III
_M. le Duc is well guarded._
I stepped out briskly from the inn, pausing now and again to inquire myway to the Hotel St. Quentin, which stood, I knew, in the QuartierMarais, where all the grand folk lived. Once I had found the broad,straight Rue St. Denis, all I need do was to follow it over the hilldown to the river-bank; my eyes were free, therefore, to stare at allthe strange sights of the great city--markets and shops and churches andprisons. But most of all did I gape at the crowds in the streets. I hadscarce realized there were so many people in the world as passed me thatsummer morning in the Town of Paris. Bewilderingly busy and gay theplace appeared to my country eyes, though in truth at that time Pariswas at its very worst, the spirit being well-nigh crushed out of it bythe sieges and the iron rule of the Sixteen.
I knew little enough of politics, and yet I was not so dull as not tosee that great events must happen soon. A crisis had come. I looked atthe people I passed who were going about their business so tranquilly.Every one of them must be either Mayenne's man, or Navarre's. Before aweek was out these peaceable citizens might be using pikes for tools andexchanging bullets for good mornings. Whatever happened, here was I inParis in the thick of it! My feet fairly danced under me; I could notreach the hotel soon enough. Half was I glad of Monsieur's danger, forit gave me chance to show what stuff I was made of. Live for him, diefor him--whatever fate could offer I was ready for.
The hotel, when at length I arrived before it, was no disappointment.Here one did not wait till midday to see the sun; the street was ofdecent width, and the houses held themselves back with reserve, like theproud gentlemen who inhabited them. Nor did one here regret hispossession of a nose, as he was forced to do in the Rue Coupejarrets.
Of all the mansions in the place, the Hotel St. Quentin was, in myopinion, the most imposing; carved and ornamented and stately, withgardens at the side. But there was about it none of that stir andliveliness one expects to see about the houses of the great. No visitorspassed in or out, and the big iron gates were shut, as if none werelooked for. Of a truth, the persons who visited Monsieur these dayspreferred to slip in by the postern after nightfall, as if there hadnever been a time when they were proud to be seen in his hall.
Beyond the grilles a sentry, in the green and scarlet of Monsieur'smen-at-arms, stood on guard, and I called out to him boldly.
He turned at once; then looked as if the sight of me scarce repaid him.
"I wish to enter, if you please," I said. "I am come to see M. le Duc."
"You?" he ejaculated, his eye wandering over my attire, which, none ofthe newest, showed signs of my journey.
"Yes, I," I answered in some resentment. "I am one of his men."
He looked me up and down with a grin.
"Oh, one of his men! Well, my man, you must know M. le Duc is notreceiving to-day."
"I am Felix Broux," I told him.
"You may be Felix anybody for all it avails; you cannot see Monsieur."
"Then I will see Vigo." Vigo was Monsieur's Master of Horse, thestaunchest man in France. This sentry was nobody, just a common fellowpicked up since Monsieur left St. Quentin, but Vigo had been at his sidethese twenty years.
"Vigo, say you! Vigo does not see street boys."
"I am no street boy," I cried angrily. "I know Vigo well. You shallsmart for flouting me, when I have Monsieur's ear."
"Aye, when you have! Be off with you, rascal. I have no time to botherwith you."
"Imbecile!" I sputtered. But he had turned his back on me and resumedhis pacing up and down the court.
"Oh, very well for you, monsieur," I cried out loudly, hoping he couldhear me. "But you will laugh t'other side of your mouth by and by. I'llpay you off."
It was maddening to be halted like this at the door of my goal; it madea fool of me. But while I debated whether to set up an outcry thatwould bring forward some officer with more sense than the surly sentry,or whether to seek some other entrance, I became aware of a suddenbustle in the courtyard, a narrow slice of which I could see through thegateway. A page dashed across; then a pair of flunkeys passed. There wassome noise of voices and, finally, of hoofs and wheels. Half a dozenmen-at-arms ran to the gates and swung them open, taking their stand oneach side. Clearly, M. le Duc was about to drive out.
A little knot of people had quickly collected--sprung from between thestones of the pavement, it would seem--to see Monsieur emerge.
"He is a bold man," I heard one say, and a woman answer, "Aye, and ahandsome," ere the heavy coach rolled out of the arch.
I pushed myself in close to the guardsmen, my heart thumping in mythroat now that the moment had come when I should see my Monsieur. Atthe sight of his face I sprang bodily up on the coach-step, crying, allmy soul in my voice, "Oh, Monsieur! M. le Duc!"
