The Forty-Five Guardsmen. Dumas Alexandre
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at the door, but could not be sure. He fancied it was Borromée.
"Where do you go?" asked Gorenflot.
"Toward Spain."
"How do you travel?"
"Oh! anyhow; on foot, on horseback, in a carriage – just as it happens."
"Jacques will be good company for you."
"Thanks, my good friend, I have now, I think, only to make my adieux."
"Adieu; I will give you my benediction."
"Bah! it is useless between us."
"You are right; but it does for strangers," and they embraced.
"Jacques!" called the prior, "Jacques!"
Borromée appeared.
"Brother Jacques," repeated the prior.
"Jacques is gone."
"What! gone," cried Chicot.
"Did you not wish some one to go to the Louvre?"
"Yes; but it was Panurge."
"Oh! stupid that I am," cried Borromée, "I understood it to be Jacques."
Chicot frowned, but Borromée appeared so sorry that it was impossible to say much.
"I will wait, then," said he, "till Jacques returns."
Borromée bowed, frowning in his turn. "Apropos," said he, "I forgot to announce to your reverence that the unknown lady has arrived and desires to speak to you."
"Is she alone?" asked Gorenflot.
"No; she has a squire with her."
"Is she young?"
Borromée lowered his eyes. "She seems so," said he.
"I will leave you," said Chicot, "and wait in a neighboring room."
"It is far from here to the Louvre, monsieur, and Jacques may be long, or they may hesitate to confide an important letter to a child."
"You make these reflections rather late," replied Chicot, "however, I will go on the road to Charenton and you can send him after me." And he turned to the staircase.
"Not that way, if you please," said Borromée, "the lady is coming up, and she does not wish to meet any one."
"You are right," said Chicot, smiling, "I will take the little staircase."
"Do you know the way?"
"Perfectly." And Chicot went out through a cabinet which led to another room, from which led the secret staircase. The room was full of armor, swords, muskets, and pistols.
"They hide Jacques from me," thought Chicot, "and they hide the lady, therefore of course I ought to do exactly the opposite of what they want me to do. I will wait for the return of Jacques, and I will watch the mysterious lady. Oh! here is a fine shirt of mail thrown into a corner; it is much too small for the prior, and would fit me admirably. I will borrow it from Gorenflot, and give it to him again when I return." And he quietly put it on under his doublet. He had just finished when Borromée entered.
Chicot pretended to be admiring the arms.
"Is monsieur seeking some arms to suit him?" asked Borromée.
"I! mon Dieu! what do I want with arms?"
"You use them so well."
"Theory, all theory; I may use my arms well, but the heart of a soldier is always wanting in a poor bourgeois like me. But time passes, and Jacques cannot be long; I will go and wait for him at the Croix Faubin."
"I think that will be best."
"Then you will tell him as soon as he comes?"
"Yes."
"And send him after me?"
"I will not fail."
"Thanks, Brother Borromée; I am enchanted to have made your acquaintance."
He went out by the little staircase, and Borromée locked the door behind him.
"I must see the lady," thought Chicot.
He went out of the priory and went on the road he had named; then, when out of sight, he turned back, crept along a ditch and gained, unseen, a thick hedge which extended before the priory. Here he waited to see Jacques return or the lady go out.
CHAPTER XXIV.
THE AMBUSH
Chicot made a slight opening through the hedge, that he might see those who came and went. The road was almost deserted as far as he could see; there was no one but a man poorly clothed measuring the ground with a long, pointed stick. Chicot had nothing to do, and therefore was preparing to watch this man, when a more important object attracted his attention.
The window of Gorenflot's room opened with folding-doors on to a balcony, and Chicot saw them open, and Gorenflot come out, with his most gallant manner and winning smile, leading a lady almost hidden under a mantle of velvet and fur.
"Oh!" thought Chicot, "here is the penitent. She looks young; it is very odd, but I find resemblances in every one I see. And here comes the squire; as for him, there is no mistake; I know him, and if he be Mayneville – ventre de biche! – why should not the lady be Madame de Montpensier? And, morbleu! that woman is the duchess!"
After a moment, he saw the pale head of Borromée behind them.
"What are they about?" thought Chicot; "does the duchess want to board with Gorenflot?"
At this moment Chicot saw M. de Mayneville make a sign to some one outside. Chicot looked round, but there was no one to be seen but the man measuring. It was to him, however, that the sign was addressed, for he had ceased measuring, and was looking toward the balcony. Borromée began also to gesticulate behind Mayneville, in a manner unintelligible to Chicot, but apparently clear to this man, for he went further off, and stationed himself in another place, where he stopped at a fresh sign. Then he began to run quickly toward the gate of the priory, while M. de Mayneville held his watch in his hand.
"Diable!" said Chicot, "this is all very odd."
As the man passed him, he recognized Nicholas Poulain, the man to whom he had sold his armor the day before. Shortly after, they all re-entered the room and shut the window, and then the duchess and her squire came out of the priory and went toward the litter which waited for them. Gorenflot accompanied them to the door, exhausting himself in bows and salutations. The curtains of the litter were still open, when a monk, in whom Chicot recognized Jacques, advanced from the Porte St. Antoine, approached, and looked earnestly into it. The duchess then went away, and Nicholas Poulain was following, when Chicot called out from his hiding place —
"Come here, if you please."
Poulain started, and turned his head.
"Do not seem to notice, M. Nicholas Poulain," said Chicot.
The lieutenant started again. "Who are you, and what do you want?" asked he.
"I am a friend, new, but intimate; what I want will take long to explain; come here to me."
"To you?"
"Yes; here in the ditch."
"What for?"
"You shall know when you come."
"But – "
"Come and sit down here, without appearing to notice me."
"Monsieur?"
"Oh! M. Robert Briquet has the right to be exacting."
"Robert Briquet!" cried Poulain, doing as he was desired.
"That is right; it seems you were taking measures in the road."
"I!"
"Yes; there is nothing surprising that you should be a surveyor, especially as you acted under the eyes of such great people."
"Great people! I do not understand."
"What! you did not know?"
"What do you mean?"
"You