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

by Stanley John Weyman

  CHAPTER XXVI.

  TEMPER.

  It was his gaiety, that strange unusual gaiety, still continuing,which on the following day began by perplexing and ended by terrifyingthe Countess. She could not doubt that he had missed the packet onwhich so much hung and of which he had indicated the importance. Butif he had missed it, why, she asked herself, did he not speak? Why didhe not cry the alarm, search and question and pursue? Why did he notgive her the opening to tell the truth, without which even her couragefailed, her resolution died within her?

  Above all, what was the secret of his strange merriment? Of thesnatches of song which broke from him, only to be hushed by her lookof astonishment? Of the parades which his horse, catching theinfection, made under him, as he tossed his riding-cane high in theair and caught it?

  Ay, what? Why, when he had suffered so great a loss, when he had beenrobbed of that of which he must give account--why did he cast off hismelancholy and ride like the youngest? She wondered what the menthought, and looking, saw them stare, saw that they watched himstealthily, saw that they laid their heads together. What were theythinking of it? She could not tell; and slowly a terror, moreinsistent than any to which the extremity of violence would havereduced her, began to grip her heart.

  Twenty hours of rest had lifted her from the state of collapse intowhich the events of the night had cast her; still her limbs atstarting had shaken under her. But the cool freshness of the earlysummer morning, and the sight of the green landscape and the windingLoir, beside which their road ran, had not failed to revive herspirits; and if he had shown himself merely gloomy, merely sunk inrevengeful thoughts, or darting hither and thither the glance ofsuspicion, she felt that she could have faced him, and on the firstopportunity could have told him the truth.

  But this strange mood veiled she knew not what. It seemed, if shecomprehended it at all, the herald of some bizarre, some dreadfulvengeance, in harmony with his fierce and mocking spirit. Before ither heart became as water. Even her colour little by little left hercheeks. She knew that he had only to look at her now to read thetruth; that it was written in her face, in her shrinking figure, inthe eyes which now guiltily sought and now avoided his. And feelingsure that he did read it and know it, she fancied that he licked hislips, as the cat which plays with the mouse; she fancied that hegloated on her terror and her perplexity.

  This, though the day and the road were warrants for all cheerfulthoughts. On one side vineyards clothed the warm red slopes, and rosein steps from the river to the white buildings of a convent. On theother the stream wound through green flats where the black cattlestood knee-deep in grass, watched by wild-eyed and half-naked youths.Again the travellers lost sight of the Loir, and crossing a shoulder,rode through the dim aisles of a beech-forest, through deep rustlingdrifts of last year's leaves. And out again and down again theypassed, and turning aside from the gateway, trailed along beneath thebrown machicolated wall of an old town, from the crumbling battlementsof which faces half-sleepy, half-suspicious, watched them as theymoved below through the glare and heat. Down to the river-level again,where a squalid anchorite, seated at the mouth of a cave dug in thebank, begged of them, and the bell of a monastery on the farther banktolled slumberously the hour of Nones.

  And still he said nothing, and she, cowed by his mysterious gaiety,yet spurning herself for her cowardice, was silent also. He hoped toarrive at Angers before nightfall. What, she wondered, shivering,would happen there? What was he planning to do to her? How would hepunish her? Brave as she was, she was a woman, with a woman's nerves;and fear and anticipation got upon them; and his silence--his silencewhich must mean a thing worse than words!

  And then on a sudden, piercing all, a new thought. Was it possiblethat he had other letters? If his bearing were consistent withanything, it was consistent with that. Had he other genuine letters,or had he duplicate letters, so that he had lost nothing, but insteadhad gained the right to rack and torture her, to taunt and despiseher?

  That thought stung her into sudden self-betrayal. They were ridingalong a broad dusty track which bordered a stone causey raised abovethe level of winter floods; impulsively she turned to him. "Youhave other letters!" she cried. "You have other letters!" And freedfor the moment from her terror, she fixed her eyes on his and stroveto read his face.

  He looked at her, his mouth grown hard. "What do you mean, madame?" heasked.

  "You have other letters?"

  "For whom?"

  "From the King, for Angers!"

  He saw that she was going to confess, that she was going to derangehis cherished plan; and unreasonable anger awoke in the man who hadbeen more than willing to forgive a real injury. "Will you explain?"he said between his teeth. And his eyes glittered unpleasantly. "Whatdo you mean?"

  "You have other letters," she persisted, "besides those which Istole."

  "Which you stole?" He repeated the words without passion. Enraged bythis unexpected turn, he hardly knew how to take it.

  "Yes, I!" she cried. "I! I took them from under your pillow!"

  He was silent a minute. Then he laughed and shook his head. "It willnot do, madame," he said, his lip curling. "You are clever, but you donot deceive me."

  "Deceive you?"

  "Yes."

  "You do not believe that I took the letters?" she cried in greatamazement.

