The Chevalier d'Auriac

I do not for a moment say I was right in every detail, but events showed that I was not far wrong; and it is a wonder to me that the learned men of our day have not dealt with this question of the mind, though, to be sure, it savours no little of those secrets which the Almighty in His wisdom has concealed from us, an inquiry into which is perhaps a sin – perhaps in some future time these things may be disclosed to us! Whether I am right or wrong, I know not. I have, however, set down faithfully what passed through my mind in those hours of agony.

Was I never to see the light again? Never to hear another human voice? Was I to come to my death in a long-drawn-out agony? Dear God, then, in mercy, strike me dead! So I prayed in my utter desolation; but death did not come, though its mantle of darkness was around me.

Hour after hour passed. I shifted my position, and, strange to say, slept. How long I slept I know not; but I woke stinging with pain, and found this was due to my being bound as I was, and in a little the agony became almost insupportable; and I was on the verge of going into a delirium, only righting my failing senses by a mighty effort of will.

I had lost all count of the time, but guessed it was advanced in the day by this; and my eyes had become so accustomed to the darkness that I could manage to see the faint outlines of the cell in which I was imprisoned. I tried to make out its extent with an idle and useless curiosity, and then, giving it up and utterly hopeless, leaned my head on my upraised knees, and sat thus waiting for the end.

I longed for death to come now – it would be a happy release from my pain.

Suddenly there came a grating noise as the bolts outside were moved. Then the door of the cell swung open with a groaning, and there was a blinding flash of light that, for the time being, deprived me of the powers of sight, though, with a natural instinct, I shut my eyes to the flash as it came.

Then I heard de Gomeron's voice saying, 'Remove the gag – I have something to ask Monsieur.'

As I felt two cold, hard hands fumbling with the knots of the gag, I managed to open my eyes, though the light still pained me, and saw the tall figure of the free-lance, his drawn sword in his hand, standing in the open doorway, and kneeling beside me was Babette. The hag caught the loathing in my glance, and laughed to herself as she wrenched at the knots, and de Gomeron, who was evidently in no mood to delay, hurried her efforts with a sharp 'Quick!'

'It is done,' she answered, and rose to her feet, swinging the silken bands of the gag she held in her hand.

'Then have the goodness to step back whilst Monsieur d'Auriac and I discuss the position.'

Babette did as she was bidden, muttering something, and de Gomeron, advancing a pace, addressed me —

'Monsieur, I have come to make you an offer, and I will not waste words. I am playing to win a desperate game, and I shall not hesitate to play any card to win. My offer is this. I ask you to sign a formal document, which I shall bring to you, holding me guiltless of any design against either you or Madame de la Bidache. In return I will set you free in ten days after you sign this paper. During that time you must consider yourself my prisoner; but you will be better lodged than now. Should you refuse to accept this offer, there is nothing left for me but to leave you here to die.'

He spoke in slow, measured accents, and the vault of the roof above me gave back the man's words in a solemn echo. The light of the lantern stretched in a long yellow shaft up the spiral stairway beyond the door, and, half in this light and half in shadow, stood the witch-like figure of Babette, leaning a little forward as if striving to catch each word that was spoken.

In the silence that followed the free-lance's speech I could almost hear the blood throbbing in my temples; and for the moment I was deprived of all power of words. It was not from fear, nor from any idea of accepting the offer, but a thought had come to my mind. I would oppose craft with craft, and meet the fox in the skin of a fox.

'Give me twenty-four hours to decide,' I answered, 'and free me from these cords. I cannot think for the pain of them.'

'Pardieu!' he laughed. 'The knots have been well tied; but twenty-four hours is a long time.'

'Yet you are willing to accommodate me for ten days, better lodged. Ventrebleu! M. de Gomeron! Do you think I can scratch my way out of this?'

He did not answer me, but stood for a while biting at the ends of his thick moustache. Then he suddenly called to Babette, 'Cut the cords.'

She came forward and obeyed. Words cannot convey the sensation of relief as the cords fell from me, but for the time being so numbed was I that I was powerless to move.

'You have your desire, monsieur,' said de Gomeron, 'and I await your decision. It will save me trouble if you inform Babette whether you agree or not. In the former event we shall have the pleasure of meeting again; in the latter case I take the opportunity of wishing you as happy a time as a man may have – in the future life. In the meantime I will see that some refreshments are sent to you. Adieu!'

