CHAPTER X

During the whole of that day, Humphrey, in spite of an extreme desire to see something of the woman who inhabited that salon on the left of his bedroom, found no opportunity of setting eyes on her. He was obliged, as part of the duty he had voluntarily undertaken out of his love for Jacquette, to pass half a dozen times in the course of the morning, and equally as often in the course of the afternoon, between his room and the salon of the Duchesse de Castellucchio, and on each occasion he hoped to catch some sight of Emérance in the corridor. But this was denied him.

Something, however, he was enabled to discover.

Outside the room beyond the salon which this, to him, unknown woman occupied, there stood one of those valises, or travelling trunks, so common in the days not only of Le Roi Soleil and his predecessors but also of his successors: a squat, square thing made of black pigskin and contrived so that it would fit into the boot or rumble of a carriage, or, possibly, if the journey was being made on horseback, could easily be strapped on the horse's back in front of the saddle. On this there, also, stood a second box of exactly the same size; the pair of them--outside the casket or small coffre-fort that all women of means carried with them in the carriage, and that generally contained their valuables and the few implements of their toilet with which they burdened themselves--providing as much luggage as any one under the rank of a grand seigneur or grande dame, accompanied by many servants, was ever in the habit of transporting. The boxes in question were quite new and fresh, while the polish on the black pigskin gleamed so brightly that no doubt could be left in the mind of those who observed them that they had but recently come from the trunk-maker's. And, gleaming brightly on their fronts, beneath their padlocks, were some words and letters painted roughly in white; the words and letters, "Mme. la M. de Villiers-Bordéville."

"So," said Humphrey, musing to himself after he had walked softly along the passage to where the boxes stood, "she is Madame la Marquise de Villiers-Bordéville. The fair conspirator who plots and intrigues with De Beaurepaire, or with his followers unknown to him; the woman who will inveigle him into a conspiracy against, Grand Dieu! the King and his throne. The woman who knows that old man who leered and winked at her as he descended from the French coach. Madame la Marquise de Villiers-Bordéville! Well! well! It may hap that the Duchess, or Jacquette, knows something of the lady."

As thus the young man mused there came along the passage from the head of the stairs, which latter she had evidently just ascended, a woman attired as a maidservant and having in her hands some freshly cleaned breast lace. A good-looking, though saucy-looking, wench, who, after quickly observing that Humphrey had been reading the name on the boxes, allowed her eyes to roam with undisguised admiration over his handsome face, stalwart figure and well-made travelling costume. Then, with a coquettish glance, she was about to pass on to the farther room when, suddenly, she turned and, following Humphrey who by now was at the head of the stairs, she said:--

"Monsieur, Monsieur," while, as Humphrey stopped to look at her, she continued, "Monsieur is of the following of Madame la Duchesse who is in the great apartment. Is it not so?"

"It is so, pretty one," said Humphrey, who considered that, since this was undoubtedly the maid of the Marquise, a few pleasant words would probably not be wasted. "What then, mademoiselle?"

"There is a brigand of your band," the girl said, smiling with a pleased expression at being called "pretty one" and with a flattered expression at being addressed as "mademoiselle," "oh! a desperado, a vagabond. A man with a great moustache and fierce eyes and a huge sword, who is impertinent. Oh! of the most impertinent."

"'Tis Fleur de Mai," said Humphrey. "Of a surety it is. Well! is he insolent enough to presume to admire mademoiselle?"

"He is. Ah! Un luron. And--Fleur de Mai! Dieu des dieux! What a name for such as that. Monsieur, I seek not his admiration. Nor any man's."

"Yet," said Humphrey, gazing into the girl's eyes, which gaze she told herself afterwards gave her a frisson, "who could help but admire. I blame not Fleur de Mai. Ma foi, I, too----"

"Oh! monsieur----"

"--should be tempted to admire if we met often. Yet alas! that cannot be. We set out for Italy in a day or so, while Madame la Marquise goes, I do fear me, another way. Is it not so, ma mie?" venturing on the ma mie as a further aid towards the information which he was cunningly feeling his way towards obtaining, if possible, by flattery no matter how gross.

