"Stand back!" he said hotly. "Back!"

And as hot an answer trembled on my tongue, but I held myself in.

"Monsieur, you do not seem to know me. Shall I remind you of this morning?"

At my words it was he who went back; his hand left his sword-hilt, and he stood staring at me.

"You!" he stammered. "I did not recognise--I--I did not know----"

"Enough, monsieur! I forgive you the ill turn you were about to play me. Perhaps, were I in your case, I would do the same----"

"If so, then my course is clear. In any other thing I would yield to you, but not in this."

"Listen. Your plan was well laid; but my men are not traitors, and I--I have not slept. Monsieur de Ganache, I have but to raise my voice, and there will be three to one against you----"

"I care not," he answered furiously, and his sword flashed in his hand, but in a moment Diane was between us.

"De Ganache! Monsieur Broussel! Put back your swords, I implore you!"

And with this she clung to De Ganache's arm. He paled to the lips as he tried to free himself.

"Diane, 'tis our only way! Keep back, Diane!"

But for answer she clung all the more to him, and it seemed as if she were covering him from my sword, as she cried out again: "No, no! It is too terrible! I will not have it! It must not be!"

I looked from one to another, a hundred emotions tearing at my heart.

I had seen enough to understand how these two stood to one another, and, utterly miserable at heart, I gave way. A sudden impulse, that carried me as like a wave, seized me, and I burst out:

"Monsieur de Ganache, let it be for Mademoiselle de Paradis to decide between us. I give you my word I will abide by her choice."

Diane let her hand fall from De Ganache's arm and turned to me in astonishment. And De Ganache stared at me with wide-open eyes, and asked slowly, dropping his words out:

"You say this?--you pledge your word?"

"I have said so. I undertook to take mademoiselle to Paris, and to see her in safety there, at the cost of my life if need be. I have since learned that which makes it impossible for me to do this unless mademoiselle comes with me of her own free will. I leave her to make her choice."

"Then, Diane, come!" And De Ganache turned towards her, a hand outstretched. I stepped aside to leave the way free, but to my surprise mademoiselle made no answer, but stood in wavering hesitation, now looking at one and then at the other of us. Once more De Ganache began to urge her, stepping quite close up and speaking in low but quick and earnest tones.

"Diane, the very stars are with us! What is there that makes you hesitate? By to-morrow evening we will be with our own people, and henceforth I will always be by your side to defend you."

She stopped him with an impatient gesture of her hand. Even where she stood in the half light I saw the red rush to her cheeks at his last words; and then she asked:

"Monsieur Broussel, I too have been learning, or rather guessing, at some things since I came down here. Is it you that Monsieur le Vicomte has to thank for his life?"

I did not answer; but De Ganache began to speak as one defending himself:

"I do thank him; but when I told you of this I did not know Monsieur Broussel's name, Diane."

"All this does not concern the matter," I cut in. "What mademoiselle has to decide is whether she will go on to Paris or not. Which shall it be?" And I faced her.

A little silence, and her eyes refused to meet mine. Then she said faintly: "I--I do not know."

All depended on a single turn, but it was De Ganache himself who threw his cards away. Stepping up to mademoiselle he put his arm through hers, and with an air of command, almost proprietorship, he said:

"Come, Diane, we waste time here, and we have far to go. I shall give Monsieur Broussel his thanks another day."

She looked up at him--such a look!--and withdrew her arm.

"Monsieur de Ganache," she said, "you take too much on yourself. I have decided, and I shall go to Paris."

De Ganache looked at her and laughed bitterly. Then he broke forth into weak reviling at womankind. She let him run on, and at last he asked:

"And after all I have done and risked this--this is your answer?"

"My answer--to everything, monsieur." And with this she turned from him, and pa.s.sing me went up the stair, back to her apartments.

I was standing a little apart, leaning on my sword, hardly able to believe my ears, and wondering at the ways of womankind. De Ganache had taken up his hat, and was nervously tearing at the plume, his lips moving with unspoken words. All at once he turned to me, and his voice was hoa.r.s.e with pa.s.sion:

"Monsieur, you have won. I set this against this morning. And we are quits. Quits, you understand?"

I bowed, but made no answer. The man was beside himself, and the slightest word would have led to his drawing on me, and for mademoiselle's sake I held myself in.

"Pechaud!" he went on, "my horse."

And crushing his hat on his head he pa.s.sed me without another word and went to the door. Pechaud followed him, and began to urge something, but was silenced with a rough word. Then he called for a light.

Pechaud came running back for the lantern, and through the open door, as the light flickered on him, I saw De Ganache mount. Once he glanced back at me. He could see nothing, for I was in darkness, but the light which fell on his features showed him pale as ashes. The horse backed a little. He drove his spurs in with an oath, and then I heard him hammering through the night, going--G.o.d knows whither.

Beat--beat--beat--the iron-shod hoofs rushed through the village, and the dogs awoke, and barked, barked and howled, long after he had pa.s.sed on his reckless course.

I waited a little, and then called to Pechaud. He came back slowly, and set his lantern with a trembling hand on the table. For the rest of the night we were in safety--that I knew.

"It grows late, Maitre Pechaud," I said, "and I need rest." And so I left him.

CHAPTER XVIII

DR. JOHANNES CABALLUS

I made all arrangements betimes for an early start the next morning; and, with a remembrance of what had pa.s.sed between us last night, ordered a table, with one cover only, to be set for mademoiselle near the window of the dining-room. Then I went out into the garden to while away the time there until my charge was ready for the journey.

There was a little walk outside the open window, through which I could see all that pa.s.sed within the dining-room. Here I paced backwards and forwards, reflecting on the events of the past few hours. I could, of course, see that for some reason or other Diane had apparently broken with De Ganache. It was not a trick of heartless coquetry--for that I gave her credit. Yet the change had been so swift and sudden that it was difficult to a.s.sign any other reason for it. So far as I was concerned I was sure my affair was utterly hopeless; but the air of the Italian campaign would doubtless cure me, and I almost caught myself wishing that I had lost the game last night and was free to turn my horse's head where I listed.

In this disjointed thought I pa.s.sed some time, and it was well after nine o'clock that Diane came forth from her room. Through the window I saw her descending the stair, and, not wishing to intrude, withdrew to the extreme end of the walk, where I began to be interested in the operations of a spider weaving his web in a rose bush. I could, however, see into the room, and observed Diane stop near the table, hesitate a little, and then sit down. Pechaud began to flutter around her, but after a little she rose, and coming to the window looked straight out at me. My spider had by this time vanished into the petals of a half-open rose, and turning I met Diane's look, and lifted my hat in formal greeting, remaining, however, where I was, as I was determined to keep the position she had a.s.signed to me.

"Monsieur Broussel!"

"Mademoiselle!" And now I stepped up to the window.