He turned and stepped out of the cell and stood for a moment whilst Babette picked up the lantern and followed him.

'Monsieur will not want the light to aid him to think,' she laughed, and then the door was shut. I heard the sullen clank of the chain, the turning of the great keys, and I was alone and in darkness once more.

Dark it may have been, but, thank God! I was no longer like a trussed fowl, and betook myself to rubbing my numbed limbs until finally the chilled blood was warmed and I was able to stand, and then, in a little, I gained strength to grope my way backwards and forwards in the cell as an exercise. No thought of ever agreeing to de Gomeron's terms ever crossed me. I had, however, resolved to make a dash for freedom when he came to me again. I should pretend to agree, and then win or lose all in the rush. Anyway, I would not die here like a rat in a trap. I almost chuckled to myself as I thought I was in a fair way to outwit the free-lance. He was a fool after all, though, at the same time, I could not but admit that his move to get me to admit his innocence was a skilful one. Still, it was a plot that might overreach itself. My captors had eased me of my belt, which was so well stuffed with pistoles. They had not, however, had time or opportunity to search me further, and had left my clasp-knife, which lay in my pocket, as I have said, together with a dozen or so of gold pieces I had kept there to be at hand. I pulled out the knife and, opening it, ran my fingers along the blade. It was three inches or so in length, but sharp as a razor, and with it one might inflict an ugly wound in a struggle. I mapped out my plan mentally. When de Gomeron came again I should fell him as he entered, arm myself, if possible, by snatching his sword, and then cut my way out or be cut down. I had no doubt that I might be able to effect the first part of the programme. In those days I was as strong as a bull, and there were few men, especially if they were unprepared, who could have stood a blow from me. It was in act two that I might come to grief. At any rate, it would be a final and quick ending to the business, not the long-drawn-out agony I would otherwise have to endure. Now that I think of it, it was a poor enough plan, and it was lucky that, under Providence, another way was shown to me. Such as it was, however, it was the only thing that occurred to me at that time, and it would not be for want of effort on my part that it would fail. The more I thought over it, then the more I was convinced that it was my sole chance, and I grew impatient for the moment when I should put my design into execution. Twenty-four hours was long to wait, and I raved at myself for having fixed such a time. Morbleu! I might have had the sense to make it five, or three, or two hours! I little guessed, as I paced the cell impatiently, how many hours had passed since de Gomeron left me, and that it was impossible to measure time in that loathsome dungeon. As I sat brooding, the profound silence was once more suddenly disturbed by the sudden jarring of a bolt. It was not, however, the door of my cell that was opened, but a little wicket about a foot square, and through this there flashed again a blinding light, and the face of Babette peered in. So malign was its aspect that I shuddered in spite of myself, and then, in a fury I could not control, shouted out:

'Out of my presence, hag! Begone!'

'Oh! ho!' she laughed. 'A time will come when Monsieur will go on his two knees and pray to Babette – to good Babette – to kind Babette! In a day or so it will be thus,' and she laughed shrilly. 'But I go as you wish, to carry your refusal to the Captain.'

She made a movement as if to go, but, cursing myself at very nearly having spoilt all, I burst out, 'Stay!' and she looked back.

'Monsieur!' She grinned through the wicket.

'See here,' and in my eagerness my voice was hoarse and thick; 'five hundred crowns if you free me from this, and a thousand more if you will do the same for Madame.'

'Will Monsieur add a palace in the moon to this?'

'I give you the word of d'Auriac. Fifteen hundred crowns is a fortune. They will be yours in six hours from the time you free us. Think of it – fifteen hundred crowns!'

Never have I seen avarice blaze so in a face as in hers. As I dropped out the last words, she shook her head from side to side with a swaying motion of a serpent. Her eyes glittered like those of an asp, and between her half-parted lips she hissed rather than spoke to herself:

'Fif-teen hun-dred crowns! It is the price of a barony! I, who have taken life for a half-pistole!'

'You will save two lives for this,' I pleaded.

But the she-devil, though sorely tempted, was faithful. What de Gomeron's power over her was I know not. I could add nothing to my offer; I had laid my all on the hazard, and it was not to be done.

'Pouf!' she mocked, 'you do not go high enough. You do not promise the palace in the moon. But I waste my time. Is it "Yes," or "No," for the Captain?'

There was another chance, and I would risk that. I made a step nearer the opening.

'Give me something to drink, and I will answer at once.'

