The Grey Cloak

by Harold MacGrath

  CHAPTER XXXV

  BROTHER!

  For two weeks Brother Jacques lay silent on his cot; lay with an apathywhich alarmed the good brothers of the Order. He spoke to no one, andno sound swerved his dull gaze from the whitewashed ceiling of hislittle room in the college. Only one man could solve the mystery ofthis apathy, the secret of this insensibility, and his lips were sealedas securely as the door of a donjon-keep: Jehan. Not even theChevalier could gather a single ray of light from the grim old valet.He was silence itself.

  Two weeks, and then Brother Jacques rose, put on his gown and hisrosary and his shovel-shaped hat. The settlers, soldiers, trappers andseigneurs saw him walk alone, day after day, along the narrow windingstreets, his chin in his collar, his shoulders stooped, his handsclasped behind his back. It was only when some child asked him for ablessing that he raised his eyes and smiled. Sometimes the snow beatdown upon him with blinding force and the north winds cut like the lashof the Flagellants. He heeded not; winter set no chill upon his flesh.One morning he resolved to go forth upon his expiation. He made up hispack quietly. Drawn by an irresistible, occult force, he wandered intothe room of the chateau where the tragedy had occurred. . . . Theletter! He felt in the pocket of his gown. He drew a stool to thewindow which gave upon the balcony overlooking the lower town and theriver, and sat down.

  "To Monsieur le Marquis de Perigny, to be delivered into his hands atmy death."

  He eyed the address, undecided. He was weighing the advisability ofletting the Chevalier read it first. And yet he had an equal right tothe reading. He sighed, drew forth the contents and read . . . readwith shaking hands, read with terror, amazement, exultation, belief andunbelief. He rose quickly; the room, it was close; he breathed withdifficulty. And the marquis had requested that he read it! Irony! Hehad taken it up in his hands twice, and had not known! Irony, irony,irony! He opened the window and stepped out upon the balcony. Abovethe world, half hidden under the spotless fleece of winter, a white sunshone in a pallid sky.

  Brother Jacques's skin was transparent, his hair was patched with grey,his eyes were hollow, but at this moment his mien was lordly. His packlay on the floor beyond, forgotten. With his head high, his nostrilswide, his arms pressing his sides and his hands clenched, he lookedtoward France. The smoke, curling up from the chimneys below, he sawnot, nor the tree-dotted Isle of Orleans, nor the rolling mainshoreopposite. His gaze in fancy had traversed more than three thousandmiles. He saw a grand chateau, terraced, with gardens, smoothdriveways, fountains and classic marbles, crisp green hills behind allthese, and a stream of running water.

  Perigny.

  He looked again and saw a great hotel, surrounded by a high wall, alongthe top of which, ran a cheval-de-frise. Inside all was gloomy andsplendid, rich and ancient. Magnificent tapestries graced the walls,famous paintings, rare cut-glass, chased silver and filigreed gold, andpainted porcelain.

  Rochelle.

  Again; and in his dream-vision he saw mighty palaces and many lights,the coming and going of great personages, soldiers famed in war,statesmen, beautiful women with satin and jewels and humid eyes; greatfeasts, music, and the loveliest flowers.

  Paris.

  His! All these things were his. It was empire; it was power, content,riches. His! Had he not starved, begged, suffered? These were his,all his, his by human law and divine. That letter! It had lain underthe marquis's eyes all this time, and he had not known. That was well.But that fate should so unceremoniously thrust it into his hands! Ah,that was all very strange, obscure. The wind, coming with a gust,stirred the beads of his rosary; and he remembered. He cast a glanceat his pack. Could he carry it again? He caught up his rosary.Should he put this aside? He was young; there were long years beforehim. He had suffered half the span of a man's life; need he sufferlonger?

  He opened the letter and read it once again.

