CHAPTER XX.
THE ABBESS MOVES.
That Bonne failed to read the dark scroll of her sister's thoughtsneed not surprise us; since apart from the tie of blood the two womenhad nothing in common. But that she failed also to interpret Roger'sinaction; that, blaming herself for an acquiescence which love madeinevitable, she did not spare him, whom love should have moved in theopposite direction--this was more remarkable. For a closer bond neverunited brother and sister. But misery is a grand engrosser. She hadher lover in her thoughts, the poor girl whom she sacrificed on hermind; and she left the Duke's quarters without that last look at herbrother which might have enlightened her.
Had she questioned him he had discovered his mind. She did not, andshe had barely passed from sight before he was outside and had got afresh horse saddled. One thing only it was prevented his leaving thecamp in advance of the Countess, whose people were not ready. His footwas raised to the stirrup when he bethought him of this thing. He leftthe horse in charge of a trooper and hurried back to the Duke'squarters, found him alone and put his question.
"You made a man fight the other night against his will," he said, hishead high. "Tell me, my lord, how I can do the same thing."
The Duke stared, then laughed. "Is it that you want?" he answered."Tell me first whom it is you would fight, my lad?"
"The Captain of Vlaye."
"Ah?"
"You said a while ago," Roger continued, his eyes sparkling, "that youwould presently make her a widow. Better a widow before she is wed, Isay!"
The Duke smiled whimsically. "Sits the wind in that quarter?" heanswered. "You have no mind to see her wed at all, my lad? That is it,is it? I had some notion of it."
"Tell me how I can make him fight," Roger replied, sticking to hisquestion and refusing even to blush.
"Tell me how I can get the moon!" Joyeuse answered, but not unkindly."Why should he risk his life to rid himself of you, who are nodrawback to him? Tell me that! Or why should he surrender theadvantage of his strong place and his four hundred spears to enter thelists with a man who is naught to him?"
"Because if he does not I will kill him where I find him!" Rogerreplied with passion. And the mode of the day, which was not nice inthe punctilios of the duel, and forgave the most irregular assault ifit were successful, which cast small blame on Guise for the murder ofSt. Pol, or on Montsoreau for the murder of Bussy, justified thethreat. "I will kill him!" he repeated. "Fair or foul, light ordark----"
"He shall not wed her!" the Duke cried in a mocking tone and with anextravagant gesture. But in truth the raillery was on the surfaceonly. The lad's spirit touched the corresponding note in his ownnature. None the less he shook his head. "Brave words, brave words,young man," he continued; "but you are not Vitaux, who counted hislife for nothing, and whose sword was a terror to all."
"But if I count my life for nothing?"
"Ay, if! If!"
"And why should I not?" Roger retorted, his soul rising to his lips."Tell me, my lord, why should I count it for more? What am I, the sonof a poor gentleman, misshapen, rough, untutored, that I should holdmy life dear? That I should spare it, and save it, as a thing sovaluable? What have I in prospect of all the things other men look to?Glory? See me! Fine I should be," with a bitter laugh covering tears,"in a triumph, or marching up the aisle to a Te Deum! Court favour?Ay, I might be the dwarf in a masque or the fool in motley! Naughtbesides! Naught besides, my lord! And for love?" He laughed still morebitterly. "I tell you my own father winces when he sees me! My ownsister and my own brother--well, they are blind perhaps. They, theyonly, and old Solomon, and the woman who nursed me and dropped me--seein me a man like other men. Leave them out, and, as I live, until thisman came----"
"Des Ageaux?"
"Des Ageaux--until he came and spoke gently to me and said, 'do this,and do that, and you shall be as Gourdon or as Guesclin!'--even hecould not promise me love--as I live, till then no man pitied me orgave me hope! And shall I let him die to save my stunted life?"
"But it is not the saving him that is in question," the Duke repliedgently, and with respect in his tone. He was honestly moved by thisunveiling of poor Roger's thoughts. "She saved him."
"And I'll save her," Roger replied with fervour. "I will save herthough I die a hundred deaths. For she, too----"
He paused. The Duke looked at him, a spice of humour mingling with hissympathy. "She, too, sees in you a man like other men," he said, "Isuppose?"
"She pitied me," Roger answered. "No more; she pitied me, my lord!What more could she do, being what she is? And I being what I am?" Hischin sank on his breast.
The Duke nodded kindly. "May-be," he said. "Less likely things havehappened." And then, "But what will you do?" he asked.
"Go with her and see him, take him aside, and if he will fight me,well! And if he will not, I will strike him down where he stands!"
