CHAPTER X.
THE ARREST.
So it had come! And come in such a fashion that I saw no way ofescape. The sergeant was between us, and I could not strike him. And Ifound no words. A score of times I had thought with shrinking how Ishould reveal my secret to Mademoiselle, what I should say, and howshe would take it. But in my mind it had always been a voluntary act,this disclosure. It had been always I who had unmasked myself, and shewho listened--alone; and in this voluntariness and this privacy therehad been something which seemed to take from the shame ofanticipation. But here--here was no voluntary act on my part, noprivacy, nothing but shame. I stood mute, convicted, speechless--likethe thing I was.
Yet if anything could have braced me, it was Mademoiselle's voice,when she answered him. "Go on, Monsieur," she said, with the perfectcalmness of scorn. "You will have done the sooner."
"You do not believe me?" he replied hotly. "Then, I say, look at him!Look at him! If ever shame--"
"Monsieur!" she said abruptly--she did not look at me. "I am ashamedmyself!"
"Why, his very name is not his own!" the lieutenant rejoined jerkily."He is no Barthe at all. He is Berault the gambler, the duellist, thebully--"
Again she interrupted him. "I know it," she said coldly. "I know itall. And if you have nothing more to tell me, go, Monsieur. Go!" shecontinued, in a tone of infinite scorn. "Enough that you have earnedmy contempt as well as my abhorrence!"
He looked for a moment taken aback. Then, "Ay, but I _have_ more!" hecried, his voice stubbornly triumphant. "I forgot that you would thinklittle of that! I forgot that a swordsman has always the ladies'hearts. But I have more. Do you know, too, that he is in theCardinal's pay? Do you know that he is here on the same errand whichbrings us here,--to arrest M. de Cocheforet? Do you know that while wego about the business openly and in soldier fashion, it is his part toworm himself into your confidence, to sneak into Madame's intimacy, tolisten at your door, to follow your footsteps, to hang on yourlips, to track you--track you until you betray yourselves andthe man? Do you know this, and that all his sympathy is a lie,Mademoiselle? His help, so much bait to catch the secret? His aim,blood-money--blood-money? Why, _morbleu!_" the lieutenant continued,pointing his finger at me, and so carried away by passion, so liftedout of himself by wrath and indignation, that in spite of myself Ishrank before him,--"you talk, lady, of contempt and abhorrence in thesame breath with me! But what have you for him? What have you for him,the spy, the informer, the hired traitor? And if you doubt, if youwant evidence, look at him. Only look at him, I say!"
And he might well say it! For I stood silent still; cowering anddespairing, white with rage and hate. But Mademoiselle did not look.She gazed straight at the lieutenant. "Have you done?" she said.
"Done?" he stammered. Her words, her air, brought him to earth again."Done? Yes, if you believe me."
"I do not," she answered proudly. "If that be all, be satisfied,Monsieur. I do not believe you."
"Then tell me," he retorted, after a moment of stunned surprise, "why,if he was not on our side, do you think we let him remain here? Whydid we suffer him to stay in a suspected house bullying us, and takingyour part from hour to hour?"
"He has a sword, Monsieur," she answered, with fine contempt.
"_Mille diables!_" he cried, snapping his fingers in a rage. "That forhis sword! No. It was because he held the Cardinal's commission;because he had equal authority with us; because we had no choice."
"And that being so, Monsieur, why are you now betraying him?" sheasked keenly.
He swore at that, feeling the stroke go home. "You must be mad," hesaid, glaring at her. "Mad, if you cannot see that the man is what Itell you he is. Look at him! Listen to him! Has he a word to say forhimself?"
Still she did not look. "It is late," she replied, coldly andirrelevantly. "And I am not very well. If you have quite done, perhapsyou will leave me, Monsieur."
"_Mon Dieu!_" he exclaimed, shrugging his shoulders; "you are mad! Ihave told you the truth, and you will not believe it. Well, on yourhead be it then, Mademoiselle. I have no more to say. But you willsee."
He looked at her for a moment as if he thought that she might stillgive way; then he saluted her roughly, gave the word to the sergeant,turned, and went down the path. The sergeant went after him, thelanthorn swaying in his hand. We two were left alone in the gloom. Thefrogs were croaking in the pool; the house, the garden, the wood,--alllay quiet under the darkness, as on the night when I first came to theChateau.
And would to Heaven I had never come! That was the cry in my heart.Would to Heaven I had never seen this woman, whose nobility and faithand singleness were a continual shame to me; a reproach, branding meevery hour I stood in her presence, with all vile and hateful names.The man just gone, coarse, low-bred, brutal soldier as he was,man-flogger, and drilling-block, had yet found heart to feel mybaseness, and words in which to denounce it. What, then, would she saywhen the truth some day came home to her? What shape should I take inher eyes then? How should I be remembered through all the years--then?
Then? But now? What was she thinking, now, as she stood, silent andabsorbed, by the stone seat, a shadowy figure with face turned fromme? Was she recalling the man's words, fitting them to the facts andthe past, adding this and that circumstance? Was she, though she hadrebuffed him in the body, collating, now he was gone, all he had said,and out of these scraps piecing together the damning truth? Thethought tortured me. I could brook uncertainty no longer. I wentnearer to her and touched her sleeve. "Mademoiselle," I said, in avoice which sounded hoarse and forced even in my own ears, "do youbelieve this of me?"
She started violently and turned. "Pardon, Monsieur," she answered. "Ihad forgotten that you were here. Do I believe--what?"
"What that man said of me," I muttered.
"That!" she exclaimed; and she stood a moment gazing at me in astrange fashion. "Do I believe what he said, Monsieur! But come,come," she continued, "and I will show you if I believe it. But nothere."
She led the way on the instant into the house, going in through theparlour door, which stood half open. The room inside was pitch dark,but she took me fearlessly by the hand, and led me quickly through it,and along the passage, until we came to the cheerful lighted hall,where a great fire burned on the hearth. All traces of the soldiers'occupation had been swept away. But the room was empty.
She led me to the fire, and there, in the full light, no longer ashadowy creature, but red-lipped, brilliant, throbbing with life, shestood opposite me, her eyes shining, her colour high, her breastheaving. "Do I believe it?" she said. "I will tell you. M. deCocheforet's hiding-place is in the hut behind the fern-stack, twofurlongs beyond the village, on the road to Auch. You know now what noone else knows, he and I and Madame excepted. You hold in your handshis life and my honour; and you know also, M. de Berault, whether Ibelieved that tale."
"My God!" I cried. And I stood looking at her, until something of thehorror in my eyes crept into hers, and she shuddered and stepped back.
"What is it? What is it?" she whispered, clasping her hands. And withall the colour gone from her cheeks she peered trembling into thecorners and towards the door. "There is no one here. Is there anyone--listening?"
I forced myself to speak, though I shook all over, like a man in anague. "No, Mademoiselle, there is no one here," I muttered. And then Ilet my head fall on my breast, and I stood before her, the statue ofdespair. Had she felt a grain of suspicion, a grain of doubt, mybearing must have opened her eyes. But her mind was cast in so noble amould, that having once thought ill of me and been converted, shecould feel no doubt again. It was her nature to trust all in all. So,a little recovered from her fright, she stood looking at me in greatwonder; and at last she had a thought.
"You are not well?" she said suddenly. "It is your old wound,Monsieur."
"Yes, Mademoiselle," I muttered faintly. "It is my old wound."
"I will call Clon!"
she cried impetuously. And then, with a sob, "Ah!poor Clon! He is gone. But there is Louis. I will call him, and hewill get you something."
She was gone from the room before I could stop her; and I was leftleaning against the table, possessor at last of the great secret whichI had come so far to win. Possessor of that secret, and able in amoment to open the door, and go out into the night, and make use ofit--and yet the most unhappy of men. The sweat stood on my brow, myeyes wandered round the room; I even turned towards the door, withsome mad thought of flight--flight from her, from the house, fromeverything. And God knows if I might not have chosen that course; forI still stood doubting, when on the door, that door, there came asudden hurried knocking which jarred every nerve in my body. Istarted. I stood in the middle of the floor, gazing at the door, as ata ghost. Then glad of action, glad of anything that might relieve thetension of my feelings, I strode to it, and pulled it sharply open.
