CHAPTER III.
WHERE THE LADY WAS
"Very well, Monsieur," said Nicolas after a pause, in a tone which meantanything but very well. "But first you will have enough to do to saveyourself. This gentleman will soon be missed. He was in haste to go on,as you say. His servant will be wondering why he delays, and thelandlord will become curious about his bill."
"Yes, but I must think a moment. Where is this poor lady? Who is thegentleman? There may be another letter--a clue of some sort."
I hurriedly examined the young man's pockets, but found nothing written.His purse I thought best to leave where it was: to whom, indeed, could Ientrust it with any chance of its being more honestly dealt with than bythose who should find the body? The innkeeper and the gentleman'sservant, with their claims for payment, would see to that. But I keptthe lady's note.
"Well," said I, "I must have a talk with the valet. I must find outwhere this gentleman was going, for that must be the place where thelady is."
"But the valet doesn't know where the gentleman was going. He wastalking to me about that in the stables."
"That's very strange--not to know his master's destination."
"He knows very little of his master's affairs: he was hired onlyyesterday, at Sable. The gentleman was staying at the inn there.Yesterday he engaged this man, and said he was going to travel on at theend of the week. But this morning he suddenly made up his mind to startat once, and came off without saying where he was bound for. Until Itold him, the man didn't know that the name of this town was La Fleche."
"And what else did he tell you?"
"That's all. He was only grumbling about having to come away sounexpectedly, and being so in the dark about his master's plans."
"You're sure he didn't say what caused his master to change his mind andstart at once?"
"He said nothing more, Monsieur."
"Did he mention his master's name?"
"No, we didn't get as far as that. It was only his desire to complain tosomebody, that made him speak to me; and I was too busy with the horsesto say much in reply."
"Then you didn't give my name--to him or any one else here?"
"Not to a soul, Monsieur."
"That's fortunate. Well, we must be attending to our business. I willpay the landlord, and give him some reason for riding on. While you aregetting the animals ready, I will try to sound this valet a littledeeper. Come."
Without another look behind, we hastened back to the inn.
"It's a fine evening," said I to the landlord, "and that gentleman I sawhere awhile ago has given me the notion of riding on while the air iscool." I spoke as steadily as I could, and I suppose if the landlorddetected any want of ease he put it down to the embarrassment ofannouncing a change of mind. In any case, he was not slow to compute thereckoning, nor I to pay it. Then, after seeing my bag and cloak broughtdown, I went in search of the young gentleman's valet. I found him inthe kitchen, half way through a bottle of wine.
"Your master has not yet ridden on, then?" said I, dropping carelesslyon the bench opposite him.
"No, Monsieur," he replied unsuspectingly. He seemed more like a countrygroom than a gentleman's body servant.
"I have decided to go on this evening, in imitation of him," Icontinued.
"Then your servant had better come back and finish his supper. It'sgetting cold yonder. Just as he was going to begin eating, he thought ofsomething, and went out, and hasn't returned yet."
It was, alas, true. In my excitement I had forgotten all about Nicolas'ssupper, which he had left in order to see if I wanted my cloak for thecool of the evening.
"I sent him on an errand," I replied. "He shall sup doubly well later.As I was about to say, your master--by the way, if I knew his name Icould mention him properly: we have so far neglected to give each otherour names."
"Monsieur de Merri is my master's name, as far as I know it. I have beenwith him only since yesterday." He spoke in a somewhat disgruntled way,as if not too well satisfied with his new place.
"So I have heard." I said. "And it seems you were hustled off rathersooner than you expected, this morning."
"My master did change his mind suddenly. Yesterday he said he wouldn'tleave Sable till the end of the week."
"Yes; but of course when he received the letter--" I stopped, as if notthinking worth while to finish, and idly scrutinized the floor.
"What letter, Monsieur?" inquired the fellow, after a moment.
"Why, the letter that made him change his mind. Didn't you see themessenger?"
"Oh, and did that man bring a letter, then?"
"Certainly. How secretive your master is. The man from--from--where_did_ he come from, anyhow?"
