Bardelys the Magnificent by Rafael Sabatini (best ebook reader under 100 .txt) 📖

is alone more than

sufficient to warrant such slight favours as it may be in my power

to show you.”

 

“You have my parole that I will attempt no escape, Monsieur le

Capitaine,” I answered, bowing may acknowledgment of his compliments.

 

“I am Mironsac de Castelroux, of Chateau Rouge in Gascony,” he

informed me, returning my bow. My faith, had he not made a pretty

soldier he would have made an admirable master of deportment.

 

My leave-taking of Monsieur de Lavedan was brief but cordial;

apologetic on my part, intensely sympathetic on his. And so I went

out alone with Castelroux upon the road to Toulouse, his men being

ordered to follow in half an hour’s time and to travel at their

leisure.

 

As we cantered along - Castelroux and I - we talked of many things,

and I found him an amusing and agreeable companion. Had my mood

been other than despairing, the news he gave me might have

occasioned me some concern; for it seemed that prisoners arraigned

for treason and participation in the late rising were being very

summarily treated. Many were never so much as heard in their own

defence, the evidence collected of their defection being submitted

to the Tribunal, and judgment being forthwith passed upon them by

judges who had no ears for anything they might advance in their

own favour.

 

The evidence of my identity was complete: there was my own admission

to Castelroux; the evidence of the treason of Lesperon was none the

less complete; in fact, it was notorious; and there was the Duke’s

letter found amongst my effects. If the judges refused to lend an

ear to my assurances that I was not Lesperon at all, but the missing

Bardelys, my troubles were likely to receive a very summary solution.

The fear of it, however, weighed not over-heavily upon me. I was

supremely indifferent. Life was at an end so far as I was concerned.

I had ruined the one chance of real happiness that had ever been

held out to me, and if the gentlemen of the courts of Toulouse were

pleased to send me unheeded to the scaffold, what should it signify?

 

But there was another matter that did interest me, and that was my

interview with Marsac. Touching this, I spoke to my captor.

 

“There is a gentleman I wish to see at Grenade this morning. You

have amongst the papers taken from me a letter making this

assignation, Monsieur le Capitaine, and I should be indeed grateful

if you would determine that we shall break our fast there, so that

I may have an opportunity of seeing him. The matter is to me of

the highest importance.”

 

“It concerns—?” he asked.

 

“A lady,” I answered.

 

“Ah, yes! But the letter is of the nature of a challenge, is it

not? Naturally, I cannot permit you to endanger your life.”

 

“Lest we disappoint the headsman at Toulouse?” I laughed. “Have no

fear. There shall be no duel!”

 

“Then I am content, monsieur, and you shall see your friend.”

 

I thanked him, and we talked of other things thereafter as we rode

in the early morning along the Toulouse road. Our conversation

found its way, I scarce know how, to the topic of Paris and the

Court, and when I casually mentioned, in passing, that I was well

acquainted with the Luxembourg, he inquired whether I had ever

chanced to meet a young spark of the name of Mironsac.

 

“Mironsac?” I echoed. “Why, yes.” And I was on the point of adding

that I knew the youth intimately, and what a kindness I had for him,

when, deeming it imprudent, I contented myself with asking, “You

know him?”

 

“Pardieu!” he swore. “The fellow is my cousin. We are both

Mironsacs; he is Mironsac of Castelvert, whilst I, as you may

remember I told you, am Mironsac of Castelroux. To distinguish us,

he is always known as Mironsac, and I as Castelroux. Peste! It is

not the only distinction, for while he basks in the sunshine of the

great world of Paris - they are wealthy, the Mironsacs of Castelvert

—I, a poor devil of a Gascony cadet, am playing the catchpoll in

Languedoc!”

 

I looked at him with fresh interest, for the mention of that dear

lad Mironsac brought back to my mind the night in Paris on which my

ill-starred wager had been laid, and I was reminded of how that

high-minded youth had sought - when it was too late to reason me out

of the undertaking by alluding to the dishonour with which in his

honest eyes it must be fraught.

 

We spoke of his cousin - Castelroux and I - and I went so far now

as to confess that I had some love for the youth, whom I praised in

unmistakable terms. This inclined to increase the friendliness

which my young Captain had manifested since my arrest, and I was

presently emboldened by it to beg of him to add to the many favours

that I already owed him by returning to me the portrait which his

men had subtracted from my pocket. It was my wish to return this

to Marsac, whilst at the same time it would afford corroboration of

my story.

 

To this Castelroux made no difficulty.

 

“Why, yes,” said he, and he produced it. “I crave your pardon for

not having done the thing of my own accord. What can the Keeper of

the Seals want with that picture?”

 

I thanked him, and pocketed the locket.

 

“Poor lady!” he sighed, a note of compassion in his voice. “By my

soul, Monsieur de Lesperon, fine work this for soldiers, is it not?

Diable! It is enough to turn a gentleman’s stomach sour for life,

and make him go hide himself from the eyes of honest men. Had I

known that soldiering meant such business, I had thought twice

before I adopted it as a career for a man of honour. I had remained

in Gascony and tilled the earth sooner than have lent myself to this!”

 

“My good young friend,” I laughed, “what you do, you do in the King’s

name.”

 

“So does every tipstaff,” he answered impatiently, his moustaches

bristling as the result of the scornful twist he gave his lips. “To

think that I should have a hand in bringing tears to the eyes of that

sweet lady! Quelle besogne! Bon Dieu, quelle besogne!”

 

I laughed at the distress vented in that whimsical Gascon tongue of

his, whereupon he eyed me in a wonder that was tempered with

admiration. For to his brave soul a gentleman so stoical as to

laugh under such parlous circumstances was very properly a gentleman

to be admired.