The Grey Cloak, Harold MacGrath [smart books to read TXT] 📗

knocked about; that was all. If the weather permits, the Saint Laurent will sail at one o'clock. Till then, Messieurs," and bowing gravely the vicomte retired.

Both Victor and the Chevalier stared, at the door through which the vicomte vanished. Victor frowned; the Chevalier smiled.

"Curse his insolence!" cried the poet, slapping his sword.

"Lad, what an evil mind you have!" said the Chevalier in surprise.

"There is something below all this. Did he pay you those pistoles he lost to you in December?"

"To the last coin."

"Have you played with him since?"

"Yes, and won. Last night he won back the amount he lost to me; and with these fifty pistoles our accounts are square. What have you against the vicomte? I have always found him a man. And of all those who called themselves my friends, has not he alone stood forth?"

"There is some motive," still persisted the poet.

"Time will discover it."

"Oh, the devil, Paul! he loves Madame de Brissac; and my gorge rises at the sight of him."

"What! is all Paris in love with Madame de Brissac? You have explained your antipathy. Every man has a right to love."

"I know it."

"I wonder how it happens that I have never seen this daughter of the Montbazons?"

"You have your own affair."

"Past tense, my lad, past tense. Now, I wish to be alone. I have some thinking to do which requires complete isolation. Go to bed and sleep, and do not worry about me. Come at seven; I shall be awake." The Chevalier stood and held forth his arms. They embraced. Once alone the outcast blew out the candle, folded his arms on the table, and hid his face in them. After that it was very still in the private assembly, save for the occasional moaning in the chimney.


CHAPTER X

THE DILIGENCE FROM ROUEN AND THE MASQUERADING LADIES

The diligence from Rouen rolled and careened along the road to Rochelle. Eddies of snow, wind-formed, whirled hither and thither, or danced around the vehicle like spirits possessed of infinite mischief. Here and there a sickly tree stretched forth its barren arms blackly against the almost endless reaches of white. Sometimes the horses struggled through drifts which nearly reached their bellies; again, they staggered through hidden marsh pools. The postilion, wrapped in a blanket, cursed deeply and with ardor. He swung his whip not so much to urge the horses as to keep the blood moving in his body. Devil take women who forced him to follow the king's highway in such weather! Ten miles back they had passed a most promising inn. Stop? Not they! Rochelle, Rochelle, and nothing but Rochelle!

"How lonely!" A woman had pushed aside the curtain and was peering into the night. There was no light save that which came from the pallor of the storm, dim and misty. "It has stopped snowing. But how strange the air smells!"

"It is the sea . . . We are nearing the city. It is abominably cold."

"The sea, the sea!" The voice was rich and young, but heavy with weariness. "And we are nearing Rochelle? Good! My confidence begins to return. You must hide me well, Anne."

"Mazarin shall never find you. You will remain in the city till I take leave of earthly affairs."

"A convent, Anne? Oh, if you will. But why Canada? You are mad to think of it. You are but eighteen. You have not even known what love is yet."

"Have you?"

There was a laugh. It was light-hearted. It was a sign that the sadness and weariness which weighed upon the voice were ephemeral.

"That is no answer."

"Anne, have I had occasion to fall in love with any man when I know man so well? You make me laugh! Not one of them is worthy a sigh. To make fools of them; what a pastime!"

"Take care that one does not make a fool of you, Gabrielle."

"Ah, he would be worth loving!"

"But what are you going to do with the property?"

"Mazarin has already posted the seals upon it."

"Confiscated?"

"About to be. That is why I fled to Rouen. My mother warned me that the cardinal had found certain documents which proved that a conspiracy was forming at the hôtel. Monsieur's name was the only one he could find. His Eminence thought that by making a prisoner of me he might force me to disclose the names of those most intimate with monsieur. He is searching France for me, Anne; and you know how well he searches when he sets about it. Will he find me? I think not. His arm can not reach very far into Spain. How lucky it was that I should meet you in Rouen! I was wondering where in the world I should go. And I shall live peacefully in that little red château of yours. Oh! if you knew what it is to be free! The odious life I have lived! He used to bring his actress into the dining-hall. Pah! the paint was so thick on her face that she might have been a negress for all you could tell what her color was. And he left her a house near the forest park and seven thousand livres beside. Free!" She drew in deep breaths of briny air.

"Gabrielle, you are a mystery to me. Four years out of convent, and not a lover; I mean one upon whom you might bestow love. And that handsome Vicomte d'Halluys?"

