Orrain
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S. Levett Yeats >> Orrain
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"There are De Ganache's letters. I had almost forgotten them."
The packet had fallen on the table, almost under De Lorgnac's eyes. Half
unconsciously he let his glance rest upon it, and then a strange
expression came into his face, and holding up the letters, he asked Le
Brusquet, with apparent unconcern:
"You have not looked at the writing, have you?"
"Not I! I dare swear 'tis some woman. Nothing else would be tied with
red ribbon and scented with musk. Throw the thing away. It is too thick
with memories of that traitor. My God! I did not think earth held so
foul a villain."
But Lorgnac took no notice of his last words, only the hand holding the
packet began to shake a little as he said slowly:
"As it happens, I know the writing well. It is a woman's hand------"
Both Le Brusquet and I turned on him, the same thought in our hearts.
"_She_!" I said, and half rising from my seat; but with an exclamation Le
Brusquet snatched the packet from De Lorgnac's hand. In a moment the
letters were opened, and he was reading them with feverish haste. There
were four letters in all, and when he had done he looked at us, and there
was the light of hope in his eyes.
"Speak, man!" And I gripped him by the arm. "I cannot bear this longer!"
"It is God's providence," he said solemnly as he grasped my hand.
"Orrain, take heart! We win! Read these--and you too, Lorgnac! When
you have read we must to the Queen at once."
CHAPTER XXIX
LA VALENTINOIS AND I
Monsieur de Crequy, his back to the light, stood in the embrasure of a
window, deeply engaged in examining his features in a small hand-glass
which he held daintily before him. The survey seemed to please
monsieur, for he showed his teeth in a simper of satisfaction, and
began to curl his black moustache between the forefinger and thumb of
his disengaged hand. So engrossed was he that he never observed me
coming up to him, and it was not until I was at his elbow that he
suddenly realised my presence.
"_Morbleu_!" and he hastily slipped the glass in his pocket, "wherever
did you spring from?"
"Not through the window, I assure you. I but came in the ordinary way.
Madame, I suppose, is within?" And I pointed to a closed door in front
of us.
Crequy nodded. "Yes; reposing after the fatigues of the day, and will
have none but a Chevalier of the Order to guard the entrance to her
bower. What a day it has been! I suppose you know it will be on
Saturday?"
I could have struck the coxcomb; but held myself in, and asked to see
La Valentinois, adding that my affair was of vital import. At this
Crequy began to hum and haw, and I had to humour him, telling him that
madame would give him but small thanks for denying me, as my business
concerned what was to happen on Saturday.
"That is a different matter," he said. "I will see." And he tapped at
the door. There was no answer; thereupon Crequy gently opened the door
and stepped in. He came out again almost immediately.
"As I said, madame is reposing; but I have told the Syrian. Would you
like to wait here?"
"Perhaps I had better get my business over as soon as possible, and
save the Syrian the trouble of coming to the outer door," I said. At
which Crequy shrugged his shoulders, and pointing to the door with a
mock bow bade me enter.
I did as I was bidden, and found myself in a long and narrow room. The
ceiling, painted to represent the sky lit up by the crescent moon, was
supported by eight arabesque pillars, four on either hand. Around the
bases of the pillars, and scattered here and there over the rich
carpet, were seats made of huge soft cushions, covered with matchless
embroidery. Near one of these luxurious seats was a low carved table
upon which lay an open volume of Ronsard's poems, and close by it,
thrown carelessly on the carpet, was a lute with a cluster of streaming
ribbons, and a black and white satin sling attached to it. Behind this
stood a carved ebony _prie-dieu_, and above the crucifix that
surmounted it hung a shield surrounded by a wreath of flowers, and
bearing upon it a tree springing out of a tomb, with the legend: "Left
alone--I live in thee," upon a scroll beneath. This was the strange
manner in which Diane de Poitiers kept the memory of her dead husband
green--for she ever posed as the inconsolable widow, carrying her
husband's soul about with her, packed in straw, like her Venetian
crystal goblets and eastern pottery. In the centre of the room, upon a
veined marble pedestal, stood, in strange incongruity, a replica of the
great bronze of Goujou, that faced her chateau of Anet. In this Diane
was represented nude, reclining upon a stag, a bow in her hand, and
surrounded by dogs.
Owing to the heat of the day the windows were open; but the curtains of
pale blue silk, with silver crescents gleaming on them, were drawn to
keep out the afternoon glare; and the subdued, opal-tinted light fell
softly on this bower of luxury, which was, however, likely to prove the
den of a tigress to me.
