The Black Wolf's Breed Part 22

I will break in a bit just here to speak of an incident which occurred that very night in the modest boudoir of Madame de la Mora. Had I but known of it at the time, it would have saved me many weary months of suffering.

Madame Agnes de la Mora sat placidly, her work basket by her side, busied about some lace she was mending. The Chevalier studied a number of military maps of Louisiana at his table. It was a pretty picture of domestic harmony, then quite unfas.h.i.+onable at Sceaux. A timid rap at the door, and a voice:

"Sister, may I come in?"

"Yes, child," and her sister Charlotte slipped silently in and sat herself upon the floor at Madame's feet. There was a striking similarity between the two. Madame, for all her dignified t.i.tle, being but a year the elder, and she scant of twenty. Charlotte, somewhat slighter and more delicately colored, was even of greater beauty than her sister, with much promise for the years to come. To the casual observer, though, especially when viewed apart, they seemed almost reflections one of the other. There was something of a loving guardians.h.i.+p in the att.i.tude of the elder, of confiding trust in that of the younger, as she leaned her head upon her sister's knee in pensive meditation.

"Sister, I must tell you of something; I know not that I did well or ill," and she lifted her face with a surety of sympathy.

"What is it, dear, what weighty matter troubles you now?"

The Chevalier looked up long enough to say:

"Have you torn your frock, or only quarreled again with the good Abbe over your task?" The girl very evidently had nothing to fear from his harshness.

"No! No! Don't tease; it's really important. This day at noon Madame Chartrain was in her chamber--you know the young man who came with M.

Jerome?" de la Mora nodded.

"The same I ran into at the door?" and she flushed again at the memory of our discomfiture.

"Well, to-day noon at Madam Chartrain's I heard that danger threatened him concerning some papers or something which he has--and Madame du Maine, too, they mean him harm; and--and--well, I told him. Did I do ill, sister?"

"What is that, Charlotte? Come here."

She crossed the room obediently and stood before him.

The Chevalier asked: "How did it happen, child? Tell me all about it, where you saw him, who was there, and all."

So she went on to tell of her seeking me in the park, and her hurried warning.

"Well, what did he say to all that?"

"He didn't say anything; I gave him no chance; I just ran up near him and told him as quick as ever I could that he had better go off somewhere, and then--and then--well, I just ran away again. He looked so startled and surprised he could not say anything. When I turned again to peep through the hedge he was still standing there with his hands stretched out as if he would have liked to stop me, but I was already gone."

The girl laughed a short little laugh and tucked her hand closer into his.

"Did I do wrong, Charles? Tell me, was it so very, very--bold?"

The Chevalier could not quite suppress the smile already twitching at his lips, though he soon looked grave enough.

"Yes, child, it was not well; beside, the affair is not yours, and it is always dangerous to meddle. There, now, don't worry, it does not matter much after all. Soon we leave here and you will never see any of them again, I hope. This is no place for la.s.sies fair and young as you. I hope to take both you and Agnes to a new and purer land."

"Soon we leave?" she repeated, "oh, I forgot; but I don't want to, I like it here."

"Like it? I thought you hated Sceaux?"

"Yes, I did--but--"

"But, what?"

"But, nothing, I just like it--now," she insisted illogically.

"Who is this young man, Charles?" asked Agnes when her sister had gone.

And he told her.

CHAPTER XVII

THE FLIGHT FROM SCEAUX.

The responsibility brought by the possession of such valuable state papers oppressed me greatly, to say nothing of the perils which would beset their custodian if it became Jerome's purpose to reclaim them. I thought it most prudent and proper under present conditions to see the dispatches safe in de Serigny's hands--then, at least, I would be absolved from any blame in the matter. Serigny held me responsible, and it would perhaps be the part of wisdom to act independently of Jerome, report fully to Serigny, and if it were then his wish that the investigation concerning Yvard and Madame du Maine be pressed to further discoveries, nothing would be easier than to return to Paris almost before Jerome could miss me. I need tell Serigny nothing of my suspicion of Jerome; even if true, his animosity would vanish with the cause which gave it birth.

There was much to acquaint Serigny with, much perchance he knew already. Paris swarmed with rumors. Every lip was busy with second-hand gossip coming, as each relator declared, from the most reliable sources. "My cousin, who is laundress to the Countess de Lanois, says," and upon this immaculate authority the butcher upon his morning rounds detailed the most delightful and impossible gossip to his customers.

"Pierre, my son, the valet, who is in the confidence of the Duke of Gesvres, heard His Grace say with his own lips"--and so the wine-room stories flew, gathering strength and falsehood as they went. But the story of to-day gave the lie to that of yesterday, and no man knew the truth.

War with Spain filled every mouth, yet none had a why or a wherefore.

The King said "war," and all his nation echoed. No, not all. Many there were who gave voice to the cry with hearts that rebelled, with clear brains questioning the right of one man to plunge a whole people into renewed slaughter. These held their peace for the sake of their necks. "_I am the State_," Louis had declared, and such ideas were not for the canaille to have; they must curb their tongues to cheat the gibbet. Being a soldier and under orders, I had no right to form opinions, but, sobered in some degree by these reflections, paced about until it came time to take horse and away.

"In the name of the wandering Ulysses, Placide, where have you been these two good hours?" said Jerome, suddenly coming toward me.

"Has it been so long? I tired of the crowd and strolled alone through the gardens."

His quick eye caught sight of the handkerchief tucked snugly in my belt.

"A lady? And so soon?" he bantered me.

My tell-tale flush permitted no denial, nor did I care to discuss it.

As we talked we drifted into a small room just off the main hall.

"By the way, Placide, had we better not place our dispatches in some safe hiding until we leave here? It might be suspected we have them.

The devil only knows what that scheming de Valence and du Maine may not unearth. Their spies are everywhere."

I agreed with him. It was as well; anything to gain time and allay suspicion. But I understood my lady's warning was true; his earnestness convinced me.

"Where do you carry them?"

"Sewn in the lining of my cloak," I replied. A lie, but pardonable.

"Why, you careless fellow; they maybe lost. Where is your cloak?"

seeing I did not have it.

"In charge of Damien; he is trusty."

"Better have it yourself; wait here, I will go and fetch it."

I congratulated myself on this diplomatic stroke, for Jerome was about to start off in all haste when Damien himself appeared, and before I could stop him, delivered the message.