Part 20 (1/2)

”Oho, M. de Berquin!” I said to myself, with an inward laugh; ”I do not know whether you are bargaining for help to persecute Mlle. de Varion, or to spy on the Sieur de la Tournoire; but it has come to pa.s.s that you can do both at the same time.”

CHAPTER IX.

THE FOUR RASCALS

We rode southward at an easy pace, that mademoiselle might not be made to suffer from fatigue. Aside from the desirability of our reaching safe territory, there was no reason for great haste. M. de Varion had not yet been tried, and the attempt to deliver him from prison need not be made immediately. Time would be required in which I might form a satisfactory plan of action in this matter. It would be necessary to employ all my men in it, and to bring them secretly from Maury by night marches, but I must not take the first step until the whole design should be complete in my mind.

I suggested to mademoiselle that we first go to her father's house, in Fleurier, where she might get such of her belongings as she wished to take with her. But she desired to take no more along than was already in the portmanteaus that her boys, Hugo and Pierre, carried with them on their horses. She had come directly from Bourges with this baggage, having been visiting an unmarried aunt, in that city, when news of her father's arrest reached her.

When I questioned her as to her conduct on the reception of that news, her face clouded, and she showed embarra.s.sment and a wish to avoid the subject. Nevertheless, she gave me answers, and I finally learned that her purpose on leaving Bourges had been to seek the governor of the province, immediately, and pet.i.tion for her father's release. It was by accident that she had met M. de la Chatre at the inn, where she had stopped that her horses might be baited. My persistent, though deferential, inquiries elicited from her, in a wavering voice, that she had not previously possessed the governor's acquaintance; that her entreaties had evoked only the governor's wrathful orders to depart from the province on pain of sharing her father's fate; and that La Chatre had refused to allow her even to see her father in his dungeon in the Chateau of Fleurier.

Her agitation as she disclosed these things to me became so great that I presently desisted from pursuing the subject, and sought to restore brightness to the face of one whose tenderness and youth made her misfortune ineffably touching.

I found that, with a woman's intelligence, she had a child's ingenuousness. I had no difficulty in leading her to talk about herself.

Artlessly she communicated to me the salient facts of her life. Her father, the younger son of a n.o.ble family, had pa.s.sed his days in study on his little portion of land near Fleurier. Like myself, she had when very young become motherless. As for her education, her unmarried aunt had taught her those accomplishments which a woman can best impart, while her father had instructed her concerning the ancients, the arts, and the sciences. She had been to Paris but once, and knew nothing of the court.

Most of my conversation with mademoiselle was had while we traversed a deserted stretch of road, where I could, with safety, ride by her side and allow Blaise to take my place with the maid, Jeannotte. I could infer how deeply the good fellow had been smitten with the pet.i.te damsel by the means which he took to impress her in return. Far from showing himself as the wounded, sighing lover, he swelled to large dimensions, a.s.sumed his most martial frown, and carried himself as a most formidable personage.

He boasted sonorously of his achievements in battle.

”And the scar on your forehead,” I heard her say, as she inspected his visage with a coquettish side glance; ”at what battle did you get that?”

His reply was uttered in a voice whose rancorous fierceness must have set the maid trembling.

”In the battle of the Rue Etienne,” he said, ”which was fought between myself and a h.e.l.l-born Papist, on St. Bartholomew's night, in 1572. From the next house-roof, I had seen Coligny's body thrown, bleeding, from his own window into his courtyard, for I was one of those who were with him when his murderers came, and whom he ordered to flee. I ran from roof to roof, hoping to reach a house where a number of Huguenots were, that I might lead them back to avenge the admiral's murder. I dropped to the street and ran around a corner straight into the arms of one of the butchers employed by the Duke of Guise that night to decorate the streets of Paris with the best blood in France. Seeing that I did not wear the white cross on my arm, he was good enough to give me this red mark on my forehead. But in those days I was quick at repartee, and I gave him a similar mark on a similar place. Then I was knocked down from behind, and when I awoke it was the next day. The dogs had thought me dead. As for the man who gave me this mark, I have not seen him since, but for thirteen years I have prayed hard to the bountiful Father in Heaven to bring us together again some day, and the good G.o.d in His infinite kindness will surely do so!”

Now and then mademoiselle turned in her saddle to look behind. It was when she did this for the ninth or tenth time that she gave a start, and her lips parted with a half-uttered e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n of alarm. I followed her look and saw five mounted figures far behind us, on the road. It was most probable that these were De Berquin, Barbemouche, and the latter's three ragged comrades. But in this sight I found no reason to be disturbed. If mademoiselle was the object of De Berquin's quest, I felt that our party was sufficiently strong to protect her. If he had abandoned the intention of annoying her with further importunities, and was merely proceeding to Clochonne in order to act as the governor's spy against me, there could be no immediate danger in his presence, for he did not suspect that I was the Sieur de la Tournoire.

”Be a.s.sured, mademoiselle,” I said, ”you have nothing whatever to fear from M. de Berquin.”

”I do not fear for myself,” she replied, with a pathetic little smile.

”It cannot be possible that, having seen me only once, he should put himself to so much trouble merely to inflict his attentions on me.”

”Then you never saw him before the meeting at the inn to-day?” I asked, in surprise.

”Never. When he addressed me and introduced himself, I was surprised that he should already know my name.”

I then recalled that the governor's secretary, Montignac, at one time, during his talk with De Berquin outside our window, had pointed towards the inn. Was it, then, of Mlle. de Varion that he had been talking?

Montignac, of course, having witnessed the interview between mademoiselle and the governor, had learned her name. It must have been he who had communicated it to De Berquin. Had the subtle secretary entrusted the unscrupulous cavalier with some commission relative to mademoiselle, as well as with the task of betraying me? It was in vain that I tried to find satisfactory answers to these questions.

I asked mademoiselle whether she had ever known Montignac before this day.

”Never,” she answered, with a kind of shudder, which seemed to express both abhorrence and fear. Again she grew reticent; again the shadow and the look of confusion appeared on her face. I could make nothing of these signs. To attempt a solution by interrogating her was only to cause her pain, and rather than do that I preferred to remain mystified.

Once more mademoiselle cast an uneasy look at the riders in the distance rearward.

”Ah!” said I, with a smile, ”you have no fear for yourself, yet you continue to look back with an expression that very nearly resembles that of fright.”

”I do not fear for myself,” she said, quite artlessly; ”it is for you that I fear. M. de Berquin will surely try to revenge himself for the humiliation you gave him.”