On the threshold, his flushed face lit up by the light behind me,stood one of the knaves I had brought with me to Auch. He had beenrunning, and panted heavily, but he had kept his wits. He grasped mysleeve instantly. "Ah! Monsieur, the very man!" he cried, tugging atme. "Quick! come this instant, and you may yet be first. They have thesecret. They have found Monsieur."
"Found whom?" I echoed. "M. de Cocheforet?"
"No; but the place where he lies. It was found by accident. Thelieutenant was gathering his men to go to it when I came away. If weare quick, we may be there first."
"But the place?" I said.
"I could not hear where it was," he answered bluntly. "We can hang ontheir skirts, and at the last moment strike in."
The pair of pistols I had taken from the shock-headed man lay on achest by the door. I snatched them up, and my hat, and joined himwithout another word; and in a moment we were running down the garden.I looked back once before we passed the gate, and I saw the lightstreaming out through the door which I had left open; and I fanciedthat for an instant a figure darkened the gap. But the fancy onlystrengthened the one single iron purpose which had taken possession ofme and all my thoughts. I must be first. I must anticipate thelieutenant, and make the arrest myself. I ran on only the faster.
We seemed to be across the meadow and in the wood in a moment. There,instead of keeping along the common path, I boldly singled out--mysenses seemed preternaturally keen--the smaller track by which Clonhad brought us, and ran unfaltering along it, avoiding logs andpitfalls as by instinct, and following all its turns and twists, untilit brought us to the back of the inn, and we could hear the murmur ofsubdued voices in the village street, the sharp low words of command,and even the clink of weapons; and could see, above and between thehouses, the dull glare of lanthorns and torches.
I grasped my man's arm and crouched down, listening. "Where is yourmate?" I said, in his ear.
"With them," he muttered.
"Then come," I whispered, rising. "I have seen enough. Let us go."
But he caught me by the arm and detained me. "You don't know the way!"he hissed. "Steady, steady, Monsieur. You go too fast. They are justmoving. Let us join them, and strike in when the time comes. We mustlet them guide us."
"Fool!" I said, shaking off his hand. "I tell you, I know where he is!I know where they are going. Come; lose not a moment, and we willpluck the fruit while they are on the road to it."
His only answer was an exclamation of surprise; at that moment thelights began to move. The lieutenant was starting. The moon was notyet up; the sky was grey and cloudy; to advance where we were was tostep into a wall of blackness. But we had lost too much time already,and I did not hesitate. Bidding my companion follow me, and use hislegs, I sprang through a low fence which rose before us, and stumblingblindly over some broken ground in the rear of the houses, came, witha fall or two, to a little watercourse with steep sides. Through thisI plunged recklessly, and up the farther side, and, breathless andpanting, gained the road just beyond the village, and fifty yards inadvance of the lieutenant's troop.
They had only two lanthorns burning now, and we were beyond the circleof light these cast; while the steady tramp of so many footstepscovered the noise we made. We were unnoticed. In a twinkling we turnedour backs, and as fast as we could ran down the road. Fortunately,they were thinking more of secrecy than speed, and in a minute we haddoubled the distance between us; in two minutes their lights were meresparks shining in the gloom behind us. We lost, at last, even thetramp of their feet. Then I began to look out and go more slowly;peering into the shadows on either side for the fern-stack.
On one hand the hill rose steeply; on the other it fell away to thestream. On neither side was close wood,--or my difficulties had beenimmensely increased,--but scattered oak-trees stood here and thereamong gorse and bracken. This helped me, and in a moment, on the upperside, I came upon the dense substance of the stack looming blackagainst the lighter hill.
My heart beat fast, but it was no time for thought. Bidding the man ina whisper to follow me and be ready to back me up, I climbed the banksoftly, and with a pistol in my hand, felt my way to the rear of thestack; thinking to find a hut there, set against the fern, and M. deCocheforet in it. But I found no hut. There was none; and all was sodark that it came upon me suddenly as I stood between the hill and thestack that I had undertaken a very difficult thing. The hut behind thefern-stack? But how far behind? How far from it? The dark slopestretched above us, infinite, immeasurable, shrouded in night. Tobegin to climb it in search of a tiny hut, probably well-hidden andhard to find in daylight, seemed a task as impossible as to meet withthe needle in the hay! And now, while I stood, chilled and doubting,the steps of the troop in the road began to grow audible, began tocome nearer.
