The Suitors of Yvonne: being a portion of the memoirs of the Sieur Gaston de Luynes, Page 4

  CHAPTER IV. FAIR RESCUERS

  Like the calm of the heavens when pregnant with thunder was the calm ofthat crowd. And as brief it was; for scarce had I taken a dozen stepswhen my ears were assailed by a rumble of angry voices and a rush offeet. One glance over my shoulder, one second's hesitation whether Ishould stay and beard them, then the thought of Andrea de Mancini and ofwhat would befall him did this canaille vent its wrath upon me decidedmy course and sent me hotfoot down the Rue Monarque. Howling andbellowing that rabble followed in my wake, stumbling over one another intheir indecent haste to reach me.

  But I was fleet of foot, and behind me there was that that would lendwings to the most deliberate, so that when I turned into the open spacebefore the Hotel Vendome I had set a good fifty yards betwixt myself andthe foremost of my hunters.

  A coach was passing at that moment. I shouted, and the knave who droveglanced at me, then up the Rue Monarque at my pursuers, whereupon,shaking his head, he would have left me to my fate. But I was of anothermind. I dashed towards the vehicle, and as it passed me I caught atthe window, which luckily was open, and drawing up my legs I hung theredespite the shower of mud which the revolving wheels deposited upon me.

  From the bowels of the coach I was greeted by a woman's scream; a paleface, and a profusion of fair hair flashed before my eyes.

  "Fear not, Madame," I shouted. "I am no assassin, but rather onewho stands in imminent peril of assassination, and who craves yourprotection."

  More I would have said, but at that juncture the lash of the coachman'swhip curled itself about my shoulders, and stung me vilely.

  "Get down, you rascal," he bellowed; "get down or I'll draw rein!"

  To obey him would have been madness. The crowd surged behind with hootsand yells, and had I let go I must perforce have fallen into theirhands. So, instead of getting down as he inconsiderately counselled, Idrew myself farther up by a mighty effort, and thrust half my body intothe coach, whereupon the fair lady screamed again, and the whip caressedmy legs. But within the coach sat another woman, dark of hair andexquisite of face, who eyed my advent with a disdainful glance. Herproud countenance bore the stamp of courage, and to her it was that Idirected my appeal.

  "Madame, permit me, I pray, to seek shelter in your carriage, and sufferme to journey a little way with you. Quick, Madame! Your coachman isdrawing rein, and I shall of a certainty be murdered under your verynose unless you bid him change his mind. To be murdered in itself is atrifling matter, I avow, but it is not nice to behold, and I would not,for all the world, offend your eyes with the spectacle of it."

  I had judged her rightly, and my tone of flippant recklessness wonme her sympathy and aid. Quickly thrusting her head through the otherwindow:

  "Drive on, Louis," she commanded. "Faster!" Then turning to me, "You maybring your legs into the coach if you choose, sir," she said.

  "Your words, Madame, are the sweetest music I have heard for months," Ianswered drily, as I obeyed her. Then leaning out of the carriage againI waved my hat gallantly to the mob which--now realising the futility offurther pursuit--had suddenly come to a halt.

  "Au plaisir de vous revoir, Messieurs," I shouted. "Come to me one byone, and I'll keep the devil busy finding lodgings for you."

  They answered me with a yell, and I sat down content, and laughed.

  "You are not a coward, Monsieur," said the dark lady.

  "I have been accounted many unsavoury things, Madame, but my bitterestenemies never dubbed me that."

  "Why, then, did you run away?"

  "Why? Ma foi! because in the excessive humility of my soul I recognisedmyself unfit to die."

  She bit her lip and her tiny foot beat impatiently upon the floor.

  "You are trifling with me, Monsieur. Where do you wish to alight?"

  "Pray let that give you no concern; I can assure you that I am in nohaste."

  "You become impertinent, sir," she cried angrily. "Answer me, where areyou going?"

  "Where am I going? Oh, ah--to the Palais Royal."

  Her eyes opened very wide at that, and wandered over me with a look thatwas passing eloquent. Indeed, I was a sorry spectacle for any woman'seyes--particularly a pretty one's. Splashed from head to foot with mud,my doublet saturated and my beaver dripping, with the feather hanginglimp and broken, whilst there was a rent in my breeches that hadbeen made by Canaples's sword, I take it that I had not the air of acourtier, and that when I said that I went to the Palais Royal she mighthave justly held me to be the adventurous lover of some kitchen wench.But unto the Palais Royal go others besides courtiers and lovers--spiesof the Cardinal, for instance, and in her sudden coldness and the nextquestion that fell from her beauteous lips I read that she had guessedme one of these.