'Ah! ha! Monsieur requires some courage. Here is a flask of Frontignac, but it is expensive, and Monsieur, I am afraid, has left his belt outside his room. The Frontignac is five crowns.'

'You forgot my pockets,' I answered. 'Here are two pistoles; hand me the wine.'

'The money first,' and she stretched out her hand.

Like a flash I closed my fingers on her wrist, and drew in her hand to the full length of the arm.

'If you scream, if you utter a sound, I will tear your arm from its socket.'

The answer was a shriek that might have been heard a half-mile away, and then a foul oath and a howl of pain. It was hardly a knightly deed, but there was too much at stake to mince matters; and on her scream I gave the prisoner arm I held a wrench strong enough to show that I could keep my word. As the shrill echoes of her cry died away, I could hear her breathing heavily on the opposite side of the door, and she struggled mutely and with surprising strength to free herself. There was no answer to her call for help. There must have been many a shriek for help that had rung through that terrible dungeon, and died away answerless but for the mocking echoes! And Babette knew this, for she ceased to utter a sound after that one long scream, and fought in silence like a she-wolf at bay. At last she leaned exhausted against the door, and I felt that half my game was won. It had been an unexpected thought, and I had jumped at the opportunity Providence had thrown in my way.

'Do you hear?' I said; 'open the door, or – ' and I gave another half-turn to her arm.

She who could inflict such suffering on others was of those who were unable to bear the slightest pain herself. She moaned in agony and called out:

'Free me, and I promise – I promise anything.'

I only laughed and repeated my order, relieving the strain on her arm, however, so that she could slip back a half-pace or so from the wicket. Then I heard the great lock open and the chain put down, and Babette's voice trembling with anger and pain.

'It is open.'

The door swung outwards, so that all I had to do was to fold my prisoner's arm from the elbow along its face as I pushed it open. It kept her perfectly secure, and enabled me to take a precaution that, it turned out, was needed, for as I pushed the door I drove the death-hunter back with it, and the moment it was sufficiently open to let me pass, I sprang out and seized her left arm. Quick as I was, however, I was not quite quick enough to avoid the blow of her dagger, and received a flesh wound, which, however, was after all but slight. Then there was another struggle, and affairs were adjusted between Babette and myself without any special harm being done to her.

'Now listen to me,' I said. 'Whatever happens, I will kill you first if there is any treachery. Take me straight to Madame.'

'She is not here,' was the sullen reply.

'Then I take you with me to the Hôtel de Ville. Come – to your senses.'

She broke into the most terrible imprecations; but time was precious, and I quenched this readily enough, and at last it was clear she was utterly cowed. Again I repeat that no harm was done, and it was only dire necessity that compelled me to use the violence I did.

'Come,' and I shook her up. 'Where is Madame?'

She looked from right to left with a quick, uneasy motion of her eyes.

'I do not know. She is not here.'

I was compelled to believe her – or to accept her statement, which you will.

'Very well, then I waste time no longer,' and suiting actions to my words, and exerting my strength to its utmost, I took her with me up the stairway, forcing her to open each of the doors that closed on it. At the last door I took the precaution of gagging Babette, and fastened her arms securely, but lightly, behind her back with her own girdle. Then holding her against the wall, I ran rapidly over the whole position. If Madame was in the house, which was uncertain, I could effect her rescue better from without than within. If, on the other hand, she was not there, I would be wasting most valuable time, and perhaps ruin all chance of saving her, by searching the rooms of the Toison d'Or, unarmed as I was. Once free, I could force de Gomeron to give up his victim. He would not, after the charges I should lay against him in an hour, dare to leave Paris, whatever else he might do. That would in itself be a confession of guilt. As for Babette, I felt it was impossible to drag her with me through the streets of Paris.

'Look here!' and I gave my prisoner a shake. 'I fully believe that Madame is here, and if you wish to save yourself from the rack – it hurts more than what I have done to you – you will see that no harm comes to her. You follow?'

She was speechless, but her eyes were blazing with wrath as she made a sullen movement of her head.

'You had also better tell Monsieur de Gomeron, your master, that I refuse his terms. It will save him the trouble of knowing that I have escaped – you understand?'

This time she nodded eagerly enough.

'Now,' I went on, 'we will open the last door.'

