"Oh, Madame, how can you talk in this way, when you are still young and beautiful, and there are those who love you?"

"You do not know all, Henri. What is there for me in life? I am weak to complain—weak to long for death—sinful, perhaps, to put myself in its way, but surely Heaven will pardon that sin,—weak, yes; but, alas, I cannot help it,—women are weak, are they not? What is before me, then? I am one without a place in the world—without relations, without fortune. If I were a man, I might seek my fortune—there are the wars, there are many kinds of honourable service. But what is there for a woman, a wife who has run away from her husband?"

"But Madame, the convent,—you have a right to be maintained there. You can at least live there, till time annuls the Count's claims upon you. And then who knows what the future may bring?"

"The convent—I have told you I should be safe there, and so no doubt I should if I took the veil—"

"Nay, Madame, not that, save as a last resort!"

"Alas, I may not though I would. Do you think I should hesitate if I were free? How gladly I would bury myself from this world, give myself at once to Heaven! But that resource—that happiness—is forbidden me. My mother, as she neared death, saw no security for me but as a life-guest at a convent. Our small fortune barely sufficed to make the provision. But she did not wish me to become a nun, and as she feared the influence of the convent might lead that way, she put me under a promise never to take the veil. So I am without the one natural resource of a woman in my position."

"But do you mean that you will not be safe at the convent merely as a guest?"

"The Count may claim the fulfilment of his rights as a husband. He may use force to take me away. The Mother Superior cannot withhold me from him; and indeed I fear she would be little inclined to if she could, unless I consented to take the veil. Before the possibility of my marriage came up, she was always urging me to apply for a remission of the vow to my mother, so that I might become a nun. But that I would never do."

"But, Madame, knowing all this, how could you select the convent as your refuge, and let me bring you so far toward it?"

"Ah, Monsieur, what place in the world was there for me? And yet I had to go somewhere, that your life might be saved, and Mathilde's, and the happiness of poor Hugues. There was no other way to draw you far from that chateau of murder, no other way to detach Mathilde from one who could bring her nothing but calamity. And to-day, when I left you, I thought all this was accomplished, and I was free to go my way in search of death."

"Oh, Madame, if I had known what was in your mind! Then you did not mean to go to the convent?"

"I meant to go toward the convent. It is further away than I allowed you to suppose. I felt—I know not why—that death would meet me on the way. I felt in my heart a promise that God would do me that kindness. At first I had no idea of what form my deliverer would take. Perhaps, I thought, I might be permitted to lose my way in the forest and die of hunger, or perhaps I might encounter some wild beast, or a storm might arise and cause me to be struck by lightning or a falling bough, or I might be so chilled and weakened by rain that I must needs lie down and die. I knew not what shape,—all I felt was, that it waited for me in the forest. And when the gentleman spoke of robbers, I rejoiced, for it seemed to confirm my belief."

"And that is why you would not let me come with you?"

"Yes, certainly; that you might not be present to drive death away from me, or meet it with me. I hoped you would go on to Paris, thinking me safe, and that you would soon forget me. You see how I desire you to live, and how you can please me only by doing so."

"And so, when you were at last in the forest—?"

"At last in the forest, yes—I knew not how long I should have to ride, but I made no haste,—sooner or later it would come, I thought. The birds hopping about on the branches seemed to be saying to one another, 'See this lady who has come to meet death.' I crossed a glade, and something seemed to whisper to my heart, 'Yonder it lies waiting, yonder in the shades beyond that little stream.' So I went on, and true enough, before I had gone far, five or six rough men sprang out from the bushes. Two caught my reins, and one raised a weapon of some kind and bade me deliver up my purse. I had no purse to deliver, and I feared they might let me go as not worth their trouble. Then I thought they might hold me for ransom, or rob me of my clothes, and discover I was a woman. Surely I was justified in resisting such a fate; so I drew the sword you gave me, and made a pass at the man with the weapon. He struck instantly, before I could turn my head aside, and I had time only for a flash of joy that God had indeed granted me deliverance. I scarce felt the blow, and then all went out in darkness. I knew nothing after. How did I come here? This is not the place where I met the robbers."

"It is very strange," said I. "This is where I found you, only a little while before you came to life. I had searched the path, but I saw no robbers. They did not take your horse,—I found it in the glade yonder, where I have left mine with it. That must be the glade you crossed before they appeared."

"But how came you to be here? Ah, did you disregard my wish and follow me?"

"Not at first. No; I went on toward Paris as you bade me. But after awhile I too had a feeling of danger befalling you in this forest. It was so strong that I could not force myself to go on. So I rode back, hoping to come in sight of you and follow at a distance. I could not do otherwise."

"Ah, Henri, perhaps it is to you I owe the ill service of bringing me back to life. Who knows?—I might have passed quietly away to death here had you not come and revived the feeble spark left in me. I must have been unconscious a long time."

"Yes; thank God I arrived no later than I did. But why should the robbers have brought you here? They have not even taken any of your clothes. See, here is your sword, replaced in its scabbard; even your cap is here, beside your head—look where the villain's weapon cut through,—it must have been a sort of halberd. Why should they have brought you here? Do they mean to return, I wonder?"

I rose and looked around, peering through the dusky spaces between the trunks of the trees, and straining my ears. Suddenly, amidst the chatter of the birds returning to their places for the night, I made out a sound of distant hoof-beats.

"Horsemen!" I said. "But these robbers were on foot, were they not?"

"Yes; I did not see any horses about."

"Who can these be? There must be several!"

They were apparently coming from that part of the forest toward which the Countess had been riding. On account of the brushwood I could not see them yet.

"Well," said I, "we had best keep as quiet as possible till they pass. But they will see our horses in crossing the glade. No, that must not be. Wait."

I ran back to the glade, and finding the horses close together, caught them both, led them down the bed of the stream to where the Countess was, and made them lie among the underwood, trusting to good fortune that they would be quiet while the others were passing.

Soon I could see, above the underbrush that extended to the path beyond the brook, a procession of steel head-pieces, bearded faces, breastplates over leather jerkins, and horses' heads. There were six or seven men in all, one after another. I lay close to the earth and heard them cross the stream. And then, to my astonishment, they came directly along the stream by the way I had first come; I rose to my feet just in time to face the leader as he stopped his horse within a yard of me.

He gazed over the neck of his steed at me, and the Countess, and our two animals. He was a tall, well-made, handsome man, seasoned but still young, with a bronzed, fearless face.

"Good evening," said he, in a rich, manly voice. "So the youngster has come to his senses,—and found a friend, it appears."

"I don't exactly understand you, Monsieur," said I.

"You are not to blame for that," he replied good-humouredly. "It is true I met your young friend awhile ago, but as he was more dead than alive at that time, he couldn't have told you much. How is it with him now?"

"I am not much hurt, Monsieur," replied the Countess for herself.

"I scarce knew how I should find you when I returned," said the newcomer.

"Then you saw him here before, Monsieur?" said I.

"Yes; it was I who brought him here,—but, faith! he was in no condition to see what was going on. We were searching this forest on the King's business, when I heard something a little ahead, which made me gallop forward, and there I saw half-a-dozen ruffians around a horse, and one of them dragging this youth from the saddle. I shouted to my comrades and charged at the robbers. They dropped the lad, and made off along the path. I stopped to see to the young gentleman, and ordered my companions to pursue the rascals. The youngster, let me tell you, seemed quite done for. He had been struck, as you see, evidently just before he was pulled from the horse."

"Yes, Monsieur," said the Countess; "and I knew nothing after the blow."

"So it appeared," replied the horseman. "I saw that water was needed, and remembering this stream we had crossed, I carried you to this place and did what I could for you. But I had to go and recall my men,—I feared they might be led too far, or separated by the robbers running in different directions. That explains my leaving you alone. We have a piece of work in hand, of some importance, and dare not risk anything for the sake of catching those knaves."

"I suppose they are part of the band that haunts this forest," said I.

"No doubt. But this forest is at present the haunt of larger game. Those scoundrels escaped us this time—they were favoured by the dusk and the undergrowth. I was longer in catching up with my comrades than I had thought. But I see all has gone well with that young gentleman in the meantime."

"Yes, Monsieur. I, his brother, ought never to have allowed him to go on alone. But I was riding after, expecting to overtake him, when I came upon his horse; I supposed he must be near, and I was fortunate enough to seek in the right place. He shall not leave me again; and for us both I thank you more than my tongue can ever express."

