CHAPTER II.
THE TOWER CHAMBER.
An hour or two later the Lieutenant awoke suddenly. He rose on hiselbow, and listened. Inured to a life of change which had cast himmany times into strange beds and the company of stranger bed-fellows,he had not to ask himself where he was, or how he came to be there. Heknew these things with a soldier's instinct, before his eyes wereopen. That which he did ask himself was, what had roused him.
For it was still the dead of night, and all in the chateau, and allwithout, save the hoarse voices of the frogs, seemed quiet. Throughthe lattice that faced him the moonbeams fell on the floor in white,criss-cross patterns; which the pointed shape of the windows made toresemble chequered shields--the black and white escutcheons of hisnative province. These patches of light diffused about them a faintradiance, sufficient, but no more than sufficient, to reveal theoutlines of the furniture, the darker masses of the beds, and even thevague limits of the chamber. He marked nothing amiss, however, exceptthat which had probably roused him. The nearest lattice, that onethrough which he had noted the ivy growing, stood wide open. Doubtlessthe breeze, light as it was, had swung the casement inwards, and thecreak of the hinge, or the coolness of the unbroken stream of airwhich blew across his bed, had disturbed him.
Satisfied with the explanation, he lay down with a sigh of content,and was about to sink into sleep when a low, sibilant sound caught hisear, fretted him awhile, finally dragged him up, broadly awake. Whatwas it? What caused it? The gentle motion of the loosened ivy on thesill? Or the wind toying with the leaves outside? Or the stir of theragged hangings that moved weirdly on the wall? Or was some onewhispering?
The last was the fact, and, assured of it, des Ageaux peered throughthe gloom at the nearer pallet, and discovered that it was empty. Thenhe reflected. The ivy, which grew through the window, must have heldthe lattice firm against a much stronger breeze than was blowing. Itfollowed that the casement had been opened by some one; probably bysome one who had entered the room that way.
It might be no affair of his, but on the other hand it might be verymuch his affair. He looked about the room, making no sound, butkeeping a hand raised to seize his weapons on the least alarm.
He could discover neither figure nor any sign of movement in the room.Yet the whispering persisted. More puzzled, he raised himself higher,and then a streak of light which the low, lumpy mass of one of thetruckle-beds had hidden, broke on him. It shone under the door bywhich he had entered, and proceeded, beyond doubt, from a lanthorn orrushlight in the antechamber.
What was afoot? It is not as a rule for good that men whisper at deadof night, nor to say their prayers that they steal from their beds inthe small hours. Des Ageaux was far from a timid man--or he had notbeen Lieutenant-Governor of Perigord--but he knew himself alone in astrange house, and a remote corner of that house; and though hebelieved that he held the map of the country he might be deceivinghimself. Possibly, though he had seen no sign of it, he was known. Hishost styled himself the Captain of Vlaye's friend; he might think todo Vlaye a kindness at his guest's expense. Nor was that all. Lonelytravellers ran risks in those days; it was not only from inns thatthey vanished and left no sign. He bore, it was true, not much ofprice about him, and riding without attendance might be thought tohave less. But, all said and done, the house was remote, the Vicomtepoor and a stranger. It might be as well to see what was passing.
He rose noiselessly to his feet, and, taking his sword, crept acrossthe floor. He had lain down in the greater part of his clothes, andwhatever awaited him, he was ready. As he drew near the door, thewhispering on the farther side persisted. But it was low, the soundlacked menace, and before he laid his ear to the oak some shame of theproceeding seized him.
His scruples were wasted. He could not, even when close, distinguish aword; so wary were the speakers, so low their voices. Then theabsurdity of his position, if he were detected and the matter hadnaught to do with him, took him by the throat. The chamber, with itspatches of moonlight and its dim spaces, was all quiet about him, andeither he must rest content with that, or he must open and satisfyhimself. He took his resolution, found the latch, and opened the door.
He was more or less prepared for what he saw. Not so the three whom hesurprised in their midnight conference. The girl whom he had seen atsupper sprang with a cry of alarm from the step on which she had herseat, and retreating upwards as quickly as the cloak in which she wasmuffled would let her, made as if she would escape by the towerstairs. The two men--Roger, the son of the house, and another, ataller youth, who leant against the wall beside him--straightenedthemselves with a jerk; while the stranger, who had the air of beingtwo or three years older than Roger, laid his hand on his weapon. Alanthorn which stood on the stone floor between the three, and was theonly other object in the closet, cast its light upwards; which had theeffect of distorting the men's features, and exaggerating looksalready disordered.
