CHAPTER XVI.
BEHIND THE CURTAINS
So we stood. Irresistible as had been my impulse to follow her, I nowfound myself held back, as if by the look in her eyes, from approachingnearer. So, while she gazed at me in wonder and terror, I regarded herwith inexpressible scorn and love, horror and adoration.
Presently she spoke, in a terrified whisper:
"Why are you here?"
I answered in a low voice:
"Because you are here. Like a poisonous flower you lure me. A flower youare in outward beauty! Never was poison more sweetly concealed than istreachery in you!"
"You were mad to follow me!" she said, and then she cast a quick,apprehensive glance around the chamber, a glance that took in thedifferent doors one after another.
I thought she meant that, as we were in the stronghold of my enemies andher friends, it would be madness in me to attempt to punish hertreachery. So I replied:
"Seek not to fright me from vengeance, for I intend none! I did not cometo punish. I do not know why it is, but where you are not I cannot rest.I am drawn to you as by some power of magic. I would be with you even inhell! Spy, traitress that you are, I love you! Your dupe that I am, Ilove you!" I went to where, with downcast eyes, she stood, and I caughther hand and pressed it to my lips. "I make myself a jest, a thing forlaughter, do I not, kissing the hand that would slay me?"
She raised her eyes, and held out her hand towards the fire-place,saying:
"The hand that I would thrust into the flame to save you from thelightest harm!"
What? Now that I was here, now that my capture seemed certain, would shepretend that she had not acted for La Chatre against me? She did not knowthat I had met Pierre, and what he had confessed to me.
"Mock me as you will, mademoiselle!" said I.
"Mistrust me as _you_ will, monsieur! I tell you, I would not have youundergo the smallest harm!"
"You well sustain the jest!"
"Before God," she answered, "I do not jest!"
There was in her voice a ring of earnestness that seemed impossible to becounterfeit. Puzzled, I looked at her, trying to read her countenance.
"Yet," I said, presently, "you were a spy upon me!"
"I was, God pity me! Scourge me with rough words as you will; I meritevery blow!"
"And you came here to see La Chatre," I went on, "perhaps because youfeared discovery, perhaps because you thought your work of betrayal wasdone" (for I thought that she may have known of the midnight march of thegovernor's troops), "perhaps to finish that work!"
"Now you wrong me at last!" she cried. "Thank God, I am not as bad as youcan think me!"
"Then you did not come here to see La Chatre?"
"I came to see him, I admit! I was seeking him when I met you here. Butit was not because I feared discovery that I left you, nor because Ithought my miserable work was done, nor to finish it."
I saw now that she was in great agitation. She tottered forward to thetable and put her hand on it, and leaned on it for support.
It seemed as if she were speaking the truth, as if there might be someexplanation of all, but that her inward excitement was too great, herideas too confused, for her to assemble the facts and present them inproper order. It seemed that she could answer my accusations only as theycame, that she acknowledged herself guilty in part towards me, and yetdid not wish me harm.
"Mademoiselle," I said, dropping my harshness and irony, "to believe youtrue would make me as happy as I now am wretched. But why is your boyhere, in the governor's service? Why did he carry from you the secret ofmy hiding-place?"
Mademoiselle shuddered and gave a gesture of despair, as if there wereindeed no defence for her.
"Why are the troops away, if not in quest of me?" I asked. "We saw themgoing towards Maury by the river road."
"I did not know that the troops had gone, or were going," she said. "Iswear to you, monsieur, if troops have gone to Maury this night, I hadnothing to do with their going!"
"But they knew what road to take, and how to find my hiding-place. LaChatre knew that."
"Alas, it is true!" she moaned, while tears ran down her face. "I senthim word!"
"You sent him word! You learned how to reach La Tournoire's hiding-placefrom the man you thought his friend, and you sent the secret to thegovernor, whom you knew to be his enemy? And yet you are not as bad as Ican think you!"
"I sent him word of your hiding-place; but he was not to seize you till Ihad arranged a meeting with you alone and informed him of it!"
"You confess this! Oh, mademoiselle!"
"Consider! Did I arrange that meeting?"
"You had not time. It was but this afternoon you learned La Chatre was atClochonne."
