CHAPTER XI
THE HOUSE IN THE RUE VILLEDOT
Paris, with its ever-changing crowds, its narrow, clamorous streets, its towering, tottering, dingy buildings, its contrasts of wealth and poverty, light and shade, had not yet ceased to astonish me. It was a wonderful place,—wonderful, at least, to me, who had known only Poitiers,—and I, who had sat in the chimney corner at home with mouth agape listening to the tales my grandfather—God rest his soul—was wont to tell of it, had during the first few days hastened from place to place,—from Notre Dame to the Place de Greve, from the Porte St. Denis to the Great Chatelet,—constructing anew the scenes which had made them all so famous, and delighted to find that they had remained unchanged with the changing years. For half a century the city had stood stagnant, the king choosing to lavish his money on his wars or his pleasures rather than in beautifying his capital, or sinking into his grave, his coffers empty, his subjects estranged, under the severe dominion of Madame de Maintenon. But I found it beautiful, and in the romance with which I clothed it forgot the uneven streets, the stenches of the ill-kept gutters, the danger from the tottering walls. It was to me a dream city, and, as in dreams, I used only one faculty in regarding it,—the imagination.
I awoke with its uproar in my ears, and gazed with interest from my window at the hurrying torrent of carriages and vehicles of every kind which filled the street from side to side and constantly threatened to engulf and overwhelm the foot passengers, hurled hither and thither by the ceaseless crush. I watched with apprehension the attempts of a pretty woman to cross the crowded roadway, and breathed a sigh of relief when I saw her safely over. A tap at the door brought me from the window, and I opened it to find Jacques bowing on the threshold.
“Good-morning, monsieur,” he said. “Is there anything you wish?”
“Nothing but breakfast, my dear Jacques,” I answered, heartily, for I had taken a liking to his pleasant face and admired the unquestioning way in which he carried out his master’s orders. “It will be served soon, I trust.”
“It is awaiting monsieur,” he said, and he led the way to the lower floor.
“Have you heard anything further from Richelieu?” I asked, when I had seated myself at the table and he was stationed behind my chair.
“Only a message from him this morning, asking if monsieur had arrived home safely, and stating that he himself had reached Limours without misadventure and would be at Blois to-night, where he would consider his future course.”
“Pray heaven that it take him on to Bayonne!” I said, fervently. “He is better away from Paris for a time.” But I had little hope that he would think of caution. “If you send a message to him,” I added, “tell him that I am quite safe and that he need have no concern on my account.” Yet I knew very well that it was not I but Mlle. de Valois who would bring him back to Paris.
The day was bright and warm and I left the house with a light heart. I reflected that I could do nothing better than call at the salon of Madame du Maine and renew my offer of service, but the day was not yet far advanced, and I lingered upon the quays, where a thousand noises mingled in one indescribable uproar which fascinated me. Boats were discharging their cargoes at the landing-places, a row of boys sat upon the piers fishing, the crowd eddied ceaselessly back and forth, and above all the din arose the cries of the street venders of vegetables, fruit, fish, milk, and I know not what, for their incomprehensible jargon, which I vainly endeavored to understand, gave me no clue to the wares they were selling. At every step there was a beggar, a blind man, or a street musician. The water-carriers, of whom I was told there were not less than twenty thousand in Paris, carried bells, which they rang with an ardor nothing seemed to diminish. Here was a woman selling oysters, which she carried in a huge hamper on her back; another was bent almost double under a great bundle of brooms; a third was selling flowers, which were displayed on a broad shallow basket strapped to her hips. Men were crying the most impossible things,—toy windmills, boot-laces, buckets, bellows, prints, and even rat-traps. Here was a tinker, carrying with him his fire of charcoal, his anvil, and all his tools; there a cobbler, who was sitting against the wall, in a corner out of harm’s way, mending a shoe. One fellow with a loud voice and a very red face endeavored to sell me a ticket in some lottery, and another offered me a bottle of magic ink, which would fade after a certain time and leave no trace behind it. He told me it was of especial value and in great demand for love-letters, since, after the second day, the writing would entirely disappear and so compromise no one. I laughed at him, and told him I had no use for his ink, since I had never in my life written a love-letter, whereat he showed me, with a great air of mystery, a wizard’s ring, which he was willing to part with for a pistole, and which he assured me would win me the love of any woman whose hand I might touch while I wore it. I inquired why it was that he was willing to sell so great a treasure, and he answered that it had made his life a burden to him, so closely and constantly was he pursued by the women who had fallen victims to the talisman. A crowd had gathered around us as we talked, and when I turned away, still laughing, he appealed to other of the listeners, and I doubt not managed to strike a bargain with one of them. I did not wait to see the conclusion of the matter, but struggled through the crowd, and with considerable effort gained the other side of the river, where I finally paused to take breath in the Rue des Poulies.
