As the curtains fell behind the King
all the soft lights left La Valentinois’ eyes,
and they shone like blue-black steel. She glanced
at us, an odd triumph in her look. So intensely
an actress was she that it almost seemed, and perhaps
it was so, that she was looking at us for some sign,
some token of admiration at the skill with which she
had played her game, but both De Lorgnac and myself
remained impassive as stone.
“Here,” she said at last,
“here is my part of the bargain.”
And, handing me the paper, she continued: “I
presume it is correct?” Eagerly I ran my eyes
over it, De Lorgnac bending over my shoulder and reading
with me. It was correct in every particular,
signed by the King, and sealed by Bertrandi.
As I folded the pardon up, with an inward prayer
of thanks to God, La Valentinois asked again:
“It is correct, is it not?”
“Perfectly, madame.”
“Now for your, or rather the
Queen’s share, of this business. Give me
my letters!”
I looked her straight in the face.
“Pardon me, madame, Mademoiselle de Paradis
is not yet free ”
“What do you mean? You
quibble with words, monsieur.” Her lips
were trembling, and her hands clenched; but, bowing
coldly, I said:
“No, madame, I do
not quibble with words. Your letters are in Paris,
and will be given to you only when Mademoiselle de
Paradis is placed, unharmed and free, in her Majesty’s
hands. That is the bargain, as you call it,
and it will be kept to the letter.” With
this I placed the precious document in my breast pocket,
and, making a sign to De Lorgnac, turned to go; but
with a cry La Valentinois sprang to her feet.
“You lie!” she said shrilly;
“you lie! Give me my letters, or ”
And words failed her for once as she stood there, with
such fear and baffled hate in her look as I have never
seen in human eyes.
“No, madame,”
I said, “I do not lie, and threats are useless.
If this pardon is recalled,” and I touched
my breast pocket, “the consequences rest with
you and you know what they will be.”
“There is no need for alarm,”
put in De Lorgnac. “I pledge my word to
deliver you the letters as soon as the conditions are
complete.”
She glanced from the one to the other
of us, and set her white teeth.
“To be beaten!” she gasped
rather than spoke. “To be beaten! and
by that Italian woman!”
“Look you, madame!”
I said sternly, for doubts were crowding thick and
fast upon me. “If you have played false if
there is any treachery or trickery here it
is ruin to you, and no power in France can save you.”
She gave me a single, livid glance,
and then her courage broke, and burying her face in
her hands she stood shaking like an aspen.
De Lorgnac and I looked at each other,
the same thought with us, and then on a sudden the
wretched woman made a step forward and clutched me
by the arm, her face like death, her breath coming
thick and fast.
“It is not my fault,”
she gasped, “but he the Vidame.
Messieurs, if Mademoiselle de Paradis is to be saved,
if I am to be saved, you must be in Paris ere the
sun sets.”
“You mean?” I said hoarsely.
“I mean that mademoiselle will
die if the Vidame reaches Paris, and I shall
be lost!” And with this she flung herself back
in her chair, and began rocking herself backwards
and forwards like a thing distraught, muttering to
herself: “I shall be lost! I shall
be lost!”
Her devilish cunning had overreached
itself, and she sat there a pitiable object, with
the ruin she had herself caused around her. I
gave her one look, and turned to De Lorgnac.
“There is just time. We may just do it.
Come!”
And leaving the miserable woman with her sin we hurried
from the room.
I will not stop to tell, indeed I
never knew, how we pushed through the crowds in the
waiting-rooms and gained the outer courts; but ten
minutes later De Lorgnac and I, with Pierrebon at our
heels, were galloping on the Paris road, hoping almost
against hope, for Simon had nearly two hours’
start of us, and our horses had been ridden far and
fast. Nevertheless, the stout heart of Lizette
never flinched, and Cartouche, De Lorgnac’s
great grey, raced bravely by her side. We rode
in silence, exchanging no speech, though now and again
we uttered a word of encouragement to our horses.
