I listened, murmuring to myself: "Strange! Here is one who can sing of his Alban hills and his Margarita one moment and cut a throat the next.

But here they come!"

For Trotto's voice had stopped the singer, and then I heard them coming upstairs. The heavy step of Piero halted, however, in the pa.s.sage, and Trotto entered alone, rubbing his hands together as usual, his white teeth shining between their setting of red lip and short black moustache and beard. Of a truth Messire Torquato was a handsome man if an evil one. He came in with a set smile on his face. "The ladies are safely at rest, and----"

"And we can while away the time with this wine, some more supper, and a little talk."

"But your wounds, monsieur! They must be attended to. I have told Piero to bring up some salve and bandages."

"Bah!" I laughed, "let them keep. My wound, not wounds, is but a scratch, and hurts far less than the one that lost you that forefinger." And I pointed to his left hand, which wanted a forefinger.

The captain's eyes flashed, and he dropped his hand to his side, though he said, calmly enough:

"I got that at Volterra. I was there with the Caraffa."

"And I with Enghien. You see, we were comrades-in-arms without knowing it. 'Tis a pity we never met. We must fight our battles over again.

Come, let us drink to the old days!"

"With all my heart," was the reply. "A moment; and I will tell Piero to wait." And he stepped to the door.

"Tell him to go to the devil," I said, and Trotto laughed, and after a word or so exchanged with Piero he closed the door and came back to his seat. "I have sent Piero off," he said, and pouring out a b.u.mper for each of us he raised his cup, saying: "Pledge me this toast, monsieur.

Long life to the bride and bridegroom!"

"Long life to the happy pair!" I clinked my cup with his, and drank, my mind working like a clock to find out what was meant, my eyes never moving from Trotto's face.

"Now," I said, "it is my turn. The wine, messire captain. And here is my toast: Confusion to the enemies of Bertrand Broussel!"

There was, perhaps, some want of heartiness in the captain's voice as he echoed the words but none in his manner of drinking, though he too began to look, as if seeking for a hidden meaning in my words, and his hand left his cup and dropped quietly to his side; but still I kept my eyes on his, as I said:

"That wine of yours is a rare cordial, captain; it makes me ravenous.

Do you remember how we starved before Volterra?" And I filled my cup again.

"Yes--well."

"We were not birds of paradise exactly, and yet we had to live on air sometimes--and a thin enough diet it was. You will never guess what I had for supper once--try!"

"I am bad at guessing, monsieur."

"A mask."

"A mask!"

"Yes. It was not bad with a little olive oil and vinegar; but the very thought makes me hungry. What have you in that dish beside you?"

"Something better than a c.r.a.pe mask, I a.s.sure you." And Trotto put aside the cover, only to let it fall with a little crash as he stared at the white thing, and glanced up to meet my eyes, and hear my gibe.

"A little surprise I prepared for you--a delicate attention."

Trotto knew he was discovered. He began to breathe quickly, and his hand once more went down.

"Divide it, captain," I mocked; "there is just enough for two--ah!"

And I caught his wrist as he made a sudden stab at me, and pulled him half over the table, springing backwards to my feet as I did so. In his confusion he pushed the table over, and fell sideways on the floor, dragging with him the tablecloth and the supper.

He was at my mercy. It needed but a thrust, and his life was ended; but I gave him his chance.

"Get up, and take your sword!"

Trotto rose, his face white, his lips bleeding, and s.n.a.t.c.hing his sword from its sheath thrust at me, with a strange smile on his face. He had lied when he said Piero was gone. All unknown to me Piero had remained, and opening the door stood at my back, his knife in his hand.

I saw not the death behind me, and stiff as I was from my wound my attention was fully taken up by Trotto, who was no mean artist, and fought like a cat at bay. But Pierrebon saw, and raised his arquebus.

The bravo behind me was about to strike, when there was a flash, a loud report, and he rolled over a huge, limp, and lifeless ma.s.s. At the shot Trotto had sprung back with a gasp to the corner of the room, and crouched there like a rat, staring through the smoke at us, for Pierrebon had run to my side.

"Keep the door, Pierrebon," I said, and I stepped forward; but the Italian was done.

"I yield," he said; "I have lost." And he lowered his sword; but between us there could be no parley.

"Put up your sword--put it up, or I run you through as you are!"

And because there was no help for it, save to fight, Trotto did so, but his hand shook, and his courage was gone. He made a little show of resistance; but it was nothing, and at the third or fourth pa.s.s he thrust too high. He was late in the recovery, and I ran him through the side.

"Jesus!" he screamed, "I am dead!"

Then he fell forward on his face, his fingers working convulsively.

"He is dead too!" said Pierrebon as he stooped over the body.

"Not yet," I said, and then for the first time I saw the huge figure of Piero lying stark, the knife still in his clutch, and I saw too what I owed Pierrebon, and wrung the honest fellow's hand.

"Come!" I said. "Now for mademoiselle, and we shall be off. There are others who will attend to these."

"A moment, monsieur! The arquebus is not loaded, and this, perhaps, will be more useful." So saying Pierrebon stooped and picked up Trotto's sword. As he did so he noticed the keys at the Italian's girdle.

"And this too," he added, as with a touch of the sharp sword he cut the light leather strap, and taking the keys followed me out into the gallery.

CHAPTER X

THE BITER BITTEN

When Torquato Trotto lifted the candle to guide mademoiselle and La Marmotte from the supper-room he was confident in the success of his plan, and already heard the jingle of Simon's crown-pieces in his ears.

Perhaps it was the certainty that the birds were caged that made him a trifle careless, and so there was something in his air and in the glance he cast back upon his companions, whilst leading them through the gallery, that filled mademoiselle with a sudden fear, and, but for her pride, she would have run back to my side. So she nerved herself, and went on to La Marmotte's room, though it was with a quaking heart.

At the door Torquato stopped, expressed a civil hope that mademoiselle would be comfortable, and, bowing politely to her as she pa.s.sed in, handed the candle to La Marmotte, and was about to return when he felt his arm seized. It was La Marmotte, and she looked into his face with eager, searching eyes as she asked: "What does this mean?--more treachery?"

There was a bitter note in her voice, and the Italian looked at her steadily. "She grows old," his thoughts ran on, "old, and exacting; I must end this." Then, because there was other business on hand, he restrained himself, and answered calmly:

"I mean no harm to her, I a.s.sure you."

With this he tried to disengage himself; but La Marmotte was not satisfied. She felt he was lying. Then, too, all the vague feelings of the past that had somehow been aroused in her that night were awake and groping in her poor heart, and, perhaps, with these emotions there was jealousy--who knows?