The Grey Cloak Part 26

"Let him go, Paul," urged Victor. "Du Puys will make an exception in your case. Let him go. My own lad Hector goes to my sister's, and she will take good care of him. You can't leave this lad here, Paul. Take him along."

"But your future?" still reluctant to see Victor leave France.

"It is there," with a nod toward the west.

"The vicomte . . ."

"We have signed a truce till we return to French soil."

"Well, if you will go," a secret joy in his heart. How he loved this poet!

"It is the land of fortune, Paul; it is calling to us. True, I shall miss the routs, the life at court, the plays and the gaming. But, horns of Panurge! I am only twenty-three. In three years I shall have conquered or have been conquered, and that is something. Do not dissuade me. You will talk into the face of the tempest. Rather make the going a joy for me. You know that at the bottom of your heart you are glad."

"Misery loves company; we are all selfish," replied the Chevalier, "My selfishness cries out for joy, but my sense of honesty tells me not to let you go. I shall never return to France. You will not be happy there."

"I shall be safer; and happiness is a matter of temperament, not of time and place. You put up a poor defense. Look! we have been so long together, Paul; eight years, since I was sixteen, and a page of her Majesty's. I should not know what to do without you. We have shared the same tents on the battlefield; I have borrowed your clothes and your money, and you have borrowed my sword, for that is all I have.

Listen to me. There will be exploits over there, and the echo of them will wander back here to France. Fame awaits us. Are we not as brave and inventive as De Champlain, De Montmagny, De Lisle, and a host of others who have made money and name? Come; take my hand. Together, Paul, and what may not fortune hold for us!"

There was something irresistible in his pleading; and the Chevalier felt the need of some one on whom to spend his br.i.m.m.i.n.g heart of love.

His face showed that he was weighing the matter and viewing it from all points. Presently the severe lines of his face softened.

"Very well, we shall go together, my poet," throwing an arm across Victor's shoulders. "We shall go together, as we have always gone.

And, after all, what is a name but sounding bra.s.s? 'Tis a man's arm that makes or unmakes his honesty, not his thrift; his loyalty, rather than his self-interest. We shall go together. Come; we'll sign the major's papers, and have done with it."

Victor threw his hat into the air.

"And I, Monsieur Paul?" said Breton, trembling in his shoes, with expectancy or fear.

"If they will let you go, lad," kindly; and Breton fell upon his knees and kissed the Chevalier's hand.

The articles which made them soldiers, obedient first to the will of the king and second to the will of the Company of the Hundred a.s.sociates, were duly signed. Breton was permitted to accompany his master with the understanding that he was to entail no extra expense.

Father Chaumonot was delighted; Brother Jacques was thoughtful; the major was neutral and incurious. As yet no rumor stirred its ugly head; the Chevalier's reasons for going were still a matter of conjecture. None had the courage to approach the somber young man and question him. The recruits and broken gentlemen had troubles of sufficient strength to be unmindful of the interest in the Chevalier's.

The officers from Fort Louis bowed politely to the Chevalier, but came not near enough to speak. Excessive delicacy, or embarra.s.sment, or whatever it was, the Chevalier appreciated it. As for the civilians who had enjoyed the hospitality of the Hotel de Perigny, they remained un.o.bserved on the outskirts of the crowd. The vicomte expressed little or no surprise to learn that Victor had signed. He simply smiled; for if others were mystified as to the poet's conduct, he was not. Often his glance roved toward the stairs; but there were no petticoats going up or coming down.

"Monsieur le Vicomte," said Brother Jacques, whose curiosity was eating deeply, "will you not explain to me the cause of the Chevalier's extraordinary conduct?"

"Ah, my little Jesuit!" said the vicomte; "so you are still burning with curiosity? Well, I promise to tell you all about it the first time I confess to you."

"Monsieur, have you any reason for insulting me?" asked Brother Jacques, coldly, his pale cheeks aflame.