"Pouf!—I did nothing. The question is, what now? My comrades and I have affairs to look after in the forest. We shall continue on the path where your brother met his accident, till we come to a certain forester's house where we may pass the night. Your direction appears to be the same, and you will be safe with us."

"Again I thank you, Monsieur," I said, "but we shall give up our journey through the forest. As soon as my brother feels able to ride, we shall go back to the highway and pass the night at some inn. I think we shall be safe enough now that you have frightened the robbers from this part of the forest."

The horseman eyed me shrewdly, and glanced at the Countess. It occurred to me then that he had known her sex from the first, and that he now trusted me with wisdom enough to judge best what I ought to do. So he delicately refrained from pressing us, as he had all along from trying to learn our secret. For a moment he silently twirled his moustaches; then he said:

"In that case, I have but to wish you good-night, and good fortune. I think you will be safe enough between here and the highway. Please do not mention that you have seen any of the King's guard hereabouts,—though I fear that news is already on the wing."

"What, Monsieur?—are you, then, of the King's guard?"

"We have the honour to be so."

"But I thought their uniform—"

"Faith, we are in our working clothes," said he, with a laugh. The next moment he waved us adieu, turned his horse about, and, his companions also turning at his order, followed them out of our sight.

"A very charming gentleman," said I, as the sound of their horses diminished in our ears.



CHAPTER XV.

THE TOWER OF MORLON

The Countess still lay on the grassy couch beneath the oak. She seemed to have lost all will as to her course of action.

"I think best not to go with those guards," I explained after a moment. "For why should we travel their way without any destination? There is nothing for us now in that direction. After what you have told me, I dare not let you go to the convent."

"There is no place for me," she said listlessly. "Death has disappointed me, and left me in the lurch. I think this place is as good as another."

She closed her eyes for some moments, as if she would lie there till death came, after all.

"No," said I; "you must not stay here. Night is coming on: the chill and the dews will be harmful to you. Besides, there are clouds already blotting out some of the stars, and the wind is rising and may bring more. If there is rain, it may be heavy, after so many days of fine weather. It will soon be too dark to follow the path. We must be getting on."

"I am weak from this blow," she said,—rather as if for a pretext against moving, I thought. "I am not sure I could keep my saddle."

"I can carry you as I ride, if need be, and let your horse follow. Come, Madame, let us see if you can rise. If not, I will take you in my arms to the glade, where it will be easier to mount."

I stooped to support her, but she did not stir.

"But where am I to go?" she said. "Of what use to travel aimlessly from place to place? As you say, why should we ride on toward the convent without a destination? But where else have I a destination?"

"Listen, Madame. Is it not probable that after some weeks, or months, the Count, still disappointed of your taking refuge at the convent, will give up hope or expectation of finding you there? Will he not then withdraw his attention from the convent?"

"I suppose so."

"And can we not, if we take time, find means to learn when that becomes the case? Can we not, by careful investigation, make sure whether he is still watching the convent or whether he has an informant there? Can we not enter into communication with the Mother Superior, and find out what her attitude is toward you,—whether, if you returned, your residence there would be safe and kept secret? Surely she would not betray you."

"Oh, no; whatever attitude she took, she would tell me the truth."

"Then it is only necessary to wait a few months and take those measures, without letting your own whereabouts be known even to the Mother Superior."

"But meanwhile would you have me continue doing as I have done since my flight,—passing as something I am not, receiving the protection—living on the very bounty—of the one person in all the world from whom I should accept nothing? Why, Monsieur, if it were known—if no more than the mere truth were told—would it not seem to justify the Count de Lavardin?"

"I do not ask you to do as you have done. For only two or three days you need pass as a boy. You may then not only resume the habit of a woman, but enjoy the company and friendship of a woman as saintly as yourself. Your presence in her house must be a secret till affairs mend, but you may be sure that if her friendship for you were known, it would be a sufficient answer to anything your husband or the world might say against you."

"It is of your mother that you speak. But I told you before, it is not from you that I dare accept so much."

"It will be from my mother, who will believe me when I tell her the truth, and who will take you as her guest and friend for your own sake. As for me, my affairs in Paris will keep me from La Tournoire while you are there:—for consider, what I propose now is not what you refused that night we fled from Lavardin. I spoke then of your making La Tournoire your refuge for an indefinite time,—the rest of your life, if need be:—I speak now of your staying there only till your safe residence at the convent can be assured,—only a few months, or weeks."

Though I had begun and ended by speaking of the convent, I did so merely with the object of inducing her to go to La Tournoire. Once there, she would be under the guidance and persuasion of my mother, who could influence her to remain till the Count's death removed all danger.

"You must not refuse, Madame," I went on. "God has shown that He does not desire your death, and it must be His will that you should accept this plan, so clear and simple. Speak, Madame!"

"I know not.—I have no strength, no will, to oppose further. Let it be as you think best." The last vestige of her power of objection, of resolving or thinking for herself, seemed to pass out in a tired sigh.

"Good!" I cried. "Then we have but to regain the road and find some inn for the night. To-morrow we shall ride back to Chateaudun, or perhaps on to Bonneval, and then make for La Tournoire by Le Mans and Sable, which is to give a wide berth to Montoire and the road we have come by. Do you think you can rise, Madame?—Nay, wait till I lead the horses out."

I took the horses to the glade, then returned and found the Countess already on her feet, though with her hand against the tree, as she was somewhat dizzy. She walked with my assistance, and I helped her to her saddle,—she now thought herself able to ride without support. I mounted my own horse, grasped the halter of the other, and took the path for the highway.

"We are none too soon," said I, as we left the glade. "How dark the path is even now: I hope we shall be able to keep it."

Darkness came on more quickly than usual, because of the swift overclouding of the sky. Very soon I could not see two paces before me. Then blackness settled down upon us. My horse still went on, but slowly and uncertainly, with many a halt to make sure of footing and a free way. When I glanced back, I could not see the Countess, but I held the tighter to the halter of her horse and frequently asked if all was well. Her reply was, "Yes, Monsieur," in a faint, tired voice. I felt about with my whip for the trees at the side of the path, and thus was able to guide the horse when its own confidence faltered.

Instead of cooling, the air became close. Suddenly the forest was lighted up by a pale flash which, lasting but a moment, was followed after a time by a distant rumble of thunder.

"It is far away, Madame," said I. "It may not come in this direction, or we may be safely housed before it does."

"I am not afraid."

However, lest rain might fall suddenly, I stopped the horses, unrolled from behind my saddle a cloak which I had bought in Vendome, and put it around the Countess. We then proceeded as best we could. Slowly as we had gone, I began to think it time we should emerge from the forest; but another flash of lightning showed apparently endless vistas of wood on every side. We went on for another half hour or so, during which the distant thunder continued at intervals; and then, finding ourselves as deep in the forest as ever, I perceived that we must have strayed from our right path. I stopped and told the Countess.

"It must be so," she said.

"I noticed no cross-path when I rode into the forest this afternoon. Yet a path might join at such an angle that, looking straight ahead, I should not have seen it. Yes, that is undoubtedly the case, if we are in a path at all. Perhaps we are following the bed of a dried-up stream."

"Do you wish to turn back, then?"

"We might only lose ourselves. And yet that is what must happen if we go ahead. Let us wait for a flash of lightning."

One came presently, while my eyes were turned ready in what I thought the direction from which we had come. But there seemed to lie no opening at all in that direction. Then, in the blacker darkness that ensued, I remembered that I had turned my horse slightly while talking of the matter. I could not now tell exactly which direction we had come from. It occurred to me that perhaps for some time we had wandered about in no path at all, going where trees and underbrush left space clear enough to be mistaken.

I confessed that I knew not which way to go, even to find the original path.

"Is it best to ride on at random, in hope of coming upon something, or to stay where we are till daylight?" I asked.

The Countess had no will upon the matter. But the question was decided for me by a heavy downpour of rain, which came in a rush without warning. It was evident that the foliage over us was not thick. So I shouted to the Countess that we would go on till we found trees that gave more protection. I urged my horse to move, letting him choose his own course, and he obediently toiled forward, I exerting myself to keep the other horse close, and also feeling the way with my whip.

