The Grey Cloak Part 72

"That is a curious question."

"It had power enough to bring you here with me," replied Brother Jacques complacently.

"Why do you wish to know?"

"I saw you," briefly.

"A great many persons saw me that night. I was on guard at the Louvre."

"Between the hours of eleven and twelve?"

Silence. A spider, seeing the light, swung down in jerks from the beams and dangled at the side of the candlestick. Suddenly the priest reached over and caught the vicomte's restless hand.

"Rest a.s.sured, Jesuit, that when you broke my sword you left me weaponless."

"I did well to break that sword. It was an evil one."

"You are very strong for a priest," coolly.

"Oh, do not doubt that there is a man within these robes. Listen.

Your path and that of the Chevalier du Cevennes must not cross again."

"You speak in riddles."

"Not to you. Behind De Leviston you struck first; now from behind a drunken soldier. It was you all the time. You tricked us cleverly.

You were such a good fellow, laughing, witty, debonair. For my part, I would have sworn that D'Herouville was the man. Besides you, Monsieur, D'Herouville is a tyro, a Mazarin to a Machiavelli."

"You flatter me. But why not D'Herouville instead of me?"

"Monsieur, your very audacity betrayed you. Last night you put on the grey cloak. A log spurted a flame, and at once I remembered all."

"Indeed," ironically.

"Yes. You knocked a priest into the gutter that night as you were flying from the scene of your crime. I was that priest. But for the cloak and your remarkable nerve in putting it on, I should have remained in total darkness."

"Beginning with a certain day, you will ever remain in darkness." The vicomte's face was not very pleasant just then.

"The first time you annoy Monsieur le Chevalier, who is the legitimate son of the Marquis de Perigny. . . ."

"Are you quite sure?" the old banter awakening. Suddenly he stared into the priest's face. "My faith, but that would be droll! What is your interest in the Chevalier's welfare? . . . They say the marquis was a gay one in his youth, and handsome, and had a way with the women.

Yes, yes; that would be more than droll. You are quite sure of the Chevalier's standing?"

"So sure, Monsieur," said Brother Jacques, "that if you continue to annoy him I shall denounce you."

"The marquis will die some day. How would it please your priestly ear to be called 'Monsieur le Marquis'?"

"Annoy either the Chevalier or Madame de Brissac, and I will denounce you. That is all I have to say to you, Monsieur. To a man of your adroit accomplishments it should be enough. I have no interest in the Perigny family save a friendly one."

"I dare say." The vicomte let his gaze fall till the spider came within vision. He put a finger under it, and the insect began to climb frantically toward its web.

"Thus, you see there will be no duel between you and the Chevalier."

The vicomte turned and looked out of the window; moonlight and glooms and falling leaves. He remained there for some time. Brother Jacques waited patiently to learn the vicomte's determination. He was curious, too, to test this man's core. Was it rotten, or hard and sound? There was villainy, but of what kind? The helpless villainy of a Nero, or the calculating villainy of a Tiberius? When the vicomte presented his countenance to Brother Jacques, it had undergone a change. It was masked with humility; all the haughtiness was gone. He plucked nervously at his chin.

"I will confess to you," he said simply.

"To me?" Brother Jacques recoiled. "Let me call Father Chaumonot."

"To you or to no one."

"Give me a moment to think." Brother Jacques was secretly pleased to have tamed this spirit.

"To you or to no one," repeated the vicomte. "Do you believe in the holiness and sacredness of your office?"

"As I believe in G.o.d," devoutly. Fervor had at once elevated Brother Jacques's priestly mind above earthly cunning.

"You will hear my confession?"

"Yes."

The vicomte knelt. From time to time he made a pa.s.sionate gesture. It was not a long confession, but it was compact and telling.

"_Absolvo te_," murmured Brother Jacques mechanically, gazing toward Heaven.

Immediately the solemnity of the moment was jarred by a laugh. The vicomte was standing, all piety gone from his face; and a rollicking devil shone from his eyes.

"Now, my curious friend," tapping the astonished priest on the breast, "I have buried my secret beneath this black gown; tell it if you dare."

"You have tricked me in the name of G.o.d?" horrified.

"Self-preservation; your knowledge forced me to it. And it was a pretty trick, you will admit, casuist that you are."

"And if I should break my vows?" furiously.

"Break your vows and I promise to kill you out of hand."

"From behind?"

"In whatever manner appears most expedient. That fool of a Brissac; he simply committed suicide. There was no other mode of egress open to me. It was my life or his. That cloak! Well, that was to tell tales in case I was seen from a distance. It nearly succeeded. And I will make an additional confession," throwing back his head, his eyes narrowing, his whole att.i.tude speaking a man's pa.s.sion. "Yes, your keen intuition has put its finger on the spot. I hate the Chevalier, hate him with a strong man's hate, the unending hate of wounded vanity, of envy, of thwarted desires. There was a woman, once, whom he lured away from me; he gained the commission in the Guards over my head; he was making love to Madame de Brissac, while I, poor fool, loitered in the antechamber. I should have sought all means to bring about his ruin, had he not taken the labor from my hands. But a b.a.s.t.a.r.d!"

Brother Jacques shuddered. "Bah! What could I do? I could become only a spectator. My word for it, it has been a fine comedy, this bonhomie of mine, this hail-fellow well met. And only to-night he saw the pit at his feet. If that fool of a corporal had not been drunk."

"Wretch!" cried the priest, trembling as if seized with convulsion.

Duped!

The vicomte opened the door, and bowed with his hand upon his heart.

"Till the morning prayers, Father," with mock gravity; "till the morning prayers."