CHAPTER IX
THE FIFTY PISTOLES OF MONSIEUR LE VICOMTE
The roisterers went their devious ways, sobered and subdued. So deepwas their distraction that the watch passed unmolested. Usually a routwas rounded out and finished by robbing the watch of their staffs andlanterns; by singing in front of the hotel of the mayor or theepiscopal palace; by yielding to any extravagant whim suggested bymischief. But to-night mischief itself was quiet and uninventive. Hadthere been a violent death among them, the roisterers would haveaccepted the event with drunken philosophy. The catastrophe of thisnight, however, was beyond their imagination: they were still-voicedand horrified. The Chevalier du Cevennes, that prince of good fellows. . . was a nobody, a son of the left hand! Those who owed theChevalier money or gratitude now recollected with no small satisfactionthat they had not paid their indebtedness. Truly adversity is thecrucible in which the quality of friendship is tried.
On the way to the Corne d'Abondance the self-made victim of thisnight's madness and his friend exchanged no words. There was nothingto be said. But there was death in the Chevalier's heart; his chin wassunken in his collar, and he bore heavily on Victor's arm; from time totime he hiccoughed. Victor bit his lips to repress the sighs whichurged against them.
"Where do you wish to go, Paul?" he asked, when they arrived under thegreen lantern and tarnished cherubs of the tavern.
"Have I still a place to go?" the Chevalier asked. "Ah well, lead on,wherever you will; I am in your keeping."
So together they entered the tavern.
"Maitre," said Victor to le Borgne, "is the private assembly in use?"
"No, Monsieur; you wish to use it?"
"Yes; and see that no one disturbs us."
In passing through the common assembly, Victor saw Du Puys and Bouchardin conversation with the Jesuits. Brother Jacques glanced carelesslyin the Chevalier's direction, frowned at some thought, and turned hishead away. The Iroquois had fallen asleep in a chair close to thefire. In a far corner Victor discovered the form of the Vicomted'Halluys; he was apparently sleeping on his arms, which were extendedacross the table.
"Why do I dislike that man?" Victor asked in thought. "There issomething in his banter which strikes me as coming from a man consumedeither by hate or envy." He pushed the Chevalier into the privateassembly, followed and closed the door.
"Ah!" The Chevalier sank into a chair. "Three hours ago I waslaughing and drinking in this room. Devil take me, but time flies!"
"God knows, Paul," said Victor, brokenly, "what you have done thisnight. You are mad, mad! What are you going to do? You have publiclybranded yourself as the illegitimate son of the marquis."
"It is true," simply.
"True or false, you have published it without cause or reason. GoodGod! and they will laugh at you; and I will kill all who laugh in mypresence. What madness!" Victor flung his hat on the table, strodethe length of the room, beating his hands and rumpling his hair.
"How you go on, Victor!" said the Chevalier with half a smile. "Andyou love me still?"
"And will, to the latest breath in my body. I know of no other man Ilove so wholly as I love you."
"I would lose two marquisates rather than be without this knowledge."
"But oh! what have you done? To-morrow . . . What will you doto-morrow?"
"To-morrow? A bottle of wine, lad; and wherefore to-morrow?To-morrow? There will always be a tomorrow. The world began on oneand will end on one. So give me wine, bubbling with lies, falsepromises, phantom happiness, mockery and despair. Each bottle is butlies; and yet how well each bottle tells them! Wine, Victor; do youhear me? I must never come sober again; in drunkenness, there liesoblivion. What! shall I come sober . . . to feel, to care? . . . tohear them laugh? No, no! See!" brushing his forehead, beaded withmoisture; "I am sweating gall, lad. God!" striking the table with hisfist; "could you but look within and see the lust to kill, thedamnation and despair! Woe to him whom I hear laugh! And yet . . . hewill be within his rights. Whenever men tire of torturing animals,nature gives them a cripple or a bastard to play with. And look! I amcalm, my hand no longer shakes."
Victor leaned against the chimney, haggard of face, silent of tongue.
The Chevalier took out a letter and held it close to the candle-light.He sighed. Victor saw that he was not looking at the letter, butthrough it and beyond. Some time passed.
