The Grey Cloak Part 51

Madame's lips closed firmly, and a circle of color spotted her cheeks.

There had been times recently when she regretted De Brissac's death.

"What have you to say, Madame?" he demanded.

"To you? Nothing, save that if you do not at once stand aside I shall call for aid. Your impertinence is even greater than Monsieur d'Halluys'. I wonder at your courage in thus addressing me."

"I am not a patient man, Madame," coming closer. "I have publicly vowed my love for you, and Heaven nor h.e.l.l shall keep me from you."

"Not even myself? Come, Monsieur," wrathfully, "you are acting like a fool or a boy. Women such as I am are not won in this braggart fashion. Certainly you must admit that I have something to say in regard to the disposition of my hand. And let me say this at once: I shall wed no man; and were either you or Monsieur le Comte the last man in the world, I should run away and hide. Stand aside."

"And if I should use force?" throwing aside the reins of self-control.

"Force, force!" flinging wide her hands; "you speak to me of force!

Monsieur, you are not a fool, but a madman."

"But we are still tender toward the Chevalier?" snarling.

"The least I can say of Monsieur le Chevalier is that he is a gentleman."

"A gentleman? Ho! that is rich. A gentleman!"

The path was at this point almost too narrow for her to walk around him; so she waited without replying.

"And do not forget, Madame, that you are a fugitive from justice, and that a word to Monsieur de Lauson . . ."

"I dare you to speak, Monsieur," with growing anger. "Have you no bogus paper to hold over my head? Are you about to play the vicomte's trick second-hand?"

"I know nothing about his tricks, but I shall kill him at an early date."

Madame's shrug said plainly that it mattered nothing to her. "Once more, will you stand aside, or must I call?"

"Call, Madame!" His violence got the better of him, and he seized her wrist. "Call to the fellow who calls himself the Chevalier; call!"

"Do I hear some one calling my name?" said a voice not far away.

D'Herouville looked over madame's shoulder, while madame turned with relief. She quickly released her wrist and sped some distance up the path, pa.s.sing the Chevalier, who did not stop till he stood face to face with D'Herouville.

"You were about to remark?" began the Chevalier, a frank and honest hatred in his eyes.

The count eyed him contemptuously. "Stand out of the way, you . . ."

"Do not speak that word aloud, Monsieur," interrupted the Chevalier, gloomily, "or I will force it down your throat, though we both tumble over the cliff."

D'Herouville knew the Perigny blood well enough to believe that the Chevalier was in earnest. "It would be your one opportunity," he said; "for you do not suppose I shall do you the honor to cross swords with you."

"Most certainly I do. You laughed that night, and no man shall laugh at me and boast of it."

"I shall always laugh," and the count's laughter, loud and insulting, drifted to where madame stood.

There was something so sinister in the echo that she became chilled.

She watched the two men, fascinated by she knew not what.

"You shall die for that laugh," said the Chevalier, paling.

"By the cliff, then, but never by the sword."

"By the sword. I shall challenge you at the first mess you attend. If you refuse and state your reasons, I promise to knock you down. If you persist in refusing, I shall slap your face wherever and whenever we chance to meet. That is all I have to say to you; I trust that it is explicit."

D'Herouville's eyes were full of venom. "It wants only the poet to challenge me, and the circle will be complete. I will fight the poet and the vicomte; they come from no doubtful source. As for you, I will do you the honor to hire a trooper to take my place. Fight you? You make me laugh against my will! And as for threats, listen to me.

Strike me, and by the G.o.ds! Madame shall learn who you are, or, rather, who you pretend to be." The count whistled a bar of music, swung about cavalierly, and retraced his steps toward the lower town.

The Chevalier stared at his retreating figure till it sank below the level of the ridge. He was without redress; he was impotent; D'Herouville would do as he said. G.o.d! He struck his hands together in his despair, forgetful that madame saw his slightest movement. When he recollected her, he moved toward her. Madame. D'Herouville had called her madame.

On seeing him approach her first desire was to move in the same direction; that is to say, to keep the distance at its present measure.

A thousand questions flitted through her brain. She had heard a sentence which so mystified her that the impulse to flee went as suddenly as it came. She succeeded in composing her features by the time he arrived at her side.

"Madame," he said, quietly, "whither were you bound?"

She looked at him blankly. For the life of her she could not tell at that moment what had been her destination! The situation struck her as so absurd that she could barely stifle the hysterical laughter which rushed to her lips.

"I . . . I will return to the chateau," she finally replied.

"The count was annoying you?" walking beside her.

"Thanks to you, Monsieur, the annoyance is past."

Some ground was gone over in silence. This silence disturbed her far more than the sound of his voice. It gave him a certain mastery. So she spoke.

"You said 'Madame'," tentatively.

"Such was the t.i.tle D'Herouville applied." And again he became silent.

"Did he tell you my name?" with a sudden and unexpected fierceness.

"No, Madame; he did not speak your name. But he knows it; while I, who love you honorably and more than my life, I must remain in ignorance.

An expedition is to start soon, Madame, and as I shall join it, my presence here will no longer afford you annoyance."

"Wherefore this rage, Madame, shining in your beautiful eyes, thinning your lips, widening your nostrils?"

Madame was in a rage; but not even the promise of salvation would have forced the cause from her lips. O for Paris, where, lightly and wittily, she could humble this man! Here wit was stale on the tongue, and every one went about with a serious purpose. She went on, her chin tilted, her gaze lofty. The wind tossed her hair, there were phantom roses on her cheeks which bloomed and withered and bloomed yet again.

Diane, indeed: Diane of the green Aegean sea and the marbles of Athens!

"You need go no farther, Monsieur. It is quite unnecessary, as I know the way perfectly."

"I prefer to see you safe inside the chateau," with quiet determination.

Was this the gallant who had attracted her fancy? This was not the way he had made love in former days. Slyly her eyes revolved in his direction. His temples were grey! She had not noted this change till now. Grey; and the face, tanned even in the shaven jaws, was careworn.

There was a gesture which escaped his notice. Why had she been guilty of the inexcusable madness, the inexplicable folly, of this voyage?