CHAPTER VII.
IN THE AMPHITHEATRE.
The movements of the women had overturned two of the candles; a thirdhad guttered out. The three which still burned, contending pallidlywith the daylight that each moment grew stronger, imparted to thescene the air of a debauch too long sustained. The disordered board,the wan faces of the servants cowering in their corner, Mademoiselle'sfrozen look of misery, all increased the likeness; which a commonexhaustion so far strengthened that when Tavannes turned from thewindow, and, flushed with his triumph, met the others' eyes, hisseemed the only vigour, and he the only man in the company. True,beneath the exhaustion, beneath the collapse of his victims, thereburned passions, hatreds, repulsions, as fierce as the hidden fires ofthe volcano; but for the time they smouldered ash-choked and inert.
He flung the discharged pistols on the table. "If yonder raven speaktruth," he said, "I am like to pay dearly for my wife, and have shorttime to call her wife. The more need, Mademoiselle, for speed,therefore. You know the old saying, 'Short signing, long seisin? Shallit be my priest, or your minister?"
M. de Tignonville started forward. "She promised nothing!" he cried.And he struck his hand on the table.
Count Hannibal smiled, his lip curling. "That," he replied, "is forMademoiselle to say."
"But if she says it? If she says it, Monsieur? What then?"
Tavannes drew forth a comfit-box, such as it was the fashion of theday to carry, as men of a later time carried a snuff-box. He slowlychose a prune. "If she says it?" he answered. "Then M. de Tignonvillehas regained his sweetheart. And M. de Tavannes has lost his bride."
"You say so!"
"Yes. But----"
"But what?"
"But she will not say it," Tavannes replied coolly.
"Why not?"
"Why not?"
"Yes, Monsieur, why not?" the younger man repeated trembling.
"Because, M. de Tignonville, it is not true."
"But she did not speak!" Tignonville retorted, with passion--thefutile passion of the bird which beats its wings against a cage. "Shedid not speak. She could not promise, therefore."
Tavannes ate the prune slowly, seemed to give a little thought to itsflavour, approved it a true Agen plum, and at last spoke. "It is notfor you to say whether she promised," he returned drily, "nor for me.It is for Mademoiselle."
"You leave it to her?"
"I leave it to her to say whether she promised."
"Then she must say No!" Tignonville cried in a tone of triumph andrelief. "For she did not speak. Mademoiselle, listen!" he continued,turning with outstretched hands and appealing to her with passion. "Doyou hear? Do you understand? You have but to speak to be free! Youhave but to say the word, and Monsieur lets you go! In God's name,speak! Speak then, Clotilde! Oh!" with a gesture of despair, as shedid not answer, but continued to sit stony and hopeless, lookingstraight before her, her hands picking convulsively at the fringe ofher girdle. "She does not understand! Fright has stunned her! Bemerciful, Monsieur. Give her time to recover, to know what she does.Fright has turned her brain."
Count Hannibal smiled. "I knew her father and her uncle," he said,"and in their time the Vrillacs were not wont to be cowards. Monsieurforgets, too," he continued with fine irony, "that he speaks of mybetrothed."
"It is a lie!"
Tavannes raised his eyebrows. "You are in my power," he said. "For therest, if it be a lie, Mademoiselle has but to say so."
"You hear him?" Tignonville cried. "Then speak, Mademoiselle!Clotilde, speak! Say you never spoke, you never promised him!"
The young man's voice quivered with indignation, with rage, with pain;but most, if the truth be told, with shame--the shame of a positionstrange and unparalleled. For in proportion as the fear of deathinstant and violent was lifted from him, reflection awoke, and thesituation in which he stood took uglier shape. It was not so much lovethat cried to her, love that suffered, anguished by the prospect oflove lost; as in the highest natures it might have been. Rather it wasthe man's pride which suffered; the pride of a high spirit which founditself helpless between the hammer and the anvil, in a position sofalse that hereafter men might say of the unfortunate that he hadbartered his mistress for his life. He had not! But he had perforce tostand by; he had to be passive under stress of circumstances, and bythe sacrifice, if she consummated it, he would in fact be saved.
There was the pinch. No wonder that he cried to her in a voice whichroused even the servants from their lethargy of fear. "Say it!" hecried. "Say it, before it be too late. Say you did not promise!"
Slowly she turned her face to him. "I cannot," she whispered; "Icannot. Go," she continued, a spasm distorting her features. "Go,Monsieur. Leave me. It is over."
"What?" he exclaimed. "You promised him?"
She bowed her head.
"Then," the young man cried, in a transport of resentment, "I will beno part of the price. See! There! And there!" He tore the white sleevewholly from his arm, and, rending it in twain, flung it on the floorand trampled on it. "It shall never be said that I stood by and letyou buy my life! I go into the street and I take my chance." And heturned to the door.
But Tavannes was before him. "No!" he said; "you will stay here, M. deTignonville!" And he set his back against the door.
The young man looked at him, his face convulsed with passion. "I shallstay here?" he cried. "And why, Monsieur? What is it to you if Ichoose to perish?"
