CHAPTER XX.
THE SEARCH.
I had not seen Louis since the day of the duel at Cahors, when,parting from him at the door in the passage by the Cathedral, I hadrefused to take his hand. Then I had been sorely angry with him. Buttime and old memories and crowding events had long softened thefeeling; and in the joy of meeting him again, of finding him in thisunexpected stranger, nothing was further from my thoughts than to rakeup old grudges. I held out my hand, therefore, with a laughing word."_Voila l'Inconnu_, Monsieur!" I said with a bow. "I am here to findyou, and I find you!"
He stared at me a moment in the utmost astonishment, and thenimpulsively grasping my hand he held it, and stood looking at me, withthe old affection in his eyes. "Adrien! Adrien!" he said, much moved."Is it really you?"
"Even so, Monsieur."
"And here?"
"Here," I said.
Then, to my astonishment, he slowly dropped my hand; and his mannerand his face changed--as a house changes when the shutters are closed."I am sorry for it," he said slowly, and after a long pause. And then,with an unmistakable flash of anger, "My God, Monsieur! Why have youcome?" he cried.
"Why have I come?"
"Ay, why?" he repeated bitterly. "Why? Why have you come--to troubleus? You do not know what evil you are doing! You do not know, man!"
"I know at least what good I am seeking," I answered, purely astoundedby this sudden and inexplicable change. "I have made no secret ofthat, and I make no secret of it now. No man was ever worse treatedthan I have been by your family. Your attitude now impels me to saythat. But when I see Madame la Marquise, to-morrow, I shall tell herthat it will take more than this to change me. I shall tell her----"
"You will not see her!" he answered.
"But I shall!"
"You will not!" he retorted.
Before I could answer, Madame Catinot interposed. "Oh, no more!" shecried in a voice which sufficiently evinced her distress. "I thoughtthat you and he were friends, M. Louis? And now--now that fortune hasbrought you together again----"
"Would to heaven it had not!" he cried, dropping his hand like a manin despair. And he took a turn this way and that on the floor.
She looked at him. "I do not think that you have ever spoken to me inthat tone before, Monsieur," she said in a tone of keen reproach. "Ifit is due--if, I mean," she continued quietly, but with a sparklingeye, "it is because you found M. le Vicomte with me, you infersomething unworthy of us. You insult me as well as your friend!"
"Heaven forbid!" he exclaimed.
But she was roused. "That is not enough," she answered firmly andproudly. "For one week more, this is my house, M. Louis. After that itwill be yours. Perhaps then--perhaps then," she continued, with apitiful break in her voice, "I shall think of to-night, and wonder Itook no warning! Perhaps then, Monsieur, a word of kindness from youmay be as rare as a rough word now!"
He was not proof against that, and the sadness in her voice. He threwhimself on his knees before her and seized her hands. "Madame!Catherine! forgive me!" he cried passionately, kissing her hands againand again, and taking no heed of me at all. "Forgive me!" hecontinued, "I am miserable! You are my only comfort, my onlycompensation. I do not know, since I saw him, what I am saying.Forgive me!"
"I do!" she said hastily. "Rise, Monsieur!" and she furtively wipedaway a tear, then looked at me, blushing but happy. "I do," shecontinued. "But, _mon cher_, I do not understand you. The other dayyou spoke so kindly of M. de Saux; and of--pardon me--your sister, andof other things. To-day M. de Saux is here, and you are unhappy."
"I am!" he said, casting a haggard, miserable look at me.
I shrugged my shoulders and spoke up. "So be it," I said proudly. "Butbecause I have lost a friend, Monsieur, it does not follow that I needlose a mistress. I have come to Nimes to win Mademoiselle de St.Alais' hand. I shall not leave until I have won it."
"This is madness!" he said, with a groan. "Why?"
"Because you talk of the impossible," he answered. "Because Madame deSt. Alais is not at Nimes--for you."
"She is at Nimes!"
"You will have to find her."
"That is childishness!" I said. "Do you mean to say that at the firsthotel I enter I shall not be told where Madame has her lodging?"
"Neither at the first, nor at the last."
"She is in retreat?"
"I shall not tell you."