"Yet, instead of coming here to-night I might have done it, monsieur. Iran no risk of discovery in staying at Maury. You would still have hadfaith in me had I remained there. And it was easy to do; it was allplanned. You know the old tower by the spring, to which we walked theother day. I was to send Hugo at midnight to M. de la Chatre, with wordto have his men hidden there to-morrow at sunset. To-morrow I was to gooff into the forest with Jeannotte, and at sunset she was to come to you,saying that I was at the tower grievously injured. You would have gone,monsieur, without waiting to call any of your men; you would have come atmy summons on the instant, to the end of the world--"
"You knew that? Truly, the heart of man is an open page to women!"
"It was easily to be done, monsieur. Hugo could have shown the troops theway. The place was well chosen. Neither your sentinels nor the inn peoplewould have seen the troops. They would have hidden there in wait for you.So we had planned it, I and Jeannotte; but I abandoned it. I gave noorders to Hugo. I came to Clochonne."
"Yes, knowing, perchance, that I would come after you. You thought tomake of Clochonne a trap into which to lead me! You were careful to letit be known where you were coming, that I might find out and follow!"
"I told only my maid and Hugo, in a moment of excitement, when I scarceknew what I said. I no more desired you to follow than I desired myselfto stay at Maury to call you to the ambush!"
"The ambush!" I echoed. "You forget one thing, mademoiselle, when youtake credit for renouncing the ambush. The troops have gone already toMaury. Had they found me there, they would have made your ambushunnecessary or impossible."
"But I knew nothing of their going to Maury," she said, helplessly. "Itwas not to have been so. You were to have been taken by an ambush, I say!If the governor sent troops to attack you to-night, he must have changedthe plan."
Now, I could indeed believe this, for I had overheard the plan suggestedby Montignac, and her very talk about the ambush seemed to show that hisplan had been adopted without change. In that case, she might not haveknown of the movement of the troops. La Chatre might have decided, atany time, to change his plan. Perhaps he had done this, and, for lack ofmeans or for some other reason, had not tried to inform her, or hadtried in vain.
She stood like an accused woman before her judges, incapable offormulating her defence, expressing her distress by an occasional low,convulsive sob. What did her conduct mean? Was her demeanor genuine orassumed? Why did she confess one thing and deny another? Why did she seemguilty and not guilty?
"I am puzzled more and more," I said. "I thought that, when I saw you, Ishould at least learn the truth. I should at least know whether to loveyou as an angel, who had been wronged alike by circumstances and byreport, or as a beautiful demon, who would betray me to my death; but Iam not even to know what you are. You betrayed my hiding-place. So far,at least, you are guilty; but you did not arrange the ambush that youwere to have arranged. For so much you claim credit. Whatever are yourwishes in regard to me, they shall be fulfilled. I am yours, to be sentto my death, if that is your will. What would you have me do?"
"Save yourself!" she whispered, eagerly, her eyes suddenly aflame with akind of hope, as if the possibility had just occurred to her.
Was this pretence? D
id she know that I could not escape, and did she yetwish, for shame's or vanity's sake, to appear well in my eyes?
"I shall not leave you," I said, quietly.
"Hark!" she whispered. "Some one comes!"
She looked towards the door near the head of the bed, the door that wasslightly ajar. She looked aghast, as one does at the apprehension of agreat and imminent danger. "Go while there is time! Do you not hear? Itis the voice of La Chatre! I recognize it! And the other,--his secretary,Montignac! Go, go, I pray you on my knees, flee while there is yet time!"
She did indeed fall to her knees, clutching my arm with one hand, andwith the other trying to push me from the room, all the while showing avery anguish of solicitude on her white face. Her eyes plead with me formy own deliverance. The voices, which I too recognized, came nearer andnearer, but slowly, as if the speakers were impeded in their progressthrough the adjoining chamber. "Save yourself, save yourself!" shecontinued to whisper.
"Come what may," I whispered in reply, my hand tightening on my sword, "Iwill not leave you!"
"Then," she whispered, rapidly, seeing that I was not to be moved, "ifyou will court death, at least know me first as I am,--no better, noworse! Hide somewhere,--there behind the bed-curtains,--and hear what Ishall say to La Chatre! After that, if death find you, he shall find mewith you! I implore you, conceal yourself."
There was no pretence now, I was sure. Mystified, yet not doubting, Iwhispered: "I yield, mademoiselle! God knows I would believe youinnocent!" and went behind the curtains, at the foot of the bed. It waseasy to stand behind these without disturbing the natural folds in whichthey fell to the floor. The curtains at the sides also served to shieldme from view, so that I could not have been seen except from within thebed itself.