The room was empty when I entered, and after looking around me I picked
up the volume of Ronsard. It was open at his ode to La Valentinois:
"Seray-je seul, vivant en France de vostre age,
Sans chanter vostre nom, si criant et si puissant?
Diray-je point l'honneur de vostre beau croissant?
Feray-je point pour vous quelque immortel ouvrage?"
So far I read, and then flung the book with its fulsome verses down on
the cushions. As I did this, I heard a little burst of laughter,
followed by the harsh, chuckling scream of a parrot, and then a voice:
"Here! Vert-Vert! Here! To my shoulder!"
I stepped back behind a pillar, the curtains covering a door leading
into an inner apartment were set aside, and La Valentinois entered,
bearing on her left shoulder a large green parrot, whose plumage she
caressed with her right hand. She was clad in a loose robe of some
soft, clinging material that shimmered like cloth of gold. It was
fastened at her throat by a jewelled star, and a golden zone clasped
her waist. Her abundant hair hung loose in black, curling masses, and
her little feet were thrust into gemmed and embroidered slippers.
Madame had apparently come forth in some haste I could see.
"Orrain," she said, her face half turned from me, for she was looking
at her bird, "whatever brings you here? Is it anything from Sire
Grosse-Tete?" And then an exclamation broke from her, and she stopped
short, for she saw me.
"You!" she said. "I thought it was the Vidame d'Orrain."
"A mistake, madame, in announcing me, perhaps, which I regard as the
most fortunate in my life." And I bowed before her.
So bad, so worthless was this woman, that she utterly mistook my speech.
"True! Leila said Monsieur d'Orrain--but I thought it was your
brother."
I made no answer, and she glanced at me, the colour rising to her
cheeks, and a smile on her lips, as she went on:
"'Tis a thousand pities, Monsieur le Chevalier, that you have taken the
wrong side; and by rights I should strike that gong there and call my
guards, for you are dangerous, they say; but," and she sank
languorously down in the cushions, her pet now on her wrist, "'tis a
warm day, and I feel bored. Do I not, Vert-Vert? Perhaps monsieur
here will amuse me." And she stroked the feathers of the bird, and
bending down kissed it.
"Madame," I began; but she glanced up, and stayed me with a laugh.
"What a voice! As severe as my dear De Mouchy's when he delivers a
judgment; but, Chevalier, Leila, my Syrian maid, always tells me 'tis
easier to sit than to stand, and there is room on these
cushions--come!" And stretching out a shapely white arm she let it
rest on the amber-hued silk of the cushions by her side.
As I gazed on the temptress lying at my feet the thought came to me to
slay her in her sin; and perhaps she saw the sombre light in my eyes,
and read my heart, for she drew her arm back swiftly, and half rose;
but mastering myself I gave her her chance.
"Madame, I have come to beg your mercy----"
"You!" And she sank back again on her cushions.
"Yes, madame! I have come to ask for a life."
"Not yours, surely? It never was Orrain's way." And she smiled.
"Ay; it is my life ten times over, as well as another's; but you know
whom I mean, madame! She is innocent, and a word from you will save
her."
"Oh, monsieur, you overrate my power! And this is not amusing. It is
too hot to talk of such things."
"Madame, be merciful! Spare her! She never harmed you."
"What!" And tossing the bird from her she rose to her feet, lithe as a
pantheress. So perfectly was she formed that one did not realise how
tall she was until she came near; and she was close enough to me now,
her eyes flashing with a hundred evil, angry lights.
"She never harmed me? Never hurt me? She! That white-faced
provincial, with her airs of virtue, who tried to shame me in public!
Look you, I hate that woman! Do you hear? I hate her--hate her! If
by the lifting of my little finger I could save her, do you think I
would? Never! Let her die! And she shall die, as Philippine de Lune
did----"
"Madame!"
"And you!" she burst in, "insolent that you are!--you! who have dared
to come here! Think you that you will go free?"
"Enough, madame! I no longer appeal to your pity."
She had half turned from me, and made a step towards the gong as if to
strike it, but faced back like lightning, womanlike determined to have
the last word.
"_Mon Dieu_! but this surpasses all."
"Not in the least! I begged for your mercy at first; now I bring to
you the Queen's commands."
She almost gasped, and then laughed out loudly. "The Queen's
commands--the commands of Madame Grosse-Tete to me! Ha! ha! ha! I
took you for an insolent fool; but you are mad, monsieur, mad!"