With that we stood facing one another; Madame Catinot watching us alittle aside. Clearly the events of the last few months, which had sochanged, so hardened Madame St. Alais, had not been lost on Louis. Icould fancy, as I confronted him, that it was M. le Marquis, theelder, and not the younger brother, who withstood me; only--only fromunder Louis' mask of defiance, there peeped, I still fancied, the oldLouis' face, doubting and miserable.
I tried that chord. "Come," I said, making an effort to swallow mywrath, and speak reasonably, "I think that you are not in earnest, M.le Comte, in what you say, and that we are both heated. Time was whenwe agreed well enough, and you were not unwilling to have me for yourbrother-in-law. Are we, because of these miserable differences----"
"Differences!" he cried, interrupting me harshly. "My mother's housein Cahors is an empty shell. My brother's house at St. Alais is a heapof ashes. And you talk of differences!"
"Well, call them what you like!"
"Besides," Madame Catinot interposed quickly, "pardon me,Monsieur--besides, M. St. Alais, you know our need of converts. M. leVicomte is a gentleman, and a man of sense and religion. It needs buta little--a very little," she continued, smiling faintly at me, "topersuade him. And if your sister's hand would do that little, andMadame were agreeable?"
"He could not have it!" he answered sullenly, looking away from me.
"But a week ago," Madame Catinot answered in a startled tone, "youtold me----"
"A week ago is not now," he said. "For the rest, I have only this tosay. I am sorry to see you here, M. le Vicomte, and I beg you toreturn. You can do no good, and you may do and suffer harm. By nopossibility can you gain what you seek."
"That remains to be seen," I answered stubbornly, roused in my turn."To begin with, since you say that I cannot find Mademoiselle, I shalladopt a very simple plan. I shall wait here until you leave, Monsieur,and then accompany you home."
"You will not!" he said.
"You may depend upon it I shall!" I answered defiantly.
But Madame interposed. "No, M. de Saux," she said with dignity. "Youwill not do that; I am sure that you will not; it would be an abuse ofmy hospitality."
"If you forbid it?"
"I do," she answered.
"Then, Madame, I cannot," I replied. "But----"
"But nothing! Let there be a truce now, if you please," she saidfirmly. "If it is to be war between you, it shall not begin here. Ithink, too--I think that I had better ask you to retire," shecontinued, with an appealing glance at me.
I looked at Louis. But he had turned away, and affected to ignore me.And on that I succumbed. It was impossible to answer Madame, when shespoke to me in that way; and equally impossible to remain in thehouse, against her will. I bowed, therefore, in silence; and with thebest grace I could, though I was sore and angry, I took my cloak andhat, which I had laid on a chair.
"I am sorry," Madame said kindly. And she held out her hand.
I raised it to my lips. "To-morrow--at twelve--here!" she breathed.
I started. I rather guessed than heard the words, so softly were theyspoken; but her eyes made up for the lack of sound, and I understood.The next moment she turned from me, and with a last reluctant glanceat Louis, who still had his back to me, I went out.
The man who had admitted me was in the hall. "You will find your horseat the Louvre, Monsieur," he said, as he opened the door.
I rewarded him, and going out, without a thought whither I was going,walked along the street, plunged in reflection; until marching onblindly I came against a ma
n. That awoke me, and I looked round. I hadbeen in the house little more than three hours, and in Nimes scarcelylonger; yet so much had happened in the time that it seemed strange tome to find the streets unfamiliar, to find myself alone in them, at aloss which way to turn. Though it was hard on ten o'clock, and only aswaying lantern here and there made a ring of smoky light at themeeting of four ways, there were numbers of people still abroad; a fewstanding, but the majority going one way, the men with cloaks abouttheir necks, the women with muffled heads.
Feeling the necessity, since I must get myself a lodging, of puttingaway for the moment my one absorbing thought--the question of Louis'behaviour--I stopped a man who was not going with the stream, andasked him the way to the Hotel de Louvre. I learned not only that butthe cause of the concourse.
"There has been a procession," he answered gruffly. "I should havethought that you would know that!" he added, with a glance at my hat.And he turned on his heel.
