Part 27 (1/2)

”_Si, si_,” the other replied. ”You shall be called,” and he went toward the door, though, both there and before, he did not cease to glance furtively at him. These glances had not been un.o.bserved, however, by St. Georges, who in his turn had been equally watching him to see if any absolute recognition appeared to dawn upon him. And now, as the man prepared to depart and leave him alone, he said, speaking as carelessly as possible:

”Well! you thought you knew my face, friend. Have you been able to recall yet where you saw it last?” and he looked him straight in the eyes.

But the other only shook his head, and grumbled out:

”No, no. I cannot remember. Perhaps--it may be--I am mistaken.”

CHAPTER XXVI.

IN THE SNARE.

Had St. Georges followed the impulse that first occurred to him when he recognised the man Andre, he would have made some excuse for not remaining a night in Bayeux, but would have proceeded at once on his journey to Troyes--though not to Paris as he had said, only with a desire to throw dust in his late oppressor's eyes. For to Paris he had no intention of going under any circ.u.mstances, deeming it likely to be full of danger to him. There he would be known to countless military men; he might be seen at any moment and recognised; and the result would, in all likelihood, be ruinous. He meant, however, to proceed some distance toward it and then to strike into another road, and so, leaving the capital a little to the north of him, reach Troyes. He thought he could do this by branching off at Evreux and pa.s.sing through Fontainebleau, but at present he was not even sure that this would be the direction to take--was, indeed, uncertain if such a course would lead him to the goal he sought, though he believed it would.

But the impulse to quit Andre's auberge had to be resisted at once as soon as it arose--to follow it would be fraught with, possibly, as much danger as remaining there for a night. For if Andre really suspected who he was, he would not permit him to quit Bayeux--not at least without extorting something from him for his silence--while, if he could not absolutely remember him, his suspicions would be so much aroused by St. Georges's suddenly altered plans as, perhaps, to absolutely verify them, or to cause him to have the stranger denied exit from the city. Therefore, at all hazards, he must remain the intended night. It was the only way in which to avoid aiding the fellow's hazy recollections, which, after all, might not have taken actual form by the next day's dawn. And there was another thing: however much he might overmaster Nature sufficiently to be able to proceed without rest, the horse could not do so. He must, he decided, remain, and trust to chance.

”What a miserable, what an untoward fate is mine!” he murmured; ”could Fortune play me worse? Of all men to light on, that it must be this brute--whom, if I could do so in safety, I would slay for his countless cruelties to me and others! It is hard, hard, hard! There are thousands of inns in France to which I might have gone without meeting any who could recognise me, yet at the very first I stumble on I encounter one who knows me, and knows what I have been. A galley slave!--a man doomed for life, while there, to that brutal work; a man who, since he has escaped, is doomed to death. Ah! well! I am in G.o.d's hands. As he has protected me before, may he do so again!”

He threw himself upon the bed as he uttered his little prayer--he must sleep at all cost. Even though Andre should denounce him to-morrow ere he could quit Bayeux--even though he should have to join _la chaine_ again on its road to the galleys--ay! even though the scaffold was to witness his death in the morning, his wornout frame must rest. He had been without sleep for now almost the whole time that had elapsed since Tourville's fleet had first loomed up before the English; it seemed to him that he could scarce recall when he slept last. And what terrible events he had gone through since that time!

Had he tried to keep awake, he could scarce have done so; as it was he made no such effort. Wrapped in the coverlet, the sword unbuckled but grasped in his hand, he stretched his body out and gave himself up to slumber--slumber deep and heavy as that of a drugged man.

He would not have awakened when he did, would have slept on, perhaps, for hours longer, had not a continued deep, droning, noise--interrupted now and again by a shriller one--at last succeeded in thoroughly rousing him--a noise that came as it seemed from below the bed he lay on, and was only interrupted and drowned once by the booming of the cathedral clock striking three. Three! and he had lain down in early evening had slept for hours. Yet how weary he still felt! It was as yet quite dark--the dawn would not come for another hour, he knew--what could those sounds below mean? He raised himself on his elbow to listen and hear more plainly.

At first he could distinguish nothing but the deep hum, broken now and again by the sharper, more metallic sound; but as he bent over the bed--being now quite wide awake and with his senses naturally very acute--he recognised what those sounds were. And more especially was he enabled to do so from the fact that the planks of the floor were not joined very closely together--or had come apart since they were first laid down--as he had observed when he entered the room the day before.

The sounds were Andre and his wife talking. At this hour of the night, or morning! And gradually, with his senses strained to the utmost, he was enabled to catch almost every word that they uttered.

”But,” said the woman, ”I like it not. It is treachery--_ba.s.sesse_.

And he is _beau_. _Mon Dieu! mais il est beau_----”

”_Peste!_” the man replied. ”It is always of _les beaux_ you think.

Once 'twas the fisher from Havre, then Le Bic, of the _marechausse_, now this one. And why base? The king pays a hundred gold pistoles for such as he. And if not to us, then others will get it. Why not we?”

”You are sure? You are not mistaken?”

”Sure! From the first moment. Though I held my peace. Ho! why frighten the bird away from the nest? At first the hair and mustache puzzled me--then----”

St. Georges started as he heard this. _Now_ he knew of whom they talked.

”--it came back to me. A _galerien_ in the Raquin, a surly dog--one of the worst; one of those who had been gentlemen. Gentlemen! _Ma foi!_ I have made their backs tingle often, often!”

”Ay!” muttered St. Georges between his teeth, ”you have! 'Tis true.”

”You are certain?” the woman asked again. ”A mistake would be terrible--would send you back to the galleys yourself, only as beaten slave--not overseer.”

”Certain! So will the others be when he is taken--alive or dead. There on his shoulder, _ma belle_, they will see proof--the _fleur-de-lis_.