Chapter VIII: Part 8

Daylight had finally revived hope in his heart, and he slept part of the day.

XXVII

The marquis took advantage of this respite to recur to the subject of dress.

He went up with Mario and Adamas to the vacant room on the fourth floor, that is to say, immediately over the _Salle des Verdures_.

That unfinished apartment was strewn with innumerable chests and cupboards; and Mario, as soon as the padlocks were removed, and the lids raised and doors thrown open, fancied that he was in fairyland. There was a bewildering mass of magnificent stuffs, dazzling gold lace, ribbons, laces, feathers and jewels, rich hangings, cordovan leather, furniture in parts, all new and ready to be put together, reliquaries heavy with precious stones, beautiful paintings on glass which needed only to be assembled, lovely enamelled mosaics, arranged in piles and numbered, whole pieces of fine linen, enormous guipure curtains, with gold and silver stripes; in a word, a hoard of plunder, which smelt of the partisan warrior a league away, and which the marquis considered to have been legally acquired at the sword's point.

This receptacle of rich spoil was known in the household as the store-room, the garret. It was supposed to contain spare articles of furniture, together with what was broken or discarded.

Adamas alone was aware of the contents of those wonderful chests, and under his breath he called that room the _treasure_ or the _abbey_. There were no fashionable gewgaws, as in the marquis's apartments, but artistic objects and fabrics of great value and great beauty, some of great antiquity, and the more valuable on that account: stuffs manufactured by processes no longer known, weapons of all sizes and of all nations, many excellent pictures, valuable manuscripts, etc.

All this rarely saw the light, the marquis fearing lest he might arouse the cupidity of some of his neighbors, and producing his treasures only one at a time and in the guise of a recent purchase.

However, it was very rarely the case that the pillaging heroes of those days were compelled to make restitution; but it might well happen that some powerful individual, acting on his own account, but claiming to act in the name of the Church or the State, would calmly appropriate an article in dispute.

It was thus that Catherine de Médicis, to reward Jean de Hangest--called Capitaine d'Yvoi--for treacherously surrendering Bourges to her, seized the superb chalice, decorated with precious stones, which he had taken from the treasure-chest of Sainte-Chapelle in that city, and had put aside as his share of the plunder.

From all these marvels the marquis selected what was required for Mario's outfit, calling upon him to make known his taste with regard to the colors.

One would but imperfectly understand the manners of that period, who should assume that it was necessary, as it is to-day, to go to Paris to learn the fashions and to find skilled workmen in the art of dress and decoration. It was not until the reign of Louis XIV. that the civilization of luxury and fashion made of Paris the school of good taste and the arbiter of refinement. Richelieu began this work of centralization by destroying the power of the nobles. Before his time, the princes held court in the great provincial centres, and the artisans of the smallest places supplied the needs of the nobility with traditional skill. A rich châtelain had artisans among his vassals; and, even in bourgeois houses, furniture, clothes, boots and shoes were made at home.

Bois-Doré therefore had only to select the materials and order the articles that Adamas was to have made under his own eyes.

In the matter of dress Adamas was beyond praise. He could safely be trusted, and, at need, he could put his own hand to the work with success.

The ivory columns and cornices destined for the child's bed were found after some searching.

"I knew that there was something here like that," said the marquis smiling. "They are of beautiful workmanship; they came from a state canopy taken from the chapel of the Abbey of Fontgombaud, of which I was abbot, that is to say, lord by right of conquest, for a whole fortnight. When I took possession of it, I remember saying to myself: 'If the new Abbot of Fontgombaud could become a father soon, this would be a fitting canopy for his first-born son!'--But, alas! my friend, I did not inherit all the monkish virtues, and in order to have a son, I was obliged to find one by a miracle long after I came to maturity. Never mind! he will be none the less dear, and he will none the less sleep his angel's sleep under the canopy of the Virgin of Fontgombaud."

The marquis was interrupted in his reminiscences by the arrival of La Flèche, who asked to speak with him.

The chests and the door of the treasury were carefully locked, and the vagabond was received in the barnyard.

It was beautiful weather, and Jovelin was of opinion that a trickster of that sort should not be admitted to the house.

What he had foreseen actually happened. La Flèche brought with him the seal, which he claimed to have found in little Pilar's possession; he also assumed to reveal the mystery of Mario's birth and of the murder of Florimond by Monsieur de Villareal.

The marquis allowed him to say all that he had to say, then dismissed him, with a crown, for the trouble he had taken to bring back the seal; but he pretended not to understand the story he had told, to place no faith in it, and to be much shocked that he should dare to accuse Monsieur de Villareal, against whom he had no other proof than the Moorish woman's excitement and her exclamation when she thought that she recognized him on the moor of Champillé.

Herein the marquis, advised by Lucilio, acted wisely. If he had seemed to credit the accusation, La Flèche would have been quite capable of giving the Spaniard warning, in order to have two strings to his bow.

La Flèche, bitterly disappointed by his fiasco, sheepishly withdrew, and was walking along the outer wall of Galatée's garden, when he heard a soft voice calling his name.

It was Mario, whom the marquis had not chosen to admit to the interview, desiring that all relations between his heir and gypsydom should be severed irrevocably. But as he had not explained his wishes in that respect, the child did not know that he was acting in opposition to them when he glided through the labyrinth and watched for the gypsy to pass, through a little loophole looking toward the village.