As swift as the oncoming of the rain, was the increase of the lightning, both in frequency and intensity. The fall of the rain seemed loud beyond measure, but it was drowned out of all hearing when the thunder rolled and reverberated across the sky. In the bright bursts of lightning, the trees, seen through falling rain, seemed like companions suffering with us the chastisement of the heavens; but in the darkness that intervened between the flashes, the forest and all the world seemed to have died out of existence, leaving nothing but the pelting waters and the din of the storm.

At last we came, not to a region where the boughs were less penetrable, but to an open space where the downpour had us entirely at its mercy. I thought at first we had got out of the forest, or into the glade we had left: but a brilliant flash showed us it was another small clearing, which rose slightly toward the thick woods on its further side. And the same lightning revealed, against the background of trees, a solitary tower, old and half-ruined, slender and of no great height. A doorway on a level with the ground stood half open.

"Did you see that?" I cried, when the lightning had passed. "There is shelter."

"It must be the tower of Morlon," said the Countess.

"And who lives there?"

"Nobody,—at least it was said to be empty when I used to hear of it. It is all that is left of a house that was destroyed in the civil wars. Hunting parties sometimes resort to it, and the peasants make use of it when passing this way.—Yes, we have come far out of our road, if that is really the tower of Morlon."

"Then it is every man's house. The door is open."

"It is an abandoned place, and people would take no care how they left the door."

"Let us go in, then. There can be nobody there, or the door would be closed against this storm."

I rode toward the spot where I supposed the tower was, and, rectifying my course by the next flash, I presently felt the stone wall with my whip. I dismounted, found the entrance, pushed the door wide, and saw by the lightning a low-ceiled interior, which was empty. I led the horses in, helped the Countess from the saddle, and removed her cloak, which, though itself drenched, had kept her clothes comparatively dry.

My first thought was of a place where the Countess might recline. But, as I found by groping about and by the frequent lightning, there was nothing except the floor, which, originally paved with stone, was now covered with dried mud from the boots of many who had resorted to the place before ourselves. There were no steps leading to the upper stories of the tower: the part we were in was, indeed, but a sort of basement. It occupied the full ground space of the tower, with the rough stone as its only shell, and had no window nor any discoverable opening place in the low ceiling.

Thinking there might be an external staircase to the story above us, I went out and felt my way around the tower, but found none. The entrance to the main or upper part of the tower from the buildings that once adjoined must have been to the story above, from a floor on the same level. I thought of seeking the opening and climbing in from the back of my horse, but I reflected that the upper stories also would doubtless be denuded, while they could offer no better shelter from the rain. So I was content with taking the saddles from the horses, and placing them together upside down in such a way that they constituted a dry reclining place for the Countess.

There was no dry wood to be had from the forest, and no fuel of any kind in our place of refuge; so I could not make a fire. While the Countess sat in silence, I paced the floor until I succumbed to fatigue. By that time, much of the water had dripped from my clothes, and I was able to sit on the carpet of earth with some comfort. I leaned my back against the wall, to wait till the storm and the night should pass.

The horses had lain down, and the Countess, as I perceived by her deep breathing and her not answering me, was asleep. The thunder and lightning were less near and less powerful, but the rain still fell, now decreasingly and now with suddenly regathered force. At last I too slept.

I awoke during the night, and changed from a sitting to a lying position. When I next opened my eyes, the light of dawn was streaming in at the door. The storm had ceased, birds were twittering outside. I was aching and hungry. The Countess's face, as she slept, betokened weakness and pain. I went and adjusted a saddle-flap that had got awry under her. As I did so, she awoke.

"I am so tired," she said in a slow, small voice, like that of a weary child.

"You are faint for want of food," said I. "You have eaten nothing since noon yesterday, and very little then."

Thinking I wished to hurry our departure in search of breakfast, she shook her head and murmured weakly:

"I am not able to go on just now. I assure you, I cannot even stand. All strength seems to have gone out of me." As if to illustrate, she raised her hand a few inches: it trembled a moment, then fell as if powerless.

It was plain that she was, whether from fatigue and privation alone, or from illness also, in a helpless state. It would be cruelty and folly to put her on horseback. And without at least the refreshment of food and wine, how was her condition to be improved so that she might leave this place?

After some thought and talk, I said:

"The only thing is for me to go and get you food and wine, while you stay here. But, alas, what danger you may be in while I am gone! If anybody should come here and find you!"

"Nobody may come. Surely there are many days when this place is left deserted."

"But if somebody should come?"

"All people are not cruel and wicked. It might be a person who is kind and good."

"But the robbers?"

"Why should they come? There is nothing for them here. If they came it would be by chance; against that, we can trust in God."

"Perhaps intruders can be bolted out," said I, going to examine the door. It was of thick oak, heavily studded with nails, and two of its three hinges still held firmly. But there was no bolt, nor any means of barring.

"Nothing but a lock," I said, "and no key for that." It only aggravated my feeling of mockery to discover that both parts of the lock were still strong. In my petulance I flung the door back against the wall.

As one sometimes gives the improbable a trial, from mere impulse of experiment, I took from my pocket the two keys I had brought from Lavardin. I tried first that of the room in which I had been imprisoned: it was too small, and of no avail. I then inserted the key of the postern. To my surprise, it fit. I turned it partly around; it met resistance: I used all my power of wrist; the lock, which had stuck because it was rusted and long unused, yielded to the strength I summoned.

"Thank God!" I cried. "It seems like the work of providence, that I kept the postern key."

I now reversed and withdrew the key, and applied it to the lock from the inside of the door, which I had meanwhile closed. But alas!—no force of mine could move the lock from that side, though I tried again and again.

I went outside and easily enough locked the door from there. I then renewed my endeavours from the inside, but with failure.

"Alas!" said I, turning to the Countess; "if I cannot lock the door from within, how much less will you be able to do so."

"But you can lock it from without," she answered, taking trouble to secure my peace of mind. "Why not lock me in? It will be the same thing. In either case I should not go out during your absence."

"That is true," I said. "I will make haste. If the door is locked against intruders, what matters it which of us has the key? I will guard it as my life,—nay, that too I will guard as never before, for yours will depend upon it."

I then questioned the Countess as to what part of the forest we were in, but her knowledge of the location of the tower, with regard to roads or paths, was vague.

I decided to take both horses with me, lest one, being heard or seen, in or about the tower, might excite the curiosity of some chance passer through the forest. But I left the saddles with the Countess. Anxious to lose no more time, I knelt and kissed her hand, receiving a faint smile in acknowledgment of my care; led out the horses, locked the door, pocketed the key, mounted, and was off. I went haunted by the sweet, sorrowful eyes of the Countess as they had followed me to the door.

With the sun to guide me, I rode Westward, for in that direction must be the highway we had left the day before. By keeping a straight course, and taking note of my place of emergence from the forest, I should be able to find my way back to the tower. The leaves overhead were nowhere so thick but that splashes of sunshine fell upon the earth and undergrowth, and, by keeping the shadow of my horse and myself ever straight in front, I maintained our direction. But besides this I frequently notched the bark of some tree, always on its South side, with my dagger. Having this to do, and the second horse to lead, and the underbrush being often difficult, my progress was slower than suited my impatience. But in about an hour and a half from starting, I came out of the forest upon the bank of the Loir, which is so insignificant a stream thereabouts that I may not have mentioned fording it upon entering the woods on the previous day. I let the horses drink, and then rode through, and across a meadow to the highway. I turned to the right, and arrived, sooner than I had expected, at the gate of a town, which proved to be Bonneval. I stopped at the inn across from the church, saw to the feeding of my horses, and then went into the kitchen. I ordered a supply of young fowl, bread, wine, milk in bottles, and other things; and bargained with the innkeeper for a pair of pliable baskets and a strap by which they might be slung across my horse like panniers. While I waited for the chickens to roast, I used the time in reviving my own energies with wine, eggs, and cold ham, which were to be had immediately.

Three or four people came or went while I was eating, and each time anybody crossed the threshold of the door, I glanced to see what sort of person it was. This watchfulness had become habitual to me of late. But as I was about finishing my meal, with my eyes upon my plate, I had an impression that somebody was standing near and gazing at me. As I had not observed any one to come so close, I looked up with a start. And there stood Monsieur de Pepicot, his nose as long as ever, his eyes as meek as when they had first regarded me at Lavardin.

"My faith!" I exclaimed. "You rise like a spirit. I neither saw nor heard you enter."