"Ah, monsieur!" the frivolous girl exclaimed, her head whirling at the soft words and lightsome manner of this handsome gentleman. "I know not. I am new to the service of madame, having been engaged by her but a few days ago at épinal."

"New to her!" exclaimed Humphrey. "And engaged at épinal. Is that where she dwells?"

"Nay. Nay. She came from Nancy. And----"

"From Nancy," Humphrey said to himself inwardly. "From Nancy. Heavens! Where the Duchess and all of us were but a few days ago. What is all this? What does it mean? What does it all point to? This strange intriguer here in this very house, and known to La Truaumont yet unknown to the Duchess. I must learn more of this."

But, aloud, he repeated, "New to her, eh, pretty one?"

"Ay," the girl replied, her tongue now thoroughly unloosed. "Ay! new as those valises you were just now regarding; as this," flicking with her forefinger the lace she held: "as her robes; new even as her shoes. Pardie! one might almost say she had cast an old skin at épinal and put on a new one in its place. The things she left behind there, that she gave to the maidservant, would scarce have furnished the wallet of a wandering singer; a Jew would not have given a handful of sols for all."

"This is strange matter," thought Humphrey to himself, "and needs seeing into. There is more here than should be." After which he said, "And have you come to care for this new mistress of yours, this woman so new in all things? Is the service soft and easy, and does she treat you well?"

"Oh! as for that," the girl said, "there is no cause for plaint. She is sweet and good and ever soft and gentle, asking but little by way of service. Also, I do think she dreams on nought but some lover she has. Listen, beau monsieur. Upon her breast she bears day and night--I have seen it there when I have gone to wake her from her sleeping!--a miniature of one handsome as a god--handsome as a man may be. In the day, too, I have seen her take it from her bodice again and again, and kiss it and whisper foolish words to it, calling it 'Louis, my soul, my adoration. Louis, my lord and king.' Ah! why do you start, monsieur? Why?"

"Louis," Humphrey muttered, forgetting himself. "Louis. Her lord and king. So! so!"

"What does monsieur imagine?"

"There is one such I know of," Humphrey muttered thoughtfully, and, since he forgot himself, aloud, "One to whom that--that--those words--that name might well apply and----"

"And so there is," the girl said, looking into his eyes, while thinking how soft and clear they were. "I, too, know of one who is a Louis--handsome, all the world says--a lord--a king, what if she loves him?"

"Him! Whom?"

"Whom! Ah! What if she loves the one Louis. The one king. The king. It might well be so. She is fair enough to possess even a king's love."

"'Tis true," Humphrey said. "'Tis very true. In faith it is. It--it might be so. Perhaps you have guessed aright. Who shall say it is not he?"

Yet, while he threw dust in the eyes of the gossiping girl, he knew very well that it was not the portrait of Louis the king which lay upon that woman's breast by day and night; not the portrait of Louis the superb ruler of France--of, indeed, almost all Europe--but, instead, that other Louis whom, only last night, he had heard spoken of as the one who should, if all went well, undo the other.

"Sweetheart," he said, "my duty calls me now. I must away to the Duchess. Later, we will meet again. And, be not proud," putting his hand into his pocket and drawing forth a gold piece, "take this for spending. We will meet again."

The woman took the coin with a pretence of demur--though, it may be, that the demur was not all a pretence. For, in truth, she would, perhaps, have desired that in place of a piece of gold the donor should have said some more fine words to her, or looked softly once more into her eyes, or, instead of contenting himself with saying, "We will meet again," should have named a time and place for such a meeting.

As for Humphrey, whose heart and soul had only room for the image of one woman, Jacquette, he turned on his heel after a pleasant nod to his gossip and a promise to speak to Fleur de Mai and bid him be of better demeanour, and went along the corridor to where the Duchess was.

He found her in her salon, occupied much as he had always known her to be when he had ever been permitted entrance to her apartments in her husband's house in Paris. Her guitar lay on her knee, the blue silken ribbons thereof dangling down to her little feet encased in gold broidered slippers; by her side was a vellum-bound copy of Massuccio's novellinos: on a table in front of her a flask of Coindrieux.