I remembered the red cockade I wore, and before I went farther pausedto take it out. As I moved on again, a man came quickly up behind me,and as he passed thrust a paper into my hand. Before I could speak hewas gone; but the incident and the bustle of the streets, strange atthis late hour, helped to divert my thoughts; and I was not surprisedwhen, on reaching the inn, I was told that every room was full.
"My horse is here," I said, thinking that the landlord, seeing me walkin on foot, might distrust the weight of my purse.
"Yes, Monsieur; and if you like you can lie in the eating-room," heanswered very civilly. "You are welcome, and you will do no betterelsewhere. It is as if the fair were being held at Beaucaire. The cityis full of strangers. Almost as full as it is of those things!" hecontinued querulously, and he pointed to the paper in my hand.
I looked at it, and saw that it was a manifesto headed "_Sacrilege!Mary Weeps!_" "It was thrust into my hand a minute ago," I said.
"To be sure," he answered. "One morning we got up and found the wallswhite with them. Another day they were flying loose about thestreets."
"Do you know," I asked, seeing that he had been supping, and wasinclined to talk, "where the Marquis de St. Alais is living?"
"No, Monsieur," he said. "I do not know the gentleman."
"But he is here with his family."
"Who is not here," he answered, shrugging his shoulders. Then in alower tone, "Is he red, or--or the other thing, Monsieur?"
"Red," I said boldly.
"Ah! Well, there have been two or three gentlemen going to and frobetween our M. Froment, and Turin and Montpellier. It is said that ourMayor would have arrested them long ago if he had done his duty. Buthe is red too, and most of the councillors. And I don't know, for Itake no side. Perhaps the gentleman you want is one of these?"
"Very likely," I said. "So M. Froment is here?"
"Monsieur knows him?"
"Yes," I said drily, "a little."
"Well, he is here, or he is not," the landlord answered, shaking hishead. "It is impossible to say."
"Why?" I asked. "Does he not live here?"
"Yes, he lives here; at the Port d'Auguste on the old wall near theCapuchins. But----" he looked round and then continued mysteriously,"he goes out, where he has never gone in, Monsieur! And he has a housein the Amphitheatre, and it is the same there. And some say that theCapuchins is only another house of his. And if you go to the Cabaretde la Vierge, and give his name--you pay nothing."
He said this with many nods, and then seemed on a sudden to think thathe had said too much, and hurried away. Asking for them, I learnedthat M. de Geol and Buton, failing to get a room there, had gone tothe Ecu de France; but I was not very sorry to be rid of them for thetime, and accepting the host's offer, I went to the eating-room, andthere made myself as comfortable as two hard chairs and the excitementof my thoughts permitted.
The one thing, the one subject that absorbed me was Louis' behaviour,and the strange and abrupt change I had marked in it. He had been gladto see me, his hand had leaped to meet mine, I had read the oldaffection in his eyes; and then--then on a sudden, in a moment he hadfrozen into surly, churlish antagonism, an antagonism that had takenMadame Catinot by surprise, and was not without a touch of remorse,almost of horror. It could not be that she was dead? It could not bethat Denise--no, my mind failed to entertain it. But I rose, tremblingat the thought, and paced the room until daylight; listening to thewatchman's cry, and the mournful hours, and the occasional rush ofhurrying feet, that spoke of the perturbed city. What to me wereFroment, or the red or the white or the tricolour, veto or no veto,endowment or disendowment, in comparison to that?
The house stirred at last, but I had still to wait till noon before Icould see Madame Catinot. I spent the interval in an aimless walkthrough the town. At another time the things I saw must have filled mewith wonder; at another time the hoary, gloomy ring of the Arenes,rising in tiers of frowning arches, high above the squalid roofs thatleaned against it--and choked within by a Ghetto of the like, huddledwhere prefects once sat, and the Emperor's colours flew victoriousround the circle--must have won my admiration by its vastness; theMaison Carree by its fair proportions; the streets by the teemingcrowds that filled them, and stood about the cabarets, and read theplacards on the walls. But I had only thought for Louis, and my love,and the lagging minutes. At the first stroke of twelve I knocked atMadame Catinot's door; the last saw me in her presence.