"Who calls me?" he said, looking about him.

"I," said Mario. "I want you to tell me about Pilar."

"What will you give for that?"

"I can't give you anything. I haven't anything!"

"Idiot! steal something!"

"No, never! Will you answer me?"

"In a minute; answer me first. What do you do in this château?"

"Play music."

"What else?--Aha! you don't choose to speak? All right. Adieu!"

"And you won't tell me where Pilar is?"

"She is dead," replied the gypsy brutally, and he walked away whistling.

Mario tried in vain to recall him. When he could no longer hear him, he began to run about and play in the labyrinth, trying to convince himself that La Flèche had made sport of him. But the idea of his little companion's death caused a terrible shock to his vivid imagination.

"She used to say that La Flèche beat her," he thought; "but I didn't believe her. He never beat her before us. But perhaps she didn't lie; perhaps he beat her until he killed her."

And, as he reflected thus, the child shed a few tears. Pilar was not a very amiable creature; but there was something of the Bois-Doré in dear Mario; he was particularly sensitive to pity, and the Abbé Anjorrant had brought him up to abhor violence and cruelty. But he concealed his tears, fearing to pain his uncle, whom he already loved passionately.

D'Alvimar left his room at last.

The rest that he had taken, a lovely sunset and the joyous song of the thrushes dispelled the black presentiments by which he had been besieged for several days.

Having dressed and perfumed himself, he sought the marquis and thanked him for the interest he had shown and the care that had been taken of him. Bois-Doré could not make up his mind to accuse even inwardly a man, still so young, of a bearing so distinguished, and a countenance whose habitual melancholy seemed to him genuinely touching; but when they were seated at the supper table, Lucilio being there, as usual, to furnish music, Bois-Doré remembered their agreement, and collected what he called his siege-guns, to make a violent assault upon his guest's conscience.

He had seen too much fighting and had had too many perilous adventures not to be able to arrange his bearing and his features, without having, like Adamas, to make preparatory studies before a mirror. Although his life had long been so placid that he had not been obliged to depart from his natural mildness of manner, he was too much the man of his time not to be able to make his glance say, twenty times a day if need be:

"Vive le roi! Vive la Ligue!"

The sweet notes of the bagpipe relieved him from the necessity of carrying on a commonplace conversation which would have seemed to him very tedious.

The music which helped to produce the tranquillity that he needed, now caused a feverish excitement in D'Alvimar.

He really hated Lucilio. He knew his baptismal name, which the marquis had let fall in his presence, and Monsieur Poulain, who was thoroughly posted in contemporary heresy, had divined from that circumstance that _Jovelin_ was a free translation of Giovellino. The fact of his mutilation confirmed him in that suspicion, and he was already deliberating upon the means of making perfectly sure, and of stirring up some new persecution against him.

D'Alvimar would readily have assisted him, if he had not been forced to keep out of sight for some time, and the poor philosopher was the more antipathetic to him because he could take no steps against him at present. His beautiful music, by which he had been charmed at the first hearing, seemed to him now intolerable bravado, and the ill-humor which took possession of him did not dispose him to undergo patiently the examination that was being prepared for him.

After the supper the marquis proposed a game of chess in the boudoir adjoining his salon.

"I agree," the Spaniard replied, "on condition that we have no music there. I cannot play with that to distract my attention."

"Nor I, most certainly," said the marquis.--"Put your sweet voice away in its box, good Master Jovelin, and come to watch our peaceful battle. I know that you enjoy a well-fought game."

They went into the boudoir, and found there a magnificent chess-board of crystal with gold mountings, comfortable chairs, and many lighted candles.

D'Alvimar had not as yet seen that small room, one of the most sumptuous in the _grand'maison_; he cast a distraught glance at the trinkets with which it was filled, then sat down, and the game began.

XXVIII

The marquis, exceedingly calm and courteous, seemed to give his whole attention to his game. Lucilio, standing behind him, was able to watch the slightest movement, the slightest change of expression on the Spaniard's face, which was in a bright light.

D'Alvimar played promptly and with resolution. Bois-Doré, more moderate in his play, made long pauses, during which the Spaniard gazed with some impatience at the objects that surrounded him. His eyes naturally rested more than once on a sort of what-not that stood against the wall at his left, quite near him. Gradually the object that was most prominent among the _bibelots_ with which the little piece of furniture was covered, attracted and monopolized his attention, and Lucilio noticed that he smiled satirically and angrily every time that his eyes fell upon that object.

It was a naked, gleaming dagger, lying on a black velvet cushion with gold fringe, and protected by a glass globe.

"What is it?" said the marquis at last. "You seem distraught. You are in check, messire, and I do not wish to beat you so easily. Something disturbs or annoys you. Are we too near that piece of furniture, would you like to move the table away from it?"

"No," replied D'Alvimar, "I am very comfortable; but I confess that there is something in that pretty stand which distracts my mind. Will you answer a single question, if it be not impertinent?"

"You could ask no question which would be, messire. Speak, I beg you."

"Very well, I ask you, my dear marquis, how it happens that you have here reposing triumphantly on a cushion, under glass, your humble servant's travelling weapon?"

"Oh! you are mistaken, my guest! I did not obtain that knife from you."

"I know that I did not give it to you; but I know that it was given to you by the one to whom I gave it, of which fact, perhaps, you may not be ignorant. I understand that any gift from a fair hand is precious to you; but it seems to me very hard upon those less fortunate to exhibit thus the trophy of your victory before the eyes of a discarded rival."

"Your words are enigmas to me."

"What! surely my sight is not failing me! Will you allow me to raise the glass and obtain a closer view?"

"Look and touch, messire; after which I will tell you, if you desire, why this relic of love and sorrow is kept here among other souvenirs of the past."

D'Alvimar took up the knife, examined it closely, handled it, and said, suddenly replacing it on the cushion:

"I was mistaken, and I beg your pardon. It is not the weapon that I thought."

Lucilio, who was watching him attentively, fancied that he saw his mobile, delicate nostrils dilate with fear or surprise. But that slight facial contraction was noticeable in him on the slightest pretext, sometimes even without any pretext at all.

He resumed his game.

But Bois-Doré stopped him.

"Excuse me," he said; "but as you recognize that object it is my duty to question you; you may be able perhaps to throw some light upon a mysterious occurrence by which my life has been disturbed and made wretched for many years. Be kind enough to tell me, Monsieur de Villareal, if you know the device and initials engraved on this blade. Do you wish to look at it again?"

"It is useless, monsieur le marquis, I do not recognize the weapon; it never belonged to me."

"Do you feel any repugnance to making sure of that fact?"

"Repugnance? Why that question, messire?"

"I will explain. You may, perhaps, have recognized the weapon as having belonged to someone whose compatriot you blush to be, but whose name you would tell me none the less if I should appeal to your sense of honor."

"If you treat this as a serious matter," replied D'Alvimar, "although it is my turn not to understand you, I will examine it again."

He took up the dagger, scrutinized it very calmly, and said:

"This is of Spanish workmanship, a weapon in very common use among us. There is no man of noble birth--I may say no free man--who does not carry a similar one in his belt or his sleeve. The device is one of the most common and most widely used: _I serve God_, or _I serve my master_, or _I serve honor_. We find something of that sort on the majority of our arms, whether rapiers, pistols or cutlasses."

"Very good; but these two letters S. A., which seem to be a private cipher?"

"You can find them on my own weapons, as well as this device; they are the private marks of the Salamanca factory."

Bois-Doré felt his suspicions fade away in face of such a natural explanation.

Lucilio's suspicions, on the contrary, increased in force. He considered that D'Alvimar was altogether too eager to anticipate the explanation he might be asked to give concerning his own motto and his own initials, which they were supposed not to know.

He touched the marquis's knee while pretending to pat Fleurial, and thus warned him not to abandon his investigation.

D'Alvimar seemed desirous to forward it himself, for he asked with an air of wounded pride the reason of this interrogatory.

"You might also ask me," Bois-Doré replied, "for what reason an object which is horrible for me to look upon lies there before my eyes every hour. Let me tell you, monsieur, that that accursed weapon is the one that killed my brother, and I have made it a point of not putting it out of sight solely that I might constantly be reminded that I have to discover his murderer and avenge his death."

D'Alvimar's face expressed deep emotion, but it might well be sympathetic and magnanimous emotion.

"You do well to call it a relic of sorrow," he said, pushing the dagger away. "Was it your brother to whom you referred yesterday morning, when you consulted those gypsies as to the time and manner of some person's death?"

"Yes; I asked for something which I knew perfectly well, wishing to test their knowledge, and, upon my word, that little demon of a girl answered me so accurately that I had good reason to be astonished. Did you not notice, messire, that she gave me figures which fixed the date of the occurrence as the tenth day of May in the year 1610?"

"I did not follow the calculation. Was that actually the day when your brother was killed?"

"That was the day. I see that you are much surprised!"

"Surprised, I? Why should I be? I fancy that soothsayers reveal only so much of the past as they know. But tell me, I beg you, how that sad affair came to pass. Have you never known the authors of the crime?"

"You are right in saying the authors, for there were two of them--two men whom I would like right well to find. But you cannot help me, I see, since that accusing weapon bears no private mark."

"So there were no witnesses of the deed?"

"Pardon me, there were."

"Who could give you no information as to the perpetrators?"

"They could describe them, but not tell their names. If this painful story interests you, I can tell it to you in all its details."

"Most certainly I am interested in your sorrows, and I am pleased to listen."

"Very well," said the marquis, pushing the chessboard away and drawing his chair nearer to the table, "I will tell you all that I learned from an investigation communicated to me by the curé of Urdoz."

"Urdoz? Where is Urdoz? I do not remember."

"It is a place that you must have passed through, if you have ever been to Pau."

"No, I came into France by way of Toulouse."

"In that case you don't know it. I will describe it to you directly. First let me tell you that my brother, being a simple gentleman and only moderately rich, but of an honorable name, noble in feature, of an amiable disposition, and a fine fellow if ever there was one, while sojourning in some Spanish city, which I cannot name, won the heart of a lady or maiden of quality, whom he married secretly against the will of her family."

"Her name was----?"

