Historical Romances: Under the Red Robe, Count Hannibal, A Gentleman of France

by Stanley John Weyman

  CHAPTER XXIV.

  AT THE KING'S INN.

  The Countess sat up in the darkness of the chamber. She had writhedsince noon under the stings of remorse; she could bear them no longer.The slow declension of the day, the evening light, the signs of comingtempest which had driven her company to the shelter of the inn at thecross-roads, all had racked her, by reminding her that the hours wereflying, and that soon the fault she had committed would beirreparable. One impulsive attempt to redeem it she had made, we know;but it had failed, and, by rendering her suspect, had made reparationmore difficult. Still, by daylight it had seemed possible to restcontent with the trial made; not so now, when night had fallen, andthe cries of little children and the haggard eyes of mothers peopledthe darkness of her chamber. She sat up, and listened with throbbingtemples.

  To shut out the lightning which played at intervals across theheavens, Madame St. Lo, who shared the room, had covered the windowwith a cloak; and the place was dark. To exclude the dull roll of thethunder was less easy, for the night was oppressively hot, and behindthe cloak the casement was open. Gradually, too, another sound, thehissing fall of heavy rain, began to make itself heard, and to minglewith the regular breathing which proved that Madame St. Lo slept.

  Assured of this fact, the Countess presently heaved a sigh, andslipped from the bed. She groped in the darkness for her cloak, foundit, and donned it over her night-gear. Then, taking her bearings byher bed, which stood with its head to the window and its foot to theentrance, she felt her way across the floor to the door, and afterpassing her hands a dozen times over every part of it, she found thelatch, and raised it. The door creaked, as she pulled it open, and shestood arrested; but the sound went no farther, for the roofed galleryoutside, which looked by two windows on the courtyard, was full ofoutdoor noises, the rushing of rain and the running of spouts andeaves. One of the windows stood wide, admitting the rain and wind, andas she paused, holding the door open, the draught blew the cloak fromher. She stepped out quickly and shut the door behind her. On her leftwas the blind end of the passage; she turned to the right. She tookone step into the darkness and stood motionless. Beside her, within afew feet of her, some one had moved, with a dull sound as of a boot onwood; a sound so near her that she held her breath, and pressedherself against the wall.

  She listened. Perhaps some of the servants--it was a common usage--hadmade their beds on the floor. Perhaps one of the women had stirred inthe room against the wall of which she crouched. Perhaps--but, evenwhile she reassured herself, the sound rose anew at her feet.

  Fortunately at the same instant the glare of the lightning floodedall, and showed the passage, and showed it empty. It lit up the row ofdoors on her right and the small windows on her left; and discoveredfacing her, the door which shut off the rest of the house. She couldhave thanked--nay, she did thank God for that light. If the sound shehad heard recurred she did not hear it; for, as the thunder whichfollowed hard on the flash, crashed overhead and rolled heavilyeastwards, she felt her way boldly along the passage, touching firstone door, and then a second, and then a third.

  She groped for the latch of the last, and found it, but, with her handon it, paused. In order to summon up her courage, she strove to hearagain the cries of misery and to see again the haggard eyes which haddriven her hither. And if she did not wholly succeed, otherreflections came to her aid. This storm, which covered all smallernoises, and opened, now and again, God's lantern for her use, did itnot prove that He was on her side, and that she might count on Hisprotection? The thought at least was timely, and with a better heartshe gathered her wits. Waiting until the thunder burst over her head,she opened the door, slid within it, and closed it. She would fainhave left it ajar, that in case of need she might escape the moreeasily. But the wind, which beat into the passage through the openwindow, rendered the precaution too perilous.

  She went forward two paces into the room, and as the roll of thethunder died away she stooped forward and listened with painfulintensity for the sound of Count Hannibal's breathing. But the windowwas open, and the hiss of the rain persisted; she could hear nothingthrough it, and fearfully she took another step forward. The windowshould be before her; the bed in the corner to the left. But nothingof either could she make out. She must wait for the lightning.