"I am a quiet man," he replied with a faint smile, sitting down opposite me.

"You are the very ghost of silence itself," said I. "What do you wear on the soles of your boots?"

Again he smiled faintly, but he left my question unanswered. "So you managed to keep out of trouble at that place where I last saw you?" said he.

"If I did not keep out of it, at least I got out of it."

"You are a clever young man,—or a lucky one. I was a little disturbed in mind at leaving you as I did. But—business called me. I knew that if you could manage to keep a whole body for ten days or so, even if that amiable Count did see fit to cage you up, you would be set free in the end."

"Set free? By the Count, do you mean?"

"Not at all. By those who would visit the Count; by those who have—But stay,—have you not just come from Lavardin?"

"No, indeed. I left that hospitable house more than a week ago. I set myself free."

"Oh, is that the case? I ask your pardon. When I saw you here, I naturally supposed your liberation was a result of what has just occurred. I haven't yet learned all particulars of the event."

"What event? I don't understand you."

"Then you don't know what has been going on at Lavardin recently?"

"Not I."

"Oh, indeed? Well, it will be known to all the world very soon. The Count, it seems, was suspected of some hand in the late intrigue with Spain—"

"Ah!"

"Why do you say 'Ah!'?"

"Nothing. I always thought there might be something wrong with the Count's politics."

"Well, so they thought in Paris. And having made sure—"

"How did they make sure?"

"Oh, by the discovery of certain documents, no doubt," said Monsieur de Pepicot, with a notable unconsciousness. "It is the usual way, is it not?"

"Aha! I begin to see now. You overdo the innocence, my friend. I begin to guess what you were doing at Lavardin—"

"Monsieur, I know not what you mean."

"I begin to guess why you wanted to get into the chateau,—what you were wandering about the house with a lantern for,—why you took your leave so unexpectedly,—and how you knew that in ten days I should be set free."

"Nay, Monsieur, I cannot follow you in your perceptions. I know only that on Monday evening a party of the King's guard appeared before the Chateau de Lavardin—"

"Having been sent from Paris soon after you had arrived there with the documents you found in the chateau."

"Please do not interrupt with your baseless conjectures, Monsieur. As I said, the guards arrived at Lavardin just as, by great good fortune, the Count himself was returning from some journey or excursion he had been on. Thus they met him outside his walls: had it been otherwise they would doubtless have had infinite trouble, for, as we know, the chateau has been for some time fully prepared for a siege, even to being garrisoned by the company of Captain Ferragant."

"What! then those fellows who thronged the court-yard—"

"Were a part of Captain Ferragant's famous company,—only a part, as I should have said at first, unless he has reduced its numbers. Well, instead of having the difficulty of besieging the chateau, the guards had the luck to meet the Count in the road, when he had only a few followers with him. And so they made short work."

"They succeeded in arresting him?"

"Not exactly that. He chose to resist, no doubt thinking he would soon be reinforced from the chateau by the Captain and garrison. And in the fight, the Count was killed,—stuck through the lungs by the sword of a guard who had to defend himself from the Count's own attack."

"My God! the Count killed!—dead!—out of the way!" For a moment I entirely yielded to the force of this news, which to my ears meant so much.

"Yes. You don't seem grieved.—Yes: he will never annoy people again. The Captain, though, seeing from the chateau how matters had gone, came out with his men on horseback,—not to avenge the Count, but to ride off as fast as possible in the other direction. So the King's guardsmen had no trouble in getting into the chateau. A party of them, I believe, set off in pursuit of the Captain, who has long been a thorn in the side of people who love order. If he is caught, it can be shown that he was involved in the treason; and there it is."

"So the Captain has not been caught?"

"He had not been when I heard the news."

"And how did you hear it?"

"From one of the guardsmen, who happens to be of my acquaintance. I saw them as they came through Chateaudun yesterday afternoon, on their return from this business. We had very little time for talking."

"Then you were not with them at Lavardin?"

"I with them? Certainly not, Monsieur. Why should I have been with them? No; I have been staying in this part of the country for my own pleasure the past few days: I think of buying some apple orchards near Chateaudun.—I fancied you would be interested in this news."

"I am, dear Monsieur de Pepicot,—infinitely. I am sorry I must leave you now, but I have business of some haste. I thank you heartily, and hope we may meet again. You know where La Tournoire is."

Five minutes later, with my baskets slung before me, and having left one horse at the inn, I was riding out of Bonneval to tell the Countess that she was free.



CHAPTER XVI.

THE MERCY OF CAPTAIN FERRAGANT

I had come to a place where the road runs, narrower than ever, between banks covered with bushes. All at once the perfect loneliness and silence were broken by three or four men leaping out of the bushes in front of me and barring the way, one presenting a pistol, another a long pike, while a third prepared to seize my rein. I instantly spurred forward, to make a dash for it: at the same time I was conscious that other fellows had sprung into the road behind me. The knave caught both reins close to the bit, and hung on under the horse's head, while the poor animal tried to rear. I drew sword and dagger, and leaned forward to run this fellow through. As I made my thrust, my senses suddenly went out in a kind of fire-streaked darkness. As I afterwards learned, I had been struck on the back of the head with a loaded cudgel by one of the unseen men behind. When I came to myself I was lying on the earth in a little bushy hollow away from the road: my hands were tied behind me, and around each ankle was fastened a rope, of which one of my assailants held the loose end. These two fellows and their four comrades were seated on the ground, eating the fowls and drinking the wine and milk I had provided for the Countess. One of them wore my sword, another had my dagger. My purse lay empty on the grass, and my horse was hobbled with the strap from my baskets.

My first thought was of the key. Searching about with my eyes, I presently saw it, with the other one, at the edge of the bushes, where they had doubtless been thrown as of no value.

My head was aching badly, but that was nothing to the terror in my heart for the Countess: if I was hindered from going to her, who was to give her aid?—nay, who was to release her from that dark hiding-place? She would die for lack of food and air,—her cell of refuge would be her tomb!

"Ah!" exclaimed one of the robbers; "the worthy young gentleman comes to life."

"You are right," said I, trying to hit the proper mood in which to deal with them. "I'm not sorry, either, as I was in some haste to get on. My friends, as you appear to have emptied me of everything that can be of any use to you, what do you say to allowing my poor remaining self to go about my business?"

"And to give information about us as soon as you get to Chateaudun, eh?" said one.

I was satisfied to let them think I was bound for Chateaudun.

"No," I replied. "Poor as I am, the toll you have collected from me is not as much as my necessity of finishing my journey. So if you will untie me, and can find it in your hearts to give me back my horse—or at worst to let me go afoot,—I will cry quits, and give you my word of honour to forget you completely."

"You speak well, young gentleman: but it's not to us that you need speak. We shall be taking you presently to one you can make proposals to."

"Why should you waste time in taking me to your leader, when you are quite able to make terms yourselves?" said I. "Come. I can offer him no more than I can offer you. Suppose it were a hundred crowns: he would have the lion's share of it, and you poor fellows would get but a small part. If I deal with you alone, he need be never the wiser, and you will have the whole sum to divide among you."

"And how would you get the five hundred crowns?"

"I said one hundred: I would get them by going for them: I would give you my promise on the honour of a gentleman."

The ruffians laughed. "No," said the one who had spoken most. "You would have to stay with us, and send for them. And our leader is the one to manage that. He will make you a fine, fair offer, no doubt."

My heart sank. I tried persuasion, but nothing could move them. Doubtless each was afraid of the others, or they were very strongly under the dominion of their chief.

I asked them to give me back my keys, whereupon one of them put the keys in his own wallet. They finished the food and drink, and made ready to depart. Their preparations consisted mainly of blindfolding me with a thick band of cloth, putting me on my horse, and tying together under the animal's belly the ropes that bound my ankles. Then a man mounted behind me, I heard another take the rein to lead, the horse was turned around several times so as to confuse my sense of direction, and we set off. We presently crossed a stream, and a little later I knew by sound and smell that we were in the forest. When we had traversed a part of it, the horse was again turned around twice or thrice, and we continued on our way. All the time I was thinking of her who waited for me in the darkness of her tomb-like prison.

