‘Where are your men?’ was the question wherewith she greeted me.
‘My men?’ I echoed. ‘Why, asleep upstairs’; and with a jerk of the thumb I pointed over my shoulder up the steps that I had just descended.
‘And the woman Catharine?’
‘Is asleep also, I imagine.’
There was a pause. Then, laying her hands upon my arm, and bringing her face so close to mine that I could feel her breath upon my cheek, she said in a whisper, ‘It had been better that you had brought Grégoire to guard that door. I am afraid of that woman. I mistrust her. She has been watching me all day, and I have begun to fear that she is spying upon me.’
‘Par Dieu!’ I gasped, ’tis possible. She was a creature of Monravel’s.’
‘Hist! What was that?’ and her fingers tightened on my arm.
‘What?’
‘Behind you, on the stairs. Did you hear nothing?’
‘No,’ I answered. Then, smitten by a sudden thought, ‘Wait,’ I said, and, stepping back, I softly closed the heavy oaken door, and locked it.
‘Now,’ quoth I with a chuckle, ‘she may follow us, but not beyond that door. She may knock or shout, but none will hear; the door is too solid. Come, mademoiselle!’
I drew her across the courtyard and through the narrow doorway leading to the eastern wing. We hurried up the flight of steps and along the corridor to the window upon which we had fixed. Softly opening it, I peered out. Nothing stirred; and, although the faintest of crescent moons hung in the sky, the night was dark enough to please and befriend us. Swiftly uncoiling the ladder, I made the hooks fast to the sill; then, drawing off my doublet and my boots, I set myself without more ado to climb down towards the water.
I had gone half-way, and hung but some fifteen feet from the moat, when of a sudden something gave way above me. It seemed to me that the thin streak of moon swept suddenly across the sky; nay, the whole firmament had shifted, and where it had been I now beheld the earth, then the still, black waters of the moat as I splashed into them.
Dazed by my fall, and understanding naught of what had chanced, but still clutching the ladder, I rose to the surface and spat the fetid water from my mouth, thinking that, albeit I was not drowned, ’twas odd I should be poisoned. Too bewildered than to act other than by instinct, I struck out for land. I stretched out my arms to catch at something that might help me from the water, when suddenly I felt it taken in a grasp and found assistance, as unwelcome as it was unlooked for; for as I was dragged out I realised with a shudder that the splash of my fall must have drawn the Provost’s people.
Lanthorns began to gleam, and men seemed to spring up around me as by enchantment. I stood up at last with a little knot of fellows surrounding me, and more than one mocking laugh smote my ear. Facing me I beheld M. de Bervaux, and by his side the Provost I had derided. Apprehensively I glance up at the window; but the darkness left me in doubt if mademoiselle were still there or not.
With a laugh, M. de Bervaux inquired what fancy it was had led me to bathe in the moat at such an hour; and I will not dwell upon the score of jests wherewith this was followed by these merry gentlemen. Sick at heart, dripping, and shivering with cold — in truth, very miserable — I was led round to their encampment.
From the dejected state I had been in before, I went beside myself with rage as, upon coming into the clearance that fronts the castle, I beheld what was toward. The postern stood open, and up a plank that was stretched across the moat the Provost’s men were filing into the château. How had this thing come to pass? Who had opened the postern? Nor Barnave nor Grégoire, nor yet Catharine, for I had locked them up in the northern wing of the building when I left it with mademoiselle. A light broke suddenly upon my mind, a light by which I saw things as they were; and in that hour I knew that I had been duped — the hooks of my ladder had not slipped from the sill by accident. I bethought me of M. de Crecqui, of his faith and trust in me, and a groan burst from my lips.
They took me a prisoner to Paris, and in my company went Barnave and Grégoire, whose glances I could not bear to meet. Them they set free; but me they flung into the Châtelet, and there I lay for a week, bitterly reviling myself and my fortunes, and yet more bitterly dubbing the fair sex the ‘infamous sex,’ with the gallows of Montfauçon looming sinister on my mind’s horizon.