"Only this," Tavannes retorted. "I am answerable to Mademoiselle now,in an hour I shall be answerable to my wife--for your life. Live,then, Monsieur; you have no choice. In a month you will thank me--andher."
"I am your prisoner?"
"Precisely."
"And I must stay here--to be tortured?" Tignonville cried.
Count Hannibal's eyes sparkled. Sudden stormy changes, fromindifference to ferocity, from irony to invective, were characteristicof the man. "Tortured!" he repeated grimly. "You talk of torture whilePiles and Pardaillan, Teligny and Rochefoucauld lie dead in thestreet! While your cause sinks withered in a night, like a gourd!While your servants fall butchered, and France rises round you in atide of blood! Bah!"--with a gesture of disdain--"you make me alsotalk, and I have no love for talk, and small time. Mademoiselle, youat least act and do not talk. By your leave I return in an hour, and Ibring with me--shall it be my priest, or your minister?"
She looked at him with the face of one who awakes slowly to the fullhorror, the full dread, of her position. For a moment she did notanswer. Then, "A minister," she murmured, her voice scarcely audible.
He nodded. "A minister?" he said lightly. "Very well, if I can findone." And walking to the shattered, gaping casement--through which thecool morning air blew into the room and gently stirred the hair of theunhappy girl--he said some words to the man on guard outside. Then heturned to the door, but on the threshold he paused, looked with astrange expression at the pair, and signed to Carlat and the servantsto go out before him.
"Up, and lie close above!" he growled. "Open a window or look out,and you will pay dearly for it! Do you hear? Up! Up! You, too, oldcrop-ears. What! would you?"--with a sudden glare as Carlathesitated--"that is better! Mademoiselle, until my return."
He saw them all out, followed them, and closed the door on the two;who, left together, alone with the gaping window and the disorderedfeast, maintained a strange silence. The girl, gripping one hand inthe other as if to quell her rising horror, sat looking before her,and seemed barely to breathe. The man, leaning against the wall at alittle distance, bent his eyes not on her, but on the floor, his facegloomy and distorted.
His first thought should have been of her and for her; his firstimpulse to console, if he could not save her. His it should have beento soften, were that possible, the fate before her; to prove to her bywords of farewell, the purest and most sacred, that the sacrifice shewas making, not to save her own life but the lives of others, wasappreciated by him who paid with h
er the price.
And all these things, and more, may have been in M. de Tignonville'smind; they may even have been uppermost in it, but they found noexpression. The man remained sunk in a sombre reverie. He had theappearance of thinking of himself, not of her; of his own position,not of hers. Otherwise he must have looked at her, he must have turnedto her; he must have owned the subtle attraction of her unspokenappeal when she drew a deep breath and slowly turned her eyes on him,mute, asking, waiting what he should offer.
Surely he should have! Yet it was long before he responded. He satburied in thought of himself, and his position, the vile, the unworthyposition in which her act had placed him. At length the constraint ofher gaze wrought on him, or his thoughts became unbearable, and helooked up and met her eyes, and with an oath he sprang to his feet.
"It shall not be!" he cried, in a tone low, but full of fury. "Youshall not do it! I will kill him first! I will kill him with thishand! Or----" a step took him to the window, a step brought himback--ay, brought him back exultant, and with a changed face. "Orbetter, we will thwart him yet. See, Mademoiselle, do you see? Heavenis merciful! For a moment the cage is open!" His eyes shone withexcitement, the sweat of sudden hope stood on his brow as he pointedto the unguarded casement. "Come! it is our one chance!" And he caughther by her arm, and strove to draw her to the window.
But she hung back, staring at him. "Oh, no, no!" she cried.
"Yes, yes! I say!" he responded. "You do not understand. The way isopen! We can escape, Clotilde, we can escape!"
"I cannot! I cannot!" she wailed, still resisting him.
"You are afraid?"
"Afraid?" she repeated the word in a tone of wonder. "No, but Icannot. I promised him. I cannot. And, O God!" she continued, in asudden outburst of grief, as the sense of general loss, of the greatcommon tragedy broke on her and whelmed for the moment her privatemisery. "Why should we think of ourselves? They are dead, they aredying, who were ours, whom we loved! Why should we think to live? Whatdoes it matter how it fares with us? We cannot be happy. Happy?" shecontinued wildly. "Are any happy now? Or is the world all changed in anight? No, we could not be happy. And at least you will live,Tignonville. I have that to console me."
"Live!" he responded vehemently. "I live? I would rather die athousand times. A thousand times rather than live shamed! Than see yousacrificed to that devil! Than go out with a brand on my brow, forevery man to point at me! I would rather die a thousand times!"
"And do you think that I would not?" she answered, shivering. "Better,far better die than--than live with him!"
"Then why not die?"
She stared at him, wide-eyed, and a sudden stillness possessed her."How?" she whispered. "What do you mean?"
"That!" he said. As he spoke, he raised his hand and signed to her tolisten. A sullen murmur, distant as yet, but borne to the ear on thefresh morning air, foretold the rising of another storm. The soundgrew in intensity, even while she listened; and yet for a moment shemisunderstood him. "O God!" she cried, out of the agony of nervesoverwrought, "will that bell never stop? Will it never stop? Will noone stop it?"
