La Chatre, rea.s.sured by her tone, which of course had the ring of truth, again breathed freely.

"Then I release you from your agreement, mademoiselle," he said, and added slowly and with a curious look at Montignac, "and your father may languish in the chateau of Fleurier. But note this, mademoiselle: you withdraw your aid from our purpose of capturing this traitor. Therefore, you wish him freedom. For you, in the circ.u.mstances, not to oppose him is to aid him. That is treason. I must treat you accordingly, mademoiselle."

"I have said, do with me as you will," she answered. For a time, relieved of the burden that had weighed so heavily on her, she seemed resigned to any fate. It was not yet that her mind rose to activity, and she began to see possibilities of recovering something from the ruins.

And now the demeanor of La Chatre became peculiar. He spoke to mademoiselle, while he looked at Montignac, as if he were taking an unexpected opportunity to carry out something prearranged between him and the secretary; as if he were dissembling to her, and sought Montignac's attention and approval. His look seemed to say to the secretary, "You see how well I am doing it?" Montignac stood with folded arms and downcast eyes, attending carefully to La Chatre's words, but having too much tact to betray his interest.

"And yet," said La Chatre, "you have been of some service to me in this matter, and I would in some measure reward you. You sent me information of La Tournoire's whereabouts, and for so much you deserve to be paid.

But you leave unfinished the service agreed on, and of course you cannot claim your father's release."

"Yet, if I have at all served you in this, as unhappily I have, there is no other payment that you possibly can make me," said mademoiselle.

"The question as to whether you ought to be rewarded for what you have done, or held guilty of treasonable conduct in withdrawing at so late a stage," said La Chatre, "is a difficult matter for me to deal with. There may be a way in which it can be settled with satisfaction to yourself. It is your part, not mine, to find such a way and propose it. You may take counsel of some one--of my secretary, M. Montignac. He is one who, unlike yourself, is ent.i.tled to my favor and the King's, and who may, on occasion, demand some deviation from the strict procedure of justice.

Were he to ask, as a favor to himself, special lenience for your father, or even a pardon and release, his request would have to be seriously considered. Advise her, Montignac. I shall give you a few minutes to talk with her."

And La Chatre, aided by his stick, made his way to the window, where he stood with his back towards the other two.

I was not too dull to see that all this was but a clumsy way of throwing mademoiselle's fate and her father's into the hands of Montignac. The governor's manner, as I have indicated, showed that he had previously agreed to do this on fit occasion, and that he now perceived that occasion.

A new thought occurred to me. Had Montignac, coming more and more to desire mademoiselle, and doubting the ability of his hastily found instrument, De Berquin, sought and obtained the governor's sanction to his wishes? Had he advised this midnight march to Maury in order that I might be caught ere mademoiselle could fulfil her mission; in order, that is to say, to prevent her from earning her father's freedom by the means first proposed; in order that La Chatre might name a new price for that freedom; in order, in fine, that herself should be the price, and Montignac the recipient? Montignac could persuade the governor to anything, why not to this? It was a design worthy alike of the secretary's ingenuity and villainy. Circ.u.mstance soon showed that I was right, that the governor had indeed consented to this perfidy.

Mademoiselle's unexpected arrival at Clochonne had given excellent occasion for the project to be carried out. The governor himself had recognized the fitness of the time. No wonder that he had at first falsely charged her with tardiness, pretended that her delay had caused the alteration of his plans. He had needed a pretext for having sent his troops to capture me so that he might cheat her of her reward. I burned with indignation. That two men of power and authority should so trick a helpless girl, so use her love for her father to serve their own purposes, so employ that father's very life as coin with which to buy her compliance, so cozen her of the reward of what service she had done, so plot to make of her a slave and worse, so threaten and use and cheat her! No man ever felt greater wrath than I felt as I stood behind the curtains and saw Montignac lift his eyes to mademoiselle's in obedience to the governor's command. Yet, by what power I know not, I held myself calm, ready to act at the suitable moment. I had taken a resolution, and would carry it out if sword and wit should serve me. But meanwhile I waited unseen.

Mademoiselle drew back almost imperceptibly, and on her face came the slightest look of repugnance. From her manner of regarding him, it was evident that this was not the first time she had been conscious of his admiration and felt repelled by it. The meeting in the inn at Fleurier had left with her a vastly different impression from that which it had left with him.

Without smiling, he now bowed very courteously, and placed a chair for her near where she stood.

"Mademoiselle," he said, with great tenderness, yet most respectfully, "a harder heart than mine would be moved by your gentleness and beauty."

And here my own heart beat very rapidly at sound of another man speaking so adoringly to my beloved.

She looked at him questioningly, as if his tone and manner showed that she had misjudged him. His bearing was so gentle and sympathetic that she could not but be deceived by it. She ceased to show repugnance, and sat in the chair that he had brought.

"Monsieur," she said, "in my first opinion I may have wronged you. If your heart is truly moved, you can demonstrate your goodness by asking for my father's freedom. M. de la Chatre will grant it to you. You have a claim on his favor, as he says, while I have none. Free my father, then, and make me happy!"

Poor Julie! She thought not of herself. She knew that it would be useless to ask anything for me. Yet there was one thing that might be had from the situation--her father's freedom. So she summoned her energies, and devoted them to striving for that, though she was in terror of my being at any moment discovered.

"I would make you the happiest of women," said Montignac, in a low, impa.s.sioned tone, falling on one knee and taking her hand, "if you would make me the happiest of men."