"A man came to see my master at Sable early this morning--the only man Iknow of. I heard him say that he had ridden all the way from Montoire,following my master from one town to another."
"Yes, that is the man, certainly," said I in as careless a manner aspossible, fearful lest my face should betray the interest of thisrevelation to me. "Well, I think I will go and see what has become of myservant. When you have finished that bottle, drink another to me." Itossed him a silver piece, and sauntered out. Nicolas was fastening thesaddle girth of my horse in the yard. An ostler was attending to themule. The innkeeper was looking on. I asked him about the differentroads leading from the place, and by the time I had got this informationall was ready. We mounted, I replied to the landlord's adieu, threw acoin to the ostler, and clattered out under the archway. From the squareI turned South to cross the Loir, passing not far from the place where,surrounded by trees and bushes, the body of my adversary must still belying.
"Poor young man!" said I. "Once we get safe off, I hope they will findhim soon."
"They will soon be seeking him, at least," replied Nicolas. "Before youcame out of the kitchen, the landlord was wondering to the ostler whathad become of him."
"As he was to ride on at once, his absence will appear strange. Well,I'm not sorry to think he will be found before he lies long exposed. Theauthorities, no doubt, will take all measures to find out who he is andnotify his people."
"And to find the person who left him in that state," said Nicolasfearfully.
"Well, I have a start, and shall travel as fast as my horse can safelycarry me."
"But wherever you go, Monsieur, the law will in time come up with you."
"I have thought of that; and now listen. This is what you are to do. Weshall come very soon to a meeting of roads. You will there turn to theright--"
"And leave you, Monsieur Henri?"
"Yes, it is necessary for my safety."
"And you will go on to Paris alone?"
"I am not going to Paris immediately--at least, I shall not go by way ofLe Mans and Chartres, as I had intended. We have already turned ourbacks on that road, when we left the square in front of the inn. I shallgo by way of Vendome." Montoire--where the letter had evidently comefrom and where therefore the lady probably was--lay on the road toVendome.
"And I, Monsieur?"
"You are to go back to La Tournoire, but not by the way we have comeover. This road to the right that you will soon take leads first toJarze, and there you will find a road to the West which will bring youto our own highway not two leagues from home." I repeated thesedirections as we left La Fleche behind us, till they seemed firmlylodged in Nicolas's head. "I don't know how long it will take you to dothis journey," I added, "nor even when you may expect to reach Jarze.You mustn't overdo either the mule or yourself. Stop at the firstcountry inn and get something to eat, before it is too late at night tobe served. Go on to-night as far as you think wise. It may be best, ornecessary, to sleep in some field or wood, not too near the road, as Ishall probably do toward the end of the night."
"I shall certainly do that, Monsieur. It is a fine night."
"When you get to La Tournoire, you are to tell my father that I am goingon without an attendant, but by way of Vendome. You needn't say anythingabout what you suppose
my purpose to be: you needn't repeat what youheard me say about that lady, or the letter: you aren't to mention thelady or the letter at all."
"I understand, Monsieur Henri; but I do hope you will keep out of otherpeople's troubles. You have enough of your own now, over this unluckyduel."
"It's to get me out of that trouble that you are going home. Give myfather a full account of the duel. Tell him the gentleman insulted myreligion as well as myself; that he tried my patience beyond endurance.My father will understand, I trust. And say that I shall leave it to himto solicit my pardon of the King. I know he would prefer I should placethe matter all in his hands."
"Yes, to be sure, Monsieur Henri. And of course to a gentleman who hasserved him so well, the King can't refuse anything."
"He is scarce likely to refuse him that favour, at any rate. My fatherwill know just what to do; just whom to make his petition through, andall that. Perhaps he will go to Paris himself about it; or he may sendBlaise Tripault with letters to some of his old friends who are near theKing. But he will do whatever is best. The pardon will doubtless beobtained before I reach Paris, as I am going by this indirect way andmay stop for awhile in the neighbourhood of Vendome. But I shalleventually turn up at the inn we were bound for, in the Rue St. Honore."
"Yes, Monsieur, and may God land you there safe and sound!"
"Tell my father that the only name by which I know my antagonist isMonsieur de Merri. Perhaps he belonged to Montoire; at any rate, he wasacquainted there."
We soon reached the place where the roads diverge. I took over mytravelling bag and cloak from Nicolas's mule to my horse, hastilyrepeated my directions in summary form, supplied him with money, andshowed him his road, he very disconsolate at parting, and myself littleless so. As night was falling, and so much uncertainty lay over myimmediate future, the trial of our spirits was the greater. However, assoon as he was moving on his way, I turned my horse forward on mine, andtried, by admiring the stars, to soften the sense of my loneliness anddanger.
I began to forget the peril of my present situation by thinking of theaffair I had undertaken. In the first place, how to find the lady? All Iknew of her was that she was probably at Montoire, that she had beenassociated in some way with Monsieur de Merri, and that she now thoughtherself in imminent danger. And I had in my possession a piece of herhandwriting, which, however, I should have to use very cautiously if atall. There was, indeed, little to start with toward the task of findingher out, but, as Montoire could not be a large place, I need notdespair. I would first, I thought, inquire about Monsieur de Merri andwhat ladies were of his acquaintance. If Monsieur de Merri himself wasof Montoire, and had people living there, my presence would be a greatrisk. I could not know how soon the news of his death might reach themafter my own arrival at the place, nor how close a description would begiven of his slayer--for there was little doubt that the innkeeper wouldinfer the true state of affairs on the discovery of the body. The deadman's people would be clamorous for justice and the officers would be ontheir mettle. Even if I might otherwise tarry in Montoire unsuspected,my insinuating myself into the acquaintance of one of Monsieur deMerri's friends would in itself be a suspicious move. The more Iconsidered the whole affair, the more foolish seemed my chosen course.And yet I could not bear to think of that unknown lady in such greatfear, with perhaps none to aid her: though, indeed, since none butMonsieur de Merri could save her honour and life, how could I do so?Well, I could offer my services, at least; perhaps she meant she hadnobody else on whose willingness she could count; perhaps she reallycould make as good use of me as of him. But on what pretext could Ioffer myself? How could I account to her for my knowledge of her affairsand for Monsieur de Merri's inability to come to her? To present myselfas his slayer would not very well recommend my services to her. Wouldshe, indeed, on any account accept my services? And even if she did, wasI clever enough to get her out of the situation she was in, whateverthat might be? Truly the whole case was a cloud. Well, I must take eachparticular by itself as I came to it; be guided by circumstance, andproceed with delicacy. The first thing to do was to find out who thelady was; and even that could not be done till I got to Montoire, which,being near Vendome, must be at least two days' journey from La Fleche.
As I thought how much in the dark was the business I had taken onmyself, my mind suddenly reverted to the first of the monk's threemaxims that Blaise Tripault had given me, which now lay folded in mypocket, close to the lady's note.
"_Never undertake a thing unless you can see your way to the end ofit._"
I could not help smiling to think how soon chance had led me to violatethis excellent rule. But I am not likely to be confronted again by suchcircumstances, thought I, and this affair once seen through, I shall becareful; while the other maxims, being more particular, are easier toobey, and obey them I certainly will.
I rode on till near midnight, and then, for the sake of the horse aswell as the rider, I turned out of the road at a little stream,unsaddled among some poplar trees, and lay down, with my travelling bagfor pillow, and my cloak for bed and blanket. The horse, left to hiswill, chose to lie near me; and so, in well-earned sleep, we passed therest of the night.