"But that will not save des Ageaux."
"No?"
"No! On the contrary, it will be he," Joyeuse retorted somewhatgrimly, "who will pay for it. Do you not see that?"
"Then I will wait," Roger replied, "until he is released."
"And then," the Duke asked, still opposing, though the man and theplan were alike after his own heart, "what of the Countess? M. deVlaye dead, who will protect her? His men----"
"They would not dare!" Roger cried, trembling. "They would not dare!"
"Well, perhaps not," the Duke answered, after a moment's thought."Perhaps not. Probably his lieutenant would protect her, for his ownsake. And des Ageaux free would be worth two hundred men to us. Notthat, if I were well, he would be in question. But I am but half aman, and we need him!"
"You shall have him," Roger answered, his eyes glittering. "Have nodoubt of it! But advise me, my lord. Were it better I escorted her tothe gate and sought entrance later, after he had released des Ageaux?Or that I kept myself close until the time came?"
"The time? For what?"
The speaker was the Abbess. Unseen by the two men, she had that momentglided across the threshold. The pallor of her features and thebrightness of her eyes were such as to strike both; but differently.To the Duke these results of a night passed in vivid emotions, and ofa morning that had crowned her schemes with mockery, only brought herinto nearer keeping with the dress she wore--only enhanced her charms.To her brother, on the other hand, who now hated Vlaye with a tenfoldhatred, they were grounds for suspicion--he knew not why. But not evenhe came nearer to guessing the truth. Not even he dreamt that behindthat mask were passions at work which, had they discovered them, wouldhave cast the Duke into a stupor deeper than any into which his ownmad freaks had ever flung a wondering world. As it was, the Duke'seyes saw only the perfection of womankind; the lily of the garden,drooping, pale, under the woes of her frailer sisters. Of the jealousywith which she contemplated the surrender of her rival to her lover'spower, much less of the step which that surrender was pressing uponher, he caught no glimpse.
"The time for what?" the Duke repeated, with looks courteous to thepoint of reverence. "Ah--pardon, my sister, but we cannot take youinto our counsel. Men must sometimes do things it is not for saints toknow or women to witness."
"Saints!" The involuntary irony of her tone must have penetrated earsless dulled by prejudgment. "Saints!" and then, "I am no saint, mylord," she said modestly.
"Still," he answered, "it were better you did not know, mademoiselle.It is but a plan by which we think it possible that we may yet get thebetter of M. de Vlaye and save the child before--before, in fact----"
"Ay?" the Abbess said, a flicker of pain in her eyes. "Before--Iunderstand."
"Before it be too late."
"Yes. And how?"
The Duke shook his head with a smile meant to propitiate. "How?" herepeated. "That--pardon me--that is the point upon which--we wouldfain be silent."
"Yet you must not be silent," she replied. "You must tell me." Andpale, almost stern, she lo
oked from one to the other, dominating them."You must tell me," she repeated. "Or perhaps," fixing Roger with aglance keen as steel, "I know already. You would save her by killinghim. It is of that you are thinking. It is for that your horse iswaiting saddled by the gate. You would ride after her, and gain accessto him--and----"
"She has not started?" Roger exclaimed.
"She started ten minutes ago," the Abbess answered coldly. "Nay,stay!" For Roger was making for the door. "Stay, boy! Do you hear?"
"I cannot stay!"
"If you do not stay you will repent it all your life!" the Abbess madeanswer in a voice that shook even his resolution. "And she all hers!Ha! that stays you?" with a gleam of passion she could not restrain."I thought it would. Now, if you will listen, I have something to saythat will put another complexion on this."
They gazed expectant, but she did not at once continue. She stoodreflecting deeply; while each of her listeners regarded her after hisknowledge of her; Roger sullenly and with suspicion, doubting what shewould be at, the Duke in admiration, expecting that with which gentlewisdom might inspire her.
Secretly she was heart-sick, and the sigh which she could not restraindeclared it. But at last, "There is no need of violence," she saidwearily. "No," addressing Roger, who had raised his hand inremonstrance, "hear me out before you interrupt me. How will the lossof a minute harm you? Or of five or ten? I repeat, there is no need ofviolence. Heaven knows there has been enough! We must go another wayto work to release her. It is my turn now."
"I would rather trust myself," Roger muttered; but so low that thewords, frank to rudeness, did not reach Joyeuse's ears.
"Yet you must trust me," she answered. "Do so, trust me, and follow mydirections, and I will take on myself to say that before nightfall sheshall be free."