  "Why did the mob pursue you, Monsieur?"

  There was in her voice and gesture when she asked a question theimperiousness of one accustomed to command replies. This prettyqueenliness it was that drove me to answer--as I had done before--in abantering strain.

  "Why did the mob pursue me? Hum! Why does the mob pursue great men?Because it loves their company."

  Her matchless eyes flashed an angry glance, and the faint smile on mylips must have tried her temper sorely.

  "What did you do to deserve this affection?"

  "A mere nothing--I killed a man," I answered coolly. "Or, at least, Ileft him started on the road to--Paradise."

  The little flaxen-haired doll uttered a cry of horror, and covered herface with her small white hands. My inquisitor, however, sat rigid andunaffected. My answer had confirmed her suspicions.

  "Why did you kill him?"

  "Ma foi!" I replied, encouraging her thoughts, "because he sought tokill me."

  "Ah! And why did he seek to kill you?"

  "Because I disturbed him at dinner."

  "Have a care how you trifle, sir!" she retorted, her eyes kindlingagain.

  "Upon my honour, 't was no more than that. I pulled the cloth fromthe table whilst he ate. He was a quick-tempered gentleman, and myplayfulness offended him. That is all."

  Doubt appeared in her eyes, and it may have entered her mind thatperchance her judgment had been over-hasty.

  "Do you mean, sir, that you provoked a duel?"

  "Alas, Madame! It had become necessary. You see, M. de Canaples--"

  "Who?" Her voice rang sharp as the crack of a pistol.

  "Eh? M. de Canaples."

  "Was it he whom you killed?"

  From her tone, and the eager, strained expression of her face, it wasnot difficult to read that some mighty interest of hers was involved inmy reply. It needed not the low moan that burst from her companion totell me so.

  "As I have said, Madame, it is possible that he is not dead--nay, eventhat he will not die. For the rest, since you ask the question, myopponent was, indeed, M. de Canaples--Eugene de Canaples."

  Her face went deadly white, and she sank back in her seat as if everynerve in her body had of a sudden been bereft of power, whilst she ofthe fair hair burst into tears.

  A pretty position was this for me!--luckily it endured not. The girlroused herself from her momentary weakness, and, seizing the cord, shetugged it violently. The coach drew up.

  "Alight, sir," she hissed--"go! I wish to Heaven that I had left you tothe vengeance of the people."

  Not so did I; nevertheless, as I alighted: "I am sorry, Madame, that youdid not," I answered. "Adieu!"

  The coach moved away, and I was left standing at the corner of the RueSt. Honore and the Rue des Bons Enfants, in the sorriest frame of mindconceivable. The lady in the coach had saved my life, and for that I wasmore grateful perchance than my life was worth. Out of gratitude spranga regret for the pain that I had undoubtedly caused her, and the sorrowwhich it might have been my fate to cast over her life.

  Still, regret, albeit an admirable sentiment, was one whose existencewas usually brief in my bosom. Dame! Had I been a man of regrets I mighthave spent the remainder of my days weeping over my past life. Bu
tthe gods, who had given me a character calculated to lead a maninto misfortune, had given me a stout heart wherewith to fight thatmisfortune, and an armour of recklessness against which remorse,regrets, aye, and conscience itself, rained blows in vain.

  And so it befell that presently I laughed myself out of the puerilehumour that was besetting me, and, finding myself chilled by inaction inmy wet clothes, I set off for the Palais Royal at a pace that was firstcousin to a run.

  Ten minutes later I stood in the presence of the most feared and hatedman in France.

  "Cospetto!" cried Mazarin as I entered his cabinet. "Have you swum theSeine in your clothes?"

  "No, your Eminence, but I have been serving you in the rain for the pasthour."

  He smiled that peculiar smile of his that rendered hateful his otherwisenot ill-favoured countenance. It was a smile of the lips in which theeyes had no part.

  "Yes," he said slowly, "I have heard of your achievements."

  "You have heard?" I ejaculated, amazed by the powers which this manwielded.

  "Yes, I have heard. You are a brave man, M. de Luynes."

  "Pshaw, your Eminence!" I deprecated; "the poor are always brave. Theyhave naught to lose but their life, and that is not so sweet to themthat they lay much store by it. Howbeit, Monseigneur, your wishes havebeen carried out. There will be no duel at St. Germain this evening."