"'Tis not the bell!" he cried, seizing her hand as if to focus herattention. "It is the mob you hear. They are returning. We have but tostand a moment at this open window, we have but to show ourselves tothem, and we need live no longer! Mademoiselle! Clotilde!--if you meanwhat you say, if you are in earnest, the way is open!"
"And we shall die--together!"
"Yes, together. But have you the courage?"
"The courage!" she cried, a brave smile lighting the whiteness of herface. "The courage were needed to live. The courage were needed to dothat. I am ready, quite ready. It can be no sin! To live with that infront of me were the sin! Come!" For the moment she had forgotten herpeople, her promise, all! It seemed to her that death would absolveher from all. "Come!"
He moved with her under the impulse of her hand until they stood atthe gaping window. The murmur, which he had heard indistinctly amoment before, had grown to a roar of voices. The mob, on its returneastward along the Rue St. Honore, was nearing the house. He stood,his arm supporting her, and they waited, a little within the window.Suddenly he stooped, his face hardly less white than hers; their eyesmet, and he would have kissed her.
She did not withdraw from his arm, but she drew back her face, hereyes half shut. "No!" she murmured. "No! While I live I am his. But wedie together, Tignonville! We die together. It will not last long,will it? And afterwards----"
She did not finish the sentence, but her lips moved in prayer, andover her features came a far-away look; such a look as that which onthe face of another Huguenot lady, Philippine de Luns--vilely done todeath in the Place Maubert fourteen years before--silenced the ribaldjests of the lowest rabble in the world. An hour or two earlier, awedby the abruptness of the outburst, Mademoiselle had shrunk from herfate; she had known fear. Now that she stood out voluntarily to meetit, she, like many a woman before and since, feared no longer. She waslifted out of and above herself.
But death was long in coming. Some cause beyond their knowledge stayedthe onrush of the mob along the street. The din, indeed, persisted,deafened, shook them; but the crowd seemed to be at a stand a fewdoors down the Rue St. Honore. For a half-minute, a long half-minute,which appeared an age, it drew no nearer. Would it draw nearer? Wouldit come on? Or would it turn again?
The doubt, so much worse than despair, began to sap that courage ofthe man which is always better fitted to do than to suffer. The sweatrose on Tignonville's brow as he stood listening, his arm round thegirl--as he stood listening and waiting. It is possible that when hehad said a minute or two earlier that he would rather die a thousandtimes than live thus shamed, he had spoken beyond the mark. Or it ispossible that he had meant his words to the full. But in this case hehad not pictured what was to come, he had not gauged correctly hispower of passive endurance. He was as brave as the ordinary man, asthe ordinary soldier; but martyrdom, the apotheosis of resignation,comes more naturally to women than to men, more hardly to men than towomen. Yet had the crisis come quickly he might have met it. But hehad to wait, and to wait with that howling of wild beasts in his ears;and for this he was not prepared. A woman might be content to dieafter this fashion; but a man? His colour went and came, his eyesbegan to rove hither and thither. Was it even now too late to escape?Too late to avoid the consequences of the girl's silly persistence?Too late to----? Her eyes were closed, she hung half lifeless on hisarm. She would not know, she need not know until afterwards. Andafterwards she would thank him! Afterwards--meantime the window wasopen, the street was empty, and still the crowd hung back and did notcome.
He remembered that two doors away was a narrow passage, which leavingthe Rue St. Honore turned at right angles under a beetling archway, toemerge in the Rue du Roule. If he could gain that passage unseen bythe mob! He would gain it. With a swift movement, his mind made up, hetook a step forward. He tightened his grasp of the girl's waist, and,seizing with his left hand the end of the bar which the assailants hadtorn from its setting in the window jamb, he turned to lower himself.One long step would land him in the street.
At that moment she awoke from the stupor of exaltation. She opened hereyes with a startled movement; and her eyes met his.
He was in the act of stepping backwards and downwards, dragging herafter him. But it was not this betrayed him. It was his face, which inan instant told her all, and that he sought not death, but life! Shestruggled upright and strove to free herself. But he had the purchaseof the bar, and by this time he was furious as well as determined.Whether she would or no, he would save her, he would drag her out.Then, as consciousness fully returned, she, too, took fire. "No!" shecried, "I will not!" and she struggled more violently.
"You shall!" he retorted between his teeth. "You shall not perishhere."
But she had her hands free, and as he spoke she thrust him from herpassionately, desperately, with all her strength. He had his one footin the air at the moment, and
in a flash it was done. With a cry ofrage he lost his balance, and, still holding the bar, reeled backwardsthrough the window; while Mademoiselle, panting and half fainting,recoiled--recoiled into the arms of Hannibal de Tavannes, who, unseenby either, had entered the room a long minute before. From thethreshold, and with a smile, all his own, he had watched the contestand the result.
Historical Romances: Under the Red Robe, Count Hannibal, A Gentleman of France Page 22