It needed but a look at her face, and my heart sank; the thanks I waspreparing to utter died on my lips as I gazed at her. She on her partwas agitated. For a moment we were both silent.
At last, "I see that you have bad news for me, Madame," I said,striving to smile, and bear myself bravely.
"The worst, I fear," she said pitifully, smoothing her skirt. "For Ihave none, Monsieur."
"Yet I have heard it said that no news is good news?" I said,wondering.
Her lip trembled, but she did not look at me.
"Come, Madame," I persisted, though I was sick at heart. "Surely youare going to tell me more than that? At least you can tell me where Ican see Madame St. Alais."
"No, Monsieur, I cannot tell you," she said in a low voice.
"Nor why M. Louis has so suddenly become hostile to me?"
"No, Monsieur, nor that. And I beg--as you are a gentleman," shecontinued hurriedly, "that you will spare me questions! I thought thatI could help you, and I asked you to see me to-day. I find that I canonly give you pain."
"And that is all, Madame?"
"That is all," she said, with a gesture that told more than her words.
I looked round the silent room, I walked half way to the door. Andthen I turned back. I could not go. "No!" I cried vehemently, "I willnot go so! What is it you have learned, that has closed your lips,Madame? What are they plotting against her--that you fear to tell me?Speak, Madame! You did not bring me here to hear this! That I know."
But she only looked at me, her face full of reproach. "Monsieur," shesaid, "I meant kindly. Is this my reward?"
And that was too much for me. I turned without a word, and wentout--of the room and the house.
Outside I felt like a child in darkness, on whom the one door leadingto life and liberty had closed, as his hand touched it. I felt a dead,numbing disappointment that at any moment might develop into sharppain. This change in Madame Catinot, resembling so exactly the changein Louis St. Alais, what could be the cause of it? What had beenrevealed to her? What was the mystery, the plot, the danger that madethem all turn from me, as if I had the plague?
For awhile I was in the depths of despair. Then the warm sunshine thatfilled the streets, and spoke of coming summer, kindled lighterthoughts. After all it could not be hard to find a person in Nimes! Ihad soon found M. Louis. And this was the eighteenth century and notthe sixteenth. Women were no longer exposed to the pressure that hadonce been brought to bear on them; nor men to the violence natural inold feuds.
And then--as I thought of that and strove to comfort myself with it--Iheard a noise burs
t into the street behind me, a roar of voices and asudden trampling of hundreds of feet; and turning I saw a dense pressof men coming towards me, waving aloft blue banners, and crucifixes,and flags with the Five Wounds. Some were singing and some shouting,all were brandishing clubs and weapons. They came along at a goodpace, filling the street from wall to wall; and to avoid them Istepped into an archway, that opportunely presented itself.
They came up in a moment, and swept past me with deafening shouts. Itwas difficult to see more than a forest of waving arms and staves overswart excited faces; but through a break in the ranks I caught aglimpse of three men walking in the heart of the crowd, quietthemselves, yet the cause and centre of all; and the middle man of thethree was Froment. One of the others wore a cassock, and the third hada reckless air, and a hat cocked in the military fashion. So much Isaw, then only rank upon rank of hurrying shouting men. After theseagain followed three or four hundred of the scum of the city, beggarsand broken rascals and homeless men.
As I turned from staring after them I found a man at my elbow; by astrange coincidence the very same man who, the night before, haddirected me to the Hotel de Louvre. I asked him if that was not M.Froment.
"Yes," he said with a sneer. "And his brother."
"Oh, his brother! What is his name, Monsieur?"
"Bully Froment, some call him."
"And what are they going to do?"
"Groan outside a Protestant church to-day," he answered pithily."To-morrow break the windows. The next day, or as soon as they can gettheir courage to the sticking point, fire on the worshippers, and callin the garrison from Montpellier. After that the refugees from Turinwill come, we shall be in revolt, and there will be dragoonings. Andthen--if the Cevennols don't step in--Monsieur will see strangethings."
"But the Mayor?" I said. "And the National Guards? Will they sufferit?"
"The first is red," the man answered curtly. "And two-thirds of thelast. Monsieur will see."
