Traitor and True

"So," said Humphrey, musing to himself after he had walked softly along the passage to where the boxes stood, "she is Madame la Marquise de Villiers-Bordéville. The fair conspirator who plots and intrigues with De Beaurepaire, or with his followers unknown to him; the woman who will inveigle him into a conspiracy against, Grand Dieu! the King and his throne. The woman who knows that old man who leered and winked at her as he descended from the French coach. Madame la Marquise de Villiers-Bordéville! Well! well! It may hap that the Duchess, or Jacquette, knows something of the lady."

As thus the young man mused there came along the passage from the head of the stairs, which latter she had evidently just ascended, a woman attired as a maidservant and having in her hands some freshly cleaned breast lace. A good-looking, though saucy-looking, wench, who, after quickly observing that Humphrey had been reading the name on the boxes, allowed her eyes to roam with undisguised admiration over his handsome face, stalwart figure and well-made travelling costume. Then, with a coquettish glance, she was about to pass on to the farther room when, suddenly, she turned and, following Humphrey who by now was at the head of the stairs, she said: -

"Monsieur, Monsieur," while, as Humphrey stopped to look at her, she continued, "Monsieur is of the following of Madame la Duchesse who is in the great apartment. Is it not so?"

"It is so, pretty one," said Humphrey, who considered that, since this was undoubtedly the maid of the Marquise, a few pleasant words would probably not be wasted. "What then, mademoiselle?"

"There is a brigand of your band," the girl said, smiling with a pleased expression at being called "pretty one" and with a flattered expression at being addressed as "mademoiselle," "oh! a desperado, a vagabond. A man with a great moustache and fierce eyes and a huge sword, who is impertinent. Oh! of the most impertinent."

"'Tis Fleur de Mai," said Humphrey. "Of a surety it is. Well! is he insolent enough to presume to admire mademoiselle?"

"He is. Ah! Un luron. And-Fleur de Mai! Dieu des dieux! What a name for such as that. Monsieur, I seek not his admiration. Nor any man's."

"Yet," said Humphrey, gazing into the girl's eyes, which gaze she told herself afterwards gave her a frisson, "who could help but admire. I blame not Fleur de Mai. Ma foi, I, too-"

"Oh! monsieur-"

" – should be tempted to admire if we met often. Yet alas! that cannot be. We set out for Italy in a day or so, while Madame la Marquise goes, I do fear me, another way. Is it not so, ma mie?" venturing on the ma mie as a further aid towards the information which he was cunningly feeling his way towards obtaining, if possible, by flattery no matter how gross.

"Ah, monsieur!" the frivolous girl exclaimed, her head whirling at the soft words and lightsome manner of this handsome gentleman. "I know not. I am new to the service of madame, having been engaged by her but a few days ago at Épinal."

"New to her!" exclaimed Humphrey. "And engaged at Épinal. Is that where she dwells?"

"Nay. Nay. She came from Nancy. And-"

"From Nancy," Humphrey said to himself inwardly. "From Nancy. Heavens! Where the Duchess and all of us were but a few days ago. What is all this? What does it mean? What does it all point to? This strange intriguer here in this very house, and known to La Truaumont yet unknown to the Duchess. I must learn more of this."

But, aloud, he repeated, "New to her, eh, pretty one?"

"Ay," the girl replied, her tongue now thoroughly unloosed. "Ay! new as those valises you were just now regarding; as this," flicking with her forefinger the lace she held: "as her robes; new even as her shoes. Pardie! one might almost say she had cast an old skin at Épinal and put on a new one in its place. The things she left behind there, that she gave to the maidservant, would scarce have furnished the wallet of a wandering singer; a Jew would not have given a handful of sols for all."

"This is strange matter," thought Humphrey to himself, "and needs seeing into. There is more here than should be." After which he said, "And have you come to care for this new mistress of yours, this woman so new in all things? Is the service soft and easy, and does she treat you well?"