Apprehension came into her eyes. She rose and moved towards the bed-curtains, and, in the vain hope of turning him from his purpose by pretending not to perceive it, said, with a sad little smile:

"Alas! it is out of my poor power to confer happiness!"

She half-turned her head towards where I stood behind the curtains, partly at thought of the happiness that it seemed impossible for her to confer on me, partly in fear lest Montignac's words might bring me forth.

"It is easily in your power to confer more than happiness," said Montignac.

"How, monsieur?" she faltered, trembling under two fears, that of Montignac's ardor and that of my disclosing myself. "I am puzzled to know."

"By conferring your hand, mademoiselle," said Montignac, following her and grasping her wrist. "Your father will be glad to give his consent for his liberty, if he knows that you have given yours. But we can arrange to proceed without his consent. Do not draw back, mademoiselle. It is marriage that I offer, when I might make other terms. My family is a good one; my prospects are the best, and I have to lay at your feet a love that has never been offered to another, a love as deep as it is fresh--"

I clutched the curtain to give vent to my rage. Mademoiselle was looking towards me, and saw the curtain move.

"Say no more!" she cried, fearful lest his continuance might be too much for my restraint. "I cannot hear you?"

"I love you, mademoiselle," he went on, losing his self-control, so that his face quivered with pa.s.sion. "I can save you and your father!"

He thrust his face so close to hers that she drew back with an expression of disgust.

"A fine love, indeed?" she cried, scornfully, "that would buy the love it dare not hope to elicit free!" And she turned to La Chatre as if for protection. But the governor shook his head, and remained motionless at the window.

"A love you shall not despise, mademoiselle!" hissed Montignac, stung by her scorn. He was standing by the table near the bed, and, in his anger, he made to strike the table with his dagger, but he struck instead the tray on the table, and so produced a loud, ringing sound that startled the ear.

"Your fate is in my hands," he went on; "so is your father's. As for this Tournoire, concerning whom you have suddenly become scrupulous, he is, doubtless, by this time in the hands of the troops who have gone for him, and very well it is that we decided not to wait for you to lead him to us. So he had best be dismissed from your mind, as he presently will be from this life. Accept me, and your father goes free! Spurn me, and he dies in the chateau of Fleurier, and you shall still belong to me! Why not give me what I have the power and the intention to take?"

"If you take it," cried mademoiselle, "that is your act. Were I to give, that would be mine. It is by our own acts that we stand or fall in our own eyes and G.o.d's!" She spoke loudly, in a resolute voice, as if to show me that she could look to herself, so that I need not come out to her defence,--for well she guessed my mind, and knew that, though she had consented a thousand times to betray me, I would not stand pa.s.sive while a man pressed his unwelcome love on her. And now, as if to force a change of theme by sheer vehemence of manner, she turned her back towards Montignac and addressed La Chatre with a fire that she had not previously shown.

"You have heard the proposal of this buyer of love! You hear me reject it! M. de la Chatre, I hold you to your word. I have been of some service to you in the matter of La Tournoire, and you would, in some measure, reward me! You have said it! Very well! You expect to capture him to-night at his hiding-place. Through me you learned that hiding-place, therefore, through me you will have taken him. There is but one possible way in which you can reward me: Keep your word! What if I did refuse to plan the ambush? You yourself had already decided to dispense with that.

In the circ.u.mstances, all that I could have done for you I have done.

Would I could undo it! But I cannot! Therefore, give me now, at once, an order that I may take to Fleurier for my father's release!"

La Chatre was plainly annoyed, for he loved to keep the letter of his word. He could not deceive this woman, as he had at first felicitated himself on doing, with a false appearance of fair dealing. She saw through that appearance. It was indeed irritating to so honest a gentleman. To gain time for a plausible answer, he moved slowly from the window to the centre of the chamber. At the same time, mademoiselle, to be further from Montignac, went towards the door by which she had entered the room on my arrival. The secretary, with wolf-like eyes, followed her, and both turned so as still to face the governor.

"I shall devise some proper reward for you," said La Chatre, slowly. "I adhere always to the strict letter of my word; but I am not bound to free your father. The strict letter of my word, remember! Recall my words to you at the inn. I recall them exactly, and so does Montignac, who this very evening reminded me of--ahem, that is to say, I recall them exactly.

I was to send the order to the governor of Fleurier for your father's immediate release the instant I should stand face to face with the Sieur de la Tournoire in the chateau of Clochonne."

I threw aside the bed-curtain, stepped forth, and said:

"That time has come, monsieur!"

CHAPTER XVII.

SWORD AND DAGGER

M. de la Chatre could not have been more surprised if a spirit had risen from the floor at his feet. He stared at me with startled eyes. I had sheathed my sword while behind the curtains, and now I stood motionless, with folded arms, before him. Mademoiselle uttered a slight cry.

Montignac, who stood beside her, was as much taken aback as La Chatre was, but was quicker to comprehend the situation. Without moving from his att.i.tude of surprise, he regarded me with intense curiosity and hate.

This was his first sight of me, hence his curiosity. He had already inferred that mademoiselle loved me, therefore his hate.

"Who are you?" said La Chatre, at last, in a tone of mingled alarm and resentment, as one might address a supernatural intruder.

"The Sieur de la Tournoire," said I, "standing face to face with you in the chateau of Clochonne! You shall give mademoiselle that order for her father's release, or you shall never break your word again."

And I drew my sword, and held it with its point towards his breast.

The fear of death blanched his cheeks and spurred his dull wits.