Vayenne

"Circumstances; yes, I understand that; but – "

"But the other you cannot understand," said Herrick quickly. "Is it anything to me, do you suppose, who rules in Montvilliers?"

"Did I not urge that upon you in the forest?" said Christine.

"Yes; and I gave you an answer. My whim compelled me to see the game to the end. There was truth in that answer, but not all the truth. Did you guess that?"

"I thought of it afterward," she answered.

"Circumstances I might break through," Herrick went on. "They may still be looking for a priest in Vayenne, but this dress of the De Bornais would pass me out of the gates. In a few hours I might be across the frontier."

"Why not go?" she asked, looking suddenly up into his eyes.

"Because you hold me."

"And Captain Lemasle, who is a prisoner, trusts you," said Christine. "You are not the man to leave a comrade like that."

"For the moment I had forgotten him," said Herrick. "You reprove me in kindly fashion; but after to-night we may never speak again as we are now, you and I alone – man and woman. It is nothing to me that you are the greatest lady in this land; to me you are only the woman I love, the lady I worship. I am dedicated to your service. The avowal is wrung from me to-night because – because failure may bring death – at the best flight, and success may bring your contempt."

"Death!" she said slowly.

"That were better than your contempt," he answered.

"I shall not easily hate you," she returned.

"I shall remember always that you have confessed so much," he said quietly, kneeling to kiss her hand.

Into Christine's thoughts came the memory of Lucille's dream and the prince who knelt to her, bringing the fulfilment of all her desires.

"Far from hating you, I might confess more," she whispered, bending over his bowed head.

"Christine!"

The next moment Herrick had sprung to his feet. There were heavy steps in the corridor without, rapidly approaching the room.

"Quick, the window!" said Christine.

"Open it wide," said Herrick, pulling his hood over his head, and noiselessly drawing his sword from its sheath. His cloak was a heavy double one, and the inner part he fastened to conceal his dress, the outer folds he drew together to hide the drawn sword.

"What will you do? Go. No harm can happen to me," said Christine.

The door was rattled sharply.

"Open! Open!"

"Go," Christine whispered. "They will kill you."

"They might insult you," he answered. "Open the door."

"For my sake, go," she said, pointing to the window.

"Open the door," Herrick repeated.

"Open! Open!" came from without as the door was rattled fiercely again.

"Go," she said, her arm stretched out to him. "Just now you said – I thought you meant you – "

"I did mean it," Herrick answered. "Christine, I love you. Now open the door."

She hesitated a moment, then unlocked it, and threw it open, and Felix strode into the room.

"What is the meaning of this intrusion?" she asked.

The Count did not answer her, but advanced toward Herrick.

"Whom have we here masquerading as a priest?"

"You have been looking for me, Count; now you have found me. You came to speak to Mademoiselle. You could hardly have expected to find me here."

By a sudden movement Christine placed herself between the two men.

"What do you want with me, Felix?"

"You will go with me presently to the castle."

"I will go with you now."

"Presently," said Felix.

"Mademoiselle, summon the young girl who was here with you just now," said Herrick. "You may go together to the castle."

The Count's sword rang from its scabbard as a fierce oath left his lips.

"Stay!" Herrick said, his sword's point flashing instantly toward the Count's breast. "Would you fight in the presence of this lady?"

Lucille hurried in with a pale face.

"You must be my maid to-night and come with me to the castle," said Christine.

"Go quickly," said Herrick.

"Felix, you shall go with us," said Christine.

"I will follow," he answered, his eyes fixed on Herrick. "Go. No one will stop you. You are expected at the castle."

"Obedience and trust," said Herrick quietly.

For a moment Christine hesitated, then she went out quickly with Lucille, closing the door.

"Now, Count, I am at your service," said Herrick. "What is our quarrel?"

"It lies too deep for words," said Felix, attacking his adversary hotly. "Say it concerns a woman's honor, if you will."

"Say rather that it springs from the Duke Maurice, whom you have buried in St. Etienne to-day," Herrick answered sternly.

