The Chevalier d'Auriac

At last I was once again in the Rue des Deux Mondes, very footsore and weary, but kept up by the thought of what I had before me, and ready to drop dead before I should yield to fatigue. There was no one in the street, and, seizing the huge knocker, I hammered at the door in a manner loud enough to waken the dead. It had the effect of arousing one or two of the inhabitants of the adjoining houses, who opened their windows and peered out into the night, and then shut them again hastily, for the wind blew chill across the Passeur aux Vaches. There was no answer to my knock, and then I again beat furiously at the door, with a little sinking of my heart as it came to me that perhaps some harm had befallen these good people. This time, however, I heard a noise within, and presently Pantin's voice, inquiring in angry accents who it was that disturbed the rest of honest people at so late an hour.

'Open, Pantin,' I shouted; 'it is I – do you not know me?'

Then I heard another voice, and a sudden joy went through me, for it was that of my trusty Jacques.

'Grand Dieu! It is the Chevalier! Open the door quick, man!'

It was done in a trice, and as I stepped in Pantin closed it again rapidly, whilst Jacques seized my hand in his, and then, letting it go, gambolled about like a great dog that had just found its master.

I noticed, however, at the first glance I took round, that both Pantin and Jacques were fully dressed, late as it was, and that the notary was very pale, and the hand in which he held a lantern was visibly trembling.

'Monsieur,' he began, and then stopped; but I understood the question in his voice, and answered at once —

'Pantin, I have come back to free her – come back almost from the dead.'

'Then, monsieur, there are those here who can help you still. I had thought you brought the worst news,' and he looked at me where I stood, soiled and wet. 'This way, monsieur le chevalier,' he continued.

'In a moment, Pantin,' cut in dame Annette's voice, and the good woman came up to me with a flagon of warmed wine in her hand.

'Take this first, chevalier, 'tis Maître Pantin's nightcap; but I do not think he will need it this night. God be thanked you have come back safe.'

I wrung her hand, and drained the wine at a draught, and then, with Pantin ahead holding his lantern aloft, we ascended the stair that led to my apartments. As we went up I asked Jacques —

'Did you manage the business?'

'Yes, monsieur, and Marie and her father are both safe at Auriac. I rode back almost without drawing rein, and reached here but this afternoon; and then, monsieur, I heard what had happened, and gave you up for lost.'

At this juncture we reached the small landing near the sitting-room I had occupied, and Pantin without further ceremony flung open the door, and announced me by name. I stepped in with some surprise, the others crowding after me, and at the first glance recognised, to my astonishment, de Belin, who had half risen from his seat, his hand on his sword-hilt, as the door was flung open; and in the other figure, seated in an armchair, and staring moodily into the fire, saw Palin, who, however, made no movement beyond turning his head and looking coldly at me. Not so Belin, for he sprang forwards to meet me in his impulsive way, calling out —

'Arnidieu! You are back! Palin, take heart, man! He would never have come back alone.'

The last words hit me like a blow, and my confusion was increased by the demeanour of Palin, who gave no sign of recognition; and there I stood in the midst of them, fumbling with the hilt of my sword, and facing the still, motionless figure before me, the light of the candles falling on the stern, drawn features of the Huguenot.

My forehead grew hot with shame and anger, as I looked from one to another, and then, like a criminal before a judge, I faced the old man and told him exactly what had happened – all except one thing; that I kept back. At the mention of Ravaillac's name, and of his identity with the Capuchin, the Vicompte de Belin swore bitterly under his moustache; and but for that exclamation my story was heard in stillness to its bitter end. For a moment one might have heard a pin fall, and then Palin said, 'And you left her – there!' The dry contempt of his manner stung me; but I could say nothing, save mutter —

'I did what I could.'

'The one ewe-lamb of the fold – the last and the best beloved,' he said, as if speaking to himself; and then in a sudden fury he sprang to his feet. 'But why do we stand prating here? There are five of us, and we know where she is – come.'

But Belin put his hand on his shoulder. 'Patience, Maître Palin – patience.'

'I have had enough of patience and enough of trusting others,' and the Huguenot shook off his hand and looked at me with a scowl. 'Come, Monsieur d'Auriac; if you would make amends, lead me to this Toison d'Or and we will see what an old arm can do.'

'I am ready,' I answered.

But Belin again interfered.

'Messieurs, this is madness. From what I have gathered d'Auriac will prove but a blind guide back. We are not, moreover, sure that Madame is there. Sit still here, you Palin; neither you nor d'Auriac are fit to think. Fore Gad! it was lucky I thought of this for our meeting-place tonight, Palin. Sit still and let me think.'

'I can think well enough,' I cut in, 'and I have my plan; but I should like to ask a question or two before I speak.'

'And these questions are?'

'I presume I am suspected of this abduction?'

'And of more. Nom de dieu! Man! your mare was found dead, and beside her one of the Marshal's guards, run through the heart,' answered de Belin.

'Then of course if I am seen I am in danger?'

'A miracle only could save you. The King is enraged beyond measure, and swears he will let the Edict go in its full force against you. The Camarguer has made a fine story of it, saying how he tried to stop the abduction, but failed in the attempt.'

'In short, then, it would ruin all chances if we adopt Maître Palin's suggestion?'

'You are saving me the trouble of thinking.'

'Again,' I went on, 'it is not certain if Madame is still at the Toison d'Or, and apart from that I doubt if I could find my way back there to-night, unless anyone could guide me,' and I looked at the Pantins, who shook their heads sorrowfully.

'This settles our going out to-night,' I went on; 'there is but one thing to do to-morrow – to find the house. It will be easy to discover if Madame is within. After that I propose a rescue by the ordinary means of the law.'

'Would it not be as simple to have recourse to Villeroi the first thing to-morrow?' asked Belin.

'Simple enough; but the law has its delays, and if once the house is raided and Madame is not there we may whistle for our prize.'

'But the wheel?' put in Pantin.

'Will break Babette, who will not know. M. de Gomeron is no fool to trust her more than the length of his hand. No – I will leave nothing to chance. I propose then to seek out the house tomorrow, with Pantin's help, if he will give it.'

'Most willingly,' put in the notary.

'Thanks, my good friend. That we will find it I am certain, and then we can act. In the meantime I must ask you by all means in your power to get the search of the law after me delayed.'

'Then M. de Villeroi must hear some certain news to-morrow,' said Annette.

'There speaks a woman's wit,' exclaimed Belin; 'well, after all, perhaps your plan is the best.'

'And in this search of to-morrow I will share,' Palin suddenly exclaimed. But my heart was sore against him for what he had said.

'Pardon me, Maître Palin; this is my right – I do this alone.'

'Your right,' he sneered.

'Yes, Maître Palin, my right; I go to rescue my promised wife.'

'And besides, Monsieur le Chevalier will want no help, for I am here,' Jacques must needs thrust in; 'and when Monsieur is married,' he blundered on, 'we will rebuild Auriac, mount a brace of bombards on the keep, and erect a new gallows for ill-doers.'

'Silence, sir!' I thundered, half beside myself at the idiot's folly, for I saw the gleam in the eyes of Pantin and his wife, and despite the gravity of the occasion de Belin had hard to do to repress an open laugh.

As for Palin, he said nothing for a moment, his features twitching nervously. At last he turned to me, 'It is what I have hoped and prayed for,' he said, holding out his hand; 'forgive me – I take back the words so hastily spoken – it is an old man who seeks your pardon.'

I took his hand in all frankness, and he embraced me as a son, and then in a while Belin said —

'We must be up and doing early to-morrow, and d'Auriac is in need of rest. He will share my bed here to-night; and harkee, Pantin! rouse us with the dawn.'

We then parted, the Pantins showing the Huguenot to his chamber, and Jacques but waiting for a moment or so to help me off with my dripping things. My valises were still lying in the room, and I was thus enabled to get the change of apparel I so much needed.

When at last we were abed I found it impossible to sleep, and Belin was at first equally wakeful. For this I was thankful, as I began to grow despondent, and felt that after all I had lost the game utterly. But the Vicompte's courage never faltered, and in spite of myself I began to be cheered by his hopefulness. He explained to me fully how it came that he was at the Rue des Deux Mondes. He wished to discuss with Palin some means for discovering me, and as the Huguenot, fearing to return to the Rue Varenne after what had happened, and yet was unwilling to leave Paris, had sought Pantin's home, de Belin had determined to pass the night here to consult with him, giving out to his people that he had gone on a business to Monceaux.