And with a cool nod he went on his way; while I stood a moment lookingidly after the procession. On a sudden, as I stood, it occurred to methat where Froment was, the St. Alais might be; and snatching at theidea, wondering hugely that I had not had it before, I startedrecklessly in pursuit of the mob. The last broken wave of the crowdwas still visible, eddying round a distant corner; and even after thatdisappeared, it was easy to trace the course it had taken by closedshutters and scared faces peeping from windows. I heard the mob stoponce, and groan and howl; but before I came up with it it was onagain, and when I at last overtook it, where one of the streets,before narrowing to an old gateway, opened out into a littlesquare--with high dingy buildings on this side and that, and ameshwork of alleys running into it--the nucleus of the crowd hadvanished, and the fringe was melting this way and that.
My aim was Froment, and I had missed him. But I was at a loss only fora moment, for as I stood and scanned the people trooping back into thetown, my eye alighted on a lean figure with stooping head and a scantycassock, that, wishing to cross the street, paused a moment strivingto pass athwart the crowd. It needed a glance only; then, with a cryof joy, I was through the press, and at the man's side.
It was Father Benoit! For a moment we could not speak. Then, as welooked at one another, the first hasty joyful words spoken, I saw thevery expression of dismay and discomfiture, which I had read on LouisSt. Alais' face, dawn on his! He muttered, "_O mon Dieu! mon Dieu!_"under his breath, and wrung his hands stealthily.
But I was sick of this mystery, and I said so in hot words. "You atany rate shall tell me, father!" I cried.
Two or three of the passers-by heard me, and looked at us curiously.He drew me, to escape these, into a doorway; but still a man stoodpeering in at us. "Come upstairs," the father muttered, "we shall bequiet there." And he led the way up a stone staircase, ancient andsordid, serving many and cleaned by none.
"Do you live here?" I said.
"Yes," he answered; and then stopped short, and turned to me with anair of confusion. "But it is a poor place, M. le Vicomte," hecontinued, and he even made as if he would descend again, "and perhapswe should be wise to go----"
"No, no!" I said, burning with impatience. "To your room, man! To yourroom, if you live here! I cannot wait. I have found you, and I willnot let another minute pass before I have learned the truth."
He still hesitated, and even began to mutter another objection. But Ihad only mind for one thing, and giving way to me, he preceded meslowly to the top of the house; where under the tiles he had a littleroom with a mattress and a chair, two or three books and a crucifix. Asmall square dormer-window admitted the light--and something else; foras we entered a pigeon rose from the floor and flew out by it.
He uttered an exclamation of annoyance, and explained that he fed themsometimes. "They are company," he said sadly. "And I have found littlehere."
"Yet you came of your own accord," I retorted brutally. I was chokingwith anxiety, and it took that form.
"To lose one more illusion," he answered. "For years--you know it, M.le Vicomte--I looked forward to reform, to liberty, to freedom. And Itaught others to look forward also. Well, we gained these--you knowit, and the first use the people made of their liberty was to attackreligion. Then I came here, because I was told that here the defendersof the Church would make a stand; that here the Church was strong,religion respected, faith still vigorous. I came to gain a little hopefrom others' hope. And I find pretended miracles, I find imposture, Ifind lies and trickery and chicanery used on one side and the other.And violence everywhere."
"Then in heaven's name, man, why did you not go home again?" I cried.
"I was going a week ago," he answered. "And then I did not go.And----"
"Never mind that now!" I cried harshly. "It is not that I want. I haveseen Louis St. Alais, and I know that there is something amiss. Hewill not face me. He will not tell me where Madame is. He will havenothing to do with me. He looks at me as if I were a death's head! Nowwhat is it? You know and I must know. Tell me."
"_Mon Dieu!_" he answered. And he looked at me with tears in his eyes.Then, "This is what I feared," he said.
"Feared? Feared what?" I cried.
"That your heart was in it, M. le Vicomte."
"In what? In what? Speak plainly, man."
"Mademoiselle de St. Alais'--engagement," he said.
I stood a moment staring at him. "Her engagement?" I whispered. "Towhom?"
"To M. Froment," he answered.
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