CHAPTER VIII

Meanwhile, the sounds that Emérance had heard in that next set of rooms shut off by the wall from those which she occupied (while being served outside by the same corridor running at right angles from the main passage) had been made by Humphrey West in the room appropriated to him.

For the Duchesse de Castellucchio besides being a timorous woman in some things, although one bold enough in others, was by no means sure whether--even now that she was in a free Swiss Canton and in a city that claimed to be one of the most free and independent in Europe--some steps might not be taken to seize upon her and drag her back to France and into the clutches of her awe-inspiring husband. She knew that, but a league or so off was the frontier of France, while she did not know what the myrmidons of that powerful country might not be able to do against a woman of her position who had fled from a husband possessing the influence which her husband undoubtedly possessed, maniac though he might be. And, not knowing what she feared, she feared doubly. Italian-like, she was naturally superstitious, while, at the same time, her mind was filled with wild romances dealing with beautiful and unfortunate heroines shut up in gloomy castles, or beset in strange inns and out-of-the-way places at night and hidden in dungeons, or thrown into torrents and rivers not unlike the rapid swirling river now rushing beneath, or almost beneath, her windows.

Therefore, out of this large suite of rooms to which the landlord had led her and her party, or some members of it--and it is certain it was the largest and most expensive one now unoccupied!--she had selected for herself the most interior of these rooms. For Jacquette she had chosen the one next to hers on the right, with, right of that, a room for La Truaumont, and, on the left of her room, the one at the other end for Humphrey. Thus, when the outer main door was securely fastened and her door fastened on the left side and Jacquette's on the right--yet both easily to be opened if the assistance of either of her attendant cavaliers was required--she felt secure. A cry would bring Humphrey from the left or the captain from the right. Little harm could come to her.

On this night of their arrival all sought their beds, or rather their rooms, as soon as they had refreshed themselves after a journey that had been a long one, they having set out earlier from Remiremont than the Marquise de Villiers-Bordéville had done from Luxeuil and, as has been seen, had arrived later. All sought their rooms, that is to say except La Truaumont, who, on bidding the Duchess and Jacquette "good-night," had descended to the great general room with a view to seeing that not only were Fleur de Mai and Boisfleury well disposed of, but also that the soldiers of the Duc de Lorraine had been properly housed.

That this was so he had little cause to doubt on reaching the general room. The former worthy was busily engaged in making a hearty supper well washed down with wine, his comrade was keeping him good company, and the soldiers were eating and drinking with a Teutonic attention to what was set before them which plainly showed that they had no intention of going to bed hungry.

"O-hé! noble captain and leader of all the band," cried Fleur de Mai, as he espied La Truaumont coming down the room; "here you find us doing justice to the fare of these worthy Switzers. Me confound! if t'were not composed so much of veal--for 'tis veal in the rago?t, veal for the grosse-pièce, veal in the potage, and, I do think, veal it will be in the next dish--there would be nought to complain of. Then, too, the wine never grew on any slope of sunny France. Yet it, also, will pass. 'Tis red, 'tis strong and----"

"It will make you drowsy. That is enough for you. Besides, it costs you nothing. You should be content. Now listen. We rest here for some days----"

"A month if need be!" cried Fleur de Mai, plunging his knife into a fillet of veal. "By which time the calves may have turned into beef and the wine have become more mellow."

"Think not so much of thy gourmandising. Meanwhile, attend. Beware how you comport yourself here. This city is given up to good works. Erasmus reformed it ere he died. If you look at a pretty girl here----"

"They mostly look at me," muttered the swashbuckler, his mouth full.

"--or speak to her, or whisper in a Switzer's wife's ear or sing one of thy ribald ditties, you are as like to be imprisoned, or burnt, as not. Therefore, when you walk abroad to-morrow be careful. For if you get laid by the heels we shall not stop to haul you up again, but shall go on. At least the Duchess will," La Truaumont added, altering his statement somewhat. "And, even though you may eventually die in prison, it had best not be a Swiss one for you."

"One prison," said Boisfleury who had not hitherto spoken, he being engaged on a huge veal pasty, "is as good as another to die in."

"Ay," replied Fleur de Mai. "To die in--yes. But to live in till you die--nenni! For some prisons there are I know of--or should say, have heard of--where you may feed fat and drink too----"

"Peace," said La Truaumont. "And so, good-night. Disturb not the house with your ribaldries when you have drunk still deeper, nor with any brawlings with those Lorrainers over there. Keep your swords in your sheaths. There is no use for them here. Good-night," he said again, "we have ridden far to-day and I am tired. Here is for bed."

Yet, had there been any to watch his movements--which there were not, since the faquins and the chambrières had long since sought their own beds, while the landlord and his spouse sat below in their parlour discussing the good fortune that had this day fallen on their house in the shape of two such arrivals as the Duchesse and the Marquise--the watchers might have thought he took a strange way to reach the room allotted to him. For that room was at the farther end of the corridor which ran to the right of the stairs, while he, stopping at the immediate head of the stairs, knocked at the door directly in front of him, after casting a glance above and below and all around. Very gently he knocked, tapping as lightly as was possible with the knuckle of his forefinger, yet the summons was enough to bring a response.

