"But I knew nothing of their going to Maury," she said, helplessly. "It was not to have been so. You were to have been taken by an ambush, I say!

If the governor sent troops to attack you to-night, he must have changed the plan."

Now, I could indeed believe this, for I had overheard the plan suggested by Montignac, and her very talk about the ambush seemed to show that his plan had been adopted without change. In that case, she might not have known of the movement of the troops. La Chatre might have decided, at any time, to change his plan. Perhaps he had done this, and, for lack of means or for some other reason, had not tried to inform her, or had tried in vain.

She stood like an accused woman before her judges, incapable of formulating her defence, expressing her distress by an occasional low, convulsive sob. What did her conduct mean? Was her demeanor genuine or a.s.sumed? Why did she confess one thing and deny another? Why did she seem guilty and not guilty?

"I am puzzled more and more," I said. "I thought that, when I saw you, I should at least learn the truth. I should at least know whether to love you as an angel, who had been wronged alike by circ.u.mstances and by report, or as a beautiful demon, who would betray me to my death; but I am not even to know what you are. You betrayed my hiding-place. So far, at least, you are guilty; but you did not arrange the ambush that you were to have arranged. For so much you claim credit. Whatever are your wishes in regard to me, they shall be fulfilled. I am yours, to be sent to my death, if that is your will. What would you have me do?"

"Save yourself!" she whispered, eagerly, her eyes suddenly aflame with a kind of hope, as if the possibility had just occurred to her.

Was this pretence? Did she know that I could not escape, and did she yet wish, for shame's or vanity's sake, to appear well in my eyes?

"I shall not leave you," I said, quietly.

"Hark!" she whispered. "Some one comes!"

She looked towards the door near the head of the bed, the door that was slightly ajar. She looked aghast, as one does at the apprehension of a great and imminent danger. "Go while there is time! Do you not hear? It is the voice of La Chatre! I recognize it! And the other,--his secretary, Montignac! Go, go, I pray you on my knees, flee while there is yet time!"

She did indeed fall to her knees, clutching my arm with one hand, and with the other trying to push me from the room, all the while showing a very anguish of solicitude on her white face. Her eyes plead with me for my own deliverance. The voices, which I too recognized, came nearer and nearer, but slowly, as if the speakers were impeded in their progress through the adjoining chamber. "Save yourself, save yourself!" she continued to whisper.

"Come what may," I whispered in reply, my hand tightening on my sword, "I will not leave you!"

"Then," she whispered, rapidly, seeing that I was not to be moved, "if you will court death, at least know me first as I am,--no better, no worse! Hide somewhere,--there behind the bed-curtains,--and hear what I shall say to La Chatre! After that, if death find you, he shall find me with you! I implore you, conceal yourself."

There was no pretence now, I was sure. Mystified, yet not doubting, I whispered: "I yield, mademoiselle! G.o.d knows I would believe you innocent!" and went behind the curtains, at the foot of the bed. It was easy to stand behind these without disturbing the natural folds in which they fell to the floor. The curtains at the sides also served to shield me from view, so that I could not have been seen except from within the bed itself.

I had no sooner found this concealment, and mademoiselle had no sooner taken her place, standing with as much composure as she could a.s.sume, a short distance from the foot of the bed, than M. de la Chatre and his secretary entered the chamber. Peering between the curtains, I saw that La Chatre was lame, and that he walked with the aid of a stick on one side and Montignac's shoulder on the other.

"To think," he was saying as he came in, "that the misstep of a horse should have made a helpless cripple of me, when I might have led this hunt myself!"

I a.s.sumed that the "hunt" was the expedition to Maury, and smiled to think how far was the game from the place of hunting.

The undisturbed mien of La Chatre showed that he had not heard of the arrival of mademoiselle or of myself, or of the brief fight in the courtyard. He would not have worn that look of security had he known that, of six guards at the chateau, three now lay dead in the courtyard, one had fled, and two were being looked after by my man Frojac.

He wore a rich chamber-robe and was bareheaded. Montignac was attired rather like a soldier than like a scribe, having on a buff jerkin and wearing both sword and dagger. His breeches and hose were of dull hue, so that the only brightness of color on him was the red of his hair and lips. It was, doubtless, from an excess of precaution that he went so well armed in the chateau at so late an hour. Yet I smiled to see weapons on this slight and fragile-looking youth, whose strength lay in his brain rather than in his wrist. With great interest I watched him now, knowing that he had devised the plan for my capture, had caused Mlle. de Varion to be sent on her mission against me, and had sent De Berquin on his mission against her. This march of the troops to Maury, also, was probably his doing, even though it did imply a change from the plan overheard by me, and confessed by mademoiselle. He had, too, if De Berquin had told the truth, resolved to possess mademoiselle. He was thus my worst foe, this subtle youth who had never seen me, and whom I had never injured. He still had that look of mock humility, repressed scorn, half-concealed derision, hidden ambition, vast inner resource, mental activity, all under a calm and thoughtful countenance, over which he had control.

It was not until they had pa.s.sed the bed that they saw mademoiselle.

Both stopped and looked astonished. Montignac recognized her at once, and first frowned, as if annoyed; then looked elated, as if her presence suited his projects. But La Chatre did not immediately know her. He lost color, as if it were a spirit that he saw, and, indeed, mademoiselle, motionless and pale, looked not unlike some beautiful being of another world.

