The Grey Cloak

by Harold MacGrath

  CHAPTER X

  THE DILIGENCE FROM ROUEN AND THE MASQUERADING LADIES

  The diligence from Rouen rolled and careened along the road toRochelle. Eddies of snow, wind-formed, whirled hither and thither, ordanced around the vehicle like spirits possessed of infinite mischief.Here and there a sickly tree stretched forth its barren arms blacklyagainst the almost endless reaches of white. Sometimes the horsesstruggled through drifts which nearly reached their bellies; again,they staggered through hidden marsh pools. The postilion, wrapped in ablanket, cursed deeply and with ardor. He swung his whip not so muchto urge the horses as to keep the blood moving in his body. Devil takewomen who forced him to follow the king's highway in such weather! Tenmiles back they had passed a most promising inn. Stop? Not they!Rochelle, Rochelle, and nothing but Rochelle!

  "How lonely!" A woman had pushed aside the curtain and was peeringinto the night. There was no light save that which came from thepallor of the storm, dim and misty. "It has stopped snowing. But howstrange the air smells!"

  "It is the sea . . . We are nearing the city. It is abominably cold."

  "The sea, the sea!" The voice was rich and young, but heavy withweariness. "And we are nearing Rochelle? Good! My confidence beginsto return. You must hide me well, Anne."

  "Mazarin shall never find you. You will remain in the city till I takeleave of earthly affairs."

  "A convent, Anne? Oh, if you will. But why Canada? You are mad tothink of it. You are but eighteen. You have not even known what loveis yet."

  "Have you?"

  There was a laugh. It was light-hearted. It was a sign that thesadness and weariness which weighed upon the voice were ephemeral.

  "That is no answer."

  "Anne, have I had occasion to fall in love with any man when I know manso well? You make me laugh! Not one of them is worthy a sigh. Tomake fools of them; what a pastime!"

  "Take care that one does not make a fool of you, Gabrielle."

  "Ah, he would be worth loving!"

  "But what are you going to do with the property?"

  "Mazarin has already posted the seals upon it."

  "Confiscated?"

  "About to be. That is why I fled to Rouen. My mother warned me thatthe cardinal had found certain documents which proved that a conspiracywas forming at the hotel. Monsieur's name was the only one he couldfind. His Eminence thought that by making a prisoner of me he mightforce me to disclose the names of those most intimate with monsieur.He is searching France for me, Anne; and you know how well he searcheswhen he sets about it. Will he find me? I think not. His arm can notreach very far into Spain. How lucky it was that I should meet you inRouen! I was wondering where in the world I should go. And I shalllive peacefully in that little red chateau of yours. Oh! if you knewwhat it is to be free! The odious life I have lived! He used to bringhis actress into the dining-hall. Pah! the paint was so thick on herface that she might have been a negress for all you could tell what hercolor was. And he left her a house near the forest park and seventhousand livres beside. Free!" She drew in deep breaths of briny air.

  "Gabrielle, you are a mystery to me. Four years out of convent, andnot a lover; I mean one upon whom you might bestow love. And thathandsome Vicomte d'Halluys?"

  "Pouf! I would not throw him yesterday's rose."

  "And Monsieur de Saumaise?"

  "Well, yes; he is a gallant fellow. And I fear that I have broughttrouble into his household. But love him? As we love our brothers.The pulse never bounds, the color never comes and goes, the tongue isnever motionless nor the voice silenced in the presence of a brother.My love for Victor is friendship without envy, distrust, orself-interest. He came upon my sadness and shadow as a rainbow comeson the heels of a storm. But love him with the heart's love, the lovewhich a woman gives to one man and only once?"

  "Poor Victor!" said Anne.

  "Oh, do not worry about Victor. He is a poet. One of theirprerogatives is to fall in love every third moon. But the poor boy!Anne, I have endangered his head, and quite innocently, too. I knewnot what was going on till too late."

  "And you put your name to that paper!"

  "What would you? Monsieur le Comte would have broken my wrist, andthere are black and blue spots on my arm yet."

  "Tell me about that grey cloak."

