An Enemy to the King Part 19

"My King," replied Blaise with dignity, "had the goodness to make a somewhat similar remark when he took Cahors!"

"Cahors?" repeated the lady in a tone of perplexity. "But the King never took Cahors!"

"The King of France,--no!" cried Blaise; "but the King of Navarre did!"

"Blaise!" I cried, in angry reproof at his imprudence.

The tone in which I spoke had so startled the lady that she dropped her mask, and I saw the sweetest face that ever gladdened the eyes of a man.

It was the face of a girl naturally of a cheerful nature, but newly made acquainted with sorrow. Grief had not rendered the nature, or the face, unresponsive to transient impressions of a pleasant or mirthful kind.

Hers was one of those hearts in which grief does not exclude all possibility of gaiety. Sorrow might lie at the bottom, never forgotten and never entirely concealed, but merriment might ripple on the surface.

As for its outlines, the face, in every part, harmonized with the grace and purity of the chin and mouth. Her eyes were blue and large, with an eloquence displayed without intent or consciousness.

"What does it mean?" she said, in a charming bewilderment. "The servant reproves the master. Ah! I see! The servant _is_ the master."

And she smiled with pleasure at her discovery.

"But still _your_ servant, mademoiselle," was all that I could say.

Blaise vented a great breath of relief. "I feel better now," he said, heartily, and he turned with a beaming countenance to the maid, who looked at his stalwart form and promptly revised her opinion of him. The two were soon in conversation together, at the fireplace, and I was left to complete explanations with the lady, who did not attempt the coquetry of replacing her mask.

"Our secret is yours, mademoiselle, and our safety is in your hands."

"Your secret is safe, monsieur," she said, modestly averting her eyes from my frankly admiring look. "And now I understand why it was you who drew sword."

"A privilege too precious to be resigned," I answered in a low tone, "even for the sake of my secret and my safety."

My words were spoken so tenderly that she sought relief from her charming embarra.s.sment by taking up my sword from the table, and saying, with a smile:

"I have you in my power, monsieur, follower of the King of Navarre! What if I were minded, on behalf of the governor of this province, to make you a prisoner?"

"My faith!" I could only reply, "you need no sword to make prisoners of men."

"You hope to purchase your freedom with a compliment," she said, continuing the jest; "but you cannot close my eyes with flattery."

"It would be a crime beyond me to close eyes so beautiful!"

She gave a pretty little smile and shrug of helplessness, as if to say, "I cannot help it, monsieur, if you will overwhelm me with compliments which are not deserved, I am powerless to prevent you."

But the compliments were all the more deserved because she seemed to think them not so.

Her modesty weakened my own audacity, and her innocent eyes put me into a kind of confusion. So I changed the subject.

"It appears to me, mademoiselle," I said, "that I have had the honor of ridding you of unpleasant company."

Her face quickly clouded, as if my words had brought to her mind a greater trouble than the mere importunities of an insolent adventurer.

"De Berquin!" she said, and then heaved a deep sigh; "I had forgotten about him."

"I would not commit his offence of thrusting unwelcome company on you," I replied; "but I would gladly offer you for a few leagues the sword that has already put him to flight."

She was for some time silent. Then she answered slowly in a low voice, "I ride towards Clochonne, monsieur."

Taking this for an acceptance of my offer, I sheathed my sword, and replied with an animation that betrayed my pleasure:

"And I towards the same place, mademoiselle. When you choose to set out, I am ready."

"I am ready now, monsieur--," she said, lingering over the word "monsieur," as if trying to recall whether or not I had told her my name.

It was no time at which to disclose the t.i.tle under which I was known throughout the province as one especially proscribed, and yet I was unwilling to pa.s.s under a false name. Therefore, I said:

"I am M. de Launay, once of Anjou, but now of nowhere in particular. The great have caused my chateau to be scattered over my lands, stone by stone, and have otherwise encouraged my taste for travel and adventure."

At this moment, glancing towards Blaise, I saw on his face a look of alarm and disapproval, as if he feared that the lady or her maid might be aware that De Launay and La Tournoire were one man, but it was manifest from their faces that he had no cause for such an apprehension.

The lady smiled at my description, and adjusting her gloves, replied:

"And I am Mlle. de Varion, daughter of a gentleman of Fleurier--"

"What!" I interrupted, "the Catholic gentleman who has been imprisoned for sheltering a Huguenot?"

"Yes," she answered, sorrowfully, and then with a strange trepidation she went on: "and it is to save myself from imprisonment that I have determined to flee to the south, in the hope of finding refuge in one of the provinces controlled by your King of Navarre."

"But," I interposed, "how can you be in danger of imprisonment? It was not you, but your father, who violated the edict."

"Nevertheless," she answered, in a low and unsteady voice, averting her glance to the floor, "M. de la Chatre, the governor of the province, has threatened me with imprisonment if I remain in Berry."

"Doubtless," I said with indignation, "the governor does this in order to escape the importunities you would make in your father's behalf. He would save his tender heart from the pain of being touched by your pleadings."

"It may be so," she answered faintly.

I did not tell her that the idea of releasing her father had already entered my head. In order to bring him safe out of the Chateau of Fleurier, it would be necessary for me to return to Maury for my company.

The attempt would be a hazardous one, and I might fail, and I did not wish to raise hopes in her for disappointment. She should not learn of my intention until after its fulfillment. In the meantime, less because I thought she would really undergo danger by remaining at Fleurier, than because I was loth to lose the new-found happiness that her presence gave me, I would conduct her to Maury, on the pretext of its being the best place whence to make, at a convenient time, a safe flight to Guienne.

Having summoned the landlord and paid him, I waited for Mlle. de Varion to precede me out of the door. There was a moment's delay while her maid sought the riding whip which mademoiselle had laid down on one of the tables. At this moment, there came to me the idea of a jest which would furnish me with amus.e.m.e.nt on the road southward, and afford mademoiselle an interesting surprise on her arrival at Maury.

"It occurs to me, mademoiselle," said I, "that you will be glad to have some guidance across the border. Let me recommend to you one, whose services I think I can a.s.sure you, and whom we may fall in with in the vicinity of Clochonne,--the Sieur de la Tournoire."

Mademoiselle turned white, and stared at me with a look of terror on her face.

"Decidedly," I thought, "as the mere mention of my name produces such an effect on her, it is well that I am not going to introduce myself until she shall have learned that I am not such a terrible cutthroat as the Catholics in this province think me." And I said aloud:

"Fear not, mademoiselle. He is not as bad as his enemies represent him."

"I shall be glad to have his guidance," she said, still pale.

We left the inn and took horse, being joined, outside, by mademoiselle's two serving-boys. Resuming his character of gentleman, Blaise rode ahead with the lady, while I followed at the side of the maid, he casting many an envious glance at the place I occupied, and I reciprocating his feelings if not his looks. Nevertheless, I was sufficiently near mademoiselle to be able to exchange speeches with her. The day was at its best. The sun shone; a gentle breeze played with the red and yellow leaves in the roadway, and I was happy.

Looking down a byway as we pa.s.sed, I saw, at some distance, M. de Berquin talking to Barbemouche, while the latter's three scurvy-looking companions stood by, as if awaiting the outcome of the conversation between the two.