"Good! there is blood in you, then?" laughed the vicomte, noting the color.

"Red and healthy, Monsieur," in a peculiar tone. Brother Jacques was within an inch of being as tall and broad as the vicomte.

The vicomte gazed into the handsome face, and there was some doubt in his own eyes. "You have not always been a priest?"

"Not always."

"And your antecedents?"

"A n.o.bler race than yours, Monsieur," haughtily. "You also have grown curious, it would seem. I shall be a.s.sociated with the Chevalier, and I desired to know the root of his troubles in order to help him. But for these robes, Monsieur, you would not use the tone you do."

"La, la! Take them off if they hamper you. But I like not curious people, I am not a gossip. The Chevalier has reasons in plenty. Ask him why he going to Quebec;" and the vicomte whirled on his heels, leaving the Jesuit the desire to cast aside his robes and smite the vicomte on the mouth.

"Swashbuckler!" he murmured. "How many times have you filched the Chevalier of his crowns by the use of clogged dice? . . . G.o.d pardon me, but I am l.u.s.ting for that man's life!" His hand clutched his rosary and his lips moved in prayer, though the anger did not immediately die out of his eyes. He wandered among the crowds. Words and vague sentences filtered through the noise. Two gentlemen were conversing lowly. Brother Jacques neared them unconsciously, still at his beads.

"On my honor, it is as I tell you. The Chevalier . . ."

Brother Jacques raised his eyes,

"What! forfeited his rights in a moment of madness? Proclaimed himself to be . . . before you all? Impossible!"

The beads slipped through Brother Jacques's fingers. He leaned against the wall, his eyes round, his nostrils expanded. A great wave of pity surged over him. He saw nothing but the handsome youth who had spoken kindly to him at the Candlestick in Paris. That word! That invisible, searing iron! He straightened, and his eyes flashed like points of steel in the sunshine. That grim, wicked old man; not a thousand times a thousand livres would give him the key to Heaven. Brother Jacques left the tavern and walked along the wharves, breathing deeply of the vigorous sea-air.

Victor encountered the vicomte as the latter was about to go aboard.

"Ah," said the vicomte; "so you ran about with a drawn sword last night? Monsieur, you are only a boy." The vicomte never lost his banter; it was a habit.

"I was hot-headed and in wine." Victor had an idea in regard to the vicomte.

"The devil is always lurking in the pot; so let us not stir him again."

"Willingly."

"I compliment you on your good sense. Monsieur, I've been thinking seriously. Has it not occurred to you that Madame de Brissac has that paper?"

"Would she seek Spain?" said Victor.

"True. But supposing Mazarin should be seeking her, paper or no paper, to force the truth from her?"

"The supposition, does not balance. She knows no more than you or I."

"And Monsieur le Comte's play-woman?"

"Horns of Panurge!" excitedly. "You have struck a new note, Vicomte.

I recollect hearing that she was confined in some one of the city prisons. The sooner the Saint Laurent sails, the better."

"Would that some one we knew would romp into town from Paris. He might have news." The vicomte bit the ends of his mustache.

The opening of the tavern door cut short their conversation. A man entered rudely. He pressed and jostled every one in his efforts to reach Maitre le Borgne. He was a man of splendid physical presence.

His garments, though soiled and bedraggled by rough riding, were costly and rich. His spurs were b.l.o.o.d.y; and the dullness of the blood and the brightness of the steel were again presented in his fierce eyes. The face was not pleasing; it was too squarely hewn, too emotional; it indexed the heart too readily, its pa.s.sions, its loves and its hates.

There was cunning in the lips and caution in the brow; but the face was too mutable.

"The Comte d'Herouville!" exclaimed the vicomte. "Saumaise, this looks bad. He is not a man to run away like you and me."

The new-comer spoke to the innkeeper, who raised his index finger and leveled it at Victor and the vicomte. On seeing them, D'Herouville came over quickly.

"Messieurs," he began, "I am gratified to find you."