Part 19 (1/2)

”Tell me, what made you come to Vayenne--originally, I mean?” said the priest after another pause.

”I came as any traveller might. From childhood Vayenne has always had a fascination for me. Long ago I determined to visit it some day, and truly it has treated me very scurvily thus far.”

”Why this fascination?”

”Indeed, I cannot tell, but I do know it is being speedily cured,”

Herrick answered.

”And why have you returned to Vayenne now?”

”I hardly know,” laughed Herrick. ”The whim of an Englishman to see the game to the end. I might have been wiser to ride to the frontier while I had the chance.”

”Perhaps; yet who shall say? Providence, or circ.u.mstance, call it what you will, determines these matters. I, too, have schemed, my son, schemed to bring about this very meeting, and after all it comes in a strange manner. It was I who on the night of your arrival arranged to have you captured--no, not as a spy, I never thought of that. I only wanted you brought here.”

”Why not have invited me to come?” asked Herrick, who, although astonished at the priest's admission, would not show it.

”I did not know why you had come to Vayenne. I had reasons to be suspicious.”

”I cannot congratulate you on your method,” said Herrick. ”Your fellows nearly succeeded in getting me hanged on the nearest lamp.”

”You put such wholesome fear in them that they acted foolishly. One is still in his bed getting his bones mended, the other----”

”Faith, I'll give him some mending to do if he but gives me the chance.”

”Poor Mercier,” said Father Bertrand; ”and you seem to have treated him in friendly fas.h.i.+on to-day.”

”Was that he? The man who brought me here?”

”You may be anxious to thank him presently. That night,” the priest went on, ”I went to the castle, to your cell. I should have proved you were no spy, but you had gone. For the second time this interview was delayed.”

”And this third time?” queried Herrick.

”Circ.u.mstances have changed. Duke Maurice is reported dead, is believed to be dead; you have said yourself that you do not know whether he is dead or alive. At such a time events happen quickly.

Preparation is already active. Felix will be Duke, and once crowned----”

”That shall not be,” said Herrick.

”How will you prevent it?”

Father Bertrand snapped out the question, and leaned forward, waiting for the answer. His whole att.i.tude had changed. There was a tenseness about him that seemed subtly to convey itself into Herrick's blood.

”Show me the way,” he said, leaning forward in his turn as eagerly as the priest had done.

”There is a mirror yonder, Monsieur Herrick,” said the priest, rising suddenly. ”If you have forgotten what manner of man you are, look in it.”

Herrick had risen as the priest rose, and almost unconsciously turned to look at his own reflection. While he did so, he heard the rattle of a curtain being sharply drawn aside, and turned to see the priest pointing to a picture which the curtain had concealed until now.

”Do you know that face?” he asked.