A Gentleman of France: Being the Memoirs of Gaston de Bonne Sieur de Marsac by - (best love novels of all time .txt) 📕

‘Ah!’ he said, making no comment, which somewhat surprised me, all men at this time desiring news, and looking to Blois for it. ‘I am riding towards Rosny also. Let us be going.’

But I noticed that as we got to horse, the man he called Maignan holding his stirrup with much formality, he turned and looked at me more than once with an expression in his eye which I could not interpret; so that, being in an enemy’s country, where curiosity was a thing to be deprecated, I began to feel somewhat uneasy. However, as he presently gave way to a fit of laughter, and seemed to be digesting his late diversion at the inn, I thought no more of it, finding him excellent company and a man of surprising information.

Notwithstanding this my spirits began to flag as I approached Rosny; and as on such occasions nothing is more trying than the well-meant rallying of a companion ignorant of our trouble, I felt rather relief than regret when he drew rein at four cross-roads a mile or so short of the town, and, announcing that here our paths separated, took a civil leave of me, and went his way with his servants.

I dismounted at an inn at the extremity of the town, and, stopping only to arrange my dress and drink a cup of wine, asked the way to the Chateau, which was situate, I learned, no more than a third of a mile away. I went thither on foot by way of an avenue of trees leading up to a drawbridge and gateway. The former was down, but the gates were closed, and all the formalities of a fortress in time of war were observed on my admission, though the garrison appeared to consist only of two or three serving-men and as many foresters. I had leisure after sending in my name to observe that the house was old and partly ruinous, but of great strength, covered in places with ivy, and closely surrounded by woods. A staid-looking page came presently to me, and led me up a narrow staircase to a parlour lighted by two windows, looking, one into the courtyard, the other towards the town. There a tall man was waiting to receive me, who rose on my entrance and came forward. Judge of my surprise when I recognised my acquaintance of the afternoon! ‘M. de Rosny?’ I exclaimed, standing still and looking at him in confusion.

‘The same, sir,’ he answered, with a quiet smile. ‘You come from the King of Navarre, I believe? and on an errand to me. You may speak openly. The king has no secrets from me.’

There was something in the gravity of his demeanour as he waited for me to speak: which strongly impressed me; notwithstanding that he was ten years younger than myself, and I had seen him so lately in a lighter mood. I felt that his reputation had not belied him—that here was a great man; and reflecting with despair on the inadequacy of the tale I had to tell him, I paused to consider in what terms I should begin. He soon put an end to this, however. ‘Come, sir,’ he said with impatience. ‘I have told you that you may speak out. You should have been here four days ago, as I take it. Now you are here, where is the lady?’

‘Mademoiselle de la Vire?’ I stammered, rather to gain time than with any other object.

‘Tut, tut!’ he rejoined, frowning. ‘Is there any other lady in the question? Come, sir, speak out. Where have you left her? This is no affair of gallantry,’ he continued, the harshness of his demeanour disagreeably surprising me, ‘that you need beat about the bush. The king entrusted to you a lady, who, I have no hesitation in telling you now, was in possession of certain State secrets. It is known that she escaped safely from Chize and arrived safely at Blois. Where is she?’

‘I would to Heaven I knew, sir!’ I exclaimed in despair, feeling the painfulness of my position increased a hundred fold by his manner. ‘I wish to God I did.’

‘What is this?’ he cried in a raised voice. ‘You do not know where she is? You jest, M. de Marsac.’

‘It were a sorry jest,’ I answered, summoning up a rueful smile. And on that, plunging desperately into the story which I have here set down, I narrated the difficulties under which I had raised my escort, the manner in which I came to be robbed of the gold token, how mademoiselle was trepanned, the lucky chance by which I found her again, and the final disappointment. He listened, but listened throughout with no word of sympathy—rather with impatience, which grew at last into derisive incredulity. When I had done he asked me bluntly what I called myself.

Scarcely understanding what he meant, I repeated my name.

He answered, rudely and flatly, that it was impossible. I do not believe it, sir!’ he repeated, his brow dark. ‘You are not the man. You bring neither the lady nor the token, nor anything else by which I can test your story. Nay, sir, do not scowl at me,’ he continued sharply. ‘I am the mouthpiece of the King of Navarre, to whom this matter is of the highest importance. I cannot believe that the man whom he would choose would act so. This house you prate of in Blois, for instance, and the room with the two doors? What were you doing while mademoiselle was being removed?’

‘I was engaged with the men of the house,’ I answered, striving to swallow the anger which all but choked me. ‘I did what I could. Had the door given way, all would have been well.’

He looked at me darkly. ‘That is fine talking!’ he said with a sneer. Then he dropped his eyes and seemed for a time to fall into a brown study, while I stood before him, confounded by this new view of the case, furious, yet not knowing how to vent my fury, cut to the heart by his insults, yet without hope or prospect of redress.

‘Come’ he said harshly, after two or three minutes of gloomy reflection on his part and burning humiliation on mine, ‘is there anyone here who can identify you, or in any other way confirm your story, sir? Until I know how the matter stands I can do nothing.’

I shook my head in sullen shame. I might protest against his brutality and this judgment of me, but to what purpose while he sheltered himself behind his master?

‘Stay!’ he said presently, with an abrupt gesture of remembrance. ‘I had nearly forgotten. I have some here who have been lately at the King of Navarre’s Court at St. Jean d’Angely. If you still maintain that you are the M. de Marsac to whom this commission was entrusted, you will doubtless have no objection to seeing them?’

On this I felt myself placed in a most cruel dilemma if I refused to submit my case to the proposed ordeal, I stood an impostor confessed. If I consented to see these strangers, it was probable they would not recognise me, and possible that they might deny me in terms calculated to make my position even worse, if that might be. I hesitated but, Rosny standing inexorable before me awaiting an answer, I finally consented.

‘Good!’ he said curtly. ‘This way, if you please. They are here. The latch is tricky. Nay, sir, it is my house.’

Obeying the stern motion of his hand, I passed before him into the next room, feeling myself more humiliated than I can tell by this reference to