CHAPTER X
MÈRE FOUCHON SCORES
I awoke with a great pain in my eyes, and when I raised my hand to my head, I found that my hair was clotted with blood. A weight of iron seemed to burden every limb, and I groaned aloud as I tried to rise, and fell back again, palsied by the agony the movement cost me. I felt the wall behind me, and dragging myself to it with infinite suffering, I propped my back against it and looked about me. I could see nothing, for a veil of impenetrable darkness shut me in, and no single crevice admitted a ray of light. The wall against which I leaned was cold and slimy, and once or twice a drop of water fell upon my head.
How long I sat there I do not know, but finally, by a supreme effort, I got to my knees and then to my feet. Feeling along the wall, I advanced a step, two steps, three. And then something seemed to seize me by the waist and hurl me backward. I lay still for a moment, half-dazed, not understanding what had happened. I put my hands to my waist and in an instant I comprehended. Around my waist, just above the hips, an iron band was clamped. At the back of the band was a hasp, through which a chain passed. I ran my hands along the chain. It was perhaps three feet in length, and the other end was fastened to the wall.
I suppose I must have fainted, for I remember nothing more until I was torn from the merciful grasp of sleep by a burning thirst, a thirst which tortured and maddened me. I could feel my throat contracting; my tongue swelling in my throbbing mouth—my blood seemed to be aflame. I scraped my fingers over the reeking wall and sucked them for a bit of moisture. I held my mouth open, upward, in the hope that a drop of water might fall into it. I cursed aloud and jerked at my chain in an agony of desperation. At last, I fell exhausted against the wall, and sank into a troubled sleep, disturbed by hideous dreams.
When I opened my eyes again, I seemed stronger. The pain in my head was less intense, but my throat was still dry and parched and I felt hot and feverish. A chance motion of my hand brought it into contact with something on the floor beside me. I felt it cautiously. It seemed to be a vessel of some kind. I placed my fingers within it and found it full of water. With a gasp of thankfulness, I placed it to my lips and drank, trembling at the thought that had I turned in my sleep I might have upset it and spilled its precious contents.
Ah, how I drank! I swallowed in great gulps. I filled my mouth to bursting and allowed the blessed liquid to trickle slowly down my throat. I turned my head from side to side, that every portion of my gullet might be reached. I gloated over it as a miser over his gold, and at last with a sigh of utter content, set down the vessel empty.
The water ran through my veins like wine, and I arose to my feet, strong and invigorated. My eyes had grown somewhat accustomed to the darkness, and I could dimly perceive the wall stretching away on either side. And for the first time, I remembered—the search through the night, the opening of the door, Nanette’s scream for help, the shadow on the wall—it flashed through my brain like lightning through a summer sky—I must escape, I must keep cool—and with set teeth I choked back the trembling that would have seized me.
The spasm passed, and with my fingers I carefully examined the iron belt about my waist. It was, I judged, three inches wide by half an inch in thickness. The ends, which overlapped, were provided with a series of teeth, which fitted together and were clamped into place by a lock. The ends had been pushed past each other until the belt was fitted close to my waist. I tried to work it down over my hips, but soon perceived that this could not be done. Clearly, if I ever left the place, it would be with the belt about me.
I turned my attention to the hasp at the back. It was heavy and riveted through the belt. I examined the chain link by link, but found none that showed a sign of weakness. A heavy iron ring held it to the wall. How the ring was secured I could not tell, but I exerted all my strength against it and found I could not move it a hair’s-breadth. Certainly my captors had overlooked no detail that would tend to make me more secure. What fiendish ingenuity had devised this place of torture!
As I sat down again with a sigh of discouragement, I heard a sharp click as of a spring released, a heavy door creaked back, and a woman appeared carrying a lantern. At a glance I recognized Mère Fouchon. Her face was illumined by a devilish joy as she looked about and saw me sitting there.
“Ho, ho,” she laughed, “can this be the gallant who was going to spit me on his sword only the other morning?”
I did not answer, and she placed her lantern on the ground and sat down on a heap of dirt opposite me, but well out of reach, and rocked herself back and forth, and chuckled. I felt myself choking with rage.
“And the girl, too,” she continued, after a moment, “the girl with the dark eyes and little red mouth. She is called Nanette, is she not? What a shame that she should be crying her eyes out in the room just overhead!”
I ground my teeth together at the thought of my own impotence.
“Ah, curse!” she cried, “curse your heart out! Christ, how it gladdens my soul! Ho, ho!” and she rocked back and forth in a paroxysm of mirth.
“Come,” I said at last, mastering my anger as best I could. “Why are you doing all this?”
“For money,” she answered gayly. “Ten thousand crowns, at the very least, Monsieur. It is a pretty sum, is it not?”
“Very pretty,” I said. “Who is fool enough to part with it?”
“Who but M. Jacques Ribaut, of the Rue des Moulins?” and the hag laughed more than ever.
“Ribaut?” I murmured, a great fear at my heart.
“Assuredly, Ribaut,” and she leered at me horribly. “Perhaps M. Jean Briquet may pay a portion of it. ’Tis worth it to get such a bride, do you not think so, Monsieur?—such a sweet bride, so soft, so young, so innocent—a jewel of a bride!”
“A bride?” I groaned. “Speak out, woman, and tell me what you mean.”
I thought she would choke with laughing.
“In two words, Monsieur,” she gasped, so soon as she had regained her breath. “When once the terms are settled, which will be to-morrow, or perhaps even yet to-day, the girl will be delivered to her anxious and loving uncle, none the worse for her little visit here, where she is quite as safe as in your bed in the Rue du Chantre,” and she paused again to catch her breath. “A day or two after that, M. Briquet will have the honor of leading her to the altar, whither, since she believes you dead, she will accompany him without resistance. And what a bride she will make—so plump, so warm, so rosy, so adorable! Ah, how I envy that happy man!” and she smacked her lips, like a glutton over a choice morsel.
I was pacing up and down the wall. I tore at my chain. In that moment, I would have sold my soul to get my fingers about her neck—scraggy, yellow, seamed—God, how I would have twisted it!
“You hag!” I said between my teeth. “You shall burn in hell for this. Pray God it may be I who send you there!”
She was screaming with laughter.
“Oh, oh,” she gasped, “that I should have lived to see this! And he was going to kill me with that sword of his!”
Again she was forced to stop, and sat for some minutes rocking back and forth, shaking with laughter.
I glared at her and cursed her. If there be merit in curses that come from the very bottom of the soul, then is she damned eternally.