Simon Dale

by Anthony Hope

  CHAPTER X

  JE VIENS, TU VIENS, IL VIENT

  It pleased his Grace the Duke of Monmouth so to do all things that menshould heed his doing of them. Even in those days, and notwithstandingcertain transactions hereinbefore related, I was not altogether a fool,and I had not been long about him before I detected this propensity and,as I thought, the intention underlying it. To set it down boldly andplainly, the more the Duke of Monmouth was in the eye of the nation, thebetter the nation accustomed itself to regard him as the king's son; themore it fell into the habit of counting him the king's son, the lessastonished and unwilling would it be if fate should place him on theking's seat. Where birth is beyond reproach, dignity may be abovedisplay; a defect in the first demands an ample exhibition of thesecond. It was a small matter, this journey to Dover, yet, that he mightnot go in the train of his father and the Duke of York, but make mentalk of his own going, he chose to start beforehand and alone; lest eventhus he should not win his meed of notice, he set all the inns and allthe hamlets on the road a-gossiping, by accomplishing the journey fromLondon to Canterbury, in his coach-and-six, between sunrise and sunsetof a single day. To this end it was needful that the coach should belight; Lord Carford, now his Grace's inseparable companion, alone satwith him, while the rest of us rode on horseback, and the Post suppliedus with relays where we were in want of them. Thus we went downgallantly and in very high style, with his Grace much delighted at beingtold that never had king or subject made such pace in his travellingsince the memory of man began. Here was reward enough for all thejolting, the flogging of horses, and the pain of yokels pressedunwillingly into pushing the coach with their shoulders through miryplaces.

  As I rode, I had many things to think of. My woe I held at arm's length.Of what remained, the intimacy between his Grace and my Lord Carford,who were there in the coach together, occupied my mind most constantly.For by now I had moved about in the world a little, and had learnt thatmany counted Carford no better than a secret Papist, that he was held inprivate favour, but not honoured in public, by the Duke of York, andthat communications passed freely between him and Arlington by the handof the secretary's good servant and my good friend Mr Darrell. ThereforeI wondered greatly at my lord's friendship with Monmouth, and at hisshowing an attachment to the Duke which, as I had seen at Whitehall,appeared to keep in check even the natural jealousy and resentment of alover. But at Court a man went wrong if he held a thing unlikely becausethere was dishonour in it. There men were not ashamed to be spiesthemselves, nor to use their wives in the same office. There to see noevil was to shut your eyes. I determined to keep mine open in theinterests of my new patron, of an older friend, and perhaps of myselfalso, for Carford's present civility scarcely masked his dislike.

  We reached Canterbury while the light of the long summer evening stillserved, and clattered up the street in muddy bravery. The town was outto see his Grace, and his Grace was delighted to be seen by the town.If, of their courtesy, they chose to treat him as a Prince, he couldscarcely refuse their homage, and if he accepted it, it was better toaccept like one to the manner born than awkwardly; yet I wonderedwhether my lord made a note in his aspiring brain of all that passed,and how soon the Duke of York would know that a Prince of Wales, comingto Canterbury, could have received no greater honour. Nay, and theyhailed him as the champion of the Church, with hits at the Romish faith,which my lord heard with eyes downcast to the ground and a rigid smilecarved on his face. It was all a forecast of what was one day to be;perhaps to the hero of it a suggestion of what some day might be. Atleast he was radiant over it, and carried Carford off with him into hisapartment in the merriest mood. He did not invite me to join his party,and I was well content to be left to wander for an hour in the quietclose of the great cathedral. For let me say that a young man who hasbeen lately crossed in love is in a better mood for most unworldlymeditation, than he is likely to be before or after. And if he would notbe taken too strictly at his word in all he says to himself then, why,who would, pray, and when?

  It was not my fault, but must be imputed to our nature, that in time mystomach cried out angrily at my heart, and I returned to the inn,seeking supper. His Grace was closeted with my lord, and I turned intothe public room, desiring no other company than what should lie on myplate. But my host immediately made me aware that I must share my mealand the table with a traveller who had recently arrived and ordered arepast. This gentleman, concerning whom the host seemed in someperplexity, had been informed that the Duke of Monmouth was in thehouse, but had shown neither excitement at the news nor surprise, nor,to the host's great scandal, the least desire for a sight of his Grace.His men-servants, of whom he had two, seemed tongue-tied, so that thehost doubted if they had more than a few phrases of English, and set thewhole party down for Frenchmen.