  It came, and for a second or more the room shone. The window, the lowtruckle-bed, the sleeper, she saw all with dazzling clearness, andbefore the flash had well passed she was crouching low, with the hoodof her cloak dragged about her face. For the glare had revealed CountHannibal; but not asleep! He lay on his side, his face towards her;lay with open eyes, staring at her.

  Or had the light tricked her? The light must have tricked her, for inthe interval between the flash and the thunder, while she crouchedquaking, he did not move or call. The light must have deceived her.She felt so certain of it that she found courage to remain where shewas until another flash came and showed him sleeping with closed eyes.

  She drew a breath of relief at that, and rose slowly to her feet. Butshe dared not go forward until a third flash had confirmed the second.Then, while the thunder burst overhead and rolled away, she crept onuntil she stood beside the pillow, and stooping, could hear thesleeper's breathing.

  Alas! the worst remained to be done. The packet, she was sure of it,lay under his pillow. How was she to find it, how remove it withoutrousing him? A touch might awaken him. And yet, if she would notreturn empty-handed, if she would not go back to the harrowingthoughts which had tortured her through the long hours of the day, itmust be done, and done now.

  She knew this, yet she hung irresolute a while, blenching before themanual act, listening to the persistent rush and downpour of the rain.Then a second time she drew courage from the storm. How timely had itbroken! How signally had it aided her! How slight had been her chancewithout it! And so at last, resolutely but with a deft touch, she slidher fingers between the pillow and the bed, slightly pressing down thelatter with her other hand. For an instant she fancied that thesleeper's breathing stopped, and her heart gave a great bound. But thebreathing went on the next instant--if it had stopped--and dreadingthe return of the lightning, shrinking from being revealed so nearhim, and in that act--for which the darkness seemed more fitting--shegroped farther, and touched something. And then, as her fingers closedupon it and grasped it, and his breath rose hot to her burning cheek,she knew that the real danger lay in the withdrawal.

  At the first attempt he uttered a kind of grunt and moved, throwingout his hand. She thought that he was going to awake, and had hardwork to keep herself where she was; but he did not move, and she beganagain with so infinite a precaution that the perspiration ran down herface and her hair within the hood hung dank on her neck. Slowly, oh soslowly, she drew back the hand, and with it the packet; so slowly, andyet so resolutely, being put to it, that when the dreaded flashsurprised her, and she saw his harsh swarthy face, steeped in themysterious aloofness of sleep, within a hand's breadth of hers, not amuscle of her arm moved, nor did her hand quiver.

  It was done--at last! With a burst of gratitude, of triumph, ofexultation, she stood erect. She realised that it was done, and thathere in her hand she held the packet. A deep gasp of relief, of joy,of thankfulness, and she glided towards the door.

  She groped for the latch, and in the act fancied his breathing waschanged. She paused and bent her head to listen. But the patter of therain, drowning all sounds save those of the nearest origin, persuadedher that she was mistaken, and, finding the latch, she raised it,slipped like a shadow into the passage, and closed the door behindher.

  That done she stood arrested, all the blood in her body running to herheart. She must be dreaming! The passage in which she stood--thepassage which she had left in black darkness--was alight; was so farlighted, at least, that to eyes fresh from the night, the figures ofthree men, grouped at the farther end, stood out against the glow ofthe lantern which they appeared to be trimming--fo
r the two nearestwere stooping over it. These two had their backs to her, the third hisface; and it was the sight of this third man which had driven theblood to her heart. He ended at the waist! It was only after a fewseconds, it was only when she had gazed at him awhile in speechlesshorror, that he rose another foot from the floor, and she saw that hehad paused in the act of ascending through a trapdoor. What the scenemeant, who these men were, or what their entrance portended, withthese questions her brain refused at the moment to grapple. It wasmuch that--still remembering who might hear her, and what sheheld--she did not shriek aloud.