  "_To Monsieur le Marquis de Perigny: A necromancer in the Rue Dauphintells me that I shall not outlive you, which is to be regretted.Therefore, my honored Marquis, I leave you this peculiar legacy. Whenyou married the Princess Charlotte it was not because you loved her,but because you hated me who loved her. You laughed when I swore toyou that some day I would have my revenge. Shortly after you weremarried a trusted servant of mine left my house to serve me in yours.And he served me well indeed, as presently you shall learn. Two daysbefore Madame le Marquise gave birth to your son and heir, a certainhandsome peasant named Margot Bourdaloue also entered into the world ason of yours which was not your heir. Think you that it is Madame laMarquise's son who ruffles it here in Paris under the name of theChevalier du Cevennes? I leave you to answer this question, to solvethis puzzle, or become mad over it. Recollect, I do not say that theChevalier is not the son of Madame la Marquise; I say, think you he is?Monsieur, believe me, you have my heartiest sympathy in your trouble_.LOUIS DE BRISSAC."

  "De Brissac?"

  Brother Jacques's brows met in the effort to recall the significance ofthis name. Ah! the Grande Madame whom the Chevalier, his brother,loved: his brother. His brother. Brother Jacques had forgotten hisbrother. He raised his eyes toward heaven, as if to make an appeal;but his gaze dropped quickly and roved. Somehow, he could not look toheaven; the sun was too bright. He saw the figures of a man and womanwho were leaning against the parapet. The man's arm was clasped aroundthe woman's waist, their heads were close together, and they seemed tobe looking toward the south, as indeed they were. Lovers, musedBrother Jacques. Why not he, too? Had not the marquis said that hewas too handsome for a priest? Why should he not be a lover, likewise?A lover, indeed, when the one woman he loved was at this very hourpraying in the Convent of the Ursulines! Presently the man belowturned his head. It was the Chevalier. . . . This time, when BrotherJacques raised his eyes toward God, his gaze did not falter. He hadcursed the author of his being, which was very close to cursing hisGod. There was before him, expiation. He smiled wanly.

  His brother. Slowly he tore the letter in two, the halves intoquarters, the quarters into infinitesimal squares. He took a pinch ofthem and extended his arm, dropping the particles of paper upon thecurrent of the wind. They rose, fell, eddied, swam, and rose again,finally to fall on the roofs below. Again and again he repeated thisact, till not a single square remained in his hand. His brother. Here-entered the room, shouldered his pack, and passed from the chateau.The dream of empire was gone; the day of expiation was begun. Later hewas seen making his way toward the parapet.

  The Chevalier and madame continued to gaze toward the south, toward thescene of the great catastrophe of their lives. They had been talkingit over again: the journey through the forest, the conflict at the hut,the day in the hills.

  "Peace," said madame.

  "Peace and love," said the Chevalier.

  "And that poor father of yours! But you forgave him?"

  "Yes."

  "And Jehan will not tell you who Sister Benie was?"

  "No. And he appears so terrified when I mention the matter that Ishall make no further inquiries."

  "And Brother Jacques?"

  "Faith, he puzzles me. It was like enough the reaction. You recallhow infrequently he spoke during that journey, how little he ate orslept. Ah well, there are no more puzzles, questions, problems orhardships. Peace has come. We shall return to France in the spring."

  "If thou faint in the day of adversity," she said, taking his hand andpressing it lovingly against her cheek. "I love you."

  "Here comes Brother Jacques," he said. "He is coming toward us. Ah,he carries a pack."

  The Chevalier greeted him gravely, and madame smiled.

  "Whither bound?" asked the Chevalier.

  Brother Jacques pointed toward the forest. "Yonder, where the beast isand the savage."

  "Now?"

  "Even to-day." Then Brother Jacques placed a hand on the Chevalier'sshoulder and looked long and steadily into his eyes. "Farewell, mybrother," he said; "far
ewell." He turned and left them.

  The Chevalier took madame's hand and kissed it.

  "How strangely," she said, following with her eyes the priest'sdiminishing figure; "how strangely he said 'my brother'!"

  A scrap of white paper fluttered past them. She made as though tocatch it, but it eluded her, and was gone.