  "Hasn't the gentleman given his name?" I asked.

  "No. He didn't offer it, and since he flung down money enough for hisentertainment I had no cause to ask it."

  "None," I remarked, "unless a man may be allowed more curiosity than abeast. Stir yourself about supper," and walking in, I saluted, with allthe courtesy at my command, a young gentleman of elegant appearance (sofar as I could judge of him in traveller's garb) who sat at the table.His greetings equalled mine in politeness, and we fell into talk ondifferent matters, he using the English language, which he spoke withremarkable fluency, although evidently as a foreigner. His manner waseasy and assured, and I took it for no more than an accident that hispistol lay ready to his hand, beside a small case or pocket-book ofleather on the table. He asked me my business, and I told him simplythat I was going in the Duke's train to Dover.

  "Ah, to meet Madame the Duchess of Orleans?" said he. "I heard of hercoming before I left France. Her visit, sir, will give great pleasure tothe King her brother."

  "More, if report speaks true, than to the Prince her husband," said Iwith a laugh. For the talk at Court was that the Duke of Orleans hatedto let his wife out of his sight, while she for her part hated to be init. Both had their reasons, I do not doubt.

  "Perhaps," he answered with a shrug. "But it's hard to know the truthin these matters. I am myself acquainted with many gentlemen at theFrench Court, and they have much to say, but I believe little of it."

  Though I might commend his prudence, I was not encouraged to pursue thetopic, and, seeking a change of conversation, I paid him a compliment onhis mastery of English, hazarding a suggestion that he must have passedsome time in this country.

  "Yes," he replied, "I was in London for a year or more a little whileago."

  "Your English puts my French to the blush," I laughed, "else hospitalitywould bid me use your language."

  "You speak French?" he asked. "I confess it is easier to me."

  "Only a little, and that learnt from merchants, not at Court." Fortraders of all nations had come from time to time to my uncle's house atNorwich.

  "But I believe you speak very well," he insisted politely. "Pray let mejudge of your skill for myself."

  I was about to oblige him, when a loud dispute arose outside, Frenchejaculations mingling with English oaths. Then came a scuffle. With ahurried apology, the gentleman sprang to his feet and rushed out. I wenton with my supper, supposing that his servants had fallen into somealtercation with the landlord and that the parties could not make oneanother understand. My conjecture was confirmed when the travellerreturned, declaring that the quarrel arose over the capacity of ameasure of wine and had been soon arranged. But then, with a little cryof vexation, he caught up the pocket-book from the table and darted aquick glance of suspicion at me. I was more amazed than angry, and mysmile caused him confusion, for he saw that I had detected his fear.Thinking him punished enough for his rudeness (although it might findsome excuse in the indifferent honesty of many who frequented the roadsin the guise of travellers) I relieved him by resuming our conversation,saying with a smile,

  "In truth my French is a school-boy's French. I can tell the parts ofthe verb _J'aime, tu aimes
, il aime;_ it goes so far, sir, and nofarther."

  "Not far in speech, though often far enough in act," he laughed.

  "Truly," said I with a sigh.

  "Yet I swear you do yourself injustice. Is there no more?"

  "A little more of the same sort, sir." And, casting about for anotherphrase with which to humour him, I took the first that came to mytongue; leaning my arms on the table (for I had finished eating), I saidwith a smile, "Well, what say you to this? This is something to know,isn't it? _Je viens, tu viens, il vient._"

  As I live, he sprang to his feet with a cry of alarm! His hand darted tohis breast where he had stowed the pocket-book; he tore it out andexamined the fastening with furious haste and anxiety. I sat struckstill with wonder; the man seemed mad. He looked at me now, and hisglance was full of deepest suspicion. He opened his mouth to speak, butwords seemed to fail him; he held out the leathern case towards me.Strange as was the question that his gesture put I could not doubt it.

  "I haven't touched the book," said I. "Indeed, sir, only your visibleagitation can gain you pardon for the suggestion."

  "Then how--how?" he muttered.

  "You pass my understanding, sir," said I in petulant amusement. "I sayin jest 'I come, thou comest, he comes,' and the words act on you likeabracadabra and the blackest of magic. You don't, I presume, carry ahornbook of French in your case; and if you do, I haven't robbed you ofit."

  He was turning the little case over and over in his hands, againexamining the clasps of it. His next freak was to snatch his pistol andlook to the priming. I burst out laughing, for his antics seemed absurd.My laughter cooled him, and he made a great effort to regain hiscomposure. But I began to rally him.

