Bardelys the Magnificent by Rafael Sabatini (best ebook reader under 100 .txt) đź“–
- Author: Rafael Sabatini
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me I had not been human had I not remained and strained my ears to
catch every syllable you uttered. For the rest, let me ask you,
my dear Chatellerault, since when have you become so nice that you
dare cast it at a man that he has been eavesdropping?”
“You are obscure, monsieur. What is it that you suggest?”
“I am signifying that when a man stands unmasked for a cheat, a
liar, and a thief, his own character should give him concern enough
to restrain him from strictures upon that of another.”
A red flush showed through the tan of his skin, then faded and left
him livid - a very evil sight, as God lives. He flung his
heavily-feathered hat upon the table, and carried his hand to his
hilt.
“God’s blood!” he cried. “You shall answer me for this.”
I shook my head and smiled; but I made no sign of drawing.
“Monsieur, we must talk a while. I think that you had better.”
He raised his sullen eyes to mine. Perhaps the earnest
impressiveness of my tones prevailed. Be that as it may, his
half-drawn sword was thrust back with a click, and “What have you
to say?” he asked.
“Be seated.” I motioned him to a chair by the table and when he had
taken it I sat down opposite to him. Taking up a quill, I dipped it
in the ink-horn that stood by, and drew towards me a sheet of paper.
“When you lured me into the wager touching Mademoiselle de Lavedan,”
said I calmly, “you did so, counting upon certain circumstances, of
which you alone had knowledge, that should render impossible the
urging of my suit. That, Monsieur le Comte, was undeniably the
action of a cheat. Was it not?”
“Damnation!” he roared, and would have risen, but, my hand upon his
arm, I restrained him and pressed him back into his chair.
“By a sequence of fortuitous circumstances,” I pursued, “it became
possible for me to circumvent the obstacle upon which you had based
your calculations. Those same circumstances led later to my being
arrested in error and in place of another man. You discovered how
I had contravened the influence upon which you counted; you trembled
to see how the unexpected had befriended me, and you began to fear
for your wager.
“What did you do? Seeing me arraigned before you in your quality
as King’s Commissioner, you pretended to no knowledge of me; you
became blind to my being any but Lesperon the rebel, and you
sentenced me to death in his place, so that being thus definitely
removed I should be unable to carry out my undertaking, and my
lands should consequently pass into your possession. That, monsieur,
was at once the act of a thief and a murderer. Wait, monsieur;
restrain yourself until I shall have done. To-day again fortune
comes to my rescue. Again you see me slipping from your grasp, and
you are in despair. Then, in the eleventh hour, Mademoiselle de
Lavedan comes to you to plead for my life. By that act she gives
you the most ample proof that your wager is lost. What would a
gentleman, a man of honour, have done under these circumstances?
What did you do? You seized that last chance; you turned it to the
best account; you made this poor girl buy something from you; you
made her sell herself to you for nothing - pretending that your
nothing was a something of great value. What term shall we apply
to that? To say that you cheated again seems hardly adequate.”
“By God, Bardelys!”
“Wait!” I thundered, looking him straight between the eyes, so that
again he sank back cowed. Then resuming the calm with which hitherto
I had addressed him, “Your cupidity,” said I, “your greed for the
estates of Bardelys, and your jealousy and thirst to see me
impoverished and so ousted from my position at Court, to leave you
supreme in His Majesty’s favour, have put you to strange shifts for
a gentleman, Chatellerault. Yet, wait.”
And, dipping my pen in the ink-horn, I began to write. I was
conscious of his eyes upon me, and I could imagine his surmisings
and bewildered speculations as my pen scratched rapidly across the
paper. In a few moments it was done, and I tossed the pen aside.
I took up the sandbox.
“When a man cheats, Monsieur le Comte, and is detected, he is
invariably adjudged the loser of his stakes. On that count alone
everything that you have is now mine by rights.” Again I had to
quell an interruption. “But if we wave that point, and proceed
upon the supposition that you have dealt fairly and honourably with
me, why, then, monsieur, you have still sufficient evidence - the
word of Mademoiselle, herself, in fact - that I have won my wager.
And so, if we take this, the most lenient view of the case” - I
paused to sprinkle the sand over my writing - “your estates are
still lost to you, and pass to be my property.”
“Do they, by God?” he roared, unable longer to restrain himself,
and leaping to his feet. “You have done, have you not? You have
said all that you can call to mind? You have flung insults and
epithets at me enough to earn the cutting of a dozen throats. You
have dubbed me cheat and thief” - he choked in his passion - “until
you have had your fill - is it not so? Now, listen to me, Master
Bardelys, master spy, master buffoon, master masquerader! What
manner of proceeding was yours to go to Lavedan under a false name?
How call you that? Was that, perhaps, not cheating?”
