The cardinal's musketeer

HALF an hour later, Péron had told the cardinal the whole story of the ride to Poissy and of mademoiselle’s signal. He was too straightforward to conceal even that which was to his disadvantage. Richelieu rebuked him sharply.

“I took you for a man of some wit, M. de Calvisson, or I should not have sent you on such an errand. Had I wanted only a good sword, there are half a hundred at my service as good as yours. But it looks like a fool, sir, to leave a woman to work her will; it might have cost you dear. Happily, you captured the one prize most desired; otherwise”—the cardinal looked fiercely into the young musketeer’s eyes,—“otherwise, M. de Calvisson, you would have gone to the Châtelet.”

“The oversight was culpable, monsignor, I admit it,” Péron answered proudly, “but it was not a wilful breach of duty; when I betray a trust, I am ready to suffer imprisonment.”

“It is well,” Richelieu replied coldly, “for you would assuredly meet your deserts. I spare no man, M. de Calvisson, I favor no man. I am not the first to break off from an engagement, but when it is broken, I will surely punish the offender. It is my purpose to employ you on another and a dangerous mission, and I do not look for failure. Now, mark me, you will take a good horse and go alone to Brussels. In the great square at Brussels, a few yards from the Maison du Roi, in the direction of St. Gudule, there is an old house, with a small iron cross over the door. This ring will gain you admittance, and the master of the house will give you a letter for me. You will then return at once with this to Paris, and you will defend the secret with your life. If you give up that message,” the cardinal paused, his face was pale and cold, but his eyes burned like fire, “if it is wrung from you, I will have your head, sir, ay, and expose it upon the gibbet by the Pont Neuf where Maréchal d’Ancre hung by the heels!”

Péron looked him proudly in the eye.

“Monsignor,” he said, “I do not merit your threats nor do I fear them. Were I a traitor, I might both deserve and dread them. As it is, I can but do my duty and no more.”

“Do it, Sieur de Calvisson, and let no fair face beguile you. Here is the ring;” and the cardinal gave him a small, plain ring with a bishop’s miter engraved upon it; “beware of losing that, for it is a sign which will admit you into the house at Brussels, and would do much mischief in other hands.”

Péron took the ring and stood looking at it gravely.

“It is a long way to Brussels, monsignor,” he said, “and I go alone; if I fall by the way, there will be none to tell the tale. Do me the justice, therefore, to believe that I will surely fulfil your instructions unless I meet my own destruction.”

“Have no fear, your fate will be known to me,” Richelieu replied calmly. “One word more, monsieur, there is a lady now in Brussels,—a great lady, mark you,—avoid her. I see you understand me. There is money for the journey; spare no bribes that may be needed; and now begone.”

Péron took two steps toward the door and then paused.

“What must I do with my charge, monsignor?” he asked. “Mademoiselle de Nançay and her woman are still in this house.”

For the first time Richelieu smiled.

“You need feel no anxiety in regard to them, Sieur de Calvisson,” he replied; “I will send mademoiselle to Paris with another escort, who will be equally zealous but not so susceptible to the influence of bright eyes.”

Péron saluted, with a flushed face, and withdrew. As he traversed the gallery beyond the cardinal’s room, he put the ring into the bosom of his doublet, and, in doing so, touched mademoiselle’s trinket and remembered that it was to be returned to her. In the anxiety of Monsieur’s capture and the subsequent events, he had forgotten it, and now he hastened to seek its fair owner to restore her property. He was not sorry for this excuse to explain his sudden withdrawal from the little company; he was loath to have her think that the cardinal had replaced him with another for any reason of displeasure. He knew where to find her, and lost no time in asking her permission to speak with her a moment. He sent the message by one of the pages of the household, and in a short time was admitted to the room where mademoiselle sat with her woman. She had laid aside mask and cloak, and looked pale and disturbed, and responded to his salutation coldly; it seemed to him that she had repented of her outburst of frankness in regard to Monsieur.

“Mademoiselle,” he said, gravely holding out her watch, “I return your trinket safe. I have been ordered to other duties, and I trust that you will have no further cause for anxiety in regard to it.”

She took it with a sudden change of manner, her face flushing a little as she did so. She held it in her hand, looking at it in silence, and Péron could find no excuse for prolonging his stay.