"I do not know. All this was an affair of the heart, as to which I never received his full confidence, and which I could not afterwards unravel. I found out simply that he eloped with his wife, and that they made their way into France by way of the Urdoz road, disguised as poor people. The lady was near her time. They were travelling in a small vehicle of shabby aspect, a sort of peddler's cart, drawn by a single horse, purchased on the road, whose gait hardly kept time with their impatience. However, they reached without hindrance the last Spanish settlement, and, after passing the night in a wretched tavern, my brother was imprudent enough to try to exchange Spanish for French gold, and to ask a soi-disant nobleman who was in the house, attended by an old servant, and who offered to assist him, if he could procure French money for a thousand pistoles.

"The individual in question was able to offer him only a trifling sum, and when my brother mounted his wagon again with his cloaked and veiled companion, the people at the inn noticed that the two strangers, as they bade him farewell, gazed earnestly at the two boxes which he himself loaded, one containing his money, the other his wife's jewels, and that they started off at once on his track, although they had previously announced their purpose to go in the opposite direction. The villains were described in such a way as to leave no manner of doubt as to their identity when a description of my brother's murderers was furnished."

"Ah!" said D'Alvimar, "so you had a description of them?"

"Exact. One had a handsome face and was so young that he seemed little more than a boy. He was of medium height but well proportioned. His hand was as white and slender as a woman's, he had an incipient beard, very black, silky hair, a noble bearing, a rich travelling costume, but little else, for his valise weighed nothing; a good Andalusian horse, and yonder infernal knife, which he used for eating and killing. The other----"

"No matter, messire. Your brother----?"

"I must describe the other miscreant, as he was described to me. He was a man in middle life, who had something of the monk and something of the hired bravo in his appearance. A long nose overhanging a gray moustache, a shifty eye, a callous hand, and of a taciturn humor; a genuine Spanish brute----"

"I beg pardon, messire?"

"A brute of the sort that we find in all countries where men are taught that they can save their souls from hell by reciting paternosters. The brigands followed my poor brother as two fierce, cowardly wolves follow the victim they dare not attack, and pounced upon him--What is it, messire? Are you too warm in this small room?"

"Perhaps so, messire," replied D'Alvimar excitedly. "I feel difficulty in breathing the air of a house where the name of Spaniard seems to be held in such contempt as by yourself."

"Not at all, monsieur. Let me reassure you on that point. I do not hold your nation responsible for the degradation of a few. There are infamous villains everywhere. If I speak bitterly of those who robbed me of a brother, you must pardon me."

D'Alvimar apologized in his turn for his sensitiveness, and begged the marquis to continue his narrative.

"It was about a league from the hamlet of Urdoz that my brother and his wife found themselves entirely alone on a rocky road skirting a very deep precipice. The road was winding and the ascent so steep, that the horse balked for a moment, and my brother, fearing that he would back into the ravine, hastily alighted and lifted his wife out of the wagon. It was very warm, so he pointed out a grove of firs ahead of them where she could find shelter from the sun, and she walked thither slowly while he gave the horse an opportunity to breathe."

"Did the lady see her husband killed?"

"No! she had just turned a little shoulder of the mountain when the disaster occurred. It was God's will that the child she bore should be saved; for, if the assassins had seen her they would not have spared her."

"In that case who can say how your brother died?"

"Another woman whom chance had brought thither, who was hidden behind a rock, and who had no time to call for aid, the horrible crime was committed so quickly. My brother was trying to urge the horse forward when the assassins overtook him. The youngest dismounted, saying with hypocritical courtesy:

"'Why, your horse is foundered, my poor man! Don't you need help?'

"The old cutthroat who followed him also dismounted, and they both approached my brother as if they really intended to put their shoulders to the wheel; he had no suspicion of them, and at the same instant the witness whom heaven had placed there saw him totter and fall at full length between the wheels, without a cry to indicate that he had been struck. That dagger had been buried in his heart up to the hilt, by a hand too well skilled in its use."

"Then you do not know which of the two, whether the master or the servant, dealt the blow? You say that the master was very young; it is hardly conceivable that it was he."

"It matters little, messire. I deem them equally vile; for the gentleman behaved exactly as the servant did. He jumped into the wagon without taking time to remove the knife, he was in such frantic haste to steal the two boxes. He tossed them to his companion, who put them under his cloak, and they both fled, retracing their steps, spurred on, not by remorse and shame, human sentiments which they were incapable of feeling, but by fear of the scourge and the rack, which are the just reward and the end of such villainy!"

"You lie, monsieur!" cried D'Alvimar, springing to his feet, beside himself and deathly pale with rage. "The scourge and the rack--You lie in your throat! and you shall give me satisfaction!"

He fell back upon his chair, suffocated, strangled by the confession that wrath had extorted from him at last.

XXIX

The marquis was thunderstruck by this outbreak, for which he was entirely unprepared, the culprit had up to that moment put so bold a face on the matter, and made his frequent interruptions with so natural an air.

He recovered first, as may be imagined, and grasping D'Alvimar's convulsively twitching wrist with his long, sinewy hand:

"Miserable wretch!" he exclaimed with crushing contempt, "you should thank Heaven for making you my guest; for, were it not for the promise I have given to protect you, a promise which protects you from myself, I would beat out your brains against the wall of this room!"

Lucilio, fearing a struggle, had seized the knife which lay on the table. D'Alvimar saw his movement and was afraid. He threw off the marquis's hands and grasped the hilt of his sword.

