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Updated: May 29, 2025
Upon being asked my name and place of abode, I created some commotion by answering boldly "I am the Sieur Marcel de Saint-Pol, Marquis of Bardelys, of Bardelys in Picardy." The President that is to say, the Keeper of the Seals turned inquiringly to Chatellerault. The Count, however, did no more than smile and point to something written on a paper that lay spread upon the table.
Later that day I was told by the Vicomte that there was a rumour current to the effect that the Marquis de Bardelys was dead.
He stood and looked at me over his shoulder, his face crimson, and his brows black as a thundercloud. "All this may betide when you come to Toulouse, Monsieur de Bardelys," said he darkly, "but from here to Toulouse it is a matter of some twenty leagues." With that, he turned on his heel and left me, baffled and angry, to puzzle out the inner meaning of his parting words.
As I approached the carriage, the Vicomtesse swept suddenly down the steps and came towards me with a friendly smile. "Monsieur de Bardelys," said she, "we are grateful for your intervention in the cause of that rebel my husband." "Madame," I besought her, under my breath, "if you would not totally destroy him, I beseech you to be cautious.
I had set myself in cold blood, and by such wiles as I knew, to win such affection as might be hers to bestow; and I would have married her in much the same spirit as a man performs any other of the necessary acts of his lifetime and station. I would have told her that I was Bardelys, and to the woman that I had expected to find there had been no difficulty in making the confession.
It is a momentous wager, Bardelys, and spells ruin for one of us." "A madness!" groaned Mironsac. "Mordieux!" swore Cazalet. Whilst La Fosse, who had been the original cause of all this trouble, vented his excitement in a gibber of imbecile laughter. "How long do you give me, Chatellerault?" I asked, as quietly as I might. "What time shall you require?"
Had you, indeed, been Bardelys, you had seen that here in this court sits a gentleman who is very intimate with him. He is there, monsieur; that is Monsieur le Comte de Chatellerault, of whom perhaps you may have heard. Yet, when I ask you whether in Toulouse there is any one who can bear witness to your identity, you answer me that you know of no one.
"Monsieur de Bardelys," said he very insolently, "we waste time in idle words. If you think that I will imperil my neck for the sake of serving you or the Vicomte, you are most prodigiously at fault." "I have never thought so. But I have thought that you might be induced to imperil your neck as you have it for its own sake, and to the end that you might save it." He moved away.
And are you not, therefore, a traitor, whether they call you Lesperon or Bardelys? But there," he ended more softly still, and flinging himself into a chair as he spoke, "I have been so wearied since you left me, Marcel. They have the best intentions in the world, these dullards, and some of them love me even; but they are tiresome all.
I have motives sound motives, motives of political import. I desire another wedding for Mademoiselle de Lavedan. I wish it so, Bardelys, and I look to be obeyed." For a moment temptation had me by the throat. Here was an unlooked-for chance to shake from me a business which reflection was already rendering odious.
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