Had he sought to put his adversary off his guard, he could have chosen no better way than the sudden utterance of these words. Mad with rage, and with the consciousness that it was in this man's power to betray him, he rushed upon Herrick wildly, bent on silencing so dangerous a foe at once and forever. The next instant his sword clattered to the floor, and a moment later Herrick had tossed it through the window into the garden.

"This is not to be a fight to the death, Count," he said. "Yours is a small hurt. I will leave you to bind it up."

"Curse you!"

"Curses fall lightly on honest men," Herrick answered, retreating backward to the door, his sword still in his hand. "You would not have come alone had you expected to find me here; therefore I am fortunate, and in your present humor, mademoiselle is fortunate too in not having your escort back to the castle. There you will hardly dare to insult her."

While Herrick spoke he had opened the door, and fitted the key into the lock on the outside. Now he went out quickly, and locked the door after him.

"Good-night," he called out. "When you have bound up your wound, no doubt some one will come to your shouting."

"Curse you!" came the answer. "The future shall make you regret your present luck."

Herrick laughed, and went quickly down into the hall.

"There is a sword in the garden," he said to the sleepy porter, who was still wondering at the sudden coming and going. "Take a lantern and find it. Count Felix, who is up-stairs, will be calling for it presently."

Once out of the house, Herrick walked rapidly away, and a little later walked in at the castle gate; but no longer a priest. The cloak lay behind the wall of a garden near the old markets, and was destined to cause much wonder when it was found next day.

Jean shuffled along near him as Herrick went to his quarters.

"Mademoiselle came to the castle not long since. Is all well?"

"Yes."

"And the Count?"

"I left him binding a cut in his wrist."

"Good, friend Roger, though it might have saved trouble if you had made a slit in his heart which could not be bound." And Jean turned aside, and was lost in the shadows.

CHAPTER XVI

THE ORDERS FOR RELEASE

On the terrace below the western tower the sentry slowly paced his appointed round, looking down over the city at intervals, and once or twice glancing up at the tower above him, where, clad in his motley of scarlet and green, Jean sat perched upon the battlements. The dawn was two hours old now, and for full two hours the dwarf had sat there, his grave face sadly at variance with his gay dress, and grinning bauble furnished with jingling bells, which he had stuck under his arm. From this western tower was the widest view of Vayenne, and Jean looked over the city and beyond it to the far hills as though he would imprint the picture upon his memory. Only that morning he had put on his motley for the first time. "The Duke's gift, Jean," Felix had said last night. "Who hurts the fool shall henceforth have to reckon with the Duke." And it would almost seem that the dwarf had come to this exalted spot to show himself to the new day. The sentry smiled at the fool's pride; and some sensation of showing himself to the earth and sky of a new dawn may have passed through the dwarf's mind, but there was no pride in it. He played a part; under the motley was the same Jean, wise, cunning, and alert. He had climbed to the battlements for a purpose, and thoughts had come into his mind as he sat there which had made his face grave as he looked over the city, and to the distant hills, which shut in all the world he had ever known.

It was the third day since Christine de Liancourt had come to the castle, and twice Jean had had speech with her. She had questioned him concerning Roger Herrick, but he could tell her nothing, because Herrick had commanded silence. The hours had been busy for the dwarf, and fortunately for Count Felix also. Jean had not been wanted, and could go about his own affairs unmolested. His work lay in all directions in Vayenne; in the smaller streets and alleys behind St. Etienne, where men lived poorly and nursed discontent in their hearts; in the network of narrow ways about the old markets; in mean cafés and taverns; and in some houses of a better sort where grievances sheltered. Some work, too, there was in the castle itself among the soldiers, who found it unnatural to speak of Felix as the Duke, or who were more than ordinarily superstitious and still marvelled who the spy who had escaped might be, or were suspicious concerning the death of the young scholar of Passey. For each there was different treatment, wisdom here, cunning there; and hardly had Jean slept these few nights past. Last night, indeed, many in Vayenne had not slept, for all signs of mourning had to be folded away, and the city must be decked with wreaths, and colored bunting, and flags, and prepare itself to shout "Long life to the Duke!" So workmen were busy all through the night, and the sounds of hammering faintly ascended to Jean's ears now. He had been in and out among these workers last night, and whatever else he told them, he whispered this in their ears:

"To-morrow! To-morrow! Justice shall be born to-morrow, toward evening, when the Duke mounts the steps of the throne. Then be ready to shout what you have been bidden to shout. All else shall happen as I have told you. I play my part, a mean part, the part of a fool, clad in gaudy coloring with jingling cap and bells. Look for me at dawn at the summit of the western tower. There shall you see me, and what manner of part it is I play. It is the sign that all things are as I have told you."