Nothing had astonished me so much in Paris as the height of the buildings, and I looked with interest at those about me. They straggled into the air six, seven, or eight stories, as though each successive generation, prohibited by the royal edict from building without the walls, had at last found a home by adding an extra story to the ancestral domiciles. The flood of houses, which had long before overwhelmed the walls of the old city, was fast piling up within the new walls as within a great reservoir, and another inundation of the surrounding country could not be far distant. Each house had its sign, projecting far into the street, and from every story protruded a spout, which, in rainy weather, precipitated torrents of dirty water upon the passers-by. The fronts of the houses were for the most part of wood and plaster and, where not concealed by bills, indescribably dirty. Many of them seemed on the point of falling down, and were saved from that fate only by leaning against their more fortunate neighbors. Bills and flaring posters were everywhere, bearing some piece of political satire or morsel of scandalous gossip.
I turned into the Rue St. Honoré, and was soon again in the midst of a tumult as great as that upon the quays, only here the crowd was more fashionable, and there were in consequence more beggars. I knew no one in it, so, unconsciously catching the spirit of the place, I hurried on past the Palais Royal, at which I cast a lingering glance, wondering if it would ever be my good fortune to join the throng of gayly dressed courtiers and enter boldly with them. Turning down the Rue St. Louis, I soon gained the Tuileries. The entrance to that portion of the palace, the Pavilion Marsan, occupied by Madame du Maine was almost deserted, but a lacquey who was lounging in the vestibule took in my name, and, returning in a moment, informed me that I was to enter. He led me to a small room at the left, where I found the duchess and Mlle. de Launay together, busily occupied in examining a vast number of formidable-looking papers.
“Enter, M. de Brancas,” cried the duchess, seeing me pause upon the threshold. “You are not intruding. In fact, you come most fortunately and just at the moment when Mlle. de Launay and I were wishing for some one like yourself, who could be trusted.”
“Thank you, madame,” I said. “I shall try to merit your trust,” and I entered and bowed to both the ladies. “I had scarcely expected to find you at work so early.”
“Ah! it seems to me that we never have time for repose,” exclaimed the duchess. “There is so much to be done and so few whom I can trust to do it. But tell me, monsieur, what has become of Richelieu? I have not seen him for an age.”
I related briefly the adventures of the duke and myself, taking care to say nothing of my last conversation with the regent, and adding that as Richelieu was en route for Bayonne, I believed it best for him to remain there for a time.
“Yes,” said the duchess, thoughtfully, when I had finished, “I believe so myself. The match will soon be applied here, and then he would have to be at Bayonne in any case. But this morning, M. de Brancas, I wish to ask your company for Mlle. de Launay, who has an errand to do which will not permit the use of a carriage and who finds it impossible to thread these crowded streets without an escort.”
“I shall be only too happy to be of service,” I answered, and at a sign from the duchess her companion withdrew to make ready for the street.
“You can judge to what straits we are reduced, monsieur,” continued madame, with a note of sadness and discouragement in her voice, the first I had ever heard there, “when I tell you that Mlle. de Launay is the only one there is to whom I can intrust missions which require a certain courage and finesse. There are many, it is true, who offer their services, but none upon whom I can rely as upon this girl.”
I could think of nothing to say that would not be mere banality, and as she busied herself carefully tying up a bundle of papers, I looked at her more attentively. I was not surprised to find her face pale and careworn, and I did not doubt that she was passing sleepless nights and harassing days in the endeavor to get all the threads of this conspiracy straightened out and properly arranged,—that she worked while others merely talked. Mlle. de Launay soon returned, and the duchess handed her the packet of papers which I had seen her arrange.