The Lieutenant, we have said, was not wholly surprised. None the lessthe elder of the two young men was the first to find his tongue. "Whatdo you here?" he cried, his eyes gleaming with resentment. "We came tobe private here. What do you wish, sir?"
Des Ageaux took one step over the threshold and bowed low. "To offermy apologies," he replied, with a tinge of humour in his tone, "andthen to withdraw. To be plain, sir, I heard whispering, and,half-roused, I fancied that it might concern me. Forgive me,mademoiselle," he continued, directing an easy and not ungracefulgesture to the shrinking girl, who cowered on the dark stairs as ifshe wished they might swallow her. "Your pardon also, MonsieurCharles."
"You know my name?" the stranger exclaimed, with a swift, perturbedglance at the others.
"Your name and no more," des Ageaux answered, smiling and not a whitdisturbed. His manner was perfectly easy. "I heard it as I opened. Butbe at rest, that which is not meant for me I do not keep. You willunderstand that the hour was late, I found the window open, I heardvoices--some suspicion was not unnatural. Have no fear, however.To-morrow I shall only have had one dream the more."
"But dream or no dream," the person he had addressed as Charlesblurted out, "if you mention it----"
"I shall not mention it."
"To the Vicomte even?"
"Not even to him! The presence of mademoiselle's brother," des Ageauxcontinued, with a keen glance at Roger, "were warrant for silence, hadI the right to speak."
The girl started and the hood of her cloak fell back. With loosenedhair and parted lips she looked so pretty that he was sorry he hadstruck at her ever so slightly. "You think, sir," she exclaimed in atone half-indignant, half-awestruck, "that this is my lover?"
His eyes passed from her to the taller young man. He bowed low. "Idid," he said, the courtesy of his manner redoubled. "Now I see thathe is your brother. Forgive me, mademoiselle, I am unlucky thisevening. Lest I offend again--and my presence alone must be anoffence--I take my leave."
Charles stepped forward. "Not," he said somewhat peremptorily, "beforeyou have assured us again of your silence! Understand me, sir, this isno child's play! Were my father to hear of my presence, he would makemy sister suffer for it. Were he to discover me here--you do not knowhim yet--it might cost a life!"
"What can I say more," des Ageaux replied with a little stiffness,"than I have said? Why should I betray you?"
"Enough, sir, if you understand."
"I understand enough!" And then, "If I can do no more than besilent----"
"You can do no more."
"I take my leave." And, bowing, with an air of aloofness he steppedback and closed the door on them.
When he had done so the three looked eagerly at one another. But theydid not speak until his footsteps on the chamber floor had ceased tosound. Then, "What is this?" the elder brother muttered, frowningslightly at the younger. "There is something here I do not understand.Who is he? What is he? You told me that he was some poor gentlemanadventuring alone, and without servants, and stayi
ng here for thenight with a lame horse and an empty purse. But----"
"He was not like this at supper," Roger replied, excusing himself.
"But he has nothing of the tone of the man you described."
"Not now," Bonne said. "But at supper he was different in some way."And recalling how he had looked at her when he thought that Charleswas her lover, she blushed.
"He is no poor man," Charles muttered. "Did you mark his ring?"
"No."
"May-be at supper it was turned inward, but as he stood there with hishand on the door post, the light fell on it. _Three leopards passantor on a field vert!_ I have seen that coat, and more than once!"
"But why should not the poor gentleman wear his coat?" Bonne urged."Perhaps it is all that is left of his grandeur."
"In gold on green enamel?" Charles asked, raising his eyebrows."Certainly his sword was of the plainest. But I don't like it! Why ishe here? What is he doing? Can he be friend to Vlaye, and on his wayto help him?"
Abruptly the girl stepped forward, and flinging an arm round herbrother's neck, pressed herself against him. "Give it up! Give it up!"she murmured. "Charles! Dear brother, listen to me. Give it up!"
"It were better you gave me up," he replied in a tone between humourand pathos, as he stroked her hair. "But you are Villeneuve at heart,Bonne----"
"Bonne by nature, Bonne by name!" Roger muttered, caressing her withhis eyes.
