsain deal with the lackey?”
Piero grinned for reply.
“Well! let him be his care,
and you had better stay at hand here. Give me
the key of the gate, and, remember, a hundred crowns
apiece to you and Malsain for this. And now
for a word in the Vidame’s ear.”
With this he turned back into the
house, leaving Piero looking after him.
“A hun dred crowns
apiece! Diavolo! Captain Torquato!
If I knew the money was here I would make the whole
thousand mine; and then hey for Rome again!
But a hundred crowns are a hundred crowns, and fill
a purse rarely. Well, I go to warn Malsain!”
And the giant went slowly off, regretting
in his heart what might have been.
In the meantime we found ourselves
on a landing before an open door, disclosing a room
brightly lit. There was a glimpse too of a table
laid for supper, and near the table stood a tall woman,
with black hair that hung to her waist, with bare
rounded arms and painted cheeks, and a face that was
beautiful still, though she had come to be what she
was.
She was holding a cup of red wine
in her hand, but stopped in the act of lifting it
to her lips as she caught sight of us, and setting
down the wine untasted advanced, saying:
“Enter, I pray you. La Marmotte
bids you welcome.”
“I thank you, madame,”
I replied bowing, with many misgivings in my heart,
and inwardly cursing the folly that had made me yield
and enter this house. But who is there who does
not make mistakes? and I for one have never
set claim to be infallible. I was wrong, and
I admit it that is enough.
And so we went in, and for the first
time there was light enough to see mademoiselle’s
face, and as I looked there came to me a sting of regret
for the days that would never return. It was
as if some devil had flashed before me a mirror in
which the past was reflected; and, believe me, when
one has lived and regretted it is not necessary to
be in love for such a lightning flash of bitter memory
to come to a man when he sees beside him the purity
of innocence.
And so it was too with La Marmotte,
who had turned to us with a light laugh, and lighter
words to her lips; but laugh and words died away as
she met the girl’s look, and I could
read her like an open page awakened memory
took the woman back to the time when she herself was
as the girl before her. And so, because there
were yet undefiled wells of good in her soul, there
came upon her an unwonted timidity, and it was with
a respectful hesitation that she pressed upon us seats
and refreshment. But even as she did so her eyes
met mine with a half-imploring, half-defiant glance.
She felt that I knew, though I thanked her for her
courtesy as if she were a princess of the land.
Mademoiselle sank weariedly into a
chair; whilst La Marmotte, with all the
silent notes in her heart touched in some undefinable
way, hovered over her, fearing to approach her, and
yet feeling as if she must.
For me, I remained standing, softly
rubbing my wounded arm, over which I had drawn my
cloak, and looking around me here, there, and everywhere,
for I knew we were in a trap, and trapped by my own
folly. As I looked I saw something white showing
beneath the cushions of a settle, and taking the cup
of wine that La Marmotte handed to me I
moved thereto, and, sitting down, looked more closely.
It was a white mask. Softly drawing it forth,
and, unobserved, slipping it into the pocket of my
cloak, I saw in doing so that it was stained with fresh
blood, and then I knew we were in the house of death.
At this moment Torquato Trotto appeared
at the door with suave apologies, and stepping forward,
rubbing his hands together, he said: “I
regret to have appeared so discourteous; I trust that
monsieur and madame will remain here for to-night.”
“I am afraid, Signer Torquato
Trotto, that is impossible.”
“Per Bacco! You
know me!” exclaimed the Italian in slight surprise.
“The name of Torquato Trotto
is known in France,” I said, and the brow of
the man darkened.
“Perhaps I too can return the
compliment, monsieur. You are ”
“Bertrand Broussel, bourgeois,
of the Rue des Lavandières, Paris,”
I interrupted, and I caught a strange expression of
disappointment in mademoiselle’s eyes.
“Hum!” I thought, “does the furrier’s
niece take me for a prince of the blood in disguise?”
La Marmotte, however, cut
in at this juncture, for she saw the storm in the
air, and I again said that we would go on at once,
if Messire Trotto would of his kindness provide
us with a guide; if not, we would go without one.
And Trotto answered blandly:
“Impossible! My lieutenant
is away with my men, and I have no one here who knows
the way. I am totally ignorant myself, or I would
willingly help you. Besides, to go now would
be madness. The road is infested by robbers faith
of a gentleman!”
“That is indeed true!
I have just escaped them thanks to the bravery
of this gentleman here,” exclaimed mademoiselle.