"Pouf! I would not throw him yesterday's rose."

"And Monsieur de Saumaise?"

"Well, yes; he is a gallant fellow. And I fear that I have brought trouble into his household. But love him? As we love our brothers. The pulse never bounds, the color never comes and goes, the tongue is never motionless nor the voice silenced in the presence of a brother. My love for Victor is friendship without envy, distrust, or self-interest. He came upon my sadness and shadow as a rainbow comes on the heels of a storm. But love him with the heart's love, the love which a woman gives to one man and only once?"

"Poor Victor!" said Anne.

"Oh, do not worry about Victor. He is a poet. One of their prerogatives is to fall in love every third moon. But the poor boy! Anne, I have endangered his head, and quite innocently, too. I knew not what was going on till too late."

"And you put your name to that paper!"

"What would you? Monsieur le Comte would have broken my wrist, and there are black and blue spots on my arm yet."

"Tell me about that grey cloak."

"There is nothing to tell, save that Victor did not wear it. And something told me from the beginning that he was innocent."

"And the Chevalier du Cévennes could not have worn it because he was in Fontainebleau that dreadful night."

"The Chevalier du Cévennes is living in Rochelle?" asked Gabrielle.

"Yes. Was it not gallant of him to accept punishment in Victor's stead?"

"What else could he do, being a gentleman?"

"Why does your voice grow cold at the mention of his name?" asked Anne.

"It is your imagination, dear. My philosophy has healed the wounded vanity. Point out the Chevalier to me, I should like to see the man who declined an alliance with the house of Montbazon."

"I thought that you possessed a miniature of him?"

"It contained only the face of a boy; I want to see the man. Besides, I do not exactly know what has become of the picture, which was badly painted."

"I will point him out. Was the Comte d'Hérouville among the conspirators?"

"Yes. How I hate that man!"

"Keep out of his path, Gabrielle. He would stop at nothing. There is madness in that man's veins."

"I do not fear him. Many a day will pass ere I see him again, or poor Victor, for that matter. I wonder where he has gone?"

"I would I could fathom that heart of yours."

"It is very light and free just now."

"Am I your confidante in all things?"

"I believe so."

"The year I lived with you at the hôtel taught me that you are like sand; a great many strange things going on below."

"What a compliment! But give up trying to fathom me, Anne. I love you better when you laugh. Must you be a nun, you who were once so gay?"

"I am weary."

"Of what? You ask me if I am your confidante in all things; Anne, are you mine?"

No answer.

"So. Well, I shall not question you." The speaker drew her companion closer and retucked the robes; and silence fell upon the two, silence broken only by the wind, the flapping leather curtains, and the muffled howling of the postilion.

It was twelve o'clock when the diligence drew up before the Corne d'Abondance. The host came out, holding a candle above his head and shading his eyes with his unengaged hand.

"Maître, I have brought you two guests," said the postilion, sliding off his horse and grunting with satisfaction.

"Gentlemen, I hope."

"Ladies!" and lowering his voice, the postilion added: "Ladies of high degree, I can tell you. One is the granddaughter of an admiral and the other can not be less than a duchess."

"Ladies? Oh, that is most unfortunate! The ladies' chamber is all upset, and every other room is engaged. They will be compelled to wait fully an hour."

"That will not inconvenience us, Monsieur," said a voice from the window of the diligence, "provided we may have something hot to drink; wines and hot water, with a dash of sugar and brandy. Come, my dear; and don't forget your mask."

"How disappointing that the hôtel was closed! Well, we can put up with the tavern till morning."

With some difficulty the two women alighted and entered the common assembly room, followed by the postilion who staggered under bulky portmanteaus. They approached the fire unconcernedly, ignoring the attention which their entrance aroused. The youngest gave a slight scream as the Iroquois rose abruptly and moved away from the chimney.

"Holy Virgin!" Anne cried, clutching Gabrielle's arm; "it is an Indian!" The vision of quiet in a Quebec convent grew vague.

"Hush! he would not be here if he were dangerous." Gabrielle turned her grey-masked face toward the fire and rested a hand on the broad mantel.

Victor, who had taken a table which sat in the shadow and who was trying by the aid of champagne to forget the tragic scene of the hour gone, came near to wasting a glass of that divine nectar of Nepenthe. He brushed his eyes and held a palm to his ear. "That voice!" he murmured. "It is not possible!"