The Grey Cloak Part 49

"Take care, Monsieur, that I do not choose the block. I am not wholly without courage."

"Pardon me! Jealousy has an evil sting. I ask you to pardon me.

Besides, it was evident that you had some definite purpose in trifling with the Chevalier. Well, he is out of the game."

"Do you know what brought him here?" veering into a new channel to lull the vicomte's caution. She had an idea.

"I do; but it would not sound pleasant in your ears."

"He followed . . ."

"A woman?" with quick antic.i.p.ation. "I do not say so. I brought him into our conversation merely to prove to you that I was more in your confidence than you dreamed of."

Madame drew her fingers across her brow.

"Does any one else know that you have this paper?" Madame manoeuvered her chair, bringing it as close as possible to the table. Less than three feet intervened between her and the vicomte.

"You and I alone are in the secret, Madame."

"If I should call for help?"

"Call, Madame; many will hear. But this paper, and the general fear of Mazarin since the Fronde, and the fact that I have practically obliterated my signature by scratching a pen across it . . . Well, if you think it wise."

Her arms dropped upon the table, and the despair on her face deceived him. "Monsieur, this is unmanly, cruel!"

"All is fair in love and war. My love compels me to use force. What if this doc.u.ment had fallen into D'Herouville's hands? He would have gone about it less gently."

Madame bent her head upon her arms, and the candles threw a golden sparkle into her hair. The vicomte's heart beat fast, and his hand stole forth and hovered above that beautiful head but dared not touch it. Presently madame looked up. There were tears in her eyes, but the vicomte did not know that they were tears of rage.

"Think, Madame," he said eagerly; "is a dungeon more agreeable to you than I am, and would not a dungeon be worse than death?"

Madame roughly brushed her eyes. "You speak of love; I doubt your sincerity."

"I love you so well that I would kill D'Herouville and De Saumaise and Du Cevennes, all of them, rather than that one of them should possess the right to call you his."

"But can you not see how impossible life with you would be after this night? I should hold you in perpetual fear."

"I will find a way to overcome that fear."

"But each time I look at you would recall this humiliating moment. I am a proud woman, Monsieur, and I suffer now from humiliation as I never suffered before;" all of which was true. "I am a Montbazon; it is very close to royal blood. If I were forced to marry you, you would certainly live to regret it."

"As I said, I am willing to risk it." Then his voice softened. "Ah, but I love you! 'Gabrielle, Gabrielle'! That name is the ebb and flow of my heart's blood. Promise, Madame, promise; for I shall do as I say. Will you enjoy the dungeon? I think not. Do not doubt that there is an element of greatness in this heart of mine. With you as my wife I shall become great; D'Halluys will be a name to live among those of the great captains."

Madame locked her hands, her fingers twisting and untwisting . . . To gain possession of that paper!

"How often I watched you in Paris," he went on, "wondering at first who you were, and then, knowing, why you were not at court with your brilliant mother. I have seen you so many times in the gardens, just as twilight dissolved the brightness of day. I have often followed you, but always at a respectful distance. And one night the happiness was mine to meet you at the hotel of Monsieur le Comte. Oh! I know perfectly well the rumors you have heard regarding certain exploits.

But remember, I have grown up in camps, and soldiers are neither careful nor provident. Poverty dogged my footsteps; and we must live how we can. No good woman has ever crossed my path to lighten its shadows, to smooth its roughness. Environment is the mold that forms the man. I am what circ.u.mstance has made me. You, Madame, can change all this."

He leaned over the table, his eyes shining, his face glowing with love which, though half lawless, was nevertheless the best that was in him.

Another woman might have marked the beauty on his face; but madame saw only the power of it, the power which she hated and feared. Besides, his love in no wise lessened his caution. His left hand was wound tightly around the paper.

"Monsieur, you are without reason!"

"Love has crowded reason out."

"Your proposal is cruel and terrible."

"It is your angle of vision."

"I had thought to find peace and security; alas!"

"If I were positive that you loved some one else . . ." meditatively.

"Well?"

"I should hunt him out and kill him. There would then be no obstacle."

"You will do as you say: consign me to imprisonment or death?"

"As much as I love you. You have your choice."

"Give me but a day," she pleaded.

"Truthfully, I dare not."

"But this paper; I must see it!" wildly.

The vicomte's hand tightened. "I will place the paper in your hands on the day of our marriage, unreservedly. You will then have the power to commit me, if so you will. Come, Madame; it grows on toward night.

Which is it to be? A Montbazon's word is as good as a king's louis."

"Once it has been given!"

As a cat leaps, as the shadow of a bird pa.s.ses, madame's hand flew out and grasped the projecting end of the paper. The short struggle was nothing; the red marks on her wrists were painless. Swiftly she rose and stepped, back, breathing quickly but with triumph. He made as though to leap, but in that moment she had smoothed out the crumpled paper. A glance, and it fluttered to the table. Her laughter was very close to tears.

"Monsieur le Vicomte, what a clever wooer you are!" She fled toward the door, opened it, and was gone.

The vicomte sat down.

"Truly, that woman must be mine!"

He took up the paper, smoothed it, and laughed. The paper was totally blank.

CHAPTER XXII

D'HEROUVILLE THREATENS AND MADAME FINDS A DROLL BOOK

The next morning the vicomte went to the hospital to inquire into the state of the Comte d'Herouville's health. He found that gentleman walking back and forth in the ward. There was little of the invalid about him save for the pallor on his cheeks, which provided proof that his blood was not yet of its accustomed thickness. At the sight of the vicomte he neither frowned nor smiled; the expression on his face remained unchanged, but he ceased his pacing. The two men contemplated each other, and the tableau lasted for a minute.