"And stand by those you love, whatever come of it!" Charles continued."Would you then have me leave those"--with a grimace which she, havingher face on his shoulder, could not see--"whom, if I do not love, Ihave chosen! Leave them because danger threatens? Because Vlaye givesthe word?"
"But what can you do against him?" she answered in a tearful tone."You say yourself that they are but a rabble, your Crocans! Brokenmen, beggars and what not, peasants and ploughboys, ill-armed andill-fed! What can they do against men-at-arms? Against Vlaye? Ithought when I got word to you to come, in order that I might tell youwhat he was planning--I thought that you would listen to me!"
"And am I not listening, little one?" he replied, fondling her hair.
"But you will not be guided?"
"That is another thing," he replied more soberly. "Had I known, it istrue, what I know now, had I known of what sort they were to whom Iwas joining myself, I might not have done it. I might have borne alittle longer"--his tone grew bitter--"the life we lead here! I mighthave borne a little longer to rust and grow boorish, and to stand forclown and rustic in M. de Vlaye's eyes when he deigns to visit us! Imight have put up a little longer with the answer I got when I cravedleave to see the wars and the world--that as my fathers had made mybed I must lie on it. Ay, and more! If he--I will not call himfather--had spared me his sneers only a little, if he had let a day goby without casting in my face the lack that was no fault of mine, Iwould have still tried to bear it. But not a day did he spare me! Notone day, as God is my witness!"
Her sorrowful silence acknowledged the truth of his words. At length,"But if these folk," she said timidly, "are of so wretched a sort,Charles?"
"Wretched they are," he answered, "but their cause is good. Betterfall with them than rise by such deeds as have driven them to arms. Itell you that the things I have heard, as I sat over their fires bynight in the caves about Bourdeilles where they lie, would arm notmen's hands only, but women's! Would spoil your sleep of nights, andstrong men's sleep! Poor cottars killed and hamlets burned, in puresport! Children flung out and women torn from homes, and through awhole country-side corn trampled wantonly, and oxen killed to make ameal for four! But I cannot tell you what they have suffered, for youare a woman and you could not bear it!"
Bonne forgot her fears for him. She leant forward--she had gone backto her seat on the stairs--and clenched her small hands. "And M. deVlaye it is," she cried, "he who has done more than any other tomadden them, who now proposes to rise upon their fall? Monsieur deVlaye it is who, having driven them to this, will now crush them andsay he does the King service, and so win pardon for a thousandcrimes?"
But the light had gone out in Charles's eyes. "Ay, and win it he will.So it will go," he said moodily. "So it will happen! He has seen afarthe chance of securing himself, and he will seize it, by doing what,for the time, no other has means to do."
"He who kindled the fire will be rewarded for putting it out?"
"Just so!"
"But can you do nothing against him?" Roger muttered.
"We may hold our own for a time, in the caves and hills about Brantomeperhaps," the elder brother answered. "But after a while he willstarve us out. And in the open such folks as we have, ill-armed,ill-found, with scarce a leader older than myself, will melt beforehis pikes like smoke before the wind!"
Roger's eyes glistened. "Not if I were with you," he muttered. "Thereshould be one blow struck before he rode over us! But"--he let hischin sink on his breast--"what am I?"
"Brave enough, I know," Charles answered, putting his handaffectionately on the lad's shoulder. "Braver than I am, perhaps. Butit is not the end, be the end what it may, good lad, that weighs medown and makes me coward. It is the misery of seeing all go wrong hourby hour and day by day! Of seeing the cause with which I must now sinkor swim mishandled! Of striving to put sense and discipline into thefolk who are either clowns, unteachable by aught but force, or arabble of worthless vagrants drawn to us as to any other cause thatpromises safety from the gallows. And yet, if I were older and hadseen war and handled men, I feel that even of this stuff I could makea thing should frighten Vlaye. Ay, and for a time I thought I could,"he continued gloomily. "But they would not be driven, and short ofhanging half a dozen, which I dare not attempt, I must be naught!"
"Do you think," Roger muttered, "that if you had me beside you--I havestrong arms----"
"God forbid!" Charles answered, looking sadly at him. "Dear lad, oneis enough! What would Bonne do without you? It is not your place to goforth."
"If I were straight!"
The girl leaned forward and took his hand. "You are straight for me,"she said softly. "Straight for me! More precious than the straightestthing in the world!"