Monsieur looked at me coldly, blankly, without a hint of recognition.The next instant the young gentleman beside him sprang up-and struck mea blow that hurled me off the step. I fell where the ponderous wheelswould have ended me had not a guardsman, quick and kind, pulled me outof the way. Some one shouted, "Assassin!"
"I am no assassin," I cried; "I only sought to speak with Monsieur."
"He deserves a hiding, the young cur," growled my foe, the sentry."He's been pestering me this half-hour to let him in. He was one ofMonsieur's men, he said. Monsieur would see him. Well, we have seen howMonsieur treats him!"
"Faith, no," said another. "We have only seen how our young gentlemantreats him. Of course he is too proud and dainty to let a common man somuch as look at him."
They all laughed; the young gentleman seemed no favourite.
"Parbleu! that was why I drew him from the wheels, because _he_ knockedhim there," said my preserver. "I don't believe there's harm in the boy.What meant you, lad?"
"I meant no harm," I said, and turned sullenly off up the street. This,then, was what I had come to Paris for--to be denied entrance to thehouse, thrown under the coach-wheels, and threatened with a drubbingfrom the lackeys!
For three years my only thought had been to serve Monsieur. From wakingin the morning to sleep at night, my whole life was Monsieur's. Neverwas duty more cheerfully paid. Never did acolyte more throw his soulinto his service than I into mine. Never did lover hate to be partedfrom his mistress more than I from Monsieur. The journey to Paris hadbeen a journey to Paradise. And now, this!
Monsieur had looked me in the face and not smiled; had heard me beseechhim and not answered--not lifted a finger to save me from being mangledunder his very eyes. St. Quentin and Paris were two very differentplaces, it appeared. At St. Quentin Monsieur had been pleased to takeme into the chateau and treat me to more intimacy than he accorded tothe high-born lads, his other pages. So much the easier, then, to castme off when he had tired of me. My heart seethed with rage andbitterness against Monsieur, against the sentry, and, more than all,against the young Comte de Mar, who had flung me under the wheels.
I had never before seen the Comte de Mar, that spoiled only son of M. leDuc's, who was too fine for the country, too gay to share his father'sexile. Maybe I was jealous of the love his father bore him, which he solittle repaid. I had never thought to like him, St. Quentin though hewere; and now that I saw him I hated him. His handsome face looked uglyenough to me as he struck me that blow.
I went along the Paris streets blindly, the din of my own thoughtslouder than all the noises of the city. But I could not remain in thistrance forever, and at length I woke to two unpleasant facts: first, Ihad no idea where I was, and, second, I should be no better off if Iknew.
Never, while there remained in me the spirit of a man, would I go backto Monsieur; never would I serve the Comte de Mar. And it was equallyobvious that never, so long as my father retained the spirit that washis, could I return to St. Quentin with the account of my morning'sachievements. It was just here that, looking at the business with myfather's eyes, I began to have a suspicion that I had behaved like aninsolent young fool. But I was still too angry to acknowledge
it.
Remained, then, but one course--to stay in Paris, and keep fromstarvation as best I might.
My thrifty father had not seen fit to furnish me any money to throw awayin the follies of the town. He had calculated closely what I should needto take me to Monsieur, with a little margin for accidents; so that,after paying Maitre Jacques, I had hardly two pieces to jingle together.
For three years I had browsed my fill in the duke's library; I couldwrite a decent letter both in my own tongue and in Italian, thanks toFather Francesco, Monsieur's Florentine confessor, and handle a swordnone so badly, thanks to Monsieur; and I felt that it should not be hardto pick up a livelihood. But how to start about it I had no notion, andfinally I made up my mind to go and consult him whom I now called my onefriend in Paris, Jacques the innkeeper.
'Twas easier said than done. I had strayed out of the friendly Rue St.Denis into a network of dark and narrow ways that might have been laidout by a wily old stag with the dogs hot on him, so did they twist andturn and double on themselves. I could make my way only at a snail'space, asking new guidance at every corner. Noon was long past when atlength I came on laggard feet around the corner by the Amour de Dieu.
Yet was it not fatigue that weighted my feet, but pride. Though I hadresolved to seek out Maitre Jacques, still 'twas a hateful thing toenter as suppliant where I had been the patron. I had paid for mybreakfast like a lord, but I should have to beg for my dinner. I hadbragged of Monsieur's fondness, and I should have to tell how I had beenflung under the coach-wheels. My pace slackened to a stop. I could notbring myself to enter the door. I tried to think how to better my story,so to tell it that it should redound to my credit. But my inventionstuck in my pate.
As I stood striving to summon up a jaunty demeanour, I found myselfgazing straight at the shuttered house, and of a sudden my thoughtsshifted back to my vision.
