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- Author: Rafael Sabatini
- Performer: 1406820563
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yet - it is a difficult thing to tell you. I understand now much
that I had not dreamt of. You - you have no suspicion of how you
came to be arrested?”
“For my alleged participation in the late rebellion?”
“Yes, yes. But who gave the information of your whereabouts? Who
told the Keeper of the Seals where you were to be found?”
“Oh, that?” I answered easily. “Why, I never doubted it. It was
the coxcomb Saint-Eustache. I whipped him—”
I stopped short. There was something in Marsac’s black face,
something in his glance, that forced the unspoken truth upon my mind.
“Mother in heaven!” I cried. “Do you mean that it was Mademoiselle
de Lavedan?”
He bowed his head in silence. Did she hate me, then, so much as
that? Would nothing less than my death appease her, and had I
utterly crushed the love that for a little while she had borne me,
that she could bring herself to hand me over to the headsman?
God! What a stab was that! It turned me sick with grief - aye, and
with some rage not against her, oh, not against her; against the
fates that had brought such things to pass.
I controlled myself while their eyes were yet upon me. I went to
the door and held it open for them, and they, perceiving something
of my disorder, were courteous enough to omit the protracted
leave-takings that under other auspices there might have been.
Marsac paused a moment on the threshold as if he would have offered
me some word of comfort. Then, perceiving, perhaps, how banal must
be all comfort that was of words alone, and how it might but increase
the anger of the wound it was meant to balm, he sighed a simple
“Adieu, monsieur!” and went his way.
When they were gone, I returned to the table, and, sitting down,
I buried my head in my arms, and there I lay, a prey to the most
poignant grief that in all my easy, fortunate life I had ever known.
That she should have done this thing! That the woman I loved, the
pure, sweet, innocent girl that I had wooed so ardently in my
unworthiness at Lavedan, should have stooped to such an act of
betrayal! To what had I not reduced her, since such things
could be!
Then, out of my despair grew comfort, slowly at first, and more
vigorously anon. The sudden shock of the news had robbed me of some
of my wit, and had warped my reasoning. Later, as the pain of the
blow grew duller, I came to reflect that what she had done was but
a proof - an overwhelming proof - of how deeply she had cared. Such
hatred as this can be but born of a great love; reaction is ever to
be measured by the action that occasions it, and a great revulsion
can only come of a great affection. Had she been indifferent to me,
or had she but entertained for me a passing liking, she would not
have suffered so.
And so I came to realize how cruel must have been the pang that had
driven her to this. But she had loved me; aye, and she loved me
still, for all that she thought she hated, and for all that she had
acted as if she hated. But even if I were wrong - even if she did
hate me - what a fresh revulsion would not be hers when anon she
learnt that - whatever my sins - I had not played lightly with her
love; that I was not, as she had imagined, the betrothed of another
woman!
The thought fired me like wine. I was no longer listless - no longer
indifferent as to whether I lived or died. I must live. I must
enlighten the Keeper of the Seals and the judges at Toulouse
concerning my identity. Why, indeed, had I ever wavered? Bardelys
the Magnificent must come to life again, and then— What then?
As suddenly as I had been exalted was I cast down. There was a
rumour abroad that Bardelys was dead. In the wake of that rumour
I shrewdly guessed that the report of the wager that had brought him
into Languedoc would not be slow to follow. What then? Would she
love me any the better? Would she hate me any the less? If now she
was wounded by the belief that I had made sport of her love, would
not that same belief be with her again when she came to know the
truth?
Aye, the tangle was a grievous one. Yet I took heart. My old
resolve returned to me, and I saw the need for urgency - in that
alone could lie now my redemption in her eyes. My wager must be
paid before I again repaired to her, for all that it should leave
me poor indeed. In the mean while, I prayed God that she might not
hear of it ere I returned to tell her.
THE KING’S COMMISSIONER
For that most amiable of Gascon cadets, Monsieur de Castelroux, I
have naught but the highest praise. In his every dealing with me
he revealed himself so very gallant, generous, and high-minded a
gentleman that it was little short of a pleasure to be his prisoner.
He made no inquiries touching the nature of my interview with those
two gentlemen at the Hotel de la Couronne, and when at the moment
of leaving I requested him to deliver a packet to the taller of
those same two he did so without comment or question. That packet
contained the portrait of Mademoiselle de Marsac, but on the inner
wrapper was a note requesting Lesperon not to open it until he
should be in Spain.
Neither Marsac nor Lesperon did I see again before we resumed our
journey to Toulouse.
At the moment of setting out a curious incident occurred.
Castelroux’s company of dragoons had ridden into the courtyard as
we were mounting. They lined up under their lieutenant’s command,
to allow us to pass; but as we reached the portecochere we were
delayed for a moment by a travelling-carriage, entering for relays,
and coming, apparently, from Toulouse. Castelroux and I backed our
horses until we were in the midst of the dragoons, and so we stood
while the vehicle passed in. As it went by, one of the leather
curtains was drawn back, and my heart was quickened by the sight of
a pale girl face, with eyes of blue, and brown curls lying upon the
slender neck. Her glance lighted on me, swordless and in the midst
of that company of troopers, and I bowed low upon the withers of
my horse, doffing my hat in distant salutation.
The curtain dropped again, and eclipsed the face of the woman that
had betrayed me. With my mind full of wild surmisings as to what
emotions might have awakened in her upon beholding me, I rode away
in silence at Monsieur de Castelroux’s side. Had she experienced
any remorse? Any shame? Whether or not such feelings had been
aroused at sight of me, it certainly would not be long ere she
experienced them, for at the Hotel de la Couronne were those who
would enlighten her.
The contemplation of the remorseful grief that might anon beset her
when she came to ponder the truth of matters, and, with that truth,
those things that at Lavedan I had uttered, filled me presently
with regret and pity. I grew impatient to reach Toulouse and tell
the judges of the mistake that there had been. My name could not
be unknown to them, and the very mention of it, I thought, should
suffice to give them pause and lead them to make inquiries before
sending me to the scaffold. Yet I was not without uneasiness, for
the summariness with which Castelroux had informed me they were in
the habit of dealing with those accused of high treason occasioned
me some apprehensive pangs.
This apprehension led me to converse with my captor touching those
trials, seeking to gather from him who were the judges. I learnt
then that besides the ordinary Tribunal, a Commissioner had been
dispatched by His Majesty, and was hourly expected to arrive at
Toulouse. It would be his mission to supervise and direct the
inquiries that were taking place. It was said, he added, that the
King himself was on his way thither, to be present at the trial of
Monsieur le Duc de Montmorency. But he was travelling by easy
stages, and was not yet expected for some days. My heart, which
had leapt at the news, as suddenly sank again with the consideration
that I should probably be disposed of before the King’s arrival.
It would behoove me, therefore, to look elsewhere for help and for
some one to swear to my identity.
“Do you know the name of this King’s Commissioner?” I asked.
“It is a certain Comte de Chatellerault, a gentleman man said to
stand very high in His Majesty’s favour.”
“Chatellerault!” I cried in wondering joy.
“You know him?”
“Most excellently!” I laughed. “We are very intimately acquainted.”
“Why, then, monsieur, I augur you this gentleman’s friendship, and
that it may pilot you through your trouble. Although—” Being
mercifully minded, he stopped short.
But I laughed easily. “Indeed, my dear Captain, I think it will,”
said I; “although friendship in this world is a thing of which the
unfortunate know little.”
But I rejoiced too soon, as you shall hear.
We rode diligently on, our way lying along the fertile banks of the
Garonne, now yellow with the rustling corn. Towards evening we made
our last halt at Fenouillet, whence a couple of hours’ riding should
bring us to Toulouse.
At the posthouse we overtook a carriage that seemingly had halted
for relays, but upon which I scarce bestowed a glance as I alighted.
Whilst Castelroux went to arrange for fresh horses, I strode into
the common room, and there for some moments I stood discussing the
viands with our host. When at last I had resolved that a cold pasty
and a bottle of Armagnac would satisfy our wants, I looked about me
to take survey of those in the room. One group in a remote corner
suddenly riveted my attention to such a degree that I remained deaf
to the voice of Castelroux, who had just entered, and who stood now
beside me. In the centre of this group was the Comte de Chatellerault
himself, a thick-set, sombre figure, dressed with that funereal
magnificence he affected.
But it was not the sight of him that filled me with amazement. For
that, Castelroux’s information had prepared me, and I well understood
in what capacity he was there. My surprise sprang rather from the
fact that amongst the half-dozen gentlemen about him - and evidently
in attendance - I beheld the Chevalier de Saint-Eustache. Now,
knowing as I did, the Chevalier’s treasonable leanings, there was
ample cause for my astonishment at finding him in such company.
Apparently, too, he was on very intimate terms with the Count, for
in raising my glance I had caught him in the act of leaning over to
whisper familiarly in Chatellerault’s ear.
Their eyes - indeed, for that matter the eyes of the entire company
—were turned in my direction.
Perhaps it was not a surprising thing that Chatellerault should gaze
upon me in that curious fashion, for was it not probable that he
had heard that I was dead? Besides, the fact that I was without a
sword, and that at my side stood a King’s officer,
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