Crossing the bridge of Melun Pierrebon’s nag
failed him, and we lost him for the time. At
the little village of Cesson we drew rein to breathe
our horses, and here we had news of Simon. He
had passed about an hour ago, riding easily in the
direction of Lieusaint, and keeping to the high road.
At last we were off once more, and leaving the plain
of La Brie entered the hilly country that sloped downwards
to the valley of the Yeres, and on pulling up for
a moment on the crest of a hill that lay to the northwest
of Lieusaint we got a glimpse of Simon. It was
De Lorgnac who saw him first.
“There!” he said, pointing
before him into the valley. And craning forward
I looked too, and saw far in the distance a white speck a
mere speck moving rapidly on the cross
road to Montgeron, and then we lost him behind a line
of trees.
“He is cutting off the angle!”
I exclaimed. “Quick!” And I put
Lizette down the slope; but De Lorgnac called out after
me: “He is lost if he does that he
will meet the marsh of Brunoy, and must come back keep
to the road!”
And, ding, dong, we galloped on the
white track, white with dust ourselves, our gallant
horses kept up by their own matchless courage, and
by that alone.
“He must turn back from the
marsh, and we get him at Villaneuve,” shouted
De Lorgnac to me as we hammered along, pointing as
he spoke to the wooded height that rose to our front
above the willow-fringed Yeres. But he little
knew Simon of Orrain. I made no reply; and leaning
forward in the saddle stroked the foam-wet neck that
reached out before me, and felt Lizette answer to
my touch, as though she knew that life and death lay
in her speed.
As we raced on I watched the plain
to our left, where Simon had vanished, with hot eyes
that reached everywhere eyes that missed
nothing. But he was not to be seen, and hope
began to spring up within me that we had beaten him.
I shook up the reins, and urged Lizette on faster;
but the brave heart was doing her best.
It was impossible that this could
last, and as we galloped into Montgeron I felt Lizette
falter under me, and an oath broke from De Lorgnac,
for Cartouche had lost a shoe.
“We must get fresh horses here
at any cost,” I said as we pulled up at the
door of a small auberge, the only inn the village
possessed; but the wealth of Croesus would have been
useless here, for other horses were not procurable.
And so, whilst Cartouche was being shod, we off-saddled,
giving the horses a drink of milk, and getting them
rubbed down hastily. Whilst this was going on
we stood, moody and dejected, surrounded by a group
of yokels, the keeper of the auberge fussing near
us. After a time, more to ease my impatience
than aught else, I inquired if anyone had seen a man,
mounted on a white horse, pass this way, and offered
five crowns for the information. The landlord
shook his head ruefully, for five crowns were five
crowns; but a rough-looking fellow, apparently a fowler,
stepped out of the group around us and claimed the
reward.
“Ay,” he said; “I
have seen and spoken with him. He was dressed
in hunting green, and crossed the marsh a half-hour
ago.”
“But there is no way!”
“So he thought too; and it cost
him five crowns to find it, for I showed it to him.
He is beyond Villaneuve now; but his horse is worn,
and, monsieur,” he went on with a grin, “I
will take those five crowns from you. St. Siege!
But this is the red day of my life!”
I paid him in silence, and Cartouche
being reshod by this we pressed forward once more;
but hope had almost gone from me, and De Lorgnac’s
set face was more expressive than any words.
It was well on in the afternoon when we saw the houses
of Charenton, and but a league and a half before us
lay Paris, silhouetted in purple and grey against the
sky. We were trotting round the elbow of the
wood that fringed the banks of the Maren when we came
suddenly on our man. He was seated on the wall
of the bridge, holding the reins of his horse in his
hands; and he saw us too, for we were scarce a hundred
paces off. He was away like a flash, looking
but once behind him as he drove his spurs home, and
raced for Paris.