"Let your mind be at rest, fear nothing in this house," said Bois-Doré, calmly. "_We_ are not assassins!"

"Nor am I, monsieur," rejoined D'Alvimar, seemingly overcome by this dignified procedure, "and since you do not propose to disregard the laws of honor, I will attempt to justify myself."

"Justify yourself? Nonsense! you are convicted and doomed by your contradiction of me, and that is why I disdain to notice it!"

"Keep your disdain for those who endure insult in silence. If I had done so, you would not have suspected me! I repelled the insult! I repel it again!"

"Ah! you propose to deny the act now, do you?"

"No! I killed your brother--or somebody else. I do not know the name of the man I killed--or allowed to be killed! But what do you know of the reasons that impelled me to that murder? How do you know that I was not wreaking a just vengeance? How do you know that that woman--whose name you do not know--was not my sister, and that while avenging the honor of my family, I did not take back the gold and jewels stolen by a seducer?"

"Hold your peace, monsieur! do not insult my brother's memory."

"You have yourself admitted that he was not rich; where did he obtain a thousand pistoles with which to elope with a woman?"

Bois-Doré was shaken. His brother, because of the difference in their political opinions, would never consent to accept from him the smallest portion of a fortune which he rightly considered as derived from the despoiling of his own party. He was obliged to fall back on the allegation that his brother's wife was entitled to carry off what belonged to her. But D'Alvimar retorted that the family was entitled to consider that it belonged to it. Therefore he vehemently denied the charge of robbery.

"You are a traitor none the less," said the marquis, "for having stabbed a gentleman like a coward instead of demanding satisfaction from him."

"Charge it to your brother's disguise," retorted D'Alvimar, warmly. "Say to yourself that, seeing him in the garb of a serf, I may well have thought that I had the right to bid my servant kill him like a serf."

"Why did you not have him detained at that tavern, where you must have recognized your sister, instead of following and taking him in a trap?"

"Presumably," replied D'Alvimar, still proud and animated, "because I did not choose to create a scandal, and compromise my sister before the populace."

"And why, instead of hurrying after her to take her back to her family, did you leave her on that lonely road, where she died in agony an hour later, no one having come in search of her meanwhile?"

"How could I run after her, when I did not know that she was there, so near to me? Your witness could not hear all the questions I put to the seducer, I had no need to shout them at the top of my voice. How do you know that he did not tell me that my sister had remained at Urdoz, and that what the witness took for flight on my part was not simply eagerness to return to her?"

"And not finding her at Urdoz, you never learned of her deplorable death? You did not even try to find the place where she was buried?"

"How do you know, monsieur, that I am not more familiar than you with all the details of this painful story? Would you, in my place, being unable to remedy the evil that was done, have made an outcry in a country where no one could possibly divine your sister's name or the dishonor of your family?"

The marquis, crushed by the reasonableness of these explanations, made no reply.

He was so deeply absorbed in his reflections that he hardly heard the announcement of a visitor. Guillaume D'Ars was ushered into the adjoining salon.

Lucilio detected a gleam of joy in D'Alvimar's eyes, caused it may be by the pleasure of meeting a friend, or by the hope of finding a means of escape from a perilous situation.

D'Alvimar rushed from the boudoir, and the heavy folding door was closed for an instant between him and his host.

Lucilio, seeing that the marquis was buried in painful thoughts, touched him as if to question him.

"Ah! my friend!" cried Bois-Doré, "to think that I cannot make up my mind what to do, and that I am in all likelihood the dupe of the most infernal knave that ever lived! I have taken the wrong course. I have exposed the good Mooress, and perhaps my child as well, to the vengeance and the snares of a most dangerous foe; I have been clumsy; I have furnished him with his grounds of defence by admitting that I did not know the lady's name, and now, whether the murderer's excuse is false or true, I no longer have the right to take his life. O God, Lord God! is it possible that honest men are doomed to be gulled by knaves, and that, in all sorts of war, the wicked are the most adroit and the strongest!"

As he spoke, the marquis, wroth with himself, struck the table a violent blow with his fist; then he rose to go to receive Guillaume D'Ars, whose jovial and untroubled voice he could hear in the next room.

But the mute hastily seized his arm with an inarticulate exclamation. He had in his hand an object to which he called the other's attention with a murmur of surprise and delight.

It was the ring, which the marquis had placed on his little finger, the mysterious ring which he had been unable to open, and which, as a result of the blow he had dealt the table, had separated into two hoops, one within the other. There was nothing in the way of secret mechanism. The parts fitted very closely, and a violent blow was necessary to separate them--that was all.

To read the names engraved on the two circles was a matter of an instant. They were the names of Florimond and his wife. Instantly they realized that they held the key to the situation.

The marquis rapidly gave Lucilio his orders, and went, with a light heart and smiling face, to press Guillaume's hand.

D'Alvimar and D'Ars had had barely time to exchange a few words concerning the former's agreeable surprise and the latter's pleasant journey. Guillaume, however, had noticed some alteration in his friend's face, which the Spaniard attributed to his headache of the preceding day.

The marquis, after exchanging greetings with his young kinsman, was about to order supper for him.

"No, thanks!" said Guillaume; "I took a mouthful on the road, while my horses were resting, for I must start again at once. You see I am returning sooner than I intended. I was advised yesterday at Saint-Armand, whither I had gone with a party of the young men of the province, as an honorary escort to Monseigneur de Condé, that my steward was very ill in my house. Fearing that he was going to die, the honest fellow sent a messenger to me to urge me to return as soon as possible, so that he might inform me as to the condition of my most important affairs, of which I confess that I know nothing at all. I have come here, however, in the first place, to ascertain if it will be convenient for Monsieur D'Alvimar to accompany me to-night, or if he is so attached to your gardens of Astrée, that he desires to pass another night amid their fascinations."

"No!" replied D'Alvimar hastily; "I have imposed upon monsieur le marquis's civility long enough. I am not well, and I might become ill-humored. I prefer to go with you now, and I will go to order my horses to be prepared as quickly as possible."

"That is unnecessary," said the marquis; "I will ring; I shall have the pleasure of seeing you again soon, Monsieur de Villareal."

"I shall come to-morrow to learn your wishes, monsieur le marquis, and to give you whatever satisfaction you desire--touching the game we were playing just now."

"What game were you playing?" said Guillaume.

"A very scientific game of chess," replied the marquis.

Adamas answered the bell.

"Monsieur de Villareal's horses and luggage," said Bois-Doré.

While the order was being executed, the marquis, with a tranquillity which led D'Alvimar to hope that everything was adjusted between them, told Guillaume how they had employed their time at Briantes and La Motte-Seuilly during his absence. Then he questioned him about the splendid festivities at Bourges.

The young man asked nothing better than to talk about them: he described the excitement of the target-shooting, or rather, as they said in those days, "of the honorable sport of arquebus-shooting."

The targets had been set up in the Fichaux meadow's, and a great tent decorated with tapestry and green boughs for the ladies, young and old. The contestants were stationed on a stand, a hundred and fifty paces from the tent. Six hundred and fifty-three arquebusiers entered the competition. Triboudet of Sancerre alone had won the prize: but he w as obliged to divide it with Boiron of Bourges, because he had taken a false name in order to be nearer the head of the list; whereat the people of Sancerre had made a great outcry, for they were bent upon proving that their marksmen were the best in the kingdom, and they considered the division of the prize very unfair. The unjust decision had evidently been made to avoid displeasing the people of Bourges.

"After all," said Guillaume, telling his story with the fire of youth, "Triboudet either won or lost. If he won, he is entitled to all the honor and all the profit of the victory. I agree that he is blameworthy for having taken a false name. Very good; for that lapse let them punish him by a fine or a few days in prison, but let him none the less be declared the winner of the prize; for the honor due to skill is a sacred thing, and although we were not at all fond of the old Sancerre sorcerers, there was not a gentleman who did not protest against the trick played on Triboudet. But what can you expect? the large places always consume the small ones, and the fat pettifoggers of Bourges unceremoniously take precedence over all the bourgeoisie of the province. They would gladly take precedence over the nobility, if they were allowed! I am only surprised that Issoudun concurred. Argenton abstained from voting, saying that the prize was awarded beforehand and that no one except the champions of Bourges had any chance before the judges of Bourges."

"And do you not believe that the prince had a hand in this injustice?" asked the marquis.

"I would not dare swear that he did not! He is paying assiduous court to the people of his good city; witness the fact that he has incurred considerable expense, although he is not at all fond of spending his money for the entertainment of other people. He is supporting at this moment two troupes of players, one French, the other Italian, who perform in the tennis-courts, beautifully decorated for the purpose."

"What!" said Bois-Doré, "did you see Monsieur de Belleroze's _tragic actors_? They are as tiresome as forty days of rain!"

"No, no; this troupe is called Sieur de Lambour's _French Comedians_, and there are some very clever people in it. But time flies, and here comes the faithful Adamas to say that the horses are ready, does he not? So let us be off, my dear Villareal, and as you have promised the marquis to come to-morrow to thank him, I invite myself to come with you."

"I rely upon seeing you," rejoined Bois-Doré.

"And you can also rely upon my furnishing you with proofs of all that I have alleged," said D'Alvimar, bowing very low.

Bois-Doré replied only with a bow.

Guillaume, who was in great haste to start, did not notice that the marquis, despite his apparent courtesy, refrained from offering his hand to the Spaniard, who dared not ask leave to touch his.

XXX

No sooner were they in the saddle than the marquis, turning to Adamas, said with much excitement:

"Quickly, my gorget, my helmet, my weapons, my horse and two men!"

"Everything is ready, monsieur," Adamas replied. "Master Jovelin advised us to prepare everything, saying that if Monsieur d'Ars went away again to-night, you would escort him. But for what purpose?"

"You shall know when I return," said the marquis, going up to his chamber to don his armor. "Was care taken to saddle the horses in the small stable, so that only the men who are to accompany me will know of our departure?"

"Yes, monsieur, I myself looked to it."

"Are you going very far?" cried Mario, who had just supped with Mercedes and was returning to his bedroom.

"No, my son, I am not going far. I shall return in two short hours. You must sleep quietly. Come quickly and kiss me!"

"Oh! how handsome you are!" said Mario, artlessly. "Are you going to La Motte-Seuilly again?"

"No, no, I am going to dance at a ball," the marquis replied with a smile.

"Take me, so that I can see you dance," said the child.

"I cannot; but be patient, my little cupid, for after to-morrow I will not take a step without you."

When the old nobleman had donned his little cap of yellow leather striped with silver, with an inner lining of iron, and adorned with long plumes drooping over his shoulder; when he was arrayed in his short military cloak, his long sword, and his gorget of shining steel buckled beneath his lace ruff, Adamas could vow, without flattery, that he had an air of grandeur, especially as the excitement of the evening had caused his paint to disappear, so that he wore almost his natural face, by no means that of a popinjay.

"Now you are ready, monsieur," said Adamas. "But am I not to go with you?"

"No, my friend; you will close all the doors of my pavilion and pass the evening with my son. If he falls asleep, you will make up a camp-bed for him with cushions. I desire to find him here when I return; and now, hold a light for me, I want to talk with Master Jovelin in the salon."

He kissed Mario several times with deep emotion, and went down to the lower floor.

"What have you determined upon and where are you going?" Lucilio's expressive eyes inquired.

"I am going to Ars to finish the investigation. And after that, eh? After that, if there is occasion to do so, I shall concert measures with Guillaume to prevent the traitor's escape, and return and advise with you as to our next move. _Au revoir_ for a time, my dear friend."

Lucilio sighed as he looked after the marquis. He seemed to him to be intent upon some more serious project than he had admitted in his programme.

While the marquis, without haste, was making his preparations for departure, Guillaume and D'Alvimar, the latter attended by Sancho, the other by his escort of four men-at-arms, were riding slowly toward the château of Ars, by the lower road; that is to say, the road that leaves the plateau of Le Chaumois on the right and passes quite near La Châtre.

As the moon had not risen, and Guillaume's horses were very tired, they could not travel very quickly.

D'Alvimar took advantage of this circumstance to ride a little in advance with his squire, as if involuntarily, because their horses were fresher. Then, slackening his pace, he said:

"Sancho, you did not leave anything belonging to me at Briantes?"

"I never forget anything, Antonio."

"Yes, you do; you forget daggers and leave them in the bodies of the people you kill."

"That reproach again?"

"I have my reasons for making it to-day. My horse no longer goes lame, but do you think he is in condition to take a long journey to-night?"

"Yes. What is there new?"

"Listen carefully and try to understand quickly. The _peddler_ was a gentleman, the Marquis de Bois-Doré's brother. The knife that you used is in that old man's possession. He has sworn vengeance, and he accuses us on the testimony of some witness, I know not whom."

"The Moorish woman."

"Why the Moorish woman?"

"Because those accursed creatures always bring misfortune."

"If you have no other reason----"

"I have others; I will tell you what they are."

"Yes, later. We must consider now how we are to leave this neighborhood without any further explanation with that old idiot. I told him enough to induce him to be patient. He expects me to-morrow."

"For a duel?"

"No; he is too old!"

"But he is very cunning; are you anxious to rot in some dungeon in his château? No matter, I will go there with you, if you go."

"I shall not go. A certain prophecy makes me very prudent. When we are within a short distance of that little town of which you see the lights yonder, leave the escort, disappear, and return a quarter of an hour later and say that someone in the town handed you a letter for me. I will go to the château of Ars before reading it, but, as soon as I have read it, I will say to Monsieur d'Ars that I must go away at once. Do you understand?"

"I understand."

"Let us wait for Monsieur d'Ars then, and display no haste."

When honest Bois-Doré, armed to the teeth and firmly seated on the stately Rosidor, had passed the confines of the village of Briantes, he discovered Adamas, mounted on a little hackney of placid disposition, ambling at his side.

"What! is that you, master rebel?" he said, in a tone which did not succeed in being angry; "did I not forbid you to follow me and order you to keep watch over my heir?"

"Your heir is well guarded, monsieur; Master Jovelin gave me his word not to leave him, and, moreover, I do not see that he incurs any risk in your château, now that the enemy has left it and we are charging upon him."

"I know that we are the ones who are in danger now, Adamas, and that is why I did not want you here, for you are old and broken, and besides, you never were a great warrior."

"It is true, monsieur, that I am not overfond of receiving blows, but I like to deal them when I can. I am no longer a young man; but if I am not quick of foot, I have a sharp eye, and I propose to see that you don't fall into any ambush. That is why I have brought two more men with me, who will overtake us in three minutes. Besides, I should have gone mad to have to wait for you, knowing nothing and doing nothing. By the way, my dear master, where are we going and what are we going to do?"

"You will soon see, my friend, you will soon see! But let us make haste. We have no time to lose if we would overtake them half way to Ars."

They urged their horses to a gallop, and in less than a quarter of an hour came in sight of Guillaume and his escort, who were still riding very slowly.

The moon was rising and shone on the weapons of the horsemen.

They had reached a spot then and now called La Rochaille, a spot not far from numerous houses to-day, but in those days completely deserted and barren.

The road was on a slope, with a small ravine on one side, and on the other a hill-top strewn with great gray boulders, with an occasional stunted chestnut tree growing among them. The place bore a bad name; the peasants have always had superstitious ideas concerning the boulders, perhaps because they vaguely attribute their presence to the efforts of the demons of ancient Gaul, perhaps because they believe that they fell from heaven to destroy the worship of those wicked demons.