  Instead, she stood in the gloom at her end of the passage, gazing withall her eyes until she had seen the third man step clear of the trap.She could see him; but the light intervened and blurred his view ofher. He stooped, almost as soon as he had cleared himself, to help upa fourth man, who rose with a naked knife between his teeth. She sawthen that all were armed, and something stealthy in their bearing,something cruel in their eyes as the light of the lantern fell now onone dark face and now on another, went to her heart and chilled it.Who were they, and why were they here? What was their purpose? As herreason awoke, as she asked herself these questions, the fourth manstooped in his turn, and gave his hand to a fifth. And on that shelost her self-control and cried out. For the last man to ascend was LaTribe! La Tribe, from whom she had parted that morning!

  The sound she uttered was low, but it reached the men's ears, and thetwo whose backs were towards her turned as if they had been pricked.He who held the lantern raised it, and the five glared at her and sheat them. Then a second cry, louder and more full of surprise, burstfrom her lips. The nearest man, he who held the lantern high that hemight view her, was Tignonville, was her lover!

  "_Mon Dieu!_" she whispered. "What is it? What is it?"

  Then, not till then, did he know her. Until then the light of thelantern had revealed only a cloaked and cowled figure, a gloomyphantom which shook the heart of more than one with superstitiousterror. But they knew her now--two of them; and slowly, as in a dream,Tignonville came forward.

  The mind has its moments of crisis, in which it acts upon instinctrather than upon reason. The girl never knew why she acted as she did;why she asked no questions, why she uttered no exclamations, noremonstrances. Why, with a finger on her lips and her eyes on his, sheput the packet into his hands.

  He took it from her, too, as mechanically as she gave it--with thehand which held his bare blade. That done, silent as she, with hiseyes set hard, he would have gone by her. The sight of her there,guarding the door of him who had stolen her from him, exasperated hisworst passions.

  But she moved to hinder him, and barred the way. With her hand raisedshe pointed to the trapdoor. "Go now!" she whispered, her tone sternand low, "you have what you want! Go!"

  "No!" And he tried to pass her.

  "Go!" she repeated in the same tone. "You have what you need." Andstill she held her hand extended; still without faltering she facedthe five men, while the thunder, growing more distant, rolled sullenlyeastward, and the midnight rain, pouring from every spout and drippingeave about the house, wrapped the passage in its sibilant hush.Gradually her eyes dominated his, gradually her nobler nature andnobler aim subdued his weaker parts. For she understood now; and hesaw that she did, and had he been alone he would have slunk away, andsaid no word in his defence.

  But one of the men, savage and out of patience, thrust himself betweenthem. "Where is he?" he muttered. "What is the use of this? Where ishe?" And his bloodshot eyes--it was Tuez-les-Moines--questioned thedoors, while his hand, trembling and shaking on the haft of his knife,bespoke his eagerness. "Where is he? Where is he, woman? Quick,or----"

  "I shall not tell you," she answered.

  "You lie," he cried, grinning like a dog. "You will tell us! Or wewill kill you, too! Where is he? Where is he?"

  "I shall not tell you," she repeated, standing before him in thefearlessness of scorn. "Another step and I rouse the house! M. deTignonville, to you who know me, I swear that if this man does notretire----"

  "He is in one of these rooms?" was Tignonville's answer. "In which? Inwhich?"

  "Search them!" she answered, her voice low, but biting in itscontempt. "Try them. Rouse my women, alarm the house! And when youhave his people at your throats--five as they will be to one ofyou--thank your own mad folly!"

  Tuez-les-Moines' eyes glittered. "You will not tell us?" he cried.

  "No!"

  "Then----"

  But as the fanatic sprang on her, La Tribe flung his arms round himand dragged him back. "It would be madness," he cried. "Are you mad,fool? Have done!" he panted, struggling with him. "If madame gives thealarm--and he may be in any one of these four rooms, you cannot besure which--we are undone." He looked for support to Tignonville,whose movement to protect the girl he had anticipated, and who hadsince listened sullenly. "We have obtained what we need. Will yourequite madame, who has gained it for us at her own risk----"

  "It is monsieur I would requite," Tignonville muttered grimly.