"Oh! as for that," the girl said, "there is no cause for plaint. She is sweet and good and ever soft and gentle, asking but little by way of service. Also, I do think she dreams on nought but some lover she has. Listen, beau monsieur. Upon her breast she bears day and night-I have seen it there when I have gone to wake her from her sleeping! – a miniature of one handsome as a god-handsome as a man may be. In the day, too, I have seen her take it from her bodice again and again, and kiss it and whisper foolish words to it, calling it 'Louis, my soul, my adoration. Louis, my lord and king.' Ah! why do you start, monsieur? Why?"

"Louis," Humphrey muttered, forgetting himself. "Louis. Her lord and king. So! so!"

"What does monsieur imagine?"

"There is one such I know of," Humphrey muttered thoughtfully, and, since he forgot himself, aloud, "One to whom that-that-those words-that name might well apply and-"

"And so there is," the girl said, looking into his eyes, while thinking how soft and clear they were. "I, too, know of one who is a Louis-handsome, all the world says-a lord-a king, what if she loves him?"

"Him! Whom?"

"Whom! Ah! What if she loves the one Louis. The one king. The king. It might well be so. She is fair enough to possess even a king's love."

"'Tis true," Humphrey said. "'Tis very true. In faith it is. It-it might be so. Perhaps you have guessed aright. Who shall say it is not he?"

Yet, while he threw dust in the eyes of the gossiping girl, he knew very well that it was not the portrait of Louis the king which lay upon that woman's breast by day and night; not the portrait of Louis the superb ruler of France-of, indeed, almost all Europe-but, instead, that other Louis whom, only last night, he had heard spoken of as the one who should, if all went well, undo the other.

"Sweetheart," he said, "my duty calls me now. I must away to the Duchess. Later, we will meet again. And, be not proud," putting his hand into his pocket and drawing forth a gold piece, "take this for spending. We will meet again."

The woman took the coin with a pretence of demur-though, it may be, that the demur was not all a pretence. For, in truth, she would, perhaps, have desired that in place of a piece of gold the donor should have said some more fine words to her, or looked softly once more into her eyes, or, instead of contenting himself with saying, "We will meet again," should have named a time and place for such a meeting.

As for Humphrey, whose heart and soul had only room for the image of one woman, Jacquette, he turned on his heel after a pleasant nod to his gossip and a promise to speak to Fleur de Mai and bid him be of better demeanour, and went along the corridor to where the Duchess was.

He found her in her salon, occupied much as he had always known her to be when he had ever been permitted entrance to her apartments in her husband's house in Paris. Her guitar lay on her knee, the blue silken ribbons thereof dangling down to her little feet encased in gold broidered slippers; by her side was a vellum-bound copy of Massuccio's novellinos: on a table in front of her a flask of Coindrieux.

Near her, directing a buxom maid to pack into a small valise, or havresack, all the clothes which the Duchess would carry with her across the Alps, was Jacquette.

"Ah, ha!" the Duchess exclaimed. "So 'tis you, monsieur. And did you sleep well and soft, amico?"

"Yes, I slept well enough, madame. On one side of my room was one guardian angel-yourself. On the other-perhaps another one. Another fair lady."

"Another!"

"There is a lady, madame," Jacquette said, "who has the apartment of three rooms next to Humphrey's. Her salon is next to his sleeping room, her bedroom next to that, and her maid's beyond that."

"Who is she?"

"She is, madame, a French lady who has travelled from Nancy. The Marquise de Villiers-Bordéville. She-"

"Ah!" with a slight start.

"You know her, madame?" Humphrey asked.

"I know of her," while, turning her head away, she muttered a little Italian oath that, especially from between her lips, sounded more like some soft, whispered love-word; after which she said to herself, "That woman here. That spy in the pay of Spain, as Louis termed her; that spy of his own, as I do believe. The woman who is steeped to the lips in the scheme which will lead to his undoing," and she ground her little white teeth together as thus she pondered. Even, however, as she recognised that Humphrey's eyes were on her and that he was waiting to hear more of what she knew of this woman, there came to her one crumb of satisfaction. The satisfaction that, since this intriguing woman, this fine Normande, as De Beaurepaire had called Emérance, was here in Basle she was at least far apart from him.