  "No," he answered; "and for a good reason." He had hardened his heartnow. He had chosen his line, and he would not spare her.

  "Why, then?" she cried. "Why?"

  "For the best of all reasons," he answered. "Because the person whostole the letters was seized in the act of making his escape, and isnow in my power."

  "The person--who stole the letters?" she faltered.

  "Yes, madame."

  "Do you mean M. de Tignonville?"

  "You have said it."

  She turned white to the lips, and trembling could with difficulty sither horse. With an effort she pulled it up, and he stopped also. Theirattendants were some way ahead. "And you have the letters?" shewhispered, her eyes meeting his. "You have the letters?"

  "No, but I have the thief!" Count Hannibal answered with sinistermeaning. "As I think you knew, madame," he continued ironically, "awhile back before you spoke."

  "I? Oh, no, no!" and she swayed in her saddle. "What--what areyou--going to do?" she muttered after a moment's stricken silence.

  "To him?"

  "Yes."

  "The magistrates will decide, at Angers."

  "But he did not do it! I swear he did not."

  Count Hannibal shook his head coldly.

  "I swear, monsieur, I took the letters!" she repeated piteously."Punish me!" Her figure, bowed like an old woman's over the neck ofher horse, seemed to crave his mercy.

  Count Hannibal smiled.

  "You do not believe me?"

  "No," he said. And then, in a tone which chilled her, "If I didbelieve you," he continued, "I should still punish him!" She wasbroken; but he would see if he could not break her further. He wouldtry if there were no weak spot in her armour. He would rack her now,since in the end she must go free. "Understand, madame," he continuedin his harshest tone, "I have had enough of your lover. He has crossedmy path too often. You are my wife, I am your husband. In a day or twothere shall be an end of this farce and of him."

  "He did not take them!" she wailed, her face sinking lower on herbreast. "He did not take them! Have mercy!"

  "Any way, madame, they are gone!" Tavannes answered. "You have takenthem between you; and as I do not choose that you should pay, he willpay the price."

  If the discovery that Tignonville had fallen into her husband's handshad not sufficed to crush her, Count Hannibal's tone must have doneso. The shoot of new life which had raised its head after thosedreadful days in Paris, and--for she was young--had supported herunder the weight which the peril of Angers had cast on her shoulders,died, bruised under the heel of his brutality. The pride which had
supported her, which had won Tavannes' admiration and exacted hisrespect, sank, as she sank herself, bowed to her horse's neck, weepingbitter tears before him. She abandoned herself to her misery, as shehad once abandoned herself in the upper room in Paris.

  And he looked at her. He had willed to crush her; he had his will, andhe was not satisfied. He had bowed her so low that his magnanimitywould now have its full effect, would shine as the sun into a darkworld; and yet he was not happy. He could look forward to the morrow,and say, "She will understand me, she will know me!" and lo, thethought that she wept for her lover stabbed him, and stabbed him anew;and he thought, "Rather would she death from him, than life from me!Though I give her creation, it will not alter her! Though I strike thestars with my head, it is he who fills her world."

  The thought spurred him to farther cruelty, impelled him to try if,prostrate as she was, he could not draw a prayer from her? "You don'task after him?" he scoffed. "He may be before or behind? Or wounded orwell? Would you not know, madame? And what message he sent you? Andwhat he fears, and what hope he has? And his last wishes? And--forwhile there is life there is hope--would you not learn where the keyof his prison lies to-night? How much for the key to-night, madame?"

  Each question fell on her like the lash of a whip; but as one who hasbeen flogged into insensibility, she did not wince. That drove him on:he felt a mad desire to hear her prayers, to force her lower, to bringher to her knees. And he sought about for a keener taunt. Theirattendants were almost out of sight before them; the sun, decliningapace, was in their eyes. "In two hours we shall be in Angers," hesaid. "Mon Dieu, madame, it was a pity, when you two were takingletters, you did not go a step farther. You were surprised, or I doubtif I should be alive to-day!"

  Then she did look up. She raised her head and met his gaze with suchwonder in her eyes, such reproach in her tear-stained face, that hisvoice sank on the last word. "You mean--that I would have murderedyou?" she said. "I would have cut off my hand first. What I did"--andnow her voice was as firm as it was low--"what I did, I did to save mypeople. And if it were to be done again, I would do it again!"

  "You dare to tell me that to my face?" he cried, hiding feelings whichalmost choked him. "You would do it again, would you? Mon Dieu,madame, you need to be taught a lesson!"

  And by chance, meaning only to make the horses move on again, heraised his whip. She thought that he was going to strike her, and sheflinched at last. The whip fell smartly on her horse's quarters, andit sprang forward. Count Hannibal swore between his teeth.

  He had turned pale, she red as fire. "Get on! Get on!" he criedharshly. "We are falling behind!" And riding at her heels, flippingher horse now and then, he forced her to trot on until they overtookthe servants.