A quick glance around showed me I
was alone. Turning back to the window I swung
the free end of the rope to La Marmotte.
She caught it, drew it in, and closed the window
over it as far as it would go. Through the slight
opening I saw for an instant the glow of the candle.
Then the rope tightened, and the light went out.
I crept softly to a door on my right, and standing
there listened intently. All was silence.
I tried the door; it opened, and I saw before me De
Mouchy’s study. His table, littered with
papers, was almost in the centre of the room.
Near the window was a large carved chest. The
walls were lined with books, and three or four bookcases,
filled with dust-laden volumes, projected at right
angles from them. In truth, it seemed as if
Dom Antoine owned a library that might rival that of
the Abbey of St. Victor.
I made up my mind to go a step farther
than La Marmotte’s suggestion, and as the chances
of discovery were equal whether I remained in the
outer room or here I decided to stay where I was.
Between the wall and one of the projecting bookshelves
there was space sufficient for a man to stand perfectly
concealed, unless anyone chose to come round the bookcase.
Here, then, I took up my position, trusting much to
luck, as one has to do in a desperate enterprise,
and relying on the chance that De Mouchy would never
suspect that anyone would dare to act as I was doing
in broad daylight, for it was not much beyond five
o’clock in the afternoon.
I had not long to wait. Presently
I heard a scratching at a door opposite to that by
which I had entered the room. There was a murmured
word or so, then the door opened, and Dom Antoine de
Mouchy stepped in, bearing in his arms an immense
black cat. Where the afternoon sunlight shone
warmly on the carved chest he placed the beast, stroking
its back once or twice, and then turned, and stood
for a moment facing his table.
As he stood there, in the black robes
and skull-cap of a doctor of the Sorbonne, I took
careful stock of him, for it was he who, years past,
had doomed me to a frightful death, and who had shared
with Simon and Diane de Poitiers the remains of my
property. He was past middle life, with a frame
yet strong and vigorous. Cruelty and avarice
had set their seals on his broad face. His cheek-bones
were high as those of a Tartar, and the small and
sunken eyes had a restless, savage look in them the
look of a tiger; and no tiger ever thirsted for blood
more ferociously than Dom Antoine de Mouchy, Doctor
of the Sorbonne, and President of the Chambre
Ardente, thirsted for the blood of his fellow-creatures.
Twice he glanced around him, and then
sitting at his table was soon busily employed in jotting
down something on his tablets. After a while
he stopped, and some thought moved him to silent laughter.
Leaning back he let his glance travel round the room,
and then arrested it once more on his tablets.
“Ha, ha!” he laughed out
loudly this time, “this is a rare dish of fried
fish! Prick up your ears, Titi!” And reaching
out a long arm he stroked the fur of the huge cat
that sat crouched on the coffer, an occasional shiver
running through its body. It was old, very old,
as I could see.
At De Mouchy’s voice and the
touch of his hand the creature rose slowly, turned
upon Dom Antoine a pair of green eyes from which the
sight had long since fled, and hissed like an angry
snake. De Mouchy laughed again as he went on:
“You agree eh?
Well, listen to the names Huguenots Christaudins Spawn
of Geneva whose bodies shall perish as
their souls, and whose goods shall come to the righteous that
is, to me, Titi.”
For a moment light seemed to come
back to those sightless eyes, and with a purr, as
if it understood, the great cat leaped lightly on to
the table and sat before De Mouchy, whilst the latter
put one finger on the tablets, and spoke again:
“Mon vieux! the poor
fisherman has netted some fine gold-fish this time.
No little sprats of tailors of the Rue St. Antoine
or out-at-heel scholars but fine, fat,
golden carp. The pity of it, Titi, that the
great ones of the land will take toll of this haul tithe
and fee; but there will be something left for you and
for me you understand?”
The cat snarled, as though it had
followed every word, and De Mouchy went on, carrying
out his terrible humour:
“Good! You cannot speak
nor see but you can hear, and so listen! First the
Church first always, Titi comes Odet de
Coligny, Cardinal de Chatillon, Bishop of Beauvais a
traitor a wolf who has stolen into the
fold of Christ with a hundred thousand livres
a year of income!” He paused, and looked at
the cat, with a snarl on his lips as evil as that
on those of his familiar.
“Secondly, the High Nobility Gaspard
de Coligny, High Admiral of France, the tallest poppy
in the garden of heresy, Titi.
“Thirdly, the Law in
the person of Maitre Anne du Bourg, an unjust judge;
but you and I will change his judgment seat for a felon’s
dock, and give him a garment of red flames for his
red robes of office.”
The cat mewed as De Mouchy went on:
“There are many more, my friend, and one in
special, against whom we dare not move as yet, for
he bears the lilies of France on his shield.