At last, by feeling the sun upon me and by other signs, I knew that we had come to a space clear of trees. We stopped a moment, and I heard calls exchanged and a gate opened; and then my horse's feet passed from turf to a very rough, irregular pavement. The sound of horses in their stalls at one side, the cooing of pigeons at the other, the gate, the rude paving, the remote situation, all taken together informed me that we were in an enclosed farm-yard. We stopped a second time, and my ankle ropes being then detached from each other, I was hauled down from the horse. The men with me were now greeted by others, who came apparently from the side buildings. I was led forward into a stone-floored passage, where I had to sit on a bench, guarded by I know not how many, while one went up a flight of stairs near at hand, evidently to give an account of their prize to somebody in authority. Presently a voice from above called down, "Bring the prisoner hither," and I was taken upstairs and through a doorway.

My entrance drew an ejaculation from a person already in the room, who thereupon gave orders in a low voice. I was made to sit on the floor, and my ankles were tied close together. A chain was then wound ingeniously about my ankle-bonds, my legs, and the cords at my wrists; passed through a hole in the floor and around a cross beam, and finally fastened with a padlock, in such a way that I was secured beyond power of extricating myself.

"Now, go, and wait in the passage," said the voice in which the previous orders had been given. "But first take that rag from his eyes. He may as well see: it will amuse him, and will not hurt us,—I will take care of that."

The band was removed, and I found myself in a bare, plastered room with a barred window. In front of me stood a large man with a mask on his face. Where the mask ended, his beard began, so that he presented a visage entirely of black. The robbers who had brought me hither went out, closing the door, and I was left alone with this man.

He regarded me a moment; then dropped into a chair, with a low grunt of laughter.

"That it should be this fool, of all fools!" he began. "Who shall say there is no such thing as luck? Monsieur, I am sure it will please you to know into whose hands you have fallen."

He took off his mask, and there was the red-splashed face of Captain Ferragant.

Surprise made me dumb for a moment, for he had hitherto disguised his voice. He sat looking at me with a most cruel expression of malevolent triumph.

"So, this is where you have fled,—and you are the chief of the robbers!" said I.

"Call me that if you like. It matters nothing what names you prefer to use. No ears will ever hear them but mine; and mine will not be long afflicted with the sound."

I shuddered, for I knew the implacability of this man, and my death meant the death of the Countess,—death in the dark, mouldy basement of the tower, death by stifling and starvation while she waited in vain for me, a slow and solitary death, rendered the more agonizing to her mind by suspense and fears. And this horrible fate must needs be hers just when the cause of her sorrows and dangers had been removed! It was a thought not to be endured.

"You will have your jest," said I. "But I see no reason why you should bear me malice. The Count de Lavardin is now a dead man, I hear. I can no longer be against him, nor you for him. Therefore bygones should be bygones, and I suppose you will make terms with me as with any other man who happened to come before you as I do."

"You do me an injustice, young gentleman: I am not so mercenary,—I do not always make terms. It is true, I served the Count for pay; that is what my company is for, and if he had not gone out of his chateau to hunt his wife, we might have defended the place till the enemy was tired out. But he allowed himself to be caught in the road,—you have heard the news, then? What do they say of me?"

"That when you saw the Count was killed, you ran away."

"Yes, I was of no use to the Count then, and his own men in the chateau were not well inclined toward me. They were for giving up the place, the moment he was dead. I thought best to save my good fellows for better service elsewhere."

"Then your company and the band of robbers in this forest are the same?"

"If you call them robbers,—they forage when there is need. I did not have them all at the chateau. The good fellows who brought you here were not at Lavardin with me. It is well, when one is in a place, to have resources outside. And so we meet again, my young interloper! You were rude to me once or twice at Lavardin. I shall pay you for that, and settle scores on behalf of my friend the Count as well."

"How much ransom do you want?" I asked bluntly. "Name a sum within possibility, and let me go for it immediately: you know well you can rely upon my honour to deliver it promptly at any place safe for both of us, and to keep all a secret."

"Do not insult me again. I have told you I am above purchase."

Despite his jesting tone, my hope began to fall.

"You are not above prudence, at least," I said. "I assure you there are people who will move earth and heaven to find what has become of me, and whose powers of vengeance are not light."

"If I went in fear of vengeance, my child, I should never pass an easy moment. I have learned how to evade it,—or, better still, to turn it back on those who would inflict it. I fear nobody. When the game is not worth the risk, one can always run away, as I did from Lavardin when the Count's death threw his men into a panic."

"Good God!" I cried, giving way to my feelings; "what will move you, then? What do you wish me to do? Shall I humiliate myself to plead for my life? shall I beg mercy? If I must descend to that, I will do so."

For you will remember another life than mine was staked upon my fate, and time was flying. How long could she endure without food, without drink, without renewal of air, in that locked-up place of darkness?

"Mercy, I beg," I cried, in a voice broken by fears for her.

"You have hit upon the right way, at last," said the Captain, and my heart bounded in spite of his continued irony of voice and manner. "You beg for mercy, you shall have it. I will give you your life, and your liberty as well: on your part, you will tell me where the Countess de Lavardin is; as soon as I have made sure you have told the truth, I will set you free."

I gazed at him in silence.

"Is not that merciful?" said he; "a full pardon for all your affronts and offences, in return for a trifling piece of information?"

"It is a piece of information I cannot give you," I replied.

"It is a waste of time and words to try to deceive me," said the red Captain. "A young gentleman who risks so much for a lady as you have done, and accomplishes so much for her,—yes, they were wonders of prowess and courage, I admit, and I compliment you upon them,—a young gentleman who does all that for a lady does not so soon lose knowledge of her whereabouts. Do not trifle with me, Monsieur. Where is the Countess? There is no other way by which you can save yourself."

"Do you think, then, a man who has shown the courage and prowess you mention, for the sake of a lady, would save himself by betraying her?"

"Oh, you are young, and may have many years before you—a life of great success and honour. There are other beautiful ladies in the world. In a very short time you can forget this one."

"I think it is for you to forget her," said I on the impulse. "As for me, I would rather die!"

Ah, yes, it was easy enough to die, if that were all: but to leave her to die, and in such a manner, was another thing. Yet I knew she would prefer death, in its worst form, to falling into the unrestrained hands of the red Captain. The man's eyes, from the moment when he introduced her name, betrayed the eagerness of his new hope to make himself her master,—though he still controlled his speech. I say his new hope, for it must have arisen upon the death of the Count, during whose life, not daring openly to play the rival, he had found his only satisfaction in a revenge which provided that none might have what was denied to him. It was for me to decide now whether she should die or find herself at the mercy of Captain Ferragant. Was it right that I should decide for her as she would decide for herself? Was it for me to consign her to death, though I was certain that would be her own choice? Even though the Captain found her, was not life, with its possible chance of future escape, of her being able to move him by tears and innocence, of some friendly interposition of fate, preferable to the sure alternative doom?

"I will leave you to make up your mind quietly," said the Captain. "When you are ready to speak to the point, call to the men in the passage,—one of them will come to me. The door will be left open. I hope you will not be slow in choosing the sensible course: I cannot give you many hours for consideration."

He went out, addressed some orders to four or five men who sat on a bench facing my door, and disappeared: I heard his feet descending the stairs. My door was left wide open, so that I was directly in the gaze of the men. But even if I had been unobserved, I could not have moved from the place where I sat. Any effort to break my bonds, either of wrist or ankle, by sheer strength, was but to cause weakness and pain. My arms ached from the constraint of their position, and, because of them behind me, it was impossible to lie at full length on my back. Nor would the chain, without cutting into my thighs, permit me to lie on either side. I was thus unable to change even my attitude.

But my discomforts of body were nothing in presence of the question that tore my mind. Minutes passed; time stretched into hours: still I discussed with myself, to which of the fates at my choice should I deliver her? Should I give her to death, or to the arms of the red Captain? Little as she feared the first, much as she loathed the second, dared I take it upon myself to assign her to death? Had it been mere death, without the horrors of darkness and desertion, without the anxious wonder as to why I failed her, I should not have been long in deciding upon that. For that would be her wish, and I should not survive her. Let us both die, I should have said; for what will life be to her after she has fallen into the hands of this villain, and what to me after I have delivered her into them? But the peculiar misery of the death that threatened her, kept the problem still busy in my mind.

And yet I could not bring myself to yield her to the Captain.