“Madame, you are lucky to have
escaped; but you must tell us of your adventures as
we sup,” and he moved towards the table.
In the meantime Pierrebon, looking
well to the right and left, led the horses towards
the stables. Every shadow in the winding walk,
every recess in the over-grown privet, hid a secret
enemy to him. He avoided passing near the ruined
summer-house for fear of the ambush that might be
within, and then, finding the hedges close in upon
the road, boldly took his beasts along the neglected
parterres until at last he reached the stables.
Here, near the open door he saw Malsain, tall and
thin, but muscular and strong as whipcord, sitting
down by the light of a guttering candle to a meagre
repast of bread and cheese, washed down with water for
Malsain never touched wine.
“An evil-looking man,”
Pierrebon thought, as he glanced at Malsain sitting
on a stool; and evil-looking indeed he was, with his
hawk’s face, thin cruel slit of a mouth, and
one wicked eye that glowed with the same sombre fire
as the fuse of his arquebus, which leaned against
the wall behind him. And then from the man himself
Pierrebon glanced at the hermit’s fare before
him. “St. Siege!” he groaned, “bread
and cheese and cold water with a dagger-thrust
to follow for digestion, perhaps.”
But now Malsain heard him, his hand
went out silently to the arquebus, and he turned a
yellow, threatening face towards the visitor.
“Hola!” exclaimed Pierrebon.
“It is I. I have brought monsieur’s
horses for a feed and a rest.”
“Ho! it is you.”
And Malsain, putting down his arquebus, returned to
his cheese again as he added: “There are
two stalls vacant there, and you will find oats in
that barrel.” He had not, of course, it
will be understood, received Trotto’s message
as yet.
Pierrebon entered without further
ceremony. There were already three horses in
the stables; but, as Malsain had said, there were still
two stalls vacant, and here he put the nags.
Whilst attending to them, however, he kept glancing
uneasily at the supper before Malsain, which was diminishing
at a frightful rate, for the thin man ate like a cormorant.
At last, unable to endure this more, he stopped rubbing
down the brown hackney, and, stepping up to the table,
took a seat on a stool opposite Malsain. Then,
drawing his dagger, he helped himself without further
ceremony to some cheese and bread, and glanced somewhat
ruefully into the jug of water.
“Diable!” grumbled
Malsain, “you are eating my supper.”
“Well,” and Pierrebon
looked at him, “am I not your guest, as my master
is your master’s?”
Malsain said nothing, but scowled
across the table at Pierrebon; and the latter, who
was as alert as a weasel when it came to the push,
went on: “But, compere, they feed
you thinly here and no wine!”
“I eat to my taste, and drink
to my taste,” growled Malsain; but Pierrebon,
not heeding his ill temper, continued:
“Now, with my master there is
always a bottle of Rochecorbon, and a cut from a pasty,
not to mention a crown-piece here and a crown-piece
there; and I wager that in the house yonder there is
something more than acid cheese and dry bread for
hunger, or spring water for thirst.”
“Be silent, fool! Take
what you can get, or leave it,” said Malsain
sullenly, his hand slipping down to his side; but Pierrebon
laughed cheerily as he cut another slice of cheese,
his two blue Burgundian eyes steadily fixed on Malsain’s
sallow face, and as they looked at each other there
came a heavy footfall outside, and Piero called out
in his deep voice:
“Malsain! Here! A word with you!”
Malsain rose slowly, and went outside,
and Pierrebon, following him with his glance, saw
Piero’s huge figure in the moonlight, and a chill
came upon him.
“By St. Hugo! ’tis the
ogre himself! And they consult together!”
he murmured, wishing himself a hundred miles away,
and he watched the twain moving off into the shadow,
straining his ears to catch a word if possible, but
at first he could hear nothing. Thus a minute
or so passed, whilst the evil pair outside stood in
the shadow of a copper beech whispering together.
If Pierrebon could but hear a word to guide him!
He dared not attempt to approach them, but was forced
to stay where he was. At last he caught something.
Malsain laughed out like a hyena: “I would
slit their throats for fifty, and throw the Vidame
into that ” But Piero roughly
bade him lower his voice, and the whispering continued.
Pierrebon heard no more. That
there was danger in the air he knew. He had
not forgotten my warning pressure on his arm as we
entered the gates of Le Jaquemart, and now his
worst fears were confirmed. For a moment his
heart sank, but for a moment only, for as he looked
around him his eyes fell on the arquebus, where it
leaned against the wall. The fuse was still alight.
