CHAPTER XV
A QUESTION IN THEOLOGY
Never was the cynical philosophy of the proverb, Virtue is its ownreward, made more clear than in the indifference with which Amboisegreeted the rescue of the Dauphin. Of course, there are those whocontend that virtue is in itself a sufficient reward, but there iscertainly a second possible reading, and this reading La Mothe foundtrue. No one said what a fine fellow he was, no one stared inadmiration of his promptitude or in awe of his courage. Amboise wascold, chillingly cold.
Hugues, perhaps, was an exception, and if Villon was right Ursula deVesc had also been deeply moved. But that, La Mothe told himself as hewandered disconsolately through the dull and gloomy corridors of theChateau, might have been nothing more than the transitory emotion of anexcited girl moved to an expression repented of when the mood cooled.
So, as lovers have done ever since this hoar world was young, he gavehimself up to melancholy and found, as more than lovers have found, asatisfaction in a grievance. Then, while he fumed, three half-grownspaniel puppies, followed more sedately by a full-grown brother, camescampering around a corner, and the lover remembered he was a sportsmanwho loved dogs as well as little Charles himself. It was almost thesole hereditary trait in the lad, and the passion for animals was asstrong in the Dauphin as it was in the King.
Round the corner, full cry, they raced, slipped upon the smooth flags,tumbled, rolled over, and with a common impulse fell upon one anotheras puppies will in the sheer joy of living. But the elder dog, if hestill had the heart of eighteen or younger, did not forget he wastwenty-four with responsibilities and a dignity to maintain. Passinggravely by the riot of paws and flapping ears he halted a yard awayfrom La Mothe, pushed out a sensitive, twitching nose, sniffed the handheld out in greeting and as gravely licked it. Love at first sight isnot confined to humanity, and thanks to the unfailing miracle ofinstinct the dog makes fewer mistakes than man. Inside of two minuteshe had adopted La Mothe into the very select circle of his friends.
"I have heard of you," said La Mothe, pulling the soft ears gently."You sleep in the Dauphin's room o' nights as Hugues does at the door,and now and then you lay your head on her knee, while she strokes andpets you, lucky dog that you are. Why was I not born a dog, tell methat?"
At the sound of his voice the puppies ceased their play, sat up pantinga moment, and then in a tumultuous bunch rushed upon La Mothe.Charlemagne vouched for him, Charlemagne who was their oracle asgrown-up brothers so often are, and they could let loose the exuberanceof their puppydom without a fear that a sudden cuff would teach theiryouth that wild delights find an end in sorrow. Over each other theysprawled in their heedless eagerness to get near to this newplayfellow, one, a little weaker than the rest, lagging a half-tail'slength behind, and La Mothe was so busy trying to find a hand for eachto mumble that he never knew how long Ursula de Vesc stood watching him.
Nor was she in any haste to break the silence. A puzzling factor hadcome into her life, and she was impatient of the enigma. The solutionwas not a question of curiosity but of safety, and a safety not herown. On one side was Commines, Louis' devoted adherent, devoted notalone in service, but in blindness, the blindness which questionsneither means nor purpose; on the other side was Villon, Louis' jackaland open ears in Amboise. Between these two so profoundly distrustedstood Stephen La Mothe. Between them, but was he of them? That wasthe problem.
That morning, from Hugues' report of the visit in the darkened quiet ofthe Chateau, and remembering how familiarly Villon had introduced LaMothe overnight, she had had no doubt, and the cautious secrecy of therendezvous with Commines argued some sinister threat. But now shedoubted, and as she watched La Mothe's careless play with the dogs thedoubt grew. Hugues had kept his eyes open: the gapped bank and thenarrow strip of grass between the bay and the river into which the greyhorse had been thrust, without a hesitating thought of the inevitableresult which must follow a slip or a swerve, spoke not alone ofpersonal courage, but said plainly that La Mothe was ready to risk hislife for the Dauphin. Neither Commines nor Villon would have donethat, they would have let him perish and raised no hand to save him.
