The Black Wolf's Breed Part 32

"Why, Charles, what is the matter with you, you behave so strangely?"

The Chevalier had grown an older man, his face stern and resolute, eyes a-glitter, and mouth drawn in tense, determined lines. A most dangerous man.

"Why, Charles, what is the matter?"

"When did you meet him at Sceaux? What did you do?"

"Meet who?"

"Don't lie to me, woman, I am in no mood for subterfuge."

She besought him with one frightened look, one step forward to him as if for protection, which he repelled; then she looked as though she might weep.

"Neither do you weep. Tell me how many notes like this have you received?"

"Like what? I could not read it, you held it so high," she sobbed.

The Chevalier stooped down, picked up the crumpled paper from the earth, and smoothed it out. He then handed it to her, and regarded her face intently as she read it.

"Read this, Madame, and see how careless you have been."

And my lady read the note; she, too, read it again, the first reading not sufficing her to understand. Then she looked at her husband with great wide-open eyes; she was now calm, and as quiet as he.

"Truly, Charles, I know nothing of this."

"It was always said, Madame, at Sceaux, you could take the stage and play the parts of distressed and virtuous damosels," he answered her, coldly curling his lip.

"Tell me, Madame, as you value your soul, what is this Captain de Mouret to you?"

"As I value my soul," my lady answered him direct and steadily, looking straight into his eye, her own hands folded across her heaving breast.

"As I value my soul, Charles, I know nothing of him."

"What does he mean when he says here 'I was hasty and too impulsive when we parted in the chapel at Sceaux'?"

"Upon my honor, Charles, I do not know. I never saw the man in all my life--to know him."

"Upon your _honor_," the Chevalier repeated.

And my lady's cheek flushed fire. But her form straightened up, and her eyes met his unflinching, without guilt or fear. The Chevalier turned and caught sight of Jacques, for the lout, according to his story, had grown to the spot as firm as one of the oaks.

"Here, you fellow, come here, _come here_!"

And Jacques dared not disobey him.

"Here, fellow, how many notes like this have you brought to my wife?"

"Only that one, my lord." Jacques started in by telling the truth, and he followed it up religiously. According to his account of it, the Chevalier looked him straight through and through until he dared not tell a lie.

"Mind that you tell me the truth. Who gave you this note?"

"Captain de Mouret."

"When?"

"Last night."

"Where?"

"At his quarters."

"To whom did he say you should deliver it?"

"To Madame Agnes de la Mora."

The Chevalier stooped, picked up the envelope, and re-read the superscription, handing it over to my lady, who took it unseeing.

"Did he expect a reply?"

"Yes, my lord."

"And where did he say to bring it?"

"Bring it to him when he returned from across the Bay this afternoon.

I was to await him upon the sh.o.r.e."

"At what hour?"

"None was named, my Lord; he said it would be late, perchance."

Verily, as Jacques told it me, he must have drained the stupid fellow dry.

Then the Chevalier turned to my lady with the utmost courtesy:

"What say you, Madame, shall I bear your reply to this gentle captain?

For by my faith, Madame, you require a more careful go-between than this, one more discreet and less glib of tongue."

"Charles, upon my honor, I know nothing of all this; I have never seen this Captain de Mouret."

He looked as if he did not hear her. He glanced at the sun, full two hours high, drew his sword and started to leave the garden.

He paused to doff his cap, and say, "I bear your message for you, Madame; verily, I am honored."

My lady neither screamed nor fainted during his questioning of Jacques; she stood and listened as one dazed, or who but dimly understood. The Chevalier strode out sword in hand.

"For shame, Charles," she called to him calmly enough, though she was deadly pale, "here is some wretched mistake--"

"Yes, there does appear to have been a mistake--in the delivery of this precious billet. I will speedily make that right."

"Charles, Charles!"