'I will see Sully the first thing to-morrow,' he said, as we discussed our plans, 'and if I mistake not it is more than Madame we will find at the Toison d'Or. Be of good cheer, d'Auriac, your lady will come to no harm. The Camarguer is playing too great a game to kill a goose that is likely to lay him golden eggs. I'm afraid though he has spoilt a greater game for his master.'

'How do you mean?' I asked, interested in spite of myself.

'Only this, that unless you are extremely unfortunate I regard the rescue of Madame de Bidache as certain. I am as certain that this will lead to the arrest of de Gomeron and his confederates. They will taste the wheel, and that makes loose tongues, and it may lead to details concerning M. de Biron that we sadly need.'

'It seems to me that the wheel is perilously near to me as well.'

'There is the Edict, of course,' said de Belin, 'but Madame's evidence will absolve you, and we can arrange that you are not put to the question at once.'

The cool way in which he said this would have moved me to furious anger against him did I not know him to be so true a friend. As it was I said sharply —

'Thank you, I will take care that the wheel does not touch me.'

'Very well,' he answered; 'and now I shall sleep; good night.'

He turned on his side and seemed to drop off at once, and as I lay through the weary hours of that night I sometimes used to turn to the still figure at my side with envy at the peace of his slumber.

CHAPTER XVII

MAÎTRE PANTIN SELLS CABBAGES

At last, just as my patience was worn to its last shred, I saw the glaze in the window begin to whiten, and almost immediately after heard footsteps on the landing. This was enough for me, and, unable to be still longer, I sprang out of bed and hastened to open the door myself. It admitted Jacques, and a figure in whom I should never have recognised the notary had I not known that it could be no other than Pantin. Jacques bore a tray loaded with refreshments, and Pantin held a lantern, for it was still dark, in one hand, and something that looked like the folds of a long cloak hung in the loop of his arm. The noise of their entrance awoke de Belin. With a muttered exclamation I did not catch, he roused himself, and, the candles being lit, we proceeded to make a hasty toilet. As I drew on my boots I saw they were yet wet and muddy, and was about to rate Jacques when Pantin anticipated, 'I told him to let them be so, monsieur, – you have a part to play; put this over your left eye.' And with these words he handed me a huge patch. Then, in place of my own hat, I found I had to wear a frayed cap of a dark sage-green velvet, with a scarecrow-looking white feather sticking from it. Lastly, Pantin flung over my shoulders a long cloak of the same colour as the cap, and seemingly as old. It fell almost down to my heels, and was fastened at the throat by a pair of leather straps in lieu of a clasp.

'Faith!' exclaimed the Vicompte, as he stood a little to one side and surveyed me, 'if you play up to your dress you are more likely to adorn, than raise the gallows Jacques spoke of.'

But I cut short his gibing with an impatient command to Pantin to start. The little man, however, demurred —

'You must eat something first, monsieur – not a step will I budge till you have done that.'

I forced myself to swallow a little, during which time our plans of overnight were hastily run over; Palin, who had joined us, declared he would go to the Princess Catherine, and seek her aid. We knew that was useless, but not desiring to thwart the old man let him have his will. It was decided, however, in case I had anything to communicate, that I should hasten to the Rue de Bourdonnais, and that in the meantime the Vicompte would see the Master-General at once and try what could be done. This being settled, and having ordered Jacques, who protested loudly, to stay behind, Pantin and I started off on our search for the Toison d'Or.

As he closed the entrance door behind him carefully, and Jacques turned the key, I looked up and down the Rue des Deux Mondes, but there was not a soul stirring.

''Tis the cold hour, monsieur,' said Pantin, shivering as he drew the remnant of a cloak he wore closer over his shoulders, 'and we are safe from all eyes,' and then I noticed for the first time that his feet were bare, and that he carried a pair of old shoes in one hand and an empty basket in the other.

'But you are not going like that, man!' I said; 'you will catch a fever.'

'We are going to the Faubourg St. Martin, monsieur, and there is no danger of the plague now.'

Though I could not but feel more than grateful for the way in which the good fellow was labouring for me, I said nothing, but followed him as he entered the mist that rose from the river and clung heavily to its banks.

It was, as Pantin had said, the cold hour, and all Paris was asleep. Above us the sky still swarmed with stars, though a pale band of light was girdling the horizon. Here and there in the heaving mist on the river we saw the feeble glimmer of a lanthorn that had survived through the night and still served to mark the spot where a boat was moored. All around us the outlines of the city rose in a brown silhouette; but the golden cross on the spire of Notre Dame had already caught the dawn and blazed like a beacon against the grey of the sky overhead.

