The Regent's Daughter. Dumas Alexandre
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commands, "watch that no one approaches."
M. de Talhouet obeyed, and rode round in a circle, keeping both eyes and ears open.
"And now," said the marquis, "let us put out our lantern, since we have found our man!"
"Messieurs," said De Chanlay, "all this seems to me somewhat strange. It appears that you were following me – that you were seeking for me, now you have found me, and may put out your lantern. What does it mean? If it is a joke, I confess I think both time and place ill-chosen."
"No, monsieur," replied Pontcalec, in his hard, dry voice, "it is not a joke; it is an interrogatory."
"An interrogatory?" said De Chanlay, frowning.
"An explanation, rather," said Montlouis.
"Interrogatory or explanation, it matters not," said Pontcalec, "the thing is too serious to argue about words. M. de Chanlay, I repeat, reply to our questions."
"You speak roughly, Marquis de Pontcalec," replied the chevalier.
"If I command, it is because I have the right to do so. Am I, or am I not, your chief?"
"Certainly you are; but that is no reason for forgetting the consideration which one gentleman owes to another."
"Monsieur de Chanlay, all these objections seem to me like shuffling. You have sworn to obey – do so now."
"I swore to obey," replied the chevalier, "but not as a servant."
"You swore to obey as a slave. Obey, then, or submit to the consequences of your disobedience!"
"Monsieur le Marquis – !"
"My dear Gaston," cried Montlouis, "speak, I beg, as soon as possible: by a word you can remove all suspicion."
"Suspicion!" cried Gaston, pale with anger, "am I suspected, then?"
"Certainly you are," said Pontcalec, with his ordinary roughness. "Do you think if we did not suspect you we should amuse ourselves by following you on such a night as this?"
"Oh, that is quite another matter!" said Gaston, coldly; "tell me your suspicions – I listen."
"Chevalier, remember the facts; we four were conspiring together, and we did not seek your aid; you offered it, saying, that besides being willing to aid in the public good, you had a private revenge to serve in this. Am I not right?"
"You are."
"We received you – welcomed you as a friend, as a brother; we told you all our hopes, all our plans; nay, more – you were elected, by chance, the one to strike the glorious blow. Each one of us offered to take your part, but you refused. Is it not so?"
"You have spoken the strictest truth, marquis."
"This very morning we drew the lots; this evening you should be on the road to Paris. Instead of that, where do we find you? on the road to Clisson, where are lodged the mortal enemies of Breton independence, where lives your sworn foe – the Marechal de Montesquieu."
"Ah! monsieur," said Gaston, scornfully.
"Reply by open words, and not by sneers: reply, M. de Chanlay, and quickly."
"Reply, Gaston," said Du Couëdic and Montlouis, imploringly.
"And to what am I to reply?"
"You are to account for your frequent absence during the last two months – for the mystery which surrounds you – for refusing, as you do, once or twice weekly, to join our nightly meetings. We confess, Gaston, all this has made us uneasy; by a word you can reassure us."
"You see, monsieur, that you are proved guilty by hiding, instead of pursuing your course."
"I did not pursue my course, because my horse was wounded; you may see the stains of blood upon the road."
"But why did you hide?"
"Because I wished to know first who was pursuing me. Have I not the fear of being arrested, as well as yourselves?"
"And where are you going?"
"If you had followed my steps as you have done hitherto, you would have found that my path did not lead to Clisson."
"Nor to Paris."
"I beg," said De Chanlay, "that you will trust me, and respect my secret – a secret in which not only my own honor, but that of another, is concerned. You do not know, perhaps – it may be exaggerated – how extreme is my delicacy on this point."
"Then it is a love-secret," said Montlouis. – "Yes, and the secret of a first love," replied Gaston.
"All evasions," cried Pontcalec.
"Marquis!" said Gaston, haughtily.
"This is not saying enough, my friend," replied Du Couëdic. "How can we believe that you are going to a rendezvous in such weather, and that this rendezvous is not at Clisson – where, except the Augustine Convent, there is not a single house for two miles around."
"M. de Chanlay," said the Marquis de Pontcalec, in an agitated voice, "you swore to obey me as your chief, and to devote soul and body to our holy cause. Monsieur, our undertaking is serious – our property, our liberties, our lives and our honor are at stake; – will you reply clearly and freely to the questions which I put to you in the name of all, so as to remove all doubts? If not, Gaston de Chanlay – by virtue of that right which you gave me, of your own free will, over your life – if not, I declare, on my honor, I will blow your brains out with my own hand!"
A solemn silence followed these words; not one voice was raised to defend Gaston; he looked at each one in turn, and each one turned away from him.
"Marquis," said the chevalier at length, in a tone of deep feeling, "not only do you insult me by suspicions, but you grieve me by saying that I can only remove those suspicions by declaring my secret. Stay," added he, drawing a pocketbook from his coat, and hastily penciling a few words on a leaf which he tore out; "stay, here is the secret you wish to know; I hold it in one hand, and in the other I hold a loaded pistol. Will you make me reparation for the insult you have offered me? or, in my turn, I give you my word as a gentleman that I will blow my brains out. When I am dead, open my hand and read this paper; you will then see if I deserved your suspicions."
And Gaston held the pistol to his head with the calm resolution which showed that he would keep his word.
"Gaston! Gaston!" cried Montlouis, while Du Couëdic held his arm; "stop, in Heaven's name! Marquis, he would do as he said; pardon him, and he will tell us all. Is it not so, Gaston? You will not have a secret from your brothers, who beg you, in the names of their wives and children, to tell it them."
"Certainly," said the marquis, "I not only pardon but love him; he knows it well. Let him but prove his innocence, and I will make him every reparation, but, before that, nothing: he is young, and alone in the world. He has not, like us, wives and children, whose happiness and whose fortune he is risking; he stakes only his own life, and he holds that as cheaply as is usual at twenty years of age; but with his life he risks ours; and yet, let him say but one word showing a justification, and I will be the first to open my arms to him."
"Well, marquis," said Gaston, after a few moments' silence, "follow me, and you shall be satisfied."
"And we?" asked Montlouis and Du Couëdic.
"Come, also, you are all gentlemen; I risk no more in confiding my secret to all than to one."
The marquis called Talhouet, who had kept good watch, and now rejoined the group, and followed without asking what had passed.
All five went on but slowly, for Gaston's horse was lame; the chevalier guided them toward the convent, then to the little rivulet, and at ten paces from the iron gate he stopped.
"It is here," said he.
"Here?"
"At the convent?"
"Yes, my friends; there is here, at this moment, a young girl whom I have loved since I saw her a year ago in the procession at the Fete Dieu at Nantes; she observed me also – I followed her, and sent her a letter."
"But how do you