  "There is nothing to tell, save that Victor did not wear it. Andsomething told me from the beginning that he was innocent."

  "And the Chevalier du Cevennes could not have worn it because he was inFontainebleau that dreadful night."

  "The Chevalier du Cevennes is living in Rochelle?" asked Gabrielle.

  "Yes. Was it not gallant of him to accept punishment in Victor'sstead?"

  "What else could he do, being a gentleman?"

  "Why does your voice grow cold at the mention of his name?" asked Anne.

  "It is your imagination, dear. My philosophy has healed the woundedvanity. Point out the Chevalier to me, I should like to see the manwho declined an alliance with the house of Montbazon."

  "I thought that you possessed a miniature of him?"

  "It contained only the face of a boy; I want to see the man. Besides,I do not exactly know what has become of the picture, which was badlypainted."

  "I will point him out. Was the Comte d'Herouville among theconspirators?"

  "Yes. How I hate that man!"

  "Keep out of his path, Gabrielle. He would stop at nothing. There ismadness in that man's veins."

  "I do not fear him. Many a day will pass ere I see him again, or poorVictor, for that matter. I wonder where he has gone?"

  "I would I could fathom that heart of yours."

  "It is very light and free just now."

  "Am I your confidante in all things?"

  "I believe so."

  "The year I lived with you at the hotel taught me that you are likesand; a great many strange things going on below."

  "What a compliment! But give up trying to fathom me, Anne. I love youbetter when you laugh. Must you be a nun, you who were once so gay?"

  "I am weary."

  "Of what? You ask me if I am your confidante in all things; Anne, areyou mine?"

  No answer.

  "So. Well, I shall not question you." The speaker drew her companioncloser and retucked the robes; and silence fell upon the two, silencebroken only by the wind, the flapping leather curtains, and the muffledhowling of the postilion.

  It was twelve o'clock when the diligence drew up before the Corned'Abondance. The host came out, holding a candle above his head andshading his eyes with his unengaged hand.

  "Maitre, I have brought you two guests," said the postilion, slidingoff his horse and grunting with satisfaction.

  "Gentlemen, I hope."

  "Ladies!" and lowering his voice, the postilion added: "Ladies of highdegree, I can tell you. One is the granddaughter of an admiral and theother can not be less than a duchess."

  "Ladies? Oh, that is most unfortunate! The ladies' chamber is allupset, and every other room is engaged. They will be compelled to waitfully an hour."

  "That will not inconvenience us, Monsieur," said a voice from thewindow of the diligence, "provided we may have something hot to drink;wines and hot water, with a dash of sugar and brandy. Come, my dear;and don't forget your mask."

  "How disappointing that the hotel was closed! Well, we can put up withthe tavern till morning."

  With some difficulty the two women alighted and entered the commonassembly room, followed by the postilion who staggered under bulkyportmanteaus. They approached the fire unconcernedly, ignoring theattention which their entrance aroused. The youngest gave a slightscream as the Iroquois rose abruptly and moved away from the chimney.

  "Holy Virgin!" Anne cried, clutching Gabrielle's arm; "it is anIndian!" The vision of quiet in a Quebec convent grew vague.

  "Hush! he would not be here if he were dangerous." Gabrielle turnedher grey-masked face toward the fire
and rested a hand on the broadmantel.

  Victor, who had taken a table which sat in the shadow and who wastrying by the aid of champagne to forget the tragic scene of the hourgone, came near to wasting a glass of that divine nectar of Nepenthe.He brushed his eyes and held a palm to his ear. "That voice!" hemurmured. "It is not possible!"

  At this same moment the vicomte turned his head, his face describing anexpression of doubt and astonishment. He was like a man trying torecollect the sound of a forgotten voice, a melody. He stared at thetwo figures, the one of medium height, slender and elegant, the otherplump and small, at the grey mask and then at the black. These werenot masks of coquetry and larking, masks which begin at the brow andend at the lips: they were curtained. Seized, by an impulse, occult ormechanic, the vicomte rose and drew near. The younger woman made agesture. Was it of recognition? The vicomte could not say. But hesaw her lean toward her companion, whisper a word which caused the greymask to wheel quickly. She seemed to grow taller, while a repellinglight flashed from the eyeholes of the grey mask.

