Part 4 (1/2)
”Your horse is sound?” the bishop asked, as now he partook of a gla.s.s out of the second bottle.
”Ay, it is sound,” replied the other. ”It has not left the stable for three days.”
”You can, therefore, ride forth to-morrow.”
”Further than he can, weather permitting.”
”Good. Therefore ride ahead of him until you meet the Marquis de Roquemaure. Then you can deliver to him a message somewhat similar to the one he will deliver to the mother of the n.o.ble marquis.”
”What is the message?”
”The message he will deliver to madame la marquise--if he is fortunate enough to see her--is the word '_Yes_.' The message you will deliver to her son, whom you _must_ see, is also '_Yes_.' And, if you can remember, you may also say to the marquis, 'It is the man.' _Can_ you remember?”
”Without doubt I can. The words are: 'Yes. It is the man.'”
”Those are the words.”
CHAPTER IV.
”HER LIFE STANDS IN THE PATH OF OTHERS' GREED.”
Awakened in the dark of the morning by a loud knocking on the door, St. Georges sprang off the bed and called l.u.s.tily to know who was there?
”It is near dawn,” a female voice answered. ”Monsieur was to be awakened.”
”Where is the man called Pierre?” asked St. Georges, perceiving that the tones were not his gruff ones.
”He has gone forth to one of the bishop's farms at Pouilly. He bade me call monsieur.”
”And the bishop?”
”Monseigneur is not yet risen. There is a meal prepared for monsieur below, if he will partake of it.”
Monsieur so far partook of it on descending--after he had made a rapid toilet, cleaned his sword by pa.s.sing the folds of his cloak over it, and (good soldier as he was!) having said a prayer at his bedside ere leaving the room--as to drink a cup of thick, lukewarm chocolate. But beyond this he would wait no longer, being very anxious to regain the custody of his child. Also he thought that the ”Ours” would offer a more satisfying meal than that now set before him, which, in truth, was nothing but the selfsame chocolate, some bread, and a half-finished _saucisson_ which did not look particularly appetizing.
Therefore he tossed on the table a silver crown to the miserable-looking old woman who had called him, and who afterward escorted him downstairs, and, following her across the more than ever snow-covered courtyard, emerged on to the great _place_.
And still, as he observed, the snow fell, must have been falling all night, since it lay upon this open s.p.a.ce in great tussocks, or mounds, while across the _place_ itself no footmark was to be seen. It was, indeed, as though a vast white sea stretched from the house of Phelypeaux over to where the ”Ours” stood.
Beneath a dull leaden canopy of cloud the wintry day was, however, coming; from the chimneys of the inn he could see the smoke, scarcely more dull and leaden than that canopy itself, rising; at the door of the inn he saw the mousquetaire standing, looking up at what should have been the heavens.
”Is all well?” he asked as he drew close to him now. ”Have you seen the child?”
”All well, monsieur,” the other replied, saluting as he spoke--”all well, both with child and horse. Yet, _ma foi!_ what a day for a journey! Must monsieur, indeed, continue his?”
”Ay!” replied St. Georges, ”I must. My orders are to pause no longer than necessary on the route to Paris, to report myself to the Minister of War, the Marquis de Louvois.” Then turning to the mousquetaire, he asked: ”What are your orders? Do you ride toward Bar to-day?”
”Since monsieur proceeds, so do I. Yet I doubt if we get even so far as Bar. _Ciel!_ will the snow ever cease to fall?”
But in spite of the snow, in half an hour both were ready to set out.