The day had become afternoon, and I still debated. The Countess must have expected me to return before this time. What was her state now? what were her conjectures? Ah, thought I, if we had not found our way to that lonely tower, if the storm had not come up the previous night, if we had started to leave the forest earlier!—nay, if I had had the prevision, upon hearing of the presence of robbers, to make her turn back to Chateaudun with me, and lodge quietly there until the Mother Superior of the convent could be sounded, and a safe way of approach be ascertained, all would now be well. We should have heard in the meantime of the Count's death. Yes, everything had gone wrong since the Countess had taken the road for the forest. The third of Blaise Tripault's maxims which he had learned from the monk came back to me with all the force of hapless coincidence:

"Never leave a highway for a byway."

The thought of Blaise Tripault made me think of my father. What a mockery it was to know that I, chained helpless to the floor in this remote stronghold of ruffians, was the son of him, the Sieur de la Tournoire, the invincible warrior before whose sword no man could stay, and who would have rushed to the world's end to save me or any one I loved! To consider my need, and his power to help, and that only his ignorance of my situation stood between, was so vexing that in my bitterness of soul, regardless of the men in the passage, I cried out to the empty air, "Oh, my father! If you but knew!"

And then, for a moment, as if the bare wall were no impediment, I saw a vision of my father, with his dauntless brow and grizzled beard, his great long sword at his side, riding toward me among green trees.



CHAPTER XVII.

THE SWORD OF LA TOURNOIRE

The light softened and faded into that of evening. Another set of men took the places of those outside my door. No food nor drink was brought me, and I supposed the Captain hoped by this neglect to reduce me the sooner to a yielding state. But I was even glad to have to undergo some of the discomforts which the Countess must needs be enduring. I gave up hope of her life or my own, and, leaning forward so as to get some relief of position, I fell into a kind of drowsy lassitude.

Suddenly, through my window, which overlooked the court-yard, I heard a low call at the gate, which was answered. Presently I heard the gate close, and assumed it had been opened to let in the man who had uttered the call. About a minute after that, there was a considerable noise in the yard, as of men hastily assembling. Then came the voice of the Captain, apparently addressing the whole company. When he finished, there was a general movement of feet, as of men dispersing about the yard, and this was followed by complete silence.

The men in the passage were now joined by a comrade, who spoke to them rapidly in a low tone. They whispered to one another in some excitement, but did not leave their places nor take their eyes from me.

The next sound I heard was of the tread of horses approaching. My curiosity now aroused, I strained my ears. The hoof-beats came to the gate, and then I heard a loud knock, followed by no other sound than of the pawing and snorting of the horses as they stood. There must have been at least a score of them.

Presently the unheeded knock was repeated, and then a quick, virile voice called out:

"Hola, within there! Open the gate, in the name of the King!"

My heart leaped. The voice was that of the royal guardsman who had saved the Countess from the robbers the previous evening. But his party was now evidently much larger than before.

No answer was given to his demand. The red Captain's intent apparently was to make these newcomers believe the place deserted. I had an impulse to shout the truth, but I saw my guards watching me, their hands on their weapons, and knew that my first word would be the signal for my death. So I kept silence.

"If you do not open the gate at once," the guardsman cried, "we will open it for ourselves, in our own way."

I now heard footsteps shuffling across the yard, and then one of the robbers spoke, in the quavering tones of an old man:

"Pardon, Monsieur. Pardon, I pray, but it is impossible for me to open. I am all alone here in charge of this place, which is empty and deserted, and I'm forbidden to open the gate to anybody but the master. He would kill me if I disobeyed, and besides that, I have taken a vow. There is nothing here that you can want, Monsieur."

"There is shelter for the night to be had here, and that we mean to have. We are on the business of the King, and I command you to open."

"I dare not, Monsieur. I should imperil my life and my soul. There is a lodge in the forest a mile to the east, and the keeper will see to all your wants: there is plenty of shelter, food for yourselves, hay for your horses, everything you can need. Here all is dismantled and empty."

"Old man, you are lying. Unbar the gate in a moment, or your life will indeed be in danger."

To this the "old man" gave no answer, except to come away from the gate with the same simulated walk of an aged person.

I heard the horsemen discussing in low tones. Then, to my dismay, came the sound of hoofs again, this time moving away. Now I was more than ever minded to cry out, but my guards were ready to spring upon me with their daggers. I might have sought this speedy death, but for the sudden thought that the withdrawal of the royal guardsmen might be only temporary.

I know not how many minutes passed. The sound of the horses had died out for some time. I became sensible of the tramp of men's feet. Were the guardsmen returning without their horses? Suddenly the red Captain's voice arose in the court-yard:

"To the walls, you with firearms! Shoot them down as they try to batter in the gate! All the rest, stand with me to kill them if they enter!"

The tramp of the guardsmen came swiftly near. I heard the reports of muskets and pistols. There was a loud thud, as of some sort of ram—a fallen branch or trunk from the forest—being borne powerfully against the gate. This was answered by defiant, profane shouts and more loud detonations. My guards in the passage groaned, exclaimed, and clenched their weapons, mad to be in the fray. I could only listen and wait.

There was a second thud against the gate, amidst more cries and shots. And soon came a third, the sound being this time prolonged into a crash of timber. A shout of triumph from the invaders, a yell of execration from the red Captain and his men, and the clash of steel, told that the gate had given way.

"Follow close, gentlemen! Trust me to clear a path!" cried a hearty voice, cheerful to the point of mirth, which thrilled my soul.

"Ay, follow him close!" cried the leader of the guardsmen; "follow the sword of La Tournoire!"

I could have shouted for joy, but that it was now worth while postponing death by minutes.

The noise of clashing swords increased and came nearer, as if the guardsmen were pouring in through the gateway and driving the defenders back toward the house. Now and then came the sound of a pike or reversed musket meeting steel armour, and all the time fierce exclamations rose from both parties. There was no more firing; doubtless the melee was too close and general for anybody to reload.

The men in the passage, as the tumult grew and approached, became as restless as dogs in leash that whine and jump to be in the fray. At last one of them ran into my room and looked out of the window.

"Death of the devil, how they are at it!" he cried, for the information of his comrades outside my door. "I think we shall be wanted in a minute or two. These cursed intruders have forced the gateway. Our fellows are twice as many as they, but their heads and bodies are in steel,—all but one, a middle-aged man with gray in his beard. He has no armour on, but he leads the others. Body of Satan! you should see him clear the ground about him. He thrusts in all directions at once: his sword is as long as a man, and it darts as quickly as the tongue of a snake. Ha! it has just cut down old Cricharde.—And now it has stung Galparoux.—Holy Beelzebub, what a man! He fights like a fiend, and all the time with a gay face as if he were at his sport.—Ah! there he has let daylight into poor Boirac.—But now—good!—at last our Captain has planted himself in front of this devil: it was high time: he will find his match now. By God, it will be worth looking at, the fight between the red Captain and this stranger,—there aren't two such men in France. They are taking each other's measure now,—each one sees what sort of stuff he has run against. Ah!"

What the last exclamation meant, I could not know. The man's attention had become too close for further speech. But I supposed that a pass had been made between my father and the red Captain, and that it had been nothing decisive, for the watcher's interest continued at the extreme tension: he kept his face against the iron bars of the window, and made no sound beyond frequent short ejaculations. The men in the passage called to him for further news, but he did not heed them. To my ears the fighting continued as general as before, with the shouts of many throats and the clash of many weapons, so that I could not at all distinguish the single combat between my father and the red Captain from the rest of the fray.

Presently the man gave a howl of rage. "Our Captain is being forced back!" he cried. "We are getting the worst of the fight everywhere. It's too much!—we are needed down there! To the devil with orders!—the Captain will be glad enough if we turn the tide. And we'd better try our luck down there than be taken here, for short time they'll give us for prayers, my children." While speaking he had moved from the window to my door.

"Certainly this prisoner is safe enough," answered one of the men, whereupon he and the others in the passage ran down the stairs.

But the man who had been at the window turned to me. "Safe enough,—yes, so it looks," said he. "Young man, the Captain must think you a magician, to take so much pains against your escaping. If it came to the worst, I was to kill you, and the time seems to have arrived: so, if you'll pardon me—"

"You will be a great fool," said I, as he approached with his sword drawn; "for if you are taken alive my intervention will save your neck."

"How do you know it will?"

"By the fact that the gentleman down there whose fighting you so admire is my father."

"Indeed? You are a gentleman: do you give your word of honour for that?"

"Yes; and to speak for you if I am alive when your side is finally defeated."

"Very good, Monsieur. I will hold you to that." Upon this he left me and followed his comrades down the stairs.

His footfalls had scarcely ceased upon the stairway, when other sounds began to come from the same direction,—those of conflict in the entrance hall below. Somebody had drawn his antagonist, or been forced by him, into the house. There was the quick, irregular stamp of booted feet on the stone floor, the keen music of sword striking sword. If the fight spread generally into the house, and the defenders fled to the upper rooms, my position must become more critical. So I listened rather to this noise in the hallway than to the tumult in the court-yard. By the sound of the steel coming nearer, and that of the footfalls changing somewhat, I presently knew that one of the fighters had sought the vantage—or disadvantage—of the staircase. But the other evidently pushed him hard, for soon both combatants had reached the landing at the turn of the stairs, as was manifest from a sudden increase of their noise in my ears. I could now hear their short ejaculations as well as the other sounds. They continued to approach: I listened for a stumble on the stairs, to be followed by a death-cry: but these men were apparently heedful as to their steps, and finally they were both upon the level footing of the passage outside my room. I wondered if this fight would be over before it could be opposite my doorway. In a few moments I was answered. Into my narrow view came the large figure of the red Captain, without a doublet, his muscular arms bare, his shirt open and soaked with perspiration, his upper body heaving rapidly as he breathed, his face streaming, his eyes fixed upon the enemy whose swift rapier he parried with wonderful skill. The light of evening was dim in the passage, and perhaps for that reason the Captain backed into my room. His adversary followed instantly.

"Father!" I cried, as the Sieur de la Tournoire appeared in the doorway: in my emotion I thought not how I endangered him by distracting his attention.

But he was not to be thrown off his guard. He moved his head a little to the side, so as to catch a glimpse of me behind the Captain, but this did not prevent his adroitly turning a quick thrust which his enemy made on the instant of my cry.

"Hola, Henri!" said my father, with perfect calmness except for his quickness of breath. "What the devil are you doing here?"

"Sitting chained to the floor," I replied.

At this the Captain suddenly leaped back almost to where I was, and I suppose his intention was to place himself eventually where he would have me between him and my father and could kill me without ceasing to face the latter. But he may have considered an attempt to pass over me as unsafe for his subsequent footing, and so his next movement was sidewise: my father, following close, gave him work every moment. The Captain again stepping backward, I was now at his right and a little in front, so that, if he could gain but a spare second, he could send a finishing thrust my way. With my head turned so as to keep my eyes upon him, I could see by his look that he was determined not to risk my outliving him.

My father, too busy in meeting the Captain's lunges, and in trying what thrust might elude his defence, thought best to expend no more breath in talk with me, and so the fighting went on without words. Suppose, thought I, my father kills the Captain but the Captain first kills me? Had I not better now tell my father to seek the Tower of Morlon and release a person confined there? But if I did that, the Captain would hear, and suppose he killed my father as well as me! I held my tongue.

The Captain now maintained his position, neither giving ground nor pressing forward. The two combatants were between me and the window, through which still came sounds of struggle from the yard below. But these sounds were fewer, except those of cheers, which grew more frequent.

"Good! Our friends are gaining the day!" said my father to me.

"But you, Messieurs, shall not crow over it!" cried the Captain, and made a long thrust, as swift as lightning. My father caught it on the guard of his hilt, within short distance of his breast, at the same instant stepping back. The Captain did not follow, but darted his sword at me, with the cry, "Not for you the Countess!" I contracted my body and thought myself done for. My father's impulsive forward movement, however, disconcerted the Captain's arm in the very moment of his lunge, and his point but feebly stung my side and flew back again, his guard recovered none too soon to save himself. My father's thrusts became now so quick and continuous that the Captain fell back to gain breath. My father drove him to the wall. Shouting a curse, the Captain thrust for my father's midriff. My father, with a swift movement, received the sword between his arm and body, and at the same instant ran his own rapier into the Captain's unguarded front, pushed it through his lung, and pinned him to the wall.



The Captain's arms dropped, his head hung forward, and as soon as the sword was drawn out, he tumbled lifeless to the floor.

My father leaned against the wall till he regained a little breath and energy; then he wiped his brow and sword, and came over to me.

"How have they got you trussed up?" he asked. "And how came you into their hands?—I should be amazed to find you here, if I hadn't seen stranger things before now."

While he cut the cords that bound my ankles and wrists, I told him how I had been waylaid. "I was going with food and wine to a friend who lies locked in a deserted tower called Morlon. She is ill to death, and may now be dead for lack of food and air to keep up her strength. I must go to her—"

"A woman, then?"

"Yes, a lady: I will tell you all, but there is no time to lose now. The tower is in this forest. I must find my way there at once."

"Patience, a moment," said my father. "Your chain is locked, I see:—but no matter,—I can loosen it so that you can wriggle through." By having cut the cords, around which the chain had been passed, he had relieved the tautness, and was now able to do what he promised. He then took off my boots, and, grasping me under the arms, drew me backward out of the loosened coils as I moved them downward with my hands. At last I stood a free man. I put on my boots, took the Captain's sword, and accompanied my father down into the court-yard.

The fight was now over there. Of the royal guardsmen, all in steel caps and corselets, like the small party of them I had seen the previous evening, some were wiping their faces and swords, and others were caring for the hurts of comrades. Some of the robbers lay dead, several were wounded, and the rest, having yielded their weapons, were looking after their own disabled, under the direction of guardsmen. I recognized a number of the rascals as men I had seen at the Chateau de Lavardin. The commander of the troop of guards, he whom I had met before and whose vigorous voice I had recognized, greeted my father with a look of congratulation, and showed surprise at seeing me.

"Tis a day of events," said my father. "I have killed the Count's accomplice, and found my son.—Nay, there was no hope of that Captain's surrendering."

"My faith!—then your two quests are accomplished at the same moment," said the leader of the guardsmen. "And, for another wonder, your son turns out to be a person I have already met. But your friend, Monsieur?" This inquiry was to me, and made with sudden solicitude.

"Locked in the tower of Morlon, waiting for me to come with food,—perhaps dying or dead.—Monsieur, I was brought here blindfold: but I must find the way back to the tower of Morlon without delay,—it is somewhere in this forest."

"No doubt some of these gentry know the way," said the guardsman, indicating the robbers. "We'll make it a condition of his life for one of them to guide us."

"You make me your life-long debtor, Monsieur," I cried. "And one of them has the key: I think it is he lying yonder. As for food and wine—"

"We are not without those," said the guardsman. "Our horses and supplies are near at hand."

I went among the dead and wounded to find the man who had taken possession of my keys. Him I found, but the keys were not upon him. Supposing he had given them to his master, I ran upstairs and examined the pockets of the Captain, but in vain. Where to look next I knew not, so I returned to the court-yard and made known my unsuccess.

"Tut!" said my father; "a door is but a door, and we can break down that of your tower as we broke down this gate. This gentleman"—meaning the leader of the guardsmen—"has most courteously offered to accompany us, with part of his noble troop, and he has chosen a guide from among the prisoners."

"Ay, they all know the tower," said the guardsman, "but this fellow appears the most sensible.—Now, my man, how long will it take us, your comrades bearing the pine trunk with which we rammed this gate, to reach the tower of Morlon?"

"Two hours, Monsieur, I should say," replied the robber.

"It is too much," said the guardsman. "You will lead us thither in an hour at the utmost, or at the end of the hour you shall hang to the tree I then happen to be under." He thereupon gave orders to the guardsmen, and to the prisoners. As night would overtake us in the forest, he had a brief search made of the outhouses, and a number of dry pine sticks were found, to serve as torches. Our party was to go mounted, except the robbers impressed to carry the battering ram: so I went to the stalls at one side of the yard, and found my own horse, chewing hay in fraternal companionship with the animals which had doubtless brought Captain Ferragant and his men from Lavardin.

As I led out my horse, I suddenly bethought me of the man for whose life I had promised to speak. During the final preparations for our start, I looked again among the robbers, wondering why this man had not forced himself upon my attention. But I soon found the reason: he lay on his side, and when I turned him over I saw he was pierced between two ribs and had no life left to plead for.



CHAPTER XVIII.