Hortense had never truly loved De Beaurepaire more than he had loved her, but to her as well as to him there had come the knowledge that each might be of great service to the other. The Prince wanted money; she wanted some one who would help her to evade her husband and to escape out of France. And, later, if the Pope would grant that which she so earnestly desired, namely, freedom from the maniac to whom she was wedded, why then, perhaps, De Beaurepaire would do well enough for a husband if she ever cared to take another; as well if not better than any other man. His birth was illustrious, his name was one of the proudest in France, his position under the King that of the highest, and-which to an Italian woman was much-he was superbly handsome. He was a man to whom any woman might be proud to be allied, but-as for love-no! He had loved and been loved too often; he had been sought after too much and-though the same thing had been her own lot-she would not follow in the footsteps, she was too proud to follow in the footsteps, of those others. But, since she was a woman and that a beautiful one as well as a woman of high rank, and since this man's name and hers were coupled together now and must always be so, she was resolved that, at least, this other woman should not, if possible, take her place.

"Humphrey," she said again, "I know of her. She is an intriguer, one who may do much evil to those who fall into her toils. If you by chance should learn what brings her to Basle come to me and tell me all."

"Can she harm you, madame?"

"Nay. Since I am no longer in France no one can do so. But-there are others whom she may injure."

"I understand, madame. Others in France whom you would not have harmed."

"Yes. Others in France whom I would not have harmed."

"If she works evil, if she should endeavour to work evil to others, then-then-"

"Then warn them or warn me. Even though I am out of France I may do something. This woman," she said, whispering in his ear so that the stolid maid packing the valise should not overhear her, "is here to meet other intriguers, another intriguer, an old man. Together they will plot and plot and draw one of whom we know into their toils for their own ends. They will do so! nay, they have already almost done so, though 'tis perhaps not yet too late to save-him! And it is all madness. Folly! Ruin! They may profit by it-they may win-succeed. But he must lose. You understand, Humphrey?"

"I understand, madame. And," with emphasis, "I sleep next to her salon."

Then he asked in as easy a tone as possible, "Does Madame la Duchesse know of any others than those of whom she has spoken who are in this scheme?"

"Of others. No! Why! Humphrey, are there others in it?"

"None of whom I know, madame," Humphrey replied, while determining that, for the present at least, the Duchess need not know that the chief of her escort, La Truaumont, was one of the principals in this plot.

Later, however, he recognised that not only for him but for De Beaurepaire, La Truaumont, and the adventuress herself, it would have been far better if he had spoken out openly and told the Duchess that La Truaumont and this woman had already met and talked together over all that was on foot.

CHAPTER XI

Before the evening came Humphrey had discovered the manner in which he had been able to overhear so plainly all that had passed between La Truaumont and the Marquise de Villiers-Bordéville the previous night.

On returning to his room after his conversation with the Duchess, he had at once set about looking for the reason why the sounds of their voices had reached his ears so clearly, and, ere five minutes had elapsed, that reason was forthcoming.

The tapestry-if it was worthy of the name, since, in actual fact, it was nothing but coarse, heavy-coloured cloth which hung in front of the walls from the ceiling to the wainscot-was quite loose and might be lifted aside, or drawn forward, by being grasped at the bottom, as easily as a curtain might be, so that, consequently, when this was done the whole of the bare wall behind it could be observed. Now, since Humphrey very well understood that whatever sound had penetrated to his ears must have come from and through the wall which separated his bedroom from the salon of his neighbour, it was to that wall that he at once directed his attention. A moment later he had done this, and saw that high up in the wall was an orifice of about two feet square which was strongly crossed with iron bars, and was probably, if such a thing could have been thought of in even earlier days than these, intended as a means of permitting air to circulate from one room to another. If this had not been the original intention, Humphrey could think of no other reason for the grating being where it was.

"Yet," he said to himself, as he gazed, or rather peered up, at the thing from where he stood, his head being under the lower part of the coarse tapestry, "what matters the cause of its being there since, by its existence, I have been enabled to hear one portion of this villainous scheme discussed, and, by God's will, may be enabled to hear still more. So, too, I observe that the tapestry on the other side prevents that grating from being visible to any in the woman's salon, therefore none will guess that there is a listener here. 'Tis very well. If I know aught of plotters and conspirators there will be no more talk in there until the night has come and the house is at rest, wherefore, since this is the time of day when the Duchess sleeps, as do all her countrywomen and most of her countrymen, I will go and pass an hour or so with sweet Jacquette. Then will I tell her, from whom I have no secrets, of how I purpose passing part of my night."

