How the hours of that day passed I cannot tell. They crawled, that was when I sat listening for the footfall of the King's messenger who never came; they flew, that was when I thought of Poictiers' market-place, and what the dawn brought with it. But whether they crept or flew, I was like one groping a way through a maze1 and forever being turned back.
Twice I tried the stables, but the gear, both bit and saddle, had been hidden away; twice, too, I tried the gates, but was denied passage; none might cross Plessis threshold, even outwards2, without the King's permission. Time after time I importuned3 the guards who kept the outer door of the royal wing—I wept, I pled, I stormed. By turns I was many things, Mademoiselle de Narbonne, Monsieur de Commines' friend and guest, a broken-hearted, despairing woman; but tears, prayers, and threats were alike useless.
So Saturday passed, and the sun went down on the last day of the week.
Through all these desperate hours of failure Blaise and his friend Davidd Lesellè went wheresoever I went, and though powerless to help, their dumb sympathy was a comfort. Now, in this growing dusk, they sat with me in silence. I had ceased to weep. To me Gaspard was already dead and I had no more tears. Crouched4 forward, I watched the western glow fade through amber5 and palest green to the soft beginnings of the night. Had the sun set in crimson6 or in cloud, I think I must have shrieked7 at the omen8, so tense and quivering was every nerve. But all was peace, all was calm and tranquillity9; and as the purple deepened, deepened, deepened till the stars shone out luminously10 clear, something of the quiet of nature fell upon my spirit. Then a door clapped noisily, and up the staircase came a rush of feet.
"It is Monseigneur," said Blaise, rousing himself.
On the threshold, Monsieur de Commines stood peering into the darkness of the room. To a sick heart night brings comfort as it brings counsel to doubt, and so the lamps sat unlit in their sources.
"Who is here, and where is Mademoiselle de Narbonne?" he cried.
I, and I, and I, we answered, while I added:
"Oh, Monseigneur, is there hope?"
"God knows!" he said curtly11. "Lesellè, dear lad, fetch a light. Mademoiselle, can you ride boy-fashion?"
"Yes, yes; Monsieur de Commines, what has happened?"
"Blaise, you and she are about a size. Fetch her a riding suit, then saddle Bay Zadok and Mesrour; quick, boy, quick!"
"But, Monseigneur——"
"One moment, Mademoiselle, here is Lesellè. Thanks, lad. Listen now. You know the Poictiers road by Sainte Maure and Chatellerault?"
"Yes, Monseigneur."
"Even in the darkness?"
"Yes, Monseigneur."
"I have Sir John's leave to borrow you for to-night. It is a race for life, boy, and there must be no mistakes."
"I understand, Monseigneur. When do we start?"
"In ten minutes: Blaise is saddling the horses. You are to convoy12 Mademoiselle de Narbonne."
"Mademoiselle de Narbonne? To Poictiers, Monseigneur?"
"Yes, wait in the courtyard till she is ready. Have you supped?"
"No, Monseigneur."
"Then ride hungry, or eat as you go. Off with you now; ten minutes, remember."
But when, catching13 him by the arm, I would have importuned him, he motioned me to silence.
"One moment, Mademoiselle, one moment," he said testily14, and as he spoke15 Blaise returned, a pile of sober grey stuff on his arm. This Monsieur de Commines snatched from him. "Now the horses, quickly, but with no noise," and at last the door was shut.
"Monseigneur, what does this mean?"
"It means, Mademoiselle, that the King is dead."
"Dead? Louis—the King—dead? That hypocrite, that tyrant—dead? God be thanked for His justice!"
"He was the greatest man in France," answered Monseigneur, with something like a sob16 in his throat. "He was the greatest King France ever knew. For eleven years he was my master and my friend—and he is dead."
"God be thanked!" I repeated, for my heart was very sore and very hard; how was it possible I could find pity for Louis of Valois? "If he was the greatest man in France, he was also the worst."
"What he was is for God's judgment17, Mademoiselle, and it is my belief that Kings do not stand at the same bar as common men."
"But Gaspard? Monsieur de Commines, what of Gaspard?"
A shiver shook him as if he was chilly18 even in the August heat, but the lines of sorrow softened19 on his face.
"Take heart, Mademoiselle. Please God, we shall save him yet, or at least you shall."
"I? Oh, Monseigneur! God be thanked! God be thanked! But how? What must I do?"
"The King's death forgives the King's debt, Mademoiselle."
"Ah! Did I not say it was His finger! But who shall tell them in Poictiers, The King is dead?"
"You and Lesellè. Blaise is saddling the horses."
"Eight hours, and thirty leagues to ride?"
"Nearly nine, and not twenty-five, nor is there any spur like love."
"I rode for love's sake two days ago, and it cost me fourteen hours."
"You had but one horse, and lost your way. Young Lesellè knows the road well, and yesterday I ordered relays to be ready at Sainte Maure and Chatellerault."
"Lesellè? Why not Blaise?"