Those murdered Huguenots, dead and gone ere I was born, had appeared tome as plain as the men I passed in the street. Though I had beheld thembut the space of a lightning-flash, I could call up their faces likethose of my comrades. One, the nearest me, was small, pale, withpinched, sharp face, somewhat rat-like. The second man was conspicuouslybig and burly, black-haired and-bearded. The third and youngest--allthree were young--stood with his hand on Blackbeard's shoulder. He, too,was tall, but slenderly built, with clear-cut visage and fair hairgleaming in the glare. One moment I saw them, every feature plain; thenext they had vanished like a dream.
It was an unholy thing, no doubt, yet it held me with a shudderyfascination. Was it indeed a portent, this rising of heretics from theirunblessed graves? And why had it been shown to me, true son of theChurch? Had any one else ever seen what I had seen? Maitre Jacques hadhinted at further terrors, and said no one dared enter the place. Well,grant me but the opportunity, and I would dare.
Thus was hatched in my brain the notion of forcing an entrance into thatbanned house. I was an idle boy, foot-loose and free to do whatever madmischief presented itself. Here was the house just across the street.
Neglected as it was, it remained the most pretentious edifice in therow, being large and flaunting a half-defaced coat of arms over thedoor. Such a house might well boast two entrances. I hoped it did, forthere was no use in trying to batter down this door with the eye of theRue Coupejarrets upon me. I turned along the side street, and afterexploring several muck-heaped alleys found one that led me into a smallsquare court bounded on three sides by a tall house with shutteredwindows.
Fortune was favouring me. But how to gain entrance? The two doors wereboth firmly fastened. The windows on the ground floor were small, high,and iron-shuttered. Above, one or two shutters swung half open, but Icould not climb the smooth wall. Yet I did not despair; I was notwithout experience of shutters. I selected one closed not quite tight,leaving a crack for my knife-blade. I found the hook inside, got mydagger under it, and at length drove it up. The shutter creaked shrillyopen.
A few good blows knocked in the casement. I followed.
I found myself in a small room bare of everything but dust. From this,once a porter's room, I fancied, I passed out into a hallway dimlylighted from the open window behind me. The hall was large, paved withblack and white marbles; at the end a stately stairway mounted intomysterious gloom.
My heart jumped into my mouth and I cringed back in terror, a choked cryrasping my throat. For, as I crossed the hall, peering into the dimness,I descried, stationed on the lowest stair with upraised bludgeon, a man.
For a second I stood in helpless startlement, voiceless, motionless,waiting for him to brain me. Then my half-uttered scream changed to aquavering laugh, as my eyes, becoming used to the gloom, discovered mybogy to be but a figure carved in wood, holding aloft a long sincequenched flambeau.
I blushed with shame, yet I cannot say that now I felt no fear. Ithought of the panic-stricken women, the doomed men, who had fled at thesword's point up these very stairs. The silence seemed to shriek at me,and I half thought I saw fear-maddened eyes peering out from theshadowed corners. Yet for all that--nay, because of that--I would notgive up the adventure. I went back into the little room and carefullyclosed the shutter, lest some other meddler should spy my misdeed. ThenI set my feet on the stair.
If the half-light before had been full of eery terror, it was naught tothe blackness now. My hand on the rail was damp. Yet I mounted steadily.
Up one flight I climbed, groped in the hot dark for the foot of the nextflight, and went on. Suddenly, above, I heard a noise. I came to aninstant halt. All was as still as the tomb. I listened; not a breathbroke the silence. It never occurred to me to imagine a rat in thishouse of the dead, and the noise shook me. With a sick feeling about myheart I went on again.
On the next floor it was lighter. Faint outlines of doors and passageswere visible. I could not stand the gloom a moment longer; I strode intothe nearest doorway and across the room to where a gleam of brightnessoutlined the window. My shaking fingers found the hook of the shutterand flung it wide, letting in a burst of honest sunshine. I leaned outinto the free air, and saw below me the Rue Coupejarrets and the sign ofthe Amour de Dieu.
The next instant a cloth fell over my face and was twisted tight; strongarms pulled me back, and a deep voice commanded:
"Close the shutter."
Some one pushed past me and shut it with a clang.
"Devil take you! You'll rouse the quarter," cried my captor, fiercely,yet not loud. "Go join monsieur." With that he picked me up in his armsand walked across the room.
The capture had been so quick I had no time for outcry. I fought my bestwith him, half strangled as I was by the cloth. I might as well havestruggled against the grip of the Maiden. The man carried me the lengthof the house, it seemed; flung me down upon the floor, and banged a dooron me.
The Helmet of Navarre Page 4