As the Pont au Change was the latest of the bridges to close, it was the earliest to open; but when we came there we had to cool our heels for half an hour or so before we could pass through; and by that time the city was already beginning to awake. I could not repress a slight shudder as we passed the dreary walls of the Chatelet, just as the guard was being changed at the gate, and thought by how lucky a chance I had escaped being a guest of M. de Breze.

Once past the Chatelet we pushed on briskly, and by the time we had reached St. Jacques we were warm enough, despite the chillness of the morning. At a stall near the church, and hard by the Pont Notre Dame, Pantin purchased a quantity of vegetables, bidding me to keep a little ahead of him in future and guide him in this manner as far as I knew. Whilst he was filling his basket I turned up the Rue St. Martin, wondering what the notary's object could be in transforming himself into a street hawker. I went slowly, stopping every now and again to see if Pantin was following, and observed that he kept on the side of the road opposite to me, and ever and again kept calling out his wares in a monotonous sing-song tone. Thus far and for a space further I knew the road, and, observing that Pantin was able to keep me well in view, increased my pace until at last we came to the cross street near which I had met the jealous Mangel and his wife. Up the cross street I turned without hesitation, now almost facing the tall spire that had been my landmark, and I began to think I would be able to trace my way to the Toison d'Or without difficulty when I suddenly came to a standstill and faltered. For here there were half a dozen lanes that ran this way and that, and for the life of me I could not tell which was the one I had taken but a few hours before, so different did they look now to what they had appeared by moonlight. As I halted in a doubting manner Pantin hurried up, and, there being one or two near me, began to urge me to buy his cabbages. I made a pretence of putting him off, and then, the strangers having passed, I explained I had lost my bearings. 'I see a wine shop open across the road, chevalier – go in and call for a flask and await me,' he answered rapidly.

I nodded, and bidding him begone in a loud tone, swaggered across the street, and entering the den – it could be called by no other name – shouted for a litre of Beaugency, and flung myself down on a rough stool with a clatter of my sword and a great showing of the pistol butts that stuck out from my belt.

The cabaret had just opened, but early as I was I was not the first customer, for a man was sitting half-asleep and half-drunk on one of the foul-looking benches, and as I called for my wine, he rose up, muttering, 'Beaugency! He wants Beaugency – there is none here,' he went on in a maudlin manner, turning to me. 'At the Toison d'Or – '

I almost started at the words; but the landlord, whose face appeared from behind a cask at my shout, and whose countenance now showed the utmost anger at his old client's speech, suddenly seized him by the neck and hustled him from the room – 'The drunken knave!' he said with a great oath, 'to say that I kept no Beaugency – here, captain,' and he handed me a litre, with a much-stained glass, 'here is Beaugency that comes from More's own cellars,' and he looked knowingly at me.

Not wishing to hold converse with the fellow, I filled the glass, and then, flinging him a crown, bade him drink the rest of the bottle for good luck. The scoundrel drank it there and then, and as soon as he had done so returned to the charge.

'It is good wine – eh, captain?'

'It is,' I answered drily; but he was not to be denied.

'Monsieur is out early, I see.'

'Monsieur is out late, you mean,' I made answer, playing my part, and longing for Pantin to return.

'Ho! ho!' he roared; 'a good joke – captain, I do not know you, but tell me your name, and, curse me, if I do not drink your health in Arbois the day you ride to Montfaucon.'

'You will know my name soon enough,' I answered, humouring the fellow, 'and I promise to send you the Arbois the day I ride there. I may tell you that it was to the Toison d'Or I was recommended by my friends; but your Beaugency and your company are so good compère that I shall make this my house of call during my stay in the Faubourg St. Martin.'

'Damn the Toison d'Or,' he exclaimed, 'and you are a good fellow. Let me warn you in turn that the Toison d'Or is no longer safe.'

'What do you mean?' I asked, leaning forwards.

'For you, and for me, monsieur.'

'Ah – my luck is good as your wine,' and at that moment I caught sight of Pantin. 'There is another crown to drink to our friendship, and mind you keep as good a flask for me against my return at noon —au revoir! I have a business at my lodging.'

