It was interesting to observe how differently the two ladies regarded the same circ.u.mstance. The elder one could talk only of the romantic parts; the challenge of the mob, the defiance, the fight, the arrival of the soldiers, the torchlight procession, the humbling of De Retz.

Marie, on the contrary, cared little for these things; all her anxiety was for the people who had been injured.

"The more I see of these troubles, the more hateful they become," she said. "They have divided families, and parted friends; they have starved the poor and desolated the country, and no good has resulted from them."

"The country requires a strong man like Conde to hold the reins,"

remarked her aunt.

"Or a learned priest like De Retz," I put in slily, and was met at once by strong expressions of dissent; Marie, in particular, declaring she would rather hear of the recall of Mazarin, which I ventured to prophesy would be the outcome of these petty squabbles.

The girl seemed rather sad, and I was not surprised when she said, "I wish we were back at Aunay, away from the turmoil. There is no peace in this continual whirl of excitement. I am always thinking some evil is going to happen."

"Nonsense," exclaimed her aunt. "How can there be any danger now that Conde has returned to his rightful place? De Retz will never dare to harm the prince's friends," a nave remark, which much amused me.

It was late when I left the house, and the street was nearly deserted.

Standing a moment on the step, I suddenly became aware of an ill-dressed fellow evidently watching me from the shelter of a door-way nearly opposite.

"A spy!" I concluded, "and a very clumsy one, too. I wonder if he has been set to dog me?"

I crossed the road carelessly, when the fellow, no doubt hoping he had not been noticed, slipped off, and, on my following a short distance, he darted into a narrow street and disappeared. Puzzled by this strange behaviour, I hid in the shadow of a wall, and kept a patient watch for over an hour, but he did not return.

"Chut!" I exclaimed at last, "Raoul has shaken my nerves with his warning of Peleton and Maubranne. Most likely the man did not know me from Adam." I endeavoured to dismiss the incident from my mind, yet I could think of little else during the walk home, and even the next day the memory of it clung to me. It seemed absurd to suppose that any one would spy on my actions, but in those days nothing was too absurd to be true.

"Well," I thought, "it can soon be tested. I will visit the Rue Crillon again to-night, and keep a sharp look-out."

The streets as usual were extremely noisy; the citizens were out in crowds, and several slight scuffles occurred between the friends of Conde and De Retz. Taking no notice of these squabbles, I proceeded briskly to the Rue Crillon, and there found my man in his hiding-place.

He was carefully watching the house opposite, but as soon as I appeared within sight he vanished.

"Oh, oh," said I to myself, with a chuckle, "it is Madame Coutance you are watching, is it? Well, my friend, you will find that two can play at that game!" and, discovering a quiet corner, I stood flattened against the wall with my face m.u.f.fled.

Two hours pa.s.sed, but the man did not re-appear, and, when midnight arrived without any incident, I left the Rue Crillon, which was now almost deserted.

In a side street a number of people were cheering loudly for Conde, and farther on I met half a dozen cavaliers evidently returning from some meeting. One was Baron Maubranne. Willing to keep out of mischief, I drew aside to let him pa.s.s, hoping he would not recognise me. He pa.s.sed on singing l.u.s.tily, but a second man stared insolently into my face. Keeping my temper, though my fingers itched to chastise the fellow, I went on my way, thinking the danger past; but in this I was wrong.

To reach the Pont Neuf it was necessary to traverse a narrow dingy court, and here my life and my story nearly came to an end together.

Still thinking of the mysterious spy in the Rue Crillon, and not at all of Maubranne's friends, I proceeded slowly, paying little heed to my route. Happily for me the court was very quiet; the inmates had retired to rest, and nothing broke the stillness of the night.

Suddenly I stopped, with my hand on my sword, and listened intently.

From behind came the swift patter of footsteps, and turning round I perceived dimly the figure of a man gliding along in the shadow of the wall. Before I could get my sword free he sprang at me, and, in endeavouring to avoid the blow, I fell heavily. With a jeering laugh the a.s.sa.s.sin flourished his sword, and, as I caught sight of his face, all hope vanished, for the man was Peleton. Looking down at me, he gripped his weapon more firmly, and prepared to strike home.

"You are a clever lad," said he tauntingly, "but all the skill in the world won't save you now. I intend to pay off my old debts."

The fall had half stunned me, but the sound of his voice and the gleam of steel brought back my senses. I was struggling to regain my feet, when I heard a hoa.r.s.e shout, and the next instant Peleton's weapon went flying into the air. A second man had run up hurriedly, and was gripping my a.s.sailant's arm.

