The Indiscretion of the Duchess Part 25

I turned to listen, forgetful of quiet little Pierre and his alert beady eyes; yet I kept the pistol on him.

And Lafleur cried:

"At the convent--at the convent, on the sh.o.r.es of the bay!"

"My G.o.d!" cried the duke, and his eyes suddenly turned and flashed on mine; and I saw that the necklace was forgotten, that our partners.h.i.+p was ended, and that I again, and no longer the cowering creature before him, was the enemy. And I also, hearing that Marie Delha.s.se was at the convent, was telling myself that I was a fool not to have thought of it before, and wondering what new impulse had seized the duke's wayward mind.

Thus neither the duke nor I was attending to the business of the moment.

But there was a man of busy brain, whose life taught him to profit by the slips of other men and to let pa.s.s no opportunities. Our carelessness gave one now--a chance of escape, and a chance of something else too. For, while my negligent hand dropped to my side and my eyes were seeking to read the duke's face, the figure opposite me must have been moving. Softly must a deft hand have crept to a pocket; softly came forth the hidden weapon. There was a report loud and sudden; and then another. And with the first, Lafleur, who was kneeling at the duke's feet and looking up to see how his shaft had sped, flung his arms wildly over his head, gave a shriek, and fell dead--his head, half-shattered, striking the iron box as he fell sideways in a heap on the ground.

The duke sprang back with an oath, whose sound was engulfed in the second discharge of Pierre's pistol: and I felt myself struck in the right arm; and my weapon fell to the ground, while I clutched the wounded limb with my left hand.

The duke, after a moment's hesitation and bewilderment, raised his pistol and fired; but the active little scoundrel was safe among the trees, and we heard the twigs cracking and the leaves rustling as he pushed his way through the wood. He was gone--scot free for us, but with his score to Lafleur well paid. I swayed where I stood, to and fro: the pain was considerable, and things seemed to go round before my eyes; yet I turned to my companion, crying:

"After him! He'll get off! I'm hit; I can't run!"

The duke stood still, frowning; then he slowly dropped his smoking pistol into his pocket. For a moment longer he stood, and a smile broadened on his face as he raised his eyes to me.

"Let him," he said briefly; and his glance rested on me for a moment in defiant significance. And then, without another word, he turned on his heel. He took no heed of Lafleur's dead body, that seemed to fondle the box, huddling it in a ghastly embrace, nor of me, who swayed and tottered and sank on the ground by the corpse. With set lips and eager eyes he pa.s.sed me, taking the road by which we had come. And I, hugging my wounded arm, with open eyes and parted lips, saw him dive in among the trees and disappear toward the house. And I looked round on the iron box and the dead body--two caskets robbed of all that made them more than empty lumber.

Minute followed minute; and then I heard the hoofs of a horse galloping at full speed along the road from the house toward Avranches. Lafleur was dead and done with; Pierre might go his ways; I lay fainting in the wood; the Cardinal's Necklace was still against my side. What recked the Duke of Saint-Maclou of all that? I knew, as I heard the thud of the hoofs on the road, that by the time the first reddening rays reached over the horizon he would be at the convent, seeking the woman who was all the world to him.

And I sat there helpless, fearful of what would befall her. For what could a convent full of women avail against his mastering rage? And a sudden sharp pang ran through me, startling even myself in its intensity; so that I cried out aloud, raising my sound arm in the air toward Heaven, like a man who swears a vow:

"By G.o.d, no! By G.o.d, no--no!"

CHAPTER XV.

I Choose my Way.

The dead man lay there, embracing the empty box that had brought him to his death; and for many minutes I sat within a yard of him, detained by the fascination and grim mockery of the picture no less than by physical weakness and a numbness of my brain. My body refused to act, and my mind hardly urged its indolent servant. I was in sore distress for Marie Delha.s.se,--my vehement cry witnessed it,--yet I had not the will to move to her aid; will and power both seemed to fail me. I could fear, I could shrink with horror, but I could not act; nor did I move till the increasing pain of my wound drove me, as it might any unintelligent creature, to scramble to my feet and seek, half-blindly, for some place that should afford shelter and succor.

Leaving Lafleur and the box where they lay, a pretty spectacle for a moralist, I stumbled through the wood back to the path, and stood there in helpless vacillation. At the house I should find better attendance, but old Jean's cottage was nearer. The indolence of weakness gained the day, and I directed my steps toward the cottage, thinking now, so far as I can recollect, of none of the exciting events of the night nor even of what the future still held, but purely and wholly of the fact that in the cottage I should find a fire and a bed. The root-instincts of the natural man--the primeval elementary wants--a.s.serted their supremacy and claimed a monopoly of my mind, driving out all rival emotions, and with a mighty sigh of relief and content I pushed open the door of the cottage, staggered across to the fire and sank down on the stool by it, thanking Heaven for so much, and telling myself that soon, very soon, I should feel strong enough to make my way into the inner room and haul out Jean's pallet and set it by the fire and stretch my weary limbs, and, if the pain of my wound allowed me, go to sleep. Beyond that my desires did not reach, and I forgot all my fears save the one dread that I was too weak for the desired effort. Certainly it is hard for a man to think himself a hero!

I took no note of time, but I must have sat where I was for many minutes, before I heard someone moving in the inner room. I was very glad; of course it was Jean, and Jean, I told myself with luxurious self-congratulation, would bring the bed for me, and put something on my wound, and maybe give me a c.h.i.n.k of some fine hot cognac that would spread life through my veins. Thus I should be comfortable and able to sleep, and forget all the shadowy people--they seemed but shadows half-real--that I had been troubling my brain about: the duke, and Marie, whose face danced for a moment before my eyes, and that dead fellow who hugged the box so ludicrously. So I tried to call to Jean, but the trouble was too great, and, as he would be sure to come out soon, I waited; and I blinked at the smoldering wood-ashes in the fire till my eyes closed and the sleep was all but come, despite the smart of my arm and the ache in my unsupported back.

But just before I had forgotten everything the door of the inner room creaked and opened. My side was toward it and I did not look round. I opened my eyes and feebly waved my left hand. Then a voice came, clear and fresh:

"Jean, is it you? Well, is the duke at the house?"

I must be dreaming; that was my immediate conviction, for the voice that I heard was a voice I knew well, but one not likely to be heard here, in Jean's cottage, at four o'clock in the morning. Decidedly I was dreaming, and as in order to dream a man must be asleep, I was pleased at the idea and nodded happily, smiling and blinking in self-congratulation. But that pleasant minute of illusion was my last; for the voice cried in tones too full of animation, too void of dreamy vagueness, too real and actual to let me longer set them down as made of my own brain:

"Heaven! Why, it's Mr. Aycon! How in the world do you come here?"

To feel surprise at the d.u.c.h.ess of Saint-Maclou doing anything which she might please to do or being anywhere that the laws of Nature rendered it possible she should be, was perhaps a disposition of mind of which I should have been by this time cured; yet I was surprised to find her standing in the doorway that led from Jean's little bedroom dressed in a neat walking gown and a very smart hat, her hands clasped in the surprise which she shared with me and her eyes gleaming with an amused delight which found, I fear, no answer in my heavy bewildered gaze.

"I'm getting warm," said I at first, but then I made an effort to rouse myself. "I was a bit hurt, you know," I went on; "that little villain Pierre--"

"Hurt!" cried the d.u.c.h.ess, springing forward. "How? Oh, my dear Mr. Aycon, how pale you are!"

After that remark of the d.u.c.h.ess', I remember nothing which occurred for a long while. In fact, just as I had apprehended that I was awake, that the d.u.c.h.ess was real, and that it was most remarkable to find her in Jean's cottage, I fainted, and the d.u.c.h.ess, the cottage, and everything else vanished from sight and mind.

When next I became part of the waking world I found myself on the sofa of the little room in the duke's house which I was beginning to know so well.

I felt very comfortable: my arm was neatly bandaged, I wore a clean s.h.i.+rt.

Suzanne was spreading a meal on the table, and the d.u.c.h.ess, in a charming morning gown, was smiling at me and humming a tune. The clock on the mantelpiece marked a quarter to eight.

"Now I know all about it," said the d.u.c.h.ess, perceiving my revival. "I've heard it all from Suzanne and Jean--or anyhow I can guess the rest. And you mustn't tire yourself by talking. I had you brought here so that you might be well looked after; because we're so much indebted to you, you know."

"Is the duke here?" I asked.

"Oh, dear, no; it's all right," nodded the d.u.c.h.ess. "I don't know--and I do not care--where the duke is. Drink this milk, Mr. Aycon. Your arm's not very bad, you know--Jean says it isn't, I mean--but you'd better have milk first, and something to eat when you feel stronger."

The d.u.c.h.ess appeared to be in excellent spirits. She caught up a bit of toast from the table, poured out a cup of coffee, and, still moving about, began a light breakfast, with every sign of appet.i.te and enjoyment.

"You've come back?" said I, looking at her in persistent surprise.

Suzanne put the cus.h.i.+ons behind my back in a more comfortable position, smiled kindly on us, and left us.

"Yes," said the d.u.c.h.ess, "I have for the present, Mr. Aycon."

"But--but the duke--" I stammered.

"I don't mind the duke," said she. "Besides, he may not come. It's rather nice that you're just a little hurt. Don't you think so, Mr. Aycon? Just a little, you know."

"Why?" was all I found to say. The reason was not clear to me.

"Why, in the first place, because you can't fight till your arm's well--oh, yes, of course Armand was going to fight you--and, in the second place, you can and must stay here. There's no harm in it, while you're ill, you see; Armand can't say there is. It's rather funny, isn't it, Mr.

Aycon?" and she munched a morsel of toast, and leaned her elbows on the table and sent a sparkling glance across at me, for all the world as she had done on the first night I knew her. The cares of the world did not gall the shoulders of Mme. de Saint-Maclou.

"But why are you here?" said I, sticking to my point.

The d.u.c.h.ess set down the cup of coffee which she had been sipping.

"I am not particular," said she. "But I told the Mother Superior exactly what I told the duke. She wouldn't listen any more than he would. However, I was resolved; so I came here. I don't see where else I could go, do you, Mr. Aycon?"

"What did you tell the Mother?"

The d.u.c.h.ess stretched one hand across the table, clenching her small fist and tapping gently with it on the cloth.

"There is one thing that I will not do, Mr. Aycon," said she, a touch of red coming in her cheeks and her lips set in obstinate lines. "I don't care whether the house is my house or anybody else's house, or an inn--yes, or a convent either. But I will not be under the same roof with Marie Delha.s.se."

And her declaration finished, the d.u.c.h.ess nodded most emphatically, and turned to her cup again.

The name of Marie Delha.s.se, shot forth from Mme. de Saint-Maclou's pouting lips, pierced the cloud that had seemed to envelop my brain. I sat up on the sofa and looked eagerly at the d.u.c.h.ess.