  "Mayn't a man know how to say in French 'He comes' without stealing theknowledge from your book, sir?" I asked. "You do us wrong if you thinkthat so much is known to nobody in England."

  He glared at me like a man who hears a jest, but cannot tell whether itconceals earnest or not.

  "Open the case, sir," I continued in raillery. "Make sure all is there.Come, you owe me that much."

  To my amazement he obeyed me. He opened the case and searched throughcertain papers which it contained; at the end he sighed as though inrelief, yet his suspicious air did not leave him.

  "Now perhaps, sir," said I, squaring my elbows, "you'll explain thecomedy."

  That he could not do. The very impossibility of any explanation showedthat I had, in the most unexpected fashion, stumbled on some secret withhim even as I had before with Darrell. Was his secret Darrell's or hisown, the same or another? What it was I could not tell, but for certainthere it was. He had no resource but to carry the matter with a highhand, and to this he betook himself with the readiness of his nation.

  "You ask an explanation, sir?" he cried. "There's nothing to explain,and if there were, I give explanations when I please, and not to everyfellow who chooses to ask them of me."

  "I come, thou comest, he comes,--'tis a very mysterious phrase," said I."I can't tell what it means. And if you won't tell me, sir, I must askothers."

  "You'll be wiser to ask nobody," he said menacingly.

  "Nay, I shall be no wiser if I ask nobody," I retorted with a smile.

  "Yet you'll tell nobody of what has passed," said he, advancing towardsme with the plain intention of imposing his will on me by fear, sincepersuasion failed. I rose to my feet and answered, mimicking hisinsolent words,

  "I give promises, sir, when I please, and not to every fellow whochooses to ask them of me."

  "You shall give me your promise before you leave this room," he cried.

  His voice had been rising in passion and was now loud and fierce.Whether the sound of it had reached the room above, or whether the Dukeand Carford had grown weary of one another, I do not know, but as theFrench gentleman uttered this last threat Carford opened the door, stoodaside to let his Grace enter, and followed himself. As they came in, wewere in a most hostile attitude; for the Frenchman's pistol was in hishand, and my hand had flown to the hilt of my sword. The Duke looked atus in astonishment.

  "Why, what's this, gentlemen?" he said. "Mr Dale, are you at variancewith this gentleman?" But before I had time to answer him, he hadstepped forward and seen the Frenchman's face. "Why, here is M. deFontelles!" he cried in surprise. "I am very pleased to see you, sir,again in England. Carford, here is M. de Fontelles. You were acquaintedwith him when he was in the suite of the French Ambassador? You carry amessage, sir?"

  I listened keenly to all that the Duke's words told me. M. de Fontellesbowed low, but his confusion was in no way abated, and he made no answerto his Grace's question. The Duke turned to me, saying with somehaughtiness,

  "This gentleman is a friend of mine, Mr Dale. Pray why was your hand onyour sword?"

  "Because the gentleman's pistol was in his hand, sir."

  "You appear always to be very ready for a quarrel, Mr Dale," said theDuke, with a glance at Carford. "Pray, what's the dispute?"

  "I'll tell your Grace the whole matter," said I readily enough, for Ihad nothing to blame myself with.

  "No, I won't have it told," cried M. de Fontelles.

  "It's my pleasure to hear it," said the Duke coldly.

  "Well, sir, it was thus," said I, with a candid air. "I protested tothis gentleman that my French was sadly to seek; he was polite enough toassure me that I spoke it well. Upon this I owned to some smallknowledge, and for an example I said to him, '_J'aime, tu aimes, ilaime_.' He received the remark, sir, with the utmost amiability."

  "He could do no less," said the Duke with a smile.

  "But he would have it that this didn't exhaust my treasure of learning.Therefore, after leaving me for a moment to set straight a differencethat had arisen between his servants and our host, he returned, put awaya leathern case that he had left on the table (concerning which indeedhe seemed more uneasy than would be counted courteous here in England,seeing that I had been all the while alone in the room with it), andallowed me to resume my exhibition of French-speaking. To humour him andto pass away the hour during which I was deprived of the pleasure ofattending your Grace----"

  "Yes, yes, Mr Dale. Don't delay in order to compliment me," said theDuke, smiling still.