Thus it was that the dwarf sat long upon the battlements, knowing well that many hundred eyes had turned to look in his direction since daybreak. He had looked down into the streets to see men stop and stare upward; he had looked to this side and that where he knew men were waiting eagerly for light; he had looked toward the high-pitched roof of the great hall of the castle, running lengthways to the great square, and he pictured the scene that a few short hours must bring, the climax to the work with which he had been busy night and day. Still he sat there, looking now to the distant hills, which wrapped themselves about the city, and instead of eager expectation in his face, there was grave contemplation, even the look that he might have worn when in St. Etienne he saw visions. The dawn would break again to-morrow. The morning star would pale in the quivering, golden beams up-springing from behind those sheltering hills. What would another new day lighten in Vayenne?

"Failure," murmured Jean, "and then swift death for us all. Success, and even that must mean rebellion and carnage in her streets once more."

He rose suddenly, and with an impassioned gesture spread wide his arms as if he blessed the city that he loved, a strange, uncouth little figure, ugly as an ancient gargoyle of some great Gothic church. Who shall chronicle all the thoughts that were in him as he stood there? Then he swung himself from the battlement to the roof of the tower, and slowly descended to the court-yard, where busy men greeted him with roars of laughter.

"Your commands, my Lord Fool! Your will, Sir Jester!" they shouted.

"You shall know through your captains, my good fellows," said Jean grandiloquently as he passed on his way to Count Felix.

There was much coming and going in the corridors of the castle, and the dwarf had to run the gauntlet of much chaff, good-natured banter for the most part; and for every one he had an answer, which if not witty passed for such and drew its measure of laughter. It is easy to see humor even in the commonplaces of a licensed jester. No one questioned Jean's right to go where he would, and he passed through the ante-rooms, where many were awaiting an audience, and entered the Count's private apartment unannounced.

Felix looked up, and then burst out laughing, the first time he had laughed since he had returned from the Place Beauvoisin with his hand bound up; and Barbier, who was standing by the Count's table, arrayed in his new uniform as Captain of the Duke's Guard, laughed too.

"So we are three gossips, but only two of us are dressed in our new clothes yet," said Jean. "Haven't they sent yours home yet, friend Felix? Grant they may not come too late."

"Little fear of that now," said Felix, but he became solemn again, and turned to Barbier. "There is nothing more, captain. See that the sentries are doubled everywhere. See that a special guard of honor is given Mademoiselle de Liancourt to-night, and make it clear that neither she nor any of her suite has permission to leave the castle. And remember no priest may enter the Castle of Vayenne but Father Bertrand."

"Had I my will, I would keep him out, too," said Barbier.

"That is impossible," Felix answered. "Every detail of ancient custom must be observed. Go, Barbier, I depend upon you."

"We trust you, Barbier," said Jean. "You are earning your new dress very creditably."

The captain shrugged his shoulders contemptuously at the dwarf as he went out. Barbier had little appreciation of such humor, and perhaps he was not so comfortable in his new uniform as he pretended to be. The Count's wounded hand troubled the Captain of the Guard. Somewhere, undetected, in their midst was a man who knew their secrets.

The wounded hand also troubled the Count. Who was his adversary? What had he to do with Christine de Liancourt?

"No more visions, Jean?" he said, turning to the dwarf, who had seated himself on the floor beside his chair.

"None."

"We travel swiftly to the goal."

"Ay; straight to the goal," Jean answered. "I saw carpenters and servants putting the final touches to the great hall as I passed. It will be a grand spectacle."

"I would it were over," said Felix, "or that we could do without it."

"Why so? The Duke is dead, young Maurice is dead, and Montvilliers must have a duke."