"Well, M. le Capitaine?" the man beside me muttered--in wonder why Istood. "Which way? Or they will be before us yet."
I tried to think, to reason it out; to consider where the hut wouldbe; while the wind sighed through the oaks, and here and there I couldhear an acorn fall. But the thing pressed too close on me: my thoughtswould not be hurried, and at last I said at a venture, "Up the hill!Straight from the stack."
He did not demur, and we plunged at the ascent, knee deep in brackenand furze, sweating at every pore with our exertions, and hearing thetroop come every moment nearer on the road below. Doubtless _they_knew exactly whither to go! Forced to stop and take breath when we hadscrambled up fifty yards or so, I saw their lanthorns shining likemoving glow-worms; and could even hear the clink of steel. For all Icould tell, the hut might be down there, and we two be moving from it!But it was too late to go back now; they were close to the fern-stack:and in despair I turned to the hill again. A dozen steps, and Istumbled. I rose and plunged on again; again I stumbled. Then I foundthat I was no longer ascending. I was treading level earth. And--wasit water I saw before me, below me, a little in front of my feet, orsome mirage of the sky?
Neither; and I gripped my fellow's arm, as he came abreast of me, andstopped him sharply. Below us, in the centre of a steep hollow, a pitin the hill-side, a light shone out through some aperture and quiveredon the mist, like the pale lamp of a moorland hobgoblin. It madeitself visible, displaying nothing else; a wisp of light in the bottomof a black bowl.
Yet my spirits rose with a great bound at sight of it, for I knew thatI had stumbled on the place I sought. In the common run of things Ishould have weighed my next step carefully, and gone about it slowly.But here was no place for thought, nor room for delay, and I slid downthe side of the hollow, and the moment my feet touched the bottom,sprang to the door of the little hut whence the light issued. A stoneturned under my foot in my rush, and I fell on my knees on thethreshold; but the fall only brought my face to a level with thestartled eyes of the man who lay inside on a bed of fern. He had beenreading. At the sound I made he dropped his book, and stretched outhis hand for a weapon. But the muzzle of my pistol covered him beforehe could reach his; he was not in a posture from which he couldspring, and at a sharp word from me he dropped his hand. The tigerishgla
re which had flickered for an instant in his eyes, gave place to alanguid smile; and he shrugged his shoulders. "_Eh, bien?_" he said,with marvellous composure. "Taken at last! Well, I was tired of it."
"You are my prisoner, M. de Cocheforet," I answered.
"It seems so," he said.
"Move a hand, and I kill you," I answered. "But you have still achoice."
"Truly?" he said, raising his eyebrows.
"Yes. My orders are to take you to Paris alive or dead. Give me yourparole that you will make no attempt to escape, and you shall gothither at your ease and as a gentleman. Refuse, and I shall disarmand bind you, and you will go as a prisoner."
"What force have you?" he asked curtly. He had not moved. He still layon his elbow, his cloak covering him, the little Marot in which he hadbeen reading close to his hand. But his quick, black eyes, whichlooked the keener for the pallor and thinness of his face, rovedceaselessly over me, probed the darkness behind me, took note ofeverything.
"Enough to compel you, Monsieur," I replied sternly. "But that is notall. There are thirty dragoons coming up the hill to secure you, andthey will make you no such offer. Surrender to me before they come andgive me your parole, and I will do all for your comfort. Delay, andyou will fall into their hands. There can be no escape."
"You will take my word," he said slowly.
"Give it, and you may keep your pistols, M. de Cocheforet," I replied.
"Tell me at least that you are not alone."
"I am not alone."
"Then I give it," he said, with a sigh. "And for Heaven's sake get mesomething to eat and a bed. I am tired of this pig-sty--and this life_Arnidieu!_ it is a fortnight since I slept between sheets."
"You shall sleep to-night in your own house if you please," I answeredhurriedly. "But here they come. Be good enough to stay where you are amoment, and I will meet them."