There was no time to hesitate. Malsain was
already returning; and if it were to be war Pierrebon
thought he might as well begin, and strike the first
blow. Quick as thought he arose, and taking
up the arquebus moved off near the horses, and he was
blowing on the match to hearten the fire when Malsain
stepped in.
“Blood of a Jew! what are you
doing with the arquebus, fool? Put it down this
instant, or I slit your throat.” And Malsain,
his poniard in his hand, stood near the table, glaring
savagely at Pierrebon.
“Pardon!” said Pierrebon.
“I was but looking at it. ’Tis a
noble weapon. And one well suited to a soldier’s
hand.”
“It could kill too, I wager,”
said Pierrebon, laughing, as he raised the weapon,
and pointed it at Malsain, who went back the step he
had taken, saying, with an oath,
“It is loaded, fool! Put it down at once.”
“Hein! it is loaded.
It would kill, then, if I fired eh?”
And then, with a sudden change of voice and manner:
“Ah, bandit! move a step, utter the slightest
cry, and you are a dead man! Throw down your
poniard!”
Malsain looked at the barrel of the
arquebus. It was steady as a rock, and behind
the little black muzzle the match burned bravely; whilst
behind the match was a red face with two blue eyes
that looked as if they meant what their owner said.
Malsain let his dagger drop with a clash.
Pierrebon then advanced a couple of
paces nearer, still holding the arquebus at Malsain’s
breast.
“Now, my friend! Take
that bridle from the peg at your hand and fasten your
ankles together. What! you hesitate?”
Malsain hissed something between his
teeth, and snatched the bridle from the peg.
“Go on! A running knot lap
it well round, and finish off! There! That
is right! You are no novice, I see, mon vieux!”
Malsain made no answer, but stood
bolt upright before Pierrebon, his face grey, his
one eye bloodshot, his lips livid. It is true
that he had tied himself as loosely as possible, but
still he was terribly crippled; and from his soul
he regretted that he had not made a rush at Pierrebon,
and chanced his fortune; but now this was hopeless.
Worse, however, was to come, and it came at once.
“Now,” said Pierrebon,
“fasten your wrist to your ankle your
left wrist.”
“It is impossible,” said Malsain thickly.
“Then I shall blow your brains out when I have
counted three. One!”
Malsain looked about him with his red eye, and shuffled
uneasily.
“Two!”
Malsain swore again, a nameless oath.
“Th ”
Malsain stooped down with the rapidity
of lightning, and began fumbling with the yard or
so of trailing rein.
He tried to deceive Pierrebon; but
the candle gave enough light to see, and Pierrebon
was sharp. There was no help for it, and at last
it was done, badly done, but enough to utterly cripple
Malsain. The final order now came:
“Now lie down on your face.”
This was difficult; but there are
circumstances under which men do all but impossible
things, and Malsain performed the feat.
After this the worthy Pierrebon took
a more active part in the binding of Malsain.
Still holding the arquebus in one hand he unhitched
another bridle from its peg. Then, placing the
arquebus at his feet, he drew his dagger and
approached Malsain, upon whom he sat, and with a gentle
prick or so reminded him it was unsafe to struggle
or cry. He fastened up his free arm, and finished
off the work in an artistic manner. When it
was over Malsain was like a trussed fowl. Pierrebon
stepped back, and surveyed his work with the satisfaction
of one who knows that he has done well.
“Ah, I had forgotten!”
he exclaimed. Then he pulled from his pocket
a ’kerchief. A touch at Malsain’s
throat with his poniard was hint enough. Malsain
opened his mouth, and the handkerchief, rolled into
a ball, was thrust inside.
Pierrebon fumbled once more in his
pocket, and produced some stout twine. He gave
a little grunt of satisfaction as he lashed it around
Malsain’s jaws, and felt at last that victory
was his.
“It is complete eh, mon vieux?”
And so saying he dragged Malsain with
no tender hand across the pavement of the stable.
There was a black, vicious-looking cob in one of
the stalls. Pierrebon flung his victim on the
straw near the beast. “I should lie still,”
he said in warning; “the horse might kick.”
Then he saddled up again, calmly selecting
a third horse from the stable, from a stall where
he saw some ladies’ saddlery.
“This will do for mademoiselle,”
he muttered as he glanced around him with satisfaction;
“all is ready here. And now for the ogre.”
Taking up the arquebus he looked at the priming,
and made his way cautiously to the house.