I had no sooner found this concealment, and mademoiselle had no soonertaken her place, standing with as much composure as she could assume, ashort distance from the foot of the bed, than M. de la Chatre and hissecretary entered the chamber. Peering between the curtains, I saw thatLa Chatre was lame, and that he walked with the aid of a stick on oneside and Montignac's shoulder on the other.
"To think," he was saying as he came in, "that the misstep of a horseshould have made a helpless cripple of me, when I might have led thishunt myself!"
I assumed that the "hunt" was the expedition to Maury, and smiled tothink how far was the game from the place of hunting.
The undisturbed mien of La Chatre showed that he had not heard of thearrival of mademoiselle or of myself, or of the brief fight in thecourtyard. He would not have worn that look of security had he knownthat, of six guards at the chateau, three now lay dead in the courtyard,one had fled, and two were being looked after by my man Frojac.
He wore a rich chamber-robe and was bareheaded. Montignac was attiredrather like a soldier than like a scribe, having on a buff jerkin andwearing both sword and dagger. His breeches and hose were of dull hue,so that the only brightness of color on him was the red of his hair andlips. It was, doubtless, from an excess of precaution that he went sowell armed in the chateau at so late an hour. Yet I smiled to seeweapons on this slight and fragile-looking youth, whose strength lay inhis brain rather than in his wrist. With great interest I watched himnow, knowing that he had devised the plan for my capture, had causedMlle. de Varion to be sent on her mission against me, and had sent DeBerquin on his mission against her. This march of the troops to Maury,also, was probably his doing, even though it did imply a change from theplan overheard by me, and confessed by mademoiselle. He had, too, if DeBerquin had told the truth, resolved to possess mademoiselle. He wasthus my worst foe, this subtle youth who had never seen me, and whom Ihad never injured. He still had that look of mock humility, repressedscorn, half-concealed derision, hidden ambition, vast inner resource,mental activity, all under a calm and thoughtful countenance, over whichhe had control.
It was not until they had passed the bed that they saw mademoiselle.Both stopped and looked astonished. Montignac recognized her at once,and first frowned, as if annoyed; then looked elated, as if herpresence suited his projects. But La Chatre did not immediately knowher. He lost color, as if it were a spirit that he saw, and, indeed,mademoiselle, motionless and pale, looked not unlike some beautifulbeing of another world.
"Who are you?" asked La Chatre, in a startled tone.
"It is I--Mlle. de Varion."
La Chatre promptly came to himself; but he looked somewhat confused,abashed, and irritated.
"Mlle. de Varion, indeed!" he said. "And why comes Mlle. de Varion here?"
And now Montignac spoke, fixing his eyes on La Chatre, and using a quietbut resolute tone:
"She comes too late. La Tournoire will be taken without her aid."
"Be silent, Montignac!" said La Chatre, assuming the authoritative forthe sake of appearance. "It is true, mademoiselle; you are too late infulfilling your part of the agreement."
He spoke with some embarrassment, and I began to see why. Inasmuch as hehad been at Clochonne but little more than one day, no more time hadpassed than would have been necessary for the arrangement of the ambush.Therefore it could not be honestly held that she had been tardy infulfilling her mission; that is to say, when he told her that she was toolate, he lied. Hence his embarrassment, for he was a gentleman. Now whydid he put forth this false pretext of tardiness on her part?
"Too late in fulfilling your part of the agreement," said the governor.
"I came, monsieur," said mademoiselle, heedless of the lie and theapparent attempt to put her at fault, "to be released from my agreement."
Montignac looked surprised, then displeased. La Chatre appeared relieved,but astonished.
"Released, mademoiselle?" he exclaimed, assuming too late a kind ofvirtuous displeasure to cover his real satisfaction.
"Released, monsieur!" said mademoiselle. "I shall no further help youtake M. de la Tournoire. It was to tell you that, and for nothing else inthe world, that I came to Clochonne this night!"
She was close to the bed-curtains behind which I stood. I felt that herwords were meant for my ears as well as for the governor's.
"I shall not need your help, mademoiselle," replied the governor, with aside smile at Montignac. "Yet this is strange. You do not, then, wishyour father's freedom?"
"Not on the terms agreed on, monsieur! Not to have my father set freefrom prison, not even to save him from torture, not even from death. Itake back my promise, and give you back your own. I gave you word of LaTournoire's hiding-place, and so far resigned my honor. I abandon myhateful task unfinished, and so far I get my honor back. And, now, do asyou will!"
I could have shouted for joy!
