Vayenne Part 51

Christine remembered that last time he had come unannounced.

For a moment Herrick paused upon the threshold. She had been dressed as she was now when he had first seen her. She had looked like this when he had first offered her his service. Nothing could suit the pretty head so well as that astrakhan cap. It was with an effort that he advanced slowly toward her; he would like to have caught her in his arms, and stopped all remonstrance with his kisses on her lips.

"You sent for me, mademoiselle."

Now he had come Christine hardly knew what to say to him, or how best to say it. Could she move him to mercy if she were humble enough?

"I wanted to thank you," she said, "for your leniency to me and--and to others. You might have chosen a harder prison for me than the Chateau of Pa.s.sey. It has its a.s.sociations for me. You thought of that when you chose it."

"Naturally I had reasons for choosing it," he answered.

"My lord, Count Felix is----"

"Mademoiselle, for these three days past the Count's name has been ringing in my ears. Spare me more of it. They shout in the streets at me for his death. In the castle they are insistent that he should die.

I cannot forget that Jean's love for me saved my life, and Jean is dead."

"Neither do I forget it; still, I would plead for the Count."

"Surely he merits death?"

"Yes; still, I would plead for him," said Christine earnestly. "You know--you said--you have admitted that for his plotting, at least, there was some excuse. He was mad with the uncontrollable madness of a desperate man."

"It was murder, mademoiselle, no more, no less; that the victim was not the one he hoped for makes little difference."

"Yet I plead for him," she persisted. "You have already shown great generosity; show it once more, if not to him, to me. Felix is my own flesh and blood. How far I may be responsible for his madness I do not know. He had lost everything, his kingdom, his honor, the woman he has always desired to marry. In his own fashion he may have loved me. I had plotted with him against you. Truly in a large degree I am responsible, and I pray you have mercy. Make my punishment greater if you will, so that you save Felix. Banish him, anything, but do not kill him."

"You forget that the state has laws, and that the Duke but serves the state," he said quietly.

"You are all-powerful, and you know it. On my knees I beg this thing."

And she suddenly dropped at his feet. "I beg it of the Duke, the Duke I promise to serve should it presently please him to give me freedom.

You have taught me patriotism. I would I had the power I once had to make my service a worthy gift."

"Mademoiselle, I doubt not the people still love you," said Herrick, putting out his hand to raise her; but she would not see it.

"You believe that? You believe that I might still be a danger?"

"Am I not sending you to the Chateau of Pa.s.sey? If you were of small account in Vayenne, why should I banish you from the city?"

There was a moment's pause, then she said quietly. "Not long ago in this room you asked me to make a sacrifice, it was your own word, and I refused. I have learned much since then. I will do anything to serve the Duke and my country."

Herrick remembered the manner in which he had asked her to marry him.

For an instant now he nearly lost control of himself, almost bent down and caught her up in his arms to tell her all that was in his heart, but he quickly had himself in hand again.

"Mademoiselle," he said, gently raising her, "I do not like to have you kneeling to me, and I will not bargain with you in this fashion.

For the present Felix must remain where he is, but this I promise, you shall have speech with me again before he is condemned."

"Thank you," she said. "Before he is condemned; you mean before----"

"There is no juggling in the words," Herrick answered. "Is it too much to ask you to trust me?"

"I trust the word of the Duke," she said.

"I will leave you, mademoiselle. I hear your escort a.s.sembling in the court-yard. You may find the Chateau of Pa.s.sey a less dreary prison than you imagine."

A little later Christine and Lucille rode out of the great gates with Gaspard Lemasle and a large escort, and from a corner of the terrace Roger Herrick watched them go. His world had moved since the night he had seen her ride out upon the same journey when she went to bring the pale scholar of Pa.s.sey to Vayenne.

CHAPTER XXIX

THE DUKE'S MESSENGER

Herrick's parting words remained with Christine. At first she had paid small heed to them. They were a mere conventional phrase, spoken to do away with any abruptness there might be in his leaving her, a slight courtesy in the place of a farewell which could have little meaning since she was a prisoner. But the words would not be forgotten, and there were circ.u.mstances which accounted in some measure for their insistency. A guard was drawn up at the castle gate, and at the sharp word of command saluted her as she pa.s.sed through. Again at the city gate it was the same. She had not expected this as a prisoner. There had been no crowd in the streets of the city, but all who recognized her raised their hats. She had their sympathy if not their love. She was prepared to hear some hisses as she pa.s.sed, for not every one could believe that she was innocent of any part in the plot to betray the country since she had schemed with those who had this end in view; yet no sound of anger had reached her. It seemed evident, too, that Captain Lemasle had not felt certain of the temper of the people, for as they went through the city, he was watchful, and the soldiers rode close about her and Lucille. Once across the river, however, Lemasle divided his men more, and Christine and Lucille rode alone side by side, soldiers before and behind them.

It was then that Herrick's words began to drum in Christine's ears as though to impress upon her that there was a meaning in them. Why should she find the Chateau of Pa.s.sey a less dreary prison than she imagined? True, it had been Maurice's home for many years, and had a.s.sociations for her for this reason, but they had spoken of that before, and she had thanked him for choosing such a prison. Why should he refer to it again? Or was it that the Duke had in some way brightened the chateau for her reception? But this was an absurd idea.

It did not belong to the Duke but to the Viscount Dupre, and besides, there had been no time to make much preparation for her. She knew that her appeal for Felix had not been altogether in vain. The Duke had been touched, he had treated her very gently, not at all as a prisoner, and he had left her with these words. What was the meaning that they held? What was the Duke's real purpose concerning her? It was strange how persistently she thought of him as the Duke.

"You are sad, mademoiselle."

Lucille broke the long silence so suddenly that Christine started.

"Not so sad as the circ.u.mstances might well make me," was the answer.

"Then you will smile again, laugh even, and there will be quiet, peaceful days at Pa.s.sey."

"Quiet enough," said Christine, smiling at once, "and such peace that we are likely to grow dull and gloomy with so much of it. It was selfish of me to let you come."

"I shall not be unhappy with you," said the girl.

"And presently you can return to Vayenne," said Christine, "you are not a prisoner, and for a time the ruined old place will amuse you."

"Ruined, mademoiselle?"

"Oh, there is plenty of room to live in it decently if they will let us do so," was the answer; "but it is no longer a castle that could defend itself against an enemy. Gra.s.s peeps between the stones in its court-yard, and the moss and lichen find rootage in its broken walls.

No sentry paces through the day and night, and the corridors give forth an empty sound as one walks along them."

"What a strange place for a prison," said Lucille.

"It is pretty, and for a time will while away your hours, and you can always return to Vayenne. What kind of treatment we are to receive I do not know. There may be deep-dug dungeons which decay has left untouched."

"Ah, now you would try to frighten me, mademoiselle."

"No, I do not think they will put us there," said Christine. "We shall probably be allowed to wander about the chateau as we will, but you will soon tire of it, child. It is an unlikely place for a prince to come who, pa.s.sing all others, shall kneel before you."

"You will not let me forget my dream," said the girl, with a flush in her face; "yet, mademoiselle, think, if he came the broken walls could not keep him out, and there would be no challenge from the sentry."

"No, and no other woman to pa.s.s before he came and knelt to you. In Pa.s.sey you will have no rival if the prince should come," Christine returned.