A step and the swish of a long robe were heard upon the carpet within--the carpet which had so revolted the taste of Emérance some hour or two before--then the bolt was shot back gently--drawn back softly, not pushed or dragged--and the woman peered out through the door that she opened a few inches.

"So," she said, "it is you. Is there any one about?"

"No living soul."

"Come in, then," and now she opened the salon door wide enough to give admission to him and closed it again, and, softly as before, pushed the bolt back into its place.

When La Truaumont had kissed the hand she held out to him and she had motioned him to a chair in front of the now almost extinct fire, she said: "What of him? How did you leave him? And is he still in Paris?"

Imitating the woman's own low tones, which it was natural enough she should assume when receiving a man in her salon in an inn at nearly midnight, La Truaumont said, "He is well. I left him so. And he is still in Paris. Lou--Emérance," he continued, with a laugh, though a low one, "are you happy now?"

"Yes. Almost happy."

"You should be. But you may yet pay a dear price for your happiness."

"Bah!"

"You do not fear what failure, treachery, betrayal, may bring to him and you and me and all of us? You do not fear what may be ahead of us?"

"I fear nothing on this earth nor in the world beyond, so that he trusts me. I longed to serve him since first I saw him ride at the head of his guards before the King."

"And now you are happy?" La Truaumont asked again.

"Now I am almost happy."

"I rejoice to know it." After which, changing the subject, he said: "Affinius is on his way here. But this you know. He may arrive at any moment. Then also, at any moment, the time for action will begin."

"I deemed as much. Well! what are the plans?"

"I go to Normandy. You to Paris."

"Ah! 'Tis there I would be. Ah! the happy day. But--you! To Normandy? What then of----" with a scornful, bitter intonation, "Madame la Duchesse!"

"She sets out for Geneva and thence across the St. Bernard, accompanied by Mademoiselle d'Angelis and Humphrey West, there to meet her sister. With her go Fleur de Mai and Boisfleury. Brutes, without doubt! yet savage, ferocious ones. Good swordsmen both and reckless. I am not wanted here and I am wanted there" nodding his head in the direction where he supposed--or perhaps, knew--Normandy might happen to be.

"What is Affinius to tell us?"

"Everything he dared not write in his letter to De Beaurepaire. The remaining money that Spain puts at our disposal, the hour when the Dutch fleet will attack, which is again to be made known by an arranged piece of false news on the subject of the King's creation of two more new marshals. The time when the Norman gentlemen are to rise and also be ready to admit the Dutch and Spanish to Quillebeuf."

"And he? De Beaurepaire?"

"Sangdieu! he is then to declare himself. Our old Norman aristocracy will accept a man of high lineage as their leader. Louise----"

"Ha! What? Hsh."

"I should say, Emérance. The man you admire may rise even higher yet than the proud position of a De Beaurepaire. He may become, if all goes well, the head of a Republic greater than that of Holland, which follows Spain in her attempts to help us because she must; a Republic a hundred times greater than this little thing wherein we now are. Or he may become a----"

"What?"--the eyes of Emérance sparkling with excitement.

"He may become a king."

"Never. He, a king! A member of that great family which has for its proud motto, 'Après le Roi--moi!' Never!"

"They said it, they took that motto," La Truaumont whispered, while smiling cynically, "when there was no chance, no likelihood of their ever reaching so dizzy a height as that of king. Let us see what this member of their house will say if that glittering bauble, a crown, is held out for him to snatch at."

"A king," Emérance said again. "A king!" she whispered, "of France. Oh! it is impossible."

Nevertheless, as she so thought and spoke her heart was beating tumultuously within her, her brain was on fire at the very imagining of such a thing as La Truaumont had conjured up. To see him--him, her love, her master!--a king.

"But, ah!" she murmured to herself, as she still sat in front of the now almost extinct logs on the hearth, while La Truaumont watched her out of the corners of his eyes, "it is a dream. A dream that he should be a king or ever any more than, if all goes well, the ruler of a province, our province. A dream, too, that may have a rude awakening. What was it he said to me ere I left Paris? That, if he failed, the cross roads outside some town, a gallows outside the Bastille, would more likely be his portion. Ah! well, so be it. Throne or gibbet, whichever you reach, Louis de Beaurepaire, I shall not be far away. If the throne, then I shall be near you though ever in the dark background; if the gibbet, by your side. That may be best."

"Come," she cried, springing to her feet as she heard the cathedral clock strike twelve; as, too, she saw the last spark of the last log go out. "See the fire is dead and it is late. Leave me now and go quietly. To-morrow we will talk more on this."

"To-morrow Van den Enden should be here."

"That is well. Now go," while, opening the door and looking out to see that all was quiet in passages and corridors, she sent La Truaumont away and softly pushed the bolt back into its place.