On the eighth day of my captivity my sour-faced jailer bade me arise and follow him, saying that Madame de Monravel was come to visit me. He ushered me into a room where I beheld the woman who had brought me to this sorry pass. Beside her stood he whom I had known as M. de Bervaux. From her first words I gathered not only that — as already I suspected — she was none other than Madame de Monravel herself, but also that the gentleman whom she had called her guardian was her guardian by right of wedlock.
I scowled fiercely upon the pair of them, whereupon she came forward with her sweet, scornful smile.
‘Nay, not so glum, M. de Pontis,’ she cried archly, ‘I bring you news of your release and your free pardon for resisting the Parliament’s authority. My brother, M. de Crecqui, has lost the Château de Savigny; but I think he recognises how desperate was his case, and I am sure that it will not be long ere he restores you to his favour. The Parliament would have made an example of you, M. de Pontis, but I insisted upon your unconditional pardon. I owed you that, methinks,’ she added slyly, ‘for the sake — for the sake of Henriette.’
THE VICOMTE’S WAGER:VTHE STORY OF HOW HE MADE AND LOST IT
Harmsworth Magazine, September 1899
I
To honour the fair sex is the first law of chivalry — a law well understood by the gay roysterers seated around the Comte de St. Auban’s generous board; for in a few short hours we had paid right loyal homage to woman by toasting every beauty at the court of France, and for that matter at every court of Europe.
I was young then — let this be my excuse — and I fear me I was vain and foolish. At least, I know that my reputation was not quite what a young man’s reputation should be.
But on that night at St. Auban’s, what little wit the gods had given me must have been smothered in the fumes of wine.
The conversation had assumed a character which I cannot recall in detail, but which had for scope the discussion of woman’s beauty — a very fit and proper subject for half a score of idle young fops who knew no occupation save the study of fashion, gallantry and perfumery. I was appealed to for my opinion upon some question of feminine susceptibilities, and, with a boldness derived from much indulgence in the goblet at my elbow, I replied by a loud and lusty boast, that the woman was yet unborn that could withstand my personal charms and lover’s wiles.
The burst of laughter which greeted this remark, instead of the silent awe to which I deemed it entitled, disconcerted me somewhat; but when the Chevaler de Brissac, leaning across the table, loudly anounced that he could find a lady who would be no more affected either by my personal beauty or charm of manner, than one of the marble statues in the Louvre, I became angry. Had it not been that de Brissac’s fame as a swordsman was apt to make him in a degree respected, and cause one to think twice before saying that to him which would have been unhesitatingly said to another, I doubt not but that some smart witticisms would have been exchanged. But I washed down my annoyance with another goblet of Anjou, and sweetly desired him to name this modern Penelope.
“I will pledge her!” he cried, rising to his feet and lifting his glass on high, with fingers that shook ever so lightly. “I drink to the bright eyes of the Marquise de Grandcourt.”
It was de règle that we should stand to pledge a lady, and so our chairs were pushed back, and several unsteady pairs of legs supported their owners’ bodies, which swayed, some gracefully, some otherwise, as the toast was noisily responded to.
The Marquise de Grandcourt had the reputation of being as heartless as she was beautiful, and many were the ardent wooers whose discomfiture she had encompassed. I remember how upon many occasions, when I had
met her at the Louvre, she had been wont to glance disdainfully at my brave apparel, and turn up her perfect nose as if my delicate perfumes of ambre and iris were offensive to her dainty nostrils. And as I remembered this I was inclined to regret the rashness of my boast.
Still, when presently I encountered de Brissac’s sardonic smile, and heard him murmur in bantering tones, “Are you satisfied, Vicomte?” I laughed derisively.
“Satisfied? I am satisfied that what I have said is true, and I will prove my words.”
“Or eat them,” he added. “Chut, Vicomte, I’ll wager you a hundred louis that not if you pester her with your scented attentions for a whole year, will you so much obtain her permission to kiss her finger tips.”
“Bah!” I laughed, “a hundred louis would not pay the expenses of my wooing.”