But let us on to the sweets, for we have dined well,
and need a toothsome morsel. If you could see,
mon vieux, and had set eyes on her, I should
have my doubts of you also, for she is as the fairy
light that draws the unwary into the Pit of Death.
Can you guess? No! Then I will tell you.
What think you of the Demoiselle de Paradis?
Yes! Hiss, hiss! Sus, sus! On
to the heretics, mon brave!”
And as the cat rose on its tottering
limbs, arched its back, and snarled, the man leaned
back snarling also, for the blood madness was on him,
and he was alone, and had let himself go utterly.
At this moment this strange scene
was interrupted by a sharp, imperious knock at the
door, and as De Mouchy, with a start, swung round his
chair and rose to his feet the door was pushed open
without further ceremony, and he saw before him the
beautiful but pitiless face of Diane de Poitiers,
and behind her stood Simon of Orrain.
As De Mouchy stepped forward to meet
his visitors with a cringing air, the cat, less of
a hypocrite than its master, retreated to the far end
of the table, and began to hiss like a boiling kettle.
“I did not expect you yet, madame,”
began De Mouchy; but Diane de Poitiers broke in upon
his speech:
“It does not matter; let us
to business. But away with that hideous cat
first!” And she pointed with her fan at Titi,
who stood glaring at her with his sightless eyes.
“He is a good adviser, madame,”
grinned De Mouchy; but she stamped her foot.
“It looks like a devil.
Away with it! else I shall ask Orrain to fling it
through the window.”
Simon smiled grimly, and stretched
out a long, thin arm; but with a sullen look on his
face De Mouchy lifted his pet in his arms, and, opening
the door of the adjoining room, thrust it therein,
shutting the door upon it. It was, indeed, a
lucky change of plan I had made. Had I been
behind that door discovery was certain.
The Duchess had seated herself in
De Mouchy’s chair, and coolly lifting up the
tablets ran her eyes over them. Simon flung himself
upon the coffer, his sword between his knees, and
began gnawing at his long moustache, whilst De Mouchy
stood between the two, his deep-set eyes shifting
from one to the other.
Suddenly Diane’s red lips curved into a smile.
“Eh bien, De Mouchy!
But you are building fine castles in Spain here!
See this, Orrain; he thinks to net Chatillon, the
Admiral, and the First Prince of the Blood!”
And she broke into merry laughter.
“And why not, madame?” scowled De
Mouchy.
Diane de Poitiers checked her laugh.
“For the simple reason that the house of Chatillon
has become wise over D’Andelot’s affair,
and will not set foot in Paris. As for Vendome,
he must be dealt with differently.” And
her dark eyes flashed ominously.
“Put the tablets aside for the
present,” Simon cut in, “and let us not
argue. We each form an angle of a triangle, and
the triangle will be nothing at all if one of the
angles is taken away. Let us discuss measures;
we will take the names after. How did my proposal
go at the council to-day?”
“Approved,” said De Mouchy.
“And the Chambre Ardente can
act whenever the said court thinks fit.”
“That is, when you, as president, think fit?”
“Precisely, Monsieur lé Vidame.”
“This, however, is not enough,”
Simon went on. “Another little suggestion
of mine, the suspension of the edicts, made, possibly,
by madame’s merciful intercession with the King,
has borne good fruit, and Paris is full of heretics.
But I presume that it is neither their bodies nor
their souls that we desire.” And he looked
at his two companions.
De Mouchy preserved a scowling silence,
but with a flush on her face the Duchess said:
“I do not follow you, monsieur.
We are good Christians, and we work for Holy Church.”
Simon leaned back, his knee between
his clasped hands, and laughed a bitter, mocking laugh.
“Eternal Blue! For Holy
Church! Ha, ha, ha! Ho, ho, ho! Madame,
those sweet lips of yours drop pearls of wisdom.”
And he rocked to and fro.
Deeper grew the crimson on the Duchess’
cheek, and she opened and shut her fan with an angry
snap. She tried to say something; but her words
died away in a stammer, and her eyes drooped before
Simon’s cold and mocking look.
“Come,” said he, the master-vampire,
“let us leave this talk of Holy Church for the
salons and the council. We three know what we
want, and to get it we need a grant from the King,
giving in equal shares all the properties and goods
of condemned heretics in Paris, which by law are escheat
to the Crown, to madame here, the crescent moon
of France; to you, most righteous judge; and to me,
Simon, Vidame d’Orrain. This
done, we can begin to play.”
“Excellent!” And De Mouchy
rubbed his hands together. “I will light
a fire on every square and on the parvis of every
church in Paris, and the smell of the burning will
be as incense to the holy saints.”
Diane, however, remained silent, her
face still flushed, and a rebellious light in her
sullen eyes, which refused to meet Simon’s look;
and after a moment he went on:
“To obtain this, madame,
we look to you. After last night I feel sure
his Majesty can refuse you nothing.”