This, then, explained it all. She had undertaken to betray me, but itwas to save her father! I remembered now. They had wanted a spy "whowould have all to lose by failure." Such were Montignac's words at theinn at Fleurier. A spy, too, who might gain a wary man's confidence, andwith whom a rebel captain might desire or consent to a meeting away fromhis men. Hardly had their need been uttered when there came mademoiselleto beg a pardon for her father. A woman, beautiful and guileless, whomany man might adore and trust, of whom any man might beg a tryst; awoman, whose father was already in prison, his fate at the governor'swill; a woman, inexperienced and credulous, easily made to believe thather father's crime was of the gravest; a woman, dutiful andaffectionate, willing to purchase her father's life and freedom at anycost. What better instrument could have come to their hands? Her anxietyto save her father would give her the powers of dissimulation necessaryto do the work. Her purity and innocence were a rare equipment for thetask of a Delilah. Who would suspect her of guile and intrigue any morethan I had done?
And now, having gone as far as she had in the task, she had abandoned it.Even to save her father, she would no more play the traitress against me!Against _me_! She loved me, then! Her task had become intolerable. Shemust relieve herself of it. Yet as long as La Chatre still supposed thatshe was carrying it out, she would feel bound by her obligatio
n to him.She must free herself of that obligation. She had made a compact withhim, she had given him her word. Though she resolved not to betray me,she would not betray him either. He must no longer rely on her for theperformance of a deed that she had cast from her. She must not play falseeven with him. All must hereafter be open and honest with her. The firststep towards regaining her self-respect was to see the governor andrenounce the commission. Then, but not till then, would she dare confessall to me. I saw all this in an instant, as she had felt it, for peopledo not arrive at such resolutions slowly and by reason, but instantly andby feeling.
And all that she had done and suffered had been to save her father! Had Ibut told her at once of my intention to deliver him, if possible, allthis, and my own hours of torment, might have been avoided. From whatlittle things do events take their course!
I rejoiced, I say, behind the curtains, on learning the truth. Whatmatter if we met death together in the enemy's stronghold, now that shewas pure and loved me? And yet, if we could but find a way out of this,and save her father as well, what joy life would have!
La Chatre cast another jubilant smile at Montignac. The governor wasplainly delighted that mademoiselle herself had given up the task, nowthat he had changed his plans and had no further use for her in them. Itrelieved him of the disagreeable necessity of making her an explanationcomposed of lies. He was really a gallant and amiable gentleman, andsubterfuge, especially when employed against a lady, was obnoxious tohim. As for Montignac, he stood frowning meditatively. He surely guessedthat mademoiselle's act was inspired by love for me, and the thought wasnot pleasant to him.
Suddenly the governor turned quite pale, and asked quickly, insome alarm:
"Did you speak the truth when you sent word of his hiding-place?"
It would, indeed, have been exasperating if he had sent his troops on afalse scent.
Mademoiselle hesitated a moment, then turned her eyes towards thebed-curtains, and said:
"Yes, monsieur."
Her look, as I saw it, expressed that my position was not so bad, afterall, as long as the troops were away, and La Chatre supposed that I wasat Maury being captured by them.
La Chatre, reassured by her tone, which of course had the ring of truth,again breathed freely.
"Then I release you from your agreement, mademoiselle," he said, andadded slowly and with a curious look at Montignac, "and your father maylanguish in the chateau of Fleurier. But note this, mademoiselle: youwithdraw your aid from our purpose of capturing this traitor. Therefore,you wish him freedom. For you, in the circumstances, not to oppose him isto aid him. That is treason. I must treat you accordingly, mademoiselle."
"I have said, do with me as you will," she answered. For a time, relievedof the burden that had weighed so heavily on her, she seemed resigned toany fate. It was not yet that her mind rose to activity, and she began tosee possibilities of recovering something from the ruins.
And now the demeanor of La Chatre became peculiar. He spoke tomademoiselle, while he looked at Montignac, as if he were taking anunexpected opportunity to carry out something prearranged between himand the secretary; as if he were dissembling to her, and soughtMontignac's attention and approval. His look seemed to say to thesecretary, "You see how well I am doing it?" Montignac stood with foldedarms and downcast eyes, attending carefully to La Chatre's words, buthaving too much tact to betray his interest.
"And yet," said La Chatre, "you have been of some service to me in thismatter, and I would in some measure reward you. You sent me informationof La Tournoire's whereabouts, and for so much you deserve to be paid.But you leave unfinished the service agreed on, and of course you cannotclaim your father's release."