At the same time, since he was a young man of method, he looked around his room while pondering if he could not utilise some piece of furniture by pushing it up against the wall so that, by standing on it, he should hear better whatever might be said within that room. All the same he decided, after a moment's reflection, not to do this.

"Last night I heard much," he thought to himself, "though that other and La Truaumont spoke but in whispers: to-night, since I shall not be in bed but under the hangings, I should hear still better. And, also, the maid will doubtless come here at night to fill the ewer and prepare the bed; she would observe the change I have made. Let be. 'Tis best so."

Upon which he went out after locking his door behind him, a precaution never to be neglected in such times as these when nothing worth filching, even down to a plume for a hat or a wisp of lace, was safe from some one or other's thievish hands. After which he made his way to Jacquette's room and tapped lightly on the door to call her forth.

"Sweetheart," he said, when she came to it, "put on thy hood and come out into the streets of this old city. The Duchess should be sleeping now and have no need for thee."

"She is asleep, or seeking sleep. You know, Humphrey, we set out for Geneva and the Milanese territory to-morrow."

"I know, dear one, and we will ride together side by side as we have ridden here from Paris, though by devious ways and far off a straight route. Yet, as you may guess, there is much to be done by me ere we set forth."

"I know. I know. But wait for me below. I will but get my cape and hood-'tis cold here in this damp, mountainous land-and then be with you. But for an hour only, Humphrey. Only one hour."

"It must suffice since it can be no more. Yet we shall still be much together until," looking softly at her, "we are together for ever."

After which he descended and went out to the great place between the inn and the Rhine and waited for his love to descend.

He waited, idling away the moments until Jacquette came, while seeing Fleur de Mai sally forth with Boisfleury, the former having a new plume in his hat and a fresh scarf round him, while the latter swaggered by his side untidy as ever. He saw, too, La Truaumont across the river, sitting in a tavern balcony which overhung the rushing stream, and drinking with an old man of vulpine appearance-the old man who had early that morning descended from the French coach and looked up at the window of the Marquise's salon and leered and stuck his tongue in his cheek, so that Humphrey had felt sure the woman in that salon was visible.

"Ha," he said to himself, "so he, too, is in it. He is the intriguer of whom the Duchess spoke; the man who was to come here. Well! well! we shall know more to-night."

As he thought this, however, he determined that he would not wait until the full night had come ere he retired to his room and began to keep his watch, since he would thus be ready to hear all that might be said in the next one. A word to the Duchess, a hint of what he was about to do, would absolve him from any attendance on her that evening.

Jacquette came forth from the inn now, her pretty travelling escoffion on her head and her little cape around her shoulders, when, stepping across the place to where he stood with his back to her, she joined him. Then-after looking across the river towards the spot where Humphrey told her La Truaumont was seated (La Truaumont who, having seen her come out of the inn, now waved his hand gracefully to her, though half en camarade and half with the air of a roystering, boisterous soldier) she put her hand on her lover's arm and, together, they walked side by side along the left bank of the swift, rushing Rhine.