Near her, directing a buxom maid to pack into a small valise, or havresack, all the clothes which the Duchess would carry with her across the Alps, was Jacquette.

"Ah, ha!" the Duchess exclaimed. "So 'tis you, monsieur. And did you sleep well and soft, amico?"

"Yes, I slept well enough, madame. On one side of my room was one guardian angel--yourself. On the other--perhaps another one. Another fair lady."

"Another!"

"There is a lady, madame," Jacquette said, "who has the apartment of three rooms next to Humphrey's. Her salon is next to his sleeping room, her bedroom next to that, and her maid's beyond that."

"Who is she?"

"She is, madame, a French lady who has travelled from Nancy. The Marquise de Villiers-Bordéville. She----"

"Ah!" with a slight start.

"You know her, madame?" Humphrey asked.

"I know of her," while, turning her head away, she muttered a little Italian oath that, especially from between her lips, sounded more like some soft, whispered love-word; after which she said to herself, "That woman here. That spy in the pay of Spain, as Louis termed her; that spy of his own, as I do believe. The woman who is steeped to the lips in the scheme which will lead to his undoing," and she ground her little white teeth together as thus she pondered. Even, however, as she recognised that Humphrey's eyes were on her and that he was waiting to hear more of what she knew of this woman, there came to her one crumb of satisfaction. The satisfaction that, since this intriguing woman, this fine Normande, as De Beaurepaire had called Emérance, was here in Basle she was at least far apart from him.

Hortense had never truly loved De Beaurepaire more than he had loved her, but to her as well as to him there had come the knowledge that each might be of great service to the other. The Prince wanted money; she wanted some one who would help her to evade her husband and to escape out of France. And, later, if the Pope would grant that which she so earnestly desired, namely, freedom from the maniac to whom she was wedded, why then, perhaps, De Beaurepaire would do well enough for a husband if she ever cared to take another; as well if not better than any other man. His birth was illustrious, his name was one of the proudest in France, his position under the King that of the highest, and--which to an Italian woman was much--he was superbly handsome. He was a man to whom any woman might be proud to be allied, but--as for love--no! He had loved and been loved too often; he had been sought after too much and--though the same thing had been her own lot--she would not follow in the footsteps, she was too proud to follow in the footsteps, of those others. But, since she was a woman and that a beautiful one as well as a woman of high rank, and since this man's name and hers were coupled together now and must always be so, she was resolved that, at least, this other woman should not, if possible, take her place.

"Humphrey," she said again, "I know of her. She is an intriguer, one who may do much evil to those who fall into her toils. If you by chance should learn what brings her to Basle come to me and tell me all."

"Can she harm you, madame?"

"Nay. Since I am no longer in France no one can do so. But--there are others whom she may injure."

"I understand, madame. Others in France whom you would not have harmed."

"Yes. Others in France whom I would not have harmed."

"If she works evil, if she should endeavour to work evil to others, then--then----"

"Then warn them or warn me. Even though I am out of France I may do something. This woman," she said, whispering in his ear so that the stolid maid packing the valise should not overhear her, "is here to meet other intriguers, another intriguer, an old man. Together they will plot and plot and draw one of whom we know into their toils for their own ends. They will do so! nay, they have already almost done so, though 'tis perhaps not yet too late to save--him! And it is all madness. Folly! Ruin! They may profit by it--they may win--succeed. But he must lose. You understand, Humphrey?"

"I understand, madame. And," with emphasis, "I sleep next to her salon."

Then he asked in as easy a tone as possible, "Does Madame la Duchesse know of any others than those of whom she has spoken who are in this scheme?"

"Of others. No! Why! Humphrey, are there others in it?"

"None of whom I know, madame," Humphrey replied, while determining that, for the present at least, the Duchess need not know that the chief of her escort, La Truaumont, was one of the principals in this plot.

Later, however, he recognised that not only for him but for De Beaurepaire, La Truaumont, and the adventuress herself, it would have been far better if he had spoken out openly and told the Duchess that La Truaumont and this woman had already met and talked together over all that was on foot.