“I bid you adieu, mademoiselle,” he said quietly, “and wish you a safe and pleasant return to Paris.”

She did not reply, and he had his hand on the door before she stopped his retreat.

“You go on some other mission, M. de Calvisson,” she said, giving him a questioning glance.

“Ay, mademoiselle, on another and longer journey,” he replied; and as she said no more, he withdrew.

As he left the cardinal’s house to begin his preparations for his hasty journey, he was angry with himself that he should care so much for Mademoiselle de Nançay’s moods. He did not yet admit to himself that the fair face of Renée haunted him and was nearer his heart than the cardinal’s instructions. She was the daughter of a man who had ruined his father, she was removed from him by a hundred obstacles, yet, with all her ill temper and her pride, she had a greater charm for him than any of the many beauties he had seen since the day of their first meeting at the Château de Nançay; and he had not left the courtyard of Richelieu’s house before she gave him yet more cause to think of her. He was almost at the gate when the woman Ninon came running after him, having pushed her way through the guards at the door. She plucked Péron’s cloak with one hand, in the other holding out the trinket he had just returned to her mistress.

“Mademoiselle wishes you to keep this until your return to Paris,” she said bluntly; “she says that you will then give it to the clockmaker on the Rue de la Ferronnerie.”

Péron’s cheek burned; it was evident that to mademoiselle he was only the clockmaker’s son.

“Tell your mistress that I might lose it,” he said haughtily; “she can readily find a lackey to take it to the clockmaker’s shop.”

Ninon looked at him angrily, still holding out the watch.

“You are a fool, man!” she said harshly. “Mademoiselle means to help you; ’tis a passport that may save your neck at Brussels.”

Péron looked at her in astonishment.

“I have the less desire to wear it,” he said; “mademoiselle and I do not belong to the same party.”

But Ninon was not to be put off.

“I swear to you that there is no harm in the symbol,” she said boldly; “mademoiselle is no traitress. Without this, you may meet with many a mischance. Take it or leave it, as you will, but she will not soon forgive you if you suspect her of evil intentions.”

He took it, not without reluctance, but he was not willing to appear afraid of a bauble.

“Tell your mistress that I take it, for her sake,” he said, “and I thank her for the thought of me; but it is ever my habit to trust to my sword rather than to tokens for my safety.”

“I will take the message,” Ninon said, “but look well to the trinket; if you lose it, you may lose your life;” and with that she turned her back on him and returned to her mistress.

More disturbed than ever and greatly perplexed, Péron mounted his horse and returned to Paris to make preparations for his journey and to secure a fresh horse, that he might start before nightfall for the French frontier. The errand, though a perilous one, was not without its charms, and he had no greater responsibility now than his personal safety. How mademoiselle and her woman had divined his destination, he could not imagine. He felt sure that this errand was in some mysterious manner connected with the events of the previous days. The presence of the queen-mother at Brussels and the capture of Monsieur at Poissy, pointed to some relation between the two errands, but all this did not furnish him with a clew to the manner in which Renée de Nançay had divined his mission. If it was as easily discovered by others, it was likely to be fraught with many dangers; but this only increased his relish for it.

As soon as he had the opportunity to do so unobserved, he examined mademoiselle’s trinket with care and curiosity. It was an exceedingly small, almond-shaped watch, dating from the Valois period; the case was of gold and enamel, the face of gold and mother of pearl, but beyond this he saw nothing about it to indicate any secret virtue. It was a pretty bauble, nothing more, and he had seen a dozen such in the shop at the sign of Ste. Geneviève and could not imagine its significance; yet he felt sure that it had some meaning which did not show on the surface. Remembering mademoiselle’s treatment of him on the Rue St. Thomas du Louvre and at Poissy, he could not understand her change of feeling, her apparent willingness to protect him from her father’s friends. Yet she had surely sent him this trinket for that purpose, unless the woman, Ninon, had deceived him, which seemed improbable. However, he remembered the bunch of violets at Nançay, and thought it possible that Renée still had her moods. But he had little time now to give to these speculations, for he was under the necessity of hastening his preparations for his expedition; and when he reached the city he gave his thoughts entirely to this purpose.

He met with few delays; the cardinal’s purse being amply supplied, he had no difficulty in equipping himself for the journey, and, before sunset, he had again left Paris and taken the shortest road to Flanders.