"Tell me more. Where is it? It is mine, mine, mine!"

"Do you believe me, Monsieur St. Georges?--me, though I am his sister, a De Roquemaure myself?"

His eyes looked back into hers now--looked deep into those pure, clear, gray eyes; he hesitated no longer. She was his sister, was a De Roquemaure, yet he believed.

"Yes," he said, "mademoiselle, I believe. I do believe."

Beneath the hateful, necessary carmine he saw the true blood show itself as he spoke. He saw the honest, truthful eyes glisten--at least no rococo monarch could cause them to be made vile!--he knew that his words had satisfied her. He had an ally, a friend, here. And how powerful such an ally might be! Yet he continued, his anxiety overmastering all:

"But in pity, mademoiselle, not so much for me, her father, as her own innocent, helpless little self--think of her, poor little babe, in that man's--in any man's power!--tell me all you know. Tell me, I implore."

What she would have said, what answered, he could not know. At that moment there came forth from the inner court a troop of the mounted gendarmerie, followed by an enormous carriage, three times the size of that in which sat Mademoiselle de Roquemaure, covered with gilding. It was the carriage of Louis Quatorze, who was about to proceed to Marly for the night. Naturally, therefore, the vehicle in which Aurelie sat was forced to go forward; naturally, also, St. Georges had to back his horse to the side of the huge gateway, since no obstruction was allowed to impede the gracious sovereign's progress. With a bow they parted, therefore, she giving him one glance that might mean that later on they would meet again, while her carriage proceeded as fast as was possible in the direction of the already fashionable quarter of St.-Germain.

And he, drawing aside, witnessed the pa.s.sage of Louis ere he himself proceeded to present himself to Louvois. He saw the king with his great carriage full of ladies, saw the table inside it covered with sweetmeats and fruit, saw the greatest monarch in Europe lolling back alone on one seat, a dog upon his knees. And, as he bowed low before his master, it seemed to him almost as if the king had distinguished him from among the heterogeneous ma.s.s of people who thronged the filthy footpath, and had looked at him an instant as though either gazing on a familiar face or wondering where he had seen one like it before.

Chapter XV.

The Minister of War.

"You come a little late, Monsieur St. Georges," the harsh, raucous, and underbred voice of Louvois said--"a little late. Too late by far for an officer selected by his Majesty for special service."

He turned his back upon his visitor as he spoke, changing the position he had a.s.sumed in front of the great fireplace in the room set apart as his cabinet in the Louvre, and seemed now only intent on watching the logs burning in the grate, and of dismissing--or insulting--the _chevau-leger_.

"Perhaps when M. de Louvois has heard my explanation of the reason why I am late, have tarried on my road, he may be disposed to overlook my dilitoriness," St. Georges replied, regarding the back of the _roturier_ minister as he spoke; and the well-bred tones in which he uttered the words caused Louvois to turn around and face him again.

They made a strange contrast as they stood there. Both men were more than ordinarily tall, yet both carried their height differently.

Louvois's was decreased in appearance by the heaviness of his shoulders, his head being deep set between them. St. Georges was as erect as a dart; while, as he faced the man whom, by some innate perception, he regarded as an enemy--or, at least, not a friend--his head was thrown back, so that his height and uprightness seemed somehow increased. Moreover, the whole appearance of each was in extreme contrast, and that not a contrast in favour of the minister.

The stained military jacket of the soldier, the long, brown leather boots, the large cavalry spurs, the great bowl-hilted sword, all gave him an appearance of advantage over the sombre, velvet-clad Louvois; the long, curling hair falling on his shoulders in a thick ma.s.s was more becoming than the wig _a trois marteaux_ which Louvois wore outside state functions. And for the rest, the pale yet weather-exposed face of the one, with its long, deep, chestnut mustache, caused the cadaverous and coa.r.s.e-cut features of the other--the thick, bulbous nose and full, sensual lips--to appear insignificant, if not ign.o.ble.

Louvois had kept him waiting three hours in the anteroom--a thing which, however, he would have done in any case and to any one seeking an interview with him, excepting only some scion of royalty, legitimate or illegitimate, one of the king's marshals, or a relative of one of the king's mistresses--for he understood as well as any vulgar, important _parvenu_ of to-day, or thought he understood, the value of administering such snubs. And, now that the visitor was admitted, his manner was as insulting and as would-be humiliating as he knew how to fashion it. Moreover, with another trait of vulgarity as common in those days as these, he had bidden him to no seat.

His behaviour was the ign.o.ble spite of the man who believed he saw in the other the son of him who had consistently ignored his existence--the late Duc de Vannes.

"The explanation," he said, in answer to St Georges's remark, and speaking in a voice which he endeavoured to render cold and haughty, but which was, in truth, an angry, bitter one, "will have to be very full, very complete, to satisfy his Majesty. You quitted the garrison of Pontarlier on the last night of the last year, riding on special service in the king's name, and you have tarried long on the road in, I imagine, your own service. Beyond bringing one message--that from the Bishop of Lodeve--you have failed in your duty, sir; indeed, failed so much that the Marquise de Roquemaure, from whom you were ordered to bring another message, has actually preceded your arrival here. Has pa.s.sed you on the road and entered Paris before you, though you quitted her manoir before she did; has, indeed, been able to give an interesting account of you and your supposed adventures."