The next morning, when we were on the road again, I decided to exchangetalk with as many travellers as possible who were going my way, in thehope of falling in with one who knew Montoire. At a distance from theplace, I might more safely be inquisitive about Monsieur de Merri andhis friendships than at Montoire itself. The news of what had happenedat La Fleche would not have come along the road any sooner than I haddone, except by somebody who had travelled by night and had passed mewhile I slept. In the unlikelihood of there being such a person, I couldspeak of Monsieur de Merri without much danger of suspicion. But even ifthere was such a person, and the news had got ahead, nobody could beconfident in suspecting me. I was not the only young gentleman of myappearance, mounted on a horse like mine, to be met on the roads thatday. And besides, I was no longer attended by a servant on a mule, as Ihad been at La Fleche. So I determined to act with all freedom, accostwhom I chose, and speak boldly.
Passing early through Le Lude, I breakfasted at last, and talked withvarious travellers, both on the road and at the inn there, but none ofthem showed any such interest, when I casually introduced the name ofMontoire, as a dweller of that place must have betrayed. To bring in thename of the town was easy enough. As thus:--in the neighbourhood of LeLude one had only to mention the fine chateau there, and after admiringit, to add: "They say there is one very like it, at some other townalong this river--I forget which--is it Montoire?--or La Chartre?--Ihave never travelled this road before." A man of Montoire, or who knewthat town well, would have answered with certainty, and have addedsomething to show his acquaintance there. The chateau of Le Lude servedme in this manner all the way to Vaas, where there is a great church,which answered my purpose thence to Chateau du Loir. But though I threwout my conversational bait to dozens of people, of all conditions, notone bite did I get anywhere on the road between Le Lude and La Chartre.
It was evening when I arrived at La Chartre, and I was now thirteenleagues from La Fleche, thanks to having journeyed half the previousnight. Anybody having left La Fleche that morning would be satisfiedwith a day's journey of nine leagues to Chateau du Loir, the lastconvenient stopping-place before La Chartre. So I decided to stay at LaChartre for the night, and give my horse the rest he needed.
At the inn I talked to everybody I could lay hold of, dragging in thename of Montoire, all to no purpose, until I began to think theinhabitants of Montoire must be the most stay-at-home people, and theirtown the most unvisited town, in the world. In this manner, in thekitchen after supper, I asked a fat bourgeois whether the better placefor me to break my next day's journey for dinner would be Troo orMontoire.
"I know no better than you," he replied with a shrug.
"Pardon, Monsieur; I think you will find the better inn at Montoire,"put in a voice behind my shoulder. I turned and saw, seated on
a stoolwith his back to the wall, a bright-looking, well-made young fellow whomight, from his dress, have been a lawyer's clerk, or the son of atradesman, but with rather a more out-of-doors appearance than isusually acquired in an office or shop.
"Ah," said I, "you know those towns, then?"
"I live at Montoire," said he, interestedly, as if glad to get intoconversation. "There is a fine public square there, you will see."
"But it is rather a long ride before dinner, isn't it?"
"Only about five leagues. I shall ride there for dinner to-morrow, atall events."
"You are returning home, then?"
"Yes, Monsieur."
"Have you been far away?"
"That is as one may think," he replied after a moment's hesitation,during which he seemed to decide it best to evade the question. Histravels were none of my business, and I cared not how secretive he mightbe upon them. But to teach him a lesson in openness, I said:
"I have travelled from Le Lude to-day."
"And I too," said he, with his former interest.
"I didn't see you at the inn there," said I. "You must have left earlythis morning."
"Yes, after arriving late last night. Yesterday evening I was at LaFleche."
I gave an inward start; but said quietly enough: "Ah?--and yet you talkas if you had slept at Le Lude."
"So I did. I travelled part of the night."
"And arrived at Le Lude before midnight, perhaps?"
"Yes, a little before. Luckily, the innkeeper happened to be up, and helet me in."
I breathed more freely. This young man must have left La Fleche before Ihad: he could know nothing of the man slain.
"There is a good inn at La Fleche," I said, to continue the talk.
"No doubt. I stopped only a short while, at a small house at the edge ofthe town. I was in some haste."
"Then you will be starting early to-morrow?"
"Yes, Monsieur."
I resolved to be watchful and start at the same time. But lest he shouldhave other company, or something should interfere, I decided not to losethe present opportunity. So I began forthwith:
"I have met a gentleman who comes, I think, from Montoire, or at leastis acquainted there,--a Monsieur de Merri, of about my own age."
