CHAPTER IX.
PASDELOUP.
I struck the hand from my shoulder and wheeled sharp around, ready for any violence.
“Go! monsieur,” he repeated. “Go! Do not tarry here.”
“Who are you?” I demanded, trying in vain to see his face, which was only a dim blur in the darkness.
“No matter. You do not know me. Hasten!”
“Then you shall not enter!” I said, and braced myself for the attack I thought must follow.
“You are wasting time,” he growled, and stamped with impatience. “On your head be it!”
“Why do you seek to enter?”
“I tell you I am a friend. I tell you I come to warn M. le Comte——”
“You told me nothing of the sort,” I broke in. “Again, who are you?”
“My name is Pasdeloup, and I swear that if you do not stand aside I will give you a taste of this knife.”
I breathed a sigh of relief.
“The gatekeeper?” I asked; and I remembered the glow of adoration which had lighted his countenance as he gazed after his master.
“The same,” he said impatiently. “Will you stand aside?”
“No; I will precede you,” I retorted; and in a moment more we were both inside the house.
As I turned to look at my companion I saw it was indeed the stocky gatekeeper. Then my eyes were drawn to his right hand, which clasped a knife—a knife red with blood.
“So it was you struck down the sentry?” I murmured, and shivered a little at the recollection.
“With this knife,” he answered, and returned it to his belt. “If only the blow had killed them all!”
I pulled myself together with an effort and glanced about the room. It was empty. The candles were guttering in their holders.
“Blow out the lights,” I said, “and bar the windows. They may think we are retiring and will wait till we have had time to get to bed. I will warn M. le Comte.”
He nodded without replying, and as I sprang across the vestibule and mounted the stair I saw him going from candle to candle with incredible rapidity. I had intended sending a servant to assist him, but there was no sign of any in either vestibule or corridor.
I sprang up the stair and found that the hall above was also strangely empty. There was no time for hesitation. Beneath the third door to the left I perceived a ray of light. I strode to it and knocked sharply.
“Who is there?” called a voice which thrilled me.
“It is I, Tavernay, mademoiselle,” I answered, trying to speak calmly. “Dress yourself at once——”
“I have not yet undressed,” she said, and threw open the door. “What is wrong, monsieur?”
“The house is being surrounded by the Blues,” I said rapidly. “But mademoiselle you must put on a heavier gown than that and stouter shoes. We may have to flee—to hide in the woods—and the night is cold.”
“Very well, monsieur,” she answered; and my heart thrilled again at the calmness of her tone. “I shall be ready in a moment.”
“When you have finished,” I said, “blow out your light as though you were retiring. Then wait for me here at your door with your maid——”
“My maid has disappeared,” she interrupted.
“Disappeared?”
“At least I cannot find her. No one answers the bell.”
“So much the better,” I assured her, though my heart was heavy with foreboding. “The smaller the party the greater our chance of escape. Which is M. le Comte’s apartment?”
“At the end of the corridor.”
“I shall return at once,” I said, seized her hand, kissed it and passed on.
M. le Comte opened his door instantly in answer to my knock, and at the first glimpse of my face stepped out into the corridor and closed the door behind him.
“What is it, Tavernay?” he asked. “What has happened?”
“The Blues have arrived,” I answered rapidly; “they are posting sentries about the house. I recognized Dubosq, their leader—the same fellow who tried to trap you this morning. This time he is making certain that you shall not escape.”
“Nor is that all,” said a low voice behind me.
I turned quickly. It was Pasdeloup.
“Pasdeloup!” cried his master. “What do you here?”
“I come to warn M. le Comte.”
“Of what?”
“The canaille of Dange are on their way to sack the château.”
“Nonsense!”
“It is to be turned over to them as soon as M. le Comte and the women are taken prisoner,” continued Pasdeloup without noticing the interruption. “Nor is that all. They are to be permitted to seize M. le Comte and to use him as the mob of Paris has already used so many.”
“Nonsense, Pasdeloup!” repeated his master; but his face had paled a little. “Where did you hear such absurdities?”
For answer, Pasdeloup pointed along the empty corridor.
“Where are your people, M. le Comte?” he asked. “None here—none below—search the whole house and you will find not one. An hour ago they stole away along the road to Dange. I alone could not be bribed or frightened into joining them.”
His master stared at him for a moment, then down the empty corridor, his face of a sudden gray and haggard, as the truth was borne in upon him.
“All?” he repeated hoarsely. “All? Even Joseph? Even Marcelle?”
“Yes, monsieur,” said Pasdeloup, laughing grimly. “Even Joseph. Even Marcelle. I do not say that they wished to go. I only know that they were afraid to stay. Where it is a question of one’s life or another’s, one saves oneself. That is human nature.”
M. le Comte stood yet a moment with bent head, as though struck by a heavy blow.
“And you?” he asked at last, looking at Pasdeloup.
Again Pasdeloup laughed grimly.
“It is my nature, too,” he said. “Only I am not so easily frightened. Permit me to remind you, M. le Comte,” he added, “that there is no time to lose.”
His master controlled his emotion by a mighty effort.
“You are right,” he said. “We must get away.”
“There is a break in the line of sentries,” I suggested. “Perhaps we can get through;” but my heart fell as I thought how nearly impossible it was.