“If you require tempting, Vicomte,” came St. Auban’s voice from the head of the table, “I will gladly lay you a thousand louis.”
“Done, with you!” I roared, utterly oblivious of the fact that if I were to employ every blandishment I could think of, towards every Hebrew gentleman of my acquaintance, I should not succeed in raising half the sum. “How long will you give me?”
“What say you to three months?”
“Three months!” I echoed, “Do you take me for a clown? I should indeed be a clumsy wooer could I not earn your money in a month.”
“No, no,” replied St. Auban generously, “there is no fairness in the arrangement. You have taken a good deal of wine, Vilmorin, and I think it would be better for me to repeat my proposals tomorrow, when your head is cool.”
“La, la,” I answered, quickly, for the smiling eyes that were turned upon me had aroused my temper, “Undeceive yourself, St. Auban. If you were half as sober as I am you would be less willing to put a thousand louis into my pocket.”
The shout of laughter that applauded my courageous coxcombry well-nigh shook the glasses on the table.
“As you will,” answered St. Auban, “’tis then a wager that within a month you will have conquered the heart of the Marquise de Grandcourt.”
“Neither in one month nor twenty if I know the lady!” ejaculated de Brissac.
“Say you so, Chevalier?” I cried, springing to my feet, and angered by so much opposition. “Say you so? Then hear my answer. My name is not Camille de Vilmorin, if I do not bring the Marquise de Grandcourt on her knees to me — on her knees, mark you — before I am a month older. And failing to do so, I shall forfeit a thousand louis!”
With that I sat down amidst the wild vociferations of the assembled company, and emptied my newly filled bumper to quench the thirst which my vigorous speech had excited.
II
With an aching head and a sluggish mind did I set about recalling, next day, what had been said and done at the Comte de St. Auban’s supper-table. But the memory of the whole evening was as blurred and confused as a quickly revolving wheel of many colours.
One thing, however, stood clearly defined before me, and sent a stab of regret through my heart — my drunken wager.
Misunderstand me not. I would scorn to appear before you in false colours, for, whatever may have been my sins, I never was a hypocrite, nor do I wish to be one now. My honour was not father to my regret, as it should have been. Like many of those who prate loudly of honour, and make it their most sacred oath, it seems to me now that I but understood the practice of that virtue dimly. My regret was born of a fear that I should fail to win my wager, and be called an idle boaster.
I met St. Auban and de Brissac at the levée in the Louvre that morning, and they smilingly inquired whether I had yet paid my addresses to the Marquise. My answer lacked much of that suave flippancy which I affected, and was unaccompanied by my wonted laugh.
It must have been my brusqueness upon this occasion which gave rise to the rumour amongst those who, having been present at St. Auban’s supper-table, were privy to the wager — the affair was kept amomgst us in the profoundest secrecy — that I had no intention of paying court to the lady, or, in fact, of approaching her.
When I heard of this, two days later, my dormant energies were aroused, and, as ready money was an uncommonly absent commodity, I must perforce set to work without further dallying to bring the Marquise a-kneeling before me, or else resign myself to the sale of my horses and jewelry.
As a Vicomte de Vilmorin would cut but a sorry figure in the world without these accessories, the sacrifice was not to be thought of.
Therefore I set about discovering what manner of man the Marquise would consider as at all approaching her ideal. I soon gathered that if this living icicle had any penchant towards the opposite sex, it was for soldiers and warlike men. I winced at the information, for such men, in my estimation, always reeked of leather, and were prone to brusque, unseemly manners, which I had no stomach for emulating. That thousand louis, however, danced before my eyes like a tormenting sprite, and must be conquered.
I looked about me for a sombre suit that might have escaped the scent bottle, but, not finding any such within my wardrobe, I was forced to visit a tailor whom I honoured with my patronage, and who, in virtue of my handsome figure, was not too pressing in his demands for payment.
This commodious threader of needles sent me out into the world garbed in a sombre suit of velvet with silver lace, over which I buckled on a baldrick of embossed black leather, bearing a bronze-hilted rapier, of prodigious length, in a leathern scabbard.