“You will find all the needed information there,” she said, “and remember that you cannot urge too strongly the need of haste. Every moment I fear that something will happen to render all our work useless. There, hasten,” she continued, dismissing us with a gesture, “and do not keep me waiting longer than necessary for your report.”
“We will not make ourselves unnecessarily conspicuous, monsieur,” said my companion, as we left the room, and she led the way along a wide hall running to the rear of the building. We descended into a small court, bounded on one side by a high wall and on the other by a row of buildings, and passed across this to a gate in the wall at the end. She opened the gate with a key she took from her pocket, and locked it after us. We found ourselves in a narrow little street which opened into the Rue de l’Echelle.
“Our mission is, then, a secret one?” I asked, as we entered this street.
“No, not just that,” answered the girl, smiling at me, “and yet it is well to be cautious. We are going to see a gentleman who lives in the Rue Villedot. I have been there many times. But there are always a dozen police spies hanging about the entrance to the Tuileries, and I avoid them when I can.”
“Mademoiselle,” I asked, suddenly, “the police department is well organized, is it not?”
“Splendidly,” she answered. “This man, Hérault, who is at the head of it, has a genius for the work, and no one is safe from him.”
“Do you think, then,” I continued, “that the plans of Madame du Maine are altogether unknown to him?”
“I can only hope so,” she said, and her face grew lined with anxiety. “Yet, even if he did suspect, that would not be enough. He cannot know the details of our plans, and without something more definite than suspicion even the regent would not dare raise his hand against a princess of the blood. We are hurrying our preparations forward as rapidly as we can, and hope to be the ones to strike the first blow. Everything depends upon that,” she added. “We have gone too far and the end is now too near to turn back, monsieur, or we might, perhaps, await a better time.”
“But success,—can you win success?” I persisted.
“It is certain,” and her face was alight with enthusiasm, “provided only we are undisturbed a single week longer.”
We had again reached the busy portion of the city, and the uproar drowned our voices. Besides, I had sufficient to think about in protecting my companion from the crowd of passing carriages.
“We must hasten,” she cried, suddenly, “or we shall be caught in the rain.”
I glanced at the sky and saw that she was right, for a bank of clouds from which came rumblings of distant thunder was every moment growing more threatening. We turned hurriedly down the Rue des Frondeurs, and in a moment had plunged into one of the irregular and squalid quarters of the city. But the girl went forward without hesitation and as though well acquainted with the road. We passed through a maze of short streets running in all directions, apparently at haphazard, and suddenly my companion paused at a corner house.
“This is the place,” she said. “The man I have come to see lives on the second floor. That is his window you see up there. Do you await me here, M. de Brancas. I will be back in a moment,” and without waiting for me to answer, she plunged into the dark and narrow entrance.
I glanced up and down the street apprehensively, for her statement as to the efficiency of the police department, added to my own vague fears, had filled me with alarm, but we were seemingly unobserved. A crowd of poorly dressed people was passing in either direction, and a rabble of children was playing in the gutter in the middle of the street, but no one paused to cast a second glance at me. The darkened sky had thrown the street into a gloom which rendered the sagging houses threatening and terrible, an effect which an occasional flash of lightning served to heighten. The moments passed, and I paced impatiently up and down before the door, wondering what had detained the girl. I had just determined to mount the stairs and find out for myself when I heard a crash of glass above me and a scream for help in a woman’s voice, which I recognized only too plainly.
In an instant I was through the doorway and stumbling up the dirty staircase with drawn sword, cursing the darkness which delayed my progress, I arrived at the first landing and paused a moment to listen, but heard nothing. I reflected that the window she had shown me was on the floor above, and mounted cautiously, not knowing what the danger might be towards which I was advancing. Again I paused to listen, but still heard nothing. I strained my ears, and in a moment fancied I heard a moan. I felt before me and found a door. I applied my ear to the keyhole and heard a second moan, which could not this time be mistaken. With a bound I flung my body against the door. It gave way with a crash and I was precipitated into the room beyond. By an effort I kept my feet, and at a glance I saw in one corner a man bending over the prostrate form of my companion.
He turned a startled face towards me as I entered and half started to rise, but I was upon him ere he could draw his weapon, and ran him through by the mere force of my onslaught. He fell like a log, but at the moment I turned to the prostrate girl I heard hurrying feet upon the stair without, and I sprang towards the door, my sword gleaming red in my hand, to meet this new danger.