De Lorgnac gave a great cry, and neck
and neck we followed him. If ever man knew his
peril, Simon did. Against one he would have fought
like a wolf; but against two the odds were hopeless,
and with the rage of a wolf in his heart he fled,
taking to the country away from the road in the hope
of shaking us off.
As for me, I felt the hot blood throbbing
in my temples, and all seemed dark around me, except
there where that bowed figure on the white horse raced
in front, carrying death in his hands, death for her
who was to me more than life. Lizette seemed
to know it too, and stretched beneath me like a greyhound;
but I heard the sobbing breath that told me of a beaten
horse. Foot by foot De Lorgnac drew from me,
the great grey going like a stag; but still Simon
held the front, and we gained not a yard on him.
Already we could see the Porte St. Michel lying open
before us; and now Simon looked back once more, and
pointed at the gate, laughing in triumph as he did
so. It was then that my gallant Lizette made
a supreme effort. It seemed as if in two strides
she had caught up the grey and passed him; only to
falter as she did so; then there was a long stagger,
and down she came.
By God’s providence I was able
to regain my feet almost as I fell. De Lorgnac
had pulled up beside me; but pointing to Simon, who
had now passed the gate, I called out: “Follow
him; do not lose sight of him!”
With a nod he galloped on, and casting
one look to the side of the road where all that remained
of my brave Lizette lay, I hurried after the two.
The gates were not two hundred paces
from me; and, sword in hand, as I ran towards them
someone came trotting up to me. I thought he
was riding at me, and had all but slashed his mount
across the face, when he pulled up, and I saw it was
Le Brusquet on his mule.
“Hold!” he cried; “it
is I. He cannot escape. De Lorgnac is on his
heels, and I have set the mob after him with a hue
and cry.” With this he jumped from his
mule and hastened on by my side, the mule trotting
after us.
I made no answer, said nothing, until
we reached the gates, where an excited crowd had collected,
and then I asked: “Which way?”
“Do you not hear them shouting?”
And Le Brusquet pointed to a crowd running up the
Rue de la Harpe. “Come!” And side
by side we ran on. Panting as he ran by me, Le
Brusquet gasped out: “Mademoiselle is confined
in De Mouchy’s house. It is there the Vidame
must go for safety with this mob at his
heels. Hark! Hear them!”
And shrill and high we heard the cries,
“Assassin! Assassin! Tue! Tue!”
Le Brusquet chuckled. “It
was a happy thought to set the mob on him, and a happier
thought still to pass my day at the gate.”
Still I made no answer, but ran on with my teeth
set. The mob swung round by the Mathurins, and,
forcing my way round the corner of the road, I saw
they were led by a madman, shouting, yelling, and
muttering fearful imprecations.
Using all my strength I headed the
mob at last, only to find the madman by my side.
He glared at me for an instant, and then screamed
out:
“You too! You too, friend!
Then we shall both see him die.” And
bursting into a horrid laugh he clawed at me with his
hands. I thrust him back, and it was only in
doing so that the light of a sudden recognition came
to me. The miserable, frenzied being was none
other than De Ganache. God help him!
With another look of pity and horror
I ran on; but fast as I went he kept by me, and side
by side we two led the crowd that howled after us
in pitiless rage.
We could see nothing of either Simon
or De Lorgnac; but we did not want for guides.
A hundred fingers pointed out their course at every
street corner, and at last a white horse, riderless,
and the reins trailing loosely, came galloping out
of a by-street; and a roar went up:
“He is down! he is down! In the Passage
of Pity!”
With a yell the madman flashed past
me, and hot foot on his heels we crowded into the
narrow street; but, save for a big grey horse standing,
with hanging head and heaving flanks, near the dark
archway at the head of the passage, it was empty.
A howl of disappointment rose behind me, and the
mob halted and swayed irresolutely; but I felt that
the end was come, and ran on. Followed by Le
Brusquet I passed the archway, and there in the dark,
vaulted passage, with his back to the door of De Mouchy’s
house, stood Simon of Orrain, at bay at last!
