Part 36 (1/2)
His face was thin and sunken; there was a red spot on each cheek and a fierce light in his hollow eyes. For a moment I stood watching him, and then, having made up my mind, stepped up to him. As I approached he stared at me with his livid glance and then rose slowly to his feet.
So deadly a hate shone on his face that for a second it came to me to turn away and leave him to his fate; but, fallen as he was, I could not let him go to his death without a word or a sign. So I walked straight up to him.
”Monsieur, a word with you.”
He simply looked at me. I saw his forehead flush hot, and he pa.s.sed his tongue over dry lips, and then, as if controlling himself with an effort, he turned from me. But I called out:
”M. de Ganache, this is life and death. I have come to warn----”
He flung round on his heel and faced me once more, his hand on the hilt of his poniard.
”Begone!” he said, ”begone! else I may slay you where you stand!
I----” And his voice failed him, but his eyes glared like those of a boar at bay.
”Monsieur,” I said calmly, ”fifty windows look down upon us, and there may be a hundred eyes watching us. If you wish it, I will cross swords with you with pleasure, but listen to what I say first. Your life, and the lives of your friends of your faith, hang on a hair. The council to-day has applied anew the edicts. As you value your life, get your fastest horse and leave Paris at once.”
”In what tavern have you heard this?” he sneered.
”Monsieur,” I answered gravely, ”this is no jest. If you care not to take the warning yourself, give it to others. I myself will warn those of your faith who meet to-night in the Rue des Mathurins. There may be others you know of; give them at least a chance. As for yourself, you have had yours.”
What answer he would have made I know not, but at this moment a sharp voice cut in upon us.
”_Eh bien_, Monsieur de Ganache! but it seems to me that Madame de Valentinois signals to you from the window yonder.”
There was a little rustling in the bushes, and Le Brusquet stepped out, his ape perched upon his shoulder.
”Behold!” he said, ”the crescent moon is already out.” And he pointed to a window overlooking the lawn, where a group of ladies stood watching us.
”It must be to you, Monsieur le Vicomte, that madame signals,” Le Brusquet went on. ”Orrain here is too ugly, and as for me, she loves me no better than my ape.”
With an oath De Ganache pushed past Le Brusquet and hurried across the lawn, leaving us staring after him.
”He had his warning,” said Le Brusquet. ”I heard every word, and thought it was time to step in ere he drew his poniard. The man is mad! But what is this?” And stepping towards the seat he picked up the small packet of letters that De Ganache was reading.
”They belong to De Ganache,” I said; ”he was reading them as I came up.”
”In that case I will return them to monsieur with my own hands.” And Le Brusquet slipped the packet into his pocket. Then turning he took me by the arm and led me off, telling me some absurd story, and laughing loudly, until we had pa.s.sed out of sight of the windows. Then he stopped.
”Do not forget this,” he said: ”the fifth house on the right-hand side of the Rue des Mathurins as you enter from the Rue St. Jacques.”
”Thanks; I will not forget. However did you find out?”
”It is too long to tell, and I must return these papers to De Ganache.”
So saying, he went off.
CHAPTER XXVI
THE CHURCH UNDER THE GROUND
The wicket gate near the riding-school was used almost exclusively by the servants of the palace, to whom it gave access to that maze of nameless streets, dingy, tumble-down houses, and squalid shops that was known as the Magasins. Here it was that the waiting-woman and the lackey stole forth to meet their lovers. Through this filtered all the backstairs' gossip of the Louvre, and more besides, for the small shopkeepers of the Magasins upheld a reputation as evil as the place in which they plied their trade.