The Helmet of Navarre Part 44

"But, monsieur, you will need me. You will need some one to watch the street while you speak with mademoiselle."

"I can have no listener to-night," he replied immovably.

"But I will not listen, monsieur! I shall stand out of ear-shot. But you must have some one to give you warning should the guard set on you."

"I can manage my own affairs," he retorted haughtily; "I desire neither your advice nor your company."

"Monsieur!" I cried, almost in tears.

"Enough!" he bade sharply. "Go send me Vigo."

I went like one in whose face the doors of heaven had shut.

Vigo came at once from the guard-room at my summons. It was on my tongue to tell him of M. le Comte's mad resolve to fare forth alone; to beg him to stop it. But I remembered how blameworthy I myself had held the equery for interfering with M. etienne, and I made up my mind that no word of cavil at my lord should ever pa.s.s my lips. I lagged across the court at Vigo's heels, silent.

M. etienne was standing in the doorway.

"Vigo," he said, without a change of countenance, "get Felix a rapier, which he can use prettily enough. I cannot take him out to-night unarmed."

Vigo hesitated a moment, saluted, and went.

"Monsieur," I cried out, "you meant all the time to take me!"

He gazed down on my heated visage and laughed and laughed.

"Felix," he gasped, "you had your sport over there at the inn. But I have seen nothing this summer as funny as _your_ face."

Vigo came back with a sword and baldric for me, and a horse-pistol besides, but M. etienne would not let me have it.

"Circ.u.mstances are such, Vigo, that I want no noisy weapons."

The equery regarded him with a troubled countenance.

"I wish I knew, monsieur, whether I do right to let you go."

"We will not discuss that, an it please you."

"I do not, monsieur. I have no right to curtail M. le Comte's liberties.

But I let you go with a heavy heart."

He looked after us with foreboding eyes as we went out of the great gate, alone, with not so much as a linkboy. But if his heart was heavy, our hearts were light. We paced along as merrily as though to a feast.

M. etienne hung his lute over his neck and strummed it; and whenever we pa.s.sed under a window whence leaned a pretty head, he sang s.n.a.t.c.hes of love-songs. We were alone in the dark streets of a hostile city, bound for the house of a mighty foe; and one of us was wounded and one a tyro.

Yet we laughed as we went; for there was Lucas languis.h.i.+ng in prison, and here were we, free as air, steering our course for mademoiselle's window. One of us was in love, and the other wore a sword for the first time, and all the power of Mayenne daunted us not.

We came at length within bow-shot of the Hotel de Lorraine, where M.

etienne was willing to abate somewhat his swagger. We left the Rue St.

Antoine, creeping around behind the house through a narrow and twisting alley--it was pitch-black, but he knew the way well--into a little street dim-lighted from the windows of the houses upon it. It was only a few rods long, running from the open square in front of the hotel to the network of unpaved alleys behind. On the farther side stood a row of high-gabled houses, their doors opening directly on the pavement; on this side was but one big pile, the Hotel de Lorraine. The wall was broken by few windows, most of them dark; this was not the gay side of the house. The overhanging turret on the low second story, under which M. etienne halted, was as dark as the rest, nor, though the cas.e.m.e.nt was open wide, could we tell whether any one was in the room. We could hear nothing but the breeze crackling in the silken curtains.

"Take your station at the corner there," he bade, "and shout if they seem to be coming for us. But I think we shall not be molested. My fingers are so stiff they will hardly recognize my hand on the strings."

I went to my post, and he began singing, scarce loud enough for any but his lady above to mark him:

_Fairest blossom ever grew Once she loosened from her breast.

This I say, her eyes are blue.

From her breast the rose she drew, Dole for me, her servant blest, Fairest blossom ever grew._

The music paused, and I turned from my watch of the shadowy figures crossing the square, in instant alarm lest something was wrong. But whatever startled him ceased, for in a moment he went on again, and as he sang his voice rang fuller:

_Of my love the guerdon true, 'Tis my bosom's only guest.

This I say, her eyes are blue.

Still to me 'tis bright of hue As when first my kisses prest Fairest blossom ever grew.

Sweeter than when gathered new 'Twas the sign her love confest.

This I say, her eyes are blue._

He stopped again and stood gazing up into the window, but whether he saw something or heard something I could not tell. Apparently he was not sure himself, for presently, a little tremulous, he added the four verses:

_Askest thou of me a clue To that lady I love best?

Fairest blossom ever grew!

This I say, her eyes are blue._

He doffed his hat, pus.h.i.+ng back the hair from his brow, and waited, eager, hopeful. There was a little stir in the room that one thought was not the wind.

I had come unconsciously half-way up the street to him in the ardour of my interest; but now I was startled back to my duty by the sound of men running round the corner behind me. One glance was enough; two abreast, swords in hand, they were charging us. I ran before them, drawing blade as I went and shouting to M. etienne. But even as I called an answering shout came from the alley; two men of the Spanish guards shot out of the darkness and at us.

M. etienne, with his extraordinary quickness, had got the lute off his neck, and now, for want of a better use of it, flung it at the head of his nearest a.s.sailant, who received it full in the face, stopped, hesitated a moment, and ran back the way he had come. But three foes remained, with the whole Hotel de Lorraine behind them.

We put our backs to the wall and set to. The remaining Spaniard engaged me; M. etienne, protected somewhat in the embrasure of a doorway, held at bay with his good left arm a pair of attackers. These were in the dress of gentlemen, and wore masks as if their cheeks blushed (well they might) for the deeds of their hands.

A broad window in the Hotel de Lorraine was flung open; a man leaned far out with a torch. The bright glare in our faces bewildered our gloom-accustomed eyes; I could not see what I was about, and rammed my point against my Spaniard's hilt, snapping my blade.

The sudden impact sent him stumbling back a pace, and M. etienne, who, with the quick eye of the born fencer, saw everything, cried to me, "Here!"

I darted back into the doorway beside him. His two a.s.sailants finding that they gained nothing by their joint attack, but rather hampered each other, one dropped back to watch his comrade, the cleverer swordsman.

This was decidedly a man of talent, but he was shorter in the arm than my master and had the disadvantage of standing on the ground, whereas M.

etienne was up one step. He could not force home any of his shrewd-planned thrusts; nor could he drive M. etienne out of his coign to where in the open the two could make short work of him. The rapiers clashed and parted and twisted about each other and flew apart again; and then before I could see who was touched the attacker fell to his knees, with M. etienne's sword in his breast.

M. etienne wrenched the blade out; the wounded man sank backward, his mask-string breaking. He was the one whom I had thought him--Francois de Brie.

M. etienne was ready for the second gentleman, but neither he nor the soldier attacked. The torch-bearer in the window, with a shout, waved his arm toward the square. A mob of armed men hurled itself around the corner, a pikeman with lowered point in the van.

This was not combat; it was butchery. M. etienne, with a little moan, lifted his eyes for the first time from his a.s.sailant to the turret window. In the same instant I felt the door behind us give. Throwing my whole weight upon it, I seized M. etienne and pulled him over the threshold. Some one inside slammed the door to, just as the Spaniard hurled himself against it.