"Supposed!" exclaimed St. Georges quietly--"supposed! Does madame la marquise stigmatize them as 'supposed,' or does monsieur le ministre, Monsieur de Louvois, apply that epithet to them?" and as he spoke, with still his head thrown back and his left hand resting lightly in the cup of his sword hilt, he looked very straight into the eyes of Louvois.

"Madame la marquise is a woman; she believes--and tells--a story as she hears it."

St. Georges bent his head for a moment, then as quietly as he asked the previous question, but equally as clearly and distinctly as he had previously spoken, he said:

"Monsieur Louvois will remember he is speaking to a soldier."

"_Et puis?_"

"Who permits no one, not even the minister of the army, who is his superior, to question his veracity. What he told madame he told as it happened."

Louvois laughed somewhat sinisterly and wholly insultingly, yet for him quietly, after which he said:

"Monsieur St. Georges is also something else besides a soldier--as, indeed, his present manner proclaims. A little of--if I may say it without fear of being done to death on my own hearth--a bully."

"A bully!"

"I fear so, disguised in the uniform of the king. It was bully's work which you performed in the graveyard of Aignay-le-Duc--work which if done by others than soldiers would lead to the halter; work which, when done by soldiers, leads generally to a file of their brethren--to a platoon."

If St. Georges could have had his way, followed his own bent, it would have been his right hand instead of left which would have grasped his sword, and he would have bidden the minister unsheath his own weapon and answer for his words. Yet, since he was no fool, he saw at once that for some purpose of his own Louvois was endeavouring to anger him, to lead him into an outbreak of irritation, and he refused to be so led, so trapped. Instead, he replied, therefore:

"Monsieur is, I think, the father of children himself. A few words will, therefore, show him, prove to him, my excuse. I bore with me my child; I was set upon by hired ruffians, and in the defence of that child--by the aid of another stalwart arm--I resisted them, slew some, drove some away, disarmed others. Yet, monsieur, this was not the worst, not quite the worst, against which I had to contend."

The piercing eyes of the minister of war were resting fixedly on him as he spoke--almost, it seemed, as though he feared what might come next.

St. Georges proceeded:

"Not quite the worst. This gang of hired ruffians was led by one, a cowardly hound, who feared to show his face! by one who--so accurately had he been notified, forewarned, of my approach--must have received his intelligence from Paris, from some one who knew what my movements would be at the time. Strange, was it not, monsieur le ministre?"

Louvois's face seemed less empurpled than before--to have turned white; then, brusquely, as always, he said:

"You are here, sir, to answer questions, not to ask them. Proceed."

"From Paris alone," St. Georges continued, "could that intelligence have come, since he was there with his ruffians to meet and intercept me--though I should not omit to state that, from the time I left Dijon, there followed ever in my course another knave, who took to this craven a.s.sa.s.sin the news that I was not alone. Certain it is, he would have been of no avail, nor have been sent, had not the others known well of my intended journey. Monsieur le ministre, are you sure, do you think, that in your _bureau_ here"--the words fell clear and distinct as he spoke--"there is any foul, crawling creature, say, a low-born clerk, say, some ign.o.ble menial--it could have been none with the instincts of a true-born gentleman of France!--who would have set so deep and foul a plot as this to waylay an innocent man?"

He saw--and, seeing, knew where one of his enemies, at least, was--the slight wince which Louvois gave--above all, the minister hated to have it known that his origin had but one or two generations of gentility to it!--and he knew also that he had laid his finger on one knot in the net. Then Louvois spoke:

"It is impossible that such can be the case. And accusations against persons who have no existence will not save you. You have failed in your duty. Is this all the explanation you have to offer me?"

"It is all I have to offer you, monsieur. If it is not sufficient, I must address myself to the head of the army--to the king himself."

"I am afraid you will have little opportunity." Then turning like a tiger toward him, he said: "Your case has been considered during your procrastination; your easily made journey by extremely short and comfortable stages. Monsieur St. Georges, you are no longer in the army. The king has no further need of your valuable services."

"What! Dismissed without appeal--without----"

"Your appeal is heard and disapproved of--by me. Had it been made differently--your explanation couched in more respectful terms, had carried with it more conviction to my mind--this," and he handed him a paper, "would have been destroyed instead of being given to you. As it is, read it, and act on it. Otherwise the results will be unfortunate.

Observe also the signatures to it. They are neither those of 'low-born clerks' nor 'ign.o.ble menials';" and he stepped back to the fire and stood regarding his victim.

Certainly one signature came not under the category of the above terms, it being that of Louis himself; the other was that of Louvois, and, perhaps, was open to cavil. But St. Georges was immersed in the doc.u.ment itself: beyond the (to him) fatal signature of the king, the other was of scant importance for the moment.

The paper ran as follows:

"MONSIEUR ST. GEORGES: Being extremely displeased with you for the manner in which you have tarried on your road from Pontarlier to Paris and have failed in the secret mission on which I employed you--namely, to bring me (without more delay than such which might by _force majeure_ arrive) messages from two of my subjects--I write you this to say, first, you are no longer an officer in my regiment of the Chevaux-Legers of Nivernosi; secondly, you are at once to quit my kingdom of France and the dependencies thereof, wheresoever situated. In which, desiring that you fail not at once to obey my second behest, I pray that G.o.d will have you, Monsieur St. Georges, in his holy keeping.

"Written at Paris the 15th January, 1688.

"_Signe_ LOUIS.

_Soussigne_ LOUVOIS."