His words stung her into speech.
“It is absurd,” she burst out, “equal
shares! Monsieur, am I to be sucked dry by your
exactions? Never! If I get the grant it
will be for myself, and you and De Mouchy will be
paid as heretofore. So much and no more; and
if you like it not there are others who will do my
bidding.” She rose from her seat in magnificent
anger, an evil, beautiful thing, and De Mouchy shrank
from her look. Not so Simon. With an angry
growl he reached forward and caught her wrist.
“Have you forgotten what there
is between us?” he asked. She made no
answer, and strove to free herself silently; but Simon’s
grip was firm, and there was a terrible meaning in
his glance as he forced her back into her seat.
“Have you forgotten?” he asked again,
“or shall I call it from the house-tops to remind
you? Fool! Do you not know there are a
hundred as fair as you ready to supplant you?
One whisper of the past, one whisper of the present ay,
the present I have but to breathe De Ganache’s
name.”
“Enough!” she gasped,
and Simon loosed his hold, and she sat for a moment,
her face buried in her hands.
“Come, Diane,” and Simon
changed his tone, “you have too many enemies
at your gate to quarrel with old friends. We
need you and you need us.”
She put her hands down, her face now
as white as marble, all the cruel lines of her features
accentuated, and her eyes were those of a cowed tigress.
Never will I forget the scene. In this wicked
woman’s heart there was not a regret, not a
thought of the innocent blood she was planning to
shed. It was defeated avarice, pride wounded
to the quick, that struggled in her look, and made
her, all beautiful as she was, for the moment hideous.
“Get her some wine,” said
Simon shortly to De Mouchy “and get
it yourself.”
De Mouchy rose and left the room,
and the two were alone together.
“Listen, Diane!” said
Simon. “You stand on the edge of a precipice.
It is said that the King has spoken of nothing this
morning but the beauty of Mademoiselle de Paradis.”
She gasped; and he went on:
“I see you understand.
Well, unless you agree to my terms mademoiselle is
secure from harm; and I think you will find Anet a
dull retreat.”
There was a little snapping sound,
and she had broken her fan, and flung it from her
on to the table. At this moment De Mouchy returned,
bringing with him some wine and glasses. One
he filled and handed to Diane, who drank it without
a word, and then sat staring in front of her.
“I think,” said Simon,
“that madame now agrees to our proposal.
Is it not so?’
“Yes,” she said in a low
voice, “I agree,” but her eyes were kept
down to hide their expression.
“That, then, is settled.
And remember, madame, that we cannot take action
until we have the King’s grant in writing.
De Mouchy here will see that it is properly registered
in the Chambre and remember it must
be within a week, or ” And
he bent forward and whispered something in her ear.
“It shall be as you desire, Monsieur lé
Vidame.”
“In that case,” said Simon,
filling himself a glass, “I drink to the health
of the Great Enterprise. To the unending radiance
of the crescent moon, to your new estate of Chateaux
Vieux de Mouchy, and to Simon, Duc d’Orrain!”
With this he drank, and set the glass
back on the table with a little click.
There was a silence, and then Diane rose.
“There is nothing further to discuss, I think?”
she said.
“No,” replied Simon; “except
that Dom Antoine here would like to register a certain
grant within a week.”
She made no answer; but, preceded
by De Mouchy and followed by Simon, moved to the door,
and all three left the room together. The stars
had been with me, and two minutes later I stood beside
La Marmotte.
“Well?” she asked.
“There is no time to talk.
If we could but get back that rope it would remove
all suspicion.”
She hesitated, and then: “Perhaps with
your sword.”
“Excellent!” And, drawing
my sword, which I had slung on once more, I leaned
forth from the window, and found that the point easily
reached the hook. It needed but a turn of the
wrist to free the rope, which, a moment after, was
drawn in safely.
“And now,” I said, “let
us be off. If you are wise you will never set
foot here again.”
She laughed sadly, and we went out
together into the lonely Passage of Pity. It
was growing dark now, and threading our way through
the labyrinth of streets we reached the river face.
Here La Marmotte stopped, and abruptly
wished me farewell; but I stayed her, thanking her
from my heart for her good deed, and ventured, with
the utmost diffidence, to say that if she were in
need of a friend she could count on me. She
understood.
“Nay, monsieur,” she said,
“for me there is but one way, and that is to
follow the light that has come to me. We will
never meet again; and, perhaps, what I have done to-day
may be some recompense for the past. Farewell!”
Thus we parted; and from that day
I never saw or heard of her again. I may mention
that when things changed with me I made every effort
to discover her, but without avail; and, when, some
time after, Torquato Trotto paid the penalty of his
crimes, he asserted, even under the rack, that he
knew nothing of her, and that she had fled from him.
This I believe to be truth, and can only hope that
the poor, storm-tossed life found a haven of refuge
at last.