For answer I held out to her one of her letters to De Ganache.
"The Queen desires you to see this, madame. It is your own writing to
a man you have killed, body and soul--and there are many others like
this--so it would be useless to destroy it. Read it!"
She stared at me for an instant in blank amaze, and then snatched the
paper from me, her face white, her hands trembling. One glance at it,
and she burst out:
"This is a forgery! A base forgery!" And then I laughed, for there
would now be no mercy shown towards this she-wolf.
"There is no forgery there! And there are other proofs. What think
you that your Syrian go-between will say when put to the question?
What of your glovemaker Camus, and the house in the Rue des
Lavandieres? Madame, you are alone here but for a half score of your
archers and that fool Crequy. Think you that with such proofs in her
hand the Queen would hesitate even to arrest you?"
"Arrest me!" she stammered.
"Yes! There are charges enough. What think you that the
King--Monsieur Grosse-Tete as you call him--will say when he sees these
letters, and hears of the triangle, and learns that all France, and all
Europe, will know his shame, and of the infamous grant you cajoled him
into giving you?"
She shivered and looked around her as I went on coldly:
"Call your guards if you will; but I swear to you that if you do within
the hour you will fall so low that the very women of the Marais and the
Temple would pity you!"
"My God!" And with a shudder she put her hands to her face, and the
letter fluttered down to the carpet. Stooping, I picked it up, and
continued: "The Queen, however, is more merciful than you, and even you
have your uses, madame, so that her Majesty will overlook your crimes,
upon a condition." And I stopped.
For a space she stood in silence, her head bowed, and her face covered.
At last she slowly put down her hands, and looked at me. Such a look!
"What is your condition?"
"It is not mine. I begged for your pity, and you denied me. This is
the mercy of the Queen to you--the mercy of the woman you have wronged."
"Enough of that! What are the terms? Am I to be kept here waiting for
ever?"
"Simply that Mademoiselle de Paradis is restored to the Queen unhurt,
and fully pardoned, within twenty-four hours."
She bit her under lip till her white teeth left a vivid mark on it as I
spoke, and then with an outbreak of wolfish fury:
"I will not! I will not!" And she stamped her foot. "She shall
die--whatever happens--do you hear?"
"Perfectly! And in half an hour, I promise you, you will be arrested,
and the story of your shame known to all. Do you think women like you
have an empire that lasts for ever? You should take a lesson from the
past, madame. Once the King's eyes are opened, and they will be in
twelve hours, you will stand alone. But you have made your choice, and
I will take your answer to the Queen."
With that I bowed, and made for the door. Ere I had gone half the
length of the room, however, she called me back.
"Stay!"
I turned slowly, and faced her once more.
"Is it any use? You have answered me."
"No; I have not." Her voice was half strangled, and there were tears
of anger and mortification in her eyes. "No; I have not," she
repeated; and then gasped out: "I will do what you wish; but I want
those letters back."
"That rests with the Queen. She makes no terms with you, and in that
you must throw yourself on her pity."
With a low cry she suddenly flung herself down on the cushions, biting
at them in impotent fury with her strong white teeth and tearing at the
embroidery with her fingers. It was the fury of despair. It was the
senseless rage of an animal, and I stood and watched, feeling that a
desperate game was won, and almost pitying her, murderess, and worse,
though she was.
After a while she looked up at me, her face haggard, her eyes livid.
"Have you no pity?" she moaned. "Are you made of steel?"
"Come, madame! I await your answer, and time presses."
She gave me a deadly glance, and rose slowly, clasping and unclasping
he hands convulsively. At last she said:
"Very well. You shall have the pardon."
"In that case, madame, I am to say that your papers will be returned to
you."
"Enough!" And with another burst of anger: "And now go--begone!"
"A moment!" And stepping towards the gong I struck it lightly with the
hammer. Almost on the stroke the door opened, and Crequy appeared, his
eyes staring with astonishment as he glanced from the one to the other
of us.
"Monsieur de Crequy," I said, "madame has received ill news, and it is
necessary for her to see the King at once. Madame will start for
Fontainebleau in an hour--that will suit you, madame?" And I turned to
La Valentinois.
"Yes."
"You will kindly make the necessary arrangements at once, monsieur--and
the Queen's guards will supply the escort. Monsieur de Lorgnac and I
accompany madame."
And with that I left them, Crequy staring after me in open-mouthed
amaze.
CHAPTER XXX
FONTAINEBLEAU
"Where are we? Will this road never end?"
