United States or Cabo Verde ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Sighing, she turned from him, hiding her face in her hands. "Mayenne has not kept faith with you!" monsieur went on vehemently. "He has broken his oath. I mean not last night. I had my warning; the attack was provoked. But yesterday in the afternoon, before I made the attempt to see you, he sent to arrest me for the murder of the lackey Pontou." "Paul's deed!" she cried in white surprise.
But he in his eagerness paused for no answer, but went on to stun Monsieur with statements new and amazing to his ear. "My cousin Grammont who is dead was in the plot, and his lackey Pontou, and Martin the clerk; but the contriver was Lucas." "Lucas?" "Lucas," continued M. Étienne. "Or, to give him his true title, Paul de Lorraine, son of Henri de Guise."
M. Étienne remarked casually to me: "Faith, there'll soon be as many ghosts in the house as you thought you saw there Grammont, Pontou, and now Lucas. What ails you, lad? Footsteps on your grave?" But it was not thoughts of my grave caused the shudder, but of his. For of the three men of the lightning-flash, the third was not Lucas, but M. Étienne.
This obstinate disbelief in his assertion, this ordering away of all who could swear to his identity was it not rather a plot for his ruin? He swallowed hard once or twice, fear gripping his throat harder than ever the dragoon's fingers had gripped mine. Certainly he was not the Comte de Mar; but then he was the man who had killed Pontou. "If this is a plot against me, say so!" he cried.
Monsieur sat down again, with the air of one preparing for an amiable discussion. "He is charged with the murder of one Pontou, a lackey. Of course he did not commit it, nor would you care if he had. His real offence is making love to your ward." "Well, do you deny it?" "Not the love, but the offence of it. Palpably you might do much worse than dispose of the lady to my heir."
What if the vision were, after all, the thing I had at first believed it a portent? An appearance not of those who had died by steel, but of those who must. One, two, and now the third. Next moment I almost laughed out in relief. It was not Pontou I had seen, but Louis Martin. And he was living. The vision was no omen, but a mere happening. Was I a babe to shiver so?
He raised the fellow's limp head, and we saw that the sword had passed just over his shoulder, piercing the linen, not the flesh. He had swooned from sheer terror, being in truth not so much as scratched. Gervais turned to his cousin. "I never meant that foul trick. It was no thought of mine. I would have turned the blade if I could. I will kill Pontou now, if you say the word."
"But the men," he cried, "the men!" "They are three. One a low fellow named Pontou." "Pontou? The name is nothing to me. The others?" He was leaning forward eagerly. I knew of what he was thinking the quickest way to reach the Rue Coupejarrets. "There are two others, Monsieur," I said slowly. "Young men noble." I looked at him. But no light whatever had broken in upon him. "Their names, lad!"
"On what charge?" "A trifle. Merely murder." "Murder?" "Yes, the murder of a lackey, one Pontou." "But that is ridiculous!" I cried. "M. le Comte did not " I came to a halt, not knowing what to say. "Lucas Paul de Lorraine killed him," was on the tip of my tongue, but I choked it down. To fling wild accusations against a great man's man were no wisdom.
"Oh, monsieur's chivalry is notorious. Precautions are unnecessary. It is your privilege, monsieur, to appoint the happy spot." "The spot is near at hand. Where you slew Pontou is the fitting place for you to die." "It is fitting for you to die in your own house," Lucas amended. Without further parley we turned into the Rue des Innocents, on our way to that of the Coupejarrets.
Word Of The Day