"Fool!" cried he, "can't you wait? Don't you know the Abbe has need of him? A plague on your stupid temper; it will ruin everything. Put up your sword, M. de Lalande," for by now I was standing on guard, "our friend here has made a trifling mistake, that is all."

It was difficult to refrain from laughing at the man's coolness. He spoke as if a sword thrust was a matter hardly to be considered; but I thanked him, nevertheless, for having saved my life.

"Not at all, not at all!" he replied. "There is nothing to be thankful for. I only grudged my friend the pleasure of paying his score before my own account was settled."

By this time I had recognised Maubranne, who, for some reason best known to himself, had interfered to prevent my being killed. Now he rejoined Peleton, who meanwhile had groped about in the darkness and recovered his sword, and the two worthies departed together, leaving me in a state of considerable amazement.

CHAPTER XIV.

I Fall into a Trap.

For a short while I remained trying to understand clearly what had happened, but it was all so strange that I could make nothing of it.

There was, of course, no mystery in Peleton's attempt on my life, but what was I to think of Maubranne's rescue?

The baron had distinctly stated I had no reason to thank him, I was only enjoying a respite, and that for the oddest of reasons--the Abbe had need of me! What could be made of so astounding a remark as that?

De Retz was no friend to me, while almost every act of mine had been opposed to his interests. Without having the least suspicion as to the actual truth, I felt that the Abbe's plans boded me no good. I was like a person groping in the darkness, and expecting every moment to fall into a deep pit.

"Can't you wait?" Maubranne had asked.

For what was Peleton to wait? And how could it affect me? Why should the fellow's temper spoil everything? From Maubranne's words it appeared that the success of their scheme, whatever it was, depended on me. Yet from the very beginning I had fought them tooth and nail.

"This business will drive me crazy," I muttered, "it is worse than the muddle at La Boule d'Or. Both these blackguards would gladly give me a few inches of steel, and yet, having me wholly in their power, they do me no injury. It is evident that I, in some manner, am to further the interests of their party. Am I to be offered a bribe?"

This was making myself out to be a person of some consequence, but I could think of nothing else. However, it was useless to stand there all night, so, keeping a keen look-out for fresh danger, I hurried from the court and made straight for the Pont Neuf. A few night-birds were abroad, but I pa.s.sed on swiftly, keeping well within the shadow of the walls.

As it chanced, the night's adventures were not finished even yet.

Turning into the Rue des Carolines, I was almost at home, when a man, slipping from the shadow of a doorway, swung a lantern in my face.

Peleton's cowardly attack had put me on my guard, and in less than a second my sword was at the fellow's throat.

He was either very stupid or very brave.

"M. de Lalande?" said he quietly, and, thrusting a folded paper into my hand, vanished.

I ran a few yards hoping to catch him, but he was soon swallowed up in the darkness, and there was nothing for it but to return. In my room I opened the packet with nervous haste. The letter, or rather note, consisted of only a few words, and had no signature. I gazed at the writing curiously, it was cramped, partly illegible, and in a man's hand. By supplying a letter here and there I managed to piece together the strange message.

"When the net is spread openly, only a foolish bird will be ensnared.

A wise one will fly away. An old story relates how a swallow once found safety in the tents of an army."

Nothing more! I read it through again and again till I had learned every word by heart. Who wrote it? I knew not. I counted no friends among the enemy, and danger was hardly likely to come from Raoul's party. Peleton's attempt to murder me was merely the outcome of personal spite, and had nothing to do with this fresh adventure. Yet, on one point, the message was clear. Some peril threatened me, and my best chance of safety lay in flight. But why? I sat down to thresh the matter out.

Including my cousin, I had three enemies. Henri disliked me, because I had, to a certain extent, spoiled his plans; yet I did not, for an instant, imagine that he sought my life--that was out of all reason.

There remained Maubranne and Peleton, either of whom would kill me without scruple, but that very night the baron had interfered to save my life! Once more I was forced back on the mystery attached to his words. What was it the Abbe proposed to do with me? Buzz! buzz! buzz!

The question hummed in my head till I was nearly wild. It went with me to bed, it kept me awake half the night, and was the first thing I was conscious of in the morning.

Directly after breakfast, I hurried to the Luxembourg to take counsel with Raoul. He was on duty, but young D'Arcy, observing my agitation, volunteered to relieve him.

"What is it?" asked my comrade anxiously. "Has anything happened?

Here, come into this room where we shall not be interrupted."

Without delay I plunged into the story, telling him first of the mysterious spy in the Rue Crillon, the encounter with Peleton, and Maubranne's strange action and words.