I took the bunch of keys, and, after a try or two, succeeded in hitting on the right one. After this I pushed Babette before me into the small flagged yard, and saw to my surprise that it was night, and that the moon was out. Then I gave the fact no further thought beyond an inward 'Thank God!' for the uncertain moonlight that would cover my escape. As I pushed my captive along the shadow of the wall until we came to the entrance gate, I looked around and above me carefully, but there was nothing to indicate where Madame was. A hundred times was I tempted to turn back and risk all in searching the house for her, and it was only because I was convinced that the sole chance of saving her was to be free first myself that I did not give in to my desire. On reaching the gate I discovered that there was a wicket in it large enough to squeeze a man's body through, and that this was closed by a heavy pair of iron cross-bars, a secure enough defence from the outside. Holding Babette at arm's-length from me, I put down the bar and opened the wicket. Then, still keeping my hold on her, I freed her hands, and, bending slightly forwards and looking her straight in the face, said:

'Remember! And adieu, Madame de – Mau-ginot!'

At these words, which brought back to her memory her crime on the battle-field of La Fère, she shrank back, her eyes seemed to sink into their sockets, and as I loosed my hold of her shoulder she fell in a huddled heap on the flags of the yard.

CHAPTER XVI

A COUNCIL OF WAR

As I slipped through the wicket I cast a hurried glance around me, and then, acting on the impulse of the moment, ran forwards along the road for about fifty paces, with Babette's dagger clenched in my hand. There I was brought to a stand by a dead wall, studded with iron spikes at the top, which rose sheer above me for fully twenty feet and barred all further progress. It was evident that the Toison d'Or stood in a blind alley, and that I had taken the wrong turning. Not even an ape could have scaled the moss-grown and slippery surface of those stones, and, leaning against a buttress in the darkest corner of the wall, I stood for a moment or so and waited, determined to sell my life as dearly as possible should I be pursued. There was no sound, however; all was still as the grave. I ran my eye down the road, but the moon was not bright enough to penetrate the shadows, and I could make out nothing except the many-storied and gabled buildings that, packed closely to each other, beetled over the passage. The hanging turrets projecting from these houses were for all the world like gigantic wasps' nests, such as are seen clinging to the rocks of the upper Dordogne. Here and there a turret window showed a light glimmering behind it, and, had I time, I might have pictured to myself a resemblance between this 'beetle-browed' passage to that of some long, narrow, and sluggish mountain tarn, guarded on each side by an impassable barrier of frowning rocks. It was, however, not a moment to let oneself be impressed by scenery, and, eyes and ears on the stretch, I peered into the indistinct light to see the slightest movement, to catch the slightest sound. But the silence remained undisturbed. It was an eyrie of night-hawks, and they were hunting now far from their nests. So I stole forth from the shadow of the buttress, and, keeping the dagger ready to strike, retraced my steps past the Toison d'Or and along the winding and crooked passage, keeping as far away from the walls as possible to avoid any sudden attack, until at last I found myself in a cross street, down which I went, taking note of such landmarks as I could to guide me back, when I should return with vengeance in my right hand. The cross street led into other winding and twisting lanes, whose squalid inhabitants were either flitting up and down, or quarrelling amongst themselves, or else sitting in a sullen silence. I guessed I had got myself into one of the very worst parts of Paris, and as I had heard that it was more than dangerous to be recognised in such places as one not belonging to the noble order of cut-purses, I did not halt to make inquiries, but pursued my way steadily along the labyrinth of streets, feeling more lost at every step I took. Once or twice I passed a street stall, and, as the flare of the torches which lit up its gruesome contents fell on me, I was looked at curiously; but so soiled and wet was I, so torn my cloak and doublet in the struggle with de Gomeron's bravos, that at the most they took me for a night-hawk of superior feather, whose plumes had been ruffled by a meeting with the law. That I inspired this idea was evident, indeed, from the way in which one terrible-looking old man leaned forwards and, shaking his palsied finger at me, croaked out:

'Run, captain; run, Messire de Montfaucon!'

I hurried past as fast as I could, followed by the laughter of those who heard the remark, thinking to myself it was lucky it was no worse than a jibe that was flung at me.