"Yet, if I have at all served you in this, as unhappily I have, there isno other payment that you possibly can make me," said mademoiselle.
"The question as to whether you ought to be rewarded for what you havedone, or held guilty of treasonable conduct in withdrawing at so late astage," said La Chatre, "is a difficult matter for me to deal with. Theremay be a way in which it can be settled with satisfaction to yourself. Itis your part, not mine, to find such a way and propose it. You may takecounsel of some one--of my secretary, M. Montignac. He is one who, unlikeyourself, is entitled to my favor and the King's, and who may, onoccasion, demand some deviation from the strict procedure of justice.Were he to ask, as a favor to himself, special lenience for your father,or even a pardon and release, his request would have to be seriouslyconsidered. Advise her, Montignac. I shall give you a few minutes to talkwith her."
And La Chatre, aided by his stick, made his way to the window, where hestood with his back towards the other two.
I was not too dull to see that all this was but a clumsy way ofthrowing mademoiselle's fate and her father's into the hands ofMontignac. The governor's manner, as I have indicated, showed that hehad previously agreed to do this on fit occasion, and that he nowperceived that occasion.
A new thought occurred to me. Had Montignac, coming more and more todesire mademoiselle, and doubting the ability of his hastily foundinstrument, De Berquin, sought and obtained the governor's sanction tohis wishes? Had he advised this midnight march to Maury in order that Imight be caught ere mademoiselle could fulfil her mission; in order,that is to say, to prevent her from earning her father's freedom by themeans first proposed; in order that La Chatre might name a new price forthat freedom; in order, in fine, that herself should be the price, andMontignac the recipient? Montignac could persuade the governor toanything, why not to this? It was a design worthy alike of thesecretary's ingenuity and villainy. Circumstance soon showed that I wasright, that the governor had indeed consented to this perfidy.Mademoiselle's unexpected arrival at Clochonne had given excellentoccasion for the project to be carried out. The governor himself hadrecognized the fitness of the time. No wonder that he had at firstfalsely charged her with tardiness, pretended that her delay had causedthe alteration of his plans. He had needed a pretext for having sent histroops to capture me so that he might cheat her of her reward. I burnedwith indignation. That two men of power and authority should so trick ahelpless girl, so use her love for her father to serve their ownpurposes, so employ that father's very life as coin with which to buyher compliance, so cozen her of the reward of what service she had done,so plot to make of her a slave and worse, so threaten and use and cheather! No man ever felt greater wrath than I felt as I stood behind thecurtains and saw Montignac lift his eyes to mademoiselle's in obedienceto the governor's command. Yet, by what power I know not, I held myselfcalm, ready to act at the suitable moment. I had taken a resolution, andwould carry it out if sword and wit should serve me. But meanwhile Iwaited unseen.
Mademoiselle drew back almost imperceptibly, and on her face came theslightest look of repugnance. From her manner of regarding him, it wasevident that this was not the first time she had been conscious of hisadmiration and felt repelled by it. The meeting in the inn at Fleurierhad left with her a vastly different impression from that which it hadleft with him.
Without smiling, he now bowed very courteously, and placed a chair forher near where she stood.
"Mademoiselle," he said, with great tenderness, yet most respectfully, "aharder heart than mine would be moved by your gentleness and beauty."
And here my own heart beat very rapidly at sound of another man speakingso adoringly to my beloved.
She looked at him questioningly, as if his tone and manner showed thatshe had misjudged him. His bearing was so gentle and sympathetic that shecould not but be deceived by it. She ceased to show repugnance, and satin the chair that he had brought.
"Monsieur," she said, "in my first opinion I may have wronged you. Ifyour heart is truly moved, you can demonstrate your goodness by askingfor my father's freedom. M. de la Chatre will grant it to you. You have aclaim on his favor, as he says, while I have none. Free my father, then,and make me happy!"
Poor Julie! She thought not of herself. She knew that it would beuseless to ask anything for
me. Yet there was one thing that might be hadfrom the situation--her father's freedom. So she summoned her energies,and devoted them to striving for that, though she was in terror of mybeing at any moment discovered.
"I would make you the happiest of women," said Montignac, in a low,impassioned tone, falling on one knee and taking her hand, "if you wouldmake me the happiest of men."
Apprehension came into her eyes. She rose and moved towards thebed-curtains, and, in the vain hope of turning him from his purpose bypretending not to perceive it, said, with a sad little smile:
"Alas! it is out of my poor power to confer happiness!"