Where, then, was the sinister threat? And had not the devotion whichshe had so contemptuously scoffed at the night before already proveditself to be no empty word? Yes, she had scoffed, and he had answeredher scoff at the risk of his life. How, then, could he be one withCommines and Villon? The thought that she had so misjudged him flushedher as with a sudden heat, the grey eyes grew tenderly troubled in herself-reproach, and unconsciously she drew a deeper breath. Slight asthe sound was the dogs heard it; round they spun from their play, theirmouths open, their tongues hanging, and next moment were leaping uponher skirts with little yelps of greeting.
"Mademoiselle!" and La Mothe sprang to his feet. "I did not hear youcoming: how could I have been so deaf?" It was on his tongue to add,"I, who have been listening for the sound of your feet these hourspast," but he wisely checked himself in time.
"Are you going to win all Amboise in a single day?" she answered,stooping so that the jubilant puppies almost scrambled into her lap."You do not ask after the Dauphin?"
"I fear I had forgotten him," he replied, and though there was nointentional significance in his voice Ursula de Vesc was woman enoughto understand the subtle compliment. "How is he?"
"If you forget, we do not. He is as well as a nervous boy can be aftersuch an ordeal. He is looking forward to seeing you this afternoon totry to say to you what we all feel. Monsieur La Mothe, let me----"
"Nervous he may be, but he is no coward," interrupted La Mothe hastily.He foresaw what was coming and had all a shy man's horror of beingthanked. "He sat his horse like a little hero. There is no suchcourage as to wait quietly for death."
"And what of the courage which goes to meet death?" Pushing the dogsfrom her Ursula de Vesc looked up, her face very grave and tender inthe shadows, as the spring of tears glistened under the lashes. Lifehad brought her so little to be grateful for that the happiness ofgratitude was very great.
"No, you must let me speak this once, I said hard things to you lastnight, and my thoughts were still harder: to-day you have answered me,and I am ashamed. Devotion? Gratitude? It is we who owe you these,and we have nothing wherewith to pay. Monsieur La Mothe----"
But again La Mothe interrupted her.
"Think kindly sometimes and I am more than paid. Forgive thepresumption, for why should you think of me at all? Forget the hardthoughts, mademoiselle, and let that pay in full."
"There can be no more hard thoughts. How could we think hard thoughtsof our friends?"
"Friends? If that might be."
With the quick instinct which belongs to well-bred puppydom, and is notunknown even in children, the dogs had caught the graver note whichchanged her voice. By common consent they ceased their restless playand, seated on their haunches, their sleek heads aslant, watched herwith wistful eyes; here was something their love could not quiteunderstand.
"Friends? Amboise has more need of friends than Landless of the Duchyof Lackeverything." The girl had risen slowly to her feet as sherepeated La Mothe's words, and now as she paused the shadow again brokein lines of troubled care along her forehead. "Monsieur La Mothe, whatwas the end of the story you began last night?"
"It has no end as yet. The end is here in Amboise, and my hope is wemay find it together. I am sure we will if you will but help me. Butthe story is true."
"How can you say that?" she burst out passionately. "Where do you findone little, little sign of love in Amboise? I can see none, none atall. Nothing but neglect, suspicion, even hate. Oh! it is terriblethat a father should so hate his son. And yet you say there is love."
"I say what I know. Trust me, and give me time to prove it."
"We do trust you, indeed we do. Love in Amboise? Is it for that youare here?"
"Yes," answered La Mothe soberly. "It is for that I am here?"
"And M
onsieur d'Argenton? Is that why he is here too?"
For a moment La Mothe returned no reply, but stood passing his fingersthrough Charlemagne's soft hair. The lie direct or the lie inferentialwould parry the question and possibly serve both Commines and the King;but how could he keep his hands clean in Amboise and lie even byinference to Ursula de Vesc who had said so simply, "We trust you"? Itwas impossible, not to be thought of for a moment, but neither was thewhole truth.
"Monsieur d'Argenton and I are not upon the same errand," he said atlast. "Some day, when you know me better, and trust me for somethingbetter than a little brute courage which any man in my place would haveshown, I will ask you a question. When you have answered it--and Iknow what the answer will be--I will tell you why Monsieur d'Argentonis in Amboise."