THE MOUSTACHES OF BRIGNAN DE BRIGNAN

My father, the leader of the guardsmen, and several of his men walked, while I rode, to the nearby edge of encircling woods, the defeated robbers bearing the young tree-trunk. Here my father and the guardsmen mounted, their horses having been tied to the trees. A pair of panniers containing wine, bread, and cold meat, was placed across my father's horse, a very strong animal, and, torches being lighted, we proceeded through the forest. The guide led, being attached to a halter, of which the commander of the guardsmen held the loose end. After the commander, my father and I came, and behind us the burdened prisoners, who were flanked and followed by the other guardsmen.

On the way, I told my father who it was that lay in the tower, and gave him a brief account of my whole adventure at Lavardin and in the forest. He applauded my conduct, though counselling me in future to look well before I leaped; and he approved of my offer to the Countess of the hospitality of La Tournoire.

"But what still makes me wonder," said I, "is that you should have found me here, so far from Paris, whither you knew I was bound, and from Vendome, whither Nicolas must have told you I was going."

"But in truth my being here is very simple," said he. "As soon as Nicolas came back to La Tournoire with your message the day after you set out, I started for Paris to solicit your pardon for the affair at La Fleche. Six days later I presented myself to the Duke de Sully, who immediately took me for an audience of the King. There was a deal of talk about the scandalous disregard of the edict against duels, the great quantity of good blood wasted almost every day, the too frequent granting of pardons, and all that. But in the end Henri would not refuse me, and I have your pardon now in my pocket. But you must not be rash another time: I promised for you, and assured the King you were no fire-eater and had received great provocation."

"Trust me to be prudent," said I.

"Good! As you had not yet arrived in Paris," continued my father, "I supposed you had been delayed at Vendome, whither, as you say, Nicolas told me you were going. So I thought I would start for home by way of Vendome, as you might still be there and perhaps in some scrape or other, or I might meet you on the road between there and Paris. I stayed overnight in Paris, as the Duke had invited me to wait upon him the next day. I went and was very well received. As I was about to take my leave, I mentioned that I was going to travel by Vendome. 'Ah,' said the Duke, 'then, if you wish, you may take a hand in a little affair which will be like an echo of the old busy days.' I opened my eyes at this, and the Duke told me that evidence had just been brought by one of his spies, which warranted the arrest of a powerful malcontent in the neighbourhood of Vendome, who had long been under suspicion,—in short, the Count de Lavardin. A party of royal guards was about to be sent off at once to take him in his chateau at Montoire, four leagues beyond Vendome, and I might go with them as a volunteer, or in any case I might have their company on my journey. I was quite ready for any affair that had a taste of the old service in it, especially as these treasonable great lords sometimes make a stout resistance in their chateaux. And so I had the honour of being introduced to these gentlemen and becoming for the time their comrade. That same afternoon I set out with them for Montoire, and we arrived there last Sunday."

"Ah! you must have passed through Vendome while we were in seclusion there."

"No doubt. That Count's business had to be attended to before he got wind of our arrival, and so there was no time for inquiring about you at Vendome. We came upon the Count and a party of attendants in the road, not a quarter of a league from his chateau. As we heard at the chateau afterwards, he had been searching the roads far and wide for his wife, who had fled from his cruelties. He had the daring to resist arrest, and there was some fighting, in which he was killed. It appears that the fight and his fall were seen by watchers from the tower of his chateau, and before we could arrive at that place his accomplice, this Captain Ferragant, who was in the chateau at the time, made his escape. As soon as we got to the chateau, we heard of this, and, as the Captain also was wanted, there was nothing to do but give chase. A few of the guardsmen were left to hold the chateau in the King's name, and the rest of us, with no more than a sup and a bite, made off after this Captain. He had so many followers with him, that he was not difficult to trace, and for two days we kept his track, until we lost it at the edge of this forest. From what we learned at Chateaudun, we guessed that his refuge was somewhere in the forest. That was yesterday afternoon: we at once broke up into small parties to search the forest, planning to reunite at a chosen place to-day at noon."

"It was one of those parties that saved the Countess from the robbers," said I gratefully.

"Ay, and there your story crosses mine. As for the ruffians who attacked the Countess, they escaped without affording a clue to the Captain's whereabouts,—for doubtless they were of his band, though this was not certain. When our parties met to-day, one of them brought a forester who offered to show the way to the Captain's hiding-place if he were allowed to leave before coming in sight of it. We made full preparations, and you know the rest. At first we thought our forester had fooled us, and that the place we had come to was what it appeared, a solitary farmstead in a clearing of the forest. But in such a case, it is always best to make sure, and faith, that is what we did. So you see I chanced to find you all the sooner for not having had time to look for you. But indeed it was a timely meeting."

In about an hour after the time of starting, we came to a clear space, in the midst of which was the tower we sought. We could see it by the starlight before we drew near with our torches. We all dismounted, and with a fast-beating heart, I found the door. It was still locked. Listening at the key-hole, I could hear no sound. I called out, "Louis!" thinking she would understand I had company to whom her sex need not be known. I wished to warn her of our assault upon the door, so that she might stay clear of danger thereby. But no answer came, though I called several times. I was now in great fear lest she had died. My father, who read my feelings in my face, suggested that she might have fallen into very deep unconsciousness, and that the best thing to do was to break in the door forthwith, as carefully as possible, trusting she might not be where there was chance of anything striking. As the place where I had left her lying was not opposite the door, and there was no reason to suppose she had chosen another, I gave up the attempt to warn her, and without further loss of time we made ready to attack the door. All the men in the party, both guardsmen and prisoners, laid hold of the tree-trunk, by means of halters and ropes fastened around it, my father and I placing ourselves at the head. The commander of the guardsmen, who was immediately behind me, called out the orders by which we moved in unison. Starting from a short distance, we ran straight for the tower, and swung the tree forward against the door at the moment of stopping. A most violent shock was produced, but the lock and hinges still held. We repeated this operation twice. Upon our third charge, the door flew inward. Leaving the trunk to the others, I hastened into the dark, close basement, and groped my way to where I had left the Countess.

"Madame!—Louis!" I called softly, feeling about in the darkness.

A weak voice answered,—a voice like that of one just wakened from profound sleep:

"Henri, is it you?—Mon dieu, I am so glad!—I feared some evil had befallen you."

"Ah, Louis, you are living,—thank God!"

"Living, yes: I have been asleep. Once I awoke, and wondered why you bad not returned. I prayed for you, and then I must have slept again. But what was it awakened me?—was there not a loud noise before I heard your voice?—Who are those men at the door with torches?"

I introduced my father, who, regarding her in the torchlight, and showing as tender a solicitude as a woman's, soon came to the conclusion that her state was no worse than one of extreme weakness for want of food and fresh air. He carried her out, laid her tenderly on a cloak, and administered such food and wine as were good for her. She submitted with the docility and trust of a child.

Leaving her for awhile, my father and I consulted with the leader of the guardsmen, and it was decided that the Countess, my father, and I should pass the night at the tower, the weather being warm and clear. The guardsmen would return with their prisoners to the scene of their recent battle, where much was to be put to rights. On the morrow they would rejoin us, and we should all proceed to Bonneval, where my father's deposition could be added to the report which the leader of the arresting party would have to deliver in Paris in lieu of the Count and Captain themselves.

I could not let the leader go, even for the night, without expressing the gratitude under which I must ever feel to him, for, though he was still ignorant of the identity of the Countess, there was no concealing from him that the supposed youth was a person very near my heart.

"Pouf!" said he, in his manly way; "'tis all chance. I have done nothing for you, but if I had done much I should have been repaid already in the acquaintance of Monsieur de la Tournoire."

"A truce to flattery," said my father. "It is I who am the gainer by the acquaintance of Monsieur Brignan de Brignan."

"Eh! Brignan de Brignan!" I echoed.

"That is this gentleman's name," said my father, wondering at my surprise. "Have we been so busy that I have not properly made you known to him before?"

I gazed at the gentleman's moustaches: they were indeed rather longer than the ordinary. He, too, looked his astonishment at the effect of his name upon me.

"Pardon me, Monsieur," said I. "I have been staring like a rustic. I owe you an explanation of my ill manners. I will give it frankly: it may provide you with laughter. What I am now, I know not, but three weeks ago I was a fool." I then told him how I had been taunted by a young lady, whose name I did not mention, and with what particular object I had so recently started for Paris. This was news to my father also, who laughed without restraint. Brignan de Brignan, though certainly amused, kept his mirth within bounds, and replied: