Vayenne Part 13

"We talk folly," said Christine.

"You must lend me a horse, Lemasle," said Herrick. "I must be there without delay. You must come slower, at mademoiselle's stirrup, unless you chance on a mount on the forest road."

"I'll see to it at once."

"No; it is folly," said Christine; but Lemasle had already gone.

"Won't you accept my service, mademoiselle?" said Herrick.

"You go to certain death."

"The death of a man has won a cause before this."

"But what part have you in the quarrels of Montvilliers," she asked--"you, a stranger? Why should you adventure yourself in such a cause?"

"Men are driven forward by all sorts of reasons," he answered carelessly. "The spirit of the wanderer brought me here; fate drew me into this quarrel, against my will, it is true, but I have a mind to see the end of it."

"You do not count the cost," she said eagerly.

"I do not think of it, mademoiselle."

"But you must. You shall not go!"

"You refuse my service?"

"Yes, because it is folly; there is no reason in it. Against your will you have played a part; they are your own words. Take one of the horses. Ride to the frontier. I will not have your death on my hands."

"It was against my will, mademoiselle, but it is so no longer. Would you have another reason for my service? A woman thought me a spy. I would prove her wrong."

"Believe me, I have already repented that such a thought was in my mind. Forgive me, and seek your own safety."

"Any other woman in the world may think or say what she will of me, and I shall not care," Herrick whispered.

Slowly she raised her eyes to his.

"So you looked at me, mademoiselle, in the Castle of Vayenne the other night, so you have looked at me in dreams since then. I would serve you to the death."

Lemasle burst suddenly into the hut. Talk of action excited him, and there were dangers ahead to appeal to him to the full.

"The horse is ready, Herrick--my horse. There is not a scratch upon him, for all the blows that were struck at him in the clearing. These good fellows, the charcoal-burners, have already a kettle bubbling over a fire in the shed without; you may scent the appetizing smell from here. Breakfast, and then----"

"But you are weak still," said Christine. "At least delay a day."

"I grow stronger every moment, mademoiselle. You have only to say you accept my service."

"I accept it for the Duke's sake," she answered, stretching out her hand; "for his sake and for my own."

There was a gentleness in her last words which made Lemasle glance quickly at them, but Herrick did not notice the look as he raised Christine's hand to his lips.

In less than an hour Herrick was in the saddle.

"By good providence we shall meet in Vayenne," he said as the horse bounded forward down the narrow forest path.

"There goes a brave man," said Lemasle.

Christine did not answer. She stood at the door of the hut for some time after the horseman had disappeared among the trees, and there was color in her cheeks and tears in her eyes.

CHAPTER IX

COUNT FELIX

For the great of the earth who die there is often less real mourning than for him who is of small account. To a throne there is always an heir ready, perhaps eager, to rule; but who shall step into the void of a sorrowing heart? The Duke lay dead in a darkened chamber in the Castle of Vayenne. Yesterday his word was law, to-day it was nothing.

The very frown which had caused men to tremble, Death's fingers had smoothed out; and since love had played small part in the Duke's scheme of life, where should one find hearts that ached for him now?

They would bury him presently with great pomp and ceremony in the Church of St. Etienne, where lay the dust of other Dukes, but to-day there was other business in hand. Outside the closed door two sentries stood, and there was silence in the corridor; but in every other part of the castle there was busy hurrying to and fro. To-day the new Duke must be welcomed. Count Felix had been issuing orders all the morning.

From an early hour soldiers had been busy in the court-yards, and at intervals troops of hors.e.m.e.n and footmen had pa.s.sed out of the great gate to take their appointed places in the city, there to wait long hours, and to grumble as men will who wait. In the great hall of the castle, where generations of fighters and feasters had quarrelled or made merry, a crowd of servants were making ready a great banquet; while courtiers, officers, and messengers pa.s.sed to and from the suite of rooms which lay to one side of the hall. There was an air of expectancy about them all, anxiety and uncertainty in most faces. In one room sat Count Felix, at present the centre of this busy hive. To many it seemed only natural that he should sit in the place of the dead Duke, and they were careful that their manner should show what was in their minds. But there were others who made it clear that they looked on his commands as temporary, carrying authority only until the Duke came. Felix noted the att.i.tude of every man, but to all his manner was the same. He was courteous, smooth-tongued, a little depreciatory of himself, and laid some stress upon the temporary nature of his position. He was a tall, dark man, dark eyes, dark hair, dark complexion; a strong and purposeful man with confidence in himself. The affairs of the state were at his fingers' ends; long ago he had gauged the character of every man, ay, and woman too, at the court; he knew both his friends and his enemies, and flattered them both, knowing well that such friends become slavish, while flattery may disarm the bitterest of foes. Very few had succeeded in reading the Count's character; he had been careful to conceal it from both friends and foes.

So he had done all that could be done to prepare a fitting welcome for the young Duke. If among the citizens there was no great enthusiasm for Duke Maurice, as some of his friends were careful to inform him, that was no fault of his; and neither by look nor gesture did he show whether he were pleased or not at this apathy on the people's part.

His face was a mask, and only when he was alone for a moment did the anxiety and the excitement that were in him show themselves. His hands suddenly clenched, he took two or three rapid strides across the room, then sat down again, his eyes fixed on vacancy, deep in thought.

"Well! well!" he said as an officer came into the room.

"The sentry who was wounded last night is conscious, sir."

"I had forgotten. For the moment I thought you had come about another matter. Yes; I will come and see him. And the jailer, has he said anything?"

"Maintains that wings or a rope was necessary to reach the window, and therefore the prisoner must have had help from without. He declares there was no rope in the cell, and says he didn't notice wings on the spy. Those are his own words."

"It pleases him to be humorous over a serious matter," said the Count.

He had forgotten all about the escaped spy; now he remembered him, and began to speculate. Last night he had heard nothing of the arrest until they had come to tell him of the escape. Then he had been chiefly interested in the fact that a man had broken out of the South Tower. Examination had shown that one of the window bars was loose, but until the sentry could tell his tale, there was no certainty that the prisoner had escaped that way. Then the Count regretted the escape, because it robbed him of an opportunity of pleasing the people of Vayenne, whose hatred of spies was hereditary. It would have pleased him to gratify them by hanging this man high above the great gate. That would certainly have been his fate before ever he had chance to speak a word in his own defence. In the pressure of other thoughts the matter had slipped from his mind until the officer's entrance, and as is ever the case with an anxious schemer, he sought to fit this spy into the intricate design of his thoughts.

As the Count crossed the small court-yard toward the quarters where the sentry lay, he saw Father Bertrand, and ambling by his side was the dwarf of St. Etienne.

"Are we on the same errand, father?" said the Count.

"I am going to see the wounded sentry."

"Who is now conscious. We may learn something of this spy."

"Conscious!" exclaimed Jean. "Heaven be praised for that!"

"Why, what is it to you, fool?"

Jean looked at the Count with blinking eyes for a moment, and then said slowly: