Chapter XV

Though the approach of the Allies had not taken place within a week from the time when it was supposed to be near, and was at least premature, the two regiments of soldiers--that of La Reine and that of Les Gardes Françaises--as well as two squadrons of the Mousquetaires Noirs, remained in the city. To supply these with temporary barracks some of the large warehouses on the quays had been occupied by the French (who, however, spared all dwelling-houses), and amongst them were Sylvia's warehouses.

But the proximity of these troops had rendered the Weiss Haus no longer an agreeable place of residence to her, and, consequently, she had accepted the oft-repeated invitation of Mynheer Van Ryk and his wife to occupy their house with them. Neither the would-be host or hostess were, however, aware that she had come to the determination of quitting Liége at any moment that an opportunity should arise.

Nor, indeed, would it have been easy for Sylvia to explain her reason for thus desiring to be gone. If she had stated that it was her intention to escape out of the city, the sober-reasoning minds of the Van Ryks would simply have formed the opinion--which was, in absolute fact, the one she had herself long since arrived at--that she was far safer in Liége than she would have been in quitting it and traversing a land now swarming with contending armies.

Yet how would it be possible for her to, on the other hand, inform them that her reason for departing was not that of self-preservation at all, but, instead, of consulting the safety of a man who, in his desire to serve her, no matter what the origin of that desire was, had placed himself in terrible peril?

One person existed, however, who was well aware of all Sylvia's thoughts and intentions; who could understand the nobility of the girl's mind in deciding to quit a place in which she was in no likelihood of danger, simply with the view to the preservation of a man who might at any moment be exposed to the greatest of dangers. Consequently, this person, who was the Comtesse de Valorme, not only admired Sylvia for her intentions, but, since she herself was equally desirous of quitting Liége for her own purposes, had decided not only to render assistance to the undertaking, if it were possible to do so, but also to form one of the fugitives.

"Yet," said Sylvia to the Comtesse, as now they talked over the determination they had both come to, "fresh troubles arise at every step. 'Twas but this afternoon that M. de Belleville"--for so both ladies spoke of Bevill for precaution's sake, though the Comtesse had known for days that he was an Englishman--"confided to me that M. Francbois was once at school with him in Paris, and that he can by no chance have forgotten what his country is nor what his name is."

"Where should the trouble be?" the Comtesse asked. "Francbois is a crafty man, especially when craft may serve his purpose. But here it will serve none. Were he to denounce M de Belleville, it might, in truth, lead to the latter's downfall, but would not enrich him. Your friend would be tried as a spy and----"

"No, no! Say it not!" Sylvia exclaimed, with a shudder, understanding well enough what the next word must have been. "Say it not. Think how nobly, how chivalrously, he has found his way here."

"It would not enrich Francbois," the Comtesse repeated; "therefore he has no reason to betray him."

As she spoke these words, however, Sylvia knew very well that Francbois had not only one reason for betraying Bevill, but had very plainly told her that, if driven to desperation, he would undoubtedly betray him.

Living in the same house that Sylvia was now in, since he too was a connection of the Van Ryks, Francbois had countless opportunities of pressing his suit with her, and these opportunities he did not neglect. And then, after he had discovered that not only was this Englishman, whom he hated in his boyhood, here in Liége under a false name and nationality but, as he had also learnt, was in the habit of seeing Sylvia frequently, he had added to this discovery a very strong suspicion that he was an English admirer, if not lover, of hers. But that there was any intention on their part of quitting Liége he did not as yet imagine. Even so, however, he knew enough.

This Englishman, passing as a Frenchman, was, he admitted, handsome, gallant, and _debonnaire_--a man whom any woman might well love and be proud to love. And Sylvia, he remembered, had refused all the addresses that other men had attempted to pay her, including his own. She was ever cold, stately, and almost contemptuous of men's admiration. Yet now, now that this man had appeared, they had been much together, as his own observations had shown him--was it not possible that, in her frequent visits to England with her father, she had met this countryman of hers and learnt to love him, and that now he was here, not only to carry on his suit, but also to be with her in time of trouble? He knew too that, although Bevill had not yet entered Van Ryk's house, he had met Sylvia and the Comtesse on the quays and in the public gardens of the city. He did, indeed, know enough.

Therefore, this very day, he had spoken plainly to the girl--so plainly that, without indulging in any actual threats, he had made her see clearly how much there was to fear from him if she still refused to listen to his protestations, his desire to obtain her hand.

"What does he threaten, what hint at?" the Comtesse de Valorme asked as she listened to all that Sylvia told her; while, as she spoke, there was a strange look in her eyes.

"He threatens nothing, yet suggests much. He said but this morning that a word to M. de Violaine, who is in command of the Citadel----"

"Monsieur de Violaine! De Violaine! The Brigadier! Is he in command of the Citadel?"

"Why, yes. So Monsieur Francbois said. Do you know him?"

"Ay, very well, for many years. He is, like me, from the South. So! A hint to him. Well! What is this hint to convey? What harm is it to do?"

"To cause Mr. Brac--M. de Belleville to be arrested as an Englishman passing as a Frenchman, and doubtless, in the French mind, as a spy. To be tried as the latter--to be executed. Ah, no, no, no!" Sylvia concluded. "Not that--surely not that."

"Let him denounce your compatriot to M. de Violaine. Bid him do so when next he makes his vile suggestion. Only, to the defiance add this: ask him if he knows to what faith M. de Violaine belongs; ask him if he knows which man the Governor of the Citadel would deal harder with--an Englishman passing under the garb of a Frenchman, or a Frenchman who is----"

"What?"

"Ah! well, no matter for the present. Also, on second thoughts, do not ask him that. Instead, say: Madame de Valorme is a friend of M. de Belleville. He who injures him incurs her enmity. It will be enough. Now tell me, when do you expect to see your countryman again?"

"He is coming to-night to see us both. Alas! he may not come in open daylight, since he recognises that it is not well for him and Francbois to meet here face to face. But still he would fain see you, since you have promised to leave the city with us, if such a thing can be accomplished; also he comes to tell us how stands the chance of our succeeding."

"When does he come?"

"At nightfall. Knowing that Mynheer keeps his bed of a quinsy, and Madame stays with him, while Francbois has gone to see his friends at the Jesuits' College----"

"Ah! his friends at the Jesuits' College," the Comtesse repeated quietly.

"Monsieur de Belleville will come in by the garden gate. It may be, he says, that he will have discovered some chance, or, at least, have conceived some scheme whereby we shall be enabled to leave the city and make our way to the Allied Forces."

"Does he know my mission, the reason why I so ardently desire to see Lord Marlborough? Does he know why I so long to cast myself at that commander's feet--to beg him, to implore him on my knees to send the long-promised aid of England to those of our persecuted faith in Languedoc? To send it now--now--when France is attacked on all sides, when England and Holland are hemming her in with bands of steel in the north, when Prince Eugene is hurling his armies against her in Italy. For now is the time. Now! Now!"

"He knows," Sylvia said, touching her friend's hand gently. "I have told him."

"And does he know the rest? All. Have you told him that?"

"Oh, do not speak of it! Do not think of it! Ah, Radegonde!" addressing the other by her Christian name. "Do not speak of it, I entreat you."

"Not speak of it! Not think of it!" the Comtesse exclaimed, while as she did so her eyes were wet with tears, her cheeks being also as wet with them as leaves bedashed with rain, her whole frame being shaken with emotion. "As well bid me not dream of it night by night, nor let my existence be broken with unhappy memories. Not think of my father's death--my father, an old, grey-haired, feeble man!--in the dungeons of Nîmes--my father, who, had he not thus died, would have been broken on the wheel. Not think of that! Nor, perhaps of my husband----"

"Oh, Radegonde!"

"----sent to the galleys, beaten, driven to his doom even as he sat lashed to the oar. He! young, gallant, an honest, God-fearing man! And all for what? For what? Because they and thousands like them--all good and true subjects of this tyrant Louis, of this priest-ridden, woman-ridden Louis--did but wish to worship in their own way! Not think of it! My God! shall I ever cease to think of it?"

"Nay, do not weep, I implore you," Sylvia exclaimed. "The English will help; so, too, will all the Netherlands. All who think and worship as those in the South worship will help. And soon, soon, freedom, peace, must come. An end must come to all their sufferings."

"Does he know all this?" the Comtesse asked again when her passionate sorrow had somewhat spent itself. "Does he? If not, he must do so. Otherwise, what will he deem me--me, a Frenchwoman seeking to reach Marlborough, the most hated, the most feared foe of France!"

"He knows," Sylvia whispered, "and, knowing, understands all."

But by now the night was near at hand. Through the great, open, bow-shaped window of the solid Dutch house was wafted the scent of countless summer flowers, the perfume of the roses, now dashed with the evening dews, mingling with that of many others. Also the sounds that summer always brings more plainly to the ears were not wanting; the birds were twittering in the trees ere roosting for the short night; from the Abbey of St Paul the solemn sounds of the great bell boomed softly while the silver-toned carillons joined in unison. In other of the city gardens close by the voices of little children could be heard as they played their last rounds ere going to their beds, all unconscious, or, at least, unheeding, in their innocence that they were in a beleaguered city that, if war's worst horrors rolled that way, might ere long be the scene of awful carnage and see its old streets drenched with blood.

"It is the time, Sylvia," the Comtesse said, "that he should come. Is the gate unlocked?"

"Nay, not yet. I will go and see to it." And Sylvia, passing through the low window and down the steps to the garden, went along the neatly-kept path towards where the gate was.

Then, at the moment she was about to turn the key in the lock, and, next, to leave the solid wooden gate an inch ajar, so that, when Bevill came, he might push it open as he had done more than once since she had taken up her abode in this house, she heard a footstep outside in the lane--one that she had already learnt to know well enough!

"Ah," she exclaimed, turning the key quickly and drawing back the door, while she held out her hand to Bevill a moment afterwards. "Ah! you have come."

"To the moment," he replied, taking her outstretched hand and bending over it. "Did I not say that I would be here before the carillon had finished its chimes? And here am I! Yet--yet--almost I doubted if it were well for me to come to-night----"

"You doubted that!" Sylvia exclaimed, while stopping on their way towards the house to look up at him. "You doubted if you would come! Knowing how we were waiting here, how we were expecting your coming!"

"Ay, knowing what danger lurks near to you; to your desire and that of Madame de Valorme to quit Liége. Also, in a lesser degree, to me, though that matters not----"

"That matters not!" the girl exclaimed, repeating his words again, while in the dusk he could see her starry eyes fixed on his--eyes that resembled the stars themselves gleaming through the mists of summer nights--"that matters not!"

"Danger," he went on, unheeding, though not unobserving, "if Francbois knows my movements, if he knows that we meditate aught like flight from Liége. Have you not told me of his unwelcome desires and hopes--of his----?"

"Hark! Stop!" Sylvia whispered, interrupting him. "Listen. There is another footstep in the lane. It may be he--following, tracking you. And the gate is open! Heavens, he is there! The footfall stops. If his suspicions are aroused he will halt at nothing. He will denounce you!"

"Will he? We will see to that. Go back to the room, welcome him as he returns----"

"But you? You! The danger is yours, not mine."

"I am safe. I fear nothing."

"Ah, yes; when he has entered you can escape, can leave by the door. 'Tis so. Farewell until to-morrow. Farewell." And as swiftly as might be, the tall, graceful form of Sylvia sped back to the room while Bevill, crossing the grass plot, entered an arbour at the side of it.

