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

the dangerous hold he had over me. ‘You have threatened me! One word, and I will send you to the gallows!’

‘Sh!’ he answered, indicating M. Francois by, a gesture of the hand. ‘For your own sake, not mine. This is fine talking, but you have not yet heard all I know. Would you like to hear how you have spent the last month? Two days after Christmas, M. de Marsac, you left Chize with a young lady—I can give you her name, if you please. Four days afterwards you reached Blois, and took her to your mother’s lodging. Next morning she left you for M. de Bruhl. Two days later you tracked her to a house in the Ruelle d’Arcy, and freed her, but lost her in the moment of victory. Then you stayed in Blois until your mother’s death, going a day or two later to M. de Rosny’s house by Mantes, where mademoiselle still is. Yesterday you arrived in Blois with M. de Rosny; you went to his lodging; you—’

‘Proceed, I muttered, leaning forward. Under cover of my cloak I drew my dagger half-way from its sheath. ‘Proceed, sir, I pray,’ I repeated with dry lips.

‘You slept there,’ he continued, holding his ground, but shuddering slightly, either from cold or because he perceived my movement and read my design in my eyes.

‘This morning you remained here in attendance on M. de Rambouillet.’

For the moment I breathed freely again, perceiving that though he knew much, the one thing on which M. de Rosny’s design turned had escaped him. The secret interview with the king, which compromised alike Henry himself and M. de Rambouillet, had apparently passed unnoticed and unsuspected. With a sigh of intense relief I slid back the dagger, which I had fully made up my mind to use had he known all, and drew my cloak round me with a shrug of feigned indifference. I sweated to think what he did know, but our interview with the king having escaped him, I breathed again.

‘Well, sir,’ I said curtly, ‘I have listened. And now, what is the purpose of all this?’

‘My purpose?’ he answered, his eyes glittering. ‘To show you that you are in my power. You are the agent of M. de Rosny. I, the agent, however humble, of the Holy Catholic League. Of your movements I know all. What do you know of mine?’

‘Knowledge,’ I made grim answer, ‘is not everything, sir priest.’

‘It is more than it was,’ he said, smiling his thin-lipped smile. ‘It is going to be more than it is. And I know much—about you, M. de Marsac.’

‘You know too much!’ I retorted, feeling his covert threats close round me like the folds of some great serpent. ‘But you are imprudent, I think. Will you tell me what is to prevent me striking you through where you stand, and ridding myself at a blow of so much knowledge?’

‘The presence of three men, M. de Marsac,’ he answered lightly, waving his hand towards M. Francois and the others, ‘every one of whom would give you up to justice. You forget that you are north of the Loire, and that priests are not to be massacred here with impunity, as in your lawless south-country. However, enough. The night is cold, and M. d’Agen grows suspicious as well as impatient. We have, perhaps, spoken too long already. Permit me—he bowed and drew back a step—‘to resume this discussion to-morrow.’

Despite his politeness and the hollow civility with which he thus sought; to close the interview, the light of triumph which shone in his eyes, as the glare of the torch fell athwart them, no less than the assured tone of his voice, told me clearly that he knew his power. He seemed, indeed, transformed: no longer a slinking, peaceful clerk, preying on a woman’s fears, but a bold and crafty schemer, skilled and unscrupulous, possessed of hidden knowledge and hidden resources; the personification of evil intellect. For a moment, knowing all I knew, and particularly the responsibilities which lay before me, and the interests committed to my hands, I quailed, confessing myself unequal to him. I forgot the righteous vengeance I owed him; I cried out helplessly against the ill-fortune which had brought him across my path. I saw myself enmeshed and fettered beyond hope of escape, and by an effort only controlled the despair I felt.

‘To-morrow?’ I muttered hoarsely. ‘At what time?’

He shook his head with a cunning smile. ‘A thousand thanks, but I will settle that myself!’ he answered. ‘Au revoir!’ and uttering a word of leave-taking to M. Francois d’Agen, he blessed the two servants, and went out into the night.