"What are we to do?" the Duke asked.
"You? Nothing. I, all. I must take her place, as she has taken M. desAgeaux'."
For an instant they were silent in sheer astonishment. Then, "But M.de Vlaye may have something to say to that!" Roger ejaculated beforethe Duke could find words. The lad spoke on impulse. He knew a littleand suspected more of the lengths to which Vlaye's courtship of hissister had gone.
If she had not put force on herself, she had flung him a retort thatmust have opened the Duke's eyes. Instead, "I shall not consult M. deVlaye," she replied coldly. "I have visited him on various occasions,and we are on terms. My appearance in Vlaye, seeing that the Abbey ofVlaye is but a half-league from the town, will cause no surprise. Oncein the town, if I can enter the castle and gain speech of theCountess, she may escape in my habit."
"I hate this shifting and changing!" Roger grumbled.
"But if it will save her?"
"Ay, but will it?" Roger returned, shrugging his shoulders. Hesuspected that her aim was to save M. de Vlaye rather than theCountess. "Will it? Can you, in the first place, get speech of her?"
"I think I can," the Abbess answered quietly. "Many of the men knowme. And I will take with me Father Benet, who is at the Captain ofVlaye's beck and call. He will serve me within limits, if a friend beneeded. I shall wear my robes, and though she is shorter and smaller Isee no reason why she should not pass out in them in the twilight orafter dark."
"But what of you?" the Duke asked, staring much.
"I shall remain in her place."
"Remain in her place?" Joyeuse said slowly, in the voice he would haveused had Our Lady appeared before him. "You will dare that for her?"
A faint colour stole into the Abbess's cheeks. "It is my expiation,"she murmured modestly. "I struck her--God forgive me!"
"But----"
"And I run no risk. M. de Vlaye knows me, and this"--with a gesturewhich drew attention to her conventual garb--"will protect me."
The Duke gazed at the object of his adoration in a kind of rapture,seeing already the wings on her shoulders, the aureole about her head."Mademoiselle, you will do that?" he cried. "Then you are no woman!You are an angel!" In his enthusiasm he knelt--not without difficulty,for he was still weak--and kissed her hand. To him the thing seemed anact of pure heroism, pure self-denial, pure good-doing.
But Roger, who knew more of his sister's nature and past history, andwhose knowledge left less room for fancy's gilding, stood lost ingloomy thought. What did she mean? Was she going as friend or enemy?Influence with Vlaye she had, or lately had; but, the Countessreleased, in what a position would she, his sister, stand? Could he,could her father, could her friends let her do this thing?
Yet the chance--to a lover--was too good to reject; the position,moreover, was too desperate for niceties. The thought that she wasgoing, not for the sake of the Countess, but of the Captain of Vlaye,the suspicion that she was not unwilling to take the Countess's placeand the Countess's risks, occurred to him. But he thrust, he strove tothrust the suspicion and the thought from him. Her motive and hermeaning, even though that motive and meaning were to save the Captainof Vlaye, were small things beside the Countess's safety.
"At any rate I shall go with you," he said at length, and with more ofsuspicion than of gratitude in his tone. "When will you be ready?"
"I think it likely that he will have bidden Father Benet to be withhim at sunset," she answered. "If we are at the priest's, therefore,an hour earlier, it should do."
"And for safe-conduct?"
"I will answer for that," she replied with boldness, "so far as M. deVlaye's men are concerned."
The answer chafed Roger anew. Her reliance on her influence with Vlayeand Vlaye's people--he hated it; and for an instant he hesitated. Butin the end he swallowed his vexation: had he not made up his mind toshut his eyes? And the three separated after a few more words relatingto the arrangements to be made. The Duke, standing with a full heartin the doorway, watched her to her quarters, marked the grace of hermovements, and in his mind doomed the Captain of Vlaye to unspeakabledeaths if he harmed her; while she, as she passed away, thought--butwe need not enter into her thoughts. She was doing this, lest a worsething happen; doing it in a passion of jealousy, in a frenzy ofdisgust. But she had one consolation. She would see the Captain ofVlaye! She would see the man she loved. Through the dark stuff of herthoughts that prospect ran like a golden thread.
Roger, on the other hand, should have been content. He should havebeen more than satisfied, as an hour later he rode beside her down theriver valley to the chapel beside the ford, and thence to the opencountry about Villeneuve. For if things were still dark, there was aprospect of light. A few hours earlier he had despaired; he had seenno means of saving the woman he adored, save at the expense of his ownlife. Now he had hope and a chance, now he had prospects, now he mightlook, if fortune favoured him, to be her escort into safety before thesun rose again.