The marquis ordered his little troop to halt before it had been discovered by Guillaume and his men, and rode forward alone at full speed, intending to bar his young kinsman's passage.

When they heard the noise of the galloping hoofs, Guillaume and D'Alvimar turned, the former perfectly calm, supposing that it was some frightened traveller, the latter sorely perturbed, and still dwelling on the prediction which the events of that evening seemed to confirm and to hasten to its fulfilment.

When Bois-Doré passed on the left of the escort, Guillaume did not recognize him in his military costume; but D'Alvimar recognized him by the throbbing of his agitated heart; and old Sancho, warned by a similar sensation, rode nearer to him.

Their anxiety was dispelled when Bois-Doré rode on without speaking to them. They concluded then that it was not he. But when he drew rein and wheeled about with his horse's head almost touching theirs, they glanced at each other and instinctively drew close together.

"What does this mean, monsieur?" said Guillaume, taking one of his pistols from the holster at his saddlebow. "Who are you and what do you want?"

But before Bois-Doré had time to reply, a pistol was discharged between them, and the ball grazed the marquis's cap, as he, seeing Sancho's movement to murder him, hastily stooped, crying:

"It is I, Guillaume!"

"Ten thousand devils!" cried Guillaume in dismay; "who fired on the marquis? In heaven's name, marquis, are you hit?"

"Not a scratch," replied Bois-Doré; "but I must say that you have some vile hounds in your party, to fire on a single man before they know whether he is friend or foe!"

"You are right, and I will do justice on them instantly," rejoined the wrathful young man. "Miserable knaves, which of you fired on the best man in the realm?"

"Not I! nor I! nor I! nor I!" cried Monsieur d'Ars's four servants with one voice.

"No, no!" said the marquis, "none of these honest fellows would have done such a thing. I saw the man who fired the shot, and there he is!"

As he spoke, Bois-Doré, with a dexterity, agility and force worthy of his best days, struck Sancho across the face with his whip, and, as the assassin put his hands to his eyes, he seized him by the collar, and, dragging him from his saddle, threw him to the ground and lashed his horse, which galloped away and disappeared in the direction of Briantes.

At the same instant the marquis's four men, disregarding his orders to await a summons from him, rode up at full speed, with Adamas, in whom the report of the pistol and the sight of the flying horse had aroused the keenest anxiety.

"Ah! here you are," said the marquis. "Very good; pick up yonder unhorsed cavalier; he belongs to me, as I have the _droit d'épave_[22] on this road. He is my prisoner. Bind him; there is reason to distrust his hands."

[Footnote 22: That is to say, the right of the lord of the manor to claim all property found on his domain, to which nobody can prove title.]

XXXI

While the colossal charioteer, Aristandre, bound Sancho's hands--he was still dazed by his fall--and stripped him of his arms, D'Alvimar emerged at last from the stupor caused by this swiftly enacted scene.

For an instant he had thought of abandoning his ill-omened confederate to Bois-Doré's wrath; but when he saw him treated so roughly because he had once more risked his life for him, a remnant of pride and shame compelled him to remonstrate.

"I can understand, messire," he said, "that you are angered by the stupidity of that old man, who was asleep in his saddle, and being awakened by a sudden shock, thought that he was attacked by a band of robbers. He certainly deserves punishment, but not to be treated as a prisoner within your seignioral jurisdiction; for he belongs to me, and it is my prerogative and mine alone to punish him for the insult he offered you."

"Do you call that an insult, Monsieur de Villareal?" retorted the marquis in a tone of contempt. "But it is not with you that I have to deal, but with my friend and kinsman Guillaume d'Ars."

"I will permit no explanation," rejoined D'Alvimar with feigned passion, "until my servant is restored to me, and if you desire a duel----"

"Listen to me, Guillaume," said Bois-Doré.

"No, no one shall listen to you," shouted D'Alvimar, trying to release his horse, which Guillaume, having taken his stand between him and Bois-Doré, was holding in order to prevent a conflict. "Monsieur d'Ars, I am your friend and your guest, you invited me to visit you and made me welcome; you promised me loyal assistance on every occasion; you will not allow me to be outraged, even by a member of your family. Under such circumstances, I am the one to whom you owe support and fair play, even against your own brother."

"I am aware of it," replied Guillaume, "and it shall be so. But calm yourself first of all, and allow Monsieur de Bois-Doré to speak. I know him well enough to be sure of his courtesy to you and his generous treatment of your servant. Make due allowance for a moment of anger; it is the first time I have ever seen him so wrathful, and, although he has good reason, I am certain that I can pacify him. Come, come, be quiet, my dear fellow! You are in a passion too; but you are the younger, and my cousin is the insulted party. I will confess that, if he had received the slightest scratch, I would have killed your servant on the spot, though I had to give you satisfaction afterward."

"But what the devil, monsieur!" cried D'Alvimar, still hoping to avoid the impending explanation by a quarrel, and, if necessary, by a scuffle, "wherein was my servant at fault, I pray to know? What sort of a caprice was it that induced monsieur le marquis to ride by us without making himself known, and then to block our road, at the risk of being taken for a lunatic? Did not you yourself seize your pistol and shout _qui vive_?"