  "Will there not? Hum! I am not so confident. You are a brave man, M. deLuynes, but you lack that great auxiliary of valour--discretion. Whatneed to fling into the teeth of those fine gentlemen the reason you hadfor spitting Canaples, eh? You have provoked a dozen enemies for Andreawhere only one existed."

  "I will answer for all of them," I retorted boastfully.

  "Fine words, M. de Luynes; but to support them how many men will youhave to kill? Pah! What if some fine morning there comes one who,despite your vaunted swordsmanship, proves your master? What will becomeof that fool, my nephew, eh?"

  And his uncanny smile again beamed on me. "Andrea is now packing hisvalise. In an hour he will have left Paris secretly. He goes--but whatdoes it signify where he goes? He is compelled by your indiscretionto withdraw from Court. Had you kept a close tongue in your foolishhead--but there! you did not, and so by a thoughtless word you undid allthat you had done so well. You may go, M. de Luynes. I have no furtherneed of you--and thank Heaven that you leave the Palais Royal free to gowhither your fancy takes you, and not to journey to the Bastille or toVincennes. I am merciful, M. de Luynes--as merciful as you are brave;more merciful than you are prudent. One word of warning, M. de Luynes:do not let me learn that you are in my nephew's company, if you wouldnot make me regret my clemency and repair the error of it by having youhanged. And now, adieu!"

  I stood aghast. Was I indeed dismissed? Albeit naught had been said, Ihad not doubted, since my interview with him that morning, that did Isucceed in saving Andrea my rank in his guards--and thereby a means oflivelihood--would be restored to me. And now matters were no better thanthey had been before. He dismissed me with the assurance that he wasmerciful. As God lives, it would have been as merciful to have hangedme!

  He met my astonished look with an eye that seemed to ask me why Ilingered. Then reading mayhap what was passing in my thoughts, he raiseda little silver whistle to his lips and blew softly upon it.

  "Bernouin," said he to his valet, who entered in answer to the summons,"reconduct M. de Luynes."

  I remember drawing down upon my bedraggled person the curious gaze ofthe numerous clients who thronged the Cardinal's ante-chamber, as Ifollowed Bernouin to the door which opened on to the corridor, and whichhe held for me. And thus, for the second time within twenty-four hours,did I leave the Palais Royal to wend my way home to the Rue St. Antoinewith grim despondency in my heart.

  I found Michelot on the point of setting out in search of me, with anote which had been brought to my lodging half an hour ago, and whichits bearer had said was urgent. I took the letter, and bidding Michelotprepare me fresh raiment that I might exchange for my wet clothes, Ibroke the seal and read:

  "A thousand thanks, dear friend, for the service you have rendered meand of which his Eminence, my uncle, has informed me. I fear that youhave made many enemies for yourself through an action which will likelygo unrewarded, and that Paris is therefore as little suited at presentto your health as it is to mine. I am setting out for Blois on a missionof exceeding delicacy wherein your advice and guidance would be ofinfinite value to me. I shall remain at Choisy until to-morrow morning,and should there be no ties to hold you in Paris, and you be minded tobear me company, join me there at the Hotel du Connetable where I shalllie to-night. Your grateful and devoted

  "ANDRE."

  So! There was one at least who desired my company! I had not thought it."If there be no ties to hold you in Paris," he wrote. Dame! A changeof air would suit me vastly. I was resolved--a fig for the Cardinal'sthreat to hang me if I were found in his nephew's company!

  "My suit of buff, Michelot," I shouted, springing to my feet, "and myleather jerkin."

  He gazed at me in surprise.

  "Is Monsieur going a journey?"

  I answered him that I was, and as I spoke I began to divest myself ofthe clothes I wore. "Pack my suit of pearl grey in the valise, with whatchanges of linen I possess; then call Master Coupri that I may settlewith him. It may be some time before we return."

  In less than half an hour I was ready for the journey, spurredand booted, with my rapier at my side, and in the pocket of myhaut-de-chausses a purse containing some fifty pistoles--best part ofwhich I had won from Vilmorin at lansquenet some nights before, andwhich moderate sum represented all the moneys that I possessed.

  Our horses were ready, my pistols holstered, and my valise strappedto Michelot's saddle. Despite the desperate outlook of my fortunes, ofwhich I had made him fully cognisant, he insisted upon clinging to me,reminding me that at Rocroi I had saved his life and that he would leaveme only when I bade him go.

  As four o'clock was striking at Notre Dame we crossed the Pont Neuf,and going by the Quai des Augustins and the Rue de la Harpe, we quittedParis by the St. Michel Gate and took the road to Choisy. The rainhad ceased, but the air was keen and cold, and the wind cut like asword-edge.