  "By using violence to her?" the minister retorted passionately. He andTuez were still gripping one another. "I tell you, to go on is to riskwhat we have got! And I for one----"

  "Am chicken-hearted!" the young man sneered. "Madame--" he seemed tochoke on the word. "Will you swear that he is not here?"

  "I swear that if you do not go I will raise the alarm!" shehissed--all their words were sunk to that stealthy note. "Go! if youhave not stayed too long already. Go! Or see!" And she pointed to thetrapdoor, from which the face and arms of a sixth man had that momentrisen--the face dark with perturbation, so that her woman's wit toldher at once that something was amiss. "See what has come of your delayalready!"

  "The water is rising," the man muttered earnestly. "In God's namecome, whether you have done it or not, or we cannot pass out again. Itis within a foot of the crown of the culvert now, and it is rising."

  "Curse on the water!" Tuez-les-Moines answered in a frenzied whisper."And on this Jezebel. Let us kill her and him! What matterafterwards?" And he tried to shake off La Tribe's grasp.

  But the minister held him desperately. "Are you mad? Are you mad?" heanswered. "What can we do against thirty? Let us be gone while we can.Let us be gone! Come."

  "Ay, come," Perrot cried, assenting reluctantly. He had taken no sidehitherto. "The luck is against us! 'Tis no use to-night, man!" And heturned with an air of sullen resignation. Letting his legs dropthrough the trap he followed the bearer of the tidings out of sight.Another made up his mind to go, and went. Then only Tignonvilleholding the lantern, and La Tribe, who feared to releaseTuez-les-Moines, remained with the fanatic.

  The Countess's eyes met her old lover's, and whether old memoriesovercame her, or, now that the danger was nearly past, she began togive way, she swayed a little on her feet. But he did not notice it.He was sunk in black rage: rage against her, rage against himself."Take the light," she muttered unsteadily. "And--and he must follow!"

  "And you?"

  But she could bear it no longer. "Oh, go," she wailed. "Go! Will younever go? If you love me, if you ever loved me, I implore you to go."

  He had betrayed little of a lover's feeling. But he could not resistthat appeal, and he turned silently. Seizing Tuez-les-Moines by theother arm, he drew him by force to the trap. "Quiet, fool," hemuttered savagely when the man would have resisted, "and go down! Ifwe stay to kill him, we shall have no way of escape, and his life willbe dearly bought. Down, man, down!" And between them, in a strugglingsilence, with now and then an audible rap, or a ring of metal, the twoforced the desperado to descend.

  La Tribe followed hastily. Tignonville was the last to go. In the actof disappearing he raised his lantern for a last glimpse of theCountess. To his astonishment the passage was empty; she was gone.Hard by him a door stood an inch or two ajar, and he guessed that itwas hers, and swore under his breath, hating her at that moment. Buthe did not guess how nicely she had calculated her strength; hownearly exhaustion
had overcome her; or that even while he paused--afatal pause had he known it--eyeing the dark opening of the door, shelay as one dead, on the bed within. She had fallen in a swoon, fromwhich she did not recover until the sun had risen, and marched acrossone quarter of the heavens.

  Nor did he see another thing, or he might have hastened his steps.Before the yellow light of his lantern faded from the ceiling of thepassage, the door of the room farthest from the trap slid open. A man,whose eyes, until darkness swallowed him, shone strangely in a faceextraordinarily softened, came out on tip-toe. This man stood awhile,listening. At length, hearing those below utter a cry of dismay, heawoke to sudden activity. He opened with a turn of the key the doorwhich stood at his elbow, the door which led to the other part of thehouse. He vanished through it. A second later a sharp whistle piercedthe darkness of the courtyard and brought a dozen sleepers to theirsenses and their feet. A moment, and the courtyard hummed with voices,above which one voice rang clear and insistent. With a startled crythe inn awoke.