The Suitors of Yvonne
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Raphael Sabatini >> The Suitors of Yvonne
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Albeit I sought that day another interview with Yvonne, I did not gain it,
and so I was forced to sun myself in solitude upon the terrace. But I
cherished for my consolation that broken sentence of hers, whereby I read
that the coldness which she had evinced for me before I left Canaples had
only been assumed.
And presently as I recalled what talks we had had, and one in particular
from which it now appeared to me that her coldness had sprung, a light
seemed suddenly to break upon my mind, as perchance it hath long ago broken
upon the minds of those who may happen upon these pages, and whose wits in
matters amorous are of a keener temper than were mine.
I who in all things had been arrogant, presumptuous, and self-satisfied,
had methought erred for once through over-humility.
And, indeed, even as I sat and pondered on that June day, it seemed to me a
thing incredible that she whom I accounted the most queenly and superb of
women should have deigned to grant a tender thought to one so mean, so far
beneath her as I had ever held myself to be.
CHAPTER XXVI
REPARATION
Things came to pass that night as I had planned, and the fates which of
late had smiled upon me were kind unto the end.
Soon after ten, and before the moon had risen, a silent procession wended
its way from the château to the river. First went Montrésor and two of his
men; next came the Chevalier with Mademoiselle, and on either side of them
a trooper; whilst I, in head-piece and back and breast of steel, went last
with Mathurin, the sergeant--who warmly praised the plan I had devised for
the conveyance of M. de Canaples to Paris without further loss of time.
Two boats which I had caused to be secretly procured were in readiness, and
by these a couple of soldiers awaited us, holding the bridles of eight
horses, one of which was equipped with a lady's saddle. Five of these
belonged--or had belonged--to the Chevalier, whilst the others were three
of those that had brought the troop from Paris, and which I, in the teeth
of all protestations, had adjudged sufficiently recovered for the return
journey.
The embarkation was safely effected, M. de Canaples and Mademoiselle in one
boat with Montrésor, Mathurin, and myself; the sergeant took the oars;
Montrésor and I kept watch over our prisoner. In the other boat came the
four troopers, who were to accompany us, and one other who was to take the
boats, and Montrésor in them, back to Canaples. For the lieutenant was
returning, so that he might, with the remainder of the troop, follow us to
Paris so soon as the condition of the horses would permit it.
The beasts we took with us were swimming the stream, guided and upheld by
the men in the other boat.
Just as the moon began to show her face our bow grated on the shore at the
very point where I had intended that we should land. I sprang out and
turned to assist Mademoiselle.
But, disdaining my proffered hand, she stepped ashore unaided. The
Chevalier came next, and after him Montrésor and Mathurin.
Awhile we waited until the troopers brought their boat to land, then when
they had got the snorting animals safely ashore, I bade them look to the
prisoner, and requested Montrésor and Mathurin to step aside with me, as I
had something to communicate to them.
Walking between the pair, I drew them some twenty paces away from the group
by the water, towards a certain thicket in which I had bidden Michelot
await me.
"It has occurred to me, Messieurs," I began, speaking slowly and
deliberately as we paced along,--"it has occurred to me that despite all
the precautions taken to carry out my Lord Cardinal's wishes--a work at
least in which you, yourselves, have evinced a degree of zeal that I cannot
too highly commend to his Eminence--the possibility yet remains of some
mistake of trivial appearance, of some slight flaw that might yet cause the
miscarriage of those wishes."
They turned towards me, and although I could not make out the expressions
of their faces, in the gloom, yet I doubted not but that they were puzzled
ones at that lengthy and apparently meaningless harangue.
The sergeant was the first to speak, albeit I am certain that he understood
the less.
"I venture, M. le Capitaine, to think that your fears, though very natural,
are groundless."
"Say you so?" quoth I, with a backward glance to assure myself that we were
screened by the trees from the eyes of those behind us. "Say you so?
Well, well, mayhap you are right, though you speak of my fears being
groundless. I alluded to some possible mistake of yours--yours and M. de
Montrésor's--not of mine. And, by Heaven, a monstrous flaw there is in
this business, for if either of you so much as whisper I'll blow your
brains out!"
And to emphasise these words, as sinister as they were unlooked-for, I
raised both hands suddenly from beneath my cloak, and clapped the cold nose
of a pistol to the head of each of them.
I was obeyed as men are obeyed who thus uncompromisingly prove the force of
their commands. Seeing them resigned, I whistled softly, and in answer
there was a rustle from among the neighbouring trees, and presently two
shadows emerged from the thicket. In less time than it takes me to relate
it, Montrésor and his sergeant found themselves gagged, and each securely
bound to a tree.
Then, with Michelot and Abdon following a short distance behind me, I made
my way back to the troopers, and, feigning to stumble as I approached, I
hurtled so violently against two of them that I knocked the pair headlong
into the stream.
Scarce was it done, and almost before the remaining three had realised it,
there was a pistol at the head of each of them and sweet promises of an
eternal hereafter being whispered in their ears. They bore themselves with
charming discretion, and like lambs we led them each to a tree and dealt
with them as we had dealt with their officers, whilst the Chevalier and his
daughter watched us, bewildered and dumfounded at what they saw.