He sighed and Bonne echoed the sigh. It was the first time the threehad met since Charles's flight; since, fretted by inaction and stungbeyond patience by the gibes of the father--who, while he withheld themeans of making a figure in the world, did not cease to sneer atsupineness--he had taken a step which had seemed desperate, and nowseemed fatal. For if this Crocan rising were not a Jacquerie in name,if it were not stained as yet by the excesses which made that word aterror, it was still a peasant-rising. It was still a revolt of thecanaille, of the mob; and more indulgent fathers than the Vicomtewould have disowned the son who, by joining it, ranged himself againsthis caste.
The younger man had known that when he took the step; yet he had beencontent to take it. The farther it set him from the Vicomte thebetter! But he had not known nor had Bonne guessed how hopeless wasthe cause he was embracing, how blind its leaders, how shiftless itsfollowers, how certain and disastrous its end! But he knew now. Heknew that, to the attack which M. de Vlaye meditated, the mob of clodsand vagrants must fall an easy prey.
Young and high-spirited, moved a little by the peasants' wrongs, andmore by his own, he had done this thing. He had rushed on ruin, madegood his father's gibes, played into M. de Vlaye's hands--the hands ofthe man who had patronised him a hundred times, and with a sneer madesport of his rusticity. The contempt of the man of the world for theraw boy had sunk into the lad's soul, and he hated Vlaye. To dragVlaye down had been one of Charles's day-dreams. He had pined for thehour when, at the head of the peasants who were to hail him as theirleader, he should tread the hated scutcheon under foot.
Now he saw that all the triumph would be M. de Vlaye's, and that byhis bold venture he had but added a feather to the hated plume. AndBonne and Roger, mute because their love taught them when to speak andwhen to refrain, gazed sadly at the lanthorn. The silence lasted along minute, and
was broken in the end, not by their voices, but bythe distant creak of a door.
Bonne sprang to her feet, the colour gone from her face. "Hush!" shecried. "What was that? Listen."
They listened, their hearts beating. Presently Roger, his face almostas bloodless as Bonne's, snatched up the lanthorn. "It is theVicomte!" he gasped. "He is coming! Quick, Charles! You must go theway you came!"
"But Bonne?" his brother muttered, hanging back. "What is she to do?"
Roger, his hand on the door of the Tower Chamber, stood aghast.Charles might escape unseen, there was still time. But Bonne? If herfather found the girl there? And the stranger was in the Tower Room,she could not retreat thither. What was she to do?
The girl's wits found the answer. She pointed to the stairs. "I willhide above," she whispered. "Do you go!" It was still of Charles shethought. "Do you go!" But the terror in her eyes--she feared herfather as she feared no one else in the world--wrung the brothers'hearts.
Charles hesitated. "The door at the top?" he babbled. "It is locked, Ifear!"
"He will not go up!" she whispered. "And while he is in the Tower RoomI can escape."
She vanished as she spoke, in the darkness of the narrow windingshaft--and it was time she did. The Vicomte was scarce three pacesfrom the outer door when the two who were left sprang into the TowerChamber.
The Lieutenant was on his feet by the side of his bed. He had not goneto sleep, and he caught their alarm, he had heard the last hurriedwhispers, he had guessed their danger. He was not surprised whenCharles, without a word, crossed the floor in a couple of bounds,flung himself recklessly over the sill of the window, clung an instantby one hand, then disappeared. A moment the shoot of ivy that grewinto the chamber jerked violently, the next the door was flung wideopen, and the Vicomte, a gaunt figure bearing a sword in one hand, alanthorn in the other, stood on the threshold. The light of thelanthorn which he held above his head that he might detect what wasbefore him, obscured his face. But the weapon and the tone of hisvoice proclaimed the fury of his suspicions. "Who is here?" he cried."Who is here?" And again, as if in his rage he could frame no otherwords, "Who is here, I say? Speak!"
Roger, on his feet, the tell-tale lanthorn in his hand, could notforce a word. He stood speechless, motionless, self-convicted; and hadall lain with him, all had been known. Fortunately des Ageaux took onhimself to answer.
"Who is here, sir?" he said in a voice a tone louder and a shadeeasier than was natural. "The devil, I think! For I swear no one elsecould climb this wall!"
"What do you mean?"
