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Updated: May 5, 2025
But with a bunch of Mordieus, Sangdieus, and Po' Cap de Dieus, the little Gascon flung himself before my prostrate figure, and bade them in the King's name, and at their peril, to stand back. Chatellerault, sorely shaken, his face purple, and with blood streaming from his nostrils, had sunk into a chair. He rose now, and his first words were incoherent, raging gasps.
However, Sister Hyacinthe, who rightly called them her children, children whom she governed with a word, at once set them saying the chaplet again, pending the Angelus, which would only be said at Chatellerault, in accordance with the predetermined programme.
But now it took on a look of relief and of something that suggested malicious cunning. "That," said Castelroux in my ear, "is the King's commissioner." Did I not know it? I never waited to answer him, but, striding across the room, I held out my hand over the table to Chatellerault. "My dear Comte," I cried, "you are most choicely met."
"I am at your service, mademoiselle." And a quarter of an hour later we were on our way once again. I did not take the direct road by Châtellerault, but turned half westward, intending to enter Touraine by way of Chinon, and then to follow the route by which I had come to Poitiers. It was a summer day, such as can only be met with in France.
"Why then, monsieur," she cried in an eager voice, that set my pulses throbbing, "you'll not deny me the boon I crave? You'll not deny me his life?" There was a short laugh from Chatellerault, and I could hear the deliberate fall of his feet as he paced the chamber. "Mademoiselle, mademoiselle, you must not overrate my powers. You must not forget that I am the slave of Justice.
Is it strange, therefore, that in this challenge flung at me with such insistence, a business that at first I disliked grew presently to beckon me with its novelty and its promise of new sensations? "Is your spirit dead, Monsieur de Bardelys?" Chatellerault was gibing, when my silence had endured some moments. "Is the cock that lately crowed so lustily now dumb?
A shopkeeper's wife till the death of her husband, a cutler in the Rue de Grenelle-Saint-Germain, at the sign of the Ville de Châtellerault, now reduced to poverty, the citoyenne Gamelin lived in seclusion, keeping house for her son the painter. He was the elder of her two children.
It was not until an hour later, when we were again in the saddle and upon the last stage of our journey, that I offered Castelroux an explanation of my seemingly mad attack upon Chatellerault. "You have done a very rash and unwise thing, monsieur," he had commented regretfully, and it was in answer to this that I poured out the whole story.
I have purposely sent Chatellerault away that he may gain no notion of the catastrophic jest we are preparing him in return." The words set me in the very best of humours, and to that it may be due that presently, as I warmed to my narrative, I lent it a vigour that drew His Majesty out of his wonted apathy and listlessness.
I told him that Chatellerault knew me, and I informed him that a wager lay between us withholding the particulars of its nature which had brought me into Languedoc and into the position wherein he had found and arrested me.
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