A YOUNG KNIGHT-ERRANT.
I would gladly have left the two together, and gone straight into the house. I was eager now to discharge the errand on which Ihad come so far; and apart from this I had no liking for the priest or wish to overhear his talk. His anger, however, was so patent, and the rudeness with which he treated Madame d'O so pronounced that I felt I could not leave her with him unless she should dismiss me. So I stood patiently enough--and awkwardly enough too, I daresay--by the door while they talked on in subdued tones. Nevertheless, I felt heartily glad when at length, the discussion ending Madame came back to me. I offered her my arm to help her over the wooden foot of the side gate.
She laid her hand on it, but she stood still.
"M. de Caylus," she said; and at that stopped. Naturally Ilooked at her, and our eyes met. Hers brown and beautiful, shining in the light of the lamp overhead looked into mine. Her lips were half parted, and one fair tress of hair had escaped from her hood. "M. de Caylus, will you do me a favour," she resumed, softly, "a favour for which I shall always be grateful?"I sighed. "Madame," I said earnestly, for I felt the solemnity of the occasion, "I swear that in ten minutes, if the task I now have in hand be finished I will devote my life to your service.
For the present--" "Well, for the present? But it is the present I want, Master Discretion.""I must see M. de Pavannes! I am pledged to it," I ejaculated.
"To see M. de Pavannes?"
"Yes."
I was conscious that she was looking at me with eyes of doubt, almost of suspicion.
"Why? Why?" she asked with evident surprise. "You have restored--and nearly frightened me to death in doing it--his wife to her home; what more do you want with him, most valiant knight-errant?"
"I must see him," I said firmly. I would have told her all and been thankful, but the priest was within hearing--or barely out of it; and I had seen too much pass between him and Bezers to be willing to say anything before him.
"You must see M. de Pavannes?" she repeated, gazing at me.
"I must," I replied with decision.
"Then you shall. That is exactly what I am going to help you to do," she exclaimed. "He is not here. That is what is the matter. He went out at nightfall seeking news of his wife, and crossed the river, the Coadjutor says, to the Faubourg St.
Germain. Now it is of the utmost importance that he should return before morning--return here.""But is he not here?" I said, finding all my calculations at fault. "You are sure of it, Madame?""Quite sure," she answered rapidly. "Your brothers will have by this time discovered the fact. Now, M. de Caylus, Pavannes must be brought here before morning, not only for his wife's sake--though she will be wild with anxiety--but also--""I know," I said, eagerly interrupting her, "for his own too!
There is a danger threatening him."
She turned swiftly, as if startled, and I turned, and we looked at the priest. I thought we understood one another. "There is,"she answered softly, "and I would save him from that danger; but he will only be safe, as I happen to know, here! Here, you understand! He must be brought here before daybreak, M. de Caylus. He must! He must!" she exclaimed, her beautiful features hardening with the earnestness of her feelings. "And the Coadjutor cannot go. I cannot go. There is only one man who can save him, and that is yourself. There is, above all, not a moment to be lost."My thoughts were in a whirl. Even as she spoke she began to walk back the way we had come, her hand on my arm; and I, doubtful, and in a confused way unwilling, went with her. I did not clearly understand the position. I would have wished to go in and confer with Marie and Croisette; but the juncture had occurred so quickly, and it might be that time was as valuable as she said, and--well, it was hard for me, a lad, to refuse her anything when she looked at me with appeal in her eyes. I did manage to stammer, "But I do not know Paris. I could not find my way, I am afraid, and it is night, Madame."She released my arm and stopped. "Night!" she cried, with a scornful ring in her voice. "Night! I thought you were a man, not a boy! You are afraid!""Afraid," I said hotly; "we Cayluses are never afraid.""Then I can tell you the way, if that be your only difficulty.
We turn here. Now, come in with me a moment," she continued, "and I will give you something you will need--and your directions."She had stopped at the door of a tall, narrow house, standing between larger ones in a street which appeared to me to be more airy and important than any I had yet seen. As she spoke, she rang the bell once, twice, thrice. The silvery tinkle had scarcely died away the third time before the door opened silently; I saw no one, but she drew me into a narrow hall or passage. A taper in an embossed holder was burning on a chest.
She took it up,and telling me to follow her led the way lightly up the stairs, and into a room, half-parlour, half-bedroom-such a room as I, had never seen before. It was richly hung from ceiling to floor with blue silk, and lighted by the soft rays of lamps shaded by Venetian globes of delicate hues. The scent of cedar wood was in the air, and on the hearth in a velvet tray were some tiny puppies. A dainty disorder reigned everywhere.
On one table a jewel-case stood open, on another lay some lace garments, two or three masks and a fan. A gemmed riding-whip and a silver-hilted poniard hung on the same peg. And, strangest of all, huddled away behind the door, I espied a plain, black-sheathed sword, and a man's gauntlets.
She did not wait a moment, but went at once to the jewel-case.