"And climb it," des Ageaux persisted, disregarding the question, "verynearly to this sill! I heard him below five minutes ago. And if I hadnot been fool enough to rouse your son and bid him light we had hadhim safe by now on this floor!"
The Vicomte glared. The story was glib, well told, animated; but hedoubted it. He knew what he had expected to find. "You lit thelanthorn?" he snarled. "When?"
"Two minutes back--it might be more," des Ageaux replied. "Now he isclean gone. Clean gone, I fear," he added as he stepped into theembrasure of the window and leant forward cautiously, is if he thoughta shot from below a thing not impossible. "I hear nothing, at anyrate."
The Vicomte, struggling with senile rage, stared about him. "But I sawa light!" he cried. "In the outer room!"
"The outer room!"
"Under the door."
"Shone under both doors, I suppose," des Ageaux replied, still intentto all appearance on the dark void outside. "I'll answer for it," headded carelessly as he turned, "that he did not go out by the door."
"He will not go out now," the Vicomte retorted with grim suspicion,"for I have locked the outer door." He showed the key hung on a fingerof the hand which held the lanthorn.
The sight was too much for Roger; he understood at once that it cutoff his sister's retreat. A sound between a groan and an exclamationbroke from him.
The Vicomte lifted the lanthorn to his face. "What now, booby?" hesaid. "Who has hurt you?" And, seeing what he saw, he cursed the ladfor a coward.
"I did not feel over brave myself five minutes ago," the Lieutenantremarked.
The Vicomte turned on him as if he would curse him also. But, meetinghis eyes, he thought better of it, and swallowed the rage he longed tovent. He stared about him a minute or more, stalking here and thereoffensively, and trying to detect something on which to fasten. But hefound nothing, and, having flung the light of his lanthorn once morearound the room, he stood an instant, then, turning, went sharply--asif his suspicions had now a new direction--towards the door.
"Good-night!" he muttered churlishly.
"Good-night!" the Lieutenant answered, but in the act of speaking hemet the look of horror in Roger's eyes, remembered and understood."She is still there," the lad's white lips spelled out, as theylistened to the grating noise of the key in the lock. "She could notescape. And he suspects. He is going to her room."
Des Ageaux stared a moment nonplussed. The matter was nothing to him,nothing, yet his face faintly mirrored the youth's consternation.Then, in a stride, he was at his bedside. He seized one of thehorse-pistols which lay beside his pillow, and, before the ladunderstood his purpose, he levelled it at the open window and firedinto the night.
The echoes of the report had not ceased to roll hollowly through theTower before the door flew wide again, and the Vicomte reappeared, hiseyes glittering, his weapon shaking in his excitement. "What is it?"he cried, for at first he could not see, the smoke obscured the room."What is it? What is it?"
"A miss, I fear," des Ageaux answered coolly. He stood with his eyesfixed on the window, the smoking weapon in his hand. "I fear, amiss--I had a notion all the time that he was in the ivy outside, andwhen he poked up his head----"
"His head?" the Vicomte exclaimed. He was shaking from head to foot.
"Well, it looked like his head," des Ageaux replied more doubtfully.He moved a step nearer to the window. "But I could not swear to it. Itmight have been an owl!"
"An owl?" the Vicomte answered in an unsteady tone. "You fired at anowl?"
"Whatever it was I missed it," des Ageaux answered with decision, andin a somewhat louder tone. "If you will step up here--but I fear youare not well, M. le Vicomte?"
He spoke truly, the Vicomte was not well. He had had a shock. Cast offhis son as he might, hate him as he might--and hate him he did, as onewho had turned against him and brought dishonour on his house--thatshot in the night had shaken him. He leant against the wall, his lipswhite, his breath coming quickly. And a minute or more elapsed beforehe recovered himself and stood upright.
He kept his eyes averted from des Ageaux. He turned instead to Roger.Whether he feared for himself and would not be alone, or he suspectedsome complicity between the two, he signed to the lad to take up thelanthorn and go before him. And, moving stiffly and unsteadily acrossthe floor, he got himself in silence to the door. With somethingbetween a bow and a glance--it was clear that he could not trust histongue--he was out of the room.
The Lieutenant sat on his bed for some time, expecting Roger toreturn. But the lad did not appear, and after an interval des Ageauxtook on himself to search the staircase. It was untenanted. The girl,using the chance he had afforded her, had escaped.