She half-turned her head towards where I stood behind the curtains,partly at thought of the happiness that it seemed impossible for her toconfer on me, partly in fear lest Montignac's words might bring me forth.
"It is easily in your power to confer more than happiness," saidMontignac.
"How, monsieur?" she faltered, trembling under two fears, that ofMontignac's ardor and that of my disclosing myself. "I am puzzled toknow."
"By conferring your hand, mademoiselle," said Montignac, following herand grasping her wrist. "Your father will be glad to give his consent forhis liberty, if he knows that you have given yours. But we can arrange toproceed without his consent. Do not draw back, mademoiselle. It ismarriage that I offer, when I might make other terms. My family is a goodone; my prospects are the best, and I have to lay at your feet a lovethat has never been offered to another, a love as deep as it is fresh--"
I clutched the curtain to give vent to my rage. Mademoiselle was lookingtowards me, and saw the curtain move.
"Say no more!" she cried, fearful lest his continuance might be too muchfor my restraint. "I cannot hear you?"
"I love you, mademoiselle," he went on, losing his self-control, so thathis face quivered with passion. "I can save you and your father!"
He thrust his face so close to hers that she drew back with an expressionof disgust.
"A fine love, indeed?" she cried, scornfully, "that would buy the love itdare not hope to elicit free!" And she turned to La Chatre as if forprotection. But the governor shook his head, and remained motionless atthe window.
"A love you shall not despise, mademoiselle!" hissed Montignac, stung byher scorn. He was standing by the table near the bed, and, in hisanger, he made to strike the table with his dagger, but he struckinstead the tray on the table, and so produced a loud, ringing soundthat startled the ear.
"Your fate is in my hands," he went on; "so is your father's. As for thisTournoire, concerning whom you have suddenly become scrupulous, he is,doubtless, by this time in the hands of the troops who have gone for him,and very well it is that we decided not to wait for you to lead him tous. So he had best be dismissed from your mind, as he presently will befrom this life. Accept me, and your father goes free! Spurn me, and hedies in the chateau of Fleurier, and you shall still belong to me! Whynot give me what I have the power and the intention to take?"
"If you take it," cried mademoiselle, "that is your act. Were I to give,that would be mine. It is by our own acts that we stand or fall in ourown eyes and God's!" She spoke loudly, in a resolute voice, as if to showme that she could look to herself, so that I need not come out to herdefence,--for well she guessed my mind, and knew that, though she hadconsented a thousand times to betray me, I would not stand passive whilea man pressed his unwelcome love on her. And now, as if to force a changeof theme by sheer vehemence of manner, she turned her back towardsMontignac and addressed La Chatre with a fire that she had notpreviously shown.
"You have heard the proposal of this buyer of love! You hear me rejectit! M. de la Chatre, I hold you to your word. I have been of some serviceto you in the matter of La Tournoire, and you would, in some measure,reward me! You have said it! Very well! You expect to capture himto-night at his hiding-place. Through me you learned that hiding-place,therefore, through me you will have taken him. There is but one possibleway in which you can reward me: Keep your word! What if I did refuse toplan the ambush? You yourself had already decided to dispense with that.In the circumstances, all that I could have done for you I have done.Would I could undo it! But I cannot! Therefore, give me now, at once, anorder that I may take to Fleurier for my father's release!"
La Chatre was plainly annoyed, for he loved to keep the letter of hisword. He could not deceive this woman, as he had at first felicitatedhimself on doing, with a false appearance of fair dealing. She sawthrough that appearance. It was indeed irritating to so honest agentleman. To gain time for a plausible answer, he moved slowly from thewindow to the centre of the chamber. At the same time, mademoiselle, tobe further from Montignac, went towards the door by which she had enteredthe room on my arrival. The secretary, with wolf-like eyes, followedher, and both turned so as still to face the governor.
"I shall devise some proper reward for you," said La Chatre, slowly. "Iadhere always to the strict letter of my word; but I am not bound to freeyour father. The strict letter of my word, remember! Recall my words toyou at the inn. I recall them exactly, and so does Montignac, who thisvery evening reminded me of--ahem, that is to say, I recall them exactly.I was to send the order to the governor of Fleurier for your father'simmediate release the instant I should stand face to face with the Sieurde la Tournoire in the chateau of Clochonne."
I threw aside the bed-curtain, stepped forth, and said:
"That time has come, monsieur!"