So the rubber between De Ganache
and myself had begun, and although I had been the
means of saving his life this morning I was determined
to put it to the last issue rather than see myself
defeated in this matter by him.
Mademoiselle would at any rate find
that if I were a gaoler I was one who looked well
after his charge. So I gave instructions to Pierrebon
to take my place in the room, and on no account to
stir forth unless I called him. I further added
that if anyone came to the door he should pretend
to be sleeping heavily. With this I took my drawn
sword in my hand and stepped softly into the passage.
On reaching the room where we had supped I found
it apparently deserted, the only light being from
a lantern which burnt dimly on the dining-table.
The shadow of the stairway leading above fell athwart
the room, and as I looked cautiously around the clock
in the hall beyond struck eleven. I waited patiently
for any sign of movement or life; but there was none.
Satisfied at last that I was alone I stepped forward,
and made my way quickly but noiselessly to the stair.
Beneath this there was room enough to stand, and
hidden by the darkness, the overhanging stair, and
the angle of the wall I was perfectly concealed.
Here I determined to watch, through the night if
need be. The discovery that this stairway was
the only passage from above strengthened my position
greatly, for unless mademoiselle were possessed of
wings, and it had not come to that as yet, she would
have to pass this way, and then I hoped to be able
to persuade her how rash and useless her attempt was.
The minutes dragged on like hours,
as they always do in affairs of this nature.
I chafed at the restraint of my position, and had
no intention of acting the eavesdropper longer than
I could help it, but for the moment I was forced to
lie in ambush. All was quiet and still, so still
that some mice came out, and sought for such crumbs
as they could find on the floor around the dining-table.
Suddenly there came the sound of footsteps along
the passage. In a flash the mice had vanished,
and two men entered the room. They were the landlord
and De Ganache, the latter booted and spurred
and wearing the hat that was lent to him, or rather
given to him, this morning. He sat down on a
chair at the dining-table, and placed his hat beside
him, running his fingers through the red plumes.
“Eh bien,” he said,
with a laugh, “Monsieur there sleeps soundly.
It will be a great awakening in the morning.
I should not advise you to be here, Pechaud.”
And with this he turned up the lantern, so that the
light fell more strongly on his clear-cut face and
blue eyes. He was a handsome man, and one well
formed to win a woman’s heart; but with all
this there were the marks of a weak and irresolute
nature on his countenance, and as I looked I thought
to myself that here was one who, if he fell, would
fall utterly.
Pechaud the landlord, who stood respectfully
near De Ganache, laughed too as he heard the
Vicomte’s words.
“I shall be careful, monsieur,”
he said. “My only fear is that they will
find it so difficult to follow that they may stay here
indefinitely.”
“The trooper is a knave for
all that, and deserves to hang; but it was well conceived the
cutting of the saddlery.” And then they
both laughed again. I had a mind to join in
their humour, and it was hard to refrain from chuckling
a little on my own account.
“’Tis a pity you could not get mademoiselle’s
horse.”
“It was impossible, monsieur;
but you will find mine carry her as well, and it is
even now ready.
“Well; it does not much matter.”
And rising De Ganache opened the window and
looked forth.
“It is a night of stars,”
he said, “and dark. Lord! if we but had
a moon!”
“Monsieur will find the guide lead you well.”
“I want no guide on my own lands,
Pechaud. Night and day are one to me when I
ride across them. But this guide: who is
he?”
“I myself, monsieur.”
“You! And yet, perhaps,
’tis as well; but I fear me, old friend, that
the sky will be red behind us with the flames of this
good inn; they will not forego that revenge.”
“Let it be so, monsieur.
My ancestors have followed yours for two centuries,
and taken the good with the bad and I am
as they are; you know this.”
De Ganache looked at him, and
as I heard this faithful retainer’s words I
began to understand the force that my opponent had
on his side. After a moment’s pause Pechaud
continued:
“But, monsieur, a word from
an old man. How long is this to last? Why
are you not at the King’s side, as your forefathers
ever were? Make your peace with the Court, as
Monsieur d’Andelot and the Admiral have done ”
“Enough, Pechaud! Perhaps
I will take your advice, and that soon; but for the
present I must pull my sword-belt in by a hole, and
see that my saddlery at any rate is right. As
for this Monsieur Broussel, he told mademoiselle that
he knew me, but I have never set eyes on him that I
know. What manner of man is he?”
“Monsieur, we have just heard him as he slept.”
De Ganache shrugged his shoulders and glanced
up at the clock.
“It is time,” he said. “Warn
mademoiselle.”
Pechaud turned; but even as he did
so there was a light step on the stairs, and mademoiselle
came down dressed for travelling, and holding her
riding-whip in her hand. As she passed she glanced
swiftly in my direction, and for the moment I thought
I was discovered; but the shadow was impenetrable,
and she went on. De Ganache rose to
receive her, holding out his hand. I noticed
that she barely touched it, as she asked quickly:
“Is all ready?”
“Everything, Diane.” And I winced
at the familiar address.
“De Ganache,” she
said, “I had your word for it that no harm should
befall Monsieur Broussel. He risked his life
for me, and I owe it to him that I stand here alive;
what have you done with him?”
De Ganache smiled. “Even
if he had not acted as he has, if he were my bitter
foe, your word would have been law to me. Monsieur
Broussel is alive and well. If we had time I
would take you down the passage and show him to you sleeping
the sleep of the just.”
“Forgive me! I know not
what it is. I am haunted by all sorts of fears ”
“Then fear no more,” he
said gently, trying to take her hand, but she withdrew
it from him. And then he dropped his arm, and
went on: “By to-morrow evening you will
be with friends, and, perhaps, you will learn by then
that there are others ready and willing to die for
you if need be.”
“Gaston!” she said; and
now it was she held out her hand, and he bent respectfully
over it as he touched it with his lips.
To tell truth, I was suffering more
torture than if I had been run through, for in Diane’s
last word I felt all my hopes vanish, I was taken
off my cross, however, by the necessity for action,
for Pechaud, who had discreetly retired at mademoiselle’s
entrance, now returned, and announced that the horses
were ready.
“Come!” said De Ganache,
and as he said so I stepped out and faced them.
It was a bolt from the blue. Mademoiselle shrank
back with a little startled cry. Pechaud stood
as one petrified, his jaws agape, and his old hands
trembling, whilst De Ganache put himself between
me and mademoiselle, his hand on the hilt of his sword.
“Stand back!” he said hotly. “Back!”
And as hot an answer trembled on my tongue, but I
held myself in.
“Monsieur, you do not seem to
know me. Shall I remind you of this morning?”
At my words it was he who went back;
his hand left his sword-hilt, and he stood staring
at me.
“You!” he stammered.
“I did not recognise I I
did not know ”
“Enough, monsieur! I forgive
you the ill turn you were about to play me.
Perhaps, were I in your case, I would do the same ”
“If so, then my course is clear.
In any other thing I would yield to you, but not
in this.”
“Listen. Your plan was
well laid; but my men are not traitors, and I I
have not slept. Monsieur de Ganache, I have
but to raise my voice, and there will be three to
one against you ”
“I care not,” he answered
furiously, and his sword flashed in his hand, but
in a moment Diane was between us.
“De Ganache! Monsieur
Broussel! Put back your swords, I implore you!”
And with this she clung to De Ganache’s
arm. He paled to the lips as he tried to free
himself.
“Diane, ’tis our only way! Keep
back, Diane!”
But for answer she clung all the more
to him, and it seemed as if she were covering him
from my sword, as she cried out again: “No,
no! It is too terrible! I will not have
it! It must not be!”
I looked from one to another, a hundred
emotions tearing at my heart. I had seen enough
to understand how these two stood to one another,
and, utterly miserable at heart, I gave way.
A sudden impulse, that carried me as like a wave,
seized me, and I burst out:
“Monsieur de Ganache, let
it be for Mademoiselle de Paradis to decide between
us. I give you my word I will abide by her choice.”
Diane let her hand fall from De Ganache’s
arm and turned to me in astonishment. And De
Ganache stared at me with wide-open eyes, and
asked slowly, dropping his words out:
“You say this? you pledge your word?”
“I have said so. I undertook
to take mademoiselle to Paris, and to see her in safety
there, at the cost of my life if need be. I have
since learned that which makes it impossible for me
to do this unless mademoiselle comes with me of her
own free will. I leave her to make her choice.”
“Then, Diane, come!”
And De Ganache turned towards her, a hand outstretched.
I stepped aside to leave the way free, but to my
surprise mademoiselle made no answer, but stood in
wavering hesitation, now looking at one and then at
the other of us. Once more De Ganache began
to urge her, stepping quite close up and speaking in
low but quick and earnest tones.
“Diane, the very stars are with
us! What is there that makes you hesitate?
By to-morrow evening we will be with our own people,
and henceforth I will always be by your side to defend
you.”
She stopped him with an impatient
gesture of her hand. Even where she stood in
the half light I saw the red rush to her cheeks at
his last words; and then she asked:
“Monsieur Broussel, I too have
been learning, or rather guessing, at some things
since I came down here. Is it you that Monsieur
lé Vicomte has to thank for his life?”
I did not answer; but De Ganache
began to speak as one defending himself:
“I do thank him; but when I
told you of this I did not know Monsieur Broussel’s
name, Diane.”
“All this does not concern the
matter,” I cut in. “What mademoiselle
has to decide is whether she will go on to Paris or
not. Which shall it be?” And I faced
her.
A little silence, and her eyes refused
to meet mine. Then she said faintly: “I I
do not know.”
All depended on a single turn, but
it was De Ganache himself who threw his cards
away. Stepping up to mademoiselle he put his
arm through hers, and with an air of command, almost
proprietorship, he said:
“Come, Diane, we waste time
here, and we have far to go. I shall give Monsieur
Broussel his thanks another day.”
She looked up at him such
a look! and withdrew her arm.
“Monsieur de Ganache,”
she said, “you take too much on yourself.
I have decided, and I shall go to Paris.”
De Ganache looked at her and
laughed bitterly. Then he broke forth into weak
reviling at womankind. She let him run on, and
at last he asked:
“And after all I have done and
risked this this is your answer?”
“My answer to everything,
monsieur.” And with this she turned from
him, and passing me went up the stair, back to her
apartments.
I was standing a little apart, leaning
on my sword, hardly able to believe my ears, and wondering
at the ways of womankind. De Ganache had
taken up his hat, and was nervously tearing at the
plume, his lips moving with unspoken words.
All at once he turned to me, and his voice was hoarse
with passion:
“Monsieur, you have won.
I set this against this morning. And we are
quits. Quits, you understand?”
I bowed, but made no answer.
The man was beside himself, and the slightest word
would have led to his drawing on me, and for mademoiselle’s
sake I held myself in.
“Pechaud!” he went on, “my horse.”
And crushing his hat on his head he
passed me without another word and went to the door.
Pechaud followed him, and began to urge something,
but was silenced with a rough word. Then he called
for a light. Pechaud came running back for the
lantern, and through the open door, as the light flickered
on him, I saw De Ganache mount. Once he
glanced back at me. He could see nothing, for
I was in darkness, but the light which fell on his
features showed him pale as ashes. The horse
backed a little. He drove his spurs in with an
oath, and then I heard him hammering through the night,
going God knows whither. Beat beat beat the
iron-shod hoofs rushed through the village, and the
dogs awoke, and barked, barked and howled, long after
he had passed on his reckless course.
I waited a little, and then called
to Pechaud. He came back slowly, and set his
lantern with a trembling hand on the table. For
the rest of the night we were in safety that
I knew.
“It grows late, Maitre Pechaud,”
I said, “and I need rest.” And so
I left him.