I stepped out into the darkness, in the nick of time. The lieutenant,after posting his men round the hollow, had just slid down with acouple of sergeants to make the arrest. The place round the open doorwas pitch dark. He had not espied my knave, who had lodged himself inthe deepest shadow of the hut; and when he saw me come out across thelight, he took me for Cocheforet. In a twinkling he thrust a pistolinto my face, and cried triumphantly, "You are my prisoner!" At thesame instant one of the sergeants raised a lanthorn and threw itslight into my eyes.
"What folly is this?" I said savagely.
The lieutenant's jaw fell, and he stood for half a minute, paralyzedwith astonishment. Less than an hour before he had left me at theChateau. Thence he had come hither with the briefest delay; and yet hefound me here before him! He swore fearfully, his face dark, hismustachios stiff with rage. "What is this? What is it?" he cried atlast. "Where is the man?"
"What man?" I said.
"This Cocheforet!" he roared, carried away by his passion. "Don't lieto me! He is here, and I will have him!"
"You will not. You are too late!" I said, watching him heedfully. "M.de Cocheforet is here, but he has already surrendered to me, and he ismy prisoner."
"Your prisoner?"
"Yes, my prisoner!" I answered facing the man with all the harshness Icould muster. "I have arrested him by virtue of the Cardinal's specialcommission granted to me. And by virtue of the same I shall keep him!"
He glared at me for a moment in utter rage and perplexity. Then on asudden I saw his face lighten. "It is a d--d ruse!" he shouted,brandishing his pistol like a madman. "It is a cheat and a fraud! Andby G--d you have no commission! I see through it! I see through itall! You have come here, and you have hocussed us! You are of theirside, and this is your last shift to save him!"
"What folly is this?" I exclaimed.
"No folly at all!" he answered, conviction in his tone. "You haveplayed upon us! You have fooled us! But I see through it now! An hourago I exposed you to that fine Madame at the house there, and Ithought it a marvel that she did not believe me. I thought it a marvelthat she did not see through you, when you stood there before her,confounded, tongue-tied, a rogue convicted! But I understand it now.She knew you! By----, she knew you! She was in the plot, and you werein the plot; and I, who thought I was opening her eyes, was the onlyone fooled! But it is my turn now. You have played a bold part, and aclever one, and I congratulate you! But," he continued, a sinisterlight in his little eyes, "it is at an end now, Monsieur! You took usin finely with your tale of Monseigneur, and his commission, and yourcommission, and the rest. But I am not to be blinded any longer, orbullied! You have arrested him, have you? _You_ have arrested him!Well, by G--d, I shall arrest him, and I shall arrest you too!"
"You are mad!" I said, staggered as much by this new view of thematter as by his perfect conviction of its truth. "Mad, Lieutenant!"
"I was!" he snarled drily. "But I am sane now. I was mad when youimposed upon us; when you persuaded me that you were fooling the womento get the secret out of them, while all the time you were shelteringthem, protecting them, aiding them, and hiding him--then I was mad!But not now. However, I ask your pardon, M. de Barthe, or M. deBerault, or whatever your name really is. I ask your pardon. I thoughtyou the cleverest sneak and the dirtiest hound heaven ever made, orhell refused! I find that you were cleverer than I thought, and anhonest traitor. Your pardon."
One of the men who stood about the rim of the bowl above us laughed. Ilooked at the lieutenant, and could willingly have killed him. "_MonDieu!_" I said, so furious in my turn that I could scarcely speak. "Doyou say that I am an impostor--that I do not hold the Cardinal'scommission?"
"I do say that!" he answered coolly. "And shall abide by it."
"And that I belong to the rebel party?"
"I do," he replied, in the same tone. "In fact," with a grin, "I saythat you are an honest man on the wrong side, M. de Berault. And yousay that you are a scoundrel on the right. The advantage, however, iswith me, and I shall back my opinion by arresting you."
A ripple of coarse laughter ran round the hollow. The sergeant whoheld the lanthorn grinned, and a trooper at a distance called out ofthe darkness, "_A bon chat bon rat!_" This brought a fresh burst oflaughter, while I stood speechless, confounded by the stubbornness,the crassness, the insolence, of the man. "You fool!" I cried at last,"you fool!" And then M. de Cocheforet, who had come out of the hut,and taken his stand at my elbow, interrupted me.
