Читать книгу Orrain - S. Levett Yeats - Страница 13

"Yes, you!—as if you had called it from the housetops. Mon ami, did ever hear of a bourgeois handling sword as you, or bearing arms un coq d'or griffe de sable, en champ d'azur? Those arms are on your wine-cups—if they exist still—they are on the hilt of the sword you lent me."

"Morbleu!"

"But that is not all. In the gay, red days, when Lorgnac here and I had all the world before us, we were of the College of Cambrai. It is true we entered as you left; but we knew you, and when all Paris was full of your name Lorgnac and I, and others whom you knew not, aped the fall of your cloak, the droop of your plume, the tilt of your sword. Those days are gone, and until last night you, I thought, were gone with them."

"Monsieur!"

"Listen! There is more yet. I but told the Queen of the arms you bore. She recognised them at once."

"That is not strange; the Vidame d'Orrain is in Paris!"

"True! But she remembered your history—every detail of it. It was long ago, and many things have happened, and the Seine there has rolled much water under its bridges since then, but she had forgotten nothing. My friend, they who say the Medicis ever forgets are fools—blind in their folly. And so, for the sake of last night, and a little for the days that have gone, we will see pretty things yet, God willing! Eh, De Lorgnac?"

"I for one look forward to the day when a brave man will come to his own," replied the other, and their kindness touched me to the quick.

I am not one gifted with the power of speech—indeed, I hold that the greater the tongue the smaller the heart—but I found words to thank these gallant gentlemen, and De Lorgnac said:

"Monsieur, it is enough thanks to hold us in your esteem, and we will say no more about it. I have, however, some information that may be useful. Your brother the Vidame left Paris this evening for the South, it is said. Thus one danger is at any rate removed from your path."

It was something to know that Simon was gone. I thanked De Lorgnac, and added:

"Now, messieurs, for my news. I know not if I have come forth from that chamber"—and I pointed behind me—"a made man or not. This much I know, I am the bearer of a letter, the delivery of which must not be delayed, and I must leave Paris with the dawn, or before—horse or no horse."

"The horses I said were my care," De Lorgnac said. And then turning to Le Brusquet: "Await me on the steps that lead to the eastern gallery; I am relieved in less than an hour. We will then take monsieur here to my house, where there are two horses in the stables at his disposal, and the rest concerns himself."

Le Brusquet and I went back as we came, his constant companion, the ape, with us. Passing through the open arch I have already mentioned we halted on the steps that lead from the balcony to the eastern wing, and here we awaited De Lorgnac.

For a little there was a silence. Perhaps we were both impressed by the scene. In front lay the river, a band of silver, with here and there the twinkling, swaying lights of a crossing boat upon it. All around was the great city, and from the distance there came a murmuring hum of voices, like waves lapping upon a far-off shore. Around us, towering above and ringing us in with its immense strength, rose the Louvre, its vast outlines looking, if possible, larger and more gigantic in the enchanted light.

After a space Le Brusquet began to speak of the Vidame, my brother, and so we passed the time in converse until De Lorgnac came. He bade us haste if we wished to quit the Louvre ere the pontlevis were raised, and hurrying after him we made our way to the southern gate, the only one open. As we went onwards the desolation that marked the entrance to the Queen's apartments was no longer visible. Ever and again we were stopped and challenged by sentries.

"Hein!" exclaimed Le Brusquet, "the Scots archers keep good ward."

"Quick! Hurry!" was De Lorgnac's answer. "There goes the first signal for closing the gates!"

And as he spoke a clarion rang out shrilly. We had reached the outer court by this, and were hurrying for the bridge that led to the pontlevis when we saw a tall man, his cuirass glittering like silver in the moonlight, step out of the shadow and signal to a trumpeter, who stood at his side.

"A moment, De Lorges. Stay!" And Lorgnac ran up to him. "Faith! but your time is punctual."

Montgomery de Lorges laughed as he laid a restraining hand on his trumpeter. "I have more than half a mind to give the signal," he said. "There is a rare flagon of Arbois in my apartment, and you would have been forced to share it. Come, change your mind and stay."

"Thanks; but I cannot. We are bound to my house, where you are very welcome if you care to come."

"And leave my post? No, no!"

"Au revoir, then."

"Au revoir."

And we passed over the bridge. Almost had we freed it when the trumpet sounded again, and with a rattling of chains the huge pontlevis rose.

"Faith! 'twas a narrow thing. Had we been but a minute later the Scot would have barred all egress." And Le Brusquet looked back at the gate through which we had passed. It lay on the other side of the pontlevis—the fosse between us—and was of angular shape, surmounted by a statue of Charles V. of France, and, as De Lorgnac said, was already doomed to destruction to make way for the improvements contemplated by the King.

It was midnight now, and the streets were almost deserted, though here and there were groups of people collected together for mutual protection. As time was short we decided to take the Rue St. Thomas du Louvre despite its ill-paved and noisome condition. Passing the fountain near the Marché des Innocents we turned up by the St. Eustache into the Tiquetonne, and thence Rue Tire Boudin was but a short step. I need not say with what joy the good Pierrebon received me, and after a light supper—in which, I fear, I did but scant justice to De Lorgnac's Joué—I determined to snatch an hour or so of rest before starting. Before doing so, however, Lorgnac took me to see the horses. They looked what he said they were—good, stout roadsters. I asked him his price, but, as I expected from one of his generous nature, he offered them to me as a gift. This I was determined not to accept, and finally, after much persuasion, he took forty crowns of the sun for the two. This was barely their worth, but nothing would induce him to accept a denier more.

