The Road to Paris Part 39

"There is a ruined abbey, at the head of that short lane," said Romberg.

"Perhaps if we should hide there till these two parties meet,--"

"As neither party would have come upon us on the way," said d.i.c.k, "they might suppose we had taken some other road, after all. Come, then. 'Tis our only chance."

The three horses were instantly turned into the lane. The abbey was now used as a barn. The wide door was barred on the outside with a piece of wood, merely to keep it from being opened by the wind. The men dismounted and led the horses into the dark interior, which smelled of hay and grain. They closed the door, but there was no way of bolting it on the inside. The women now dismounted, and the party stood in silence, trusting that their horses would not in any way betray their presence.

As fate would have it, the two forces of hors.e.m.e.n--the one commanded by the officer who had let d.i.c.k escape, the other by the Baron von Sungen--met near the mouth of the lane leading to the barn. Torches were lighted, and the two leaders conferred for some time. Then Von Sungen, who was not only the superior in rank but was also the more recently from Ca.s.sel and had the Landgrave's latest orders, got off his horse, seized a torch from one of the bearers, and started up the lane, followed afoot by six of his men.

The gentlemen in the barn saw this movement through c.h.i.n.ks of the door.

"It is Von Sungen," said Romberg. "He must have a strong personal interest in your capture, that he should come to search with his own eyes."

He and d.i.c.k drew their swords. Antoine held ready a pistol, which he had carried in his saddle-bag on his Spangenberg journey.

Von Sungen's concern seemed indeed very great, for so rapidly he strode that he reached the barn a dozen feet ahead of his men. He opened the door, and thrust in his head, preceding it with his torch.

Before any one could make a movement, the attention of all was drawn by Catherine, who said to d.i.c.k and Romberg:

"Flee for your lives, gentlemen! Don't heed me. I shall be dead before he can lay a hand upon me."

And she held to her lips the phial that d.i.c.k had left on her table in the palace.

d.i.c.k ran to grasp her hand, and Von Sungen cried out to her, in the utmost alarm, "For G.o.d's sake, not that, mademoiselle!" He, too, would have rushed in to prevent her, but his breast was menaced by the sword of Romberg.

Meanwhile the dismounted men who had accompanied Von Sungen from the road, had halted at a respectful distance from him, and they now stood awaiting orders, which he was too much occupied with Catherine's movements to give. The men could not see the inside of the barn, or hear what was said there.

"Oho!" said Romberg to Von Sungen. "Your interest in mademoiselle's welfare betrays you. You have orders to take her back alive."

"You have the gift of second sight, my dear Romberg," said Von Sungen, watching Catherine, who still held the phial to her lips, although d.i.c.k's hand upon her wrist could have dashed it from her at any moment.

"Then," said she to Von Sungen, "the instant your men approach, I will take this poison, I swear!"

"Therefore, Baron," put in d.i.c.k, "to prevent accident, you would better order your men away, while we discuss matters."

"If your frame of mind is for discussion, I am quite willing to do that," said Von Sungen, who himself feared that some sudden movement of his men might precipitate Catherine's threatened action. He turned and spoke a few words to the six, who thereupon faced about and marched back to the road, where the two mounted forces waited. Only Von Sungen as yet knew who were in the barn. He had given his followers the impression that his talk was with peasants who might put him on the track of the fugitives.

"And now, mademoiselle and messieurs," said Von Sungen, "will you listen to reason? You cannot fail to see how impossible is your escape from this place, with all those horse-guards watching from the road. Even if you could kill me--"

"We have no desire to do that," said d.i.c.k. "G.o.d knows there are few enough kind hearts and cheerful faces in the world, as it is. But we are as determined to escape, or all to die together, as you probably are to capture us."

Von Sungen here stepped into the barn, but the look on Catherine's face promptly checked him from going any nearer to her.

"My orders are," he said, "to bring back Monsieur Wetheral and Mademoiselle de St. Valier, both alive, if possible; or, if need be, the gentleman dead, but the lady alive in any event. Nothing was said of Captain von Romberg."

"Nevertheless," put in that gentleman, "Captain von Romberg joins his fate with theirs, until all are safe or dead."

"You are sure to fail of carrying out your orders, Baron," said Catherine. "I will never go back to Ca.s.sel alive."