"Pardon me one moment," he said airily, looking at the lieutenant,with raised eyebrows, and pointing to me with his thumb. "But I ampuzzled between you. This gentleman's name? Is it de Berault or deBarthe?"
"I am M. de Berault," I said brusquely, answering for myself.
"Of Paris?"
"Yes, Monsieur, of Paris."
"You are not then the gentleman who has been honouring my poor housewith his presence?"
"Oh, yes!" the lieutenant struck in, grinning. "He is that gentleman,too!"
"But I thought--I understood that that was M. de Barthe."
"I am M. de Barthe, also," I retorted impatiently. "What of that,Monsieur? It was my mother's name. I took it when I came down here."
"To--er, to arrest me, may I ask?"
"Yes," I answered doggedly. "To arrest you. What of that?"
"Nothing," he replied slowly and with a steady look at me, a look Icould not meet. "Except that, had I known this before, M. de Berault,I should have thought long before I surrendered to you."
The lieutenant laughed, and I felt my cheek burn. But I affected tosee nothing, and turned to him again. "Now, Monsieur," I said sternly,"are you satisfied?"
"No!" he answered point blank. "I am not. You two gentlemen may haverehearsed this pretty scene a dozen times. The only word it seems tome, is, Quick March, back to Quarters."
I found myself driven to play my last card--much against my will. "Notso," I said; "I have my commission."
"Produce it!" he replied brusquely.
"Do you think that I carry it with me?" I said, in scorn. "Do youthink that when I came here, alone, and not with fifty dragoons
at myback, I carried the Cardinal's seal in my pocket for the first lackeyto find? But you shall have it. Where is that knave of mine?"
The words were scarcely out of my mouth before his ready hand thrust apaper into my fingers. I opened it slowly, glanced at it, and amid apause of surprise gave it to the lieutenant. He looked for a momentconfounded. He stared at it, with his jaw fallen. Then with a lastinstinct of suspicion he bade the sergeant hold up the lanthorn, andby its light proceeded to spell out the document.
"Umph!" he ejaculated, after a moment's silence; and he cast an uglylook at me. "I see." And he read it aloud.
"_By these presents I command and empower Gilles de Berault, sieur deBerault, to seek for, hold, arrest, and deliver to the Governor of theBastile the body of Henri de Cocheforet, and to do all such acts andthings as shall be necessary to effect such arrest and delivery, forwhich these shall be his warrant_.
"(_Signed_) _RICHELIEU, Lieut.-Gen_."
When he had done,--and he read the signature with a peculiarintonation,--some one said softly, "_Vive le roi!_" and there was amoment's silence. The sergeant lowered his lanthorn. "Is it enough?" Isaid hoarsely, glaring from face to face.
The lieutenant bowed stiffly. "For me?" he said. "Quite, Monsieur. Ibeg your pardon again. I find that my first impressions werethe-correct ones. Sergeant, give the gentleman his paper." And turninghis shoulder rudely, he tossed the commission towards the sergeant,who picked it up, and gave it to me, grinning.
I knew that the clown would not fight, and he had his men round him;and I had no choice but to swallow the insult. As I put the paper inmy breast, with as much indifference as I could assume, he gave asharp order. The troopers began to form on the edge above, the men whohad descended, to climb the bank. As the group behind him began toopen and melt away, I caught sight of a white robe in the middle ofit. The next moment, appearing with a suddenness which was like a blowon the cheek to me, Mademoiselle de Cocheforet glided forward, andcame towards me. She had a hood on her head, drawn low; and for amoment I could not see her face. I forgot her brother's presence at myelbow; from habit and impulse rather than calculation, I took a stepforward to meet her---though my tongue cleaved to the roof of mymouth, and I was dumb and trembling.
But she recoiled with such a look of white hate, of staring,frozen-eyed loathing, that I stepped back as if she had indeed struckme. It did not need the words which accompanied the look, the "_Do nottouch me!_" which she hissed at me as she drew her skirts together, todrive me to the farther edge of the hollow; there to stand withclenched teeth and nails driven into the flesh while she hung, sobbingtearless sobs, on her brother's neck.
Historical Romances: Under the Red Robe, Count Hannibal, A Gentleman of France Page 10