The voice of La Valentinois cut sharply into the warm, moonlit night;
and De Lorgnac, who was standing near the window of the coach, answered:
"We are at the end of the plain of La Brie, madame, and have stopped to
change your horses and breathe ours."
From over his shoulder I caught a glimpse of a beautiful, sullen face,
and La Valentinois sank back again amongst her cushions, where we left
her to her thoughts--such thoughts they must have been!
It was the first time she had spoken since we left the Louvre, whilst
all the bells of Paris were chiming vespers. She had uttered never a
word of protest, even when her Syrian was prevented from accompanying
her, with the meaning order: "By the Queen's command!" and through the
hours, as the coach, drawn by four horses at a gallop, jolted and swung
over the weary road, she lay back, still as a stone, her eyes closed as
if she slept.
Now and again as I rode by her window I had glanced into the coach; but
never was there any change in her position, and it was only when we
halted at the post-house that her pent-up fury broke out into an angry
question, to relapse at once into an air of frozen indifference.
The escort had dismounted, and stood with their horses in two dark
groups in the front and in the rear of the coach. There was hurry and
stir in the post-house at the unexpected coming of the great Duchess;
and De Lorgnac and I, having given our horses to a trooper to hold,
paced slowly together to and fro, now and again exchanging a word.
Suddenly, almost in answer to the thoughts that moved me, he stopped,
and putting a hand to my shoulder, said:
"Look you, Orrain! The game is not yet won. She has a last card."
"I feel that. It is what I think."
"If she plays on the King's madness for her she may win all,
unless----" And he put down his hand, and hesitated.
"Unless what?"
"The gossip is true that the King bitterly regrets the infamous grant
he made to her, and would give his right hand to escape from his word."
"Le Brusquet is certain of it. He was there when the grant was made,
if you remember."
"In that case there is but one course open to her, and she will take
it. She will, as if of her own accord, surrender the grant, after
getting the pardon of Mademoiselle de Paradis. Thus, though balked at
present, she will retain her hold on the King, and wait for another
day."
"I care not what she does so long as mademoiselle is saved."
"The horses are ready, messieurs." It was Pierrebon, whom I had
ordered to accompany me, who broke in upon our talk, and five minutes
later we were once more upon our way, the still figure within the coach
immovable and silent as ever.
All through the night we rode, and at last, when the moon sank and the
darkness that precedes the dawn came, we clattered through the narrow
streets of Bois-le-Roi, and entered the forest of Fontainebleau.
In a moment the clear, cloudless sky, in which a stray star or so yet
lingered, as if awaiting the day, vanished from our view, and we
plunged into an endless avenue of mighty trees, the overarching
branches forming an arcade above us. As we swept into the shadow the
lamps of the coach threw the gnarled trunks into fantastic shapes, that
seemed to live and move. It was as if we raced between two rows of
grisly phantoms, things of air, that vainly reached forth long,
writhing arms to stay us, only to sink back and dissolve into the gloom
as we sped past.
After a while we came upon more open ground, now and again passing the
fires of a beater's camp, and then, on rounding a turn, we saw rising
before us the vast irregular outlines of the Chateau. Ten minutes
later the coach swung through the gates, and, white with foam and dust,
the horses were pulled up before the Horseshoe Stair. It was not yet
dawn; but lights were glittering everywhere, and the Chateau was
already astir, for the King never spared himself, or others, at the
chase. Indeed, that and a tourney were the only two things which ever
moved his dull spirit to action. Our coming was a complete surprise;
but the broad steps of the stairway were already crowded, and soon a
murmuring, curious throng had gathered about the coach.
I myself opened the door, and as I offered La Valentinois my arm to
assist her to alight I said in a low voice:
"We cannot give you much time, madame. It must be before the King
starts."
Her eyes flashed defiantly, but she made no answer, and, declining my
proffered aid, stepped out lightly. She stood for a moment on the
lowest step of the stair, a tall, hooded figure, the lights of the
torches playing on her, and all bowing respectfully; and then De
Lorgnac called out in a loud voice:
"Madame would see his Majesty the King!"
Almost on his words a lean shadow came running down the steps towards
us. By the lights of the torches flickering through the grey of the
morning I saw it was Simon of Orrain himself. La Valentinois saw him
too, and stood motionless until he came up to her. Simon's eyes blazed
with a hundred unasked questions, but he merely said:
"His Majesty has just heard of your return, madame, and is overjoyed.
It will be a great hunt to-day. Permit me!" And then he caught sight
of me, and started back, his half-outstretched arm falling to his side,
his lips curled back in a snarl.