"I have enemies, Jean, and they trouble me. What can I do with them?"

"Bury them quickly, just as we buried the old Duke and his son," the dwarf answered.

"That would be easy could I find these enemies," answered Felix, "but they are secret foes, striking in the dark."

"At your hand," was the quick retort; "your heart is whole. It puzzles me why your enemy did not run you through the heart the other night."

"It puzzles me, too, Jean."

"It would have saved a lot of trouble," the dwarf went on in a musing manner, "and you would have gone to your account proclaimed as a martyr. There would have been pilgrimages to your tomb in St Etienne, and Vayenne would have become famous."

"Since he did not kill me, he must mean other mischief," murmured Felix, following his own train of thoughts and paying little attention to the dwarf.

"Ay; you will lose much by being a duke instead of a martyr," said Jean.

Count Felix roused himself with a sudden effort. This was not the time for fears or dismal forebodings, and he struck the gong upon his table. He had much to do, many persons to see, many things to arrange; and Jean sat there while all this business was transacted, welcoming and dismissing each person with a little musical shake of his fool's bauble. Most of them laughed at him, a few were angry, but it made no difference to the dwarf.

Presently the Count rose.

"Play the fool where you will, Jean, until evening; I go to see the Countess Elisabeth, and I will not take you with me."

"Are you jealous?" asked the dwarf.

"No."

"I'll go and see Christine de Liancourt," said Jean. "I warrant I shall have a hearty welcome. Art jealous now?"

"A little, perhaps."

"She might have liked you as a martyr," chuckled the dwarf. "Oh, I grant you, being a fool has its advantages." And he shook his bauble as the Count passed out of the room.

Then Jean seated himself thoughtfully on the corner of the Count's table, and for a few moments was busy with his seals and wax.

"Since the sentries are doubled, we must take double precaution," he murmured. "Chance is a very useful mistress sometimes, but it does not pay to leave too much to her."

Count Felix went quickly to the suite of rooms Countess Elisabeth occupied for the time being in the castle. He had requested her not to return to the Place Beauvoisin until after he was crowned Duke. He wanted his talisman beside him, he said; and the Countess, perhaps hoping that she would never permanently return to the Place Beauvoisin, remained.

She received him now, as she always did, with a smile of welcome, and he bent over her hand in silence before seating himself beside her.

"I would it were well over, Elisabeth."

"To-morrow at this time it will be," she answered.

"Had I dared to do so, I would have altered the ceremony," he went on; "I would have curtailed some of these absurd customs, and made my coronation far more simple and direct. It should have been swiftly done, and I would have had the reins firmly in my hands before any had time to question me."

"Who can question you?"

"I fear even the voice of one starveling about the court, or even of some soldier who mayhap has begun his revelling too early."

"Your fears are groundless, Felix."

"Are they?" And he held out his bound-up hand to her.

"That was but the stroke of a lover mad with jealousy," Elisabeth answered. "When I sent you to Christine that night I little thought you would find her lover there."

"Who is this lover?"

"Indeed, I cannot tell; but being a woman I read another woman easily. As I told you, I thought she loved this Captain Lemasle; in that I was mistaken, but I was not at fault when I said she was in love. That you must know now."

Felix was silent. A lover of Christine's this sham priest might well be, but he was something more – he was the man who knew his secret. This he could not tell to the Countess without betraying himself.

"Would you still marry her, Felix?" she asked.

"Only for the good of Montvilliers," he answered.

"She will hate you, Felix, even though she be your wife. They are her own words."

"I must risk even that for the good of Montvilliers."

"Ah, your love is a small thing beside your ambition," she said, turning away from him.

"Your love is the dearest thing I have in life, Elisabeth," he said quickly. "Do not turn from me, even for a moment, in such a time as this. I am like a child stepping in the dark who holds out its hands for guidance and protection. After to-morrow, who can tell what action of mine may be best for Montvilliers? If Christine hates me so much, she may show it now, and give strength to my enemies; she has that power, I cannot rob her of it. Let me once feel that I am firm without her, and then – "

"Well, Felix?"