The wretch overwhelmed me with thanks and stood at the door watching me as I crossed over the street, with a warning glance to Pantin, and strolled slowly onwards. A little further on I turned to my left, keeping well in the middle of the road to avoid the filth and refuse thrown carelessly on each side, and as I turned I saw that my man had gone in. I was certain of one thing, that the Toison d'Or was not far off, and whilst I picked my way slowly along Pantin came up to me with his sing-song whine.

'Have you found it?' I asked in a low tone.

'No,' he sang out.

At this moment a figure rose up from the steps of a house where I had noticed it crouching, a few feet from me, and swung forwards.

'Hola! 'Tis Monsieur le Capitaine! Has your excellency tasted the Beaugency – the dog-poison. I tell your excellency there is but one house in the Faubourg where they sell it – the Toison d'Or.'

'Go and drink some there, then,' and I tossed him a piece of silver.

He picked it up from the road where it had fallen like a dog snatching at a bone, and then stood surveying the coin, which he held in the open palm of his hand.

'You might,' he said; 'they would not serve me,' and then with a drunken familiarity he came close to my elbow. 'I'll show you the Toison d'Or. It is there – the second turn to the left and then straight before you. As for me, I go back to taste Grigot's Beaugency – his dog-poison,' he repeated with the spiteful insistence of a man in his cups.

'The fool in his folly speaketh wisdom!' Pantin muttered under his breath, and then the man, staggering from me, attempted to go back whence he had been flung, but either the morning air was too strong for him, or else he was taken with a seizure of some kind, for ere he had gone ten paces he fell forwards on his face, and lay there in the slime of the street.

At any other time I would have stopped to assist the man, but now I could only look upon his condition as a direct interposition of Providence and I let him lay where he had fallen.

'Come, Pantin,' I cried, 'we have found the spot.'

Following the directions given by our guide we found he had not deceived us, and in a few minutes I was standing at the entrance of the blind passage, at one end of which was the Toison d'Or.

The wasps' nest was not yet awake, but as I stood for a moment discussing with Pantin what we should do next, a couple of men well muffled in cloaks passed down the lane on the opposite side, and it was all I could do to preserve an expression of unconcern on my face, for in one of the two I recognised Lafin. He, too, stooped for a moment, as if to fasten a point that had come undone, and, whilst doing so, fixed his eyes full on me. I met his gaze as one might look at a perfect stranger, but seeing he continued it, put my hand to the hilt of my sword with a scowl. The doubt on his face cleared on the instant to a look of relief, and I saw his thin lips curve into a slight smile of contempt as he rose and walked quietly after his companion. That swaggering movement of my hand to my sword-hilt had convinced him that I was one of the swashbucklers of the Faubourg St. Martin, and as such unworthy even of the contempt of the heir of the Vidame.

'Who is it?' asked Pantin, who had been observing me closely.

'Lafin.'

'Are you sure, monsieur?'

I nodded, and he went on, 'Then, monsieur, if I mistake not, M. le Vicompte is right, and we hunt the boar as well as the wolf. I will give word of this at the Arsenal before three hours are over.'

We then went slowly towards the Toison d'Or in the same order on which we had come up the Rue St. Martin, my heart full of strange misgivings at Lafin's presence in the street. The sun had already whitened the gables of the houses, but so narrow was the passage that it seemed as if it must always be in shadow. There were a few people stirring – one or two street urchins, who flung gibes at Pantin, but gave me a wide berth; half a dozen women, in whose faces sin and want had set their seals, and a man or two of the worst class. Beyond the high, dead wall which closed in the passage I could now see the tops of some trees, and judged from this that we were almost upon the walls of Paris, and in this, as it turned out, I was right. At last I came opposite the Toison d'Or. The gate leading into the little court was shut, and so was every window facing the street. The signboard was swinging sadly over the closed door, and at the first glance it looked as if the house was deserted. For a moment the thought struck me to knock boldly at the door, and when it was opened to force my way in and trust to luck for the rest, but I was cooled on the instant when I thought what failure meant. I would trust as little to chance as possible. I passed slowly on, and found that the Toison d'Or joined on to another, but much smaller, house which had its bound set to it by the wall that crossed the street. The sash of a window on the top story of this house was up, and as I came up to it the front door swung open and a man stood on the steps and looked me full in the face. As my glance passed him, I saw that the door opened into a room that was used apparently as a shop for all kinds of miscellaneous articles, and the man himself would have stood well for the picture of a thieves' fence, which, indeed, he was.