The young fellow looked at me with a sudden sharpness of curiosity,which took me back: but I did not change countenance, and he hadrepossessed himself by the time he replied:
"There is a Monsieur de Merri, who is about as old as you, but he doesnot live at Montoire. He sometimes comes there."
Here was comfort, at least: I should not find myself among the deadman's relations, seeking vengeance.
"No doubt he has friends there?" I ventured.
"No doubt, Monsieur," answered the young man, merely out of politeness,and looking vague.
"Probably he visits people in the neighbourhood," I tried again.
"I cannot say," was the reply, still more absently given.
"Or lives at the inn," I pursued.
"It may be so." The young fellow was now glancing about the kitchen, asif to rid himself of this talk.
"Or perhaps he dwells in private lodgings when he is at Montoire," Iwent on resolutely.
"It might well be. There are private lodgings to be had there."
"Do you know much of this Monsieur de Merri?" I asked pointblank, indesperation.
"I have seen him two or three times."
"Where?"
"Where? At Montoire, of course." The speaker, in surprise, scrutinizedme again with the keen look he had shown before.
It was plain, from his manner, that he chose to be close-mouthed on thesubject of Monsieur de Merri. He was one of those people who generallyhave a desire to talk of themselves and all their affairs, but who canbe suddenly very secretive on some particular matter or occasion. I sawthat I must give him up, for that time at least. Perhaps on the roadnext day his unwillingness to be communicative about Monsieur de Merriwould have passed away. But meanwhile, what was the cause of thatunwillingness? Did he know, after all, what had occurred at La Fleche,and had he begun to suspect me? I inwardly cursed his reticence, andwent soon to bed, that I might rise the earlier.
But early as I rose, my young friend had beaten me. The ostler to whom Idescribed him said he had ridden off half-an-hour ago. In no veryamiable mood, I rode after him. Not till the forenoon was half spent,did I catch up. He saluted me politely, and gave me his views of theweather, but was not otherwise talkative. We rode together pleasantlyenough, but there was no more of that openness in him which would havemade me feel safe in resuming the subject of Monsieur de Merri. As weapproached noon and our destination, I asked him about the differentfamilies of consequence living thereabouts, and he mentioned severalnames and circumstances, but told me nothing from which I could inferthe possibility of danger to any of their ladies. It was toward mid-daywhen we rode into the great square of Montoire, and found ourselvesbefore the inn of the Three Kings.
I turned to take leave of my travelling companion, thinking that as hebelonged to this town he would go on to his own house.
"I'm going to stop here for a glass of wine and to leave my horseawhile," he said, noticing my movement.
He followed me through the archway. A stout innkeeper welcomed me, sawme dismount, and then turned to my young fellow-traveller, speaking withgood-natured familiarity:
"Ah, my child, so you are back safe after your journey. Let us see, howlong have you been away? Since Sunday morning--four days and a half. Imight almost guess where you've been, from the time--for all the secretyou make of it."
The young man laughed perfunctorily, and led his horse to the stableafter the ostler who had taken mine.
"A pleasant young man," said I, staying with the landlord. "He lives inthis town, he tells me."
"Yes, an excellent youth. He owns his bit of land, and though his fatherwas a miller, his children may come near being gentlemen."
I went into the kitchen, and ordered dinner. Presently my young manentered and had his wine, which he poured down quickly. He then bowed tome, and went away, like one who wishes to lose no time.
Suddenly the whole probability of the case appeared to me in a flash.Regardless of the wine before me, and of the dinner I had ordered, Irose and followed him.
I had put together his reticence about Monsieur de Merri, his havingbeen away from Montoire just four and a half days, the direction of hisjourney, and his errand to be done immediately on returning. He must bethe messenger who had carried the lady's note to Sable, and he was nowgoing to report its delivery and, perhaps, Monsieur de Merri's answer.If I could dog his steps unseen, he would lead me to the lady who was indanger.