Her face was raised to his, and he bent and kissed her lips.

"For the present know that I love you," he whispered, "and give me strength for the ordeal through which I have to pass."

"You ask so much and give so little."

"Wait," he answered. "After to-morrow, I may give all."

"Yours are, indeed, a child's fears," she said. "Come, tell me them one by one, and like some good nurse I will try and show you how foolish they are."

All his fears he could not tell her, perhaps she recognized that he did not, but many he could talk to her about, and she comforted and strengthened him. All the ghosts that conscience sent to harass him were powerless to annul the Countess Elisabeth's work altogether, and it was with firm step and steady eye that presently the Count met his friends and foes.

Meanwhile Jean went about his work, but it did not include a visit to Mademoiselle de Liancourt. He passed slowly through the ante-rooms, where men were still waiting.

"The audience is at an end," he said. "We have too much to attend to to-day to see any more of you. The Count is tired; and has gone to rest a little."

"My Lord Misshapen, won't you attend to us?" said one.

"My unique limbs also require rest; still, what would you have? We know nothing against you."

"A high place at court, to which my love for you entitles me," said the man.

"What say you to a rope over the great gate?" said Jean. "It is the most prominent place I can think of."

The man's hand went suddenly to his sword hilt.

"If you draw sword on me," said Jean, tapping him on the arm with his bauble, making the bells jingle, "you are likely to earn your high place rather easily."

The laugh was turned against the man, and the dwarf passed on.

"It is very well to jest," mused Jean as he crossed the court-yard, "but I'm likely to hang yonder over the gate myself if anything goes wrong in the next few hours."

He entered a low doorway, and going slowly along a dark passage, was challenged at the end of it by a sentry. There were two sentries standing there.

"I have come to see the prisoner."

"We have no orders," answered the sentry.

"I go everywhere under a general order," said Jean. "You should know that, blockhead; it has been shouted loud enough in every corner of the castle."

"It does not apply to-day, Jean."

"Who has been telling you fairy tales, that cocksparrow Barbier?"

The sentry smiled. The new Captain of the Guard was no great friend of his.

"We shall have to cut his feathers," said the dwarf. "Did he tell you that all prisoners were likely to be released to-morrow in honor of the Duke's coronation?"

"No; he did not tell us that."

"And I'm a fool," said the dwarf, "for I was told to keep it secret when I was ordered to bring this release to one of the prisoners to-day." And Jean held out to the sentry a paper, an order of release forthwith, signed and sealed by Count Felix. "You see the name, Pierre Briant, the jailer who let the spy escape. Now, blockheads, are you going to let me pass?"

There was no disputing that order, the sentries stood aside, and one of them proceeded to unlock the cell door.

Pierre Briant looked at the paper and then at the dwarf.

"You are free, jailer Briant," said Jean, "but you are dismissed the Duke's service. You'll have to turn 'prentice to some pedler in the town."

"I'm sorry for that," said the sentry.

"I'll see you on your way to the gate," said the dwarf, and then, when they were out of hearing of the sentries, he went on quickly: "All goes well. Those in the square to-night will follow you. You know what you have to do. Here, put this order of your release in your pocket, walk boldly to the gate, you will not be questioned. Say 'Obedience and trust,' that's your password, and make all speed you can to the Cheval Noir in the Rue de la Grosse Horloge. You will find friends there."

He stood watching the retreating figure across the court-yard, and saw the jailer pass safely through the postern by the great gates.

"That's one deed that would serve to hang me," he muttered. "Barbier is no fool; it is well I had the papers."

He entered the castle again, taking a different direction this time, but again before the door of Gaspard Lemasle's cell two sentries barred his way. Not until he had produced another order of release would they let him pass.

Lemasle walked away with the dwarf in silence.

"What now, Jean?" he whispered when they had passed out of earshot of the sentries.

"Lie low until dark. Then make for guard-room C. They will be all friends there, stout men, captain, that wait their stout leader. 'Obedience and trust' is our password to-night. You understand what you have to do?"

"Never fear, Jean; and grant there's a skirmish of some sort, for I have several scores outstanding."

"We had better both hasten to cover then."