"Lesellè is one of the King's guard, and his uniform carries authority."
"Oh, Monseigneur!" and I caught him by the hand, kissing it, "you think of everything."
"And what thought have you not taken?" he answered. "Now, Mademoiselle, go into that inner room and dress; remember that to-night you ride a race."
Men twit us with the slow niceness with which we women make ourselves dainty to their eyes, and if we failed so to make ourselves dainty they would twit us the more. But that night there was no dallying20. I did not wait so long as to untie21 my points, but slit22 them open with my girdle dagger23, and then thanked God that at Morsigny the daily dressing24 of little Gaston taught me how to handle boys' clothing. What had taken an hour with a lover's eyes to be met, was undone25 and done in less time than the saddling of two horses. Tall and slim, my hair coifed out of sight, under the twinkle of the starlight I made as mannish a boy as Blaise himself.
Monseigneur was giving Davidd Lesellè his final instructions.
"There is a post to Paris—you can hear their horses stamping now in the west court, and here, in good time, comes Blaise. Join these as if you formed part of the escort. Old Sir John has given orders at the gate, and no questions will be asked. Mount, Mademoiselle, take Mesrour, his motion is the smoother. No, Blaise, no, you must stay with me; God knows what will happen in Plessis to-night, and I may need you for as desperate a crisis as Mademoiselle has to face. Once outside the gate keep behind the troop, and at the river turn south, saying nothing. Is your length of stirrup right, Mademoiselle? Then mount, lad, and I'll talk as we go. Make straight for Sainte Maure; the fords are low, and there is no depth of water to fear. Ride through the village till you see an open door with a light set before it; it burns by order of the King sent yesterday. There horses are ready waiting, mount and ride on. In Chatellerault, at the Corne d'Abondance a second relay is waiting, good horses all and do not spare them. Have you strength, Mademoiselle?"
"Please God," I answered.
I saw him nod his head as we rode on in silence, a subdued26 clatter27 of life before us.
"At Poictiers," he went on slowly, but though he spoke to Lesellè his eyes were fastened on mine, "I think I would ride straight for the market-place. It was the King's order that—that—all should be as public as possible, and the people warned to attend. Yes, the market-place will be best; waste no time on the citadel28, and ride in haste, ride with authority, assume the very powers of the Crown itself, and speak, if needs be, in Charles' name. Remember, that point once reached, delay is life to Monsieur de Helville. Mademoiselle, say what God and your heart bid you. Trust both, and have no fear. And now here are the gates, and there the Paris post is waiting. Lesellè, I think your uncle has held it back for us. He has a kindly29 heart, and in three hours I have come to know him better than in the last as many years. At times it takes the shock of death to bring men near to one another. Mademoiselle, you are very safe with this lad, young as he is. He is staunch, has a Scot's prudence30, a Scot's long head, and a Scot's shrewdness, I can say no more. Lesellè lad, you ride a race for life."
"I understand, Monseigneur."
Few words, three only, and yet they gave me greater comfort than if he had protested devotion for five minutes: the man to have faith in is the man who says little but understands much.
"God bless you, Monseigneur!" I cried, stooping towards him as the gates swung open.
"And keep you, Mademoiselle," he answered, and caught my hand in both his. "From the House of Death to the House of Life; surely it is His mercy and His will, but oh! what a cost to France!"
With that, as the watchman called nine o'clock from the walls, we rode out into the night.
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1
maze
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| n.迷宫，八阵图，混乱，迷惑 | |
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2
outwards
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| adj.外面的，公开的，向外的；adv.向外；n.外形 | |
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3
importuned
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| v.纠缠，向（某人）不断要求( importune的过去式和过去分词 )；（妓女）拉（客） | |
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crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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amber
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| n.琥珀；琥珀色；adj.琥珀制的 | |
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crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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7
shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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omen
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| n.征兆，预兆；vt.预示 | |
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9
tranquillity
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| n. 平静, 安静 | |
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10
luminously
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| 发光的； 明亮的； 清楚的； 辉赫 | |
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11
curtly
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| adv.简短地 | |
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12
convoy
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| vt.护送，护卫，护航；n.护送；护送队 | |
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13
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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testily
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| adv. 易怒地, 暴躁地 | |
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15
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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16
sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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chilly
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| adj.凉快的，寒冷的 | |
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19
softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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20
dallying
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| v.随随便便地对待( dally的现在分词 )；不很认真地考虑；浪费时间；调情 | |
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21
untie
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| vt.解开，松开；解放 | |
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slit
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| n.狭长的切口；裂缝；vt.切开，撕裂 | |
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23
dagger
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| n.匕首，短剑，剑号 | |
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24
dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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25
undone
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| a.未做完的，未完成的 | |
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subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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27
clatter
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| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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28
citadel
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| n.城堡；堡垒；避难所 | |
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29
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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30
prudence
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| n.谨慎，精明，节俭 | |
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