"Not even if I take on myself the risk of letting Monsieur Wetheral go free? In that case you will save his life, as well as that of Captain von Romberg, who seems determined to die with his friend. Moreover, you will be saving your own life as well," said Von Sungen.

"A man of honor like the Baron von Sungen," said d.i.c.k, with the gentlest shade of scorn and reproach, "must have a very strong motive for proposing that two other men of honor should accept their lives on the terms given."

"It is true," replied Von Sungen, "I have a large stake in this night's business,--as great a one as yours, monsieur."

"How can that be possible?" said d.i.c.k.

"I will prove it to you," said Von Sungen. "I infer that you love this lady, and that your greatest wish is to preserve her from the purposes of the Landgrave. Well, I love a lady, and my dearest desire is to save her from a marriage that would be for her a degradation as great as any woman could feel in becoming the Landgrave's favorite. Don't tell me, monsieur, that marriage would lessen the horror of a virtuous woman's union with old Rothenstein. Well, the Baroness's hand is at the disposal of the Landgrave. He has hesitated whether to favor Rothenstein or yield to my entreaties. To-night, when his highness sent me to seek you, he said, 'Bring Mademoiselle de St. Valier back alive, and you shall marry the Baroness von Luderwaldt when you please. Come back without mademoiselle alive, and Rothenstein shall marry your Baroness to-morrow.'"

"My poor Von Sungen!" said d.i.c.k, his ready imagination putting himself for the moment in the place of the other, with whom his own case enabled him perfectly to sympathize.

"Well, monsieur," said Von Sungen, "it seems that both of us must lose our sweethearts and our lives, for if mademoiselle will not save your life, and enable me to save my sweetheart, I will kill myself. I would no more live to see her wedded to that vile old wretch, Rothenstein, than you would live to see your beloved possessed by the Landgrave. But, mademoiselle, will you not save your lover's life in spite of himself?"

"I will not go back to the Landgrave," she said, with calm resolution.

Her agreement for the saving of her brother had been made on the belief that her lover was dead, and before she had experienced the horrible emotions that came with a later conception of what that agreement would require of her.

The Baron sighed in despair. Suddenly he uttered an exclamation:

"Ach! Since for each of us it is all or death, let at least one of us have all! You must admit, our stakes are equal or nearly so. I repeat, I should suffer as much from the Baroness's marriage to Rothenstein as you would from mademoiselle's falling into the hands of the Landgrave. So let us appeal to chance. If you win the throw, you shall both go free, you and the lady; I will go back without her, and take the consequences.

But if I win, the lady shall go back with me."

"You consider," said d.i.c.k, with a faint smile, "that even chances are preferable to the certainty of mademoiselle's taking the poison."

"Good G.o.d, monsieur, do you not consider likewise? Come. If you lose, you can at least die, as I shall do if I lose. It is the honor and happiness of your sweetheart against the self-respect and happiness of mine, the life and happiness of yourself against the life and happiness of myself. Why, if you lose, mademoiselle, too, can die, if she wishes, after I have taken her back to the Landgrave. So you are no worse off for abandoning your position of certain destruction for us all, and for allowing chance to save one of us for happiness."

"The issue is too important to leave to chance," said d.i.c.k, quietly.

"Let us determine it by skill."

"Very well; but what game of skill have we here the means of playing?"

"There is a game of skill that gentlemen play with swords," said d.i.c.k.

"Excellent!" cried Von Sungen, understanding. "And the game in our case has this advantage, it can be so played that the loser need not survive his loss. Let it be a duel to the death, monsieur, so that the unfortunate one shall not be under the necessity of killing himself."

"Agreed," said d.i.c.k.

"But I will not consent," cried Catherine. "Even if you fight and lose, I will not go back to the Landgrave; I will take the poison."

"In this cause I cannot possibly lose," said d.i.c.k, pressing her hand.

"Give your consent, dearest."

She looked at his calm eyes, his unmoved countenance, his steady hands, and said, after a moment:

"Very well."

"Then, Baron," said d.i.c.k, "you may take measures, regarding the troops out there, to enable us to depart unhindered when you are dead."

"If I send them away--" Von Sungen began, but paused.

"We give you our word of honor, we will not escape from you otherwise than by my killing you in this fight," said d.i.c.k.