Of love 'tis certain they should talk at first-just a little-as is the case with other lovers when first they meet, and always has been since the world was young and fresh and green, and will be until it is worn out and dead and gone. Therefore, so it was now with Humphrey and Jacquette. And once, nay more than once, perhaps, when they had gotten opposite the great wind-mills on the other side and were shielded from view by the overhanging banks of the river, and hidden by the acacias growing wild on those banks, their young lips met and touched as, sometimes, the petals of one drooping crimson flower will meet and touch those of another. But each knew that they were here for something more serious at this moment than even their love, and gradually they fell to talking on the strange environments with which they, who had but lately been boy and girl together, were now surrounded. They talked of the journey that lay before them over the eternal snows of the St. Bernard or the St. Gothard, of which many travellers had spoken and written and over the former of which Humphrey's father had once himself passed on a voyage to Italy. They wondered, too, how the family of the Duchess would receive her and make a new home for her, and even wondered what the mad Duke would do to regain possession of his errant wife. And then, at last, they spoke of the whisper there was in the air-their air; that air by which they were surrounded; of the whisper that De Beaurepaire meditated some mad stroke by which he would set his life upon a cast and either lose all, including life, in that attempt, or soar still higher than even one of his house had ever soared before. "To-night," said Humphrey, in answer to a question from Jacquette, "I shall know more; perhaps all. If that happens which I think will happen, then I may know enough to prevent the Prince from rushing on his ruin. For, sweet one, I do not believe, nor will I ever believe, that he is aught but a tool, a cat's-paw in the hands of these others. La Truaumont pretends to be his follower, his servitor, yet he is, if I mistake not, the one who leads or pushes him towards the end he himself desires to obtain. While for this woman, who lives so close and snug within her rooms and is seen of none, who is she, what is she?"

"I know naught of her, or only that La Truaumont says she secretly, and unknown to him, loves De Beaurepaire."

"I understand," her lover answered. "Yet I believe that-that-as with La Truaumont so it is with this woman; she, too, pushes De Beaurepaire onward to something he would never otherwise attempt. And if she is beautiful-"

"She is beautiful," Jacquette said. "I saw her in Nancy. Poorly clad 'tis true, with poor adornments-"

"She has others now," Humphrey exclaimed, remembering the tray of handsome lace that Emérance's maid carried in her hand when they talked together at the head of the stairs.

"No doubt, no doubt," the colour returning again to Jacquette's cheeks as she spoke. "And you would say that, if she is beautiful she can lead him, wind him round her fingers as a child can wind a silken thread. He is vain and she may play upon his vanity, although-although, Humphrey-even as she does so she still may love him. If all the world speaks true, many women have loved him ere now."

"If she loves him she should not lure him to his destruction. Yet, if what I overheard last night has any truth in it, her own destruction might accompany his. La Truaumont warned her-and, as he spoke, his voice sounded sinister to me-that she might pay a heavy price for his love."

"A woman would not heed that," Jacquette answered softly. "If she loves a man and would have him love her, the price, even though it be her life, counts nought."

"Has he," Humphrey asked now, after gazing into her eyes as she spoke thus, "confided in the Duchess? Does she know all?"

"She will not know. She will not hear. She is resolved to know nothing of De Beaurepaire's share in what is being plotted, I think. For if 'tis against the King, against his crown, that danger threatens, then-then-even though it were to bring death to him she would warn the King. His mother, the Princess, would have told the Duchess at Nancy, she endeavoured to tell her, to beseech her to intercede with De Beaurepaire, to beg him to forgo this mad scheme of which he had whispered the greater part to her, though not mentioning that he was the head and front of it; but madame would not listen to her. She will not know it since, knowing, she would feel impelled to divulge all to the King."

"Then, somehow, I will save him. He has been ever good to me: once he offered me a commission in his guards; also 'twas he who pressed King Louis to make King Charles restore to me all that my father lost in his father's cause. I must save him."

"Yet," Jacquette said, toying with the lace of his sleeve, "it does behove you also to save the King, since, if these conspirators are backed by the power and wealth of Spain, there is a chance they may succeed. He, Louis the King, has also been good to you."

"'Tis true. 'Tis very true," Humphrey said reflectively; "he, too, when my father was dead and my mother and I borne down by bitter, grinding poverty, put in our way the wherewithal to live. He placed her in the suite of Madame Henriette, he made me a page at Vincennes. In very truth I owe him much."

"Therefore repay. Endeavour to serve both of those who, in their time, have served you and yours. Save De Beaurepaire from these huckstering conspirators, or, better still, save him from himself: save the King from their assaults upon his great power and position. Yet-yet-ah! heaven," she broke off to exclaim, "if your knowledge of this plot, if the knowledge you already possess, or may further possess, should bring harm to you! Oh! if they should know that you have discovered all, what-what would they hesitate at? Either here, in this gloomy town, outside the power of France to help or save you, or-or-when, later, we are on those icy passes over which we must ride to reach the Milanese."