"And, Victor, I was going back to Paris to-morrow, to life and to love.Within this scented envelope a woman has written the equivalent of 'Ilove you!' as only a loving woman can write it. How quickly the candlewould eat it! But shall I destroy it? No. Rather let me keep it toremind myself what was and what might have been. Far away from here Ishall read it again and again, till it crumbles in my hand and scattersinto dust." He hid the letter in his doublet and drew forth aminiature. Like a ruddy ember it lay in his hand. "Paris! O princeof cities, there lies upon your stones the broken cup which held myyouth!" The yellow of the candle and the red of the fire gave asingularly rich tone to his face, from which the dullness ofintoxication was suddenly gone.
"Paul, you are breaking my heart," cried Victor, choking. His poet'ssoul, and only such as his, could comprehend how full was theChevalier's cup of misery.
"Only women's hearts break, lad, and then in verse. Shall I weep? No.Let me laugh; for, my faith, it is laughable. I brought it on myself.Fate led me to the precipice, and I myself jumped over. Yesterday Ihad pride, I was heir to splendid estates, with forty thousand livresthe year to spend. To-night . . . Let me see; the vicomte owes mefifty pistoles. It will be a start in life . . . And much have Isnuffed besides candles to-night! By all means, let me laugh."
This irony overcame Victor, who sat down, covered his face, and weptnoiselessly.
"You weep? And I . . . I am denied the joy of cursing."
"But what made you speak? In God's name, what possessed you to publishthis misfortune?"
"On my word, Victor, I do not know. Wine, perhaps; perhaps anger,madness, or what you will. I know only this: I could not help myself.Poor fool! Yes, I was mad. But he roused within me all the disgust oflife, and it struck me blind. But regret is the cruelest of mentalpoisons; and there is enough in my cup without that. And that poormarquis; I believe I must have caused him some annoyance and chagrin."
"But what will you do?"
"What shall I do? Paris shall see me no more, nor France. I shall go. . . Yes; thanks, Brother Jacques, thanks! I shall go to that Franceacross the sea and become . . . a grand seigneur, owning a hut in thewilderness. Monsieur le Chevalier, lately a fop at court will become ahabitant of the forests, will wear furs, and seek his food by the aidof a musket. It will be a merry life, Victor; no dicing, no tennis, nowomen, no wine." The Chevalier rested his chin in his hands, staringat the candle. "On Thursday next there will be a mask ball at thePalais Royal; but the Chevalier du Cevennes will not be with hiscompany. He will be on the way to New France, with many another brokensoldier, to measure his sword against fortune's. And from thecamp-fires, lad, I shall conjure up women's faces, and choose among themost patient . . . my mother's. Vanity!" suddenly. "But for vanity Ihad not been here. Look, Victor; it was not wine, it was not madness.It was vanity in the shape of a grey cloak, a grey cloak. Will youcall Major du Puys?"
"Paul, you can not mean it?"
"Frankly, can I remain in France? Have I not already put France behindme?"
"And what's to become of me?" asked the poet.
"You? Why, you will shortly find Madame de Brissac, marry her, andbecome a fine country gentleman. And when Mazarin becomes forgetful ordies, you will return to Paris, your head secure upon your shoulders.As for me, New France, and a fresh quill, and I will be a man yet,"smiling. "And I give you the contents of my rooms at the Candlestick."
"What! live among these ghosts of happy times? I could not!"
"Well, I will give them to Mignon, then. There is one who wi
ll missme. Will you call the major, or shall I?"
"I will call him, since you are determined."
"I shall take the grey cloak, too, lad. I will wear that token ofvanity into rags. Faith, I have not looked at it once since I loanedit to you."
"And the unknown?"
"When we come to the end of a book, my poet, we lay it down. Whatwoman's love could surmount this birth of mine, these empty pockets? Ihave still some reason; that bids me close the book. Yonder, from whatI have learned, they are in need of men's arms and brains, notancestry, noble birth. And there is some good blood in this arm,however it may have come into the world." The Chevalier extended itacross the table and the veins swelled upon the wrist and hand. "Seekthe major, lad."
When the major entered the Chevalier stood up. "Monsieur," he said,"pardon me for interrupting you, but is it true that to-morrow you sailfor Quebec?"
"The weather permitting," answered Du Puys, vaguely wondering why theChevalier wished to see him. His shrewd glance traveled from theChevalier to Victor, and he saw that they had been drinking.
"Thanks," said the Chevalier. "You are recruiting?"
"Yes, Monsieur. I have succeeded indifferently well."
"Is there room in your company for another recruit?"
"You have a friend who wishes to seek his fortune?" smiling grimly.
"I am speaking for myself. I wish to visit that country. Will youaccept my sword and services?"