"You keep madame waiting, Monsieur le Vidame," I said, "and her
business is of vital import."
He was about to answer when La Valentinois placed her hand on his arm,
and muttering something under his breath, Simon turned and led her up
the stairway, all bowing as though she were the Queen. Whilst the two
went up, they began to talk in low, hurried tones, and twice Simon
looked back at me, the hate of a devil in his glance. Most of those
present followed them; but there still remained many who crowded around
us buzzing with questions; but we put them aside, saying we were weary,
and needed rest.
As the red dawn came I found myself seated on a wooden bench near my
horse's stable wondering, fearing, and hoping. The escort had been
dismissed by De Lorgnac, with orders to return to Paris under M. de
Tolendal, as soon as the horses were rested, and De Lorgnac himself had
gone off somewhere. So two hours must have passed, and it seemed to me
that the movement in the courtyards and in the Chateau grew less and
less. Presently half a dozen huntsmen, leading their hounds, passed
close to me, talking in loud and aggrieved tones.
"_Mille diables_!" exclaimed one. "To think it is all off!"
"Never have I known the like!" said another.
"What has happened, my friends?" I asked; and the first speaker replied:
"The hunt is put off, monsieur. Put off, after we had marked down the
largest and fiercest boar in France! As high as that!" And he held
his palm out almost on a level with his breast.
"Ay; and as grey as my beard," put in another, a little, shrivelled old
man. "He has the devil on his side, that boar. Five times has he
escaped. Three of my best hounds has he slain. For a whole week have
I tracked him through the Dormoir, and now that we have him safe in his
lair in the Gorges d'Apremont--the King does not hunt! He has the
devil on his side, I say!"
"Way! Way for Monsieur le Vidame's horse!" called out a strident
voice, and a groom came up, leading a big white horse ready saddled.
The huntsmen moved aside, and the groom led the horse towards the
Chateau; but ere he had gone ten steps Simon himself appeared hastening
towards him.
Simon was still in his hunting suit of close-fitting dark green, a
short cloak thrown over his shoulder, and long boots that reached to
his thighs. His sword was slung scabbardless to his side, and he wore
a baret on his head, with a single cock's feather in it, underneath
which his pale face looked like that of a corpse.
As he came forward hastily towards his horse, his shoulders bent, and
his wolf's eyes fixed before him, there was that in his air which was
ominous of danger, and, springing to my feet, I drew my sword and
stepped towards him. He saw me too, and came up like a truculent dog.
We both reached the horse almost at the same time, and I fully expected
him to draw on me at once; but stopping, he said:
"You seem to forget, brother, that the edict applies to Fontainebleau
as well as the Louvre."
"Not in the least; but one is allowed to kill vermin in the forest."
He glanced at me in speechless, blue-lipped rage. Twice his hand
sought the hilt of his sword, and twice he drew it back. But that I
knew him utterly fearless I might have thought his heart had failed him
as he stood before me, the veins swollen on his forehead, and his
fingers twitching convulsively. At last he found voice, and, laughing
harshly, said:
"Not now; give me twenty-four hours, brother, and then as you wish, or,
rather, whether you wish or not."
"So be it," I answered, and he laughed again, bitter, mirthless
laughter, and reached out for the reins of his horse; but ere he
mounted he turned once more on me, another gust of anger shaking his
frame.
"Look you! You think you have beaten me because you have beaten that
black-eyed strumpet who bewitches the King. I tell you I hold her in
the hollow of my hand, and she cannot buy from me what she has bought
from you. As for you, you have stood in my way long enough; never
again shall it be. Fool! think you I cannot read your soul? Think you
I will let you win the prize I should have won? I promise you that, in
these twenty-four hours, which will make you long for death--I, Simon
of Orrain, swear it!"
With this he swung round, and, springing into the saddle, went off at a
gallop, leaving me staring after him, wondering what devilry lay behind
his words. I watched him till he rounded the elbow of the wood that
lay without the gates, and then, sheathing my sword, went slowly
towards the Horseshoe Stair.
Under other circumstances I should have looked with wonder and
admiration on the magnificent pile that the splendour of the late King
had erected on the old-time fortress of Louis VII, but, as it was, I
paced up and down the Cour du Cheval Blanc, gazing at the wide stairway
and the silent walls, every minute that passed seeming an hour to me in
my impatience. At last I saw a figure at the head of the Horseshoe.
It was De Lorgnac, and he beckoned to me. In a moment I was by his
side.
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