As soon as the other two had crawled--all unconscious of the fates of their
comrades--out of the river, we served them also in a like manner.
Bidding Abdon and Michelot lead the horses, and still speaking in my
assumed voice, I desired Mademoiselle and the Chevalier--who had not yet
sufficiently recovered from his bewilderment to have found his tongue--to
follow me. I led the way up the gentle slope to the spot where our first
victims were pinioned.
Montrésor's comely young face looked monstrous wicked in the moonlight, and
his eyes rolled curiously as he beheld me. Stepping up to him I freed him
of his gag--an act which I had almost regretted a moment later, for he
cleared his throat with so lusty a torrent of profanity that methought the
heavens must have fallen on us. At last when he was done with that--
"Before you leave me in this plight, M. de St. Auban," quoth he, "perchance
you will satisfy me with an explanation of your unfathomable deeds and of
this violence."
"St. Auban!" exclaimed the Chevalier.
"St. Auban!" cried Yvonne.
And albeit wonder rang in both their voices, yet their minds I knew went
different ways.
"No, not St. Auban," I answered with a laugh and putting aside all
counterfeit of speech.
"Par la mort Dieu! I know that voice," cried Montrésor.
"Mayhap, indeed! And know you not this face?" And as I spoke I whipped
away my wig and mask, and thrust my countenance close up to his.
"Thunder of God!" ejaculated the boy. Then--"Pardieu," he added, "there is
Michelot! How came I not to recognise him?"
"Since you would not assist me, Montrésor, you see I was forced to do
without you."
"But St. Auban?" he gasped. "Where is he?"
"In heaven, I hope--but I doubt it sadly."
"You have killed him?"
There and then, as briefly as I might, I told him, whilst the others stood
by to listen, how I had come upon the Marquis in the château the night
before and what had passed thereafter.
"And now," I said, as I cut his bonds, "it grieves me to charge you with an
impolite errand to his Eminence, but--"
"I'll not return to him," he burst out. "I dare not. Mon Dieu, you have
ruined me, Luynes!"
"Then come with me, and I'll build your fortunes anew and on a sounder
foundation. I have an influential letter in my pocket that should procure
us fortune in the service of the King of Spain."
He needed little pressing to fall in with my invitation, so we set the
sergeant free, and him instead I charged with a message that must have
given Mazarin endless pleasure when it was delivered to him. But he had
the Canaples estates wherewith to console himself and his never-failing
maxim that "chi canta, paga." Touching the Canaples estates, however, he
did not long enjoy them, for when he went into exile, two years later, the
Parliament returned them to their rightful owner.
The Chevalier de Canaples approached me timidly.
"Monsieur," quoth he, "I have wronged you very deeply. And this generous
rescue of one who has so little merited your aid truly puts me to so much
shame that I know not what thanks to offer you."
"Then offer none, Monsieur," I answered, taking his proffered hand.
"Moreover, time presses and we have a possible pursuit to baffle. So to
horse, Monsieurs."
I assisted Mademoiselle to mount, and she passively suffered me to do her
this office, having no word for me, and keeping her face averted from my
earnest gaze.
I sighed as I turned to mount the horse Michelot held for me; but methinks
't was more a sigh of satisfaction than of pain.
. . . . . . . .
All that night we travelled and all next day until Tours was reached
towards evening. There we halted for a sorely needed rest and for fresh
horses.
Three days later we arrived at Nantes, and a week from the night of the
Chevalier's rescue we took ship from that port to Santander.
That same evening, as I leaned upon the taffrail watching the distant coast
line of my beloved France, whose soil meseemed I was not like to tread
again for years, Yvonne came softly up behind me.
"Monsieur," she said in a voice that trembled somewhat, "I have, indeed,
misjudged you. The shame of it has made me hold aloof from you since we
left Blois. I cannot tell you, Monsieur, how deep that shame has been, or
with what sorrow I have been beset for the words I uttered at Canaples.
Had I but paused to think--"
"Nay, nay, Mademoiselle, 't was all my fault, I swear. I left you overlong
the dupe of appearances."
"But I should not have believed them so easily. Say that I am forgiven,
Monsieur," she pleaded; "tell me what reparation I can make."
"There is one reparation that you can make if you are so minded," I
answered, "but 'tis a life-long reparation."
They were bold words, indeed, but my voice played the coward and shook so
vilely that it bereft them of half their boldness. But, ah, Dieu, what
joy, what ecstasy was mine to see how they were read by her; to remark the
rich, warm blood dyeing her cheeks in a bewitching blush; to behold the
sparkle that brightened her matchless eyes as they met mine!
"Yvonne!"
"Gaston!"
She was in my arms at last, and the work of reparation was begun whilst
together we gazed across the sun-gilt sea towards the fading shores of
France.
If you be curious to learn how, guided by the gentle hand of her who
plucked me from the vile ways that in my old life I had trodden, I have
since achieved greatness, honour, and renown, History will tell you.
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