De Lorgnac had been too quick for him, and had forced
him to fight at the very entrance of his lair.
Covered with the dust of his reckless ride, his gay
hunting dress torn and soiled, bareheaded, and with
the blood streaming from a wound in his face, where
De Lorgnac had touched him, Simon stood, despair and
hate in his look. Yet he fought fiercely for
his life; but he had met his equal with the sword,
and, doing his worst, could but hold on the defence
and no more. He saw us as we came. He
saw too the hundred faces of the mob the
mob he had once himself led to a deed of shame glaring,
shouting, and yelling at him through the open archway,
though not one dared to pass the entrance. Escape
was hopeless, and his pale face grew paler still, as
with an oath he wiped the blood from his lips with
the back of his hand, and screamed out to De Lorgnac:
“Stand aside, man! I have
no quarrel with you! Stand back, or ”
But the thrust he made was parried with a wrist as
sure as his own, and it was only his own rare skill
of fence that saved him from the riposte.
After all, he was blood of my blood,
and it was not my hand that should slay him.
The thought came to me sudden and insistent, as I
put my blade beside that of De Lorgnac, and covering
him with my point, saw the grey despair in his eyes.
“Simon,” I called out,
“put down your sword. I promise your life!”
He spat at me in his fury, the fury
of a beast, and I was a lost man if De Lorgnac had
not stayed his hand.
“God!” he burst out, “if there were
only you!”
At my look a glance that
almost cost me my life De Lorgnac stepped
back, lowering his point, and our swords crossed.
Again parrying a thrust, I once more offered Simon
his life, only to meet with the same refusal.
There was no help for it! A life stood on the
issue, to which his was nothing to me, and setting
my teeth I made at him. The fury of my attack
almost lost me the game, and I heard Le Brusquet’s
low warning:
“Have a care. Remember!”
Suddenly Simon, who had gained a slight
advantage, called out: “I accept.
I have lost.” And he half raised his blade.
I gave back, lowering my point as I did so, and at
that moment the door opened, and with a laugh Simon
sprang back, and vanished from our sight.
So quick, so instant was his retreat,
that for a second I hardly realised it. But
someone else had. All unnoticed by us De Ganache
had been crouching in the shadow of the vaulted passage
watching the struggle and gibbering to himself the
only one of the mob who had dared to venture so far.
Perhaps he had been waiting for his chance against
the man who had destroyed his life, and had chosen
the very moment of Simon’s flight for his revenge.
Who knows? But as Simon slipped back he sprang
forward, something shining in his hand, and flung
himself desperately against the door ere it could be
closed. The moment’s delay he caused was
our chance, and rushing forward we too added our weight
to that of the maniac.
In an instant the door gave way, and
we dashed in, the madman first, striking to the right
and left of him with a poniard. It is difficult,
almost impossible, to describe what followed.
All that I know is that I stumbled over someone who
had fallen, and as I rose to my feet I caught a glimpse
of De Mouchy flying up the stair, Le Brusquet at his
heels, and realised at the same instant that Simon
was on me, death in his eyes.
Nothing could have saved me then,
but that a stronger hand than that of man was stretched
forth to claim its own vengeance. As Simon’s
arm was lifted the figure over which I had fallen
raised itself to its knees and, clasping the Vidame
round the waist, buried a knife in his side.
With a fearful cry Simon shortened
his sword and stabbed back in his turn; but De Ganache,
for it was he, uttered no sound, and with a last effort,
rising to his feet, struck Simon once more, this time
to the heart. And they both fell sideways, the
madman’s hand still clenching the haft of the
poniard in his death-grip.
It was over in a hand-turn, and the
two who had died so terribly together had taken their
quarrel with them to the last judgment seat.
Simon’s face I could not see; but as I bent over
the two I saw in the glazing eyes of De Ganache
the light of an unutterable hate a hate
that, mayhap, was carried beyond the grave.
“Orrain! Orrain!”