"You, Monsieur?" dumfounded. "You, a common trooper in Quebec? Youare jesting!"
"Not at all. I shall never return to Paris."
"Monsieur le Comte . . ." began Du Puys.
The Chevalier raised his hand. "Not Monsieur le Comte; simply Monsieurle Chevalier du Cevennes; Cevennes for the sake of brevity."
"Monsieur, then, pardon a frank soldier. The life at Quebec is not atall suited to one who has been accustomed to the ease and luxury ofcourt. There is all the difference in the world between De Guitaut'scompany in Paris and Du Puy's ragged band in Quebec. Certainly, a manas rich as yourself . . ."
"I have not a denier in my pockets," said the Chevalier, with a shortlaugh.
"Not at present, perhaps," replied Du Puys. "But one does not loseforty thousand livres in a night, and that, I understand, is yourrevenue."
"I lost them to-night," quietly.
"Forty thousand livres?" gasped the soldier. "You have lost a fortune,then?" annoyed.
"Yes; and more than that, I have lost the source from which they came,these forty thousand livres. I see that you are mystified. Perhapsyou will learn in the morning how I came to lose this fortune. Willyou accept my sword?"
"Monsieur," answered Du Puys, "you are in wine. Come to me in themorning; you will have changed your mind."
"And if not?"
"Then I shall give you a place in the company. But, word of honor, Ido not understand . . ."
"It is not necessary that you should. The question is, is my pastrecord as a soldier sufficient?"
"Your courage is well known, Monsieur."
"That is all. Good night, Major. I shall sign your papers at nineto-morrow."
Du Puys returned to his party. They asked questions mutely.
"Father," he said to Chaumonot, "here is a coil. Monsieur le Chevalierdu Cevennes, son of the Marquis de Perigny, wishes to sign for Quebec."
The Vicomte d'Halluys lifted his head from his arms. But none tooknotice of him.
"What!" cried Brother Jacques. "That fop? . . . in Quebec?"
"It is as I have the honor of telling you," said Du Puys. "There issomething going on. We shall soon learn what it is."
The Vicomte d'Halluys rose and came over to the table. "Do Iunderstand you to say that the Chevalier is to sign for Quebec?" Histone possessed a disagreeable quality. He was always insolent in thepresence of churchmen.
"Yes, Monsieur," said Du Puys. "You were with him to-night. Perhapsyou can explain the Chevalier's extraordinary conduct? He tells methat he has lost forty thousand livres to-night."
"He has, indeed, lost them." The vicomte seemed far away in thought.
"Forty thousand livres?" murmured Brother Jacques. He also forgotthose around him. Forty thousand livres, and he had never called onehundred his own!
"Monsieur," repeated the major, "can you account for the Chevalier'sstrange behavior?"
"I can," said the vicomte, "but I refuse. There are looser tonguesthan mine. I will say this: the Chevalier will never enter hisfather's house again, either here, in Paris, or in Perigny. There ishot blood in that family; it clashed to-night; that is all. Be good tothe Chevalier, Messieurs; let him go to Quebec, for he can not remainin France."
"Has he committed a crime?" asked Du Puys anxiously.
"No, Major," carelessly, "but it seems that some one else has."
"And the Chevalier is shielding him?" asked Brother Jacques.
The vicomte gazed down at the young Jesuit, and smiled contemptuously."Is he shielding some one, you ask? I do not say so. But keep yourJesuit ears open; you will hear something to-morrow." Noting withsatisfaction the color on Brother Jacques's cheeks, the vicomte turnedto Captain Bouchard. "I have determined to take a cabin to Quebec,Monsieur. I have some land near Montreal which I wish to investigate."
"You, Monsieur?" said the sailor. "The only cabin-room left is next tomine, and expensive."
"I will pay you in advance. I must go to Quebec. I can not wait."
"Very well, Monsieur."
The vicomte went to the door of the private assembly and knockedboldly. Victor answered the summons.
"D'Halluys?" cried Victor, stepping back.
"Yes, Monsieur. Pardon the intrusion, but I have something to say toMonsieur le Chevalier."