"Ha!" he said to himself. "Escape! Leave by the door! She does not know me yet. Escape!" and as he spoke he drew still further within the darkness of the arbour.

Neither he nor Sylvia had been too soon in their action. Looking through the interstices of The vines which were trained to grow outside the open woodwork of the arbour, Bevill saw that Francbois was advancing up the path towards the steps leading to the open window of the old room.

As he did so, however, a reflection entered his mind which caused him to wonder if, after all, there was any connection between Francbois' doing so and his own visit. The man lived here with the Van Ryks. Might it not be, therefore, that this was his ordinary way of returning home? A moment later, however, Bevill recognised that this could not be so. The gate was always locked inside at night; as was the case with himself but just now, and on former visits during the week, it had to be unlocked from the inside for entrance to be obtained.

"Francbois comes this way to-night," he muttered, "because he knows, has seen, that I too did so!" and as he so thought he brought his sash a little more round and felt to discover if his sword ran smoothly in its sheath.

Meanwhile, the other had entered through the open window of the room, and had found Sylvia by herself, since the Comtesse must have quitted it for some purpose during the time the girl had gone to unlock the gate. He could see that she was by herself, for the lamp, which had been brought in some time earlier, was turned fully up.

"Mademoiselle is alone," Francbois said, though as he spoke his eyes were peering into the corners of the room that, in spite of the lamp, were in partial darkness; and also peering, as far as possible, behind the great Java screens. "Alone!"

"Apparently," Sylvia replied in the usual indifferent tones she adopted towards this man. "Madame de Valorme was here a moment since."

"Madame de Valorme!" Francbois echoed. "Madame de Valorme alone?"

"Whom else did you expect to see?"

"One whom I had good reason to suppose was here--your 'French' friend, Monsieur de Belleville."

"Your eyes prove to you that your supposition is wrong."

"Surely he has entered the house. I followed behind him on my way here."

"He has not entered the house. That you 'followed' him I do not doubt And, even had he entered the house, which as I tell you he has not done, you are not the master of it. Also, Mynheer Van Ryk, who is, has bade me welcome here any whom I desire to receive."

"It is incredible!" Francbois said. "Incredible. He passed down the lane before me. And--and--that door," pointing to one which led out of the room into a small library or study, "is not fast shut. And there is a light within."

"Monsieur Francbois," Sylvia said very quietly, and now she stood before him drawn to her full height, stately, contemptuous, as an affronted queen might stand, "if you choose to believe your own thoughts as against what I tell you, do so. Look in that room and see if my 'friend,' Monsieur de Belleville, is there. Only, from the moment you have done so, never dare to address one word to me again. There," extending her arm, "is the door. Enter the room and observe for yourself. Afterwards, you will doubtless search the house."

Vacillating, uncertain how to decide; sure, too, that his eyes had not deceived him, Francbois knew not what to do. If he looked in the room and did not find the Englishman, then his remotest chance with Sylvia was gone for ever; while, if he did find him there, his recollection of Bevill's earlier character told him that he would have to pay a heavy reckoning for his curiosity. Yet, how could the man be there? Would Sylvia have bidden him enter the room had that been so; would she have bidden him do that which must stamp her as utterly untruthful should the Englishman be found?

Still halting, not knowing what to do, he nevertheless took a step or two towards the library door, while observing that Sylvia's glance was fixed contemptuously on him; then, suddenly, he exclaimed, "I will know!" and advanced close to the door.

At that moment it opened wide and the Comtesse de Valorme appeared.

"You see," she said, speaking with withering scorn, "I am the only person the room contains. Now do as Sylvia suggested--search the house."

"Monsieur Francbois need scarcely trouble so far as that," a voice said from the foot of the garden steps, while all turned their eyes on Bevill standing below. "I have heard enough to know that he seeks an opportunity of speaking with me. Monsieur Francbois, I pray you to descend. I, too, must have some talk with you. Afterwards, we can arrange our affairs pleasantly, I do not doubt. You understand?" looking at Francbois.