"Who are you?" asked La Chatre, in a startled tone.

"It is I--Mlle. de Varion."

La Chatre promptly came to himself; but he looked somewhat confused, abashed, and irritated.

"Mlle. de Varion, indeed!" he said. "And why comes Mlle. de Varion here?"

And now Montignac spoke, fixing his eyes on La Chatre, and using a quiet but resolute tone:

"She comes too late. La Tournoire will be taken without her aid."

"Be silent, Montignac!" said La Chatre, a.s.suming the authoritative for the sake of appearance. "It is true, mademoiselle; you are too late in fulfilling your part of the agreement."

He spoke with some embarra.s.sment, and I began to see why. Inasmuch as he had been at Clochonne but little more than one day, no more time had pa.s.sed than would have been necessary for the arrangement of the ambush.

Therefore it could not be honestly held that she had been tardy in fulfilling her mission; that is to say, when he told her that she was too late, he lied. Hence his embarra.s.sment, for he was a gentleman. Now why did he put forth this false pretext of tardiness on her part?

"Too late in fulfilling your part of the agreement," said the governor.

"I came, monsieur," said mademoiselle, heedless of the lie and the apparent attempt to put her at fault, "to be released from my agreement."

Montignac looked surprised, then displeased. La Chatre appeared relieved, but astonished.

"Released, mademoiselle?" he exclaimed, a.s.suming too late a kind of virtuous displeasure to cover his real satisfaction.

"Released, monsieur!" said mademoiselle. "I shall no further help you take M. de la Tournoire. It was to tell you that, and for nothing else in the world, that I came to Clochonne this night!"

She was close to the bed-curtains behind which I stood. I felt that her words were meant for my ears as well as for the governor's.

"I shall not need your help, mademoiselle," replied the governor, with a side smile at Montignac. "Yet this is strange. You do not, then, wish your father's freedom?"

"Not on the terms agreed on, monsieur! Not to have my father set free from prison, not even to save him from torture, not even from death. I take back my promise, and give you back your own. I gave you word of La Tournoire's hiding-place, and so far resigned my honor. I abandon my hateful task unfinished, and so far I get my honor back. And, now, do as you will!"

I could have shouted for joy!

This, then, explained it all. She had undertaken to betray me, but it was to save her father! I remembered now. They had wanted a spy "who would have all to lose by failure." Such were Montignac's words at the inn at Fleurier. A spy, too, who might gain a wary man's confidence, and with whom a rebel captain might desire or consent to a meeting away from his men. Hardly had their need been uttered when there came mademoiselle to beg a pardon for her father. A woman, beautiful and guileless, whom any man might adore and trust, of whom any man might beg a tryst; a woman, whose father was already in prison, his fate at the governor's will; a woman, inexperienced and credulous, easily made to believe that her father's crime was of the gravest; a woman, dutiful and affectionate, willing to purchase her father's life and freedom at any cost. What better instrument could have come to their hands? Her anxiety to save her father would give her the powers of dissimulation necessary to do the work. Her purity and innocence were a rare equipment for the task of a Delilah. Who would suspect her of guile and intrigue any more than I had done?

And now, having gone as far as she had in the task, she had abandoned it.

Even to save her father, she would no more play the traitress against me!

Against _me_! She loved me, then! Her task had become intolerable. She must relieve herself of it. Yet as long as La Chatre still supposed that she was carrying it out, she would feel bound by her obligation to him.

She must free herself of that obligation. She had made a compact with him, she had given him her word. Though she resolved not to betray me, she would not betray him either. He must no longer rely on her for the performance of a deed that she had cast from her. She must not play false even with him. All must hereafter be open and honest with her. The first step towards regaining her self-respect was to see the governor and renounce the commission. Then, but not till then, would she dare confess all to me. I saw all this in an instant, as she had felt it, for people do not arrive at such resolutions slowly and by reason, but instantly and by feeling.

And all that she had done and suffered had been to save her father! Had I but told her at once of my intention to deliver him, if possible, all this, and my own hours of torment, might have been avoided. From what little things do events take their course!

I rejoiced, I say, behind the curtains, on learning the truth. What matter if we met death together in the enemy's stronghold, now that she was pure and loved me? And yet, if we could but find a way out of this, and save her father as well, what joy life would have!

La Chatre cast another jubilant smile at Montignac. The governor was plainly delighted that mademoiselle herself had given up the task, now that he had changed his plans and had no further use for her in them. It relieved him of the disagreeable necessity of making her an explanation composed of lies. He was really a gallant and amiable gentleman, and subterfuge, especially when employed against a lady, was obnoxious to him. As for Montignac, he stood frowning meditatively. He surely guessed that mademoiselle's act was inspired by love for me, and the thought was not pleasant to him.

Suddenly the governor turned quite pale, and asked quickly, in some alarm:

"Did you speak the truth when you sent word of his hiding-place?"

It would, indeed, have been exasperating if he had sent his troops on a false scent.

Mademoiselle hesitated a moment, then turned her eyes towards the bed-curtains, and said:

"Yes, monsieur."

Her look, as I saw it, expressed that my position was not so bad, after all, as long as the troops were away, and La Chatre supposed that I was at Maury being captured by them.