The Grey Cloak Part 33

"Yes."

"Good. Now, then, once in Paris, I will stake ten thousand livres against your tentative claims to madame's hand. We will play at _vingt-et-un_. That is true gambling, Monsieur, and you are a good judge."

"I pick up the gauntlet with pleasure, under all conditions. Besides, an idea has occurred to me. The paper may not be what we think it is.

The man who killed De Brissac is not one to give up or throw away the rewards. Eh, Monsieur?"

"Perhaps he was pressed for time. His life perhaps depended upon his escape. He may have dropped the cloak," shrewdly, "and some friend found it and returned it to the Chevalier. A plausible supposition, as you will agree."

"You may tell me a lie," said D'Herouville, thoughtfully.

"It would not be necessary, Monsieur le Comte," returned the vicomte, suggestively tapping his sword.

CHAPTER XIV

BRETON FINDS A MARKER FOR HIS COPY OF RABELAIS

After the calm the storm came, after the storm the rough winds and winnowed skies. At one moment the s.h.i.+p threatened to leap to heaven, at another, to plunge down to the sea's floor. Breton had a time of it one afternoon in the cabin. He was buffeted about like maize in a heated pan. He fell, and in trying to save himself he clutched at the garments hanging from the hooks. The cloth gave. The pommel of the Chevalier's rapier hit him in the forehead, cutting and dazing him. He rose, staggering, and indulged in a little profanity which made him eminently human. One by one he gathered up the fallen garments and cloaks. It was haphazard work: for now the floor was where the part.i.tion had been, and the ceiling where the bunk had stood. Keys had rolled from the Chevalier's pockets--keys, coins, and rings; and Breton scrambled and slid around on his hands and knees till he had recovered these treasures, which he knew to be all his master had. He thought of the elegant rubies and sapphires and topaz of the garters he had ordered for his master but four months gone. And that mysterious lady of high degree? Paris! Alas, Paris was so far away that he, Breton, was like to see it never again.

He stood up, balanced himself, and his eye caught sight of the grey cloak, which lay crumpled under the bunk.

"Ah! so it is you, wretched cloak, that gave way when I clung to you for help?" He stooped and dragged it forth by its skirts. "So it was you?" swinging it fiercely above his head and balancing himself nicely.

The bruise on his forehead made him savage. "Whatever made me bring you to the Corne d'Abondance? What could you not tell, if voice were given to you? And Monsieur Paul used to look so fine in it! You make me cold in the spine!" He shook it again and again, then hung it up by the torn collar, which had yielded over-readily to his frenzied grasp.

As the ache in his head subsided, so diminished the strength of his wrath; and he went out to ask the Chevalier if he should keep the valuables in his own pocket or replace them in the pocket of the pantaloons from which they had fallen. The Chevalier took the rings and slipped them on his fingers, all save the signet ring, which he handed to his lackey.

"Keep this, lad, till I ask for it," was all he said.

Breton put the ring in the little chamois bag which his mother had given him. The ring rattled against a little silver crucifix. The lad then returned to the cabin and read his favorite book till his eyes grew weary. He looked about for a marker and espied some papers on the floor. These he thrust into his place and fell to dreaming.

Each afternoon the Chevalier was carried up to the deck; and what with the salt air and the natural vigor which he inherited from his father, the invalid's bones began to take on flesh and his interest in life became normal. It is true that when left alone a mask of gloom shadowed his face, and his thin fingers opened and closed nervously and unconsciously. Diane, Diane, Diane! It was the murmur of far-off voices, it was the whisper of the winds in the shrouds, it was the cry of the lonely gull and the stormy petrel. To pa.s.s through the weary years of his exile without again seeing that charming face, finally to strive in vain to recall it in all its perfect beauty! This thought affected him more than the thought of the stigma on his birth. That he could and would live down; he was still a man, with a brain and a heart and a strong arm. But Diane!

The Comte d'Herouville, for some reason best known to himself, appeared to be acting with a view toward partial conciliation. The Chevalier did not wholly ignore this advance. D'Herouville would fight fair as became a gentleman, and that was enough. Since they were soon to set about killing each other, what mattered the prologue?

The vicomte watched this play, and it caused him to smile. He knew the purpose of these advances: it was to bring about the freedom of the Chevalier's cabin. As yet neither he nor the count had found the golden opportunity. The Chevalier was never asleep or alone when they knocked at the door of his cabin.

Each day D'Herouville approached the Chevalier when the latter was on deck.

"You are improving, Monsieur?" was the set inquiry.

"I am gaining every hour, Monsieur," always returned the invalid.

"That is well;" and then D'Herouville would seek some other part of the s.h.i.+p. He ignored Victor as though he were not on board.

"Victor, you have not yet told me who the woman in the grey mask was,"

said the Chevalier.

"Bah!" said Victor, with fict.i.tious nonchalance.

"She is fleeing from some one?"

"That may be."

"Who is she?" directly.

"I regret that I must leave you in the dark, Paul."

"But you said that you knew something of her history; and you can not know that without knowing her name."

Victor remained silent.

"Somehow," went on the Chevalier, "that grey mask continually intrudes into my dreams."

"That is because you have been ill, Paul."

"Is she some prince's light-o'-love?"

"She is no man's light-o'-love. Do not question me further. I may tell you nothing. She is a fugitive from the equivocal justice of France."

"Politics?"

"Politics."

"She comes from a good family?"

"So high that you would laugh were I to tell you."

"As she left the private a.s.sembly that night I caught the odor of vervain. Perhaps that is what printed her well upon my mind."

"Pretend to yourself that it was attar of roses, and forget her. She will never enter into your life, my good comrade."

"I am merely curious, indifferently curious. It is something to talk about. I daresay that she is pretty. Homely women never flee from anything but mirrors."

"And homely men," laughed the poet. "I am going to see Bouchard for a moment."

Du Puys, D'Herouville and the vicomte drew their stools around the Chevalier, and discussed politics, religion, and women.

"Why is it that women intrigue?" asked the Chevalier, recalling the grey mask. "Is it because they wish the great to smile on them?"

"No," replied the vicomte; "rather that they wish to smile on the great. Women love secret power, that power which comes from behind the puppet-booth. A man must stand before his audience to appear as great; woman becomes most powerful when her power is not fully known. The king's mistress has ever been the mistress of the king."

"And Marie de Touchet?" asked Du Puys.

"Charles IX was not a fool; he was mad." D'Herouville smoothed his beard.

Presently the Chevalier said to the vicomte: "Monsieur, will you be so kind as to seek my lackey? I am growing chilly and desire a shawl or a cloak."