“At least we can try. Do you get Charlotte, monsieur. I will bring madame.”
I sped along the corridor, pausing only an instant at my room to snatch up sword and pistols and ammunition-pouch. Mlle. de Chambray was awaiting me, wrapped to the chin in a dark cloak, more beautiful than ever.
“I am ready, monsieur,” she murmured, her eyes shining like twin stars.
“There is yet a chance,” I said. “Come;” and I took her hand. “I love you!” I whispered as we sped down the corridor together. “Whatever happens to me to-night, remember—I love you!”
She replied with a pressure of the fingers and a little tremulous smile.
“I shall remember,” she said softly. “Is our case, then, so very desperate?”
“It could not well be more so.”
“My friend,” she whispered, still more softly, “tell me that you forgive me——”
From the garden came the shrill cry of an owl, thrice repeated.
“Too late!” I groaned. “Too late!”
We were at M. le Comte’s door. Pasdeloup was leaning against the wall, his arms folded, his face very grim. My companion shrank back with a little gasp of dismay at sight of him.
“He is a friend,” I said. “Where is M. le Comte?”
As though in answer to the question, the door opened and M. le Comte appeared on the threshold, his wife at his side.
“We are too late!” I cried. “The signal has been given—the sentries are closing in. A moment more——”
A great crash echoed through the house, a sound of breaking glass, a clamor of muskets beating against door and shutter.
“To the tower!” cried M. le Comte. “This way!”
We followed him around a turn in the corridor, down a short flight of steps and along another corridor so dark that, trembling at my temerity, I passed my arm about my companion and pressed her to me in order that she might not fall.
“We shall escape!” I whispered. “We shall escape! God will not permit us to be killed like this!”
I fancied that she drew closer to me, but I could not see her face.
“Here we are,” said M. le Comte. Then there came the click of a latch, the creaking of rusty hinges, and a gust of cold air rushed out upon us. We pressed forward into the black pit beyond. The door clanged shut behind us, and at the same instant a shot rang out and I heard the pang of a bullet as it struck the iron.
“Just a breath too late!” said M. le Comte with a grim laugh and dropped the great bars into place. “They will not soon get past this door,” he added, as we stopped to take breath. “It is as solid as the wall itself. We are safe for a time at least.”
“You are there, Charlotte?” asked madame’s voice. “You are safe?”
“Yes, madame,” answered my companion. “M. de Tavernay has taken good care of me.”
She gently drew away from me, but left her hand in mine.
“I hope you will leave her in my care, madame,” I said. “It is a welcome trust.”
“So your spirits survive even this misfortune, monsieur?”
“Oh, madame,” I answered, “they would survive much greater ones if—if only——”
“Well?” she prompted, “if?—continue, monsieur.”
“If only I might choose the persons with whom to endure them,” I said boldly.
“You are right, Tavernay!” cried M. le Comte. “So long as a man has beside him the woman he loves he can face the world with a cheerful heart. But come, let us ascend to the platform.”
We mounted after him, stumbling up the stairs, one flight, two flights, three. To guide her steps in the darkness I ventured again to slip my arm about my companion’s waist.
“You heard?” I whispered. “You are not angry that I permitted them to guess?”
“No,” she answered softly, and with a strange little laugh. “Perhaps they had already guessed. Besides, I do not think I shall ever be angry with you again, M. de Tavernay.”
“Ah, you love me!—you love me, then!” I whispered, rapturously, and drew her still closer to me.
“Not now, my friend!” she protested, tremulously. “I beg of you, not now! Do not forget your promise.”
“I shall not,” I assured her; and we mounted in silence.
Only when we came out into the moonlight at the top did she draw away from me and fling herself into the arms of madame, who embraced her tenderly and kissed her again and again.
The tower was battlemented, so that we could look down upon the château and the grounds surrounding it without danger of being seen by any one below. As M. le Comte and I peered down together I was suddenly conscious of some one else beside me, and turned to see that it was Pasdeloup. In the stress of flight I had quite forgotten him. With a little feeling of remorse I held out my hand and gripped his great rough one silently, then turned again to a contemplation of the scene below.
But down there all was dark and silent. Not a candle gleamed from the windows; not a sound disturbed the silence of the night. It seemed almost that there had been no attack—that it was all a dream—a fancy—that we had fled from shadows.
“Can they have gone?” I asked. “Is it possible that not finding us they have returned to Dange?”
“You forget,” said M. le Comte, grimly, “that single musket shot which almost reached one of us. Depend upon it, they know that we are here.”
“For what are they waiting, then?”
“They are preparing a plan of attack no doubt. They are trying to devise a way to get past that iron door down yonder. They know they have no cause to hurry.”
Pasdeloup suddenly held up his hand.
“Listen!” he said.
For a moment I heard nothing—only the insect noises of the night; then from afar off came a sound as of bees swarming—a faint hum, vague, threatening, incomprehensible. Louder it grew and louder, swelling into a kind of roar, as though a great flood were sweeping toward us down the valley of the river. Then suddenly the roar burst forth in overpowering volume; it grew strident, articulate. Lights danced among the trees, and in a moment more a shrieking, cursing mob poured out upon the road, through the gates and over the lawn.
“They have come,” said Pasdeloup, “the canaille of Dange.”
And he folded his arms calmly as he stared moodily down at them.