Twice the cry rang out Le
Brusquet’s voice and pushing my way
past the mob that had already swarmed in and begun
to sack and pillage I ran up the stair. At the
head stood Le Brusquet, and huddled in a corner near
a door was De Mouchy, with a white, fear-stricken face
and chattering teeth, and De Lorgnac’s sword
at his heart.
Numbers had followed me, and at the
sight of De Mouchy a roar went forth that was taken
up by those below.
“Give us the judge! Give us De Mouchy!”
Let it be remembered, that amongst
those who cried for him to be thrown to them were
many who had suffered, or seen their dearest suffer,
hideous torture at his hands. Revenge, and such
revenge as this, was never dreamed of, never hoped
for by them, and now that chance had placed it within
their reach they were almost mad for it. Shouting,
struggling, and raging they crowded the stair.
A moment more, and De Mouchy was lost; but it was
then that Le Brusquet stayed them with a jest, a grim
jest that tickled their fancy, and arrested their
outstretched hands for a yet sweeter vengeance.
“A moment, my children!”
he called out, barring the way at the head of the
stair; “one moment! We have a little business
with monsieur here, and after that you can make this
house another Chambre Ardente if you will.”
They laughed and cheered him in their
fickle mood, and as De Mouchy heard too some choking
words escaped from his blue lips, and he made a forward
movement, but at the sight of me he shrank back again,
terror and despair on his face, and, grovelling on
the floor, wept for his life.
This fiend, who had never shown mercy,
now that his own time was come, pleaded abjectly,
pleaded with tears and miserable cries for the life
he had forfeited ten times over, and each frenzied
appeal he made was answered with mocking laughter
by those who, crowded on the stair, were waiting with
patience, deadly patience, for the time when he would
be their very own.
I raised him to his feet, and in a
few quick words asked him for mademoiselle.
He could not speak, but pointed to the door at his
side. It was closed, not locked, and, pushing
it open, I dragged him through after me. A cry
of anger rose from those on the stair, who feared
their prey would escape, and, despite Le Brusquet’s
appeals, they were no longer to be restrained.
With a rush they bore back both Le Brusquet and De
Lorgnac, but keeping themselves between me and the
foremost of those who followed us, with alternate threats
and appeals, my brave friends enabled me to make headway.
Down we went, along a narrow passage, at one end
of which was a door.
“There!” gasped De Mouchy. “Quick!”
Twice I put my shoulder to it, but
in vain; and De Mouchy shrieked with terror, for the
mob was scarce ten feet from us, filling the passage.
But still De Lorgnac and Le Brusquet held them back
at the sword’s point, and the way was so narrow
that not more than three could stand abreast therein.
“Stand back!” I heard
Le Brusquet cry; “we are freeing a prisoner!”
“Give us De Mouchy!” they
howled, and then the foremost three made a dash forward.
There was a smothered cry, and the leader, an evil-looking
villain, lurched forward on to his face. Back
they fell at this, for they were unarmed, and we got
a moment’s respite.
Again and again I put myself at the
door, and at last it crashed open. As I rushed
in I saw a kneeling figure before me. One glance,
and I called out:
“Diane! It is I Orrain!”
As she rose to her feet with a cry
I put my arms around her to support her, and then
the brave heart gave way, and she began to sob on my
shoulder. So for a space we stood, and even the
savage mob stayed their course, and halted, peering
at us across the two bright swords that still held
the passage.
It was now that De Mouchy made a last
bid for life. In the momentary respite he had
from pursuit, as the mob halted, he slunk to the farthest
end of the room, and stood there, looking at us, with
his back to the wainscoting, his hands resting against
it, and moving nervously, as though he searched for
something. Already those at the far end of the
passage were getting impatient, and angry cries began
once more to arise. As I put my arm round Diane
to help her away we heard a click. A door concealed
in the wainscoting flew open, disclosing a dark passage,
into which De Mouchy dived, and vanished in a flash.