"Monsieur La Mothe, ask your question now."
"No, the time has not come. But I will ask this: Help me that theDauphin may trust me, and together we will make the end of the storyLove and Peace and Faith."
"Love and Peace and Faith," she repeated, her eyes filling for thesecond time. "They have long been strangers to Amboise. God send ourFrance such a trinity."
And again La Mothe had to check himself lest he should reply, "To youtoo, mademoiselle." To bring just such a trinity into her life, Lovewhich worketh Faith, and the Peace which is born of both, was the onesupreme good which the world could offer out of all the gifts in itstreasure-house. But, as he said of his question, the time had not yetcome, so he changed the blunt directness to the more oblique "Not toFrance alone," and was rewarded by seeing the serious wistfulness shiftinto a gay smile, as she curtsied mockingly with a "Merci, monsieur!"very different from the same words of the previous night. Then sheadded, as the dogs, following her lighter mood, sprung upon her anew:
"Here I have two of them already, but certainly they give one littlepeace. Have they been formally introduced? This is Diane, who will bea mighty huntress in her day. This we call Lui-meme because," shepaused, flashing a mischievous glance at La Mothe, "well, just becausehis temper is not very good. He is a bully and uses his teeth on poorCharlot, who is the weakest of the three and the one we love best. ButCharlot has one bad habit, he is very inquisitive, and it will get youinto trouble some day, Charlot dear": whereat Charlot cocked his earsand looked wise.
Later that afternoon Charles spoke his thanks for himself, and saidthem with the dignity of a Dauphin of France struggling through the shymanners of a self-conscious schoolboy. But interpenetrating bothdignity and self-conscious diffidence there was a frankness which toldLa Mothe that Ursula de Vesc's influence was already at work. The colddistaste had already disappeared, nor was there any suggestion of acompelled gratitude. Commines and La Follette had not returned fromtheir hawking, and only Father John and the girl were with the Dauphin.
He had been conversing with the priest, but broke off abruptly when LaMothe was announced.
"Monsieur," he said, his hand stretched out as he went hastily to meethim, "there are some services hard to repay. No, I don't meanservices, services is not the word. Services are for servants and Idon't mean that, but perhaps you understand? And perhaps, too, someday you will teach me to ride as well as you do?"
"There is little to teach," answered La Mothe. "And as I told Hugues,it is Grey Roland who should be thanked."
"What the heir cannot do, being as yet a child," said the priest, "thegrateful father can and surely will." Then he laid his hand on theDauphin's shoulder. "Were you greatly afraid, my son? At such a time,with death so near, fear would not shame a man, much less a boy."
"When Bertrand swerved I was afraid just for a moment, for I did notknow what was going to happen, but not afterwards."
"But afterwards, in that awful moment when hope was gone and the worldslipped from you, when there was nothing real but God and your ownsoul, what were your thoughts then?"
The boy made no reply, but shifted uneasily under the hand which stillrested upon him. The heavy eyes which had brightened while he spoke toLa Mothe grew dull and peevishly sullen again as, according to habit,he glanced towards Ursula de Vesc. Following the glance La Mothe sawthe girl shake her head warningly, apprehensively even: but Charles hadnot the obstinate Valois chin for nothing.
"Perhaps you have forgotten? At such times the mind is not very clear.Or perhaps it was like a dream? Dreams, you know, are forgotten whenwe wake."
"I remember very well. Yes, Ursula, I shall tell him since he asks. Iwondered whether a son who hated his father, or a father who hated hisson, would be most certainly damned."
"My son, my son," cried the priest, horrified. "How could you allowsuch a terrible thought?"
"Oh!" And the boy shook off the restraining hand impatiently. "Youcome from Valmy and are like all the rest of them. Monsieur La Mothe,let us go and thank Grey Roland."
But as he followed the Dauphin out of the room La Mothe asked himselfwhether, even with Ursula de Vesc's help, the end of the story couldpossibly be Love, Peace, and Faith.
The Justice of the King Page 15