  "I leant across the table, sir, and I made him a speech that sent him,to all seeming, half-way out of his senses; for he sprang up, seized hiscase, looked at the fastenings, saw to the priming of his pistol, andfinally presumed to exact from me a promise that I would consult nobodyas to the perplexity into which this strange behaviour of his had flungme. To that I demurred, and hence the quarrel with which I regret mosthumbly that your Grace should have been troubled."

  "I'm obliged to you, Mr Dale. But what was this wonder-working phrase?"

  "Why, sir, just the first that came into my head. I said to thegentleman--to M. de Fontelles, as I understand him to be called--I saidto him softly and gently--_Je viens, tu viens_----"

  The Duke seized me by the arm, with a sudden air of excitement. Carfordstepped forward and stood beside him.

  "_Je viens, tu viens_.... Yes! And any more?" cried the Duke.

  "Yes, your Grace," I answered, again amazed. "I completed whatgrammarians call the Singular Number by adding '_Il vient;_'whereupon--but I have told you."

  "_Il vient?_" cried the Duke and Carford all in a breath.

  "_Il vient_," I repeated, thinking now that all the three had run mad.Carford screened his mouth with his hand and whispered in the Duke'sear. The Duke nodded and made some answer. Both seemed infinitelystirred and interested. M. de Fontelles had stood in sullen silence bythe table while I told the story of our quarrel; now his eyes were fixedintently on the Duke's face.

  "But why," said I, "that simple phrase worked such strange agitation inthe gentleman, your Grace's wisdom may discover. I am at a loss."

  Still Carford whispered, and presently the Duke said,

  "Come, gentlemen, you've fallen into a foolish quarrel where no quarrelneed have come. Pray be friends again.
"

  M. de Fontelles drew himself up stiffly.

  "I asked a promise of that gentleman, and he refused it me," he said.

  "And I asked an explanation of that gentleman, and he refused it me,"said I, just as stiffly.

  "Well, then, Mr Dale shall give his promise to me. Will that beagreeable to you, Mr Dale?"

  "I'm at your Grace's commands, in all things," I answered, bowing.

  "And you'll tell nobody of M. de Fontelles' agitation?"

  "If your Grace pleases. To say the truth, I don't care a fig for hisfierceness. But the explanation, sir?"

  "Why, to make all level," answered the Duke, smiling and fixing his gazeupon the Frenchman, "M. de Fontelles will give his explanation to me."

  "I cry agreed, your Grace!" said I. "Come, let him give it."

  "To me, Mr Dale, not to you," smiled the Duke.

  "What, am I not to hear why he was so fierce with me?"

  "You don't care a fig for his fierceness, Mr Dale," he reminded me,laughing.

  I saw that I was caught, and had the sense to show no annoyance,although I must confess to a very lively curiosity.

  "Your Grace wishes to be alone with M. de Fontelles?" I asked readilyand deferentially.

  "For a little while, if you'll give us leave," he answered, but he addedto Carford, "No, you needn't move, Carford."

  So I made my bow and left them, not well pleased, for my brain was onthe rack to discover what might be the secret which hung on thatmysterious phrase, and which I had so nearly surprised from M. deFontelles.

  "The gist of it," said I to myself, as I turned to the kitchen, "lies,if I am not mistaken, in the third member. For when I had said _Jeviens, tu viens_, the Duke interrupted me, crying, 'Any more?'"

  I had made for the kitchen since there was no other room open to me, andI found it tenanted by the French servants of M. de Fontelles. Althoughpeace had been made between them and the host, they sat in deepdejection; the reason was plain to see in two empty glasses and an emptybottle that stood on a table between them. Kindliness, aided, it may be,by another motive, made me resolve to cure their despondency.

  "Gentlemen," said I in French, going up to them, "you do not drink!"

  They rose, bowing, but I took a third chair between them and motionedthem to be seated.

  "We have not the wherewithal, sir," said one with a wistful smile.

  "The thing is mended as soon as told," I cried, and, calling the host, Ibade him bring three bottles. "A man is more at home with his ownbottle," said I.

  With the wine came new gaiety, and with gaiety a flow of speech. M. deFontelles would have admired the fluency with which I discoursed withhis servants, they telling me of travelling in their country, Idescribing the incidents of the road in England.

  "There are rogues enough on the way in both countries, I'll warrant," Ilaughed. "But perhaps you carry nothing of great value and laugh atrobbers?"

  "Our spoil would make a robber a poor meal, sir; but our master is in adifferent plight."

  "Ah! He carries treasure?"

