Part 39 (1/2)

”But I knew nothing of their going to Maury,” she said, helplessly. ”It was not to have been so. You were to have been taken by an ambush, I say!

If the governor sent troops to attack you to-night, he must have changed the plan.”

Now, I could indeed believe this, for I had overheard the plan suggested by Montignac, and her very talk about the ambush seemed to show that his plan had been adopted without change. In that case, she might not have known of the movement of the troops. La Chatre might have decided, at any time, to change his plan. Perhaps he had done this, and, for lack of means or for some other reason, had not tried to inform her, or had tried in vain.

She stood like an accused woman before her judges, incapable of formulating her defence, expressing her distress by an occasional low, convulsive sob. What did her conduct mean? Was her demeanor genuine or a.s.sumed? Why did she confess one thing and deny another? Why did she seem guilty and not guilty?

”I am puzzled more and more,” I said. ”I thought that, when I saw you, I should at least learn the truth. I should at least know whether to love you as an angel, who had been wronged alike by circ.u.mstances and by report, or as a beautiful demon, who would betray me to my death; but I am not even to know what you are. You betrayed my hiding-place. So far, at least, you are guilty; but you did not arrange the ambush that you were to have arranged. For so much you claim credit. Whatever are your wishes in regard to me, they shall be fulfilled. I am yours, to be sent to my death, if that is your will. What would you have me do?”

”Save yourself!” she whispered, eagerly, her eyes suddenly aflame with a kind of hope, as if the possibility had just occurred to her.

Was this pretence? Did she know that I could not escape, and did she yet wish, for shame's or vanity's sake, to appear well in my eyes?

”I shall not leave you,” I said, quietly.

”Hark!” she whispered. ”Some one comes!”

She looked towards the door near the head of the bed, the door that was slightly ajar. She looked aghast, as one does at the apprehension of a great and imminent danger. ”Go while there is time! Do you not hear? It is the voice of La Chatre! I recognize it! And the other,--his secretary, Montignac! Go, go, I pray you on my knees, flee while there is yet time!”

She did indeed fall to her knees, clutching my arm with one hand, and with the other trying to push me from the room, all the while showing a very anguish of solicitude on her white face. Her eyes plead with me for my own deliverance. The voices, which I too recognized, came nearer and nearer, but slowly, as if the speakers were impeded in their progress through the adjoining chamber. ”Save yourself, save yourself!” she continued to whisper.

”Come what may,” I whispered in reply, my hand tightening on my sword, ”I will not leave you!”

”Then,” she whispered, rapidly, seeing that I was not to be moved, ”if you will court death, at least know me first as I am,--no better, no worse! Hide somewhere,--there behind the bed-curtains,--and hear what I shall say to La Chatre! After that, if death find you, he shall find me with you! I implore you, conceal yourself.”

There was no pretence now, I was sure. Mystified, yet not doubting, I whispered: ”I yield, mademoiselle! G.o.d knows I would believe you innocent!” and went behind the curtains, at the foot of the bed. It was easy to stand behind these without disturbing the natural folds in which they fell to the floor. The curtains at the sides also served to s.h.i.+eld me from view, so that I could not have been seen except from within the bed itself.

I had no sooner found this concealment, and mademoiselle had no sooner taken her place, standing with as much composure as she could a.s.sume, a short distance from the foot of the bed, than M. de la Chatre and his secretary entered the chamber. Peering between the curtains, I saw that La Chatre was lame, and that he walked with the aid of a stick on one side and Montignac's shoulder on the other.

”To think,” he was saying as he came in, ”that the misstep of a horse should have made a helpless cripple of me, when I might have led this hunt myself!”

I a.s.sumed that the ”hunt” was the expedition to Maury, and smiled to think how far was the game from the place of hunting.

The undisturbed mien of La Chatre showed that he had not heard of the arrival of mademoiselle or of myself, or of the brief fight in the courtyard. He would not have worn that look of security had he known that, of six guards at the chateau, three now lay dead in the courtyard, one had fled, and two were being looked after by my man Frojac.

He wore a rich chamber-robe and was bareheaded. Montignac was attired rather like a soldier than like a scribe, having on a buff jerkin and wearing both sword and dagger. His breeches and hose were of dull hue, so that the only brightness of color on him was the red of his hair and lips. It was, doubtless, from an excess of precaution that he went so well armed in the chateau at so late an hour. Yet I smiled to see weapons on this slight and fragile-looking youth, whose strength lay in his brain rather than in his wrist. With great interest I watched him now, knowing that he had devised the plan for my capture, had caused Mlle. de Varion to be sent on her mission against me, and had sent De Berquin on his mission against her. This march of the troops to Maury, also, was probably his doing, even though it did imply a change from the plan overheard by me, and confessed by mademoiselle. He had, too, if De Berquin had told the truth, resolved to possess mademoiselle. He was thus my worst foe, this subtle youth who had never seen me, and whom I had never injured. He still had that look of mock humility, repressed scorn, half-concealed derision, hidden ambition, vast inner resource, mental activity, all under a calm and thoughtful countenance, over which he had control.

It was not until they had pa.s.sed the bed that they saw mademoiselle.

Both stopped and looked astonished. Montignac recognized her at once, and first frowned, as if annoyed; then looked elated, as if her presence suited his projects. But La Chatre did not immediately know her. He lost color, as if it were a spirit that he saw, and, indeed, mademoiselle, motionless and pale, looked not unlike some beautiful being of another world.

”Who are you?” asked La Chatre, in a startled tone.

”It is I--Mlle. de Varion.”

La Chatre promptly came to himself; but he looked somewhat confused, abashed, and irritated.

”Mlle. de Varion, indeed!” he said. ”And why comes Mlle. de Varion here?”

And now Montignac spoke, fixing his eyes on La Chatre, and using a quiet but resolute tone:

”She comes too late. La Tournoire will be taken without her aid.”