Surely, then, he should have been content; yet he was not. Not evenwhen after a journey of four hours the two, having passed Villeneuve,gained without misadventure the summit of that hill on the scarpedside of which the Countess had met with her first misfortune. Fromthat point, they and the two armed servants who followed them couldlook down upon the wide green valley that framed the town of Vlaye,and that, somewhat lower, opened into the wide plain of the Dronne.They could discern the bridge over the river; they could almost countthe red roofs of the small town that crept up from the water to thecoronet of grey walls and towers that crowned all. Those walls andtowers basking in the sunshine were the eyrie that lorded it overleagues of country seen and unseen--the hawk's nest, the _plebisflagellum_, as the old chronicler has it. They might, in sight ofthose towers, count the preliminaries over and all but the supremerisk run.
For quite easily they might have fallen in with Vlaye's people on theroad and been taken; or with M. de Vlaye himself, and with that therehad been an end of the plan. But they had escaped these dangers. Andyet Roger was not content; still he rode with a gloomy brow andpinched lips. The longer he thought of his sister's plan, the more hesuspected and the less he liked it. There was in it a little which hedid not understand, and more
which he understood too well. His sisterand M. de Vlaye! He hated the collocation; he hated to think that shemust be left, willingly and by her own act, in the adventurer's power;and this at a moment when disappointment would aggravate a tempertried by the attack on him and by the part which the Vicomte hadplayed in it. On what did she depend for her safety, for her honour,for all that she put wantonly at stake? On his respect? Hisfriendship? Or his love?
"I will take her place," she had said. Could it be that she waswilling, that she desired, to take it altogether? Was she, after therebuffs, after the scornful and contumelious slight which M. de Vlayehad put upon her, willing still to seek him, willing still to be inhis power?
It seemed so. Certainly it could not be denied that she was seekinghim, and that he, her brother, was escorting her. In that light peoplewould look upon his action.
The thought stung him, and he halted midway on the woodland track thatdescended the farther side of the hill. His face wore a mixture ofshame and appeal--with ill-humour underlying both. "See here, Odette,"he said abruptly, "I do not see the end of this."
Though she raised her eyebrows contemptuously, a faint tinge of colourcrept into her face.
"I thought," she replied, "that the end was to save this little foolwho is too weak to save herself!"
"But you?"
"Oh, for me?" contemptuously. "Take no heed of me. I am of otherstuff, and can manage my own affairs."
"You think so," he retorted. "But the Captain of Vlaye, he, too, is ofother stuff."
"Do you fancy I am afraid of M. de Vlaye?" she answered. And her eyesflashed scorn on him. "You may be! You should be!" with a glance whichmarked his deformity and stabbed the sense of it deep into his heart."How should you be otherwise, seeing that in no circumstances couldyou be a match for him! But I? I say again that I am of other stuff."
"All the same," he muttered darkly, "I would not go on----"
"Would not go on?" she retorted in mockery. "Not with your sweetCountess in danger? Not with the dear light of your eyes in Vlaye'sarms? Not go on? Oh, brave lover! Oh, brave man! Not go on, and yourCountess, your pretty Countess----"
"Be silent!" he cried. She stung him to rage.
"Ah! We go back then?"
But he could not face that, he could not say yes to that; and,defeated, he turned in dumb sullen anger and resumed the road.
Necessarily the danger of arrest increased as they approached thetown. The last mile, which brought them to the bridge over the river,was traversed under the eyes of the castle; it would not havesurprised Roger had they been met and stopped long before they came tothe town gate. But the Captain of Vlaye, it seemed, held the dangerstill remote, and troubled his followers with few precautions. Theplace lay drowsing in the late heat of the summer afternoon. It wasstill as the dead, and though their approach was doubtless seen andnoted, no one issued forth or challenged them. Even the men wholounged in the shade of the low-browed archway--that still bore thescutcheon of its ancient lords--contented themselves with a long stareand a sulky salute. The bridge passed, a narrow street paved andsteep, and overhung by ancient houses of brick and timber, openedbefore them. It led upwards in the direction of the castle, but afterpursuing it in single file some fifty paces, the Abbess turned from itinto a narrow lane that brought them in a bow-shot--for the town wasvery small--to the wall again. This was their present destination. Forcrowded into an angle of the wall under the shadow of one of the oldbrick watch-towers stood the chapel and cell that owned the lax ruleof M. de Vlaye's chaplain, Father Benet.