Imagine me — whose baldricks had ever been of gaily coloured and richly embroidered silks, whose sword had been more hilt than blade, and all ablaze with jewels — thus fashioned, like some moping night bird, or some canting, moral-mongering follower of the English puritan Cromwell.
Nor was that all; for when, at home, I surveyed my appearance critically before a mirror, I cursed the smooth skin and meek expression of my girlish face, and, having got a servant to bring me a hot iron, I attempted, by an upward curling of my moustachios, to give them a warlike, bristling look, which might add ferocity to my otherwise gentle beauty.
When that was done, and I had pressed upon my locks a tall-crowned hat decorated by a single feather, I sallied forth a-wooing. And de Brissac, whom I met as I went, and who knew me not at the first glance, seeing me — the gay, roystering Vilmorin — thus spurred and booted, and begirt with such a sword, puffed out his cheeks in wonder, and asked me what adversary I was going to meet.
“There is no duel afoot,” I answered, in stiff accents, born of the dignity borrowed from my raiment; “I am about to visit the Marquise.”
“Then, by the Mass,” he cried, eyeing me from hat to spurs in a sardonic fashion, “why come you not armed back and breast?”
But, heeding not his sarcastic allusion to my apparel, nor his parting request that I should present his compliments to the Marquise, I hurried on.
I found the lady whose favour had an intrinsic value for me surrounded by a group of lisping gallants, whom, but a few hours back, my finery would have extinguished wholly. As it was, they looked askance at me, and some who knew me marvelled greatly, no doubt, at the change which had been wrought, whilst some who knew me not eyed me in a supercilious fashion, as I might eye a lacquey.
But I threw back their scornful glances, and, clanking my scabbard, drew their attention to the length of my rapier, with a significance which they could not misinterpret, as I elbowed my way to the Marquise, to whom I made my courtliest bow.
“Monsieur le Vicomte,” she murmured, when I had announced myself, “I cannot clearly recollect you. Is it long since last we met?”
“Some little time,” I answered suavely, remembering that it was exactly a week, and praying to heaven that she might not remember it too.
We entered upon an interesting conversation, and it was not long ere I realised how well-advised I had been to clothe myself with such sobriety. For soon those gilded, lisping fops who stood about us began to move away, until at last the beautiful and greatly courted Marquise de Grand
court and the warlike Vilmorin were left alone.
We discussed the men that filled the room, and, having ascertained that I was not likely to be overheard by any of my acquaintances, I launched forth upon a vigorous abuse of their effeminate dress and manners, whereat her glorious eyes sparkled with enthusiasm for a subject which, I soon discovered, she was herself never tired of expounding.
When I arose, at the end of an hour, “It does one good to see such a man,” she said, “in these days of scented puppets.”
And as I bent over her shapely hand, so white and slender, she murmured a wish that we might meet again — a wish that, for obvious reasons, found a fervent echo in my heart.
III
Such was the commencement of my courtship. And for a week it continued more or less as it had begun, save that each day my tongue shaped bolder words and my eyes more ardent glances, until the Marquise could have no doubt but that it was to her that my court was paid each time I visited the Louvre, and not to His Majesty.
It was then that, deeming matters to have gone far enough in this fashion, I bethought me to fill her boudoir with flowers, and letters couched in tender language, which, strange to tell, were all returned to me.
This set me pondering, and I concluded that perchance the Marquise, being a lady of exalted and fastidious tastes, cared not to be wooed in prose. So I hired me a poet, who wrote me odes and sonnets by the score, which I sent along with my floral offerings.
But here agin no better fortune met me; for, like the prose, the verses too were returned.
I cast about me for some new means through which to show her my devotion, and hit upon the idea of engaging some minstrels then performing at Court to serenade her. I paid them well, and bid them do their best. But either they ignored my injunctions, or else the lady had no more stomach for serenades by night than for elegant prose and tender verse by day; for of the three I sent, but one returned — and he with a broken head — to tell me that they had been set upon by her ladyship’s servants, and that his companions had been carried home on shutters.
Collected Works of Rafael Sabatini Page 517
