第69章 THE JACOBIN MONK.(2)

The moon had risen while we were at supper,and its light,which whitened the gables on one side of the street,diffused a glimmer below sufficient to enable us to avoid the kennel.Seeing this,I bade the men put out our torch.Frost had set in,and a keen wind was blowing,so that we were glad to hurry on at a good pace;and the streets being quite deserted at this late hour,or haunted only by those who had come to dread the town marshal,we met no one and saw no lights.I fell to thinking,for my part,of the evening I had spent searching Blois for Mademoiselle,and of the difference between then and now.Nor did I fail while on this track to retrace it still farther to the evening of our arrival at my mother's;whence,as a source,such kindly and gentle thoughts welled up in my mind as were natural,and the unfailing affection of that gracious woman required.These,taking the place for the moment of the anxious calculations and stern purposes which had of late engrossed me,were only ousted by something which,happening under my eyes,brought me violently and abruptly to myself.

This was the sudden appearance of three men,who issued one by one from an alley a score of yards in front of us,and after pausing a second to look back the way they had come,flitted on in single file along the street,disappearing,as far as the darkness permitted me to judge,round a second corner.I by no means liked their appearance,and,as a scream and the clash of arms rang out next moment from the direction in which they had gone,I cried lustily to Simon Fleix to follow,and ran on,believing from the rascals'movements that they were after no good,but that rather some honest man was like to be sore beset.

On reaching the lane down which they had plunged,however,Ipaused a moment,considering not so much its black-ness,which was intense,the eaves nearly meeting overhead,as the small chance I had of distinguishing between attackers and attacked.

But Simon and the men overtaking me,and the sounds of a sharp tussle still continuing,I decided to venture,and plunged into the alley,my left arm well advanced,with the skirt of my cloak thrown over it,and my sword drawn back.I shouted as I ran,thinking that the knaves might desist on hearing me;and this was what happened,for as I arrived on the scene of action--the farther end of the alley--two men took to their heels,while of two who remained,one lay at length in the kennel,and another rose slowly from his knees.

'You are just in time,sir,'the latter said,breathing hard,but speaking with a preciseness which sounded familiar.'I am obliged to you,sir,whoever you are.The villains had got me down,and in a few minutes more would have made my mother childless.By the way,you have no light,have you?'he continued,lisping like a woman.

One of M.de Rambouillet's men,who had by this time come up,cried out that it was Monsieur Francois.

'Yes,blockhead!'the young gentleman answered with the utmost coolness.'But I asked for a light,not for my name.

'I trust you are not hurt,sir?'I said,putting up my sword.

'Scratched only,'he answered,betraying no surprise on learning who it was had come up so opportunely;as he no doubt did learn from my voice,for he continued with a bow,a slight price to pay for the knowledge that M.de Marsac is as forward on the field as on the stairs.'

I bowed my acknowledgments.

'This fellow,'I said,'is he much hurt?'

'Tut,tut!I thought I had saved the marshal all trouble,M.

Francois replied.'Is he not dead,Gil?'

The poor wretch made answer for himself,crying out piteously,and in a choking voice,for a priest to shrive him.At that moment Simon Fleix returned with our torch,which he had lighted at the nearest cross-streets,where there was a brazier,and we saw by this light that the man was coughing up blood,and might live perhaps half an hour.

'Mordieu!That comes of thrusting too high!'M.Francois muttered,regretfully.An inch lower,and there would have been none of this trouble!I suppose somebody must fetch one.Gil,'he continued,'run,man,to the sacristy in the Rue St.Denys,and get a Father.Or--stay!Help to lift him under the lee of the wall there.The wind cuts like a knife here.'

The street being on the slope of the hill,the lower part of the house nearest us stood a few feet from the ground,on wooden piles,and the space underneath it,being enclosed at the back and sides,was used as a cart-house.The servants moved the dying man into this rude shelter,and I accompanied them,being unwilling to leave the young gentleman alone.Not wishing,however,to seem to interfere,I walked to the farther end,and sat down on the shaft of a cart,whence I idly admired the strange aspect of the group I had left,as the glare of the torch brought now one and now another into prominence,and sometimes shone on M.Francois'jewelled fingers toying with his tiny moustache,and sometimes on the writhing features of the man at his feet.

On a sudden,and before Gil had started on his errand,I saw there was a priest among them.I had not seen him enter,nor had I any idea whence he came.My first impression was only that here was a priest,and that he was looking at me--not at the man craving his assistance on the floor,or at those who stood round him,but at me,who sat away in the shadow beyond the ring of light!