  "Mesdames," said the vicomte with elaborate courtesy, "the sight of theIndian doubtless alarms you, but he is perfectly harmless. Permit agentleman to offer his services to two ladies who appear to betraveling alone."

  Father Chaumonot frowned from his chair and would have risen but forthe restraining hand of Bouchard, who, like all seamen, was fond ofgallantry.

  "Monsieur," replied the black mask, coldly and impudently, "we areindeed alone; and upon the strength of this assertion, will you notresume your conversation with yonder gentlemen and allow my companionand myself to continue ours?"

  "Mademoiselle," said the vicomte eagerly, "I swear to you, that yourvoice is familiar to my ears." He addressed the black mask, but helooked searchingly at the grey. His reward was small. She maintainedunder his scrutiny an icy, motionless dignity.

  "And permit me to say," returned the black mask, "that while your voiceis not familiar, the tone is, and very displeasing to my ears. And ifyou do not at once resume your seat, I shall be forced to ask aid ofyonder priest."

  "Yes, yes! that voice I have heard before!" Then, quick as a flash, hehad plucked the strings of her mask, disclosing a round, piquant face,now white with fury.

  "Oh, Monsieur!" she cried; "if I were a man!"

  "This grows interesting," whispered Bouchard to Du Puys.

  "Anne de Vaudemont?" exclaimed the vicomte; "in Rochelle?" The vicomtestepped back confused. He stared undecidedly at mademoiselle'scompanion. She deliberately turned her back.

  Victor was upon his feet, and his bottle of wine lay frothing on thefloor. He came forward.

  "Vicomte, your actions are very disagreeable to me," he said. The endof his scabbard was aggressively high in the air. He was not so tall aman as the vicomte, but his shoulders were as broad and his chest asdeep.

  Neither the vicomte nor the poet heard the surprised exclamation whichcame with a muffled sound from behind the grey mask. She swayedslightly. The younger threw her arms around her, but never took hereyes from the flushed countenance of Victor de Saumaise.

  "Indeed!" replied the vicomte coolly; "and how do you account forthat?" He spoke with that good nature which deceives only those who arenot banterers themselves.

  "It is not necessary to particularize," proudly, "to a gentleman ofyour wide accomplishments."

  "Monsieur de Saumaise, your servant," said the vicomte. "Ladies, I begof you to accept my apologies. I admit the extent of my rudeness,Mademoiselle." He bowed and turned away, leaving Victor puzzled anddiffident.

  "Mademoiselle de Vaudemont," he said, "is it possible that I see youhere in Rochelle?" How his heart beat at the sight of that figurestanding by the mantel.

  "And you, Monsieur; what are you doing here?"

  "I am contemplating a journey to Spain," carelessly.

  "Success to your journey," said Anne, frankly holding out a hand. Butshe was visibly distressed as she glanced at her companion. "Is theVicomte d'Halluys going to Spain also?" smiling.

  Victor shrugged. "He professes to have business in Quebec. Thatbeautiful Paris has grown so unhealthy!"

  "Quebec?" The woman in the grey mask spun on her heels. "Monsieur,did I hear you say Quebec?"

  "Yes, Madame la Comtesse."

  The grey mask made a gesture of dissent. Presently she spoke."Monsieur, you have made a mistake. There is no Madame la Comtessehere."

  Victor did not reply.

  "Do you hear, Monsieur?"

  "Yes, Madame. Our eyes and ears sometimes deceive us, but never theheart."

  Madame flung out a hand in protest. "Never mind, Monsieur, what theheart says; it is not worth while."

  Victor grew pale. There was a double meaning to this sentence. Anneeyed him anxiously.

  A disturbance at the table caught Victor's ear. He saw that thevicomte and the others were proceeding toward the stairs. The vicomtewas last to mount. At the landing he stopped, looked down at the groupby the chimney, shrugged, and went on.

  Maitre le Borgne came in from the kitchens. "If the ladies will followme I will conduct them to their rooms. A fire is under way. The winesand brandy and sugar are on the table; and the warming-pan stands bythe chimney."

  "Anne," said madame, "go you to the room with the host. I will followyou shortly. I have something to say to Monsieur de Saumaise."

  There was a decision in her tones which caused Victor to experience achill not devoid of dread. If only he could read the face behind themask!

  Anne followed Maitre le Borgne upstairs. Victor and madame were alone.He waited patiently for her to speak. She devoted some momentsabsently to crushing with her boot the stray pieces of charred woodwhich littered the broad hearthstone.

  "Victor," she said of a sudden, "forgive me!"

  "Forgive you for what?"

  "For innocently bringing this trouble upon you, for endangering yourhead."

  "Oh, that is nothing. Danger is spice to a man's palate. But will younot remove your mask that I may look upon your face while you speak?"There was a break in his voice. This unexpected meeting seemed to havetaken the solids from under his feet.

  "You have been drinking!" with agitation.

  "I have been striving to forget. But wine makes us reckless, notforgetful." He rumpled his hair. "But will you not remove the mask?"

  "Victor, you ought never to look upon my face again."

  "Do you suppose that I could forget your face, a single contour or lineof it?"

  "I have been so thoughtless! Forgive me! It was my hope that manymonths should pass ere we met again. But fate has willed it otherwise.I have but few words to say to you. I beg you to listen earnestly tothem. It is true that in your company I have passed many a pleasanthour. Your wit, your gossip, your excellent verses, and your unendinggaiety dispelled many a cloud of which you knew nothing, nor shallknow. When I fled from Paris there was a moment when I believed you tobe guilty of that abominable crime. That grey cloak; I had seen youwear it. Forgive me for doubting so brave a gentleman as yourself. Ihave learned all. You never spoke of the Chevalier du Cevennes asbeing your comrade in arms. That was excessive delicacy on your part.Monsieur, our paths must part to widen indefinitely."

  "How calmly you put the cold of death in my heart!" The passion in hisvoice was a pain to her. Well she knew that he loved her deeply,honestly, lastingly. "Gabrielle, you know that I love you. You arefree."

  "Love?" with voice metallic. "Talk not to me of love. If I haveinspired you with an unhappy passion, forgive me, for it was donewithout intent. I have played you an evil turn." She sank on one ofthe benches and fumbled, with the strings of her mask.

  "So: the dream vanishes; the fire becomes ashes. Is it really you,Gabrielle? Has not the wine turned the world upside-down, brought youhere only in fancy? This night is truly some strange dream. I shallwake to-morrow in Paris. I shall receive a note from you, bidding mebring the latest book. The Chevalier
will dine with his beautifulunknown . . . Gabrielle, tell me that you love no one," anger and loveand despair alternately changing his voice, "yes, tell me that!"

  "Victor, I love no man. And God keep me from that folly. You aremaking me very unhappy!" She bent her head upon her arm.

  "Oh, my vanished dream, do not weep on my account! You are not toblame. I love you well. That is God's blame, not yours, since Hemolded you, gave you a beautiful face, a beautiful mind, a beautifulheart. Well, I will be silent. I will go about my affairs, laughing.I shall write rollicking verses, fight a few duels, and sign a fewpapers under which the ax lies hidden! . . . Do you know how well Ilove you?" sinking beside her and taking her hand before she couldplace it beyond his reach. He put a kiss on it. "Listen. If it meansanything toward your happiness and content of mind, I will promise tobe silent forever." Suddenly he dropped the hand and rose. "Yourpresence is overpowering: I can not answer for myself. You were right.We ought not to have met again."

  "I must go," she said, also rising. She moved blindly across the room,irresolutely. Seeing a door, she turned the knob and entered.

  It was only after the door closed that Victor recollected. Paul andshe together in that room? What irony! He was about to rush aftermadame, when his steps were arrested by a voice coming from the stairs.The vicomte was descending.

  "Ah, Monsieur de Saumaise," said the vicomte, "how fortunate to findyou alone!"

  "Fortunate, indeed!" replied Victor. Here was a man upon whom to wreakhis wrath, disappointment and despair. Justice or injustice, neitherbalanced on the scales of his wrath. He crossed over to the chimney,stood with his back to the fire and waited.

  The vicomte approached within a yard, stopped; twisted his mustache,resting his left hand on his hip. His discerning inspection was sooncompleted. He was fully aware of the desperate and reckless light inthe poet's eyes.

  "Monsieur de Saumaise, you have this night offered me four distinctaffronts. Men have died for less than one."

  "Ah!" Victor clasped his hands behind his back and rocked on his heels.

  "At the Hotel de Perigny you called me a fool when the Chevalier struckme with his sword. I shall pass over that. The Chevalier was mad, andwe all were excited. But three times in this tavern you have annoyedme. Your temperament, being that of a poet, at times gets the betterof you. My knowledge of this accounts for my patience."

  "That is magnanimous, Monsieur," railingly.

  "Were I not bound for a far country I might call you to account."

  "It is possible, then?"

  "Braver men than you find it to their benefit to respect this sword ofmine."

  "Then you have a sword?"

  The vicomte laughed. It was real laughter, unfeigned. He was too keena banterer himself not to appreciate this gift in the poet. "What alively lad you are!" he exclaimed. "But four affronts make a longaccount for a single night."

  "I am ready now and at all times to close the account."

  "Do you love Paris?" asked the vicomte, adding his mite to thebantering.

  "Not so much as I did."

  "Has not Rochelle become suddenly attractive?"

  "Rochelle? I do not say so."

  "Come; confess that the unexpected advent of Madame de Brissac hasbrought this change about."

  "Were we not discoursing on affronts?"

  "Only as a sign of my displeasure. By September I dare say I shallreturn to France. I promise to look you up; and if by that time yourmanner has not undergone a desirable change I shall take my sword andtrim the rude edges of your courtesy."

  "September? That is a long while to wait. Why not come to Spain withme? We could have it out there. Quebec? Do you fear Mazarin, then,so much as that?"

  "Do you doubt my courage, Monsieur?" asked the vicomte, his eyes coldand brilliant with points of light.

  "But September?"

  "Come, Monsieur; you are playing the boy. You will admit that Ipossess some courage. 'Twould be a fool's pastime to measure swordswhen neither of us is certain that to-morrow will see our heads safeupon our shoulders. I am not giving you a challenge. I am simplywarning you."

  "Warning? You are kind. However, one would think that you are afraidto die."

  "I am. There is always something which makes life worth the living.But it is not the fear of dying by the sword. My courage has neverbeen questioned. Neither has yours. But there is some doubt asregards your temper and reason ability. Brave? To be sure you are.At this very moment you would draw against one of the best blades inFrance were I to permit you. But when it comes man to man, Monsieur,you have to stand on your toes to look into my eyes. My arm is threeinches longer than yours; my weight is greater. I have threeconsiderable advantages over you. I simply do not desire your life; itis necessary neither to my honor nor to my happiness."

  "To desire and to accomplish are two different things, Monsieur."

  "Not to me, Monsieur," grimly. "When my desire attacks an obstacle itmust give way or result in my death. I have had many desires and manyobstacles, and I am still living."

  "But you may be killed abroad. That would disappoint me terribly."

  "Monsieur de Saumaise, I have seen for some months that you have beennourishing a secret antipathy to me. Be frank enough to explain whyour admiration is not mutual." The vicomte seated himself on a bench,and threw his scabbard across his knees.

  "Since you have put the question frankly I will answer frankly. Forsome time I have distrusted you. What was to be your gain in joiningthe conspiracy?"

  "And yours?" quietly. "I think we both overlooked that part of thecontract. Proceed."

  "Well, I distrust you at this moment, for I know not what your purposeis to speak of affronts and refuse to let me give satisfaction. Idistrust and dislike you for the manner in which you approached theChevalier tonight. There was in your words a biting sarcasm andcontempt which, he in his trouble did not grasp. And let me tell you,Monsieur, if you ever dare mention publicly the Chevalier's misfortune,I shall not wait for you to draw your sword."

  The vicomte swung about his scabbard and began lightly to tap the floorwith it. Here and there a cinder rose in dust. The vicomte's face wasgrave and thoughtful. "You have rendered my simple words into a Greekchorus. That is like you poets; you are super-sensitive; youmisconstrue commonplaces; you magnify the simple. I am truly sorry forthe Chevalier. Now there's a man. He is superb with the rapier, lightand quick as a cat; a daredevil, who had not his match in Paris. Freewith his money, a famous drinker, and never an enemy. Yes, I willapologize for my bad taste in approaching him to-night. I should havewaited till morning."

  "You were rude to Mademoiselle de Vaudemont." Victor suddenly refusedto conciliate.

  "Rude? Well, yes; I admit that. My word of honor, I could not containmyself at the sound of her voice."

  "Or of madame's?" shrewdly.

  "Or of madame's." The vicomte smoothed his mustache.

  Their eyes met, and the flame in the vicomte's disquieted Victor,courageous though he was.

  "It seems to me," said the vicomte, "that you have been needlesslybeating about the bush. Why did you not say to me, 'Monsieur, you loveMadame de Brissac. I love her also. The world is too small for bothof us?'"

  "I depended upon your keen sense," replied Victor.

  "I am almost tempted to favor you. I could use a short rapier."

  "Good!" said Victor. "There is plenty of room. I have not killed aman since this year Thursday."

  "And having killed me," replied the vicomte, rising, and there was asmile on his lips, "you would be forced to seek out Monsieur le Comted'Herouville, a man of devastated estates and violent temper, theroughest swordsman since Crillon's time; D'Herouville, whose greed isas great and fierce as his love. Have you thought of him, my poet? Ahwell, something tells me that the time is not far distant when we shallbe rushing at each other's throats. For the present, a truce. Youlove madame; so do I. She is
free. We are all young. Win her, if youcan, and I will step aside. But until you win her . . . I wish yougood night. I am going for a tramp along the sea-walls. I beg of younot to follow."

  The echo of the slamming door had scarce died away when Victor, ragingand potent to do the vicomte harm, flung out after him. With his sworddrawn he looked savagely up and down the street, but the vicomte wasnowhere in sight. The cold air, however, was grateful to the poet'sfeverish cheeks and aching eyes; so he strode on absently, with nodestination in mind. It was only when the Hotel de Perigny loomedbefore him, with its bleak walls and sinister cheval-de-frise, that hissense of locality revived. He raised a hand which cast a silentmalediction on this evil house and its master, swung about and hurriedback to the tavern, recollecting that Gabrielle and Paul were together.

  "And all those dreams of her, they vanish like the hours. That hope,that joyous hope, of calling her mine shall buoy me up no more. Shedoes not love me! God save me from another such unhappy night. Wehave all been stricken with madness." He struck at the snow-driftswith his sword. The snow, dry and dusty, flew up into his face.

  Meanwhile, when madame entered the private assembly-room her eyes,blurred with tears, saw only the half dead fire. With her hand shegroped along the mantel, and finding a candle, lit it. She did notcare where she was, so long as she was alone; alone with her unhappythoughts. She sat with her back toward the Chevalier, who had falleninto a slight doze. Presently the silence was destroyed by ahiccoughing sob. She had forced the end of her kerchief against herlips to stifle the sound, but ineffectually.

  The Chevalier raised his head. . . . A woman? Or was his brainmocking him? And masked? How came she here? He was confused, and hissense of emergency lay fallow. He knew not what to do. One thing wascertain; he must make known his presence, for he was positive that shewas unaware of it. He rose, and the noise of his chair sliding backbrought from her an affrighted cry. She turned. The light of thecandle played upon his face.

  "Madame, pardon me, but I have been asleep. I did not hear you enter.It was very careless of them to show you in here."

  She rose without speaking and walked toward the door, with no uncertainstep, with a dignity not lacking in majesty.

  "She sees I have been drinking," he thought. "Pray, Madame, do notleave. Rather let me do that."

  She made a gesture, hurried but final, and left him.

  "It seems to me," mused the Chevalier, resuming his seat, "that I havelost gallantry to-night, among other considerable things. I might haveopened the door for her. I wonder why she did not speak?"