But his enemies were not to be denied; and this time
no effort of De Lorgnac or Le Brusquet could stay
them. In his flight, whether overcome by fear,
or whether it were otherwise impossible, I cannot say,
but De Mouchy neglected to lock the secret door behind
him. The mob, blood mad, and now utterly out
of hand, filled the room, and rushed after him.
For a space we ourselves were hemmed in, so that
it was impossible to move, and it was whilst we stood
thus that there came a frightful shriek of agony from
the dark passage, and then the distant sound of struggling,
and again a shriek. God, and they who were there,
alone knew what happened; but as the mob swept through
the room and into the dark opening that was before
them the way became clear, and we passed into the
street.
Cartouche was still there, standing
where De Lorgnac had left him. At a word from
De Lorgnac I lifted mademoiselle into the saddle though
wearied the great grey was well able to bear so light
a burden and holding her there we made
our way with all the speed we could out of the Passage
of Pity, Le Brusquet holding the horse.
When we reached the river face Le
Brusquet turned back and pointed to the sky.
There were dark clouds of smoke rolling over the Mathurins.
“Eh bien,” he said,
“there is the expiation of Dom Antoine de Mouchy!”
A half-hour later we were in the Louvre,
and I had surrendered my charge to the Queen.
About a month after the events I have
just described I received the Queen’s commands
to attend her at St. Germain-en-Laye, and that very
evening rode through the gates of the Vieux Chateau.
From the time that I had placed mademoiselle
in safety in Catherine’s hands, with the aid
of the two best friends man ever had, I had not seen
her. She had been ill, but was now recovered,
and when I received the Queen’s message, I hoped
that, perhaps, Fortune would give me a chance to say
farewell to Diane ere I departed for Italy to join
Montluc.
The Spanish war had broken out, and
De Lorgnac was in the field at Marienbourg.
Le Brusquet had gone, none knew whither perchance
to see the pears of Besme and as for me,
I felt it was time to be up and stirring. Things
had changed with me, for I was now the Vidame
d’Orrain, and I might hope and dream again.
Moved by these thoughts I rode into the palace gates,
followed by Pierrebon, and Monsieur de Tolendal, who
was in waiting, at once took me to the Queen.
I found Catherine surrounded by her
ladies, but though my eyes searched here, there, and
everywhere I could not see the face I longed to see.
The Queen engaged me for a few moments in desultory
talk, and then at a sign from her we were left alone
together.
“Monsieur lé Vidame,”
she said, “is it true that you leave for Italy
in a few days?”
I bowed in silence.
“And you are resolved?”
“Madame!”
“In that case, perhaps, it is
needless for me to say what I intended; but, as a
matter of fact, I have a government I would willingly
surrender, and thought of offering it to you.”
“Madame!” I began; but she cut in upon
my words.
“Take a moment to consider,
monsieur! Go into the next room, through that
curtain there, and think over it for five minutes.
Then come back and tell me. Go!”
For a second I stared at her, and
then did as I was bidden. As I stepped in a
figure rose from a seat near the window, and I heard
Diane’s voice:
“Orrain, you have come to see me at last!”
And then what followed concerns not
anyone. I know not how long we were there, talking,
planning, and dreaming; but suddenly the curtains
lifted, and Catherine stood before us.
“Monsieur d’Orrain,” she said, “I
await my answer.”
And then she burst out laughing.
There is but a word more to add, and
my story ends. We were married the following
week, for that was the Queen’s wish, and then
my wife and I said farewell to Paris and the Court
for ever. As we rode one evening on our way
to Orrain, round the elbow of the pine-clad hill of
St. Hugo, and the towers of the Chateau came in sight,
I told my wife of my dream, and then we were aware
of a figure galloping up the leaf-strewn road towards
us. It was Le Brusquet on his mule.
“Eh bien!” he said
as he kissed my wife’s hand. “And
I am the first to welcome you home, after all!
Orrain, mon ami, I have seen your pears.
They are finer than mine I swear it!”