He bared his head, looked serenely into Victor's doubting eyes, andturned to the Chevalier, whose face was without any sign of welcome ordispleasure. "Monsieur," the vicomte began, "it is veryembarrassing--Patience, Monsieur de Saumaise!" for Victor had laid hishand upon his sword; "my errand is purely pacific. It is veryembarrassing, then, to approach a man so deeply in trouble as yourself.I know not what madness seized you to-night. I am not here to offeryou sympathy; sympathy is cheap consolation. I am here to say that noman shall in my presence speak lightly of your misfortune. Let me befrank with you. I have often envied your success in Paris; and therewere times when this envy was not unmixed with hate. But a catastrophelike that to-night wipes out such petty things as envy and hate."
"Take care, Monsieur," said Victor haughtily. He believed that hecaught an undercurrent of raillery.
"Why, Monsieur, what have I said?" looking from one to the other.
"Proceed, Vicomte," said the Chevalier, motioning Victor to be quiet.He was curious to learn what the vicomte had to say.
"To continue, then: you are a man of extraordinary courage, and I havealways admired you even while I envied you. To-night I lost to yousome fifty pistoles. Give me the happiness of crossing out thistrifling debt," and the vicomte counted out fifty golden pistoles whichhe laid on the table. There was no particle of offense in his actions.
"To prove to you my entire good will, I will place my life into yourkeeping, Monsieur le Chevalier. Doubtless Saumaise has told you thatat present Paris is uninhabitable both to himself and to me. Theshadows of the Bastille and the block cast their gloom upon us. Wehave conspired against the head of the state, which is Mazarin. Thereis a certain paper, which, if seen by the cardinal, will cause thesigning of our death warrants. Monsieur de Saumaise, have you any ideawho stole your cloak?"
"It was not my cloak, Monsieur," said Victor, with a frown; "it wasloaned to me by Monsieur le Chevalier."
"Yours?" cried the vicomte, turning to the Chevalier.
"Yes." The Chevalier thoughtfully fingered the golden coin. Oneslipped through his fingers and went jangling along the stone of thefloor.
"I was wondering where I had seen it before. Hang me, but this is allpretty
well muddled up. There was a traitor somewhere, or a coward.What think you, Saumaise; does not this look like Gaston of Orleans?"
Victor started. "I never thought of him!"
"Ah! If Gaston has that paper, France is small, Monsieur," said thevicomte, addressing the Chevalier, "I learn that you are bound forQuebec. Come, Saumaise; here is our opportunity. Let the three of uspoint westward."
Victor remained silent. As oil rises to the surface of water, so rosehis distrust. He could not shut out the vision of that half-smile ofthe hour gone.
"Monsieur," said the Chevalier, looking up, "this is like you. Youhave something of the Bayard in your veins. It takes a man of courageto address me, after what has happened. I am become a pariah; he whotouches my hand loses caste."
"Bah! Honestly, now, Chevalier, is it not the man rather than theescutcheon? A trooper is my friend if he has courage; I would not leta coward black my boots, not if he were a king."
"If ever I have offended you, pray forgive me."
"Offended me? Well, yes," easily. "There was Madame de Flavigny ofNormandy; but that was three years ago. Such affairs begin and endquickly. My self-love was somewhat knocked about; that was all. Ifthe weather permits, the Saint Laurent will sail at one o'clock. Tillthen, Messieurs," and bowing gravely the vicomte retired.
Both Victor and the Chevalier stared, at the door through which thevicomte vanished. Victor frowned; the Chevalier smiled.
"Curse his insolence!" cried the poet, slapping his sword.
"Lad, what an evil mind you have!" said the Chevalier in surprise.
"There is something below all this. Did he pay you those pistoles helost to you in December?"
"To the last coin."
"Have you played with him since?"
"Yes, and won. Last night he won back the amount he lost to me; andwith these fifty pistoles our accounts are square. What have youagainst the vicomte? I have always found him a man. And of all thosewho called themselves my friends, has not he alone stood forth?"
"There is some motive," still persisted the poet.
"Time will discover it."
"Oh, the devil, Paul! he loves Madame de Brissac; and my gorge rises atthe sight of him."
"What! is all Paris in love with Madame de Brissac? You have explainedyour antipathy. Every man has a right to love."
"I know it."
"I wonder how it happens that I have never seen this daughter of theMontbazons?"
"You have your own affair."
"Past tense, my lad, past tense. Now, I wish to be alone. I have somethinking to do which requires complete isolation. Go to bed and sleep,and do not worry about me. Come at seven; I shall be awake." TheChevalier stood and held forth his arms. They embraced. Once alonethe outcast blew out the candle, folded his arms on the table, and hidhis face in them. After that it was very still in the privateassembly, save for the occasional moaning in the chimney.