Historical Romances: Under the Red Robe, Count Hannibal, A Gentleman of France. Weyman Stanley John
face was so red with weeping that all her beauty was gone. She started and shook at the slightest sound, and, unable to find any words to answer my greeting, could only sink into a chair and sit crying silently.
Mademoiselle was in a mood scarcely more cheerful. She did not weep, but her manner was hard and fierce. She spoke absently and answered fretfully. Her eyes glittered, and she had the air of straining her ears continually to catch some dreaded sound. "There is no news, Monsieur?" she said, as she took her seat. And she shot a swift look at me.
"None, Mademoiselle."
"They are searching the village?"
"I believe so."
"Where is Clon?" This in a lower voice, and with a kind of shrinking in her face.
I shook my head. "I believe they have him confined somewhere. And Louis, too," I said, "But I have not seen either of them."
"And where are-? I thought these people would be here," she muttered. And she glanced askance at the two vacant places. The servant had brought in the meal.
"They will be here presently," I said coolly. "Let us make the most of the time. A little wine and food will do Madame good."
She smiled rather sadly. "I think we have changed places," she said; "and that you have turned host, and we guests."
"Let it be so," I said cheerfully. "I recommend some of this ragoût. Come, Mademoiselle; fasting can aid no one. A full meal has saved many a man's life."
It was clumsily said perhaps, for she shuddered and looked at me with a ghastly smile. But she persuaded her sister to taste something; and she took something on her own plate and raised her fork to her lips. But in a moment she laid it down again. "I cannot," she murmured. "I cannot swallow. Oh, my God, at this moment they may be taking him!"
I thought that she was about to burst into a passion of tears, and I repented that I had induced her to descend. But her self-control was not yet exhausted. By an effort painful to see, she recovered her composure. She took up her fork, and ate a few mouthfuls. Then she looked at me with a fierce under-look. "I want to see Clon," she whispered feverishly. The man who waited on us had left the room.
"He knows?" I said.
She nodded, her beautiful face strangely disfigured. Her closed teeth showed between her lips. Two red spots burned in her white cheeks, and she breathed quickly. I felt, as I looked at her, a sudden pain at my heart; and a shuddering fear, such as a man awaking to find himself falling over a precipice, might feel. How these women loved the man!
For a moment I could not speak. When I found my voice it sounded dry and husky. "He is a safe confidant," I muttered. "He can neither speak nor write, Mademoiselle."
"No, but-" and then her face became fixed. "They are coming," she whispered. "Hush!" She rose stiffly, and stood supporting herself by the table. "Have they-have they-found him?" she muttered. The woman by her side wept on, unconscious what was impending.
I heard the captain stumble far down the passage, and swear loudly; and I touched Mademoiselle's hand. "They have not!" I whispered. "All is well, Mademoiselle. Pray, pray calm yourself. Sit down, and meet them as if nothing were the matter. And your sister! Madame, Madame," I cried, almost harshly, "compose yourself. Remember that you have a part to play."
My appeal did something. Madame stifled her sobs. Mademoiselle drew a deep breath and sat down; and though she was still pale and still trembled, the worst was past.
And just in time. The door flew open with a crash. The captain stumbled into the room, swearing afresh. "Sacré nom du Diable!" he cried, his face crimson with rage. "What fool placed these things here? My boots? My-"
His jaw fell. He stopped on the word, stricken silent by the new aspect of the room, by the sight of the little party at the table, by all the changes I had worked. "Saint Siêge!" I he muttered. "What is this?" The lieutenant's grizzled face peering over his shoulder completed the picture.
"You are rather late, M. le Capitaine," I said cheerfully. "Madame's hour is eleven. But come, here are your seats waiting for you."
"Mille tonnerres!" he muttered, advancing into the room, and glaring at us.
"I am afraid the ragoût is cold," I continued, peering into the dish and affecting to see nothing. "The soup, however, has been kept hot by the fire. But I think you do not see Madame."
He opened his mouth to swear, but for the moment thought better of it. "Who-who put my boots in the passage?" he asked, his voice thick with rage. He did not bow to the ladies, or take any notice of their presence.
"One of the men, I suppose," I said indifferently. "Is anything missing?"
He glared at me. Then his cloak, spread outside, caught his eye. He strode through the door, saw his holsters lying on the grass, and other things strewn about. He came back. "Whose monkey game is this?" he snarled, and his face was very ugly. "Who is at the bottom of this? Speak, Sir, or I-"
"Tut-tut! the ladies!" I said. "You forget yourself, Monsieur."
"Forget myself?" he hissed, and this time he did not check his oath. "Don't talk to me of the ladies! Madame? Bah! Do you think, fool, that we are put into rebels' houses to bow and smile and take dancing lessons?"
"In this case a lesson in politeness were more to the point, Monsieur," I said sternly. And I rose.
"Was it by your orders that this was done?" he retorted, his brow black with passion. "Answer, will you?"
"It was!" I replied outright.
"Then take that!" he cried, dashing his hat violently in my face. "And come outside."
"With pleasure, Monsieur," I answered, bowing. "In one moment. Permit me to find my sword. I think it is in the passage."
I went thither to get it. When I returned I found that the two men were waiting for me in the garden, while the ladies had risen from the table and were standing near it with blanched faces. "You had better take your sister upstairs, Mademoiselle," I said gently, pausing a moment beside them. "Have no fear. All will be well."
"But what is it?" she answered, looking troubled. "It was so sudden. I am-I did not understand. You quarrelled so quickly."
"It is very simple," I answered, smiling. "M. le Capitaine insulted you yesterday; he will pay for it to-day. That is all. Or, not quite all," I continued, dropping my voice and speaking in a different tone. "His removal may help you, Mademoiselle. Do you understand? I think that there will be no more searching to-day."
She uttered an exclamation, grasping my arm and peering into my face. "You will kill him?" she muttered.
I nodded. "Why not?" I said.
She caught her breath and stood with one hand clasped to her bosom, gazing at me with parted lips, the blood mounting to her cheeks. Gradually the flush melted into a fierce smile. "Yes, yes, why not?" she repeated, between her teeth. "Why not?" She had her hand on my arm, and I felt her fingers tighten until I could have winced. "Why not? So you planned this-for us, Monsieur?"
I nodded.
"But can you?"
"Safely," I said; then, muttering to her to take her sister upstairs, I turned towards the garden. My foot was already on the threshold, and I was composing my face to meet the enemy, when I heard a movement behind me. The next moment her hand was on my arm. "Wait! Wait a moment! Come back!" she panted. I turned. The smile and flush had vanished; her face was pale. "No!" she said abruptly. "I was wrong! I will not have it. I will have no part in it! You planned it last night, M. de Barthe. It is murder."
"Mademoiselle!" I exclaimed, wondering. "Murder? Why? It is a duel."
"It is murder," she answered persistently. "You planned it last night. You said so."
"But I risk my own life," I replied sharply.
"Nevertheless-I will have no part in it," she answered more faintly. "It will bring no good." She was trembling with agitation. Her eyes avoided mine.
"On my shoulders be it then!" I replied stoutly. "It is too late, Mademoiselle, to go back. They are waiting