The valise I had packed contained the requisites for a journey, and having changed my attire I decided to take such rest as I could get in a chair until it was time to start. I seemed to have barely closed my eyes when I was awakened again by the touch of a hand on my shoulder. It was Le Brusquet.

"Eh bien," he said, "but you sleep like an honest man! It has gone three. The horses are ready, and De Lorgnac and Pierrebon await you below. Come!"

So saying he led the way down. We had to go to the stables, and in the yard were the two horses ready saddled. Lorgnac was also there, and to my surprise I saw that he too was mounted.

"I will see you to the gates," he explained as he caressed his horse, a magnificent grey charger.

"And as for me," said Le Brusquet, "I will wish you good fortune here, and a safe return, and the sword you lent me is in secure keeping."

And so we rode out in the grey darkness of the morning through the solitary streets, where there was never a sign of life except an occasional dog, which—homeless and friendless—stared wistfully after us as we went past. I had decided to leave Paris by the Porte St. Michel, and this all the more as the captain of the gate—the Vicomte de Créquy—was a near relative of De Lorgnac, and the passage through might, perhaps, be made easier on this score. It was still dark as we trotted down the Rue de la Harpe under the shadow of the Sorbonne, having passed the Pont au Change and the Pont St. Michel without difficulty, although we expected some check there.

On our coming up to the Porte St. Michel the guard challenged us, threatening to fire with his arquebus if we did not halt. This we were compelled to do, and a parley ensued. The result was that the under-officer of the guard came forth, with two or three of his men, and allowed us to approach.

On our coming up, and on my explaining that I desired to have the gates opened, he swore as he surveyed us with the aid of a lantern that he swung in our faces.

"Mordieu!" he said, with a rough southern accent—and a grim old soldier he was—"are you madmen, or have you dropped from the clouds, not to know that the gates are shut and will not be opened till sunrise?"

"That may be, monsieur," I replied; "but I have a letter to the King—to the King, mind you—which he must get ere he starts for the hunt."

"He!" he said doubtfully. "A letter to the King! You will have to take it on wings, then. But from whom is this letter?" he added suspiciously.

"That, monsieur, does not concern you. The fact remains that I have this letter, and it is you who will have to answer for its late delivery, not I."

"Then let me see it."

I pulled out the letter and showed it to him, without, however, letting it pass from my hands. He cast the light of the lantern on it, and looked this way and that at the seals and at the address, muttering to himself the while.

"Devil take me! But I never could read. Here! Can any one of you read this?" And he turned to his men, but they one and all shook their heads.

"I will read it for you if you like," said De Lorgnac as he pushed his horse forwards.

"You!"

"Yes. I am Monsieur de Lorgnac, the lieutenant of the Queen's guard."

The old soldier made a mock bow. "And I," he said, "am Agrippa Pavanes, without a De, lieutenant of the Gate of St. Michel; and your friend there is, I suppose, Monsieur de Croquemort, lieutenant of Trouands. And, as we all know each other now, I tell you plainly you must hold patience by the tail as best you may until the gates are opened. Letter or no letter, I will not let you through."

And so saying he would have turned away, but Lorgnac said quietly:

"You will be good enough, monsieur, to inform Monsieur de Créquy that I am here and desire to see him at once."

Agrippa Pavanes swung round and faced us, his hand on his sword-hilt.

"I am in charge of this gate at present, and I will act as I think best. I may not be able to read or write, but if you do not be off I will make a full stop on you with the point of my sword," he snarled.

Affairs were getting serious. Nor do I know what might have happened, but at this juncture a head appeared at a window in one of the flanking towers of the gate, and an angry and a sleepy voice asked what was the matter below.

"It is I, Créquy," began De Lorgnac, and the other exclaimed:

"You! What in the—saints' name—brings you here, De Lorgnac, at this hour of the night, or rather morning? Is it not enough that I am banished here to keep watch over this infernal gate? And now you——"

"Come, Créquy; this is a matter of urgency. There is a letter here from the Queen which must reach the King before the petit couvert, and your lieutenant will not let the messenger pass through the gates."

"He is quite right! But a letter from the Queen, did you say?"

"Yes; and to the King in person. Come down, and see for yourself."

"Not I; I am in my shirt, and my health is delicate. Send up the letter. Pavanes, do me the favour to bring it up."

I handed the letter to Agrippa, who took it up, with very much the surly air of a dog walking away with a bone. A moment after he too appeared at the window with his light, and Créquy examined the letter and the seals.

"'Tis right, Pavanes," we heard him say; "'tis the Queen's own hand and seal. Let the messenger through." And leaning out of the window he repeated the same to us.

De Lorgnac thanked him, regretting, at the same time, the necessity he had of arousing him; and Créquy swore back, in mock tones of injury, that he would have a special cell built for disturbers of his rest, and, wishing us the day, retired abruptly.

Agrippa carried out his orders with an ill grace, and made no answer to my thanks; so, bidding farewell to De Lorgnac, I put spurs to my horse, and, followed by Pierrebon, rode out of Paris.