“No, monsieur, it was not,” I answered quietly. “It was in the
terms of your challenge that I was free to go to Lavedan in what
guise I listed, employing what wiles I pleased. But let that be,”
I ended, and, creasing the paper, I poured the sand back into the
box, and dusted the document. “The point is hardly worth discussing
at this time of day. If not one way, why, then, in another, your
wager is lost.”
“Is it?” He set his arms akimbo and eyed me derisively, his
thick-set frame planted squarely before me. “You are satisfied
that it is so? Quite satisfied, eh?” He leered in my face. “Why,
then, Monsieur le Marquis, we will see whether a few inches of steel
will win it back for me.” And once more his hand flew to his hilt.
Rising, I flung the document I had accomplished upon the table.
“Glance first at that,” said I.
He stopped to look at me in inquiry, my manner sowing so great a
curiosity in him that his passion was all scattered before it. Then
he stepped up to the table and lifted the paper. As he read, his
hand shook, amazement dilated his eyes and furrowed his brow.
“What - what does it signify?” he gasped.
“It signifies that, although fully conscious of having won, I prefer
to acknowledge that I have lost. I make over to you thus my estates
of Bardelys, because, monsieur, I have come to realize that that
wager was an infamous one - one in which a gentleman should have had
no part - and the only atonement I can make to myself, my honour,
and the lady whom we insulted - is that.”
“I do not understand,” he complained.
“I apprehend your difficulty, Comte. The point is a nice one. But
understand at least that my Picardy estates are yours. Only,
monsieur, you will be well advised to make your will forthwith, for
you are not destined, yourself, to enjoy them.”
He looked at me, his glance charged with inquiry.
“His Majesty,” I continued, in answer to his glance, “is ordering
your arrest for betraying the trust he had reposed in you and for
perverting the ends of justice to do your own private murdering.”
“Mon Dieu!” he cried, falling of a sudden unto a most pitiful
affright. “The King knows?”
“Knows?” I laughed. “In the excitement of these other matters you
have forgotten to ask how I come to be at liberty. I have been to
the King, monsieur, and I have told him what has taken place here
at Toulouse, and how I was to have gone to the block tomorrow!”
“Scelerat!” he cried. “You have ruined me!” Rage and grief were
blent in his accents. He stood before me, livid of face and with
hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.
“Did you expect me to keep such a matter silent? Even had I been
so inclined it had not been easy, for His Majesty had questions to
ask me. From what the King said, monsieur, you may count upon
mounting the scaffold in my stead. So be advised, and make your
will without delay, if you would have your heirs enjoy my Picardy
chateau.”
I have seen terror and anger distort men’s countenances, but never
have I seen aught to compare with the disorder of Chatellerault at
that moment. He stamped and raved and fumed. He poured forth a
thousand ordures of speech in his frenzy; he heaped insults upon me
and imprecations upon the King, whose lapdog he pronounced me. His
short, stout frame was quivering with passion and fear, his broad
face distorted by his hideous grimaces of rage. And then, while
yet his ravings were in full flow, the door opened, and in stepped
the airy Chevalier de Saint-Eustache.
He stood still, amazed, beneath the lintel - marvelling to see all
this anger, and abashed at beholding me. His sudden appearance
reminded me that I had last seen him at Grenade in the Count’s
company, on the day of my arrest. The surprise it had occasioned
me now returned upon seeing him so obviously and intimately seeking
Chatellerault.
The Count turned on him in his anger.
“Well, popinjay?” he roared. “What do you want with me?”
“Monsieur le Comte!” cried the other, in blent indignation and
reproach.
“You will perceive that you are come inopportunely,” I put in.
“Monsieur de Chatellerault is not quite himself.”
But my speech again drew his attention to my presence; and the wonder
grew in his eyes at finding me there, for to him I was still Lesperon
the rebel, and he marvelled naturally that I should be at large.
Then in the corridor there was a sound of steps and voices, and as I
turned I beheld in the doorway, behind Saint-Eustache, the faces of
Castelroux, Mironsac, and my old acquaintance, the babbling,
irresponsible buffoon, La Fosse. From Mironsac he had heard of my
presence in Toulouse, and, piloted by Castelroux, they were both
come to seek me out. I’ll swear it was not thus they had looked to
find me.
They pushed their way into the room, impelling Saint-Eustache
forward, and there were greetings exchanged and felicitations, whilst
Chatellerault, curbing his disorder, drew the Chevalier into a corner
of the room, and stood there listening to him.
At length I heard the Count exclaim—
“Do as you please, Chevalier. If you have interests of your own to
serve, serve them. As for myself - I am past being interested.”
“But why, monsieur?” the chevalier inquired.
“Why?” echoed Chatellerault, his ferocity welling up again. Then,
swinging round, he came straight at me, as a bull makes a charge.
“Monsieur de Bardelys!” he blazed.
“Bardelys!” gasped Saint-Eustache in the background.
“What now?” I inquired coldly, turning from my friends.
“All that you said may be
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