  "Not in money, sir," answered one. The other nudged him, as though tobid him hold his tongue.

  "Come, fill your glasses," I cried, and they obeyed very readily.

  "Well, men have met their death between here and London often enoughbefore now," I pursued meditatively, twisting my glass of wine in myfingers. "But with you for his guard, M. de Fontelles should be safeenough."

  "We're charged to guard him with our lives, and not leave him till hecomes to the Ambassador's house."

  "But these rogues hunt sometimes in threes and fours," said I. "Youmight well lose one of your number."

  "We're cheap, sir," laughed one. "The King of France has many of us."

  "But if your master were the one?"

  "Even then provision is made."

  "What? Could you carry his message--for if his treasure isn't money, Imust set it down as tidings--to the Ambassador."

  They looked at one another rather doubtfully. But I was not behindhandin filling their glasses.

  "Still we should go on, even without _Monsieur_," said one.

  "But to what end?" I cried in feigned derision.

  "Why, we too have a message."

  "Indeed. Can you carry the King's message?"

  "None better, sir," said the shorter of the pair, with a shrewd twinklein his eye. "For we don't understand it."

  "Is it difficult then?"

  "Nay, it's so simple as to see without meaning."

  "What, so simple--but your bottle is empty! Come, another?"

  "Indeed no, _Monsieur_."

  "A last bottle between us! I'll not be denied." And I called for afourth.

  When we were well started on the drinking of it, I asked carelessly,

  "And what's your message?"

  But neither the wine nor the negligence of my question had quite lulledtheir caution to sleep. They shook their heads, and laughed, saying,

  "We're forbidden to tell that."

  "Yet, if it be so simple as to have no meaning, what harm in tellingit?"

  "But orders are orders, and we're soldiers," answered the shrewd shortfellow.

  The idea had been working in my brain, growing stronger and strongertill it reached conviction. I determined now to put it to the proof.

  "Tut," said I. "You make a pretty secret of it, and I don't blame you.But I can guess your riddle. Listen. If anything befell M. de Fontelles,which God forbid----"

  "Amen, amen," they murmured with a chuckle.

  "You two, or if fate left but one, that one, would ride on at his bestspeed to London, and there seek out the Ambassador of the Most ChristianKing. Isn't it so?"

  "So much, sir, you might guess from what we've said."

  "Ay, ay, I claim no powers of divination. Yet I'll guess a little more.On being admitted to the presence of the Ambassador, he would relate thesad fate of his master, and would then deliver his message, and thatmessage would be----" I drew my chair forward between them and laid afinger on the arm of each. "That message," said I, "would be just likethis--and indeed it's very simple, and seems devoid of all rationalmeaning: _Je viens_." They started. "_Tu viens._" They gaped. "_Ilvient_," I cried triumphantly, and their chairs shot back as they sprangto their feet, astonishment vivid on their faces. For me, I sat therelaughing in sheer delight at the excellence of my aim and the shrewdnessof my penetration.

  What they would have said, I do not know. The door was flung open and M.de Fontelles appeared. He bowed coldly to me and vented on his servantsthe anger from which he was not yet free, calling them drunken knavesand bidding them see to their horses and lie down in the stable, for hemust be on his way by daybreak. With covert glances at me which imploredsilence and received the answer of a reassuring nod, they slunk away. Ibowed to M. de Fontelles with a merry smile; I could not conceal myamusement and did not care how it might puzzle him. I strode out of thekitchen and made my way up the stairs. I had to pass the Duke'sapartment. The light still burned there, and he and Carford were sittingat the table. I put my head in.

  "If your Grace has no need of me, I'll seek my bed," said I, mustering ayawn.

  "No need at all," he answered. "Good-night to you, Simon." But then headded, "You'll keep your promise to me?"

  "Your Grace may depend on me."

  "Though in truth I may tell you that the whole affair is nothing; it'sno more than a matter of gallantry, eh, Carford?"

  "No more," said my Lord Carford.

  "But such matters are best not talked of."

  I bowed as he dismissed me, and pursued my way to my room. A matter ofgallantry might, it seemed, be of moment to the messengers of the Kingof France. I did not know what to make of the mystery, but I knew therewas a mystery.

  "And it turns," said I to myself, "on those little words '_Il vient_.'Who is he? Where comes he? And to what end? Perhaps I shall learn thesethings at Dover."

  There is this to be said. A man's heart aches less when his head isfull. On
that night I did not sigh above half my usual measure.