How long I wandered in that maze of streets I cannot say, but at last I came upon an open space, and, finding it more or less empty, stopped to take my bearings. My only chance to get back to my lodging that night – and it was all-important to do so – was to strike the Seine at some point or other; but in what direction the river lay, I could not, for the life of me, tell. At last I determined to steer by the moon, and, holding her track to the south-west of me, went on, keeping as a landmark on my left the tall spire of a church whose name I then did not know. So I must have plodded on for about an hour, until at last I was sensible that the street in which I was in was wider than the others I had passed through, and, finally, I saw before me a couple of lanterns, evidently slung on a rope that stretched across a street much broader still than the one I was in. That, and the sight of the lanterns, convinced me that I had gained one of the main arteries of the city, and it was with an inward 'Thank God!' that I stepped under the light and looked about me, uncertain which direction I should take, for if I kept the moon behind me, as I had done hitherto, I should have to cross over and leave the street, and I felt sure this would be a serious error that would only lead me into further difficulties. It was as yet not more than a half-hour or so beyond compline, so the street was full. And unwilling to attract the attention of the watch, which had a habit of confining its beat to places where it was least required, I began to stroll slowly down, determined to inquire the way of the first passer-by who looked in a mood amiable enough to exchange a word with so bedraggled a wretch as I was then.

I had not long to wait, for in a short time I noticed one who was evidently a well-to-do citizen hurrying along, with a persuading staff in his right hand, and the muffled figure of a lady clinging on to his left arm. I could make out nothing of her; but the man himself was short and stout of figure, and I ran to the conclusion that he must be a cheery soul, for, as far as I could see by the light of the street lamps, he looked like one who enjoyed a good meal and a can to follow, and approaching, I addressed him —

'Pardon, monsieur, but I have lost my way.'

I had hardly spoken so much, when, loosening his arm from the lady, the little man jumped back a yard, and began flourishing his stick.

I saw that in the next moment he would shout for the watch, and stopped him with a quick —

'Monsieur, I have been attacked and robbed – there,' and I pointed in the direction whence I had come. 'I have escaped but with my life, and I pray you tell me how to find my way to the Rue de Bourdonnais.' The lady, who had at first retreated with a little cry of alarm behind her companion, here stepped forward with a soft —

'Poor man! are you much hurt?'

'Not in the least, mademoiselle, thank you,' and I unconsciously moved a step forward.

'Stand back!' called out the little man, dabbing his stick at me, 'and say Madame, sir – the lady is my wife.'

'Pardon my error, sir, but – '

The lady, however, interposed —

'Be still. Mangel. So you wish to find the Rue de Bourdonnais, sir?'

'He had better find the watch,' interrupted Maître Mangel; 'they have gone that way, towards the Porte St. Martin.'

'This, then, is the – '

'Rue St. Martin.'

'A hundred thanks, mademoiselle.'

'Madame —Madame Mangel, monsieur.'

'Pardon, I now know where I am, and have only to follow my nose to get to where I want. I thank you once more, and good night.'

'Good night, monsieur,' answered Madame; but Maître Mangel, who was evidently of a jealous complexion, tucked his wife under his arm and hurried her off, muttering something under his breath.

I let my eye follow them for a moment or so, and ere they had gone many paces, Madame Mangel, who appeared to be of a frolicsome spirit, turned her head and glanced over her shoulder, but was immediately pulled back with a jerk by her husband, whose hand moved in much the same manner as that of a nervous rider when clawing at the reins of a restive horse. Then I, too, turned and went down in an opposite direction along the Rue St. Martin, smiling to myself at the little scene I had witnessed, and my spirits rising at every step I took, for I felt each moment was bringing me nearer the time when I should be able to effect Claude's freedom, and balance my account with Adam de Gomeron. At last I saw the spire of St. Jacques de la Boucherie to my right, and a few steps more brought me to the bridge of Notre Dame. The passage was, however, closed, and, turning to the west, I kept along the river face and made for the Pont du Change, hoping that this bridge would be open, else I should perforce be compelled to swim the Seine once more, as no boats were allowed to ply during the night. Here, however, I was not disappointed, and threading my way through the crowd that still lingered round the money-changers' stalls, I soon found myself in the Barillierie, and hastening past Sainte Chapelle to the Rue des Deux Mondes. I had determined in the first instance to seek out de Belin, but thought better of that as I went along the Rue St. Martin, when I considered how unlikely I was to find my friend at home, whereas, on the other hand, the notary and his wife were sure to be in their house; and it moreover struck me as being the safest plan to go straight there until I could communicate with de Belin. For if I should be suspected of making away with Madame, no one would think me fool enough to come back to my lodging, which was well known, no doubt, and where I could be trapped at once.